#which i think is incredibly ironic. and so i do not like valentine's day. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

Text

How Longingly I Look Upon You

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Valentine’s Day is a holiday you love, for it’s celebration of tenderness and appreciation. It matters very little that you never have a partner to share it with. This Valentine’s Day the Sheriff offers an opportunity, a potential, something you never thought he’d do.

Notes: This took me way too long to finish thanks to work, but I hope it was worth the nearly 2 month wait!

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Mando’a Translations:

Ba’vodu - Aunt/uncle Cyar’ika - darling/sweetheart (with Paz, i’m using this informally in a way you’d call your friends babe or love as a term of endearment but non-romantic) Ne shab’rud’ni - don’t fuck with me Cyare - beloved, loved Mesh’la - beautiful Cabur’ika - Lit. Little Guardian, but Din’s term of endearment for reader after ‘Never Mess With a School Teacher’ because she is a true guardian of her kids. Mandokarla - having the ‘right stuff’ basically being truly mandalorian in spirit.

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Valentine’s day was a holiday you actually quite enjoyed. It was a day to celebrate love, whether Eros, romantic love, Agape, unconditional love, Philia, affectionate love, or even Philautia, self-love. For you it had always been a day to celebrate the people in your life and while certainly you’d never had a suitor or a courtship during Valentine’s day, that hadn’t mattered so much. You filled your life with love for your family, even if they were now gone, love for your friends, and love for your students. It mattered very little in the end, Valentine’s day was a day for love in all its forms and for you, it was a joy. A joy to teach your students about the day, about the significance, to watch them create cards for their families, and see the red faces and giggling laughter when one of your students braved the walk across the classroom to hand a gift to another. Rather than dwell on what was missing, you chose to focus on all the joy that the day brought.

Today was no different, you had gone into your school house the day before. Spent your Sunday afternoon hanging red and pink bunting, crafty paper hearts and cupids. You wanted every holiday for your children to be worthwhile, to feel like a special day and part of that was decoration. The school house looked like a Valentine’s dream and the lessons for the day were to centre around the same theme. You would cover the history of Valentine’s day and St Valentine, work on mathematical problems in a Valentine’s context, create Valentine’s cards and write stories about great romances and read some of the best love poems that great poets had produced.

You had even gone with a colour scheme of red and pink for your outfit that day, despite your mother often saying you shouldn’t mix the two. Your dress was neatly ironed, almost gaudy in its Valentine’s nature, but fun. Your mother would have no doubt said that the lace and frills, the large puff sleeves, were all a bit much. Much too gaudy for you, a simple school teacher to wear. You wore it anyway because that was how you wanted it. Gaudy, happy, joyful, and overly extravagant for a day teaching. It was flattering, following your silhouette and grazing the ground gently. You had placed little delicate pink flower pins in your hair, surrounding your high updo. You had even rouged your cheeks, something which you rarely did anymore, usually much too busy.

You’re at the schoolhouse door smoothing down your skirts when you see the first of your childrens making their way down the main street. Lunch pails are flying behind them, skirts and ribbons whistling in the wind as they run. You greet each of your children with a bright smile and a ‘Happy Valentine’s day!’, like clockwork, as part of their routine they hang their coats, scarves and hats on the coat hooks by the door and settle into their seats, pulling out slates, books, pencils and chalk. They begin to chat amongst themselves as they wait for you and the lesson to begin. You had them well trained and so allowed them the time to chat knowing they’d listen up the moment you called for it.

Little Grogu is the last to arrive, running on little legs beside Din who always walks him to school in the morning before beginning his day as Sheriff. The little boy wraps his arms around your legs in greeting before wandering in with a wave to his father. While he can speak and you’ve witnessed it more and more, he is generally mute, preferring to use other forms of communication. You’ve noticed this little quirk of his, but don’t mind. If he would rather not speak that’s fine, so long as he’s progressing in his school work then you have little to worry about.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Din.” You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ears, a little nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s Day, oddly enough. All these months of knowing him and he still makes you nervous, not in a bad way. It had gotten worse since that kiss in the school house, the nerves of wanting him but not being sure if that kiss had truly meant more to him causing you to become shy when near him. You feel completely and utterly safe with Din, yet at the same time feel that bubble of excitement and nerves in your stomach, that roiling sensation you’ve not felt since you were a child with a crush. You wanted him to see you as more than just Grogu’s teacher but as a woman, an unmarried woman, a woman he could potentially see himself with. A future wife. While he’d expressed interest in courting you that day, nothing had happened since whether he’d changed his mind or the busyness of life had taken over, you weren't sure. You had never thought much on the prospect of marriage, despite your mother’s many warnings, you had simply not cared all that much. You had decided to live your life on your terms, as much as possible, but Din...Din was a man you could see yourself marrying.

It had grown over the months of knowing him from an objective enjoyment of his features, an acceptance that he was an incredibly handsome man and kind as well, into what you could only describe as longing. The beginnings of something greater, something akin to love. Din was everything you could ever want in a prospective husband, prospective father of your future children. He was handsome, so much so that you were ashamed of the thoughts that on occasion, usually in the quiet of the night, ran through your mind. He was kind and caring, a surprisingly gentle man despite his broad shoulders, large hands, and more violent profession. Ex-bounty hunters weren’t known for their softness and yet that was the only way to describe how he treated you and the children. He was gentle in voice, never raising it around you, never shouting or yelling, he chose his words carefully. He was soft in the way that he allowed the children to sit in his lap as he told stories or helped them down from trees when they got stuck. He was kind in that he was always caring for you, whether making sure you were given adult company during the school day or ensuring you ate after a long day without stopping. He was protective, but not overbearing. Kind and soft, but not weak. He would make a wonderful husband, that is something you were utterly sure of and you knew that you were not the only unmarried woman in town who’d turned their gaze to him.

So it made you nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s day because on a day of love, he was someone you wanted to celebrate and yet found yourself too nervous to do so. It wasn’t becoming, it wasn’t ladylike to take that first step, that first plunge into the unknown world that was love. Despite that spontaneous and daring kiss you found yourself thinking of your mother and shying away from making another attempt. Your mother, God rest her soul, had always made it a notable detail, a finer point in the plan of your life. You would be approached by a man, not the other way around, and you would ultimately make the decision as to whether you wished to be courted by him with the intent to marry or whether you did not. Despite breaking tradition in the way you taught your children, this was something you didn’t have the courage for. Not again. While Din had expressed interest in you all those months back, the time between had seen nothing but his usual friendly behaviour. It made you conscious of your behaviour and the risk of getting hurt. If Din had an interest in you as a potential spouse, a riddur as he told you once, then he would have to make the next move.

Now standing before you with one hand behind his back and the other holding his hat by his stomach he looked infinitely more nervous than you expected for simply dropping off Grogu to school. There was a hint of red to his cheeks, the tips of his ears, his deep brown eyes darted around, from the floor to your own, before looking over your shoulder. You hadn’t truly seen him like this, this nervousness was unusual for him and you could have sworn he’d combed his hair with some pomade, an attempt to neaten the unruly dark curls that you thought were quite dashing on him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Y/N,” You frown at the formality, confused as to why he isn’t calling you cabur’ika like he usually does. The formality of calling you miss had dissolved almost the moment you met him and it was strange coming from his lips after so much familiarity between you. He has only ever called you miss when talking to the children about you.

For Din, he has never felt quite as nervous as in this moment. Perhaps it’s the time that’s elapsed that does it. When he kissed you he meant it, he meant his intent to court you, but his job had become busier over the months after...and in truth, he had doubts about his worth. He was unsure if he was truly enough for you. He felt ungentlemanly, improper, too rough. For months he’d been struggling with whether or not he was good enough for you, he knew you wanted to be courted by him, but was it the right thing for you? After months of soul searching, a healthy dose of want and longing every time he saw you with the children or whenever you smiled at him, he’d decided that it was your choice to make. He wanted to be with you and maybe he wasn’t damn good enough, maybe he wasn’t the man that should get to be with you, but if you wanted him then he wasn’t strong enough or selfless enough to or cold enough to do anything but love you.

“I...I have something for you, it ain’t much but I…well…” The flush to his cheeks grows deeper, a bright beaming red that screams against his bronzed skin. From behind his back he pulls his arm, hand outstretched towards you. He knows there’s a subtle shake to his arm, nerves at bearing his heart open, however, subtly, racing through his blood. More adrenaline than he’s felt anywhere but in a gunfight.

There, clutched tight between the fingers of his left hand is a beautifully bound book, green leather cover and gilded words, tucked between the pages you can see an envelope just peeking out at the top. You gently take it from his hands with your left, the meaning of that burned into your memory from lessons with your mother. To give and receive a gift with the left hand is to recognise and accept an active interest in oneself. The weight of it has your heart pounding in your chest, almost violently so against your ribs. You read the cover, ‘The Complete Poetical Works of Walt Whitman’, the tears gather in your eyes before you have any time or thought to stop them. There’s a blind panic that fills Din’s chest, like the blaring of a ship’s foghorn in his mind, at the sight of tears collecting in your eyes. There’s a moment of genuine fear, that he’s somehow messed up, that he’s caused you to become upset.

Walt Whitman was the poet you used to read with your father every evening after he finished a long day of work, his works are some of your favourite, some of the most important to you, but you’ve never been one to spend money on yourself. You often spend your wage, what little of it you have, on items for the school, books for the children, a globe, an anatomical skeleton. You have a small copy of his works, old and worn, some pages missing. This book means more to you than you think Din knows. Afterall, Walt Whiteman is a well known poet and books are one of the few perfectly acceptable gifts to give to a woman that you are not married or engaged to. It was presumptuous to assume that the gift had any added meaning behind it. Foolish your late mother might have even said in her damning indictment of romance.

“How did you know?” You clutch the book tight to your chest, heart aching with happiness and longing, that this man had given this to you, on Valentine’s of all days. It brings burning heat to your cheeks, a stutter to your heart, a dryness to your mouth. This is a step that you had dreamed, hoped of, that move towards something more. This was confirmation that he meant it all those months back, that he intended to court you and hadn’t had a change of heart.

“You...he’s the poet you mention the most when you’re teaching the little ones, cabur’ika” You realise what this is, what this all means. He isn’t just a kind sheriff or your friend, he’s an unmarried eligible man showing you that he’s paid attention to you, that he’s interested. There’s a shift, a shift from the easy friendship to a new undercurrent of tension at the unspoken understanding between the two of you, at the prospect of courtship that he’s extending towards you. It’s not a marriage proposal, it’s not marriage, but it’s an offer to begin on the road towards that. It is confirmation that the kiss you’d shared hadn’t been a mistake, a whim, something fleeting and insubstantial.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest at the prospect that Din Djarin is putting his foot forward, extending a possibility, an opportunity, a potential future. That out of all the unmarried women in town Din was actively showing interest in you. He could have picked any number of beautiful, intelligent, eligible women to show interest in, to potentially court, but he’d chosen you. The weight is added at the prospect that he’s not just offering you a marriage, but a family, because little Grogu is part of his world, part of his life and you would never want anything less.

“Thank you, Din...I...Thank you.” You feel a little lost for words, they’re stuck in your throat, knowing that there are so many things you wish to say but so many things you can’t say.

“I should leave you to your teaching, Miss Y/N. I…” There’s a pause as he thinks over the words in his mind, and stops himself. Din is a fool for you, that he is certain, but the last thing he wants at that moment is to make a larger fool out of himself. So he places his hat back atop his head and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You watch as he says a sweet goodbye to Grogu, kneeling briefly on the ground to touch his forehead to the boy’s before reminding him to ‘be good’ for you.

The envelope is a temptation, sticking out from the top of the book, it calls for you to open it in that instant. But, you don’t, smiling at Din as he walks down the street towards the sheriff’s office, you turn back to head inside, Grogu walking with you to his seat, ready for you to teach the class. Despite the nagging desire to see what letter, what words lie in that envelope, you place the book atop of your desk and begin your day of teaching. You attempt to put the letter to the back of your mind, to keep the thoughts of being courted by Din at bay so that you can effectively teach, but you know you are distracted.

The children are just as unfocused as you, the day goes both fast and slow with dramatics abound. Jonah receives at least 5 love letters, Grogu catches a frog for little Mary-Beth and your entire class takes time to gift you with a drawing by themselves of you and the entire class.

Despite a whole class to distract you, you find it hard to teach, your eyes drifting back to your desk. That unassuming little envelope poking out from beneath the pages of a little poetry book that means more to your soul than you can possibly put into any sort of words. You find yourself thinking ahead, of the future, of Din. If he did indeed wish to court you, to go down that path of potential and intended marriage, then he was truly to be part of your future, he and Grogu.

There was no doubt in your mind that you’d accept such a proposition, that you wanted him in your future. Din was your friend, something that had taken very little time in truth. From the moment you’d met him and his son, he’d managed easily to worm his way into your affections without even a thought to do so. He was kind, competent, caring. He was good with children. Respected you, your intelligence and your authority in your classroom. While he happily joined you to tell stories to the children he would always defer to you and respect your right to dictate what happened inside your school house. He helped when you needed it, but never jumped so eagerly to help that he took over when you did not need it. While he was certainly quiet, had a temper hidden beneath it all and a danger to him that you’d seen on the few occasions he felt the town or it’s occupants were in danger, he had never made you feel anything but safe and secure. He had proven himself competent the moment he stepped into town, arranging your school house to be built and demanding the respect of every inhabitant. He had done more for you in the months you’d known him than anyone else had done in years.

He, in truth, captured your attention unlike any other person you’d ever met. You had always had an abstract desire for love, marriage, a family. But, no one had ever caught your attention, no man had ever been thought of as a potential father to your children or life companion. Din from the start had you take notice, you couldn’t quite comprehend the idea that he wanted to potentially marry you of all people.

He had his fair share of admirers, in a small town like your own, he was the man that stood out the most and one of the most handsome. He had a lot of eyes on him at all times and you assumed that he knew it, some were less subtle and ladylike than others. You knew he’d received a few propositions, something your mother would have been horrified at, but he’d yet to accept a single offer. To receive one from him, meant that out of all the people lined up outside the sheriff’s office begging for his attention, he’d chosen you. Something which excited you.

It’s on your lunch break, the children running around outside, that you finally have time to pull the envelope from its resting place between pages of inked words and sit with it. When you retrieved it from between pages of poetry, you had found yourself faced with little dried and pressed flowers between the pages of Walt Whitman’s works. A little additional that made a smile crawl across your lips. You’re sitting on the front steps, watching the kids play, one eye on them, the other on the unassuming letter in your hands. Grogu has come to join you, toddling up the steps on little legs before plonking himself down next to you, leaning his chubby cheek into your arm.

“Shall we see what your buir has written, mm?” You ask the little boy, he grins up at you at the mention of his father, he’s missing a couple of his baby teeth right at the front and the gap adds to the sheer adorable nature of the boy. You don’t know how much he knows, but Grogu has always seemed to know more than he let on, to understand the world around him better than most. There was always an intelligence behind those big eyes that made you think he knew more than either you or Din.

The envelope is unassuming, just a cream coloured piece of paper, neat cursive writing along the front spelling out your name. You’ve never seen Din’s handwriting before and it speaks of someone who received a decent education, hours of being drilled on the correct way to hold a dip pen, how to form each letter. There’s a hesitation to the writing that speaks of someone who hasn’t had reason to write in a while, a little judder to the letters. You trace a fingertip over your name, how it looks in his hand, black ink stark against cream paper. It looks pretty when he’s writing it, you think.

You turn over the envelope and slide a finger underneath the lip of it, careful to open it and not tear the paper in your haste. You glance up briefly at the sound of a yell, seeing that Jerome is fine and just laughing with the others, red in the face from receiving a kiss to the cheek, you turn your gaze to the folded letter that you pull from it’s confines.

It takes everything within you to keep your composure as you read the letter. There is a girlish part of you that wishes to giddily squeal, throw the page into the air and run around in circles to express the sudden burst of energy that fills you. Instead, you sit there calmly, fingers and hands shaking as your eyes dart across the page following each line, hungry for the next.

Dearest cabur’ika, Y/N,

In truth I do not know how to write this letter to you, but it felt less forward and presumptuous to put my thoughts onto paper than to speak them to you clearly and in the open where the town gossip would get involved. I do not want you to feel forced to return my affections or embarrassed by them. While we’ve shared a kiss and i’ve expressed my intent towards you in the past, it has always been private, quiet and anything but bold. It has always left room for doubt, uncertainty and movement. You deserve surety.

I have never been nor will I ever be a poet or a writer. I am a former bounty hunter, a sheriff, a mandalorian. I was raised to fight, to defend, not to write poetry or put down my thoughts and feelings into prose. I apologise if this letter is less than you dreamed of. If it fails to live up to lofty expectations or childhood dreams.

I wish to make it plain and clear to you that I find you to be beautiful. Not just in form, or face, but in soul. You are a protector, a guardian, a caregiver and teacher. From the moment I met you you treated myself and my son with a kindness that I doubt I will ever forget. You have enchanted me in body, soul and mind. When I kissed you in the schoolhouse it was not on a whim, nor was it a false promise. I had and have every intent to court you, to one day marry you. I apologise that I have been distant or allowed room for doubt to grow.

I am eager to see but a glimpse of you in the day, to make you smile or offer you some respite. I am eager to hear your voice even as you talk about topics I have no interest in. I am eager to be in your presence, to see the kindness with which you treat each of your children and the sweetness of your smile, the fierceness of your nature when called upon to protect your class. In the words of Walt Whitman, ‘you do not know how longingly I look upon you’.You are mandokarla, built with the soul of a warrior, the kindness of a mother, and the mind of a teacher. Perhaps my words are too strong or forward, perhaps you do not share my feelings, but I wish to lay my intentions at your feet. I do not wish to presume you return these feelings, perhaps that kiss was a moment of weakness, perhaps your feelings have changed. But I cannot in good conscience go on as we have.

I wish to step out with you, I wish to court you for the town to see, to one day marry you. If you ever allowed me such an opportunity I think I might be the luckiest of men, to have you join me in equal partnership as my riddur. To wake each morning to your smile, to raise our children and Grogu with you. To help you at your weakest and stand and watch you at your strongest. I long to build a life with you.

I ask, will you allow me the great honour of courting you?

If you do not feel the same then I shall end my pursuit, I shall respect your feelings or lack thereof and we shall be friends, as we have been. But, please, consider my words. I would be blessed if you ever saw me worthy of you, you would not just be an excellent riddur, but a loving buir to Grogu. If I did not feel seriously about you I would not make this offer. But, the choice is yours and I shall respect it no matter what your decisions may be.

Yours with love and affection,

Din Djarin

The shake to your breath comes from a good dose of shock and giddiness that collide together inside of your chest like two wagons that haven’t been watching where they were going. It’s not a proposal, but it is a proposal at the same time. There is a giddiness that fills you knowing that Din wishes to step out with you, that he wishes to show the town his intention to one day marry you, that he has affection past that of friendship for you. It’s the giddiness that comes from returned affections, shared interest, you no longer feel as if you are the only one gazing at the other, that your feelings are unrequited. It feels as if all that worry, all that doubt had been for naught, simply a foolish girlish thing to do. How had you ever doubted his intentions towards you?

“Miss, it’s time for history…” It’s Annie standing in front of you, hands on her hips to remind you that you need to call the children in, that has you hastily folding the letter and pocketing it, picking Grogu up and resting him on your hip as you rise. You, as most teachers, do not have the time to be giddy or dwell on love confessions during the school day.

The day drags on in its last moments. Your desire to return home, to write a carefully crafted response, to find some sort of gift in addition, has you counting the seconds, minutes, and hours as they slowly tick by. Your children can tell you are unfocused and they become incredibly distracted as a result, but despite this you can’t find it in yourself to be frustrated or irritated, not today of all days when your patience with them has been extended by your supernaturally good mood.

When Din collects Grogu at the end of the day you give him your sweetest smile and thank him earnestly for the letter. He isn’t sure what it means. It’s not an outright rejection or acceptance and despite the burning desire in his chest to receive an answer, he knows how to be patient, tipping his hat at you and offering to walk you home as a gentleman does.

It isn’t unusual for Din to walk you home after the school day ends, even on nights where you stay late at school he often comes back with Grogu to walk you as the dark sets in. He has never been anything but a gentleman when it comes to making sure you get home safe even in a small town where very little happens and you know everyone. Still, you’ve always appreciated the gesture and you do now, even if wrapping your arm through his and walking side by side takes on a new tension, a new feeling.

There’s a little thought in the back of your mind, niggling, that you can’t quite get rid of. The thought that this is what your little family could look like if all goes well. That you, with your arm wrapped through Din’s, hands in the crook of his elbow, and him, with Grogu on his hip, little arms wrapped around his neck, could easily be a future image of a family. Not just the Sheriff, a single father, walking the school teacher home because he’s polite and gentlemanly.

“Thank you again, for the letter and the poetry book. I...you don’t understand how much it all means to me, Din. I...I want to respond properly, take my time….I.” The air is cold, as it always is in early February, but your entire body feels warm as you try to explain that you’re not rejecting his offer. You don’t want him to doubt for a second that you intend to say yes, but it doesn’t feel right to say it. There’s a desire to take your time, to write a heartfelt reply, to ensure that the time he took for you, you take in return.

“You ain’t gotta tell me right away. It’s okay to take your time, mesh’la.” The reassurance has your shoulders dropping, a sense of relief, the removal of pressure. Any fear you had that Din would grow impatient dissipates and you're reminded once more of how safe you feel with him. Both physically and emotionally. He is a calming, solid presence. There is nothing fickle or finicky about Din and that is a relief when so much of your social world is confusing to navigate.

“Thank you.” You tell him earnestly, drawing closer to him as you walk. Your side pressed fully into his, hip to hip, arm to arm. You cannot truly comprehend Din Djarin, the many elements that make him a better man than most, but you don’t think you have to fully comprehend him to enjoy being around him, to find comfort in him. Perhaps it will take years for you to fully understand who he is, but you like to believe you’ll get the time to do so. To learn him just as well as he seems to have learnt you.

Your home isn’t particularly large. When you first came to town the Mayor had informed you that the post of teacher came with a small lodging. It was small; a separate bedroom off of the main living area, a water closet out in the back garden, enough room in the kitchen and living area for your tub to be placed in front of the fire when you need to wash. It was, however, homey, something Din had admired from the first.

You ensured that blankets and pillows, knick knacks and trinkets covered the space. That it felt like a lived space, a place filled with love and warmth.

He’s reluctant to leave you when he reaches the top step to your door. There’s a part of him that rarely wants to part from you, that enjoys your company even if it’s silent. You are comforting and familiar, he feels like he can be himself around you. There’s an implicit trust between the two of you. He trusts you with his son, he trusts you with his safety and protection, he trusts you with himself and even his heart, something he has protected ever since the death of his parents at the hands of bandits and thieves. He would be happy so long as he is in your presence and it is that fact that makes him certain about his decision to propose courtship, there is no one he would rather spend the rest of his days with. Terrifying, overwhelming, massive, but he can sense how entirely worth it it will be.

“Goo-”

“Hav-”

The two of you go to say goodnight at the same time, stopping short and laughing under your breath. You tug at the fabric of your skirt and shift, feeling a wave of embarrassment at talking over each other, an odd feeling when neither have done anything to be embarrassed of.

Grogu shifts on his father’s hip, leaning forward a hand reaching out to wave at you. You begin to smile, waving back at the little boy, your smile only grows wider when the usually mute boy giggles out “Goodnigh’!” at you with a large smile on his face.

The boy manages to break the tension with a simple word and smile, once again you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. That this six year old is, perhaps, wise beyond his years.

“Goodnight, Grogu. Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, cabur’ika” There is a pause from Din as if he wishes to say something, before stopping himself, turning and walking down your stairs. You wait there at your door, watching him leave until your eyes can no longer follow his figure as he disappears around a corner and out of sight.

Your home feels empty, unusually so, with their presence gone, but you decide to put your energy and longing into a response. The first part is your famous spiced cookies. You know that Mandalorians prize spiced foods highly, a cultural aspect that your teacher Atin’a Caivass had shared with you as a child.

The recipe was hers, one thing she gifted you, shared with you, and entrusted to you. So you get to work, mixing together flour, butter, sugar, egg. Adding spices that are one of the little luxuries you deign to spend a little extra on. They’re the sort of cookies that have a lovely mixture of sweetness and kick, they hit you in the back of the throat just enough to make your mouth tingle. The coco powder in them balances out the heat nicely,

Once the cookies are on the side cooling you hunt out your letter writing items. You haven’t had reason to write a letter since the passing of your parents many years ago. But, you know, in your organised way, where your things are. You collect your writing paper, envelopes, dip pen, ink. You find out your sealing wax, the stamps you haven’t used in years. You lay out each item on your kitchen table with care, feel a thrill go through you that you haven’t felt in years. You always enjoyed writing letters, taking your time to put thoughts and feelings into words onto paper.

You take up your pen, dip the metal nib into black ink and bring the tip to cream, clean, fresh paper and begin to write.

Dearest Sheriff Djarin, Din.

There are few words in the expanse of the dictionary that could truly describe how I felt upon reading your letter. Ever since the kiss we shared I had worried, doubted. I was scared that perhaps you had changed your mind, decided that I was not worth your time, that I was not of interest anymore. When to me you had only become further ingrained in my dreams and wants. I was scared that I had made a terrible fool of myself.

To know that those feelings are returned, that you can see a life and a future with me means the world, it means everything. Grogu and you have become an inextricable part of my life, a part I would never wish to do without. You and that sweet boy make my soul sing and as Walt Whitman once aptly put ‘I am to see to it that I do not lose you’.

You enchant me and thrill me to no end and perhaps that is not ladylike to say, perhaps I should write a quick acceptance of your offer and leave it at that, but I feel that such honest and open words should be returned in kind. I adore you.

I adore the crinkle in your brow, the blinding smile when you drop your guard. I adore the kind, gentle nature you have around children, the ease with which you cause them to smile and laugh. I adore the respect you have for me, the respect you have for my authority in the classroom. I adore the curls of your hair, the hook of your nose, the patchy beard that grows on your jaw. I find there is very little I do not adore about you, Din Djarin and that is both a terrifying concept and one that I too adore.

There was a time I thought little on marriage. I was told I should marry, but what of it? Why would I? You have, for the first time, made me truly desire marriage, a husband, children, a life of pure domesticity and family.

To put it plainly, and I hope my feelings are not off putting or too forward, I would be glad, happy, ecstatic to one day call myself your wife and to call you my husband, my riddur.

You asked if I would allow you to court me and my answer is yes, a hundred, a thousand times yes. I would love nothing more than to step out with you, to hang on your arm and begin to take steps towards a life together.

I wish to make it equally as clear that Grogu matters to me. That I understand that he is part of this, part of you, and that I would never wish for you to part from each other. If you one day saw me as worthy of becoming his mother then I would take that responsibility on with pride and with love. He is a little angel, he captured my heart from the very first day I met him, even with his mischief and I would never wish to part with the two of you or come between your aliit, only to join it. I understand that he is as much your son, your child, as any child born of your own blood.

I accept your offer of courtship and I knowingly enter into it, and all that it entails.

All my love and affection,

Y/N Y/L/N

You wait for the ink to dry, in the meantime you take some muslin and begin to wrap the cookies carefully in the fabric. The twine you wrap around you knot into a bow. Redoing it multiple times until you're happy with its shape. There’s no real need for a knot of twine to be perfect, but you want it to look perfect, to be perfect, for him.

The ink of your letter is dry and you’re careful as you go through the motions of folding the pages, slipping them into a crisp envelope and weighing down the lip. You’re selective in your choice of wax and seal, careful as you melt the wax, pour it and stamp it. There’s a quiet calm about it all, sealing your words behind wax and paper. Knowing that the next time they’re revealed the one person they’re meant for will be reading them.

You place the times together on the side with care, ready to be collected in the morning as you leave for the school house. You take a few moments to think about when it would be best to deliver them, deciding that as much as it pains you to wait, the evening, after school, is better than the morning. It would simply distract you more, you have little time to do it, and the evening gives you that time to talk, to enjoy the change in your relationship.

You go to sleep that night with thoughts of Din’s smile, the one he gives whenever he tells a story to your class, soft, gentle, filled with contentment. Thoughts of the way his hair curls over his ears and his neck moves as he swallows. Thoughts of how he had come into your little mining town of Navarro and shaken everything up in the best sort of way, put to right all the wrongs, solved problems and brought forth solutions.

When you wake the next morning you’re extra particular about what you choose to wear, how your pins look in your hair and how much rouge is on your cheeks. You know, deep down, that Din could care less about the way your hair is pinned or how much rouge is on your cheeks, but it’s something to occupy your hands and mind in the morning before you get to the school house. Once you’re teaching you know you’ll have little time to worry or think about the response you intend to pass on to Din at the Sheriff’s office that evening, but in the meantime you busy yourself with your daily routine.

The day seems to drag, your smile and good morning to Din as he drops Grogu off for school is filled with tension and unspoken words. Your lessons seem to take forever to teach and where you’d normally be enthused you find yourself more eager for the day to end than anything else.

Paz is the one to come by and collect Grogu at the end of the day. The large man had settled into town as the deputy not a month into Din’s stint as sheriff. You knew that Paz and Din were close, practically brothers, having grown up together in the covert and that had been the main reason for you warming to him so quickly. Without Din’s presence you would have likely shied away from Paz. He was large, if you’d thought Din was broad shouldered, then he had nothing on Paz, who was a veritable giant. His size and his resting scowl made him intimidating, but his interactions with the children and women of town showed his character instantly. Like another Mandalorian you knew he’d been gentle and sweet, respectful, despite his size and intimidating demeanor. You liked Paz, even if he seemed to enjoy embarrassing you around his brother.

“Hey there, Little One!” You watch Paz crouch down, arms open as the little boy barrels towards him as fast as his little legs can go. Grogu absolutely adored Paz, he was his uncle, his ba’vodu, and the little boy loved being swung about, hefted to and fro by the giant man. It was the tenderness with which Paz always encompassed Grogu in his arms, lifting him gently to his shoulders, that reminded you of the soul inside Paz. The cover of his book was intimidating, scary, tough, the face of a mercenary and bounty hunter, but his inner pages, his soul was just as soft as Din, just as caring. You were happy to call Paz a friend.

“Hello, Paz”, You smile up at the man, Grogu now sat about his shoulders, arms wrapped around the top of his head with a little smile. The man in question smiles down at you, “Good evenin’, cyar’ika”, You smile wider at the familiar endearment, happy to see your friend even if the nerves from your impending visit to Din buzz in your stomach and chest.

“Is Din working late?”

“Yeah, the kid’ll be at mine for the night, Din’s working the graveyard shift so to speak.” You’re, in truth, glad that Paz is watching Grogu for the night, that Din is working late. It gives you the privacy to give your response, without either the watchful eyes of a child or any other sort of audience.

“Well, have a good night, Paz”

“Not as good as yours i’m sure” It’s said with that teasing glint that Paz often gets in his eye and a smirk that twists the shape of his beard. It causes a sort of panic to fill you, at the thought that Paz knows, that he knows what’s going on even if it’s completely believable and acceptable that Din would tell his brother about his intentions towards you. Your body feels warm all of a sudden and you're sure there’s a look of panic in your eyes because Paz’s glint softens down to something kind and gentle as he nods a goodnight to you and walks away.

You force yourself to go about your normal routine, spending a few hours at the school house marking books, organising the next day’s lessons, tidying up and generally making sure you were ready for all your children the following morning. You may spend a little too much time rearranging the items on your desk and sharpening pencils that don’t really need to be sharpened.

It’s as the sun begins to dip low in the February sky, and people begin to light lamps in their houses or, for those with enough money, turn on their electric lights that you finally decide enough is enough and grab the parcel and letter from your desk. You march with a strange sort of determination, that hides the mess of emotions you are inside, across the street and to the Sheriff’s Office. It doesn’t matter that Din had already shared his feelings with you, you were still nervous of his reaction, had you responded well enough? Was it romantic enough? Would something in your letter be off putting for him? Was it too forward? Not clear enough?

He is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed on top of his desk, heels of his boots digging into the wood of the table. The warm light from various gas lamps bounces across Din’s features, accentuates the sharpness of his cheek bones, the curve of his hawkish nose, the shadow from the brim of his hat.

His chair makes a sharp screech across the floorboards as he rushes to stand at the sight of you, feet falling to the floor as he bounces to them. The hat is swept off his head, politely removed to show the curls of his hair as he, dare you say nervously, tugs at his waistcoat and checks his attire. It’s somewhat relaxing, the endearing nerves with which he greets you, the quick attempt to perfect himself, to show you the best of him, even if you would have happily been greeted by him even if he were covered head to toe in mud.

“Cabur’ika…” He’s a little breathless and it causes a flush to reach his cheeks. He’s embarrassed that he sounds like a school aged kid, that he isn’t standing before you behaving like a man, an adult. But, you take the breath out of him. You’re frazzled looking after a long day teaching, the hair of your up-do frizzy and falling out in places, chalk across your cheeks and skirt, wrinkles in your clothes that he was sure weren’t there that morning, but you still looking breathtaking, you still make his heart jump a beat.

“Din…” You’re breathless yourself, it feels like your nerves have a hand around your throat, a tight grip keeping the breath from leaving your lungs. You fumble a little as you step towards him, tripping on a loose floorboard but catching yourself. Your hands nearly drop the precious cargo they’re carrying and you clutch tighter in response.

“I...uh...Here.” You had the parcel and letter to him, as he reaches for the envelope first you panickedly say, “The parcel! Open...open the parcel first?” He can see the nerves in you, the way you twist your fingers and bite at your bottom lip, in an effort to ease them he nods with a smile and puts the envelope on his desk, focusing on the package of muslin and string.

He’s careful as he opens it on his desk, pulling apart the perfect bow you’d tied and unravelling the package with careful hands. His fingers are too delicate in that moment for such large hands, for hands that have choked men unconscious and lassoed bounties, that have held guns. It’s odd for him, how easily he has fitted into the domesticity of town, odd, but not unwelcome.

The wrappings fall away and he’s greeted by the sight of warm brown cookies, irregularly shaped, although somewhat circular. They’re delicious looking, but what gets him the most is the smell, it reminds him of winter nights in the covert, of his adopted parents and warm cookies and milk, spices that he’s almost forgotten about. He should really ask before grabbing one and tucking in, but he can’t resist the urge to find out if the spices are the ones he remembers from his childhood.

The cookie is moist and soft as it crumbles away easily onto his tongue, he can’t resist closing his eyes at the taste. He recognises the spices, the taste taking him back to fond memories and warmth, a familial bond between him and those who had taken him in, protected him, given him a purpose, a life. He finishes the whole thing without really realising it.

You watch on, anxious to see if he likes them. It had been a risk, spicing the cookies, you hoped the significance to his culture was a good thing and not bad. You found yourself second guessing your decision as his brow furrowed, eyes closing, but then he took the next bite, and the next, until the cookie was no more and Din’s chocolate coloured eyes opened and blinked over at you with the lightest sheen of tears.

“How did you know?”

“I...I had a mandalorian teacher, remember? She...she always liked spiced cookies, I…are they okay? Was...should I not have?” You feel the worry bounce through you, at the thought that you’d crossed some invisible line, some sort of boundary not meant to be crossed.

“No, no! They’re lovely, thank you. They...they remind me of home, Mesh’la.” He’s quick to reassure you, a warm hand reaching out to give one of your own a quick squeeze, just long enough to comfort you, but no longer than appropriate.

You watch him turn back to the envelope, picking it up with care before glancing between the seal and you, eyes darting back and forth as if he is unsure if he is allowed to open it, to read it. “Open it.” You force the words from your throat, nervous for him to read your words, your thoughts and feelings put to paper, but knowing that the relief once he has done so will outweigh your current anxiety.

You stand and watch, a lump in your throat, your hands twisting into your skirt as he opens the envelope. A careful finger pulling the seal free and gently easing the pages of your letter from it’s confines. You wait and you watch, eyes intent on his features as his own carefully trace across the curvature of your words.

He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, feel the tears well in his eyes as he reads further throughout your letter. It is not just your open acceptance of his offer that has his emotions rising within his chest, but the clear admiration of him and the openness with which you accept his son. Grogu was his child, you were right, as much as any child of his own blood would be, and he had, in truth, stupidly worried that you might not accept the boy as your own. Your excitement at the prospect of one day being a mother to him causes his heart to ache in the best sort of way.

Din was purposeful as he placed the letter down and strode up to you, the toes of his boots touching the hem of your skirt. He invades your personal space in a way that sets your skin aflame, yet it is not uncomfortable. You welcome his presence as much as it causes your heart to beat rapidly and your throat to swallow.

“May I kiss you?” He asks, his voice soft and gentle, the southern twang just under the surface. He’s so close you can feel the warmth from his skin. You nod, letting out a shaky breath as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. So large they enclose you so well, make you feel secure even as your heart tries to stutter out of your chest. It matters little that you’ve kissed before, that was quick, this was slow, your attention undivided, your thoughts completely encapsulated by him and his entire being. His hands are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth in gentle strokes as he gages your reaction, eyes focused on your own. He’s slow as he moves forward, as if giving you time to back out, to pull away, but you don’t.

He tastes like spices and sugar, the cookie lingering on his tongue long after it had melted away. He is soft, but not so gentle, the gentle, delicate nature of your last kiss is replaced by depth of emotion, passion and fire. His lips firm against yours, a large hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer, while the other falls to your waist. His beard scratches against your skin pleasantly and you think you could happily grow used to this. You think little of propriety, of politeness, when you open your lips to his and meld yourselves closer together, think little of it as you clutch at his shoulders and breathe him in, as your fingers come up to tangle in those chocolate curls and tug incessantly, as his tongue tangles with your own. There is no fear of it going too far, of Din pushing you for more, of demanding more because you both know the lines that must not be crossed, because you trust him implicitly and because you know he respects you enough to not risk your reputation or livelihood for something carnal or baser, even if he desires it. Even if you desire it.

The lack of fear is what allows you to get swept up in the kiss, in the feeling of his hands and lips on you, the warmth of his skin, the smell of his soap. It allows you to forget that the world outside exists, that you are not in your own private world, but in the easily accessible space that is the Sheriff’s Office.

The spell is broken by the sound of the door slamming open and heavy, booted footfalls on the floorboards. You pull apart with a gasp and Din is quick to stand in front of you, as if to protect you from view, scowling at his deputy in the doorway. Not even the little boy on Paz’s shoulder can take the frustration from Din, he is frustrated at the interruption, embarrassed for you, that you were caught in a compromising position, and irritated by the smirk that’s heavy on Vizsla’s lips.

Paz hadn’t meant to interrupt, in truth he hadn’t expected to find you there, lips locked to his brother, but Grogu was being fussy. Refusing to eat his dinner and then outright refusing to be put to bed. Paz had decided the kid just needed to see his buir, he hadn’t expected Din to be...in the middle of something.

“Am I interrupting something, Djarin?” He’s teasing and he feels a little sorry when he sees how embarrassed you look, but it’s worth it for the glare he gets from Din. His smirk widens as Din practically growls at him, teeth clenched tight.

“Vizsla, don’t make me shove my boot where the sun don’t shine. Ne shab’rud’ni.” He softens a little at Grogu grinning at the two of you, but he still wishes the interruption had never come. He knows it was inevitable, he has a young son, the chances of romance going uninterrupted are slim, still…

“We’ll be outside, Vod. Don’t take too long” Paz says it, still with that smirk attached to his face. He’s gracious enough to give Din a little more time with you, before demanding the man take his son home and tuck him in bed.

The door closes softly behind him, the moment he’s out of sight Din turns back to you, sighing out an apology, “I’m sorry, cyare…”

He presses his forehead to your own, hands smoothing across your waist and back in gentle motions. As if trying to soothe the embarrassment from you, bring you back to a sense of peace that had since been disrupted.

You push your forehead back into his and nudge his nose with your own, “Don’t be. He’s your son.” You mean it. As embarrassing as being interrupted is, as frustrating as it may be, you understand. His son is massively important, and he’s young, there are bound to be interruptions. It’s okay.

“So, we’re really doin’ this, huh? Haven’t changed your mind yet, Mesh’la?”

“Not at all…” You press forward, a soft, sweet little kiss to lips before pulling back, “You should go...Grogu needs you. Wish him a goodnight for me?” You pull away slowly, untangling yourself from his arms despite your own reluctance. You want to stay there, warm and safe forever, but Grogu needs his father and you do not have the heart to deprive him.

“Always.”

Din doesn’t want to leave you, but you make the decision for him, grabbing his hat and carefully plopping in atop his head before ushering him out the door. You watch as he takes Grogu from Paz, putting the boy onto his shoulders and walking with the man down the street.

He can’t help but look back.

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

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wonder-kid-pugh · 4 years ago

Text

Old Flame, First Love - (Tierna Davidson x reader)

"Alright stop it" Casey says as she grabs my phone out of my hand. "Hey!" I whine trying to grab the phone out of her hand. But Casey shakes her head and moves my phone out of reach, "No I let you mope but I am not letting you stare at pictures of your ex in the build up to to Valentine's day".

I just huff and play with my fingers not looking at her. She just sighs as she sits next to me, "Look I know your upset. Everyone is after a breakup. But you can't keep pining after her. Your an incredible person T and she majorly fucked up because she lost an amazing person breaking up with you".

I smile at her softly leaning into her, "Thanks Case". She throws an arm around me giving me a quick hug, "Anytime T. Now c'mon a few of us are checking out this bakery whereby wanna come? Some baked goodies may help you feel better?" I smile, "Yeah just let me grab my stuff". We quickly grabbed our stuff before meeting some of the team down in the lobby. "We all set?" Alyssa asks as the the two of us walk towards the group. We nod before we start the walk.

You could see Casey trying to distract me from all the conversation of Valentine's Day as well as all the decorations in the passing stores. And while I did appreciate her effort it didn't seem to work.

"Is this it?" Julie asks as we come to a stop in front of a small colourful store. Ali checks her phone before nodding, "Yup this is it". I couldn't help but tilt my head at the sign. For some reason it sounded familiar. I just couldn't place it. "Cookie bro?" Casey sniggers looking at the sign. Ali shrugs, "They're huge here. They have really good reviews". "They can call themselves whatever they want as long as they're good" Ash shrugs.

The rest of us nod before entering the store. The store was fairly simple with a few tables which were all filled with what could only be described as extremely happy customers. There was a large display case filled with mouth watering goodies. The was a large section of cookie as well as cupcakes, donuts and so much more. "Damn these look good" Julie mumbles licking her lips. "I kinda want a bit of everything" Ali nods as her eyes dart from treat to treat.

I couldn't help but furrow my eyebrows as I look at the display case. Why did these look so familiar?" But it quickly came to me when I hear a voice coming from behind the counter that it suddenly hits me.

"Hello! Welcome to Cookie Bros! How can I-"

But she immediately stops and drops a bag of cookies on the counter staring at us, in particular me, wide eyed. I could see the girls tilt their head at her but I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Y/n?"

The girls looked between the two of us watching to see both of our reactions. I couldn't help but smile as I see that even after all these years she still did the thing where she bites her lip as she drums her fingers against the counter while she thinks. She then just gave me a weak smile picking up the bag she dropped and putting them to the side, "Hey T".

Julie looks between the two of us, "You know each other?" I bite my lip as Y/n just rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, "Uh yeah we go way back. All the way back to when T wanted to be an astronaut". I only nod before an awkward silence falls between us.

Almost as if we suddenly remembered that we weren't alone she clears her throat before tearing her eyes away away from me as I shuffle on my feet finding my shoes very interesting. "So what can I do for you all?" She asks smoothing out her apron which was covered in flour and other ingredients. "Well what do you have?" Ali asks peering through the display case.

Y/n's nervous persona just seemed to be wiped away as a smile spreads across her face as she moves behind the display case, "Well we have a big selection. Our main speciality's are cookies as the name suggests but we also do some delicious cupcakes and donuts if they tickle your fancy?" She opens the display case and pulls out a few different cookies and puts them on a tray pushing them towards us. All the girls pick a cookie and try it and their reaction was almost instantaneous.

"Oh my God! Bitch this is so good!" Ash exclaims as the rest hum in agreement. I'm about to pick one from the tray when a cookie is held in front of me wrapped in a napkin. I see Y/n standing there holding the red cookie out to me rubbing her head sheepishly.

I chuckle as I take the cookie from her, "It's good to see some things don't change". As I take a bite of the cookie I can't help but moan in delight as the familiar taste of red velvet fills my mouth. Y/n snorts, "Good to see you still have a sweet tooth. You always seemed to have a thing for my red velvet. Ironically".

Once again we both make eye contact before looking away with a light blush on our faces. I could see Casey raise an eyebrow at me before turning to Y/n, "This is amazing. What is it?"

Once again she clears her throat the blush dying down a bit, "That would be my s'more cookie". She starts pointing from one cookie to the next, "We do loads of different flavours. Oreo, Reese's chocolate, Aero Mint, Golden Swirl. We also have some special ones for Valentine's if your interested?"

"Is there a way to buy them all without getting into trouble with Dawn?" Ash asked licking her lips.

The others drift along the big display trying to decide what ones to pick out while I moved to the counter where Y/n was moving around stuff. "So you opened up your bakery just like you always wanted". She nods, "With a little help from my grandparents yeah". I bite the corner of my lip, "And your parents?" She gives me a weak smile, "Still the same homophobic assholes who call me once a month telling me they found a good husband for me to marry".

I put my hand on hers stopping her from moving stuff around the counter making her look after me, "I'm sorry Y/n/n". Her eyes focus on our hands before she sighs running her hand over her head smoothing out the stray fly aways away from her face, "It's okay. It hurt. A lot. But it's a lot better at my grandparents. They were a bit awkward at the start but they came around to it and they still love me so I'm happy". She chuckles lightly, "You should have seen my parent's face when I told them not only was I dropping out of college but I was also gay. I honestly thought they were about to have an aneurysm there and then".

I couldn't help but laugh as I picture it, "Yeah they were never the most open minded". She nods, "Yeah..." It was quiet for a bit as she just moved her thumb over the back of my hand making me squeeze her hand lightly. "It's good to see you doing so good" I whisper. I could see her suck in the side of her cheek biting the inside of it, another thing she has kept from childhood, "Well it's like you said, the world keeps spinning even if you don't want it too". I couldn't hold back the wince as I remember the last conversation we had before I left for college, "Y/n..."

But she quickly shakes her head, "It's okay T. You don't owe me anything...I wish it could have just ended differently I guess". I didn't even know what to say after that. What could I even say after that?

But I didn't even get the chance as the girls walk back over to us. I step back as they all tell Y/n what orders they wanted. I wait as Y/n boxes up all their orders and they pay. Once they're all done we start heading for the door before I'm called back, "Hey T!"

I turn to see Y/n holding up a box for me, "Some of your favorites and a few extra for your teammates". I take the box from her with a smile as our fingers brush lightly, "Thanks Y/n/n". She just returns the smile, "Anything for my favorite taste tester. I-it was good seeing you again T". I smile softly at the girl, "Yeah you too". She nods slowly before disappearing back behind the counter leaving me to leave with the girls.

We have barely stepped out of the store when all the girls turned to me, "What?" Casey smirks at me, "What was that?" I try to shrug it off, "What was what?" Julie rolls her eyes, "What was up between you and the bakery girl back there?" I shrug not looking any of them directly in the eye, "She's just somebody I knew a long time ago". Ali scoffed, "Looked a bit more than someone you just knew". Casey nods before turning to me, "Did you use to date?"

I lick my lips, "Not exactly..." I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I sighed, "We were best friends. We had a....thing? Between us for senior year but it never went anywhere". "Why not?" Julie asks tilting her head at me. I start to twist the ring on my finger around, "We....look we were...we were both heading for different colleges. I didn't think it was going to work out. It just wasn't going to work between us".

Casey raises an eyebrow at me, "Why do I feel there's more?" I sigh again, "She was the first girl I liked. Practically the reason I realised I was gay".

The group stopped and looked at me. "Woah" Ali mumbles, "that's pretty heavy". I nod, "Yeah". "Well it's obvious that she still has feelings for you" Alyssa comments earning nods of agreement from the others.

But I quickly shut it down, "No. There's no way she still likes me". Casey gives me a look, "T anyone with eyes could see she is still interested in you". "Trust me there's no way she likes me after how I left it". But before they could question me further we step into the lobby only to be seen by Kelley and Sonnett who immediately lock on the bakery boxes.

"Oh what did you get!" Sonnet asks trying to look into the box. Before I could ever say anything Kelley already snatches one out of the box, "Hey!" She pouts at me, "Please T. Cardinals forever..." I sigh, "Fine but don't touch the red velvet ones". Kelley and Sonnet both shove a cookie in their mouths and moan in delight. "These are so good! Where did you get them?" Kelley asks trying to go for another before I pull the box out of her reach.

Julie smirks, "Ask Tierna. She'll probably get you some free seeing as she knows the owner". But of course Kelley and Sonnet catch the teasing under tone and grin wildly at the redhead defender who narrows her eyes at her red stars teammate.

"Ohhhh. Baby T have a crushhhhhhh" Sonnett grins. Kelley wiggles her eyebrows at me, "Did T find someone to be her valentine?" I blush and shove past them, "Shut up". As I went back to my room one thing was for sure.

AJ was definitely no longer on my mind

............

"Happy Valentine's Day!"

Tierna plastered on a fake smile as she watches all the girls with their partners. As a surprise Vlatko had all the girls partners flown in to celebrate Valentine's Day. He had sent me an apologetic smile which I only shrugged off returning it with a smile. I slumped back in my chair playing around on my phone.

Just when I think it couldn't get worst Alyssa nudges my side.

"Delivery for Valtko?"

I gasp as my head snaps up at the voice. Only to be met with the familiar y/e/c orbs. She was standing by the door carrying several boxes donned in her casual clothes with her jeans a muscle tee and her trademark plait shirt. But my gaze is pulled away by Sonnett.

"That's who Tierna was talking about?" Sonnet chokes out. Lindsey lets out a low whistle looking Y/n up and down as I glare at the two blondes. "Well done Baby T" Kelley mumbles watching as Y/n sets down the boxes only to be smacked in the back of the head by her girlfriend.

They were right. Y/n looked great. Back when they were younger she was more slim and skinny. But now she was taller and a lot more built. It seemed that carrying heavy bags of flour did wonders for Y/n upper body. The girl looked like she could have been fighting in the UFC for Christ's sake. Which made it kinda funny to see her stand there awkwardly not knowing what to do.

"Hey Y/n!" Casey shouted waving her over. "What are you doing?" I mutter as Y/n makes her way over to the table scratching her head, "Uh hey again". I smile at her, "Hey Y/n". She shuffles on her feet, "Uh I delivered a bunch of Valentine's treats. I guess Valtko ordered them after he heard you guys talking about them yesterday". "You made these?" Kelley's girlfriend asks holding up a cookie which had melted chocolate on the top with sprinkles and the little love hearts on top. Y/n nods shyly. "These are awesome!" Kelley smiles at the young baker. Y/n blushes as the team and their partners voices their agreements, "I-its nothing really".

"Why don't you join us? I'm sure Tierna would enjoy the company" Julie asks from her seat beside her husband. Y/n bites her lip, "I-I wouldn't want to impose. Where's your girlfriend?" Now it's my turn to bite my lip, "We broke up...."

Her eyes widen, "O-oh I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to..."

But I shake my head with a small smile, "It's fine wanna sit?" She slowly sits in the only chair available which is the one beside me. Conversation flowed around the table. Except for between us. Neither of us really knew how to start a conversation between us. But of course my teammates caught on and included us into their conversation helping us to at least communicate between each other.

But it was when Kelley suggested Couple games that I turned to Y/n, "Wanna go for a walk?" She nodded and we both fled from the meal room and away would could have only been a horrible attempt to deveal into our past and walk to the small garden at the back of the hotel.

We walked quietly for a bit before I stopped and turned to the baker, "I never got to apologise to you..." She just shrugs though, "You have nothing to apologise for". I shake my head, "I do".

I take a deep breath, "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I handled things between us. It wasn't fair on you. I hope you know I only wanted you to be happy". She scoffs kicking a small stone with the toe of her shoe, "That's rich". I study her side profile as she stare in front of her, "For someone who wanted me to be happy, you really didn't take my feelings into account". She stops and looks at me fully, "I know we were both still figuring things out at the start and that was fine. But the more time that passed the more certain I was about my feelings for you. But you were still figuring it out and that was okay cause I was willing to wait for you. All the sneaking around and hiding it from everyone that was okay because I had you..."

"I waited the entire Senior year not wanting to push you but being happy to have a part of you. I was okay with all of it. What I wasn't okay about was the fact you didn't even give us a chance..." I pursue my lips as she continued, "As soon as college rolled around we broke up. Well I suppose we didn't seeing as we didn't even start". It was now I could see tears welling up in her eyes, "You gave up on us before we even had even begun".

I shrug helplessly, "You were right. You had waited for me for so long and I still wasn't sure but by the time I had figured everything out....it was too late. We were heading off to college, on the other side of the country from each other. I just couldn't ask you to wait any longer for me....I didn't want to risk losing you so I thought it would be better to end it there. And just let you forget about me".

She just scoffs again, "You really thought I would just forget about you?" Her lips part I'm disbelief, "You were the first girl I had ever liked...My first Love". She shakes her head at me, "It's not that easy T".

"I didn't want to have these feelings at first either. They're scary. But they're scary because they're exciting. And I get it, the fear of letting someone in, getting close to somebody and just not working out. I was terrified but I was willing to take that chance for you. I was willing to accept that fear for you". She threw her hands up, "Instead you left me brokenhearted. The one person I thought would never hurt me, hurt me the most".

I bite my lip trying to ward off the tears, "It was only after I left you that I realise what I had truly done. How badly I had screwed up. But I couldn't go back, not after what I had done to you. I tried to convince myself that I was doing it for us to save us from hurting each other in the future but what I ended up doing was so much worst. All because I didn't want to admit that I was in love with you".

Both of us stood there with tears streaming down our faces. I licked my lips stepping towards her moving my hands up to her face slowly. Just like his we use to when we were younger. She leaned into my hand but with a pained expression on her face almost as if my touch hurt her. "Please don't" she croaks out, "don't give me false hope. It'll only hurt more". But I shake my head gently, "I won't. I'm not". She looked straight into my eyes, "Promise me. Promise me you won't leave again". I lean my forehead against hers, "I Promise. I promise I won't". My eyes flicker down to her lips and back up to her eyes. I try to find any bit of hesitance or doubt but I don't find any. I slowly start to lean in giving her enough time to pull away. But she doesn't and our lips meet. Her hands go to my waist as my hands cup her face trying to show how sorry I was through the kiss.

The only reason I pulled away was due to lack of oxygen. But when I opened my eyes I couldn't help but giggle as I see her eyes still closed as her chest heaved with breaths. I look around us until I land on a patch of flowers. I try to walk over to them but Y/n's grip tightens as her eyes flutter silently begging not to go.

But I just chuckle and kiss her cheek giving her a reassuring smile before slipping out of her arms. I pluck a flower from the patch and turn to her. "I know I can't take back what I did. But can we at least start over?" I can see her bite the corner of her lip before a soft smile spreads across her face, "Only if you'll be my valentine?" I grin and nod, "Deal". She takes the flower gingerly from my hand before pulling me in by the waist and kissing me again. I yelp before smiling into the kiss. When she pulled back she kissed my forehead, "Happy Valentine's Red velvet". I chuckle at the old nickname after my favorite of her creations.

"Happy Valentine's day Chocolate Chip".

Hey guys!!! I know this is late but it was longer than the other one and....yeah? But it's done now so yeah.... honestly I had another idea but I might leave it for a while and tweak it a bit. I know this isn't the best but nowadays I'm running on fumes. Anyways I hope you enjoy. Until next time, bye!!!

#tierna davidson x reader #tierna davidson imagines #tierna davidson #tierna davidson imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #uswnt

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mira--mira · 4 years ago

Text

Hogwarts AU

(AKA another shiny distraction my brain latched onto, but I’m not writing this one bc 1. it’s already too long and 2. Valentine’s AU is already my wip bad idea one-shot of the month(s) lol.)

Half ficlet/half random plot points.

4K words

First and foremost: Madara is a Hufflepuff. Seriously. The heir of the Uchiha, a well-known pure-blood Slytherin family*, has the hat on his head for half a second before it’s yelling Hufflepuff. Madara’s family is the single most important thing to him and he will protect them no matter the cost. That loyalty triumphs even a desire for power.

His house mates are terrified of him. In the first-year Madara’s mostly quiet and homesick so he’s a loner. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his reputation but he’s an Uchiha in Hufflepuff. It’s the talk of the town for weeks. That all changes in his second year when Kaito gets put in Gryffindor. Despite Kou being a former Gryffindor, he gets bullied and told he doesn’t belong in his house. Madara gets in five separate duels in the span of two weeks, manages to win despite the bullies being fourth and fifth years and one time doesn’t even wait for wands to be drawn before he starts swinging at one of them. His reputation is well-deserved now and he absolutely does not care as long as the Gryffindors are terrified he’s going to appear behind them if they so much look at his brother wrong. Kaito is resigned, expecting nothing less, but does manage to make friends with two muggleborns.

*The main Uchiha branch, before Madara’s generation, were one of the most pure-bred families and could trace a completely Slytherin legacy back to the beginning (though there were always rumors that a Veela or two intermarried.) And then Tajima fell head over heels for an extremely powerful muggleborn Gryffindor. The extended family was not pleased. To put it mildly. The heir is a half-blood and a Hufflepuff and the second eldest a Gryffindor. But at least Tajima didn’t marry a Senju, the family consoled themselves...

And speaking of, in his second year Madara also meets Hashirama. Hashirama, who is a Slytherin. He loves his family more than anything too but sees power and charm as the best way to protect them in the long run. Similar to Madara, he’s from a well-known family but the Senju before him had, at times, married half-bloods and muggleborns, but always were Gryffindors. Hashirama’s “defection” to Slytherin was not well-looked upon by his family, his house, or the house he was “supposed” to be in. He’s friendly and charming which is slowly winning people over, and incredibly powerful for his age. His and Madara’s first meeting is in the Forbidden Forest. Hashirama was out after hours looking for special plants, while Madara was out trying to spot a hippogriff. They run into each other and are very wary, but since they’re both second-years and they’re both breaking the rules...it’s not like one of them is in a “better” position than the other. Though with how many detentions Madara’s had for fighting his punishment would probably be more severe.

Somehow they manage to run into each other three separate times, before the incident happens. The incident being stumbling upon a dead hippogriff and her one newly cracked egg with an injured newborn. Madara sees the baby, the dead mother, grabs it and tries to run back to the school. Punishment be damned, it won’t survive and he doesn’t know healing spells. Only to run smack-dab into Hashirama who’s been gathering herbs and happens to know healing spells. Madara sucks up his pride, and wants to avoid detention, and asks for his help. Together, Hashirama heals the hippogriff while Madara goes to find it something to eat. They spend hours with the baby together, but they don’t know what to do with after. So Madara, in his 12 year old wisdom, decides to take it into the castle. Due to the sheer terror of his presence, he and Hashirama manage to keep it hidden between them for three days. When it eventually gets discovered, both boys get punished with a week-long detention and that’s the start of their friendship. They’re pretty inseparable after that and it’s comical, from a distance, to see a scowling Hufflepuff and a sunny Slytherin walking side by side. Not a lot of their interests overlap, but they’re both waaaay too into dueling, join the dueling club, and quickly rise to the top of their year until the other kids really don’t want to go up against either one.

They’re each others first real friend. Madara is stubborn and, let’s be real socially obliviousness enough, that he sticks with Hashirama no matter how many barbed comments come from the Slytherins, Gryffindors, or anyone else. Madara’s terrifying reputation has no effect on Hashirama, his first serious interaction with Madara was seeing him near tears holding an injured baby hippogriff after all, so his prickly demeanor and scowls don’t faze Hashirama.

Third year starts and Tobirama and Izuna are placed. Tobirama in Ravenclaw, and Izuna joins Madara in Hufflepuff. Tobirama tried to argue with the hat to place him in Gryffindor to please Butsuma, but that’s not happening. Izuna, similarly dedicated to family, isn’t a surprise to Madara but freaks the school out that there’s a second Uchiha in Hufflepuff and expect him to be like Madara. Izuna’s not. He’s sweet and innocent, and a terrible little prankster who no one suspects or can hold a grudge against. He’s also a little jealous of Hashirama for taking up his brother’s time and starts to wage a cold war against him. Hashirama thinks Izuna is adorable and it’s cute that he loves Madara so much, but like hell Hashirama is giving up his BFF. Tobirama thinks his brother is being childish and questions why he’s even friends with Madara in the first place, given Madara’s reputation and the fact that he still gets into fights though not as often. Kaito pretends he doesn’t know them, and only hangs out with Madara at school when Izuna and Hashirama aren’t around.

Fourth year starts, Yuuto, Reo, and Kawarama start their first year. Yuuto and Reo live up to the Uchiha name and are placed in Slytherin. They’re also Izuna on steroids when it comes to pranks, set up a prank business based on favors, and insert themselves as agents of chaos in the ongoing cold war between Hashirama and Izuna. They tell Hashirama it’s all about ‘house solidarity’ with matching sinister grins and Hashirama knows he’s walking into some ongoing sibling thing in the Uchiha family. Still, he accepts their help and in response Izuna ropes an unwilling Tobirama into his schemes. Madara is still oblivious. Kawarama also lives up to the Senju name and gets placed in Gryffindor. Ironically, he looks up to Kaito as one of the ‘best’ example of a Gryffindor, and starts to follow him around like a duckling. Kaito’s first pearl of wisdom is to avoid their brothers, unless they’re alone, or all together.

Fifth year starts and Itama is the last Senju to enroll. He gets placed into Hufflepuff and is absolutely terrified of the two older Uchiha in his house. Hashirama tries for a week to rope him into his and Izuna’s war and Itama blanches at the idea of acting like a spy, despite Hashirama’s protests that it’s not spying per se, it’s just keeping a very close eye on Izuna so Hashirama can get a leg up. Itama joins Kaito and Kawarama in the camp of “this is not my problem to deal with” and feels better about it even though it still means dealing with (another) Uchiha. Tobirama desperately wishes he was part of that camp. It all comes to a head before the Yule Ball. (I know it’s a Tri-Wizard tournament thing, but I want to use it.) Tobirama, fed up of Hashirama needling him, tells him if he wants a guaranteed night of uninterrupted peace where Madara’s attention is fully on him, just ask him to the Ball, third-years can’t attend. Tobirama was being sarcastic, but Hashirama takes the idea and runs with it. Runs all the way to Madara to immediately ask him on the spot. Madara who’s with Izuna. Who says yes with only a little bluster and two high spots of color on his cheeks.

Hashirama is ecstatic. He is over the moon and Tobirama is regretting every single life choice that brought him to this moment. Over the next month he bothers all of his brothers, ‘should I cut my hair?’ ‘which haircut looks better?’ ‘do I need to get new dress robes?’ ‘which style do you think Madara would like best?’ ‘how does this cologne smell?’ ‘which kind of breathmint smells better?’ He asks Tobirama the last one and gets met with a scathing look and a silencing hex that seals his mouth shut for the next two hours. Itama is still paralyzed at the thought of Madara so Kawarama ends up being the one Hashirama hounds the most. Kaito also gets dragged in as a ‘Madara expert’ bc he’s with Kawarama a lot.

The night of the Yule Ball comes and Hashirama, with uncut hair, new robes and cologne, and the fanciest kind of ten varieties of breathmint, sets out for his totally-not-a-date. Only to met with Yuuto on the stairs who wishes him luck. Hashirama thanks him and Reo, standing behind him immediately knocks him out with a stunning spell. They strip him of his fancy robes, tie him up, and leave him in a closet. Outside Slytherin’s dungeon entrance, Izuna’s waiting impatiently. The twins appear with a flourish, Hashirama’s robes in Reo’s hand and a polyjuice in potion in Yuuto’s. Family special. When Hashirama asked his brother out on a date right in front of him, it was time for Izuna to get serious. Even if meant sucking up his pride and asking his younger brothers for help. Yuuto and Reo like Hashirama but the chance to rub this in Izuna’s face forever? Him being eternally in their debt? So worth it.

Izuna takes the potion and clothes and meets up with Madara as “Hashirama”. He has one plan. Make Madara see how insufferable Hashirama is, so he stops spending every free moment with him and instead spends more time with his family. First he’s late and shrugs it off whenever Madara asks. They go to the Ball and “Hashirama” ignores Madara. Barely responds whenever he speaks or constantly interrupts him and talks over him. Dances with other people and the one time Madara mutters that he wouldn’t mind dancing, says he’s too tired and retreats to the snack table. Internally, Izuna feels equal parts thrilled and guilty. His plan is working perfectly, but he feels a bit bad he’s putting his brother through this, even though it’ll be better in the long run. He doesn’t even have to try and ignore him in the later half of the night, Madara sits by himself in a corner and won’t even look at or speak to “Hashirama.” They leave the Ball early and barely round two hallways, only the barest cover of ‘privacy’ before Madara whirls on him and starts yelling about how embarrassing and humiliating the entire experience was and why did he even ask him out if this was how he was going to act? Izuna sees the final nail in the coffin and and says he was confused and thought he liked Madara like that but decided he didn’t. He didn’t want to go to the Ball together, but he couldn’t think of a good way to tell Madara before. Izuna expects anger. Expects to see Madara’s infamous short temper and has prepared to flee with three distinct escape routes in mind in case his brother pulls out his wand.

He doesn’t expect Madara’s face to collapse in devastation. Or worse for his eyes to turn shiny with tears before he spins and starts stalking away. Izuna realizes how bad he’s messed up and tries to stop Madara. But the infamous temper sparks now, and he’s barely touched his shoulder before Madara’s turning and slamming his fist into “Hashirama’s” face. Izuna drops, unused to the pain and with a choked snarl not to follow him, Madara flees.

After a minute or two, Izuna picks himself up and dusts himself off. Only to immediately get shoved up against the stone walls as the real Hashirama comes flying around the corner, dressed in his undershirt and pants. He’s furious and for the first time in his life Izuna is actually scared of him. Hashirama demands to know where Madara is and what Izuna did. Izuna explains, in half-formed sentences, feeling like he’s about to cry. The more he says, the paler Hashirama gets until now he’s the one tearing up but his face is still twisted in rage. He yells at Izuna, how he would never do or say any of that, how important Madara is to him and how much he was looking forward to tonight. Izuna’s crying now, mumbling out apologies, and other partygoers are starting to happen upon them and see the very confusing sight of Senju Hashirama shoving Senju Hashirama up against a wall.

Hashirama drops him and tells him to go back to his dorm while he takes off after Madara. There is a chance Madara went back to his dorm but it’s unlikely. He doesn’t like to be around people when he’s upset. Hashirama checks the owlery, he peers into the magical creatures’ enclosure, he’s considering going into the Forbidden Forest or trying to get on a broom to check the skies, when he spots the greenhouse’s door cracked open. He creeps closer and hears someone sniffling inside. Peering around the corner, he can barely make out Madara’s dark form. It’s only because he’s sitting under the moon lilies in Hashirama’s portioned off area of the greenhouse he can see him at all.

Hashirama stumbles in as Madara looks up and yells at him to leave. Hashirama sees the tear tracks on Madara’s face and immediately starts sobbing himself. He moves closer despite Madara’s protests and eventually gets the full story out. Madara doesn’t yell at him to leave again and together they sit in silence under Hashirama’s moon lilies until he can’t take it and moves even closer, grabbing Madara’s hand. He doesn’t have his mints and his breath is still hitching from crying so hard, but he learns forward and kisses him. For one moment, Madara doesn’t respond and Hashirama thinks the night is going to get even worse before he finally reacts and kisses back.

They’re curled together under the moon lilies until the sun rises and the flowers wilt. Both of them are exhausted, but neither wanted to leave and burst their little bubble of peace. It lasts until a harried professor walks into the greenhouse and spots them. When neither returned to the castle, Izuna panicked and thought they were hurt so he told a teacher and the entire staff has been searching for them for a better part of the night.

Parents are called and there’s a conference. Tajima, Kou, and Butsuma can barely be in the same room together without wands or fists coming out. Soroko is sitting in the middle of it, trying to actually figure out why they were called in. Everything eventually comes out and Yuuto, Reo, and Izuna are punished for attacking another student, creating a polyjuice potion, and impersonating a student. Butsuma is torn between fury that three Uchiha attacked his son, and irritation that their ultimate goal, to separate Madara and Hashirama, failed.

And fail it did. If they were joined at the hip before, it’s nothing compared to now. The rest of their fifth year was a bit rocky with family dynamics. Izuna does apologize to both, but Madara’s disappointed and Hashirama’s not quick to forgive in this situation. Neither are happy with the twins either, but they were opportunistic rather than the masterminds. By the end of the year the worst has been smoothed over but Hashirama and Izuna still have an uneasy relationship. In groups, they’re fine, but it gets awkward fast if it’s just the two of them.

Sixth year starts and Hashirama and Madara are officially dating. The extended Uchiha family mourn, it’s Tajima all over again, and the Senju have to reckon with an unlikely friendship becoming an unlikely romance. And hopefully it’s just a teenage fling, but with the way Hashirama talks about their future after school, each career choice changing depending on the month but always the two of them together worries the Senju. There’s an attempt to arrange an engagement between Hashirama and Uzumaki Mito, a Ravenclaw who transferred in their third year, but it falls apart quickly.

Seventh year starts and those far off plans becomes reality as they pass their NEWTS and graduate. They spend a few years in a professional dueling league before eventually inheriting their fathers’ spots in the government. It’s a...bit awkward for the extended family bc they still hate each other but the heads of their houses are married and live together. In their spare time, Madara fosters and rehabilitates injured magical birds and Hashirama has a garden that is less of a garden and more of a forest with a lot of (illegal) magical plants. Tobirama is an arthimancer but dabbles in potions and he threatens to report his brother every week, but comes to collect rare ingredients because the shops never have the same quality. Izuna gets a respectable job in the Department of Mysteries, but moonlights as a diviner that reads people’s fortunes and scams them out of their money. Kaito has no interest in politics and is the only person in the history of hogwarts who wants to willingly teach history of magic. Kawarama becomes a defense lawyer in the wizengamont and is notorious for bringing up loopholes and obscure magical laws that haven’t been used since 1632. Yuuto and Reo open their prank shop...and low-key revive the wizard mafia. They always know someone, somewhere that somehow owes one of them a favor. They never get into politics and everyone, including the extended Uchiha family, are glad.

Misc. Facts about this AU

Kou’s abnormal power in this AU is that she cannot use a wand. She was taken wand shopping but all of them eventually...exploded. Kou’s magic reacted negatively with other magical focuses and she relies completely on wandless magic. Madara inherited that natural ability from her, but his magic doesn’t react negatively with his wand. It allows him to, at the height of his power, “double-cast” once with his wand and once wandless with only a slight split second delay between them. Meanwhile Hashirama has insane stamina and a weird ability where spells just...aren’t that effective against him. They work, but never seem to be at full strength. This is great for offensive spells, not great for defensive/healing ones. Hashirama’s own magic, however, reacts normally to his body.

Tajima and Butsuma are both politicians in the Ministry of Magic and their seats are the farthest apart in the room. They were rivals in school and it continues now. They even occasionally agree on policy decisions, they just hate each other.

Madara loves flying but he was banned from the school quidditch team. Kou is a professional player and he tried some of her prohibited moves. Namely, jumping off his broom, to drop down and grab a bludger and hurl it at the enemy before recalling his broom.

Hashirama has a fear of flying. He fell off a broom as a child and gets extremely nervous when his feet don’t touch the ground. He will fly with Madara, but his eyes are close the entire time and he’s clinging to Madara’s back.

Kaito and Kawarama are best friends. Not “best friends” like Hashirama and Madara’s love-struck romance or “best friends” like Izuna and Tobirama’s frenemy status, but actual good platonic friends. Kaito made the joke that Itama could make friends with the twins and then it’d all even out. Itama takes one look at those crazy two and bursts into tears.

Itama eventually gets used to Madara. They both love magical creatures and Itama is forced to see him a lot after hours. Madara still terrifies him, but at least he treats the animals nicely. The other three Uchiha still terrify him.

Mito transferred to Hogwarts in her third year. She’s a Ravenclaw and is friendly with the Senju, especially Hashirama and Tobirama. Hashirama is an endless source of amusement for her and Tobirama balances it out with interesting ideas.

Madara has a falcon for his pet instead of an owl. He was told it wasn’t allowed and responded by saying the falcon’s name was Owl. Why can’t his Owl be allowed in school? The administration is not amused.

Soroko is the most normal and level-headed out of the Senju/Uchiha parents. She reaches out to Kou once it becomes obvious Hashirama is determined to keep Madara as his friend, despite Butsuma’s disapproval. Once they start dating Kou and Soroko start meeting regularly for tea and lunches. She also has a bit of a mischievous side and likes Yuuto and Reo best (polyjuice incident aside)

The Uchiha’s maternal muggle grandparents are still alive. They usually visit for at least two weeks every summer and there are hijinks. Tajima still can’t stand muggle newspapers and their non-moving pictures. He despises muggle cars and traffic jams and still doesn’t understand what a TV is, but can turn the channel and raise/lower the volume. However, he loves fountain pens and scandalized the entire Ministry by exclusively using them after his father-in-law got him a fancy engraved set. Kou’s parents take the invasion of magic into their space remarkably well. Madara dragged in god only knows how many freakish alien looking birds from a supposedly normal non-magical wood. Kaito, as a child, refused to go anywhere for more than a day or two without the talking portrait of great-great-great-great-great grandma Uchiha. Izuna was sweet as sugar, but insisted on trying to cast every charm he knew on their furniture and clothes to show them, despite Tajima and Kou’s repeated warnings about underage magic and not turning grandma and grandpa’s couch into a miniature version of itself. And Yuuto and Reo were causing trouble before they could walk. Countless times Kou’s parents had to tip-toe around booby-traps in their own house that would dump frogs on them, or politely put smuggled howlers at the bottom of the mail pile to deal with later. They are very patient people. Very.

Kiddo Breakdown

Madara

Hufflepuff Interests - Dueling, Care of Magical Creatures (loves anything with feathers) Patronus - peregrine falcon Wand - red oak, phoenix feather, 12.5 inches, inflexible

Hashirama

Slytherin Interests - Dueling, Herbology, Healing Spells Patronus - brown bear Wand - english oak, dragon heartstring, 12.5 inches, springy

Kaito

Gryffindor Interests - DADA, History of Magic Patronus - canary Wand - pear, unicorn hair, 9 inches, pliable

Izuna

Hufflepuff Interests - Charms, Divination Patronus - ferret Wand - rowan, unicorn hair, 10 inches, inflexible

Tobirama

Ravenclaw Interests - Potions, Arithmancy Patronus - polar bear Wand - walnut, dragon heartstring, 9.5 inches, stiff

Yuuto

Slytherin Interests - Potions, pranks, entrepreneurship Patronus - coyote Wand - sycamore, unicorn hair, 10 inches, springy

Reo

Slytherin Interests - Charms, pranks, entrepreneurship Patronus - jackal Wand - sycamore, dragon heartstring, 10 inches, pliable

Kawarama

Gryffindor Interests - Transfiguration, History of Magic Patronus - lynx Wand - larch, phoenix feather, 9.5 inches, reasonably springy

Itama

Hufflepuff Interests - Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy Patronus - rabbit Wand - willow, unicorn hair, 11 inches, unpliable

#naruto #madara uchiha #hashirama senju #hashimada #madahashi #tobirama senju #izuna uchiha #kawarama senju #itama senju #kaito uchiha #yuuto uchiha #reo uchiha #kou uchiha #tajima uchiha #butsuma senju #soroko senju #hogwarts au #i swear this was supposed to be short....

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recluseraven · 3 years ago

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Sorry, I gotta review this album. Just some of my favorite moments from each song and general thoughts😊 But beware, this is a loooong review:

Welcome To Horrorwood - Love the part when I got jump scared by the beginning drop even when I knew it was coming 🙃 Such a good opening song, the breakdown was fantastic

A Rash Decision - Based on Cabin Fever, unfortunately have never seen it, but it's on my list now. Such a catchy, headboppin' song. Makes me wanna dance tbh. The choir bit was amazing

Assault & Batteries - Based on Child's Play, which I only watched after I listened to the song, but it was great. I fuckin' hate dolls, fuck that fuckin' doll. "Hey, Andy! IT'S TIME TO PLAY MOTHERFUCKER" Absolutely amazing. "Mommy! Mommy! My doll is alive!" Also love. "This two foot tall demonic doll will make you his bitch." The best lyric honestly. The whole song is just really fuckin' neat, okay?

The Shower Scene - Based on Psycho, an absolute masterpiece. The iconic theme incorporated was...just fuckin' incredible. But a piece of advice if you're as paranoid and irrational as I am, DO NOT listen to the song in the shower like I did. It gave me the heebie jeebies, embarrassingly.

Funeral Derangements - Based on Pet Sematary, I only watched the 2019 version but it was pretty good. Honestly, another jump scary beginning for me lmao. But hot damn, this song is heavy and awesome. "Oh my god...GAAAAAAAAAGEEEEE!!!" Genius. The chorus is so fuckin' catchy dude, I love it sm. "I played with Mommy, now I want to play with you." Uh...demon child, late abortion that thing. God, Spencer's purposeful voice cracks...perfection.

Rainy Day - I am such a big Resident Evil fan (the video games), so this song was amazing. Like I loved all of it, but the chorus was the best part. Can't tell ya how many times I've destroyed my vocal cords trying to sing that damn chorus.

Hip To Be Scared - AMERICAN PSYCHO, MY BELOVED. God just...ugh, everything about this song was perfection. The fuckin' 80's break in the song that turned into a breakdown...*chef's kiss* "HEY PAUL!" Screams, blood, gore, fleshy choppy noises. I love it. I love all of it. Sigh...I have to return some videotapes.

Take Your Pick - NSFW NSFW AHEAD......at that breakdown....I was throbbingggg. Literally, it was so sexy. I listened to it over and over and over...I've never seen My Bloody Valentine, but now I want to. The only thing I didn't really like was the "You'll be mine" parts, the voice is sooo annoying to me, which I guess may be intentional.

The Box - Sigh...never seen Hellraiser. Never really been a huge fan of body horror kind of movies like Saw, it just doesn't interest me. But the song was great! Lmao. Love the riffs, they're so good. I realllyyy love the chorus, so catchy. And the breakdown...unghhhh, I love a good breakdown. And Ryan Kirby...goddamn...I really need to listen to Fit For A King more

The Fly - Yikes, also never seen the Fly. Again, don't really vibe with body horror for the most part. But I might give it a try someday. But it's yet another catchy song. It feels more softer to me, kinda like the Love Bites of the album, but it's still amazing. "I'm not saying I'm, not playing God." Banger lyrics

Wurst Vacation - Okay, most of these movies I haven't seen lol. Hostel is now on my long list. But I fuckin' love the Rammstein vibes, along with the German lyrics. "Eins, zwei, drei, DIE!" Immaculate. The chorus!!!! I don't think INK can write a bad, non catchy chorus. It's impossible. and..."YOU'RE LIFE DON'T MEAN SCHEIßE!"

Ex-Mørtis - WELL GODDAMN. Haven't seen Evil Dead, but I have a feeling I'd like it ironically. This song is. so. GROOVY. It's incredible.

Farewell II Flesh - Now Candyman is REALLY a movie I need to see. But like, first of all, the Flight Of The Bumblebee incorporated in the song. Like...come on man, give me a break. Why is every song so goddamn clever. Ngl, I hate the buzzing in my ear, it gives me shivers, but I'll overlook it cause the song is such a banger. and AGAIN with the choruses ughhhhh fuuuu- Spencer's vocals!!! Fuuuuuuuuu-

All in all, this album was an absolute joy to listen to. 10/10, truly. It's so good and I'll be listening to it on repeat until my ears bleed🤘🏻

#ice nine kills #the silver scream 2: welcome to horrorwood

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kristoffs-lullaby · 4 years ago

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A Guide on How to Not Confess to Your Best Friend

(Hi!! This is late I’m so sorry ;; but here’s my part for the exchange! @ninjago-valentine-exchange) [ Plasma B | 2.9k words] Kai was awful with feelings. He might have played himself off as cool (or at least tried to) but when it really came down to it.. he was a mess. He could dish out flirty comments all he wanted but that didn’t mean that he knew what to do with them if the other party ever decided to retaliate. And that’s not something he figured about himself until Skylor. Maybe that’s why he’d liked Skylor so much. No he didn’t entirely enjoy the moments where his brain staggered and he looked like an absolute fool, but it made him want to try to keep up. If there was one thing he hated, it was being stunned into silence because that just meant he was losing. And Kai didn’t lose.

While things didn’t really work out with Skylor relationship-wise, he still learned something about himself. And maybe their whole dynamic and the loss of it was what led to the chain of events that he still couldn’t quite believe even as he was living through it.

Kai didn’t think much of it at first. That’s just how he and the other three Were. They teased each other. Poked fun at one another. Cracked jokes. And sometimes it would be at one another’s expense. Sometimes they’d take it too far and one of them would get pissed and the other wouldn’t understand Why until they had a much needed conversation about limits and boundaries.

But that never came up when this particular brand of teasing and banter kicked off and maybe it should’ve been obvious way back then that he didn’t mind Jay crossing this one specific boundary. But Kai was stupid and Kai was oblivious.

It started as an off-handed comment about how maybe Jay had chosen the wrong sibling to date when Nya refused to side with him in a very heated debate about cake. Like the traitor she was, she took Cole’s side on the whole thing. Kai was at least glad to see that there was no bad blood between the three of them when Jay struck an, admittedly, low blow by bringing up how Nya was backstabbing him for Cole again just like in their former relationship.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to witness SOME sort of drama. So he sided with Jay. Which led to an uproar. Which led to Jay saying what he did.

And it was a joke. Kai knew it was a joke. Nya and Cole knew it was a joke. And Jay had obviously meant it as a joke. There was that buffer though and he couldn’t understand why.

He reasoned with himself that he was having trouble keeping up with all three yelling at each other. All the while he was stuck in the middle and that was why he didn’t say anything immediately and instead took a swig of his soda. But even those few seconds he bought himself apparently weren’t enough because he didn’t even have the time to register the words he planned to say before his mouth had made the decision for him.

He was playing along apparently.

“Obviously. I’m much better looking than Nya anyway. Don’t know what you ever saw in her.” Kai hung his head and shook it in disbelief.

“HEY!”

It’d been months now and that one moment had spurred on their little unspoken challenge. A competition of sorts.

Really what they were doing was full on flirting with each other but they’d play it off as if it were a game between them to see who could fluster the other first. Until it wasn’t a game anymore. But neither of them was willing to admit that it wasn’t. And it grew to be a frustrating occurrence because everyone else knew what was up except those two idiots apparently.

Kai was currently winning though and that’s all that mattered. Yup. All that mattered.

“Hey Romeo!”

Kai’s head snapped up at the nickname. (There was something to be said about the fact that they’d gotten used to using them but he wasn’t about to be the one to bring it up). He watched as Jay jogged up to him before the blue ninja leaned over to catch his breath as soon as he was at a closer distance. Kai wanted to laugh at the fact that the guy was a whole Ninja and still ran out of stamina a lot quicker than Dareth. It was kind of sad, actually, but he couldn’t help the fond eye roll it got out of him.

“Hey Sunshine.” Kai supplied as he draped an arm over Jay’s shoulders lazily when the other boy finally stood his full height. “I’m guessin’ you have some big news. That or you’re dying to see me and I just took your breath away.”

Jay snorted and shoved at his chest before ducking under Kai’s arm and side-stepping away from the touch.

“No. And if you’re about to detail whatever daydreams you have about me it’s gonna have to wait-”

“Shit. Is there danger?” Kai’s face dropped instantly as a million and one bad scenarios ran through his head. Geez being a ninja was hard.

“No, no, no.” It was sort of cute the way the blue ninja waved his hands around frantically. He was so animated when he spoke and it wasn’t something that was lost on Kai. If anything it was something he found endearing. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. How could he? Jay made it incredibly hard to ignore him. That’s probably why most people he came across labeled him as ‘annoying’. And maybe Kai had used the word against him in the.. not so distant past. But it wasn’t exactly right. Jay just had that sort of presence that demanded attention and sometimes it was a bit overwhelming but.. it wasn’t exactly a bad thing either.

Jay tapped a finger against his chin and looked him up and down. ”Your fashion sense might be a danger to society.. but other than that?”

“You take that back. You’re just jealous I rock everything I wear.” Kai crossed his arms over his chest and squinted. The absolute nerve. This brat was asking for a beatdown during training later.

“Not jealous. Buuut. I do appreciate the view you’re right.”

“Why you-”

“Here.” Jay interrupted and shoved something in his direction.

It was wrapped haphazardly. It reminded Kai of something he’d whip together when he was like nine. Back when he hardly knew how to use scissors and the tape dispenser was one of the greatest enemies in his life. Ah the good old days. The longer he looked at it the more ridiculous it looked. It didn’t even look like it had been wrapped with the same wrapping paper all the way through. More like Jay had scraps of various different ones and decided to stick ‘em together. Which.. Actually suited him. This very much screamed JAY. But why was he giving this to him..?

“C’mon dude I know your favorite person in the world just gave you a kickass gift but you don’t gotta stare at it like it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life when I’m standing right here.” Jay sounded nervous. It was subtle and he played it off well (too well. Since when was Jay good at hiding it?) but Kai could tell in the way his voice rose just a decibel above its usual tone. It was also in the tic. Jay had a habit of looping one of the drawstrings of his hoodie around his finger when he was anxious.

“My bad. Hold on let me get a good look at you,” This was totally payback for earlier. “Yeah. How could I even question it. Nothing compares.” he determined with a wink to send it home.

Jay scoffed and was bordering on the edge of giving up this round too if the light pink dusting his cheeks was anything to go by, but in the end it looked like he was going to stand his ground this time. That was fine. This little exchange wasn’t over and Kai had plenty of time to sweep up a tally for the score from right under him.

Or so he thought.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

Which sounded a lot more dramatic than it really was but what the hell was he supposed to do with this?

Kai had spent that night restless. A restless night wasn’t foreign to him in any way. From time to time the red ninja had trouble sleeping. If he spoke out about how occasionally he’d lie in bed and just mull over every little detail from the past week, one of the other ninja would make some smartass remark about how Kai only found time to actually use his head at the worst possible time. Or maybe they wouldn’t and they’d understand. But he wasn’t going to try his luck. He’d rather protect himself than be vulnerable in a way he knew would hurt if they didn’t take him seriously.

But this time he wasn’t lying in bed thinking about all the morbid things that came with being a ninja. This time he was glaring daggers at the stupid red bracelet tied neatly around his wrist. Because what the hell?

It was so nice and sweet and yet.. Still the most sinister gift he’s ever received. Because while it left him with this feeling of hope and joy, he was also afraid that the same hope that was so innocently sitting on his wrist would burn him. He was the fire ninja and he was afraid of getting burned. How ironic was that?

Kai draped his arm over his eyes.

..And the smug look on Jay’s face when Kai couldn’t fight back the rising heat in his cheeks. Ridiculous.

It was fair when they stood on equal ground. When they met on a mutual battlefield. But now Kai’s gone and dug himself into a trench. No. He’d fallen into it. He liked Jay. Dammit. And he let him win.

Kai kicked his legs in the air in frustration before sitting up. That’s it. If Jay thought he was going to get away with this he was sorely mistaken. It was on and he was going to go all out. Go big or go home right? Right.

And a month later the plan was kicking into motion.

“Can you remind me why we have to dress up again?” Jay asked.

“We’re going undercover, I already told you.”

“Oh okay.”

Kai wasn’t sure if Jay actually believed him or not but he was going to take it. On the one hand that could’ve read as a sarcastic remark because no Kai wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed and didn’t think this plan all the way through BUT Jay was also the type to just take things as they were.. For a bit. At least until it finally settled in that he didn’t actually know what he was doing then he’d start questioning again. Which Kai was banking on it not being for a while.

“Well are you ready?” Jay looked up at him expectantly.

Kai would have loved to say ‘Yes’. He really would have. Except..

“I just realized I don’t know how to tie a tie,” his lips drew into a thin line. What he’d done certainly wasn’t right. He knew Jay wanted to laugh. He knew it. Kai didn’t even have to look up at the dumb amused smile on Jay’s stupid face to know that. But he did anyway. And sure enough there he was trying his hardest to hold one back.

Kai rolled his eyes and looked down again, the embarrassment washing over him just a little too roughly.

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Never really been invited to events and stuff growing up and well I mean who was gonna teach me anyway even if I had been?” his mouth snapped shut as soon as the words left his mouth. Sure he had a streak of not knowing when to hesitate but god damn since when had it gotten this bad? Probably a while ago. This was not the time to bring up his fucked up childhood and admittedly he wanted to move away as quickly as possible before he could get any sort of response dripped in pity.

But in true Jay fashion, the comment was the last thing he was worried about. And in true Jay fashion.. he was also full of surprises.

Before Kai could even apologize or change the subject, there were hands slowly guiding themselves around Kai’s neck. They were Jay’s, that much he could process before his brain started buffering. He couldn’t say anything or even react to the extent that he was internally. Which was absolute chaos.

Kai’s eyes flickered to the red fabric of the tie and lingered there for a second as he watched it being carefully tied in a way he knew would take him a while to master. His eyes wandered to the soft hands at work and he briefly wondered how they weren’t rough and scarred considering all the tinkering Jay did on top of ninja work. And then finally his eyes landed on Jay’s face and the way it was too adorably scrunched in concentration with his tongue sticking out and all.

It took him far too long to realize when Jay was finished and he begrudgingly added another point to Jay’s side of the scoreboard in his head.

Kai had to stop letting him stun him into silence.

..Some other day.

Because now they were staring at each other with Jay’s hands frozen in place on Kai’s chest and suddenly Jay was leaning in too close and- It was a kiss. It was a little messy and not at all how Kai imagined this going if it ever happened at all. But it was a kiss. And it was still perfect.

Kai had wondered before if he’d feel a spark of electricity or if Jay would be able to feel the hot fire that burned Kai’s body without mercy on his lips. Now he had the answer. Or at least half of one. But suddenly it wasn’t important anymore. Suddenly it couldn’t even come close to it being his first thought when he could taste the sweetness of Jay’s favorite banana yogurt on his tongue. Or when he tried to imagine literally anything softer than this moment but only came up short on that end as well. Or when his hand cupped the other ninja’s freckled cheek and it fit there like it had always meant to be there.

They pulled away after a few beats and Kai’s eyes snapped open and all too suddenly he was pointing an accusatory finger at Jay.

“You ruined it!”

“..Huh?” Poor Jay looked so lost and a little dazed.

“Your ruined it!” Kair repeated as if that helped any. “I was supposed to trick you into this whole “mission” thing,” he threw up air quotes “but really I was GOING take you to this very nice dinner that the whole team helped out with and surprise you!”

“And.. why can’t we still do that?” Jay looked at him like he was crazy and like he didn’t understand a damn word Kai was saying. Which.. fair.

“Because the whole point was to eventually tell you how I feel tonight and you were supposed to be so shocked by it and I’d get to see the look on your face and revel in it and finally get my revenge!”

“Huh..? Revenge for what?”

“THE BRACELET!” Kai held up his arm and pointed at his wrist where, sure enough, the red bracelet was still clinging to.

It took Jay a second or two but soon enough the realization was starting to dawn on him. And he laughed. The bastard laughed while Kai was fuming and beat red from the whole thing.

“But you beat me again,” Kai dragged a hand down his face and clasped his hand over his mouth trying to hide his blush as much as possible. “You got me. You beat me. I’m the most flustered and I-” he choked trying to form a coherent thought. Feelings were hard, how did he ever think he’d be able to push out an actual confession that night?

“You were one step ahead and I look like the fool again for letting this affect me so much.” In true Kai fashion he didn’t understand immediately that Jay having kissed him first meant something very very important. He wasn’t smart and he never claimed to be in his defense.

“Kai.”

“WHAT?”

Jay looked like he was considering something before eventually huffing a breath of air through his nose and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You know I gave that to you on Valentine’s Day right?”

“What?”

Jay pointed to the bracelet.

“Valentine’s Day. I was goooing to ask you out but. You kinda just stormed off like the whole thing pissed you off so.”

Oh.. OH. Kai was an idiot. He didn’t know how many times he’d have to repeat to himself that he was just flat out stupid until his braincells got the memo and actually did their job.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you agree to never talk about this again.”

“Throw in a kiss and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Deal.”

“Now how about that Dinner?”

Jay would later make fun of Kai for perfectly timing his whole scheme to fall on White Day. To which Kai would slide him another twenty to have the blue ninja pretend like he thought Kai had done it on purpose.

Next year he would get him back on purpose.

#ninjago valentine exchange #Plasma B #plasmashipping #ninjago #this is super nerve wracking geez

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

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here is a part 2 of my valentine’s day one-shot from the other day!! part 3 of them actually celebrating is coming fri, but wanted to make it a lil countdown:) also big creds to @udontfuckangie for their post about ian getting mickey stargazer lilies for valentines bc it… truly made me feel so many things and i had to write this

Ian didn’t really remember ever celebrating Valentine’s Day for real— not like everyone else in middle school or high school, like when Lip was off buying flowers for girls or Mandy was trying to get the guy she liked to ask her out— but he definitely remembered celebrating it as a kid, when he’d have to scrounge up some shoebox from under his bed and bring it to his overcrowded classroom to cover with colorful construction paper and make shitty valentines to swap with his friends. Those were the days when Frank was around some, and so was Monica— he remembered one year, when he was maybe 5 or 6, when Monica was there and he had come home with a thin pink slip of paper from his teacher saying that he needed to bring in valentines for his class. Monica had whisked him down the street to the dollar store where they’d ransacked the rickety shelves of all the art supplies they could carry, and then they sat at the kitchen table for hours gluing glitter to cut-out hearts.

So maybe that’s why Ian’s heart had melted last Sunday, when Franny had mentioned that she needed to buy valentines for her class at school— Ian knew it was stupid, or whatever, but he knew how far a few solid childhood memories could go in this neighborhood, how those types of moments were the stuff you lived on for years afterwards when things got harder and darker. So while he’d been caught up in so much shit lately, for a couple of hours on that Sunday afternoon all Ian wanted was for Franny to soak up that feeling like a sponge—to make memories with her like the good ones that he’d had with Monica, the ones that stood out and burned in his chest like a hot branding iron when he remembered them.

And then a yawning, sleep-soft Mickey had stumbled into the kitchen, and the three of them were nestled beside each other at the table doing fucking arts and crafts; and for some reason it made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and got him thinking about how fuck it, he wanted to give Mickey a Valentine’s Day this year— not in the weird, heteronormative bullshit way, but in the way that he could just kind of… show Mickey how much he meant to him, how Mickey still made his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his ribcage even after the years they’d been together. This was the longest time that he and Mickey had ever been together consecutively, the longest time they’d slept side by side before something dark curled its fingers around them and pulled them apart, and he wanted to do something to acknowledge that— something to start their forever, as fucking cheesy as that sounded.

Of course, Mickey had no concept of Valentine’s Day or any of that shit, which made the whole thing all the more perfect— Ian wanted to catch him off guard, wanted to pull them both out of the funk that had been hovering over them for the months after the wedding, when everything turned brittle and stale once the bills started to pile up. They were better now—or at least they were trying to be— but it still meant something that half of their time being married had been spent navigating a fucking global pandemic and squabbling with each other and barely making ends meet.

So now it was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Ian was standing on a busy Chicago street corner in the bitter cold, watching the bundled passersby briskly walk by to scramble inside and stave off the chill. Ian hadn’t been to this neighborhood since his days working at the club, or maybe once or twice when he was hanging out with people from the youth center; the pristine glass storefronts with minimalist displays nearly blinded Ian’s eyes after the past ten months of being accustomed to the crumbling paint-chipped architecture of the South Side. But he was here on a mission; in front of him stood the high-end, boujee as fuck florist’s shop, one of the top-rated ones in the city according to the quick search he’d plugged into his phone.

Ian normally didn’t give a shit about stuff like this— to him, a flower was a flower, and a chair for a wedding was just a goddamn chair— but he knew Mickey, for some reason this sappy shit was a whole lot more important to him, no matter how hard Mickey tried to hide it. All the symbols and the fanfare meant something to Mickey—it meant that they’d made it, that they got to have a normal fucking life together, beyond both of their wildest dreams. So if Ian had to brave a stupid, gentrifying flower shop on a chilly Friday afternoon to make Mickey happy, then that was what he was going to do.

A soft bell tinkled as Ian entered the shop, immediately surrounded by the nearly-bare shelves of minimalist bouquets. The store was incredibly cramped and narrow, with overly-peppy music playing low, and was packed tight with wire-rimmed glasses wearing, re-usable bag toting hipsters standing in a line all the way to the counter. Shit. This line was going to take all day—and who the fuck knew if they even had what Ian was looking for? A looming pang of desperation started to churn in the pit of his stomach as he lurked by the doorway. Fuck it, he had to do this.

Before Ian really processed what he was doing he was quickly darting past the line, getting a series of dirty looks from everyone he shuffled by.

“S’cuse me, coming through, floral emergency.”

Finally, he reached the counter, sliding in beside some girl in her mid-twenties with a punk haircut. “Uh, sorry, can I just ask if they have what I’m looking for real quick?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If you’re desperate enough to cut the fucking line, I’d say you’re worse off than I am. Men are fucking clueless.”

Ian nearly grimaced, but tried to twist his face into a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.” He turned to the cashier at the counter, a dude with a man bun and a floral button-up shirt who looked pretty amused by this whole situation.

“It’s the day before Valentine’s Day, honey. Everyone here is in a floral emergency.” The cashier sighed, looking Ian up and down appraisingly. “What’re you looking for?”

“Uh. I think they’re called… stargazer lilies? The ones that bloom at a specific time, or something? We were supposed to have them at my wedding, but then the venue got burnt down by my husband’s homophobic father, so we kind of had to pull the whole wedding thing together on short notice— it’s kind of a long story, but I really, really need to get these flowers for Valentine’s Day.” Ian leaned in close over the counter, hoping he didn’t look too desperate. “It’s our first one together and it’s been a fucking shitty year and it would just— it would mean a lot.”

Ian finally exhaled, and hoped by some miracle that this cashier, or someone in the fucking universe, would take pity on him.

The cashier pulled his glasses down to the bridge of his nose, tapping away at the iPad on the counter before glancing up. “Hmm. I’m sorry honey, you’re fresh out of luck. Those lilies bloom in the summer mostly, and no one around here really has them. You could maybe check one of the little flower shops down the street, they do special orders and stuff this time of year—but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if you’re gonna get these flowers by tomorrow.”

Ian felt disappointment bubble up inside him. Of fucking course there were none of these obscure flowers in Chicago the day before Valentine’s Day— he’d had this grand idea of giving Mickey a perfect Valentine’s Day, of starting off on the right foot, and he still put this shit off until the last minute and couldn’t give Mickey what he deserved. Mickey would’ve never made this mistake.

Ian cleared his throat. “Shit. Well, uh, thanks anyways.”

He turned, heading for the door and getting ready to be assaulted by the bitter cold again. Okay, there were a couple flower marts down the street, he could try that— but he had a sinking feeling that the results would be the same, that he’d be left empty-handed tomorrow with nothing to give.

Okay. Focus. I’ve gotta plan a bunch of shit for Valentine’s Day by tomorrow.

What would Mickey do?

The flat drone of the dial tone made Mickey’s head buzz, the same dull vibration he’d heard dozens of times that week. Finally, he heard the click of someone answering.

“Hello, this is Sizzlers, how may I help you?”

“Hi, it’s, uh, it’s Mickey Milkovich. Again. I’m just checking in one more time to make sure we’re all good for tomorrow?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, like the hostess was taking a moment to compose herself. “Yes, Mr. Milkovich. Since this is the… seventh time you’ve checked in in the past week, I believe, everything has definitely been arranged as you requested.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Uh, good. Thanks. We’ll be there for our reservation at 8.”

He clicked his phone off and flung it down onto the bed. It had been nearly a week since he’d decided he was going to try to give Ian some kind of Valentine’s Day like the normal fucking couple Ian wanted to be, but he had to admit, this shit was hard work; he had to think of the perfect place he wanted them to go, had to call and make a reservation and arrange everything perfectly— and then there was the matter of deciding what to get Ian, because apparently married people also got each other fucking gifts on Valentine’s Day, which sounded like overkill to him. He’d been scrolling through Buzzfeed “Valentine’s Day Gift” lists for the better part of the afternoon, and even snuck some of Debbie’s chick magazines into the bathroom to sift through articles like “Ten Things to Get Your Man for Valentine’s Day” or “Best V-Day Gifts for Newlyweds.” Finally, after fucking days of plans stirring in the back of his mind, Mickey finally thought he had all of the pieces together; the reservation was made, the timing was set, and he’d even stopped by some fancy fucking chocolate shop on the other side of town on the way home from the Alibi earlier that afternoon.

Everything was planned—now there was just one thing left to do.

Mickey grabbed the crumpled piece of paper he’d set on the bedside table, the one he’d been staring at all week. Fuck it. He grabbed a discarded pen from the windowsill, from the collection of pencils that Ian kept next to his notebooks.

Mickey sighed as he put the pen to the paper. Now comes the hard part.

part 1 is here! and part 3 is here!

#this has been such a fun lil distraction this week!!!#actual cute fluffy content coming friday lol #<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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homeformyheart · 4 years ago

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sticky notes - adam du mortain x f!detective (twc)

day 6 - decoration

author’s note: teeny tiny book 3 spoilers. i just thought the idea of adam keeping a secret valentine’s day-themed message to himself would be a cute image, so enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 13+; fluff word count: 1.5k based on/prompt: day 6 – decoration from #28dateswithunitbravo challenge by @wayhavenmonthly summary: regina leaves adam with a sweet valentine’s-themed note after he escorts her home.

sticky notes

regina rummaged around her purse until she felt the large, gaudy, heart-shaped charm at the end of a keychain. she inserted the key into the padlock, swinging the door open to the storage shed next to haley’s house, and used the flashlight on her phone to peer into the darkness of the room.

she shuffled inside after making sure there wasn’t anything on the floor that would trip her up, adam following close behind her.

“please explain to me why you are breaking into your friend’s home?” he asked, hands shoved deep into his coat pocket as he wrinkled his nose at the crowded, musty-smelling space.

“haley asked if i could pick up something for valentine’s day at the bakery. you could’ve waited outside,” she said pointedly, swinging her phone from side to side to examine the shelves.

“and what if someone had come after you? we’ve established that anywhere could be dangerous for you. i am here for your protection,” adam said firmly, his tone softening at the end in a way that made regina think that wasn’t the only reason. especially since he could still probably protect her from the driveway.

but she knew by now not to push him further on it. being patient was not her strong suit, but she was going to try and take farah’s advice, for all that it was worth.

“i do not understand why you have to do this. first of all, i do not think you should be encouraging the shop owner in her desires to test the boundaries of safety by changing her décor as often as she does. and secondly, as detective of this town, you have much more important duties to attend to,” adam grumbled.

regina chuckled as she began opening a few drawers and inspecting them briefly for the stickers that haley had specifically asked for. “first of all, you already know haley’s stance on that. and secondly, she’s not bothering me, i offered to swing by at the end of my patrol since it’s on the way home.”

adam put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. regina tensed at his sudden touch, heart beginning to hammer in her chest as she steeled herself to look up at him. the moonlight behind him cast a large shadow that hid every part of him except his hair and eyes, the green in them so full of tenderness and concern that it made her breath catch.

“why? why would you endanger yourself willingly like that?” he whispered, his voice strained as though he wanted to say more but for some reason was holding back.

“i don’t think doing a favor for a friend counts as endangerment. haley and i have been friends a long time and we trust each other. she asked me if i could pick something up for her if i was going to pass her house since she’s out of town. it’s not a big deal,” she said softly. “you worry too much.”

regina gripped her phone tighter to keep from thinking about how he hadn’t removed his hand from her shoulder and how she desperately wished she could somehow delay his realization of that.

his shoulders deflated and he let out a sigh. “i suppose i must keep worrying for the both of us,” he murmured, shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. “and make sure you don’t go off on your own without protection.”

a cold air of disappointment settled over them both, replacing the tingling warmth she felt from his hand just moments before. she never did well with awkward silences and swung back around to resume her search, waving her phone around haphazardly as a distraction, barely lingering on any one spot long enough for her to see anything in detail.

“you know that i can take care of myself,” she muttered. adam’s use of the word “protection” was starting to grate on her nerves. but maybe she could turn things back on him.

regina pretended to walk to the other side of the room to examine a nearby shelf, noticing in her peripherals that his gaze followed even though his feet did not.

“when are you going to just admit that you want to spend time with me?” she called out, avoiding his gaze and holding her breath. she wasn’t sure where she got the courage to flirt openly with him, since their track record proved that the likelihood of him shutting her down was incredibly high.

“this is not what i would consider valuable time spent together,” adam responded with a shrug of his shoulders. “lurking about in a stranger’s shed.”

maybe it was the darkness and knowing that she could face away from him that gave her the boost she needed. “we’re not lurking and haley’s not a stranger, but that’s fair. then how about admitting that you just can’t be away from me?” she teased, her voice tinged with hope as she moved to another shelf, angling her body so she could observe his reaction without making direct eye contact.

adam opened his mouth as if to protest but then closed it immediately as if he decided better of it. he gave her a long look before turning away and walking back outside the shed. regina blinked in surprise before the familiar signs of hope sprouted in her chest. she shook her head to push the thoughts out of her mind and resume looking for the colored sticky notes that haley wanted.

“found them!” she called out as she picked up the bright pink pack of sticky notes with various valentine’s-themed messages written on them like “with love,” “be my valentine,” and “be mine.” she smiled as she read a few examples, the notes even had space for someone to sign or write a personalized message.

very cute, she thought to herself as she pulled out a few and stuffed them in her pocket to take home with her before walking out of the shed and locking the door.

“this is the end of my patrol—” regina started, taking a step away from adam down the driveway.

he quickly moved to stand next to her. “i will escort you home,” his tone was as resolute as ever, so she just shrugged and kept walking.

the brief walk back to her apartment was silent but not as awkward as the tension between them earlier. her fingers wrapped around the notes she had stuffed into her pocket, the messages written on them swirling around in her mind. before she knew it, they were in front of her door, standing awkwardly as though waiting for the other to say something first.

“goodnight, detective,” adam said softly, giving her a stiff nod before turning on his heel.

“wait,” regina called out quietly. he paused and turned back to look at her.

she rifled through her purse for a pen and grabbed one of the sticky notes from her pocket, scribbling on it quickly against the door before closing the gap between them.

she carefully lifted the lapel of his coat so she could place the sticky on his shirt, above his heart. adam tried to look down at the note but she quickly covered it, rubbing her hand down the fabric to make sure it stayed in place.

“something for you to remember tonight by,” she murmured, mustering the last remnants of courage from earlier to look him in the eyes. “wait until you get back to read it, please.”

regina gave him a small smile before turning back to her apartment. adam watched the darkness of her living room swallow her up, but not before she gave him a small wave.

it didn’t take him long to get back to the warehouse, which was comfortably quiet given the late hour and he trudged slowly back to his room, replaying the evening’s events in his mind. he knew he was still pushing regina away, potentially hurting her in the process, but something about tonight felt different. as though she was coming to expect it and to his puzzlement, understand him.

which ironically, was what he was trying to avoid.

he took off his coat and peeled off the bright pink, heart-shaped note on his shirt so that he could take a closer look.

“you’re mine,” was printed in loopy, cursive letters. he would normally scoff at such a sentimental statement being reduced to a childish display of commercialism, but regina’s handwriting at the bottom changed everything about it.

all she did was simply sign her name.

and he knew, deep down, that she was right.

adam fought the urge to crumple up the note and throw it out, to avoid any more reminders of the dangers of getting closer to the detective. instead, he carefully picked up the picture frame on his nightstand, a simple black frame outlining the photo they had to take while undercover at the carnival and placed the sticky note firmly on the top right corner.

he ran his finger over the note to make sure it stayed in place, lingering over the way her signature looped and dipped across the paper.

he may still be unwilling to indulge in his emotions, especially outwardly in front of others’, but here, in the privacy of his room, he could let himself enjoy this moment.

* * * * * permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

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cavanaghcharactersxreaderfics · 4 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Earth-19 Harrison "HR" Wells/You, Earth-19 Harrison "HR" Wells & You Characters: Earth-19 Harrison "HR" Wells Additional Tags: More Fluff, valentines day, Romantic Fluff Summary:

As requested by Tumblr user Countlesswells: It’s been a good amount of time since he joined Team Flash but you’ve never really came around to speak to him. You’re much more reserved than the rest and that is what ironically draws him closer to you. His curiosity causes him to grow a crush on you. Over the course of a few weeks HR throws subtle hints and gestures expressing that you entice him. As the days begin to close in on Valentine’s Day he finally gets the courage to ask you out on a date.

HR Wells always managed to make a presence at STAR Labs. His arrival had taken everyone aback, and the discovery that his mind was far from a new Einstein caused tension. Eventually however, everyone settled into HR’s quirky and eccentric mannerisms. HR felt like he was finally home here at STAR Labs; he had friends and people who cared about him, they made him feel like he was important and had a purpose.

He managed to grow close to just about everyone except the one member of the team who usually hung back. They weren’t necessarily rude or unfriendly, but preferred to keep a distance. HR did his best to respect the distance, but found them to be alluring. They were a strikingly gorgeous individual, with distinct features and a kind smile that flashed every now and again when HR made a joke. HR knew very little about the distant figure, but something about them drew him in. Maybe it was the general mysterious aura, or maybe it was just his own curiosity. Whatever it was, his desire to break through to them was incredible, and HR was prepared to do whatever it took to get there.

You, meanwhile, were indeed quiet and reserved. You preferred a quiet moment of study in order to save up your energy for the outbursts of metas that were always just around the corner. HR’s undeniable energy in the building was occasionally distracting and you often found yourself looking up to him gazing at you with a curious expression splashed on his face. He looked upon you like a piece of art, which confused you greatly at first.

There would be times in passing when he would just give a simple compliment. Nothing forward or excessive, just something along the lines of “your hair looks great today,” or “your outfit is stellar, miss y/l/n.”

You always gave him a look, occasionally giving him a slight smile to reward his compliments. He always gave you the biggest grin in response to the smallest of smiles. You were perplexed by the short interactions you had with him. They were not unpleasant in the least, but his for a man so filled with caffeine and exuberant light, he was much quieter around you. It was almost a nice change to have someone respect your boundaries and not tell you that you need to get out more or need to be more social. He was respectful of your distance and quiet countenance.

You weren’t unfriendly in the least, despite what your exterior may have said to the world. You were guarded and cautious, which Team Flash admired, and they were grateful for what you contributed to the team. They were some of the few people in the world who seemed to genuinely understand you, and you were always willing to give back 100% to the people who gave you so much. Harry and you were always close, being similar in nature and personality. This was why you had been so cautious of HR when he first arrived. He seemed, at first, to be a very “in your face” kind of person and you had been pleasantly surprised to find otherwise through your moments together.

It was another cold winter in Central City. The late February wind practically blew you into the doors of STAR Labs. The sky was grey and cloudy with a threat of a snowstorm approaching. Shaking off the cold and stepping into the warm lab, you hung your coat and made your way through the circular hallways towards the Cortex.

A warm pink glow greeted you upon arrival causing you to smile. H.R., still hanging decorations, turned as he saw you walk in. He gave you his usual smile, spreading ear to ear and lighting up his pale blue eyes. “Y/n!” He said excitedly, jumping off of a step ladder where he was hanging paper hearts, “I take it you like the decor?”

“It’s definitely unexpected, but it’s really pretty. It’s also really early, how long have you been at this?” You questioned, looking around at the glowing pink lights, paper hearts, and pink tinsel that was strung about the cortex.

“Hmm,” he glanced at his naked wrist, “well considering I haven’t slept, I have been here for… a while.”

“You haven’t slept? Why not? It’s just Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t have to be as extravagant as Christmas, does it?” You giggled as HR passed you a cup of coffee.

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be horribly extravagant every year, but this year…” He paused, staring down into his own coffee cup, “This year deserves to be special.”

“Tell me now, HR, why is that?” You sat down spinning the chair round to face HR. This was the most conversation you had ever had with HR, you thought to yourself.

“Mon dieu! I thought you’d never ask! Well, this is my first time celebrating Valentine’s Day on Earth-1. My first time spending it with people I actually like and that, you know, seem to actually like me too. I know it’s usually a romantic thing and all that but, why not celebrate love for everyone? Friends, family, lovers, and, well, why not your dog or your hamster? I feel like so long as I’m here with all you guys, I might as well make the most of it, you know?” HR sighed, his long-winded expression of love completed.

You gifted HR your usual tiny smile, the corners of your lips barely turning up, “I think that’s a great sentiment, HR. It’s really sweet of you to do all this for all of us.”

“Funny enough, there is a bit more to this than just celebrating with BA or Francisco, I uh-” he paused again, “well, I have been meaning to, for some time now, well I mean I guess, I, hmm.” He stopped again, taking a moment to look around at the glowing pink decorations around him, “Ah, I guess there’s no need to beat around the bush here, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight? I know you aren’t usually super social and I respect that, I mean there are days when I don’t even want to look at myself in the mirror, but that’s besides the point. I just mean, you know, I don’t want to pressure you into anything but you’re very attractive and more than that you seem like a genuinely wonderful person and it would be my honor to spend my first Earth 1 Valentine’s Day with you, if that’s okay?”

You sat in your chair, a full fledged smile on your face as you laughed.

HR’s face fell as tears came down your face as you laughed, “I’m sorry I just, I shouldn’t have said anything I guess, I, forget it.”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he started to walk off. You jumped from your chair and caught his arm, “No! HR I’m sorry, it’s just, no one’s ever asked me out in such a lengthy and genuine mannerism. It was a surprise to me. I know I’m usually not the most talkative person but, I’m more than willing to go out with you. In fact, I’m the one who should feel honored to have someone as sweet and genuine as you ask me out.” You took his hand, “HR, I will absolutely spend your first Earth-1 Valentine’s Day with you. I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

HR absolutely beamed, “really? I mean, I’m honored that you’re honored that I’m honored. We can go wherever you want, we don’t have to go out either, we could stay in! I could make coffee and I could bake some biscuit-” you cut him off this time.

“HR, you’ve had too much caffeine already. Why not just go somewhere quiet for dinner, okay? Just the two of us, nothing big or loud, just quiet. Somewhere we can… talk.” You smiled.

“I would love, to talk to you, y/n. It’s all I’ve wanted.” HR put an arm around your shoulder, looking down at you with a smile. “Now, want to help me finish these decorations?”

“You have more?!” The room already looked as if cupid had puked on every surface.

“So SO many more.” HR said, deadpan.

“Well, hand me the string, let’s see how much we can cover Cisco’s desk in hearts.”

“You really are the woman of my dreams.” He dumped a bundle of paper hearts into your arms with a cheeky grin “let’s make some love.”

#hr wells x reader #Closer #toliveforwells #The Flash #general #fluff #Valentine's Day #HR Wells

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cavalierious-whim · 4 years ago

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All or Nothing (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | General Sylvain hopes that Felix likes flowers, even if he's a few days late.

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A/N: There's an adorable art that goes with this by the amazing Satodee, which can be found here! Read this fic here on AO3 for better quality, and you can follow me here on Twitter!

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Sylvain doesn’t usually think much of calendar dates, but the Pegasus Moon brings two things: Valentine’s Day and Felix’s Birthday.

The former never meant much in the past, usually full of empty promises and swooning women. Tangled limbs that don’t mean anything other than a night of trying to forget. The latter, though, is something that’s been seared into Sylvain’s brain, impossible to overlook. Some years are easier than others because Felix is within reach. It’s the separation that makes it difficult, so having Felix nearby for the first time in years has all but fried his brain.

Neither of them will admit it; this thing, they’ve been dancing around it for years. This go-around, Sylvain's made the decision to finally do something about it. Five years is a long time to feel empty and war kind does things to a man’s brain. Like, give you a sense of urgency.

Ironic, considering that Sylvain’s the kind of person to care for himself last.

He’d gone and fucked it up the last battle, getting injured. Byleth looked none-too-happy, lips pulled into a sour frown. Then he’d waved at Mercedes and turned away. Mercedes at least, bless her fucking soul, was kind. She’d helped him to his tent with soft words, soothed over his wounds with warm hands, and suddenly, Sylvain wasn’t kind of dying anymore.

Felix has visited every night, but only to yell at him. Sylvain will take any crumb of attention that he can because Felix so rarely bestows it of his own regard. Usually, it’s like pulling teeth or backing him into a corner. For some reason, Felix has been going out of his way more and more lately.

Sylvain’s doing better. It’d taken a few days but he’s right as rain now, able to stand without much pain and stretch one side and then the other without busting a stitch. Mercedes always helps, but she doesn’t make it easy. She says that healing the old-fashioned way is good for the soul, even if she speeds up the pace.

Because he’s finally on his feet, Sylvain has an errand to run. He sneaks out of his tent, doing his best to keep a low profile.

“It’s going to cost you,” says Anna, tapping her finger against her chin as she gives Sylvain a wide smirk.

“Anna,” says Sylvain, “Darling, dear, peddler of mine. Undoubtedly the best smuggler around--”

“Fancy words and compliments don’t pay for more goods.” Anna crosses her arms over her chest. “Though, it’s not a bad start.”

Sylvain leans forward and whispers in a low voice. “Two day’s pay and I’ll throw in a grilled golden trout.”

“A week’s pay, fuck the trout, I want beast meat teppanyaki instead. You’re the only one dumb enough to go out and fight one on your own.”

“That’s not much of a bargain,” says Sylvain, trying to strike a deal.

“They’re out of season.”

Well, she’s got him there. “The Goddess will smite you one day,” says Sylvain, mouth twisting into a frown.

Anna smiles at him and gives him a wink. “Nah, I think the Goddess would enjoy a hard bargain. Hard work and all that.”

“Five day’s pay,” Sylvain counters. “I’ll still get you the beast meat though.”

Anna taps her finger against her chin as she thinks, and then smiles. “Alright, Red. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She reaches out and he shakes her hand, feeling like he’s just made a deal with a devil. Working with Anna is often like that.

Still, worth it. He grabs the goods and is on his way.

When Sylvain finds Felix, he’s cutting firewood for Flayn. Sylvain watches as he gathers it in his arms and figuring that Flayn is likely to keep his secret, he chooses that moment to go up. When she sees Sylvain, she flashes him a smile and wink and slips away to leave them alone.

“Flayn,” says Felix, his back turned. “Where--” He stops dead at the sight of Sylvain, mouth floundering as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Felix,” says Sylvain.

“Sylvain,” says Felix in a low hiss. “What on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be back in your tent. Resting. Not moving. Healing up.” Sylvain can hear the implied dolt in his words.

“I’m fine. Look? I can move--”

“Not the point, you absolute dolt.” Ah, there it is .

Sylvain pouts. “Felix, I came here too--”

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” says Felix.

“I mean, yeah, it could. But I don’t want to wait.”

“For what?” asks Felix.

Sylvain falters for a moment, biting his lip. This definitely isn’t the way that he expects this to happen, but as far as confessions go it can definitely be worse. Besides, Felix isn’t an idiot, he’s probably figured out a thing or two. Hopefully. Otherwise, all of this will be entirely out of the blue.

“Felix, I--”

“OH, MERCEDES, FANCY SEEING YOU HERE!” Flayn suddenly yells from around the corner, just a little bit too loud. Sylvain winces but he knows a warning when he hears it. He’s got about a minute to get this done before Mercedes appears, sees them, and rips him a new one.

Mercedes is the kindest healer when warranted, but she can be absolutely brutal when it comes to punishment. Oh, Bless your heart, she’d say before pulling the bandage just a little bit too tight for comfort.

“Okay, so here’s the jig, Felix. Happy late Valentine’s and Birthday, and also, I love you.” Sylvain shoves the bouquet of flowers towards him and Felix has to drop the armful of firewood to grab them.

Felix gapes at him, looking like a fish out of water. And then he says dumbly, “These are sunflowers. And tulips.”

“Yep.”

“These are out of season.”

“Also yep.”

Felix’s face turns a delightful shade of pink as he looks anywhere other than Sylvain’s face. “Idiot,” he says. “You fool, get out of here before Mercedes murders you.” There’s a pause. “We’ll… talk about this tonight.”

Sylvain’s heart doesn’t just flutter, it flips upside-down entirely, but in a good way, not that dread in the pit of your chest way. “Yeah? Tonight?”

“Yes! That’s what I said!”

Sylvain impulsively leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of his forehead, much to Felix’s horror and embarrassment. But, he doesn’t pull away.

“Sylvain,” snaps Felix in that beloved, incredibly vexed tone of his.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” says Sylvain. “Tonight though. My tent.” Then he winks.

Felix scowls and shoots him a rude gesture, but then cradles the flowers close to his chest, carefully. Good sign. Sylvain does as he’s told and backs away, managing to make it to the tent before Mercedes sees him.

When she comes to the tent later to check his stitches, she’s a little rougher than usual and Sylvain knows that he’s been caught. But she doesn’t say anything, only pats his bandage gently before she sends Felix in.

He’s a contradiction, saying both kind and not-so-kind words. But that’s what Sylvain loves most about him; he’s a man of many sides. Never boring. And, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

In the end, Felix stays and for once in his damn life, Sylvain’s happy.

#sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #felix x sylvain #sylvain/felix #fe3h #fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #sylvix

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Found

Working until midnight at their bakery doesn't usually have a lot of perks but Eskel wouldn't trade Jaskier crashing into his life during one such evening shift for anything...

A/N: just a chaotic lil origin story for an au that’ll only exist in oneshots bc i’m not organised enough for another proper wip-

Morhen Cares Bakery wasn’t particularly well-known.

In fact, as bakeries went, it was just about average and it stayed comfortably just about average until Jaskier came into the picture. Well, crashed into the picture.

Their bakery is usually open until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays because Vesemir insists on giving people who don't want to drink a place to spend the evening, even though Lambert very pointedly grumbles about him caring more for strangers than the nights out of his own children whenever he happens to be on the evening shift. Nonetheless, the lights in their bakery only go out when it hits midnight on those days, just like clockwork.

Unlike clockwork, the little bell above the entrance chimes frantically as the door swings open just before twelve on one such Friday that just so happens to be the incredibly busy Valentine’s eve, where everyone had decided they wanted to buy their crushes and loved ones baked goods for some reason.

“We’re closing,” Eskel calls tiredly.

“I only need your last minute!” someone whisper-yells, and Eskel frowns, glancing over the counter.

The man who’s currently gesturing at the clock with desperate hope doesn’t wait for him to reply before literally launching himself over the counter, then scrambling backwards so he’s as close to the counter as possible, leaning against it and breathing heavily.

Eskel only has time to frown before someone else peering through the window and bursting in, once again sending the little bell above their door into a frenzy. At the same time, the stranger on the floor clamps his hands over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Is he here?” the second stranger demands, icy malice in his voice.

Praying that he’s not making the wrong assumptions about who he’s meant to be supporting here, Eskel just folds his arms. “We’ve closed now. Unless you’re looking for me, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Eskel watches as the man’s eyes travel to his scars before he visibly grimaces, his upper lip curling in disdain, and shakes his head. “No, I doubt you could,” he mutters before leaving just as obnoxiously as he’d arrived.

The stranger curled up at his feet lets out a shaky exhale, distracting him from his brief flare-up of self-consciousness, and looks up at him with a gratitude so heavy, Eskel literally has to take a step back. He has no idea how the other man interprets that but he’s springing up and smiling before Eskel can think to apologise.

“Thank you. Gods, thank you for that,” he whispers.

“Yeah, no problem,” Eskel replies, then frowns at the way the other man seems to be swaying on his feet. “Are you alright?”

There’s a moment of silence before the man lets out a strained chuckle. “I’m very sorry but I think I’m going to pass out now.”

He thinks right.

Cursing, Eskel lunges forwards to catch him as his eyes flutter shut, twisting to one side as they both fall and landing in an awkward heap but thankfully managing to avoid head wounds for either of them. He has no idea what the protocol is for unconscious strangers at midnight but he can’t just leave the man there so, with a sigh, Eskel lifts him up with one hand under his knees and the other supporting his neck, carrying him into the office at the back.

He only really panics after he finishes closing everything up to find the stranger still lying on the couch, showing no signs of waking up but mercifully still breathing. The only bright side of the situation is that, ironically, he no longer feels tired himself.

“What happened?” Vesemir asks through the phone as soon as he picks up, having reached that point in life where he’s wise enough to know when something’s wrong without anyone having to tell him.

Eskel rubs the back of his neck as he glances back over to the stranger. “Uh, what are you meant to do when someone passes out for no apparent reason?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, wishing he’d at least said hello first, “but someone came in just as I was closing and now he’s lying in the office and I don’t know what to do.”

“Where are they others?”

“They left a little earlier, I said I’d lock up for today,” Eskel replies, and as much their whole family is prone to lying for each other, that’s actually the truth this time.

Vesemir starts saying something but Eskel is distracted by a soft groan behind him. As soon as he sees the stranger stirring, he sighs in relief. “Wait, he’s waking up. I’ll call you back if it’s anything serious.”

“Make sure he’s not in danger before you let him go,” Vesemir tells him, “and give him something to eat so he doesn’t pass out again.”

Eskel smiles at how fiercely Vesemir continues to just generally care and hangs up even as he’s saying his goodbye, walking over to the stranger and offering him a smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Not even slightly concussed,” the man replies as if he’s well-acquainted with waking up to concussions, which does absolutely nothing to soothe Eskel’s worries. After a second, he adds, “Thank you for your minute, by the way.”

Eskel raises an eyebrow. “It’s been a little longer than that.”

He means for it to be a joke but the stranger sits up with a guilty frown. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I just really needed a place to hide and I remembered Schro- uh, my friend telling me about this cute bakery that stays open really late and man am I glad I found you but I didn’t mean to ruin your plans, I’m so sorry! You probably had somewhere else to be by now and I totally just interrupted, I swear I’ll make it up to you and- oh hell, you don’t look very impressed, I’m going to go now!”

Or at least he tries to, only to stumble and fall into Eskel when his legs wobble.

Eskel blinks. “Maybe you should take it easy,” he suggests, gently but firmly guiding the other man so he’s sat back on the couch, perching next to him just in case he topples over for a third time.

“Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea,” the stranger mumbles, melting into the cushions as he curls his arms around his stomach.

“Are you hurt?” Eskel asks.

“No, I’m Jaskier,” the man, apparently Jaskier, retorts with a grin.

Eskel snorts, then remembers how worried he still is. “I don’t think having a particular name makes you exempt from injuries.”

He’s strangely pleased with the way Jaskier’s lips curve into a smile and the guilt in his eyes morphs into a sparkling amusement, but he’s also confused as to why he’s paying attention to those details when there are more pressing matters on hand.

“But really, are you hurt?” Eskel repeats.

Jaskier shakes his head, still smiling. “I’ve had far worse, I promise. Just some bruises that are definitely worth the chance to meet you.”

And because the night seems to be against him, he feels himself blushing.

“You are truly the stuff of sonnets,” Jaskier breathes. At that, Eskel scoffs; he’s well aware that he’s the least attractive member of the Morhen family and he really doesn’t need two strangers attempting to mock him in the same night.

“No no no, don’t do that. I promise I’m being honest, I swear on my mother’s grave!” Jaskier blurts, then claps a hand over his mouth. “Ignore that last part, my mother doesn’t even have a grave yet.”

Eskel is trying really hard not to laugh when Jaskier continues, “Amendment, I swear on all things Shakespeare that I am very definitely not pointing out how handsome you are in jest. Is that better?”

“Why Shakespeare?” Eskel asks, but in truth he’s already convinced.

Jaskier shrugs. “I’ve written several dissertations on his work and I can’t think of many other people I’ve suffered through countless sleepless nights for.”

Well, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Eskel’s not entirely sure he trusts him just yet but well, Vesemir had instructed him to offer the stranger something to eat so he might as well make good on that promise if nothing else.

“Would you like a cookie? We probably have some leftovers and you seem like you could use one.”

Jaskier blinks, then beams at him. For about a second before his face falls and he deflates. “I don’t have any money.”

“Something to do with that guy chasing you?” Eskel asks quietly.

Jaskier nods. “Yup! Excellent deduction, Sherlock.”

“Who?” Eskel asks, frowning.

Jaskier makes a strange, screech-like noise of disbelief. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding. Oh come on, surely you’ve heard of the most famous fictional detective to ever exist?”

He really hasn’t. And it must show on his face because Jaskier sighs loudly, then points at him accusingly. “I am going to make you watch every Sherlock-related piece of media with me as my way of thanking you for all this and that is a promise.”

“It’s half past twelve,” Eskel points out, “and I have work in the morning.”

“Yeah, and? So do I,” Jaskier retorts, then scowls. “Although I’m pretty sure I’m about to be fired permanently this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Eskel offers.

Jaskier waves a hand. “It wasn’t worth any tears. It barely paid the bills and everyone there was so stiff, it was like being the only human on a planet of robots. Androids. Cyborgs? Whatever, you know what I mean.”

Eskel doesn’t think he does, his family is absolute chaos and he loves them for it. He can’t really fathom what kind of job Jaskier is about to lose but to be honest, he’d rather stay ignorant than work in any place like that.

“Is that offer for cookies still on? I’ve just been struck with the inevitable melancholy of being cast aside by yet another establishment,” Jaskier tells him theatrically, as if he’s auditioning for something.

“Of course,” Eskel assures him, which is why they find themselves in the kitchen a few minutes later.

Jaskier hops up onto the breakfast bar Geralt had made them install for Ciri’s sake and swings his legs back and forth as if he’s her age until Eskel gets out the batch of leftover cookies, laughing when Jaskier immediately reaches for them with what can only be dubbed as grabby-hands.

“Woah, these are phenomenal! What do you put in them, essence of unicorn?” Jaskier asks, his words a little muffled by the cookie in his mouth.

“We stick to the more acquirable vanilla essence, actually,” Eskel corrects, taking a bite of one the cookies too, only because he feels awkward just standing around watching someone else eat.

“Huh, didn’t take you for a strictly vanilla kind of guy,” Jaskier says casually, and Eskel promptly chokes on a chocolate chip.

He can see Jaskier nervously biting his lip as he recovers so, as smoothly as he can manage with a slightly croaky voice, he asks, “What kind of guy do you take me for then?”

Jaskier grins wider than should be humanly possible, leaning forwards so his elbows are resting on his knees and his chin is balanced on his palms. “You tell me.”

“Maybe another time, when I’m not afraid you’re going to collapse again at any moment,” Eskel practically mumbles, not sure where this spark of confidence is coming from but not exactly complaining because it’s actually pretty nice.

“Well, perhaps if you weren’t so handsome, I wouldn’t keep falling for you.” Jaskier has the audacity to wink, at which point Eskel gives up on the cookie altogether in fear of death by being flirted at whilst chewing.

Jaskier gasps before he can form a reply, apparently having caught sight of something behind him. “Look at that, it’s technically Valentine’s day! Oh, please tell me your shift ends earlier tomorrow? Or uh, today?”

Eskel blinks.

“Yeah, I��m here from noon to six, we never have the same people working the late shift both days for general health and safety reasons,” he replies, internally thanking whatever lucky stars he has for that calendar coincidence.

Jaskier looks about as excited as Eskel feels. “Well then, unless it’s a matter of life and death, you’d better cancel any plans you have after six!”

“Oh?” Eskel raises an eyebrow.

Apparently understanding that Eskel didn’t have any plans anyway, Jaskier smiles. “I’ll take that as your version of a yes.”

He slides off the breakfast bar with another blink and you miss it hiss of pain but straightens up before Eskel can question it, grinning. “So it’s a date! Well, I suppose it’s actually a time, but that doesn’t sound even nearly as romantic.”

“Both sound alright to me,” Eskel laughs.

“So you’re happy for it to be a date date?” Jaskier asks incredulously, but Eskel blames his tone on the fact that it’s nearly one am rather than someone who looks so adorable genuinely being surprised at anyone wanting to go on a date with him.

Either way, Eskel nods tentatively. “If that’s what you want?”

With the exact opposite energy, Jaskier nods so quickly that Eskel fears he’s going to give himself whiplash or something and grins again. “There is legitimately nothing I could possibly want more.”

Eskel snorts, gesturing to the other cookies to try and take the attention away from how warm his face is suddenly becoming. “You seemed pretty excited about those not long ago.”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. “Why settle for the creations when you have the handsome creator himself?”

Well, there’s no way he’s hiding the heat on his face anymore. Especially not after he meets Jaskier’s gaze and finds nothing but sincerity in his ridiculously bright eyes, not even the slightest hint of taunting at all.

“I should probably go,” Jaskier whispers eventually and if Eskel didn’t know better, he’d say he almost sounds sad.

A little thrown off, Eskel just nods. “Yeah, yeah, of course, it’s pretty late. Here, I’ll walk you out.”

Jaskier waits patiently enough as Eskel locks the kitchen up behind him and grabs his coat from the office, leading them both to the rear entrance and locking that door behind them too. It’s only once they’re outside that he realises Jaskier is only wearing a shirt and jeans which, no matter how inexplicably good he makes them look, aren’t exactly suited to travelling anywhere so late at night.

“Do you need a ride home or…?” Eskel offers.

But Jaskier just shakes his head. “No, I was headed to a friend’s place anyway, she doesn’t live far from here. Don’t worry, I won’t take up any more of your time right now. Though the same can’t be said for this evening.”

“I can’t wait,” Eskel admits honestly.

“Until six, my dear valentine!” Jaskier blows him a kiss before starting to walk away, practically sauntering into the darkness like he owns the night and turning a corner so not even the streetlights can keep him visible before Eskel remembers that he’s meant to keep breathing even when he’s by himself.

Maybe he’s finally found a reason to forgo cursing Cupid in favour of thanking him this year.

i wrote this whilst procrastinating so if you see any plot holes, no you don’t-

also, here’s the ongoing masterlist for this au if anyone happens to be reading and is interested :)

thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #fanfiction #bakery au #modern au #eskel #jaskier #meet cute #more like meet-weird but hey #hurt jaskier #insecure eskel #protective eskel #chaotic jaskier #idk why i try explaining stuff with tags but i do be trying #hurt comfort #my writing #morhen cares au #tbf

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bigcherry · 4 years ago

Text

Priorities

A/N: I debated on giving this a happy ending, but all you’re getting is pain! Surprise!

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Jealousy & heavy angst

“. . . Everything okay?” Your eyebrows drew together to shoot a look of concern towards your girlfriend.

Jill raised her head from her desk, giving you a curt smile before promptly hanging her head low and going back to work. Her hands feverishly wrote down big, bold letters; black ink seeping through the thin paper layers as she continued to press through with each word. Sighing, you place a hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s take a break, Valentine. We’ve been at this for hours now and I know you stayed late last night when I went home,” Jill’s half-lidded eyes gave you a small glance. “I’ll buy you lunch?” You added, a pleading tone now lacing your words as you hoped that you had won her over. Jill’s steely gaze met yours, shaking her head lightly as she continued to thumb over the manila file in her hands.

Barry gave you a worried glance and scratched the back of his head. Chris shrugged his shoulders as he made his way to you. “Is that lunch offer still valid? I’m starving.” He shot you a lopsided smile. You were thankful to have a best friend like him. Giving Jill a small kiss on the cheek, you told her you would be out with Chris for a little bit. When she didn’t respond or nod her head, you rolled your eyes as you grabbed your coat from its hook. Opening the door for you, Chris quietly shuffled behind, watching as you stormed out of the bullpen. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he listens to you intently on the walk to your favorite pizza place near the station.

______________________________

“She’s just becoming so distant lately!” You threw your arms up in frustration, garnering the attention of everyone within the outdoor section of the restaurant. Wincing, you withdrew your hands to your side as took your seat across from Chris.

“Y/N, come on now. You know Jill wouldn’t do that to you. She loves you.” Chris reasons, leaning his head on the back of his knuckles. Scoffing, you couldn’t help but disagree.

“It certainly doesn’t feel like it,” You crossed your arms, pressing your lips to a thin line. He stirred circles with his straw, making the ice in his cup clink against the walls. “She’s coming home late, throwing herself into work, and on top of that, she’s not even talking to me.” A lump in your throat grew ever so present as you dug your fingers into your scalp. Chris reaches out to rub your back. A solemn look crosses his features.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll find a way to get her off work. The amount of overtime she’s put in can’t be good for her health. Albeit a low blow, but Chief Irons has been looking for an excuse to get Jill off this cold case. I can probably get her a few days off if I take it over. But from there, it’s all up to you.” Chris wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to comfort you. The sudden beam of your smile made him chuckle.

“You’re the best.” You hugged him tightly.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Chris huffed in your grasp.

When the waiter came by with your orders, you noticed that Chris’s order was substantially bigger; plates of food settled down on the table with a resounding thud, forming an arc around him. You’ve never even seen some of these items on the menu before. As your eyes grew wider and wider, Chris threw his hands up in self-defense.

“What? I’m a growing boy!” He tucked a napkin into the collar of his shirt. Giving him a slight jab to his shoulder, you shook your head. “You said you were paying. Can’t go back on your word!”

Both of you continued to go back and forth with one another, bickering between bites as your lunch hour flew by.

______________________________

The rest of your workday went as usual: filing your team’s most recent mission into the database, talking to Chris and Barry about who’s better at guitar, and wrapping up with cleaning some weapons in the arsenal. At five o’clock, it was time to finally clock out for the day. You made your way to the locker rooms, quickly changing out of your S.T.A.R.S uniform and donning on your civilian clothing. Going back to the office, you saw Chief Irons talking to both Chris and Jill. By the looks of it, Chris’s plan seemed to be going well.

Jill’s face broke into an exasperated expression as Chief Irons gave her an ultimatum that she didn’t seem to like. Leaving no room to argue, the Chief left without a word, waddling away from her as fast as he could. When he met your gaze in the hallway, you gave him a short salute and watched as Jill harshly pushed past Chris and stomp back into the office. You ran up to the brunette, shaking his shoulders as you demanded to know what happened.

“Guess which Redfield just got your girlfriend a paid vacation for three days? Hint: it’s not my sister.” He flashed his pearly whites, a crooked smile appearing. You gave Chris another hug, wrapping your arms around his ribs in a crushing hold. He wheezed for you to get off of him as he gently shrugged you away.

“She’s really not happy right now, so I’d tread carefully. But hey, with paid vacation days, she shouldn’t be complaining.”

“I hope you know I’m treating you to the biggest feast when this is over. And paying for every morning’s visit to Moon’s.” He gave a light laugh as he waved you away. “I know, I know. Just focus on Jill for now. Time’s ticking, y’know.” And with that, you gave him one final hug and bid him goodbye as you entered the office.

The atmosphere was tense, with Jill shoving files into random cabinets, letting out small huffs as papers crinkled with ease. You watched intently as she tore down the bulletin board full of red thread and clipped newspaper articles, making everyone in the room flinch with every wad thrown on the ground. Gently tapping her shoulder, you tried to get her to calm down, but to your surprise, she didn’t even lookup. The surrounding officers, even Wesker, shrunk in their seats, some of them going as far as to leave the room entirely. You wrapped your hand around Jill’s arm, your eyes pleading for her to stop. She broke her arm free of your grasp, her face reddening by the second.

“This is your fault,” The brunette says, pointing her finger towards you with vigor. “I finally got somewhere in this cold case, only for Chris to take it away from me. I can’t believe you.”

Your eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, attempting to not let your emotions get the better of you.

Jill all but rolled her eyes, not hesitating to give you a counter. “You spend all your time with him now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was your boyfriend.” She says bitterly, her tone of voice becoming colder and colder.” You give her a crazed look, opening your mouth in awe.

“Do you think I’d really cheat on you? We’re just friends! How could you not trust me?” The distance between both of you grew by the moment. Jill scoffs at your statement, packing her things in her bag hastily.

“It’s like you don’t even try to hide the fact that you like him. Touching his arms, flirting with him, and now I’m hearing rumors of you two going out on a pizza date today? And that hug outside the office? Don’t think you’re slick, I know what I saw.” Jill’s words become laced with anger. At this point, you couldn’t take it anymore. In a matter of moments, you snapped.

“I went out with Chris today to talk about you. I even told you that we were getting lunch, but you completely forgot didn’t you? God, it’s becoming so infuriating to talk to you nowadays, when all you do is ignore me for a case that doesn’t even matter. Do you know how much that hurts? To get ignored by the one person I thought would be there for me?” A lump rises in your throat, your voice reducing to a gargled croak. Jill’s expression shifts from rage to regret in seconds.

“I just wanted some days off for the both of us to rest, but it’s becoming incredibly clear to me now that you’d rather stay anywhere away from me.” Your hands balled up into fists as you continued. Your throat became dry as you found it difficult to voice your thoughts without crying in front of your co-workers.

“Y/N, I-I—” Jill attempted to stammer out an apology, however, you weren’t having it.

“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be in your way anymore,” You start, tears now streaming down your face as you go to deliver your final blow. “For once, I just want to be someone’s first priority. Not someone you toy with when you feel like it.”

Jill is rendered speechless as she watches you quietly pack your things and leave the bullpen. The entire office becomes silent, not a word spoken between anyone. In a few minutes, every officer wordlessly leaves, giving Jill a look of sympathy as they awkwardly walk out of the tense situation. Jill sits stunned in her seat, her head in her hands.

When Jill finally went home, there was a small part of her that hoped you were there. Instead, she was met with nothing. Your dishes lay barren in the sink, lonely and forgotten. The apartment was filled with an empty silence that made Jill’s blood run cold. As she collapsed in her bed, she laid on her side, gripping the side of the bed that would usually hold her favorite person. Taking a deep breath, the tears came freely this time, filling the silence you left.

#jill valentine #jill valentine x reader #resident evil 3 #jill valentine imagine

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saiilorstars · 4 years ago

Text

Better With You (One shot)

// Seren’s Masterlist //

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

Chapter Summary: With no Valentine, Seren agrees to go on a date with an old friend, unknowingly setting herself up for disaster. When Steve answers hers call for help, he does everything he can to lift her spirits that evening. Being alone in the compound might help them finally be honest with each other.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

It started out as a game. It wasn't a game he wanted to play; it wasn't even a game he incited. No, that was what his "friends" were for.

Steve really considered for a good day or so about changing friends because the ones he had turned out to be very mean. To him.

"Oh c'mon," Natasha trailed after him one morning, "Valentine's Day is this Friday. You still have a couple days to get something together for Seren."

It was simply too early to deal with this. Steve headed for the kitchen for something to drink all while Natasha continued to make her point.

"A simple dinner would do it. Hell, a homemade dinner would be just as fine. We all know you like Seren, so just go and ask her out." Natasha leaned on the kitchen aisle, sending him a very wide smirk.

"Okay, that's not fair. Everybody likes Seren." Steve was fairly sure that there wasn't a single person who didn't like Seren Soul. She was an absolute sweetheart. Who could hate her?

Seren was always kind, a natural leader for the newest recruits. She took people under her wing, cared for and helped them. Plus, she was a bit of a sneak. Given her small statue and her big shiny eyes, it was always funny how people underestimated her only to get their asses handed to them. Steve himself had made that mistake a couple times and ended up on the ground, defeated while Seren smirked proudly. There was just something about her that drew people in, made them like her, love her.

He was guilty of the latter.

Natasha knew it, which was why she easily retorted: "Yeah, but nobody likes her more than you."

"Natasha."

"Sorry," she raised a hand then added, "Loves." Steve deadpanned her and her smug smile. "A date. A Valentine's date. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Of course but...me and Seren? That would never happen." And Steve deeply lamented it. Seren was way out of his league, a line that followed him through the decades it seemed.

"Who says?" challenged Natasha, half amused and the other half kind of irritated this was the reason those two idiots weren't together already. "You?" she presumed. "You know it's kind of last century to make the choice for you and the woman."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not making any choice for Seren, I'm just reading the room."

"Well you're reading it all wrong!"

"I am not!"

Sam walked in on them before they could go further. "What's going on?" He asked slowly, now thinking twice about that glass he came in for.

"Nothing," Steve answered at the same time Natasha said "I want to get him a date!" Needless to say, the death glare Steve sent her way was well expected.

Sam, however, relaxed once he got the jist of the situation. "With Seren?" Natasha smirked smugly while Steve groaned. "Go for it," Sam snapped his fingers. "She'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"I am not!"

"Steve's in denial," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"That's rich," scoffed Sam. He came up to the aisle, planting an arm down. "You gave me the stink eye when I happened to flirt with Seren. It was all playful too and I still got the hint you were thinking of throwing me off the rooftop without the wings."

Natasha snorted into a laugh.

Steve did his best to stay stoic. He hadn't meant to make his disdain that obvious but when Seren had laughed at Sam, things turned red. Fast.

"Just ask her out this Friday. It's Valentine's day," Sam shrugged. "Flowers wouldn't hurt. She looks the type to go ga-ga over them."

"She is," Natasha was quick to confirm.

"As productive as this conversation has been, I'm going to go now," Steve announced. He couldn't bear the conversation and the tease anymore.

But it wasn't like simply leaving the room would afford him the peace he desperately wanted. As Friday approached, the suggestions and teases only got worse. He had to be extra careful not to let Seren hear anything. He was able to seclude her from the others whenever they happened to be together.

"Hey there, soldier," she surprised him on Wednesday when he walked into the kitchen for a quick breakfast. She was dressed in pajamas, her pixie ginger hair somehow messy, sitting on the aisle with a bowl of something that smelled pretty good.

"What are you doing?" He asked her in bemusement. "And what are you eating?"

She waved her spoon in the air with a joyful smile. "Wanda decided to make me a Sokovian breakfast. Isn't that nice of her?"

Steve smiled. "She's being thankful, Seren. You've helped her so much in these past months."

Seren shrugged her shoulders. "Just trying to be helpful," she said.

"You always are." Steve walked over to her, peering down to the bowl on her lap.

"Want some? It's pretty good!"

"I'll let you have your gift, thanks."

"So, do you have your plans for the weekend?" She seemed to ask casually though there was a little twinkle in her green eyes when he turned for the fridge.

"Not really, probably just stay in. You?"

"Don't know yet," she shrugged. "I know for a fact that everyone else has plans. Tony's going out with Pepper, obviously." They both paused to smile at each other. "Sam and Natasha are bar hopping."

"Bar what?" Steve paused again, if only to process the odd name.

Seren giggled. "Ask Sam later. Even Wanda and Vision are doing something. They're close, those two. So, it seems like you and I are the last ones."

"...we are..." Steve wondered of this coincidence was, in fact, a master plan of Natasha's but even she wasn't that good to set up something like this.

"Soo...you really don't have anything to do Friday?" Seren suddenly found her breakfast incredibly interesting. She wanted to control her heartbeat and keep it from reaching Steve's ears. At least try to be subtle!

"...no," Steve answered a minute later. He could've been a little brave and asked her to do something with him but the fear of her rejection or worse, her taking it as a platonic night, got the best of him.

He completely missed the disappointment marking her face.

"Oh," she swallowed hard. Don't you dare get upset. Of course he wouldn't ask you to do anything with him. She always did this to herself. She got hopeful that maybe things between her and Steve could go further than friendship. He was just too sweet to tell her 'no' to her face.

She just had to face the music. There was no way in hell Steve Rogers would ever look at her twice. She was too weird for his taste. After all, not many people could get over her unique origins. It was one thing to he friends with an alien, and a completely different thing to date one.

~0~

I have a date.

Four words. All it took were four words to puncture his heart so deeply. Steve didn't even know that was possible.

Seren had gotten a date. He shouldn't even be surprised. She was gorgeous beyond belief. It would take just one of her dimple smiles to get any man to ask her out, a man with courage anyways.

"It wasn't me!" Natasha was quick to say later on that day. She strode into the training room, intending on clarifying things before he made any assumptions. "If it was up to me, I would have set you up with her but you told me no."

Steve had found solace in a punching bag. Tale as old as time. "I know!" He grunted with one punch, then another. "Who's the guy?"

Natasha set her hands on her hips. "I don't know, some ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. The ironic part is, years ago he asked her out and she said no. Wonder why he would try again..."

Steve could care less. All he knew was that Seren was going out on a date on Valentine's day. That was enough to sour his mood for the rest of the day into Friday.

Seren didn't seem to notice. She was focused on looking her best for the evening, covering up any of her hesitance to go out.

"I am confused," she heard Wanda's remark. She turned to see the young girl at her bedroom doorway, head tilted with eyes sparkling red. "Why do you say 'yes' to an agent you rejected when you would rather him be Steve?"

Seren sighed heavily. "Can you please get out of my head?"

"I tried," Wanda raised her hands in front of her. "But you're so loud tonight."

"Shouldn't you be out with Vision already?"

"In a bit," Wanda nodded. "Why don't you just tell him the truth? I read his mind too sometimes—"

"Stop!" Seren exclaimed. "I don't want to hear anything from his head. Violation of privacy! You only get away with it because you're young. And he likes you."

Wanda smiled. "But nowhere near as much as he likes you. Think about that when you go out tonight."

Seren would rather not because it just made her hopeful again.

~0~

The last thing Steve expected that evening was to get a call from Seren during what was supposed to be her date.

What was more is that she sounded lile she was crying.

"I'm so sorry, I tried calling somebody else but nobody picked up," she explained rapidly, her words almost sounded meshed.

"It's fine but what's going on? Are you hurt?" He asked her, anxiously waiting for her response.

"Sort of, yeah," she sniffed. "The guy, he never showed up. The place is crowded and I tripped and I think my ankle got sprained. I'll heal in a couple of hours but I can't walk that well and the cabs are—"

"Seren, breathe," he had to cut her off or else she really would run out of air. "I'll be there quick, I promise." As soon as he had the place, he left the compound.

Rage coursed through his body at the idea that this man had left Seren in a restaurant as a trick. Who the hell did that? Who would do that to Seren of all people!?

He had to calm down even more when he found her leaning against the wall with her bad ankle. She had incredible healing but it still took time. She needed to put the ankle to rest!

Seren was overtly grateful that he'd come for her. She still apologized profusely for interrupting his night.

"I wasn't doing anything," Steve helped her from the wall.

"I should've just stayed at home," she sniffed. "I would've avoided the humiliation. He didn't show up as revenge."

"What?" Steve must have heard her wrong. There was no way someone would—

"I got his text. I turned him down, he turns me down...on Valentine's day." Seren leaned on him when he pulled her into a hobble of a walk. "Crazy world."

"Seren, I'm so sorry." Steve had to control his voice, make sure the strain of it wasn't so obvious because all he wanted to do right now was find the damn guy and, well, kill him.

"I think you're my favorite person right now—no, I'm sure of it. Can we please go home?"

"Of course." Steve wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her walk. On the way home, she explained the story of how exactly things happened and what led her to her sprained ankle. The more Steve heard, the more inclined he was to change course from home to wherever the hell this guy lived. The only thing keeping him from doing it was Seren. She was feeling terrible after such a night and the only thing she wanted now was to go home.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your night," she apologized yet again when they were in the compound. Steve helped her make her way to the couch.

"It's fine, I already told you that I wasn't doing anything anyways." He slipped a cushion under her ankle, ignoring (or at least trying) the heat in his cheeks when he touched her bare ankle. Despite spending a good amount of time outside in the chilly air, her skin was warm.

"You really didn't have anything planned?" Seren stared at him oddly.

He was surprised to see her calculating him. "You think I was lying?" he asked in surprise.

"Well not 'lying' but, I don't know, I thought maybe you just didn't want to say anything." Seren had gone about it at least a dozen times since she asked him about his plans yesterday. Maybe he was just trying to be polite and keep some of his life a secret from her. He was completely allowed to...

Steve smiled at her. "Seren, you should know by now my night life isn't all that, uh, active."

"I don't know, someone like you? Hard to believe, that's all."

"What?" Steve laughed.

Seren flushed and decided to look at her lap and keep quiet before she said something else. The night was already terrible, there was no point in making it worse by saying something that would out her.

Steve misinterpreted her silence for what he was sure had to be one of the worst experiences in her life. He hated seeing her like that. She looked incredible in her white dress and bright red coat. He could smell her sweet perfume too. He would've loved to have been the one to take her out.

"Seren?" He gently called her name.

Her eyes picked up from her lap. "Hmm? Sorry, I'm not very good company right now. You should just go do something else."

"The only thing I'm going to do is go into the kitchen and bring you some ice." Steve pointed her to stay in her spot, earning a small chuckle because, really, how would she go anywhere right now? He left her for a moment to retrieve the ice. He went through the drawers to look for a rag to wrap around the ice when he came across a few things that he thought might help raise Seren's spirits. After all, it was just them for the night. It definitely wasn't a date but he could pretend that it was something similar to it.

Seren had taken her coat off when he returned and, to his surprise, her legs were no longer on the couch.

"You got up," he accused her and had all the evidence in front of him to make the case.

She smiled innocently at him. "I just wanted you to sit with me." She'd gotten a stool in front of her and placed the cushion over it to then rest her ankle.

Well, she was making things easier for him that was for sure. Steve gave her a look for the little stunt but still handed her the ice pack. A second later she heard the microwave ding.

"Are you making something?" she asked. She sniffed the air a couple times before she realized what it was. "Popcorn!"

"I just thought you'd like to watch a movie or something..." Steve weakly explained. The idea was suddenly worse than he remembered it earlier. "If you don't want to—"

"I want to!" Seren was quick to say. She felt her cheeks blush when she thought that maybe she'd answered too fast. She endeavored to calm herself so Steve wouldn't notice. "I mean...that'll be nice."

"Great, I'll go get the popcorn!" Steve made a quick trip back to the kitchen. He had to stop himself getting so excited before he had to go back. It wasn't a date, it wasn't anything!

But it was also Valentine's day and it was just them. He couldn't help but just dream a little.

~ 0 ~

Seren convinced him that a movie called Groundhog Day would be good to watch. It came out in the early 90s so he missed out by a long shot. They sat together on the couch and in no time Seren had snuggled up to Steve. It was hard remembering how to breathe when she was practically on him. Only her sprained ankle kept her slightly away.

"What did you guys used to do for Valentine's back then?" She suddenly asked midway through the movie. Steve didn't hear her at first—he'd been trying to focus just on the movie and not the soft rhythm of her heartbeat against him. She tilted her head up to him, lips pulled into a soft smile for him. "I'm curious."

"When aren't you?" he countered, earning a chuckle from her. "You know I didn't do much for the day. I always helped Bucky pull some stunt for whatever girl he had around those days. But it was pretty much like what everyone does today. Dinner. Flowers. The cards. Those big bears seem to be just as expensive as they were back then."

Seren laughed. "They're ridiculous. Some of them are bigger than me."

"To be fair, many things are bigger than you," Steve quipped, smirking at her when she gasped incredulously.

"I expect that type of comment from Tony, not you!" She huffed and looked away, crossing her arms to complete the look.

"I'm sorry." He tried pulling her back to him but she swatted his hands away from her. He caught one of her wrists and realized her skin had gone cold. "You want a blanket?"

"What?" She blinked. They were in the middle of what promised to be a good banter.

"I'll go get one," Steve decided and got up before she could say anything.

She smiled after him. He was always so thoughtful. Stop! You can't get carried away!

"Ah, still troubled," she heard Wanda say, startling the hell out of her in the process. By the time Vision went through the couch, Seren was over the shock.

"You two are supposed to be gone for longer!"

"I thought it was too cold for Wanda," Vision said, motioning to the dress Wanda was in.

The ginger moved around the couch, revealing a plastic box full of heart-shaped cookies. "You should definitely let yourself get carried away."

Seren's face was flat. "Stop reading my mind!"

Wanda smiled and merely deposited the box of cookies on Seren's lap. "We'll get out of your hair. Come on, Vis."

"What is this movie?" Vision cocked his head at the screen.

"We can watch it another day," Wanda dragged him by the arm. "Hi Steve," she greeted the man on the way into the hallway.

"Wanda? Aren't you—"

"Don't worry, we won't disturb you!" Wanda winked at him, leaving him quite red.

Stop reading my mind! He shouted inside, hoping that Wanda heard him loud and clear. He returned to the living room and saw Seren chowing down on a heart-shaped cookie. She stopped when she saw him, her crumb-filled lips smiling at him. "Let me guess, Wanda and Vision?"

"Mhm!" Seren nodded, swallowing down before she spoke. "They're sugar cookies with the red sprinkles! They're so good!"

Steve laughed. "Right. Here." He draped the blanket over her lap.

"Take a cookie!" She offered him the box when he sat down. "I always remember having these when I was a kid."

"Really?" Steve mused. "Were they your favorite?" Something to jot down for the next year.

"Here!" Seren offered him a bite out of her own cookie.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. It wasn't often they shared food and even then it was always simple things like candy in a bag or something he could just easily pick from. Still, Seren didn't seem to be thinking much of it so why should he? He leaned closer and took a bite like she offered. His eyes never left hers which helped her get away with her blush.

"How is it?" she asked quietly. Breathing became hard again. Even her eyes started flickering down to his lips. They had to be even sweeter now with the sugar from the cookie. Just one little movement and she could press a little kiss on him.

"Really good," he answered after swallowing. "I can see why they're your favorite."

"Mhm." She bit her bottom lip and turned her attention to the ongoing movie. She couldn't trust herself right now. "Let's, uh, watch the movie..."

"Sure," he nodded and made himself comfortable again.

Within the half hour, the cookies had finished and the box was discarded to the floor. Seren had found her spot with him, head resting on is chest with her arm splayed over his stomach. Steve felt the exact moment when she fell asleep. Her breathing changed and her weight resting on him increased. She was completely comfortable with him and that had his heart swelling. She didn't do this with anybody else, he knew for sure. It was hard not to be a little hopeful when things like this happened.

He couldn't bring himself to disturb her sleep to take her into her room. It wasn't hard to admit to himself that he wanted to keep her with him either. The movie had finished but he switched channels. What was he watching? He had no idea. He didn't care. He moved an arm over Seren's body and pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder. Her dress was beautiful but she deserved to be warm too. He even dropped a kiss to her bright ginger hair. Who would know?

It was only when she started shifting later on that he decided it was time to call it a night. As much as he wanted to keep her with him, she was getting to the point where she needed her bed instead. He began untangling his arm from her and her body from him but she groaned at him.

"Don't move," she murmured.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "You need to rest," he said, presuming she was way more asleep than awake.

"I am." She brought her arm from his stomach to his shoulder.

"I think your bed would be more comfortable," he chuckled.

"You don't have a clue of what I want," she retorted with a slight edge in her tone. He paused. Now that sounded more awake. "How could you be this smart and yet so clueless?"

Definitely more awake. Steve pulled her arm from his shoulder, gently forcing her to sit more up at least to look at her. "Seren, are you alright?"

"I was," she shrugged. "And then I had a quick dream." She yawned and pulled the blanket tighter around her. "You were there..."

"I was?"

"Mhm. My date tonight was you. I wasn't stood up because you would never do that to me. And then you bought me a heart-shaped cinnamon roll. We shared it."

"W-we did?" Steve stuttered, flush blooming over his face. His heart was starting to race under his chest. "Uh, well, that..."

Seren chewed on her bottom lip. She was completely awake now and with lucidness came the fear of what she'd done. Her dream had been so sweet, so much better than reality. Everything would be better if she was with him. She would want nothing more than to have it be her reality. "I know what I said," she whispered, "I know it's weird—I'm weird being, you know, not human and all. You don't like me that way, I know."

"Wait a second," Steve pointed at her, eyes wide yet there was a little more hope coming to him. "You don't know what I want either."

"Huh?"

"You're pretty smart too, Seren. Connect the dots, won't you?" He encouraged her with a smile to just think. It was suddenly so easy and he couldn't stop the excitement that was crawling over him—he wouldn't stop it this time!

"You would...actually want...?" Seren shook her head. Unlike him, it being this easy was too hard to believe. "No, you don't have to play along."

"I will never play you, Seren. Do you know how much I get from everyone else for not telling you the truth?"

"If this is real then I'm pretty sure no more than me," she admitted. "Wanda won't stop reading my thoughts."

"And Natasha won't leave me alone!"

Seren brought her hand to her cheek. "So...you...we've been going insane for no reason?"

Steve nodded his head. "It would seem so." Maybe he owed Natasha an apology here and there.

Seren couldn't believe her ears. "Maybe this Valentine's day wasn't all that terrible then..."

Steve chuckled. "Maybe not," he agreed. He leaned down pretty quick but he caught himself and stopped, startling her with the actions. "Can I—can I kiss you?"

Seren's heart fluttered. Her lips pulled into a soft smile. "Yeah." Steve leaned closer again but was surprised when Seren placed a finger against his lips. He blinked in surprise, and a slight fear that things were wrong. "Happy Valentine's day," she whispered, pulling her finger off his lips.

"Happy Valentine's day," he murmured in return, finally kissing her afterwards.

#ocappreciation #marvelocsdaily #mcu #marvel #steve rogers #fd: mcu #mcu imagines #steve rogers imagines #marvel imagines #mcu fics #steve rogers fics #marvel fics #oc: seren soul

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