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[findmeinasunshower]

𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔: 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

word-count: 3.1k

summary: shinsou's been seeing you for a few months now, and he's struggling to put into words just how he feels about you. here's how he figures it out.

warnings: weed, mentions of intimate times but nothing explicit, fluff :)

part i

It’s past midnight the first time Shinsou finds himself unable to look away from you.

No matter the season, it never gets quite dark enough in your neighborhood—it’s the reason Shinsou wanted to move here in the first place. He likes how the lights of the city reach like probing fingers even into this inconspicuous corner.

And he finds he likes the view even more when you’re framed in the center of it.

You’re seated on top of a washing machine in the crappiest laundromat he's ever had the displeasure of setting foot in, and yet you're gazing out at the neon lights curling off of the rain-blasted concrete like it's the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

He’s not sure what emotion has strung itself through his body, but he does know it grows larger every time he looks at you.

It started the first time he saw what you look like first thing in the morning, face bathed in gold as you blinked up at him sleepily and placed a chaste kiss on his chin. He hasn’t been able to get rid of the intrepid butterfly ever since. If it has a name, Shinsou’s never known it. And he can’t be the first to say it when it doesn’t have a name. 

So it hovers in the air when the two of you find yourselves lounging on his fire escape at sunset, enjoying the last warm rays of autumn; spins a web even larger when you hip-check him as you cook dinner together, and even bigger two months later, legs tangled together on Hitoshi’s too-small couch and your chest moving against his as you simply breathe together, fingers intertwined. 

It’s yours—Shinsou knows that much from the way it sticks to the roof of his mouth, unable to escape. It aches under his tongue like a sore, and the mere thought of it and his inability to figure out what the fuck it is makes him slam the washing machine hard enough to topple the detergent bottle on top of it. 

“You smoke too much, hero?” 

And suddenly, his earlier frustration evaporates like a puddle in the sun. Hitoshi laughs at the comical eyebrow you have raised and nudges your thighs apart so he can stuff his bed sheets into the third washing machine. You squint down at him playfully when he lingers between your legs after straightening up, and Shinsou suddenly decides the crook of your shoulder looks inviting.

The clock on the wall reads 12:13 a.m.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” you gripe teasingly when his hand slides higher on your thigh, but you’re already opening your arms for your boyfriend to slump into you. Hitoshi presses his nose against the hollow of your throat to catch the last fading notes of soap from the shower you took earlier and follows the crease of your hips with his hands until you're held securely in his embrace. He closes his eyes and breathes deep to fight off the yawn he knows is coming. 

You loop your arms around his neck and begin to scroll through your phone behind his back. “It was your idea to smoke before coming here, so I’m not dragging you back if you fall asleep.”

“‘m not that high,” Shinsou mumbles into your neck. Your chest vibrates against him when you laugh. 

“Sure, hero.”

Hitoshi has a retort at the forefront of his mind when he pulls back just enough to look at you, but it dissolves like sugar on his tongue when his eyes meet yours. 

It’s here—looking at the way your eyes reflect the stuttering fluctuations of the laundromat’s eerie light, your half-dried hair, the way you’re biting down on your lip to keep yourself from smiling—that Hitoshi finally feels that indescribable something catch on the tip of his tongue.

There’s a name for this. He knows it.

He’s distracted even further when you pull back to smile at him, teeth tinged pink by the neon sign dangling in the window. “What are you smiling at, jerk?” you whisper, and Shinsou finds himself entranced by the way your nose scrunches with the force of your amused smile. “Busy thinking about how lucky you are to be in this shitty laundromat in the middle of the night?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. 

Your eyes widen at the speed the word drops from Hitoshi’s mouth, and the indescribable feeling deep in his chest regresses slightly again. Maybe he was too blunt. Maybe he's wrong.

But then your smile widens even further, and your fingers are tightening their grip on his shoulder blades. “Good. Because I was thinking the same thing.”

Hitoshi can't help the lazy, self-satisfied smile that spreads across his face before he kisses you and tucks the words into his heart for safekeeping.

~*~

Shinsou knows that the pro-hero lifestyle can strain relationships. He's seen it firsthand and he knows it well, which is probably why he never really cared for seeking out those types of things. His friends have always described him as picky, and he supposes that's true too.

You were the best surprise. You walked into his life and simply took a seat, and the moment you smiled at him, he knew he didn't have a choice but to ask you to stay. To find his own place in your life.

But Hero life takes a toll. And crossing that hurdle with you, the reality of his career…he didn't know what that would look like.

It's autumn again and Shinsou misses you. He's been stuck in Tokyo for a mission, and all the two of you have had for weeks now are texts or hushed and hurried phone calls that make his heart ache. And he was so tired that despite not a hint of disappointment existing in your voice, he couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself, that he was letting you down somehow for letting his job take him away from you for so long.

He bids goodbye to Midoriya the second the threat has passed and his role is fulfilled, and his friend smiles at him in a knowing way Shinsou doesn't know what to do with. He doesn't even retort when Kaminari calls after him, typical shit-eating grin evident in his voice: "In a hurry, huh MindJack?"

All Shinsou can think is that he needs you. Desperately.

It's almost morning by the time he slips in through your living room window. Your cat lifts her head and blinks at him once, sleepily, before deeming him not a threat and curling back up on her tree. He makes sure to give her a good scritch behind the ears before he heads into your room.

A thick wall of rain clouds has enveloped the city for the past week, so your room is still dark when he walks in. He's grateful to see you're still asleep—Shinsou's been awake way too long, even for him, and doubt started to creep into the edges of his mind long before he got here. He needs some time to just hold you before you wake up and have the inevitable conversation. Has he been gone too long? Was this separation and stress too much for you? Would you still want him?

He's tapping your shoulder before he can stop himself. You jerk awake with a start, eyes wide and scanning the room for threats before they land on him. "Hitoshi?"

The way he says your name is like a prayer. "Hey…" His voice catches in his throat. "I missed you."

You're groggy, but clearly awake now, and Shinsou's heart tightens as you scoot over toward the wall and lift your comforter in invitation. "Come to bed. You look exhausted."

He can't help the relieved laugh that punches out of him. "Ever astute, you are," he replies.

You giggle sleepily. It's adorable. "Come here, you. I missed you too."

And then he takes off his gear and accepts the invitation into your embrace and you're warm. You're warm and you smell good and familiar and your bed is so comfortable. And you don't complain that he hasn't showered in a few days, that he's fresh off a battlefield.

Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose and your sleepy gaze meets his, eyes searching for what, he doesn't know.

You just tuck yourself closer to him and Shinsou wraps you tighter until you're practically nose to nose. Maybe this is when the questions come. But when you do ask a question, it's so unexpected he doesn't know what to doo with it.

You simply ask: "Everything finished?" And Shinsou's heart breaks in the best way possible. You don't ask him any more questions, don't expect anything more from him. You just let him hold you, and hold him in return.

He nods, unable to form words. You smile and nod back, then nestle back into his chest and promptly fall back asleep. Shinsou can't help the chuckle that rumbles through him at the quickness of the movement—for someone who complained consistently of sleep issues, it doesn't seem you've ever had any trouble when he's in bed with you.

He thinks, just before he is taken by the blackness of slumber, that if he doesn’t figure out a way to tell you soon, he might just lose his mind. 

~*~

"Saw you on the news today."

Your friend (Boyfriend? Partner? You hadn't really discussed labels yet) stops abruptly, steaming cup halfway to his lips. His violet eyes are carefully blank over the plastic rim. "Did you?"

You hum in affirmation and tuck your arm through Hitoshi's, cuddling closer to him on the cold metal bench. Autumn descended quickly on Japan. Half of the park trees have already dropped their yellow leaves from the sudden burst of cold, and despite his cool exterior, Hitoshi tends to be a walking heater…and he finds he quite likes the feel of you pressed into his side.

Shinsou cups his hand over yours and settles back on the bench, pulling you to relax against him. A comfortable silence washes over the two of you, but he knows you well enough to know you're chewing over what to say next. And although he's nervous, you haven't done him wrong yet—in fact, you've done him right in ways Hitoshi didn't know he deserved. So, he's happy to wait and observe the park around you, one ear on the shrieking children on the playground next to you, and the other on the whirring of your thoughts next to him.

You'd always been curious about Shinsou's quirk, of course—He's a goddamn Pro. His quirk has to be insane in comparison to yours. But he never asked about your own, and that was…unique, to say the least. You met Shinsou as Shinsou first, and you liked being able to provide him that bit of anonymity. A true escape from the reality of his work. You figured his quirk would come up when it was important.

But then, you saw him on the news this morning alongside the numbers one and two heroes. You had nearly dropped your breakfast plate when an absolutely beaming Deku pulled Shinsou in front of the camera and praised him for his help diffusing a rather difficult hostage situation. But, that's all Deku said. No mention of Shinsou's Quirk, or how exactly he guided the crisis toward its end point. Just that there were no casualties and minor injuries. He was successful.

Hitoshi's attention turns back to you when you rest your cheek on his shoulder. He looks down at you, wishing he could see your face, but your eyes (that he swears are all-seeing) remain fixed on the park in front of you. He's just about to break the silence himself when he feels you inhale against him and ask: "The students are all okay?" Even though, you already know the answer.

Shinsou takes a shaky breath. Lets it out slowly, fights down the confused tilt of his mouth. "…Yeah. Everyone's okay."

You lift your head only to drop your chin on his shoulder, and Shinsou surprises even himself when he sputters out a laugh at the goofy grin on your face, the light in your eyes. "Way to go, hero," you whisper and straighten up to press a kiss to his chin. His smile falters at the feather-light touch and your eyes flicker briefly with concern. "What is it?"

"I love you." It comes out in a breath, nearly a wheeze, and the only reason you hear him is because you're so close. It's your turn for your smile to drop, but it comes back just as quickly. And then it's as if the first cold day of autumn doesn't exist because your smile is brighter and warmer than any sun Shinsou Hitoshi will ever hope to see. He smiles widely in return and slides a hand up to cup your neck, the back of your head, laughing in awe at the joy radiating out from you. "I love you," he's unable to stop himself from telling you again.

"I love you too, jerk," you whisper, and your smile clacks against Hitoshi's when he kisses you. One of his gloved hands passes down the length of your arm and you shudder, pressing closer to him on the cold bench. His other arm works around your back, pulling you half onto his lap, and you can tell by the satisfied hum he lets out that he thoroughly enjoys the way you gasp into his mouth.

And the way Shinsou looks at you when he finally pulls back and strokes a thumb reverently down your cheek have you saying: "Let's go home, hero."

~*~

He makes you breakfast in the morning.

You come to slowly, tilting your nose toward the smell of brewing coffee and stretching your beautifully sore muscles. You can't remember the last time you woke up feeling this well-rested, this content. "I love you," Hitoshi had told you yesterday…and he spent the entirety of last night showing you just how much he meant that. The smell of breakfast cooking in the wake of such fantastic events is just the cherry on top of the cake. A giddy smile stretches across your face and you fight the urge to kick your feet in the comforter like an overly-excitable toddler.

When you finally do get up, you head straight to your boyfriend's closet to steal one of his most coveted black sweatshirts—the ones he got from a brand deal about two months ago. You gave him a lot of shit when you opened up the package to see the hero's purple logo snug next to the designer's trademark, and to your surprise, Shinsou had blushed all the way up to his purple hair.

You pull on the sweatshirt with a happy little hum, then make your way slowly into his massive combined kitchen and living space. You hiss quietly when your bare feet make contact with the hardwood floor, and silently mourn not pulling on the ridiculously fluffy slippers Shinsou received from one of his friends (another package you gave him a hard time for receiving).

"Get back in bed."

A smirk forms on your lips at the demand, especially now that you know he could actually send you right back to bed if he wanted to. But, you also know that he never would.

The two of you had returned to his apartment in a flurry of hands and kisses, but Hitoshi had managed to peel you off of him long enough to gain your attention with a serious look. His revealing his quirk to you had been a turning point for you both, but especially for Hitoshi.

He fell in love with you just a little bit more when you simply nodded at his deep dark truth and said: "I trust you, hero. I feel like that should go without saying by now. Now, if you don't finish what you started, I'm going to scream."

You ended up screaming a little bit anyway, not that you complained.

You wrap your arms around Hitoshi's strong, slim waist when you finally meet him at the stove, and nearly topple backwards when he leans his weight back into you. "Hitoshi!" you squeal, desperately trying to tilt his heavily muscled body off of you. "You're gonna crush me."

"I thought I did that last night?" He spins around in your arms with a cheeky smile, just in time to see you blush furiously before landing a solid hit on his shoulder. "This is supposed to be a romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal," Hitoshi continues, though the way he runs his hands up the length of your arms betrays him. "Now go back to bed."

"Mmmmm no." You smile and roll up onto your toes so you can press a kiss to Hitoshi's cheek before stepping out of his arms. He reaches out to pull you back, but you smoothly evade him and walk back around the counter to take a seat on one of the plush barstools. "I think I'd rather enjoy the view. Plus, I already smelled the coffee."

Shinsou scoffs playfully and turns the stove off. "And what, you think you're gonna get it sitting all the way over there?"

"I thought this was supposed to be a 'romantic, breakfast-in-bed type deal?'"

"That was before you decided to be difficult."

You roll your eyes playfully. "And to think I thought you'd be in a good mood this morning, jerk."

"I'm in a fantastic mood." You gasp when Shinsou's voice is right next to your ear—you had completely missed his approach. His smile is radiant as you sit up a little too eagerly, just barely avoiding smashing your nose against his as you do, and you roll your eyes again at the smug way he's watching you. "Do that again and your eyes will roll out of your head," he warns.

"If that were true, you would have been eyeless a long time ago," you retort. You're so close you can smell the coffee on his breath. "What, so no coffee, and no 'good morning' either?'" you ask.

Shinsou responds by pressing his lips firmly against yours. You relax against him with a sleepy sigh, but he keeps you upright with a hand on your cheek so he can kiss you deeply, thoroughly before slowly pulling away and whispering against your mouth: "Good morning."

You smile and press another quick peck to his lips. "Good morning, Hitoshi."

"Coffee?" he asks, though he still doesn't move away. You giggle as his nose brushes yours.

"It's cold, no?"

"Long cold," Hitoshi confirms, and you giggle again when he sneaks his hands along your waist (underneath his sweatshirt) to lift you easily from the barstool. He whispers the last of your conversation against your lips as he carries you back to the bedroom. "We'll make more later."

[findmeinasunshower]

[findmeinasunshower]

10/10 god-tier fic

Din Djarin: Languid

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Excerpt: “Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Warnings: sleepy, love-filled sex between a married couple. Wife!reader, grogu’s asleep, unprotected sex, mostly just kissing and feeling up. NOT breeding kink. A bit of cockwarming.

A/N: Once again, Happy Dincember everyone. I cannot explain how grateful I am for almost 3,000 followers without crying.

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated :)

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The familiar scuff of his boots on the Crest floor pulled you from REM sleep into barely languid, and the heat of your body from the cot’s covers warmed just so.

Your riduur was home.

Due to how out of it you were, it took you a few moments to realize that no, this wasn’t a dream. This was real. The two-day mission turned five, turned seven, turned nine, turned twelve was finally over, and your numb body somehow found the strength to prop itself up and drape yourself with the blankets.

You sat like that, all wrapped up in your cocoon, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed, for a few moments. You then stood up slowly, taking the blankets with you, and squinted your way out of the bedroom. Your eyes were no wider than slits, and you thanked the maker for muscle memory.

You swallowed the sleep from your mouth and rounded the corner, feeling your muscles ache with stretch, still in a daze. Your head was beginning to swim with dopamine, and with one last yawn, you made it to the cock pit.

The sight before you halted you instantly.

There was your husband, wrapped in wealth and impenetrable metal, leaning over Grogu’s tiny bassinet. He must have gotten fussy when Din opened the airlock, and Din had immediately taken care of it.

You’d have to thank him for that later.

He sat Grogu up, patting his back, and fed him small bites of maple bar. His favorite.

“That’s it buddy,” he whispered. “Swallow. There ya go.”

You stood and watched this encounter, soaking it in. It was moments like this that you missed the most when he was gone—moments so domiciliary and domesticated that they etched into your heart implicitly. These moments were so wrapped in rarity that you could not even daydream about them or yearn for them, because you didn’t even know they existed. Like watching a Mandalorian brush his teeth, or chop an onion, or change the sheets, or breathe at night. They were the memories you would recall when you were old and graying, unable to describe them in a way that did them justice.

You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets, just watching and basking in the glow of it. Eventually Din laid Grogu down, tucking him in, and traced his face with his leather-bound glove.

“Goodnight buddy,” he whispered, and turned to you.

You looked up at him in all his sheathing, and smiled.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back. He smelled of metal and woods with a hint of gunpowder. In the nearly pitch black of the room his shoulders still appeared as broad as ever, his armor was caked in mud, and his weapons belt hung a noticeable amount lower than usual.

You took a moment to soak in the fact that you would look at him like this for the rest of your life.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, moving closer to you.

“You didn’t,” you replied, “your boots did.”

His chuckle underneath the modulator was nothing like it was out of it, but it was enough to bring you home.

“You know I like being up for you when you get back,” you said, looking up higher at him as he came closer and closer. The warmth of the blankets and increased blood flow were not the only things warming your insides now. “Let me be your docile, obedient wife for once.”

You could feel the smirk on his face. “Yes. Obedient and docile, perfect for you.”

He made it to you, wrapping his hands around your waist. Your hands laid on top of his cooled beskar chest and chills etched up your spine as you looked up at him with a smile.

He pressed his forehead firmly against your own. The smell of forest and frost on him engulfed you. “My wife is none of those things.”

You hummed. “No, she isn’t.”

He began slowly walking you backwards into the bedroom, as if you were swaying in a dance, and your hands crept up to his helmet.

“Why didn’t you wake me up when the kid was fussy? I could have taken care of him.”

His gloved hands trailed up your back and the exhaustion in his voice was present. “I missed him. Wanted to take care of him.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his visor, tasting a mix of ice and salt that burned your chapped lips. “Okay.”

The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you stopped, creeping your hands underneath Din’s helmet.

“If you take this thing off me I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth off you.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if that was a normal thing to say, and the fatigue of his voice and body language liquified you even more. Your still drowsy state was not helping matters.

You felt euphoric, in a perfect state of conscious and unconscious, like you were still in a dream. It was paradise.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” you said, removing the sheets wrapped around you. You let them fall onto the bed before reaching back up for him, slowly rising the helmet off of his head. The familiar hiss coated your ears as it rose, and the chocolate eyes that were yours forever met your own.

He smiled in the dark, illuminated by the moon. He brought his mouth inches away from yours, breathing in your breaths. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you responded, and he kissed you.

Immediately, the taste and feel of him washing over you threatened to crumble you to the floor. Din hands on your waist were the only things keeping you upright.

He kept you standing like it was nothing.

He kissed you slowly and deeply, taking his sweet time tasting you again. Your hands worked their way up his body, tracing his beskar all the way up to his hair. Your tongue met his at the same moment your nails scratched his scalp, and he pulled away from you to groan.

“Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Piece by piece, you disrobed the Mandalorian from his beskar down to complete nudity, watching his eyes open and close as he began to drift to sleep as he stood. A few times you had to lean him onto you to prevent him from falling, and he kissed around your pulse point every time. Whispering gibberish.

Finally you squatted down to remove his boots, and just like that, he was naked in front of you. His purple under-eyes stood out in the moonlight, as well as a new scar across his abdomen. Your irises coated in worry, reaching up to feel it, but he stopped you.

“Tomorrow,” he said, kissing you more passionately than he had all night. “Tomorrow.”

Then he disrobed you.

The rough skin on his hands tracing you lit you on fire, boiling you enough to keep you conscious. He was the slowest with your panties, pulling them down your thighs like an art form. You scratched your nails down his warm back, and that seemed to speed him up.

As soon as the fabric hit the floor Din lifted you into his arms, laying you down flat on the cot before crawling overtop of you.

“Din, you’re tired, I can—”

“No,” he said, burying his head in your neck. “Wanna be close to you.”

You couldn’t say no to that.

He took the sheets you had discarded and covered them over the two of you. You could see nothing else but him, and you were completely surrounded by the scent and warmth of his skin.

“Maker I missed you so badly,” he said before kissing you hard enough to make you whine. You pulled him as close to you as possible, tracing his body as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, memorizing your mouth. The passion and heat in you were rising, and with one trace down his haired chest with your nail, he pulled away. He traced his hands over your face, pushing your hair away to see you fully. You traced his face too, noticing his scruff had turned into a full beard.

You always liked that look on him.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “My Y/N.” He spoke as if you were unbelievable

“I’m right here,” you responded, holding his face in your hands.

“I just want to be inside of you,” he whispered, almost pathetically. “Can we just skip to that part?”

You smiled, laughing loudly, and kissed him quickly. “Yes.”

He huffed a laugh and kissed you again, nice and slow, like he had been the whole night.

He kissed you and felt you for so long that you didn’t know if he would make it. His movements slowed and slowed as he went on, touching you and tracing you so meticulously it was like he was painting you from nothing.

Finally, with a firm kiss to your jawline, he entered you tortuously. You exhaled in pure pleasure, and your body threatened to rapture already.

He was a dream come true.

Din halted when he was as deep as he could go and tucked his head into your neck. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur.”

You kissed the side of his head. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan.”

And that’s when he started to move.

As he moved in and out, in and out, in and out, dragging each thrust on and on to feel every inch of your folds. He felt all around you, re-memorizing you; how you skin felt, how your body had changed, and the exact rhythm of your heart.

Tears spilled from your eyes as he moved, and you moaned his name over and over, grateful for the return of it in your tongue.

“Keep—keep doing that, saying my name,” he said as he moved. “Almost forgot I had it.”

You repeated it over and over again, clenching around Din when he began to shake. He swirled his shaking fingers around your clit, and with one last clench, the both of you went.

The covers above your heads did little to hide the sound of your synchronization, and it was then that you really started to drift. Din was so warm inside you—filling you up completely—and his body had you trapped in a cave of sheets and serenity. You were perfectly satisfied with your husband safe and sound in your arms, and your body began to fail you.

You felt Din prop himself up and press kisses around your face and your mouth, and your lips tingled with the intensity of it all. He rubbed his nose against yours and pecked your lips before laying back on top of you, pulling the covers raised above his head off as he did. You were hit with fresh air, and were inches away from bliss before Din whispered one last thing in your ear.

“Goodnight, docile and obedient wife.”

You drifted off with a smile.

None of this was a dream. This was real.

Your riduur was home.

Mando’a Translations:

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur: I love you/ I will know you forever, my sweet wife.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan: I love you/ I will know you forever, even through war.

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@leahkenobi

@cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel l @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @reader8679 @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @darth-voder @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @cockscombkingdom

@lexloon @pauphs

[findmeinasunshower]

"𝑨𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏": 𝑱𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2.2k

summary: Eight weeks after arriving in Jackson, Ellie drags Joel to the Tipsy Bison, where he meets you :) soft get-together fic because joel deserves some happy fluff, dammit

warnings: none :)

“Joel, right?”

The man in question finds himself ducking slightly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying his name. He'd managed to avoid The Tipsy Bison for eight weeks after he and Ellie settled in Jackson—his reputation as Tommy’s brother precedes him around town, and to be honest...he hasn’t been inclined to make small talk for years.

So Joel isn’t exactly welcoming when he glances up at the bartender who spoke to him. You smirk, unperturbed by his scowl, and raise your eyebrows in a gentle prompt for him to answer. Joel clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Hm. Maria’s description was spot on.”

Your smile widens at your quip, and it’s Joel’s eyebrows that raise this time. He can’t remember the last time anyone besides Ellie ribbed him without having an ulterior motive. A joking smile spreads across your pretty face, lit by the warm lights of the bar, and something in Joel relaxes a little at the sight.

His mouth responds before he can stop himself: “And what exactly did Maria have to say?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Tall, dark, and broody,” you respond simply, eyes trailing down his shoulders and to the bar. You lean down to place your freshly-shined glass underneath the counter, and Joel finds himself tracking your movements. “'Clint Eastwood come to life.' Figured you’d sit at the corner of the bar to avoid the crowd, but that you’d also pick a seat that can see the entire room.

"Plus, I figured I wouldn’t see you in here until Ellie dragged you.” You flick your gaze pointedly to something behind him—Ellie, he takes. “I recognized you as soon as you sat down,” you tease.

He leans back with a hum, impressed and, admittedly, intrigued. Three years ago, he would’ve felt threatened by the way you managed to take him apart so completely before you even spoke a word to him. Now, he’s just stunned that anyone cares enough about him to do that sort of analysis. “Anything else?” he asks dryly.

You smirk and begin shining a new glass. “Tommy’s the only other person in this town who orders Tito’s straight. You Texas boys are all the same.” Joel nods and chuckles internally.

“In some ways,” he agrees. He takes a moment to swirl the aforementioned drink in his glass before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “You know Ellie?”

“She just might be the most entertaining person I’ve ever met," you deadpan, and Joel finds himself huffing a small laugh at that.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“How would you put it?” you ask, and the hardened survivor finds himself stumbling slightly under the sincerity of your gaze.

One of the first things he learns about you is that you can’t hide a damn thing on your face. Your question is an honest one; you genuinely want to know how he, a man you just met and have heard who-knows-what about, feels. And while something about your sincerity makes him uncomfortable, he feels himself opening his mouth to respond. He wants to delve into this conversation with you, any conversation with you. He wants to flirt with you a little bit more.

Just as he begins to stumble toward an answer, a familiar gangly form shoves itself onto the barstool next to his. “Hey, (y/n)!” Ellie greets you brightly.

“’sup, kiddo?” You greet her so casually, Joel can tell you and the girl are already well into being friends. He regains his composure as you finally begin cleaning the glass in your hands. “Staying out of trouble?” you ask.

“Yup.”

“—Nope,” Joel interjects.

You smile at the way Ellie and Joel glare at each other, him with an exasperated sigh and Ellie an incredulous scowl. “I’ve been good!” she insists.

“Just because you haven’t been caught don't mean you’ve been good,” Joel growls.

You find yourself laughing out loud at that as you set the newly-shined glass back on the rack. “Now I’m really curious.”

“Don’t be,” Joel grumbles.

“What’s taking you so long?” Ellie asks Joel, happy to change the subject. “Tommy’s been waiting for his drink.”

“His complainin’ is exactly why I’m still over here. Just...” Joel sighs. “Gimme a sec.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and snags the lemonade you proffered her off of the bar, along with Tommy’s own glass of Tito’s. “Nope, let’s go. Maria’s orders.”

Joel sighs deeply at that. “Alright, alright.”

“Later, (y/n)!”

“Bye, Ellie.”

Joel groans and pushes off of the barstool and to his feet, eyes on his drink, as for some reason he finds himself unable to meet your eye again. “It was—” He clears his throat before continuing: “It was nice to meet you.”

The smile you offer him when he looks back up is endearing in its honesty, and Joel finds himself thinking about it when he closes his eyes that night.

~*~

The second time Joel winds up in the Tipsy Bison, it’s the absolute last place he wants to be.

He, Tommy, and a few other guards on the night shift successfully prevented a rather large raid in the early hours of the morning. The raiders had scouted the city and discovered what they thought was a skeleton shift in the patrol…not knowing that Joel is basically a one-man army.

So, he was dragged to The Tipsy Bison to celebrate. And now, he’s looking at you from across the bar as you catch his eye and hold up a rocks glass in silent question. Joel shakes his head and fights a small smile.

He had seen you around town a few times since the night you met. You greeted him with a friendly wave each time, sometimes even a conversation. But you always left him with a look that lingered just a little bit too long not to be some sort of hint.

Joel’s lip twitches when you duck back down beneath the bar, only to pop up cutely with a pint glass and an innocent tilt of your head. Joel glances down at Tommy and Maria, still deep in conversation with a woman he can’t remember the name of, before shaking his head at you again.

You nod dramatically and start to reach for a margarita glass on the top shelf, and suddenly Joel is covering his incoming laughter with a fake coughing fit.

Tommy gives him a strange look. "You alright there brother?" he asks, and Joel swallows when his younger brother’s gaze flicks to you briefly.

“Yeah, just...” Joel rubs the back of his neck and sighs in defeat. “I’ll be by the bar.” He ignores Tommy’s not-so-subtle whistle as he shoulders his way through the crowd. It ain’t his fault he’s rusty, who cares if he’s being obvious or not?

When he arrives at your little corner, you’ve set out a martini glass, a pint, and a rocks glass. “So, which is it?” you ask, blinking up at him expectantly.

“How about two of your specialty and ten minutes of your time?”

You lean back slightly in surprise, heat rushing to your face at the intensity of Joel’s gaze—He decides to catch you off guard more often if you look this adorable when he does. But, despite the heat in your cheeks, you’re quick to recover. You smile at him as you pull out two clean glasses and set them on the bar top. “Are you flirting with me, Joel Miller?”

He nods slowly. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than all right,” you mumble shyly.

Joel crosses his arms and shifts his weight, satisfied and inexplicably warmed by your answer. “Alright then.”

You join Joel on the other side of the bar for the rest of the night, thankful that your coworkers were more than happy to cover for you. The dimly lit corner might as well be its own little world with how intently the two of you focus on each other, knee to knee as you talk. When it comes time to close, you lean over and kiss his cheek underneath that flickering overhead light, before leaving to help your coworkers close up.

Joel can smell cherries in the air as you walk away.

~*~

A week later, Joel can’t take the lingering looks anymore.

You smile up at him so sweetly when he approaches you at the bar with Tommy at his back. His brother claps his shoulder before peeling off to speak with someone else, and Joel silently thanks him for the privacy. He allows himself to melt a little at the sight of you now that Tommy isn’t around to see him, and he’s nearly distracted enough that he doesn’t hear you speak:

“What’ll it be tonight, Joel? Everything’s on the house, considering you cleared a basement full of clickers—”

“How about some hot cider at mine?” Joel interrupts. Your mouth forms an o-shape at the abrupt question, and he backtracks when your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Not to—I mean, if—I just—”

“I think I’d like that, Texas.”

Joel blinks. He looks down at the bar. Settles himself. Looks back up at you. You're unable to move beneath his gaze, eyes reflecting gold under the lights of the bar, like a midwestern summer sunset. “Would you like to go on a date with me, (y/n)?” Joel asks, calmly and slowly.

“Really?” you ask. “I just, uh,” you trail off, carefully folding away the cloth you were holding. “If I’m being honest, I thought I was imagining—”

“—You got an active imagination,” Joel agrees, leaning across the bar toward you. You gasp slightly at his sudden closeness, inhaling the smell of pine and the sweet lemon tang of saddle cleaner as Joel tilts forward and into your space. “But you ain’t imaginin’ this,” he finishes.

You smile and lean back slightly so you’re looking down your nose at him playfully. “...Alright, then.”

~*~

Joel offers his arm to you for the walk to his house, and you don’t hesitate to accept. He likes the feel of you pressed against him, shamelessly using his broad frame to block the harsh winter wind. He likes how much more bashful your smile is now that you’re on the same side of the bar. He likes the way your breath hitches slightly when he drops a hand to your waist to guide you over a particularly icy patch.

He likes you.

When the two of you finally settle in front of his roaring fireplace, hot mugs of cider in hand, Joel is unable to look away. You tell him about how you ended up in Jackson not long before he did. A month after you arrived, Maria dragged you to the Tipsy Bison and forced you to learn to bartend, fed up with your inability to socialize on your own. You like people but have never been one to actively seek out crowds. You’d rather get your hands dirty in the greenhouses or help out in the clinic, and let that be the extent of your social life.

You’re vibrant in the way you talk about your life and the people and things in it and, for the first time in a long time, Joel is actively interested in learning about another person. When he asks how you met Ellie, you outright laugh before even starting the story, and Joel finds himself chuckling along with you. You and Ellie bonded over training Buckley to do the most inane things, pissing off Tommy to no end that the sweet old dog could never learn normal tricks.

It feels too soon that you insist you should be heading home. Joel walks you as far as the edge of his porch because you insist he not brave the bitter winter wind for you again when his house is so warm right now. A light breeze buffets you both as you step outside, sending the windchimes above his door into a happy little dance. His hair is tossed into messy curls when you turn to face him, and you long to sink your fingers into it.

You’re just opening your mouth to say good night when Joel takes one last, hopeful step toward you. “Can I kiss you?”

You sag in relief and grab the collar of his flannel to pull him closer, running your thumbs over the worn lapels. You roll up onto your toes, nose bumping his as you whisper: “Please.”

His lips are chapped from the wind when they meet yours, but you sigh against him anyway, pressing your fingertips into the soft edge of his beard. Joel hums and circles his arms around you, pulling you so close that you’re practically able to feel the heat of his hands through your thick winter coat. You gasp when he tugs you up onto your toes, sealing his mouth to yours anew.

Joel’s arms are the only reason you’re still standing when he pulls away and presses his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he murmurs.

You sigh and press a kiss to his jaw. “If you did, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Joel’s chest rumbles against yours when he laughs, and you immediately become addicted to the sensation. “That’s alright,” he murmurs, and your breath stutters as he drags his lips down your cheek to hover over your mouth. “I don’t want to rush.”

“I don’t either.” You pull back just enough to look him in the eye and run your hands down his broad shoulders. “But keep kissing me like that, and I’m going to get impatient.”

Joel’s warm breath ghosts across your face as he chuckles, and you find yourself smiling along with him. “Alright, then.”

You sigh when his lips meet yours in another warm press. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔: 𝑺𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2k

summary: Sirius comes to spend Christmas with you and your family, but you notice the Holiday blues hanging over him.

warnings: discussion of abuse, crying, angst.

You’re sure that the Potter house has never been as quiet as it is now. The bitter winter wind howling outside serves as the only buffer to the silence permeating your home. Your wooden shutters slam against the side of the house for the millionth time that night and you sigh, rolling over yet again in a futile attempt to find sleep. Your mind has been restless since you got off the train at King’s Cross, and you know it won’t be still until you get him out of your head. 

At first, Sirius Black was just a story—letters from your brother about the first friend he’d made at Hogwarts and their mischievous adventures. Then, one friend became two, and two became three, but Sirius continued to stick out to you, the sentences written about him seeming to jump off of the page. 

You met him two years later. The Marauders were third-years when you arrived at Hogwarts for the first time, and it was nice having four older students at your back. Remus always has time to help you with your homework, and he made sure to teach you his favorite charms and hexes. Peter was always the first person to make you smile after a hard day and of course James is the best big brother you can ask for, even if he is an ass most of the time. 

But Sirius was always something...different. Something intangible separates him from his friends in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.

In your second year, a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs decided it was a good idea to pick on you, as James had lost his latest match to their team. Sirius got detention for punching one of them in the jaw, then proceeding to take on all three by himself.

You vividly remember leading Sirius to the hospital wing. How he rolled his eyes as you apologized to him the whole way for his various injuries until he looked down at you with a smile that split his lip and promised:  “C’mon, (y/n). I’d never let anything happen to you.”

You had done everything in your twelve-year-old power not to swoon.

But, despite the amount of times you’ve seen Sirius hurt or angry . . . you had never seen him like this. 

You were the one who opened the door for Sirius when he arrived on your front door at about midsummer with only a suitcase, his Quidditch duffel, and a small backpack. James had had quite a few hushed conversations with your parents in the weeks before, so you were expecting him to come, even if you didn’t know what exactly was going on. But, it didn’t take you long to understand that whatever was happening wasn’t good.

Sirius barely ate that first month, and his usual wide grins retreated into forced, thin-lipped smiles. There was no laughing. He pretended to be okay and was mostly successful when it came to your parents, but you saw right through him. All you had to do was look at his eyes to see exactly what he was feeling, how much he was trying to hide. 

You went back to Hogwarts for your fourth year, him and James for their sixth, and suddenly, Sirius returned to his old self. You’d find yourself looking up in surprise when his loud laughter rang through the great hall, and then suddenly, you’d be the one laughing as he stuffed himself with food for your amusement. You couldn’t work up the courage to ask what was bothering him, not when the real Sirius had returned. If anything, he seemed more recklessly happy than he was before. 

But, then he came home with you and James for Christmas, and the long-lost look in his eyes gradually returned. His genuine laughs and crooked grins remained, but something about them was false. There was a battle raging inside of him, a battle only you seemed to be privy to. 

You groan at the thought and sit up in bed, hating how the blankets tangle around your sweaty legs from all of your tossing and turning and the heat spell your mother had conjured over the house. You just want your racing thoughts to stop. You drop your head and dig the heels of your hands into your eyes in a vain attempt to press away the oncoming headache. 

You startle with a gasp when the floorboards outside your room creak. The normally unnoticeable sound cuts through the quiet that had previously hovered around you like a knife. It can’t be James, considering he’s snuck outside to play Quidditch more times than you can count—he knows every creaky floorboard in the house. Plus, your parents’ bedroom is downstairs, so it’s very unlikely it’s either of them.

So, what the hell is Sirius doing up in the middle of the night?

Frowning, you push your comforter back and swing your legs over the side of the bed, welcoming the cold air that soothes your warm skin. You hiss softly when your feet make contact with the cold wooden floor, and you’re quick to slip on your nightrobe and slippers. Lastly, you grab your wand hastily off of your dresser and stuff it in your robe pocket. Just in case. 

Your mother had told you she put a spell on your door to stop the horrible creaking that used to plague you, so you’re pleased when the door swings open soundlessly. You slip down the hallway as silently as you can, not daring to even mutter Lumos for fear of being caught. You reach the stairs without a hitch and step down onto the second stair, avoiding the creaky first one altogether, and you’re about to start a quick journey down when you hear a sniffle behind you.

Your robe brushes against your calves as you swivel around in surprise. How could you have missed that? Swallowing nervously, you pad carefully back down the hall until you’re standing in front of the bathroom. Now that you’re closer to the door, the heartbreaking sound of what you deduce to be Sirius crying is much more prominent, but still quiet enough for no one to hear. You bite your lip nervously and knock gently.

The crying comes to an abrupt stop, as if your knocking was a button to cut it off. You shift your feet as nerves start to bubble up in your stomach. “Can I come in?” you whisper.

Another long silence passes until you hear the doorknob rattle as it’s unlocked. You push the door open slowly to give Sirius time to stop you, and then you’re looking at him sitting on the seat of the toilet. 

Your heart sinks at what you see. He’s a complete mess, hair more disheveled than usual and hanging in front of his dark eyes, which are red from crying. He’s tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and has his hands laced together in front of him in an effort to hide his shaking. 

“Padfoot . . .” you whisper and flit into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. Sirius doesn’t look up as you perch on the edge of the bathtub in front of him. You take his trembling hands in yours. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s none of your business, little Potter,” he mumbles, but the way his large hands are clutched around yours like a lifeline betray his stubbornness.

You can’t help but scoff. “None of my business? You’re just as much my friend as you are James’s.”

“Fine, then it’s none of your concern.”

“Of course it’s my concern,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and your harsh tone finally gets Sirius to look up at you in surprise. You feel your neck flush slightly red at having his full attention on you when he’s so close. “I’ve been worried about you, Sirius,” you admit quietly.

“Worried about me?” Sirius sits back and wipes his nose before shooting you a cocky smile in an attempt to distract you from the situation. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

"I’m not a child, Sirius.”

“Of course you’re not,” Sirius agrees, dropping his smirk for a genuine look that lets you know he’s not being sarcastic. “I’ve never seen you as a child, not even when you were a wee first year.”

You snort at his antics and immediately cover your mouth, eyes wide as you listen for any sort of disturbance. James’ room is right next door. When all seems to be quiet, you look back at Sirius, who is grinning in delight at your expression. You giggle softly from behind your hand, and he’s quick to join you, which leads to the both of you taking turns shushing the other, only leading to more badly-hidden laughter.

Once both of you calm down and determine that no one has heard you, you sit back and let your hands fall to your lap, fixing him with an earnest gaze. “Honestly though, Sirius. Please tell me what’s wrong so I can get some sleep.”

“You haven’t been sleeping?”

“No, and it’s all your fault,” you accuse, playfully poking a finger into his chest. The corner of his mouth quirks up but promptly falls back down as he turns his gaze to the tile. He takes his time to respond, and you can practically see him turning his thoughts over in his head.

Finally, he says: “My folks kicked me out.” Your heart stops. 

“What?” Sirius nods solemnly. 

“That’s why I came to stay with you lot so suddenly over Summer. I’m . . . indebted to your parents. And James, but don’t tell him I said that.” He sighs and runs a hand through his scraggly hair. “My mum and dad say I’m a blood traitor.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” you ask.

He shrugs. “It means I’m not a Black anymore.”

At that moment, the stone statue that was your body shatters into a million pieces, and you stand up, waving your arms in anger. “What kind of mother would disown her own child? Why if I saw her, I would hex the–”

“Whoah whoah whoah, calm down, Lancelot.” Sirius takes your upper arms and gently spins you around to face him. “It’s alright. Truly. I’m better off without them anyway, because I got out of that hellhole and I get to be with you guys.”

You frown in confusion. “Then why were you crying?”

He purses his lips and shrugs, letting his hands drop back to his sides. You immediately miss their warm weight. “It’s nearly the new year, and Christmas is almost over. It’s strange to spend this time of year knowing that your own family doesn’t accept you anymore. I guess the reality of it just finally clicked.”

You nod along with his words. “I understand.” You step forward and raise your hand up to run your fingers through his tangled black hair, brushing it back and away from his face. “No more tears, though. They don’t deserve it, and neither do you.”

You pull your hand back but Sirius catches it before it can fall back to your side. His fingers cradle yours with impossible softness and his lips feel like fire when he kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you, (y/n).” You shudder at his husky voice, and he drops your hand.

You bring it to clutch at your chest and look away from him shyly. “Well, we should probably get some sleep so we can deal with James without killing him tomorrow.”

Sirius chuckles. “You do need quite a bit of energy to do so.”

You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully before stepping around him so you’re at the door. Just before opening it, you pause and look back over your shoulder at him. “Good night, Sirius,” you whisper.

His eyes shine with what you can only describe as pure warmth, and his lips curve up into a smile. “Good night, (y/n).”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝒐𝒘𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔: 𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒕 𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2k

summary: Mr. Scamander introduces you to his bowtruckle...and he may or may not be falling for you as he does.

warnings: none :)

“You have a bowtruckle in your pocket.”

Newt halts in his fiddling with the locks on his case and looks up at you through the wispy, caramel hair that’s constantly obscuring his eyes from your view. You’re perched on one of Tina and Queenie’s dining room chairs. Jacob carried it into the living room for you earlier when you all first arrived. Newt had offered you his seat on the well-worn, but plush lounge, but you had refused, stating that you can handle having a conversation without a cushion, thank you very much. 

Your legs are crossed daintily at the ankles, and you lean forward as you consider Newt. Or, more specifically, Pickett, who has clambered up his shoulder to huddle shyly behind his neck. Only the creature’s eyes and the sprig on top of his head can be seen, and you smile sweetly when you make eye contact. Newt blinks at the way your perfectly curled hair flutters around your eyes like curtains in the breeze when you move. He can tell you’re curious, and realizes that you’ve never seen a bowtruckle before. The corner of his mouth turns up fondly at the thought.

“That I do,” he responds, shifting in his crouch as he finishes locking up his case.

“Why?”

Newt finds himself blinking once again at the bluntness of your question, and he tilts his head up to look at you fully. Your gaze meets his inquisitively, and he’s quick to look back down before you can see the blush spreading across his cheeks. He rolls out of his crouch with a small sigh until he’s sitting on the ground with his back against the lounge, legs spread out in front of him. “Well,” he starts, “I keep bowtruckles in my case, but Pickett has what Queenie calls ‘attachment issues.’”

You raise your eyebrows and an amused smile creeps across your face. “Attachment issues,” you repeat, encouraging him to elaborate.

Newt backtracks, eyes flicking to the ceiling as he thinks of a way to explain. He holds his hand up in front of his shoulder, encouraging Pickett to wrap his spindly limbs around his thumb and pull himself up. Once his little friend is standing comfortably on his palm, Newt runs a gentle finger over the sprout at the top of his head. “He doesn’t like his tree,” he clarifies simply.

You chuckle softly and lean forward out of your chair to get a closer look. “But aren’t bowtruckles guardians of their trees?” you ask. A pleased warmth spreads through Link’s chest at your knowledge of one of his creatures. You laugh again when he nods in confirmation. “Why doesn’t he like his tree?”

“He says the other bowtruckles bully him.” Newt shifts to cradle Pickett in both of his hands and sits up, crossing his legs. He regards you with a small smirk, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a suspicion that he’s actually just sensitive.” He whispers the last part as if it’s a secret, making you giggle and Pickett whirl around to glare adorably at his keeper. 

Newt frowns right back down at him. “What?” he asks incredulously. “You and I both know it’s true.” You’re absolutely delighted when the bowtruckle blows a raspberry, and Newt rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Again, that behavior is so beneath you, Pickett.”

You snicker and slide off of the dining chair and to the floor so you’re sitting next to Newt on one hip, with both of your legs folded on top of each other. The magizoologist flushes bright red from the tips of his ears to his chest when you settle next to him, despite you maintaining a respectable distance between the two of you. He’s glad you’re too occupied with mesmerizing Pickett to notice his current state—The little creature had shied away from you when you first moved closer, but now he’s watching in fascination as you conjure flowers about the size of the pads of Newt’s fingers out of the tip of your wand. Pickett watches them all the way as they shoot up to the ceiling only to gently float back down to the floor. 

“So,” You shoot a baby blue flower across the room, causing Pickett to reel around in search of it, “Does that make you Pickett’s tree?”

Newt whips his head around to look at you with wide, green eyes. “What?” he splutters. You grin at his reaction and unthinkingly magick an array of tiny, yellow flowers to rain around Pickett. The soft petals tickle Newt’s hands when the flowers land in them, and he finds he quite likes the feeling.

“Like I said,” you continue, “bowtruckles live to guard their trees. And if Pickett is always with you…” You fix him with a teasing smile underneath your lashes, “...that makes you his tree.”

Newt gapes at you, jaw moving up and down as he tries in vain to come up with something to respond with. What does one say when a beautiful acquaintance compares you to a tree? He swallows to clear his dry mouth and mumbles: “I suppose it does.”

Your lips spread into a wide smile and you snicker giddily at the baffled expression on the magizoologist’s face. At this point, Pickett has clambered up the lapels of Newt’s white collared shirt so he’s perched on his collarbone. And while you look back at the creature, Newt finds it impossible for him to tear his gaze from you. You twirl your fingers in a “hello” to Pickett, and if his heart wasn’t already melting at that small movement, the way your nose crinkles when you smile warms him completely. Newt’s mouth twitches up once again, and this time a glint of his teeth shines through his smile. 

A breathy laugh escapes from his lips when you raise your wand and resume your flower shower. You look back at him at the sound, smile dropping slightly when you see the way Mr. Scamander is looking at you.

You’ve only known him for a couple of days, but from what you’ve seen, he’s never held a significant amount of eye contact with anyone. He tends to keep his head bowed, raising his eyes only for certain amounts of necessary eye contact. This close, you can see flecks of golden-brown hidden in his forest green eyes, like the first hints of autumn that appear in September. You find yourself searching for every last one of the beautiful imperfections while he maintains stunned eye contact with you. You get to see up close as his eyes soften, beholding you as if for the first time.

Newt’s eyes flick down to your lips briefly before raising back up to yours, and your cheeks flame at the minuscule gesture. You look down at your lap in an attempt to hide your flaming cheeks and notice Newt doing the same out of the corner of your eye. 

“Miss (l/n)?” Newt’s quiet, husky voice penetrates your being, and you stop tapping your knee nervously. You look back up at him through your lashes to let him know you heard him and his eyes falter from his own lap to your eyes and then back again before he smiles bashfully. “Would you like to meet the rest of my creatures?”

A soft, but still shy smile spreads across your face. “I would love to.”

A full-on grin breaks across Newt’s face and he scrambles to his feet, gently guiding Pickett up until he’s perched on his shoulder. Then, he holds out a hand to you, and you smile as you allow him to pull you to your feet. Neither of you are quick to let go of the other’s hand, and you find you quite like the feel of his worked, calloused fingers in yours.

Newt’s the one who lets go first, but it’s only to reach down and flick the locks of his battered case back open. You watch as he pries it open and lets the top end fall to the floor with a thump. He stands back up to his full height and huffs out a breath and you look at him curiously when you feel him look back at you with a subtle smile. “Ready?” he asks.

Your heart flutters, and you feel like the sudden lightness in your chest has the power to lift you off the ground. “Ready.”

~*~

Jacob steps over the Goldstein’s threshold with a relieved groan and holds the door open for Queenie. He scans the living room tiredly, and what he sees has him suddenly much more awake. His jaw drops slightly, but he schools himself enough to say, “Um…Queen?”

“Hm?” Queenie bounces clumsily into the flat after him. She catches Jacob’s shoulder to stop herself from tripping over her own two feet, and her blue eyes widen as she takes in the living room. “Oh, dear.”

“‘Oh dear?’” Jacob parrots, closing the door behind his girlfriend. “What the hell happened in here?” When the two of them and Tina had left two hours before, the Goldstein’s living room was meticulously clean, thanks to the elder of the two sisters. Now, it looks like a meadow exploded. What seems like thousands of flowers lay scattered across the carpet and the furniture, most of them concentrated around Newt’s closed case in the middle of the floor.

Queenie’s careful as she walks further into the room, for some reason doing her best not to step on the tiny blossoms. “We’re lucky Teeny got called in,” she chimes. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy to see this.” She snorts softly and then giggles, returning to her examination of the sitting room-turned-field. “I just don’t know why either of ‘em woulda done it.”

Jacob turns around in a slow circle, face still scrunched up comically. “Where the hell are they?”

Queenie squints when she frowns. “I don’t know.” Her eyes flick down to Newt’s case laying inconspicuously in the middle of the carpet. She grins toothily and hums at her epiphany before scurrying over to the case and kneeling in its surrounding flowers. 

“Don’t tell Newt I did this,” she whispers as she points her wand at the case and mutters, “Alohomora.” The locks flip open with a satisfying click, and Jacob walks over to join Queenie in peering down into Newt’s garden shed.

Queenie then proceeds to tip the entire top half of her body over the side of the case so her torso is dangling over the edge and into the other world.

Jacob splutters and grabs hold of the back of her calves just as she starts to slide. “Jesus, Queen, what’re you doin’?” he hisses, keeping his voice down in case Newt is close to the shed.

“Whoops!” is the only explanation she gives. Jacob sighs tiredly.

“There are a lot easier ways to do this, you know. Like climbing down the ladder.”

Queenie ignores him and turns her head to the side, blonde curls swishing into her face as she does. She blows harshly to get them to fall back out of her eyes before stilling once again, blue eyes flicking around the shed as she searches the thoughts of the different creatures in Newt’s tiny world. 

It doesn’t take her long to find the two of you, but one, simple word reigns supreme:

Pretty.

Queenie smiles as the warm feeling you and Newt are taken with fills her up like a balloon. She swings herself back up into the apartment, and Jacob rips his hands off of her legs to avoid being sat on. Yours and Newt’s thoughts die down until all she can feel is Jacob’s confusion and Mrs. Esposito’s frustration because apparently Janey downstairs brought another boy in without permission.

Jacob frowns when he sees the way Queenie is smiling. “What?” he asks. She huffs and shrugs, still smiling, and Jacob raises his eyebrows at her slightly-crazed state. Her bob is now more of a frizzy pom-pom look and she’s practically twitching with excitement as what she just felt whips through her head like a summer storm.

“We best not bother those two for a while,” is her only explanation.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑴𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒂'𝒔 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆: 𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑾!𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒌

word-count: 1.8k

summary: sheikah!reader x selectively mute!Link. Reader is assigned by Impa to accompany Link on his journey through hyrule. You see mipha’s grace in action when you’re attacked by a group of Yiga.

warnings: canon-typical violence (reader and link fight the Yiga), blood, use of weapons

author’s note: it’s winter, which means it’s time for the return of my comfort breath of the wild phase. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

The air is ripe with the sweet smell of autumn as you travel through Akkala, and Link smiles and nods when you comment on it. The horses are calm and well-rested from the night spent in Tarrey Town, and they eat up the path of Kaepora Pass in an energized walk. You find yourself leaning into the gait of your mount more than usual, reveling in the feel of the sun warming your back and the gentle swaying back and forth of the mare Link procured for you at the beginning of your journey together a few weeks ago. 

When Link leaves you to conquer the shrine on Rist Peninsula, you’re happy to stay behind and mind the horses. You leave them to graze freely on a ridge above East Akkala Beach where you can faintly see Link moving around the spiral of the peninsula, nothing more than a blue blob carrying a glowing orange orb. Only when all of the monsters have been dispatched and your friend is “safely” inside the shrine do you let yourself lay back on the grass and enjoy the unseasonably warm day. 

By the time Link returns, the sun is nearly down. You’ve just fed the horses each an apple from your pack and are peeling one for yourself when Link pulls himself over the edge of the ridge. “Hey. You greet him with a smile, and he responds with a wide grin. “Someone’s chipper. I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anything?” He shakes his head. “Good thing it’s your turn to cook dinner tonight.”

When Link groans dramatically, you’re expecting it. You even feel a giggle beginning to bubble up inside you all of a sudden, but you’re quick to take a bite out of your apple to hide it. 

What you’re not expecting is for Link’s groan to cut off suddenly and a semi-familiar voice to roar: “Get down!”

Your training kicks in instantly as you drop into a crouch, and you feel something whistle over your head. You jerk your head up to see Link deflect an arrow with his sword, and you roll between your mare’s legs just in time to miss a second arrow burying in the ground where you just were.

In one smooth movement, you unhook your bow and quiver from the mare’s saddle and slap her on the rear to send her sprinting off into the trees. When you swing around with an arrow knocked back, Link is already locked in a fierce back-and-forth with a Yiga Blademaster. Two footsoldiers are trying to flank him, and you’re quick to send an arrow through the furthest one before you sprint to intercept the second, drawing your longblade as you do. 

The Yiga footsoldier barely lifts his sickle in time to intercept your blade, and you immediately know this is a highly trained group when he nearly disarms you with a flick of his wrist. You steel yourself for more of a fight than you were expecting—you’ve never dealt with a Yiga that took you longer than fifteen seconds to dispatch, and a small part of you is giddy for the unexpected challenge. You haven’t had a challenge since you last sparred with Dorian in Kakariko. 

You smirk as you parry away the soldier’s latest blow and aim a well-timed kick to his chest, sending him flying back a few feet. Quicker than a flash, you’ve dropped your sword into the grass and redraw your bow, loosing a single arrow to end the battle. Twenty seconds.

A grunt of pain catches your attention and you spin around just in time to see the Yiga Blademaster gradually pressing Link toward the ridge above the beach—you imagine a fight like this would have been nothing to him before the Calamity, but he’s only barely recovered his strength.

“Link!” You shout and take off toward him. His blue eyes shift to you for a split second, distracting him just enough for his opponent to kick him in the chest exactly as you just did the footsoldier. 

You pass over the patch of grass where you dropped your sword and snatch it up as you sprint by. “Link, the cliff!” you scream out in warning, unable to do anything but watch as Link’s boots scuff the edge of the ridge. You’re mere meters away when you catch one last glimpse of him, hair shining like spun gold in the setting sun. Then, the Blademaster hunches over him and thrusts his blade forward.

“No!” you gasp and finally, finally reach the Blademaster. He’s too large and slow to turn around in time to catch your blade, so you dispatch him quicker than you ever have someone if his stature before. Only once he disappears in a puff of purple smoke and a shower of rupees do you peer down the edge of the cliff. Link is motionless where he lies on the beach, and there’s already a spot of red growing around him.

“Link!” you shout and scramble down the cliff, ignoring the way the rocks tear at your palms. You reach the bottom of the ridge in record time considering you don’t have a shield, and your legs nearly give out as you turn to run the last few steps to the hero. Link rolled to a stop about five meters away from you, and the difference between seeing him now, bathed in the gray light of dusk, versus when the sun was shining on him only a few minutes ago is stark. 

He doesn’t move when you fall to your knees next to him. Not even a twitch. When Impa first introduced you to the revived Hero of Hyrule, you specifically remember observing how his fingers drummed on his thigh the whole time he was kneeling in front of your tribe elder. You’ve never seen him so still before, and the sight fills you with dread.

Tears well up in your eyes as the realization that you just heard Link speak for the first time hits you like the swing of a Hinox. And it was to warn you just in time to save your life. Impa had told you of the vow of silence he took when the princess was placed under his charge—that in order to remain one hundred percent focused on his mission, he would only ever speak if undoubtedly necessary. 

You never thought you’d hear his voice beyond his faint grunts in battle, or when he chuckles quietly at Beedle’s inane jokes. And the thought of never hearing his voice again has your hands hovering over him uselessly, at a loss for what to do. The knees of your armor are starting to soak through. Please, please, please.

That’s when his body erupts into turquoise flames.

You’re glad no one is around to hear the way you screech at the sudden flash of light, or how you scrabble backward in panic. Link seems even more startled than you as he shoots up with a strangled gasp, back arching off the beach as if to escape his prone position on the ground. 

“Link?” you hiccup, tipping forward on your hands and crawling back toward him. “You…”

Link sits up with a low groan of pain, effectively cutting you off. You watch him warily as he looks at his hands as if seeing them for the first time, then lifts up the front of his blood-soaked shirt and examines his bruised abdomen. You follow his gaze to the short, newly-raised scar in the middle of the bruising. “It worked,” he mumbles, and you gasp slightly, heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice once again.

“What worked?” you ask. Link’s eyes whip towards you in surprise, as if he’d forgotten you were there. Mipha’s Grace, he signs, and your heart stops at the simple explanation. Link’s never been one for words, usually answering you with short sentences and leaving you to sort through the rest of the context yourself. This time is no different, but you find yourself stumbling into the explanation rather quickly. 

You were accompanying Link a fortnight ago when he freed the Divine Beast Vah Ruta with the help of Prince Sidon of the Zora. When you asked what he discovered in the ancient machine, he had merely signed: A gift from Mipha. She said she’d heal me when I need it. 

The statement had baffled you too much to ask any more questions…but now, the reality of his words click into place. 

“You died?” you shriek, and Link reels back at your sudden volume. You scramble forward the last couple of inches and cup his cheeks, dragging your hands down to his shoulders as you cry: “Please tell me I didn’t just watch you die and be brought back to life by a goddess-damned ghost, Link—” Link’s eyes widen at your unholy words. Sure, he’s heard you curse and joke before, but never in this way. Never so desperately.

He pulls you down into his arms to avoid looking into your tear-filled eyes any longer. He can feel your chest heave as you sob, the fear and adrenaline of the past few minutes finally catching up to you. After a few ragged breaths, you reach your arms up from where they’re bunched awkwardly against his chest and wrap them around his neck, and suddenly Link’s arms are full of you.

You smell like blood and metal from the scuffle on the ridge, but Link can still detect the warm smell of sunlight in your hair above it all. There’s a tear in the waistband of your armor when he bands his arms tighter around you, pulling you ever closer when he realizes that you could have died too. And you wouldn’t have come back.

He tightens an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he guides your head onto his shoulder with his other hand. His nose brushes the tip of your ear, breathing in your sunlight as he runs a soothing hand down the back of your head.

“Goddess.” Link finds himself chasing you when you draw back suddenly and look at him with concern, ignoring the tears still running down your cheeks. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I can’t believe I’m crying when you’re the one who just died—”

Link blinks as you continue to ramble, watching your face closely as you cup his face and turn it side to side, examining him. Your sudden change in demeanor is giving him whiplash and he finds himself wishing you were still tucked in his arms. He lifts his hands between you and signs your name directly in front of your nose to get your attention, forcing your eyes to cross so you can see his words. 

I’m okay, he continues with a smile he hopes is comforting. I’ve died before.

Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing as Link finishes his sentence, and your giggles grow slightly hysterical when you focus back on his face to see him grinning. You’re an idiot, you sign in lieu of speaking through your laughter. 

Obviously. I just died, he jokes again.

You laugh once more and tug him sharply back into your arms. His chin collides with your shoulder at the force of it, but you couldn’t care less. He hugs you tightly to him again as he feels your arms shaking around him. “Idiot,” you repeat. 

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑩𝑵𝑯𝑨 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝘉𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰𝘶 𝘒𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘪:

𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 . . . 2.7𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵: "𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘯." prohero!bakugo

𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘶 𝘏𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪:

𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 . . . 2.2𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧. prohero!shinsou part i

Revelations . . .3.1k, prohero!shinsou part ii

𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚃𝚘 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑪𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆: 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

word-count: 2.4k

summary: pro-hero psyche moves into your neighborhood, and you bond over your local convenience store <3 (y’all. when i tell you it took me a wholeass season to write this.)

warnings: fluff. just fluff

part ii

When you stumble into Kondō Convenience on a rainy summer evening, you nearly stop in surprise at the sight of another customer in the hallowed space. 

Since you moved off campus last year, it’s been your Friday routine to stop at the convenience store below your apartment and get yourself a treat. The little corner store is usually pretty lonely, save for during the morning rush when practically the whole neighborhood stops in for coffee and a small breakfast. 

You can tell the stranger is handsome even from behind — He’s clad simply in flowing black pants tucked into expensive combat boots, and a black shirt tight enough to emphasize the lean muscle he’s built up (though, most of the view is hidden underneath a thick purple scarf and an even brighter purple mop of hair). 

"Ah, my favorite student,” your attention is pulled away by Kondō, the uncle that runs the store. He smiles at you kindly when you make eye contact over the counter. “How was your week?”

You smile at the man. “It was good. Thank you, Ojisan.”

“What will you be getting this fine evening?”

“I’m not sure yet. Any suggestions?”

“Well, our new neighbor is already exploring our caffeinated selection.”

New neighbor? You look back at the stranger just in time to see him turn around curiously. You’re immediately stricken by his arresting violet eyes, matching his coiffed mop of hair perfectly. He looks from Kondō to you and gives you a tentative smile. “What can I say? I’m a man who likes options.”

Your mouth twitches up at the tired, deadpan way he jokes. Despite having just met the man, you immediately decide you like him. 

“You new around here?” you ask, walking over to join him by the row of fridges.

"Yeah, just moved around the corner. I'm Shinsou," he introduces himself with a small smile and a dip of his head. You give him your name in return.

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. Shinsou smiles again, and you can’t tell if the shiver that runs through you is from that or the chill of the open fridge. You clear your throat and gesture to the different selections of canned coffee. “Any suggestions?” you ask.

“Uh...” Shinsou turns back to the fridge with a thoughtful frown. “I’ve actually never tried any of these brands. But, my friend has said good things about...” He reaches in and retrieves an amber can of cold brew. “This one.”

You smile and pluck the can out of his hand when proffered. “I do like caramel. Thank you, Shinsou.”

“You’re welcome,” he responds, and the slightly raspy quality of his voice as he tacks your name on at the end makes you look back up. His hair has fallen over his forehead and almost into his eyes, giving him a younger look in spite of the signs of stress that exist alongside his smile lines. 

You feel a flush starting to creep its way across your neck and turn to walk to the counter before you embarrass yourself. “Well, I live just across the street if you want help learning the area.” 

Kondō raises his eyebrows at you as he rings you up, and you give him a look, imploring him to stay quiet. You don’t know what made you say that, but the offer flew out of your mouth before you could stop it. In the year you’ve been coming here, Kondō has never seen you with so much as a friend, let alone even interact with anyone in the store outside himself. So, your immediate interest in the purple-haired stranger could not be more obvious. 

Shinsou smiles at you as he joins you at the counter and lays 100 yen on the counter. “I just might take you up that.” He nods once more to Kondō before spinning around towards the door, coffee in hand. “I’ll see you around, neighbor. Ojisan.”

“Stay safe out there, MindJack.”

You frown and turn back to face Kondō just as the small bell above the door jingles to signal Shinsou’s exit. “‘MindJack?’” you prompt. 

“That boy’s a hero,” your friend says reverently as he slides your can of coffee back across the counter.

You blink in surprise and look back towards the door, where the bell is still shaking at the top. “Really? What’s his quirk?”

“I’m not sure. But, I’d recognize a hero costume anywhere.”

“Huh. I’ve never seen him before either.” You reach into your jacket for your wallet and ask, “How much for the coffee?”

Kondō shoots you a teasing smile. “Psyche left more than enough to pay for both of you.”

~*~

The rains stop toward the end of May, giving way to the traditional blistering summer heat. You had taken a few summer courses upon yourself in the hopes of graduating sooner...but if you're honest with yourself, you probably should've taken a break. On the way home one evening, you walk past a group of kids shrieking and laughing as they run through a sprinkler park, and can't help but feel your jaw tighten with envy.

“Need another coffee?”

You gasp and spin around toward the sound of the voice, only to see no one. A dry chuckle meets your ears next. “Up here.”

You shade your eyes from the sun and peer upwards—Shinsou’s smirking down at you from where he’s perched on a traffic light, swinging his legs back and forth so you can see the purple undersides of his boots. His hair is glowing in the sun, casting a vibrant halo around his sharp features. 

Okay. So you might have a thing for purple hair. 

Or maybe it’s just the man attached to it.

The two of you have formed an easy comradery in the past few weeks that is both extremely good for you and extremely not. Instead of harboring a stupid, but ultimately futile crush on a Pro Hero, every interaction you have with Shinsou ends with a distinct air of possibility. A possibility that you absolutely refuse to entertain. 

“What are you doing up there?” you ask incredulously.

“Surveilling.” Shinsou takes the last sip of his canned coffee before tossing it perfectly into the trash can below. “Mrs. Agawa’s cat got out again.”

“Ah. So she enlisted our favorite local pro hero?”

“Well, Blue Rider lives a street over. So, I guess that depends on if I’m your favorite.” You drop your hand from your forehead so he can see you roll your eyes spectacularly, regretting it immediately when you accidentally make eye contact with the sun.

You curse and blink furiously to clear the spots from your vision, faintly aware of the shadow of Shinsou's form dropping down from his perch to land in front of you. "Whoa there, you okay?" his deep voice rumbles through you, and you're grateful for his lean form casting a shadow over your face. Through your blurry vision, you see his hands reach for you tentatively before falling back to his sides.

"Yeah, sorry," you reply, but you don't really know what you're apologizing for. You risk a glance at his face, swallowing as he straightens up to his full height. You swear you can feel his body heat he's standing so close, but you cast that thought away quickly, blaming the bead of sweat that rolls down your back on the heat of the day.

You turn away from him to hide your blush and start back off down the street. “You're in second just for that, you cocky bastard.”

You bite your cheek to keep from smiling when after a short pause, you hear Shinsou jogging to catch up with you. He sidles up alongside you, hands shoved in his pockets and a goofy smirk on his face as he walks backward next to you. “How can I be cocky when you don’t even know my quirk?”

“Because you’re cocky despite my not knowing your quirk.”

Shinsou’s mouth turns up at the corners and, after a moment of thought, he spins around so he's now bumping shoulders with you. “Fair point.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s smiling to himself slightly as you walk together, eyes scanning the quiet street for a hint toward Mrs. Agawa’s cat. “You’re awfully cheerful today," you observe. "Talkative too.”

Shinsou breathes out a laugh and finally turns his eyes on you. “You might be the only person to ever say that to me.” His eyes soften and drag over you slowly. “Must be something about you.”

Your heart stutters and you find yourself stumbling to a stop, a small smile growing across your face. “Are you flirting with me right now, Shinsou Hitoshi?”

There’s a faint flush decorating his cheeks as Shinsou steps closer to you. “And if I was?”

“And if I were,” you correct, and Shinsou rolls his eyes.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re flirting with me.”

“I am.”

You can’t help how the corners of your mouth turn up in a pleased smile at his admittance. You turn and continue walking before you say anything else, quite liking the fluttery feeling you've been left with. "Alright then."

A comfortable hush settles over the both of you for the next block and you close your eyes briefly, enjoying the sensation of the sun on your back. You inhale the distinct smell of early summer—sun-baked pavement after a night of heavy rain and the sweet aroma of blooming hydrangeas.

“What are you doing?” Shinsou asks.

“Just being.”

“Okay, well, you’re about to walk into a trash can.”

Your eyes fly open just in time. “Shit!” You dodge the offending obstacle and Shinsou laughs, catching you with steady hands when you stumble into him. After you push yourself back to your side of the sidewalk, you make sure to land a solid hit on his arm. “You could’ve said something earlier! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero?”

“You were clearly enjoying ‘just being.’”

“Jerk.”

Shinsou chuckles again and opens the door to Kondō’s, gesturing inside. “Will a coffee make it up to you?”

You cross your arms. “Two will.”

“Deal.”

You jump back with a shriek as a bright flash comes barreling out the convenience store door. Shinsou’s eyes widen and he sprints past you, already halfway through unwrapping his purple scarf.

“Shit! Come here, kitty kitty!”

You cover your mouth to quiet the flurry of giggles that threatens to rise out of you as your friend chases the fleeing orange cat down the street. And if you take out your phone to take a picture…well, that’s no one’s business but yours. 

~*~

A hot wave rolls over you when you step out of Kondō’s a week later. The asphalt is steaming in the downpour after a blistering summer day, and you sigh inwardly at the feel of sweat gathering underneath your raincoat. You tug your umbrella low to your head and begin trudging down the block to your apartment building.

You kick up a puddle as you slow to a stop at the sound of a familiar voice calling your name over the pounding of the storm. You turn around to see Shinsou jogging toward you in his full hero regalia. The mask dangling from his chin is starting to gather water and his hair is plastered to his head, making his tired face seem a lot younger. 

“Hey, it’s the birthday—oh.” You inhale sharply when Shinsou barrels into you and gathers you into his arms. Despite your surprise, you return his embrace immediately, awkwardly squishing the handle of your umbrella between you two. “What’s wrong, jerk? Are you okay?”

You gasp when Shinsou pulls you even closer, lifting you off your feet slightly. His face is wet where it’s pressed against your neck and he’s shaking slightly…you can’t tell if it’s from whatever he’s feeling or the rain. “Rough day,” his voice rumbles through your chest like thunder, and you find yourself gasping slightly at the feeling. 

“I can tell,” you mumble softly. You wrap your arms tighter around him, resting one palm on the cold back of his neck to warm it. “Want to come up and talk about it?”

He pulls back, breath warm where it sighs over your chin, and you find yourself chasing his heat. “Can’t. I gotta get back out there, every hero in the area is on this.”

“Ah.” You lift the umbrella off of where he’d let it rest on his tall head. “So it’s a fucked day.”

Shinsou finds himself chuckling despite himself, despite the things he’s seen and heard and done in the past twelve hours. “Yeah. Today’s fucked.”

“Well, you did say you weren’t a birthday guy,” you tease him with a small smile. Shinsou’s heart sighs at the sight, every inch of him relaxing at the quiet patience you seem to always have for him. 

“I did get you a gift, though,” you continue, the hero stepping back slightly as you reach down and pull an amber can of coffee out of your bag. “Seeing you now, it looks like I chose correctly.”

Your friend’s lavender eyes blink once in surprise before his usual smirk is back in place. He plucks the can of coffee out of your hands and fixes his eyes on you. “Thanks, jerk.”

“Any time, hero.” You don’t know what made you say the new nickname, but you’re happy you did when a dusting of pink appears across Shinsou’s cheeks. “Sorry your birthday is fucked,” you whisper.

“Will you go out with me sometime?” Shinsou asks, and suddenly you find your face getting warm enough to match his. He chuckles nervously, warm breath ghosting over you from his proximity to you underneath your umbrella. “Sorry, that was blunt. But, I mean, it’s about time I asked, huh?”

“I…” You lick your lips. “I guess it is.”

Shinsou grins and shifts his feet, his downcast mood from earlier nowhere to be seen. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up.” Shinsou smirks once more before ducking his head and escaping the safety of your umbrella, back into the summer storm and whatever he’d been dealing with before. “Good night.”

He spills out the water that had gathered in the bottom of his mask before fixing it across his chin. This is your first time seeing the device up close, and you realize it's much more intricate than you thought. After a wink in your direction, Shinsou disappears back into the shadows and you stumble backward slightly as if the short conversation gave you whiplash. 

“See you tomorrow, hero.”

[findmeinasunshower]

How the Superwholock babes would react to you coming back to Tumblr!!! ^u^

Dean:

“Thank god y/n!! The tumblypoos need you!”

Sam:

“We can finally be moots again…”

Cas:

“AHAUHAAHAUAAUHAAAAHGGHGHHHHHAAAUGHAGAH”

Sherlock:

“Let the nightblogging commence…”

The Doctor:

[findmeinasunshower]

Will you ever reupload the same oneshots from your old blog??

I will be! I'm trying to move at my own pace while revamping them as life has been absolutely bonkers, but they will be up!

Also...happy early Halloween!

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 2.7k

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : prohero!bakugo x gender-neutral prohero!reader. get together fic, Halloween edition!  𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 : “Fuck candy corn.”

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : language (it’s bakugo), alcohol, gets a lil spicy at the end, but it’s sfw! :)

You walked into Bakugo’s life five years ago when he and Deku created Might Agency, and the nerd convinced him they needed to hire a sidekick. But not just any sidekick — no, as usual, the little asshole had a plan up his sleeve and gave him your resumé that same day. Upon one look, Bakugo immediately knew why Deku wanted to hire you.

“The Wonder Duo” had been involved in primarily high-profile crime since graduating from U.A. In order to expand, they needed someone who could work both in and out of the spotlight that comes along with the Pro Hero world.

You were fresh out of U.A., only a couple of years their junior, and had not only the perfect quirk for what they needed but the perfect skill set. You're basically a living battery — able to draw on the electricity around you and turn it into energy, where you then manipulate it and create glowing hot light. Not only that, but you took every business course U.A. had to offer on the side in case you ever had the chance to run an agency.

And so, fresh out of high school, you were stunned to be hired on to build the Undercover Unit at Might Agency.

Five years later, Bakugo knew you’d be the talk of the Halloween Gala before your glittering shoes even touched the red carpet.

The Halloween tradition started eight years ago as an excuse for Bakugo’s graduating class to dress up together and be assholes outside of the public eye. Ponytail hired a bunch of people to decorate her gigantic house, and their whole class got together to celebrate the holiday. But as they all rose to fame, so too did the event itself, until now it’s nearly at a Met Gala level of publicity in Japan.

Today’s dominating news story (masterfully planted by their agency’s manager) said it all: “After five years of groundbreaking undercover work, Pro Hero Celestial emerges to join the ranks above ground and train a new generation of underground heroes at Might Agency.”

You’re the elusive sidekick-turned-partner of Pro Heroes’ Deku and Dynamight. So he isn’t surprised when he’s halfway down the red carpet leading up to Ponytail’s house, avoiding as much of the press lined up behind the barrier as he can, and he sees every camera within his field of vision turn to the entrance of the carpet. And somehow he knows you’re there.

And later in the night, when he slips into one of Momo's million supply closets to see you standing in the corner, part of him isn't all that surprised that you had the same idea as him. Even if he does shout a loud "Fuck!" upon seeing you.

You simply take a deep breath to calm your heart rate after his explosive entrance, then casually hold out a small cup of candy corn you must have snagged from one of the snack tables. “Candy corn?” you offer.

“Fuck Candy corn,” Bakugo bites back. He shoves himself into the opposite wall and watches as you pop a piece of the nothing-flavored snack into your mouth. “The fuck are you doing in here?” he asks.

“Three ‘fucks’ in under a minute? That has to be a new record,” you joke dryly around a mouthful of your prize.

“Twinkles.” The only indication that the use of your nickname has an effect on you is a single blink before you go back to eating. Bakugo sighs and yanks off the stupid pirate hat and eyepatch his stylist had given him this year so he can focus on you better. “Why are you in here?” he tries again.

Candy corn now gone, you toss the cup dejectedly to the floor and cross your arms. “Hiding,” you respond vaguely.

“Hiding? From what?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and fix him with a glare, and Bakugo finds himself momentarily stunned by having your full attention on him for the first time especially when you look like that. “What do you think, Bakugo?”

He raises his eyebrows at the use of his last name. You haven’t used it since your first year as a sidekick, nearly six years ago. At that time, you called him solely “Dynamight out of respect, before eventually graduating to “Bakugo-san” a few months later when you got sick of his grumbling. But ever since you officially came on as a partner of the agency three years ago and the two of you got into your first screaming match, you’ve insisted on calling him solely “Katsuki” just to piss him off.

So, you calling him Bakugo sets off every friendship red flag Shitty Hair has drilled into him over the years.

He’s careful as he matches your position, propping his leg up on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. You look at him suspiciously as he settles in to wait, and Bakugo rolls his eyes, waving his hand impatiently. “Well?” he prompts.

You fix him with a glare, and he fights the shudder that threatens to quake through him. Apparently realizing that he’s not going to back down, you hug yourself and mumble: “I don’t want to be a publicity prize.”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow. “A ‘publicity prize?’” he prompts.

You gesture down at your costume, the diamonds along your sleeves glittering in the darkness from the slight movement. “Some tabloids are already calling me “Shining Seven,’” you complain. “I only hit seven in the rankings last week.”

“Only reason you didn’t earlier—”

“—Is because I was undercover, I know,” you finish with a sigh. “I’m just…I’m not like you and Midoriya. I’m not used to being in the spotlight, you know? And I was thrust in so quickly, and debuting dressed like this, everybody suddenly thinks…I don’t even know, but I swear if one more sidekick asks for a picture with me I’m—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down.” Your friend finally steps forward and grasps your shoulders firmly. “How do you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once?”

“Probably hanging out with Midoriya too much.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bakugo growls, and he’s relieved when you chuckle under your breath. A pair of laughing voices passes outside your hiding spot and you both go quiet as you wait for them to pass.

Looking at you as you peer through the crack in the door to the party beyond, Bakugo realizes this is the first time he’s properly looked at you today. You’re draped from head to toe in robes of midnight blue velvet, the color imitating the night sky perfectly. Hundreds of glittering diamonds are embedded throughout the fabric, making it look like you’re glowing from within, the effect emphasized by the luminescent lotion your stylist gave you to put on.

To finish the look, your features were dusted with just the barest hint of makeup, simultaneously enhancing your natural features and accentuating your heavenly appearance. Finally, a halo diadem of jewels and stars is laid to rest atop your head.

You look astral. Eternal. Your stylist had dressed you as a Deity of Light.

Katsuki clears his throat, and you turn your bright eyes on him at the sound, eyes immediately furrowing in confusion when he won’t meet your eye. You blink in surprise as he mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and sweeps the curtain aside. 

His fiery blush has faded into a frustrated scowl by the time he reaches the open bar set up in one of Ponytail’s dining rooms and orders “two of whatever the most popular drink is.” The bartender nervously shoves the drinks toward him less than a minute later, and the hero grunts in appreciation before heading back to you. 

You’re still there when he yanks open the door and shoves a large, neon green cup in your hands. It sloshes over with the force of his handover, splashing your overlapped fingers with whatever the mixed drink is made up of. “For you,” he insists.

You startle a little bit and wrap both hands around the cup, looking down at the mysteriously foaming purple drink, then back up at him with those cosmic eyes. “Did you put anything in it?” you ask with faux gravity.

Bakugo scoffs, “fuck off,” and crosses his arms, and you giggle into your drink. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the music or harmless tease at each other’s costumes. You finish your drinks together, simply enjoying each other’s company and listening to the party booming throughout the rest of the house.

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves seated shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and you ask: “Bakugo…why are you in here?”

He scowls and cocks an eyebrow as he looks at you. Your face is starting to get a lovely flush from the drink he brought you. “What, I can’t be in here?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked why you were here.” You lift your head off of his shoulder so you can look at him clearly, and tilt your head to the side with a small smile at whatever you see. “Though I’m not complaining,” you tack on.

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the meaning behind your words, face going hot as your gazes hold. A smile spreads slowly across your features at his stunned silence, and the last of Katsuki’s brain cells go out the window at the sight. Your smile quickly turns into laughter, and Bakugo assumes that he’s probably never looked more like Dunce Face than he does right now.

“Shut up,” he insists, still flushed red and lacking his usual vitriol. “I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to say that out loud.”

“If anyone else were sitting next to me, I would be,” you admit, settling back into the wall with a smile. Your voice is quieter, more hesitant when you say: “I guess I’m just comfortable with you.”

He blinks in shock, pulling away from you at that last, quiet confession. With the way your voice got small, plus the mild flirtation not only earlier but in the past, plus the alcohol running through his veins, the realization hits him like a truck.

A part of him has known he’s had feelings of you for a good while now, but it’s a part of himself Katsuki never acknowledged. He was always too busy, whether it be with the responsibility that is building an agency from the ground up or just hero work in general. The two of you have orbited around each other ever since you met, working in the same place and tasked with the same end goal, but taking different routes to get there. Katsuki was your main supporter when you decided to put anonymity behind and work on training the new generation of underground heroes. He was the one to talk to Deku and convince him to implement the Underground Unit so that you could come on full-time.

You’ve been an integral part of Katsuki’s life for years — a star in his galaxy.

Only now is he finally realizing why.

The only thing he can find himself saying as he looks at you in that dusty closet is: “You’re comfortable with me,” with disbelief stark in his flat voice. Your eyes are still so bright when they lock with his in the dark, and they widen as he leans across you, bringing his face closer to yours. “Same,” he whispers.

“What?” you ask, eyes flitting all over his face.

“I mean same,” he repeats, and you gasp as Katsuki takes your hand in his. He’s practically laying across your lap now, and his face is oh-so-close to yours. “I mean,” Katsuki sighs and fights the instinct to scowl as he searches for the right words. “I’m also comfortable. Around you.”

Your gaze on him doesn’t falter as he looks away and reaches for his empty cup, wishing there were still something in it at least to have something to do other than look at your all-knowing face. But eventually the feel of your attention on him pulls him back to you, and Katsuki blinks when he sees you smiling shyly.

“Dynamight,” you say in a teasing tone. “Are you hitting on me right now?”

Katsuki scoffs again and leans back into the wall. “I’m not not hitting on you,” he grumbles.

“You’re not kidding?” you ask, leaning into his space so he’s forced to look at you. 

Your proximity sends his heart into overdrive, and he suddenly finds himself dropping his cup so he can pull you into him, nose to nose, breath to nervous breath.

“I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he breathes against your mouth. 

And then it’s you who throws your arms around Katsuki and pulls him into a messy, clumsy kiss. A faint whimper escapes you at the first touch of Katsuki’s tongue on yours, and the sound shakes him right to his toes. “Fuck,” he growls against your mouth, barely able to breathe from the force of your embrace. “Come here.”

Your whimper is needier this time as Bakugo wraps his arms around you and fully hauls you against his chest, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re oxygen. The only thing you can do is hold on, arms draped around his neck like a western damsel in distress. He holds you just as tightly, and you feel him shudder against you as he breaks the kiss in favor of closing his mouth over your pulse point.

“Yesss,” you hiss between your teeth and arch into Katsuki, closing your eyes and reveling in the feel of his solid, solid shoulders underneath your grasping hands. “Katsuki—”

“Baku-bro? You in there?”

You shriek and jump away from Katsuki at the sound of Kirishima’s voice, covering your mouth with your hands. Bakugo is already on his feet and reaching for the door handle, grasping it just in time to pull it closed as his friend tries to open it. “Go away, Shitty Hair! I’m busy!”

“...In a closet?”

“A stupid sidekick spilled their fucking drink on me,” he lies smoothly, glancing at you as you get to your feet in the corner. “Needed a quiet place to clean up.”

“For an hour?” A snicker sounds from the other side of the door, and Katsuki glowers deeply at the realization it’s Kaminari.

“Fuck off, Dunce Face! I’m not going out there fucking shirtless!”

“Alright, alright,” Kirishima says, ever the peacekeeper. “We’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bakugo takes a deep, centering breath as he listens to his friends walk away before he turns back to you. Your arms are crossed, leaning against the back wall with a hesitant smile on your face. That won’t do.

“Well,” Bakugo says, harnessing his worked-up liquid/adrenal courage one last time. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips together in a small bump. This time, he doesn’t stop the shudder that runs through him when your eyes meet his, and he revels in the sound of your small, stuttering gasp when he runs his hands down your arms. “Should we rejoin the party, Twinkles?”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach up to fiddle with the frayed ties of the open white shirt of his costume. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” you whisper.

Bakugo shrugs. “I mean, we could talk about it now.” You relax into his arms when he leans down to kiss you again, and you find yourself swaying slightly and blinking bubbles out of your eyes when he pulls away. “Or we could talk about it later.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you’re rolling up onto your toes and hauling Bakugo down to your height so you can kiss him properly. “Definitely later,” you insist against his mouth.

[findmeinasunshower]

hi! just wanted to let you know that in your latest leo oneshot, you say the reader is gn at the top but in the fic you use she/her to refer to them. just in case you wanted to fix it for others to read. have a nice day!

Thank you so much for letting me know! I just edited it to gn!reader <3

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒂: 𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒐 (𝑻𝑴𝑵𝑻)

word-count: <1k

lil baby blurb, fluff, gender-neutral reader; pictured rise!Leo but can be read as any version of the Turtles!

warnings: none :)

“Master Splinter?”

The rat raises his head and slowly opens his eyes, shaking away the fog of meditation as he does. His second youngest son is hovering in the doorway, Splinter blinks in concern when he notices the boy is shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. It’s rare that Leonardo presents as anything other than confident, so the sheer discomfort radiating from him sets off his paternal instincts. “What is it, my son? Did (y/n) leave already?”

Leonardo seems to flinch slightly at the sound of your name. “Uh, yeah. (y/n) just left. Are you...” he glances pointedly at the candles set in front of his father. “...Are you busy?”

It’s also rare that his second youngest son asks for advice without prompting.

So Splinter shakes his head and gestures to the mat in front of him. “Come sit.” Leo nods and slinks forward to kneel next to his father. Splinter turns his eyes back to the candles and asks: “What happened?”

He sees Leonardo shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing major, I guess. Something’s just...off. I don’t think it’s anything I did, but it’s nothing (y/n) did either.”

“I really like them.”

The blue-banded turtle smiles, his eyes becoming dreamy in the flickering candlelight. It’s nice to hear his father outwardly express that he likes you. “Yeah, I like them too.” 

Thinking of you only brings back the memory of what happened earlier in the night, why Leo has come to his father in the first place. His face falls at the recollection and Leonardo bunches his fists on his knees. “Tonight, (y/n) asked me if I loved them and...I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I know I messed up.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say anything.”

Splinter hums in understanding and looks back at Leonardo. “Well then you must ask yourself, my son: Do you love (y/n)?”

Leonardo nods in earnest. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

“How can anyone not be afraid of love?” Leonardo blurts. Even the turtle himself seems surprised by the question he couldn’t keep from escaping. Splinter’s heart warms at the sight. To see his son go through the thrills and woes of love...it’s something every parent wishes for and dreads at the same time. 

“That is a very wise and often confusing question, Leonardo. Let me ask you: Are you afraid of the Kraang?”

His son’s face darkens at the question. “Of course.”

“But does that fear stop you from facing them?”

Leonardo blinks as the pieces begin to fall into place before shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“So, why is love any different?”

One more second of silence passes before Leo is springing to his feet. “You’re right! Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I can’t do it, I’ve practically done this before!”

Splinter smiles softly. Oh, if only he knew. “I suggest bringing them flowers.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 3: 𝑫𝒊𝒏 𝑫𝒋𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏

word-count: 1.6k

summary: Din Djarin x senator!Reader. this is purely fluff.

warnings: small mentions of past injury. 

Part 1   ~    Part 2

You’re pulled into consciousness the next morning by the feel of Din’s warm arms wrapped around you. His breath ghosts over your ear in soft puffs with his every breath and a feeling of safety washes over you at the sensation. You’ve never shared a bed with anyone before — it’s a testament to the love and trust you hold for Din that you don’t wake up in a panic.

As if sensing you awaken, Din’s arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. “Good morning, senator.”

You smack his arm where it’s banded across your stomach. “Rude.”

“Mm, sorry.” Din presses closer until you can feel the unarmored breadth of him flatten against your back. He breathes in your ear: “Good morning, orar.” You shudder as he presses another kiss to your ear, then to your jaw below it.

You curl your fingers around his forearm in an attempt to ground yourself, but can’t stop yourself from arching back into his touch. “How’s your neck?” you manage to gasp out.

“No pain,” he breathes between the kisses he lays down your neck. “Thank you.”

You flip over so you’re facing him, and are immediately filled with a bubbling glee to see Din’s face again. “Well, I am a pretty good nurse,” you tease and flick the edge of the bacta patch on his neck with your finger. Din smiles down at you, crooked yet sincere, and reaches out to interlace your fingers with his. You snuggle closer, lips turning up at the state of his hair, looking like a bird’s nest after a good night’s sleep.

After making sure Din wasn’t going to bleed out in the hull, you dragged yourself up to the cockpit and plotted the journey back to Coruscant. You then forced the Mandalorian into a well-deserved fifteen minutes in the refresher before the two of you collapsed into bed in the captain’s quarters.

Now, feeling much more alive than you did twelve hours ago, you reach out and begin to reorder his hair with his hands. Din sits still and allows you to separate the soft curls with your fingers before letting them fall back into place...and after everything you’ve been through with him, this moment, laying in bed with him while he watches you fix his bedhead, feels much more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

“I knew you were handsome,” you whisper. “But I didn’t realize just how much.” You watch with pleasure as Din’s cheeks flush at the comment. “A blushing Mandalorian?” you tease. “I’m pretty sure that’s against your Creed.”

“Not with my riduur, it isn’t,” Din rumbles, and your heart warms at the title. “Besides, it’s not something I usually have to worry about.”

“You’re not used to someone seeing you,” you say. “What other kind of faces do you make?”

Din raises his eyebrows he thinks, and you smile and file away the fact that he has smile lines away for later. “I...bite my lip a lot when I think.”

You laugh and cuddle closer to him, pressing your forehead against his. “Show me.” Din scowls even as he goes to comply, but you lean in and catch his lips with yours before he can close his mouth. You kiss him lazily and he responds in turn, no intention behind where you’re going beyond simply enjoying each other’s company. By the time Din pulls away to rest his chin on the top of your head, you’ve committed the feel and taste of him to memory.

He’s shaking slightly in your arms when you tug him closer, and you press a kiss to his collarbone in thanks for the vulnerability he’s shown you in the past twenty-four hours. For the gift he decided to bestow upon you.

You bury your nose into the front of his tunic and inhale deeply, relaxing at the familiar smell of your detergent and, most distinctly, of Din. Of musk and machine oil, and the taste of copper on your tongue that always coincides with safety.

And just like that, you drift back to sleep.

~*~

You take your time getting back to Coruscant — it’s a full three days before you drop out of hyperspace on approach of the planet’s atmosphere.

You look at Din the second the stars stop warping around you and ask: “How do I look?”

He takes a moment to finish toggling a few dials in preparation for landing before looking at you. Even through the helmet, you can feel the slow drag of his eyes from the top of your head to your toes and back again. He takes his time looking over the traditional robes of your planet, the hint of makeup to cover your split lip, and the carefully done updo you styled in the refresher this morning.

“Beautiful, as always,” is what he settles on before turning his visor back to the incoming planet. A part of you mourns the loss of his natural voice, but hearing a compliment come through Din’s familiar modulator still makes you shift delightedly. “I don’t know why you ask,” he continues.

The first thing you say when you see the planet’s surface approaching is: “Leia’s going to kill me.”

“Not if you show up with me. I’m very intimidating.”

He looks at you when you reach over to pat his beskar chest fondly. “Yes, you are. But you’re cute if you think Leia is intimidated by anything.”

Although you can’t see it, Din blinks once before sighing and turning back to the controls. “Point taken.”

You were right: The second the ship’s ramp is low enough for Senator Leia Organa to step up on, she’s stalking up to you with a look of righteous fury and barely-concealed fear on her face. Din steps aside so your friend can storm into your space, and you shoot him a look of betrayal. He shrugs. Leia grasps your shoulders and looks over you with shrewd brown eyes too quick to catch on the hastily-covered gash below your lip. Her eyes widen at the sight, and you stumble a little when she pulls you into a tight embrace.

You reach up and pat her immaculate braids reassuringly. “I’m okay.”

“Liar.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“She is.”

You and Leia pull apart when Din chimes into the conversation, and he shifts his feet under both of your stares. “Senator (l/n) was very brave and managed to escape her attackers multiple times before I got there. The split lip is from where she collided with my armor when I stopped too quickly.”

Leia straightens her spine and nods. “And you, Mandalorian? Are you alright?”

Din dips his head in a nod. “Nothing I can’t survive in order to keep the Senator safe.”

You fight the blush that wants to come up at the double meaning in his words but manage to school your face back into neutrality when Leia looks back at you. “Thank you very much, Mandalorian. You’ve lived up to my brother’s words well.” Din nods once again. Leia looks back at you and takes your hand. “Now, it’s about time you—”

“—If you don’t mind, Senator Organa, I’d like a moment with Senator (l/n),” Din interrupts, nodding his head toward you.

Leia blinks. “Of course.” She shoots you a suspicious look before letting go of your hands. “I’ll meet you at the speeders, okay?” You nod and squeeze her fingers once more before watching her glide back down the ramp, much more graceful now than she was on her approach.

Din turns away the second Leia’s feet touch the landing pad, and you’re quick to follow after him. He’s silent as he leads you out of the hull and past the cockpit before turning the corner into the captain’s quarters.

You frown and follow him into the small room. “What—” You’re cut off when Din suddenly yanks off his helmet and pulls you in for a deep, deep kiss. He traps you back against the refresher door and kisses the air out of your lungs until your legs are so weak the only reason you’re still standing is because of your tight grip around his neck. Your Mandalorian has definitely learned a lot in the last few days, and you hum in satisfaction when you realize he’s making sure that you won’t forget the feel of him. The taste of him.

All you can do is hold on.

After not long enough, but too long not to be suspicious, Din pulls away. You cling to his broad shoulders as you catch your breath, reveling in the feel of the warm air between your two faces. Din licks his lips and gives you one last heated look before extracting himself from your arms and putting his helmet back on.

You find yourself trying to remember how to breathe.

You just manage to find your feet again when Din presses a small cloth bag into your hand, and you realize it’s the dirty clothes you’d been kidnapped in—his excuse for wanting a word with you. He dips his helmet to rest against your forehead once more before promising: “I’ll see you tonight for evening check.”

You nod, and you swear you can feel electricity spark from where his cool helmet touched your skin. “See you tonight,” you repeat.

You do not look back as he opens the door and walks with you off of the ship, handing the bag to one of your assistants before making sure you’re safe with Leia in the back of the covered speeder. Your friend gives him a knowing look just before the speeder pulls away, and Din finds himself swallowing down the intimidation.

That night, he doesn’t emerge from your quarters after evening check.

[findmeinasunshower]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2: 𝑫𝒊𝒏 𝑫𝒋𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏

word-count: 1.5k

summary: Din Djarin x senator!Reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, getting fully together(?).

warnings: mentions of blood, author knows nothing about medicine beyond basic first aid, past kidnapping, canon-typical violence. gets a lil smexy toward the end, but nowhere near explicit. 

Part 1   ~   Part 3

You curse and throw away another gauze pad before pressing a clean one to the bottom of the wound on Din’s neck. He stays completely silent even as you increase the pressure, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. “You don’t deserve to suffer like this,” you mumble.

Slowly, he brings his fingers up to circle gently around your wrist, stroking his thumb reassuringly across your pulse. You immediately regret the bite behind your words and whisper, “Sorry.”

Once, while you were washing dishes together in your private quarters, you asked: “What happens if you take it off?”

Din paused briefly before resuming scrubbing the pot Leia absolutely butchered a stew in. He decided to respond simply: “You can’t put it on. Ever again.”

You blinked in surprise and nearly dropped the knife you were meant to be drying. “So, you’re not Mandalorian anymore?

“Yes.” Din plucks the knife out of your hands and deposits it safely in the block before turning back to the destroyed pot.

You hesitate for a moment before doing the same, and the two of you work in a familiar, companionable silence before you speak again: “That’s banthashit.”

The Mandalorian’s head snapped up. “What?”

Your face remained calm, yet pensive as you put away a plate before turning to face him. “Religions are a way of life. At the end of the day, abandoning your way of life is a choice—our ways of life don’t abandon us the second we make a mistake. Especially if the ‘mistake’ is making sure you don’t die.”

“This is the Way.”

This is the Way. Din’s answer to everything.

His answer to why you’ve come to accept handholding and the occasional forehead touch as the only form of physical intimacy between you two. Why you can’t share a bed, or ever know what color his eyes are.

And you understand. You do. Because you love him.

But right now, you can literally feel his life’s blood seeping out from underneath the main object of his Creed.

You close your eyes and press closer to him, curling your fingers around his pauldron in a plea for strength. “Din, I understand. You know I do. But you can’t die on me here.” You shrug out of your dirty robe and hold it out to him. “Please, just wrap this around your face. I’m not letting you die on me in a ship that isn’t even yours.”

Your hand hovers in the air for a few breaths before Din reaches up and carefully extracts the robe from your fingers. You sigh in relief before averting your eyes, deciding to cover them for good measure. His helmet hisses when he takes it off, and you wait patiently to give Din time to wrap your robe around his face.

Finally, he stills, and you ask, “Ready?" Din grunts in affirmation and you uncover your eyes but refuse to look up in the direction of his face. Even though you know his face is covered, you know him well enough to recognize how vulnerable he probably feels without his helmet still. So, as you dig through the bacta kit, you do your best not to raise your eyes past the familiar shiny chest plate in the corner of your eye.

You distract yourself from his rare vulnerability by prepping the bacta spray and patches and asking: “Did Leia send you?”

“Partly,” Din replies, and a shudder runs through you at the low rumble of his un-modulated voice. You’re barely able to stop yourself from looking up at him. “Senator Organa commed me when I was already halfway here.”

“How did you know something was wrong?”

“You didn’t meet me outside for your morning meeting. After questioning the guards and searching the quarters, I realized you had already been gone for hours.”

You hum in confirmation as you carefully unwrap the first bacta patch and lay it face-up on the floor of the hold. “Yeah. They dragged me out of bed.” You can only imagine what you look like right now, bare feet dirty and night clothes torn after being hauled from planet to planet for the past forty-eight hours.  

But, there’s nothing you can do about that when you’re too grateful just to be alive and safe. “You sure found me awfully quick,” you tease as you lay out a second bacta patch. “Is two days a record?”

“I had incentive.”

“What kind of incentive?”

“You. That I can’t lose you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but it stops completely when you glance up to see your Mandalorian looking back at you for the first time.

Your world begins anew at the sight.

Din’s eyes carry a distinct sadness despite being the warmest brown you’ve ever seen. His hair is as disheveled and as dark as his eyes, and he has a mustache curated for no one else’s eyes but his (which you find to be terribly endearing). His nose is broad and distinct, and your eyes have just moved to his plush lips when his mouth drops open as if he’s just as stunned by seeing you with his own two eyes for the first time as you are seeing him.

Bacta briefly forgotten, you find yourself moving to cup his face and marvel at the rough stubble under your fingertips. “Hi,” you whisper, smoothing your thumbs over his cheekbones.

Din grasps your wrist again, only this time to press a kiss to your palm that leaves your skin tingling. “Hi, cyar’ika.”

You shake your head as tears well up in your eyes, leaning your forehead against his. “Why—”

“I love you,” he blurts, brown eyes widening at the quickness of his own statement. “I’ve trusted you since you first met the kid and the first thing he did was bring you a frog. And I realized I love you when you went missing and the first thing I thought was that I couldn’t lose you too.” He lets go of your wrist to cup your face in return. “I didn’t sleep for two days trying to find you, (y/n), but it was all worth it just to see you are safe.”

“Din.” You choke on a sob and revel in the feeling of your fingers sliding through his hair, sweat-soaked as it is. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

You press your mouth to his desperately, hungrily, trying to convey to Din just how much this gesture means to you. How much he means to you. He shifts his hand around to cup the back of your head, clutching you closer as he responds in turn by licking into your mouth. He’s just as unpracticed as you, but you still find yourself reveling in the feel of his tongue on yours, the realization that this is Din you’re kissing. After over a year of secretly courting in which you’ve only seen a sliver of his skin, you can finally feel the heat of his body beneath you.

You pull away from the kiss with a gasp and almost let Din pull you back into his embrace when he chases your mouth with his. “Stop distracting me,” you protest against his lips and turn your face away so his mouth meets sloppily against your cheek. “I still have to make sure you don’t die on me.” Din snorts and presses his nose against your pulse point, inhaling deeply. You smack him in protest. “Don’t do that, I probably smell like sweat and hyperspace.”

Din's hum vibrates your throat as he wraps his arms around your back, keeping you trapped in his lap. “As if anything could keep me from leaving you.”

You sigh and sink into him, letting him mouth at your neck as you run your hands through his hair. His breath catches in pain when your fingers brush against dried blood crusted in the hair just below his ear. You finally force yourself to lean back and grab the bacta spray off of the floor.

Din keeps his arms wrapped around you as you spray the cut from just below his ear to where it wraps around his neck. The vibroblade he took for you just barely missed his carotid artery, and you purse your lips when you realize just how close you came to losing him.

Once the bacta is out, you reach down and take the patches off of the floor and press them both on his neck one by one. Din sighs as the patches cling to his skin and the bacta begins to work in speeding up the healing process. “Better?” you ask.

“Much,” he replies.

“Good.” His gaze flicks back to yours when you look back up, and your heart melts when he smiles, eyes softening. “Hi, you.”

Din rolls his eyes good-naturedly before repeating: “Hi, you.”

You lean forward and kiss him once more, just because you can. His eyes remain shut when you pull away, and you smile at the relaxed expression on his face. “What do you say we get you to bed before that bacta kicks in?”

“Only if you come with.”

[findmeinasunshower]

𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒮𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒜 𝑀𝑒𝓃𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝓁𝓁: 𝒫𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓇 (𝒫𝒮𝟦)

word-count: 2.8k

one-shot, fluff

warnings: small mention of guns

A/N: I would die for every Peter Parker, but especially PS4 Peter.

After a long day of work, you find yourself on the roof of your precinct building. Normally you would be on your way home at this time of night, but you’ve been craving the cool rooftop air all day.

When you find yourself too tired to actually rest, you find yourself up here.

It’s a quiet night in New York, all things considered. After years of working in the city, you’ve become desensitized to the distant honks of cab drivers and the constant hum of electricity. When you tune them out, the city is completely at peace—you can even pick out a few stars beyond the smog.

It doesn’t surprise you when someone drops gracefully on the railing beside you. 

Any other day you would have jumped, but for some reason, you’re not surprised that Spider-Man has found his way to you tonight. He doesn’t disrupt your peace. Even before the disaster that was Octavius, the hero had come to visit you occasionally at the precinct in Gramercy. You’re his only other “friend” on the force beside Captain Watanabe (you actually introduced them) but despite that, you haven’t seen him since everything went down at Oscorp.

It’s then that you realize you haven’t gone home because, subconsciously, you wanted the superhero to appear tonight.

“Beautiful night, huh, Officer?”

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch up into a smile. “I thought I told you to call me (y/n).”

Spider-Man shifts on the railing. “Sorry. It’s a force of habit, especially when you got your hat on and everything.”

You reach up in surprise and realize he’s right—you never did take your hat off. “Damn.” You pull it off and set it on the railing in between you two. “I meant to put that in my locker.”

“Eh, it looks cute.”

You flush slightly and change the subject quickly, “I saw you were at the bank robbery in Harlem today.”

Spider-Man drops his head and groans. “I can’t believe he got away. Must’ve had something hidden to cut off the webs.”

“Hey, you caught his accomplices. We’ll get him eventually,” you assure. “What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Deliquadri. Anthony Deliquadri.”

You nod. “Cool. I’ll make sure he’s in our database so if he shows up in our district, we’ll be the first to know.”

Spider-Man turns his head toward you, and you imagine he’s grinning at you underneath his mask. “Are you ever not working?”

You frown and shift your feet uncomfortably under his unreadable white stare. “I can have fun.”

“You can?” Spider-Man feigns surprise, eye-lenses widening. You’ve always found it sort of adorable when they did that, but when the eyepieces are narrowed, they give off a hair-raising appearance prone to make your heart skip a beat (and not in a good way). Despite your “friendship” with the hero, you have to admit he’s scary when in action. “All this time I thought I had to make up for your lack of fun,” he continues.

“Ha-ha.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not my fault I don’t have any friends outside the precinct.”

“Except me.”

“Except you,” you agree.

The two of you lapse into silence—it’s simultaneously awkward and easy to be around Spider-Man. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye and can’t help but frown at what you see. He hides it well, but you're able to see past the jokes and witticisms and see the gloomy cloud hanging over his head. Even though you can’t see the man’s face, his body language tells you all you need to know that something’s bothering him. It doesn’t suit him at all.

He breaks you out of your thoughts when he says: “I brought you something. Don’t move,” he points at the ground playfully, and you startle slightly when he jumps off the building without warning. A disbelieving laugh escapes past your lips without your consent as you watch him swing around the corner.

“Don’t laugh,” Spider-Man pouts, already returned. How does he move that fast?

He’s now perched on the railing a little way down from you, holding a dish of ice cream in each hand. “I feel bad that we haven’t really talked since everything went down with Doc Oc,” he explains, hopping down with that characteristic, sinuous grace that really can’t be replicated. Despite his jostling, you know that there’s no chance of the superhero spilling any of the ice cream over himself or on the ground. “So...ice cream. I don’t know what you like, so I went with Mint Chocolate Chip. Good palate cleanser.”

You hum thoughtfully as he walks toward you and lean back against the railing in mock surprise. “Turns out you’re not so much of a menace after all,” you tease and make a grabby-hand gesture for the cup. “Gimme.” Spider-Man laughs and passes you your dish of ice cream before reclaiming his place on the stretch of railing beside you. He sticks and balances there perfectly, cradling the remaining dish to his chest.

“At long last, I’ve finally found your weakness,” he declares dramatically. “One day, I’ll get you to like me. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“Keep bringing me ice cream and you won’t find me complaining.” You take your first bite and whine around your spoon. This is just what you needed after today—sure, you were about to go home and actually get some sleep, but who needs sleep anyway?

“How did you even get this?” you ask. “It’s two in the morning.”

“That place in Times Square is open twenty-four hours. I stopped a mugging just outside the shop and they gave me a ‘Superhero Discount.’” Spider-Man shakes slightly, imitating a shiver as he says, “It’s things like that that give a guy the warm and fuzzies, y’know?”

You shrug and swallow another bite of heaven. “I’m not surprised.” You tilt your head and look at him earnestly. “Not all of New York hates you, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

There it is again: That dejected tone so unlike Spider-Man’s usual fashion. You’re desperate to fix whatever’s going on with him, if only just to stop you from feeling shitty by proxy. You decide against asking the standard “you okay?” and instead go with: “So, how have you been since the whole ‘Sinister Six’ thing has ended?” you ask tentatively. When he doesn’t respond immediately, you look back out over the streets. “You looked really hurt on the news. Worse than after the Raft breakout. I was worried about you.”

Spider-Man hangs his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know that.”

You blink in surprise—that response surprised you. Your police(woman/man) instincts push you to dig deeper, but your duties as a friend urge you to wait for him to continue. After a few minutes, he does:

“I knew him.”

“Who?”

“Doc Oc. I knew him...in my civilian life.”

“Oh.”

Well, that explained it.

Originally, you thought he was apologizing for not letting you know he was okay after Oscorp, but now you know his guilt runs deeper than that. Spider-Man has never even given you a hint of what his life is like behind the mask. You don’t want to ruin this new display of trust. You shift your feet uneasily and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“No, it’s not,” you insist. “I can’t imagine how hard that had to have been for you.” You pause for a second and look down at your dish of melting ice cream. “And even though I don’t know who you are underneath that mask, I can still see you blaming yourself for something that was out of your control. If you had known, I know you would have done everything you could to stop it. What Octavius did isn’t your fault, Spider-Man.”

You can feel him looking at you when you finish speaking, but you don’t turn back to face him. You don’t want to see his wide eye-lenses again, or the way he’s slightly crushing his dish of Cookies & Cream. Here he was for so long telling himself that what happened with Doctor Octavius is his fault...and you’re the first person to really tell him that it wasn’t.

Spider-Man scrambles for a subject change before he can say something he’ll regret: “Remember when we first met?”

You huff dryly. “I pointed a gun at you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Spider-Man sighs dreamily. “Memories.”

You give him a dubious look for his fond tone. Spider-Man does a good job amusing you on good days (and annoying you on bad days), but you’ve always been able to see past his apparent aloofness. Underneath the childish witticisms, you know he takes things seriously, and he takes things to heart too. He carries the weight of the city on his shoulders like it’s his job when you’re actually the police officer.

Deep down, Spider-Man is really just a lovable worry-wart, and you adore possessing that knowledge of him. He’s one of the most warm and welcoming people you’ve met in the city, mask or no.

You watch as Spider-Man casually tugs his mask up to his nose and takes the first bite of his ice cream. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen him half-maskless (you, him, and Yuri have spent many-a-stakeout on rooftops with Chinese takeout), but this time feels...different. More significant. You have too much respect for the man to become invested in his secret identity, but now looking at his face, you can’t help but wonder.

From what the bottom half of his face gives away, he’s not bad-looking though, of course, you can’t account for the rest of him. You know the hero to be a “regular” person outside of the suit (more normal than most, according to him), so you can only assume his admirable physique comes from the Spider-Man-ing.

The suit doesn’t hide much. It hugs every contour, every muscle, like a second skin. You can count his abs up close like this, something that has been done to death on the internet. Like most super-types, he’s quite muscular, but not as big or buff as Thor. Spider-Man is almost skinny in comparison, slender and athletic, like a swimmer's physique.

Heat rises in your cheeks when you realize what you’re doing and you quickly look away, taking a big bite of your ice cream. Fortunately, the hero hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied with his own snack. Shit, you’re like a stupid school girl in love.

Spider-Man shifts his weight and tilts his gaze up at the sky. ”You know, (y/n)...I’m really glad you pointed that gun at me.” You blink in surprise and he offers you an adorable little shrug. “You’re the reason the entire force doesn’t hate me anymore, and if it weren’t for you, Fisk probably wouldn’t be behind bars now. I probably wouldn’t even be alive — Hell, you’re the one who told Yuri to come for me when she saved me from Sable.”

“The only reason I didn’t come is because I was in the middle of a case,” you mumble, just as something to say. The spider’s sudden sentimentality makes you feel like a deer in headlights.

“I figured.” Spider-Man laughs nervously. “You risk your badge and your life every day just by associating yourself with me, and you always have my back. “Just...” he scratches the back of his head. “Thanks for being my friend.” A lopsided, bittersweet smile quirks up the side of his lips. “I need all the ones I can get.”

At that moment, you desperately wish that you can see his eyes because before you can stop yourself, you’re stealing his lips in a kiss. Spider-Man almost tumbles off the edge of the building, his surprise making him forget to keep his feet stuck to the railing. His plastic ice cream dish cracks under his clenched grip.

To your not-so-subtle delight, he doesn’t pull away. You can tell by the stiffness of his body that he’s shocked, sure, and you open your eyes to spare a peek. The “eyes” of his mask are so wide it’s almost comical but, slowly, they start to close. Before you can regain enough sense to pull away, Spider-Man’s dish drops out of his hand, spiraling to the streets below, and he returns the kiss.

He’s higher than you, still half-crouched on the railing, so you have to crane your head upwards in order to kiss him comfortably. You trace shapes over his chest and abdomen, feeling the firmness you had been secretly fantasizing about for weeks now. Eager to touch you, Spider-Man lowers his torso to deepen the kiss, a gloved hand tentatively running over your hair. His thighs are spread on either side of you, and the hand that you had placed on his body soon trails down to them.

It started out as a little mutual kiss, but almost simultaneously, the two of you begin to move. First, it’s just your lips, pulling away for quick breaths as the “innocent” kiss moves steadily into make-out territory. Then Spider-Man slips his tongue into your mouth, and all semblance of rational thought falls away.

Spider-Man’s hands briefly move under your shirt, and you’re frustrated by the gloves — by the little grunt of frustration he lets out, you assume he is too. You break the kiss in favor of planting new ones along his exposed neck, and a nip or two along his skin made you both shiver collectively.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

You gasp and stumble backward. “Yuri!”

Spider-Man, still in his kiss-intoxicated stupor, starts at the sound of the police captain’s name and literally tumbles off the side of the building. You don’t even spare him a cursory glance before he’s back next to you on the pavement, staring wide-eyed at Yuri.

She glares at the both of you. “Are you two insane? Anyone could have come up here and seen you! Or even worse, one of your fucking groupies could have looked out a window and seen Spider-Man making out with an NYPD officer!”

You take a step forward. “Captain Watanabe, I—”

Yuri cuts you off with a raised hand. “I'm too tired for this shit. We’ll talk tomorrow once I’ve had three cups of coffee. Don’t do anything else stupid until then, Officer (l/n).”

And with that, Yuri makes her exit, grumbling something about needing a cigarette and how she knew this would happen eventually.

“Yikes, she called you by your title.”

Fuck.

You had been just caught making out with Spider-Man on the roof of your precinct.

And you were caught by your boss.

“Shit!” you whisper, taking a step away from Spider-Man so you can enter into full panic mode. “Shit shit shit!”

Spider-Man flinches like a whipped dog at the unprecipitated change of pace. He uncertainly tries to calm you down, and you get the impression that he too feels embarrassed by how far you’d gone.

“Hey, it’s okay. She didn’t seem mad.”

“Spidey, I was just caught making out with a vigilante by my boss.” Your panic dissolves into frustration when you hear the hero stifle a laugh. “This isn’t funny!”

Spider-Man chuckles. “It is kind of funny.” You groan and turn away from him. “Hey,” he tries, walking toward you soothingly.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” you shout, hands clutching your head in disbelief.

The hero stalls and leans back incredulously. “Um, I’m sorry, but you kissed me.”

You sigh and drop your arms. “I know, I know.”

The two of you go quiet, mulling over the events of the past few minutes. Finally, he asks: “Do you regret it?”

You don’t even have to think about it before shyly admitting, “No.”

He straightens up slightly and shifts his feet, obviously pleased by that answer. “Me either.”

Your chest warm and you bite your lip, smothering a smile. “Good.”

You both jump when the previous peace is interrupted by the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. Spider-Man glances at you, still “wide-eyed” and you smirk. “Duty calls.” He cocks his head in a question and you roll your eyes fondly. “Go, Spider-boy. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Quickly but clumsily, Spider-Man complies, hopping back up onto the railing. He looks back at you once more and says a soft, “Good night, (y/n),” before casting himself off the roof and swinging away with less of his usual elegance. He probably hasn’t recovered yet. Lord knows you haven’t — you’re still red in the face and flustered beyond expression not only from kissing Spider-Man but from being caught by your boss.

One slip up, and you could've compromised everything. And yet, no matter how logic tries to convince you otherwise, you don’t regret one moment.