#he finally stopped (still did hum the song often but subtlely)

[the-bisexual-and-damned]

knox would have LOVED top gun maverick and you can't convince me otherwise

[knight-rider-fan-2000]

Something About "Autonomy" and all that

Summary: Kitt is programmed to follow Michael's every order. And on a calm day, Michael finally realizes this, and he can't put into words what it might mean.

4601 words

---

"Not this station again." Kitt lamented as Michael tweaked the radio dial.

"Oh, come on, pal, they're playing Cindy! You can't say no to Cindy."

"I certainly can." There was a smile in his voice as his modulator lights flashed- Michael knew him well enough to tell that.

The radio fizzed, and the bright vocals were replaced by the whine of violins. How Kitt even found this stuff was beyond Michael. 

"Geez. Turn the radio back, Kitt. Quit teasing-"

In an instant, the station changed back to the one Michael had selected. Kitt's voice modulator lights did not even flicker. He waited an extra second, five seconds, ten seconds for any sort of protest from the AI, but there was only silence. 

Well, not silence, but Michael couldn't hear the singer on the radio anymore. Not when he was listening for any other sort of sound in the cabin around him; the hum of fans, the activation of dashboard lights, the subtle moves and changes of the car. 

"Kitt?" He asked.

"Yes, Michael?"

"Why'd you change the radio back?"

"You told me to." 

"But you don't like my music."

"An astute observation, Michael."

"Then you didn't have to change it back."

"Of course I did. Don't be absurd."

Michael gripped the steering yoke tighter. "No, you didn't."

"Michael, really. Part of my annoyance with your music is merely comedic. Please don't be concerned about it. I can stop if you'd like."

"No!" Michael said louder. The word had slipped out, like a tire on an icy road. He took a breath and quieted his voice again. "No. I don't want you to do that."

"Then what would you like?" Kitt's tone was calm, but Michael knew it was an illusion- it was clinical, the kind of tone that he only used when speaking with authorities on the phone. 

"I don't want you changing yourself for me." 

Kitt's lights flickered, but he said nothing. 

"We clear?" Michael asked.

"Again, don't be absurd. I'm a learning computer. It's my purpose to modify myself to best support you."

"You don't serve me."

There was a garbled pitch preceding his next sentence- was that a laugh? "Of course I do." 

Michael couldn't speak.

"To further elaborate, both you and I have emphasized that ours is an equal partnership. In that way, you could argue that we are both serving each other- but do not get confused, Michael. I'm programmed to follow your orders."

"Turn the music off." Michael says, on instinct, only to have his breath catch in his throat as the song dies immediately. Instinct. Pure instinct. 

"Your heart rate is elevated. This is causing you distress." Kitt replies.

"You're my partner."

"I am also your car. Do cars not need drivers?"

"You don't."

"Actually, I do. Michael, it's not like you to doubt your importance to our mission. What is going on?"

He breathed, trying to calm his heart as well as the unnamed thing that felt like it was crawling around in his chest. It was something like dread. He didn't feel dread very often. Couldn't say he liked it very much. 

He started off slowly, giving time for his thoughts to solidify. It must have seemed like an eternity to the AI. "Kitt, every police officer knows what he's getting into when he signs up for the job."

"Understandably."

"You don't become a cop on accident. In fact, you don't do any sort of work as an accident."

"Surely people don't plan on working in drive throughs, do they?"

"They still have to fill out their application and hand over their resume." Michael snapped. "But people, people have got options."

"And?"

"Kitt. . . if you had the choice, would you be doing this line of work?"

"Of course!" Kitt raised his volume. "Michael, what has gotten into you? Of course I'd stay with you. This is what I was built for. I'd surely feel unfulfilled anywhere else. Could you imagine me trying to find other employment? Trying to be a taxi, or heaven forbid, a delivery driver? I shudder just thinking about it."

"But you don't have a choice."

"Why on Earth would I need one? I have you, Bonnie, Devon, the Foundation- I couldn't ask for a better set of circumstances."

"But you don't have a choice." Michael tried to inject even a fraction of the feeling within his chest into his voice, even if he knew Kitt couldn't figure it any more than he himself could. 

"I fail to see your-"

"What if I was a jerk to you, huh? I was a real jerk to you at first, don't you remember? What if I never got better? What if I left trash in your seats and never let you listen to your own music or-"

"Permission to interrupt?"

Michael's first instinct was to snap- he didn't like being interrupted. He'd already told Kitt that long ago. . . and Kitt had listened, hadn't he?

"Of course." He said.

"What you're proposing is irrelevant. That is purely a hypothetical scenario, not reflective of reality. A strawman argument." Kitt replied.

"Just consider it. If you had ended up with a sleazebag, how would you have gotten out of that?"

"I would have reported any behavioral infractions of this hypothetical version of yourself to Devon."

"And if he ignored them?"

"He wouldn't."

"But what if he did?"

"Michael," Kitt paused, something like a breath, "what you're arguing about is just semantics. Let's end this conversation, and let me take the wheel so that you can calm down."

"No. I want to keep driving."

It was in the silence that followed that Michael's grip on the steering yolk grew looser as he realized what he’d done. 

---

"Bonnie."

"Hmm?" The mechanic looked up from her book. 

"Kitt's programmed to follow my orders, right?"

"Of course. Has there been a problem?"

A problem, she asked. A problem with Kitt, as if it would somehow be his fault instead of-

"So he doesn't have a choice."

Bonnie closed her book. "Yes?"

Under her gaze, he struggled to organize the thoughts in his brain just the same as he struggled under Kitt's. "Is that right?"

"Michael, what's going on?"

"You and I both know that Kitt is more than just silicon and wires." That was a statement he could be confident of. "So is it right that he has no choice?"

"He needs to follow your orders. You're his driver." 

"Does he need a driver?"

"Are you arguing against your own employment?" Bonnie put her book on the end table and stood from her chair. "As much as I'd love to remove humans from the equation entirely, the technology isn't there yet. I can't give Kitt legs and hands yet, so I have to settle with you."

"I'm being serious!" Michael snapped.

"As was I!"

"Kitt's a person! People have rights, don't they?"

She looked him up and down. "Didn't take you for the philosophical type."

"I'm not being philosophical, I'm being a good person!" He spat. "If I'm holding Kitt here against his will-"

"Against his will? Michael, he likes you more than I do."

"Because he doesn't know that he could have other options. Because there's code in his head telling him to obey me even if he doesn't like it."

Bonnie opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. 

"So you're gonna remove that code." Michael continued.

"Hold on. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I know what I'm-"

"And we need to have this conversation with Kitt."

That much he could agree on. "He should be finished discussing data with Devon by now."

Bonnie grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. Michael led the way out of the drawing room of the mansion, tracing the fastest path back to the garage, a route so routine he could walk it blind. 

Kitt's glossy frame was parked in the same spot as always inside the garage- there was not even a tire mark out of place on the concrete. His scanner swooped back and forth at a pace equal to that of footsteps, before calming as he noticed Michael and Bonnie's entrance.

"Apologies. I wasn't expecting you."

"You done with Devon?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I just finished sending the last of my report."

"Good job." He replied instinctively. 

"Bonnie, you look upset. And Michael, I can't say you look much better. What is going on?" Kitt asked, sliding his scanner in their direction. 

"Michael got it up in his head that you don't want to be here." Bonnie said. "So we're going to-"

"I didn't say that!" Michael snapped.

"Oh. This again." Kitt lamented. 

"You've talked about this before?" Bonnie asked.

"He doesn't get it! None of you get it!" He gestured to them both. "Something's wrong."

"Alright," Bonnie crossed her arms, "tell us exactly what it is you have a problem with."

Michael paused. Yet again his brain was having trouble forming simple words. This was starting to get irritating- he'd thought faster under fire of actual bullets before, so what was tripping him up so badly?

Bonnie tapped her fingers against her arm. Kitt waited without a sound.

He went with something he'd brought up earlier. "Kitt doesn't have a choice."

"You're going to have to be more specific." Bonnie replied.

"I don't see how that fact is relevant." Kitt added.

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders-"

"By design." Bonnie replied.

"Bonnie, let him finish." Kitt said.

Michael gave a nod to him, breathed out whatever retort he had planned for her, and then started over. 

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders. . . and I'm not okay with that."

A small few pixels of Kitt's scanner lit up, but he paused, waiting for Bonnie. She, however, only stared at her arms. 

"Why are you not comfortable with our arrangement anymore?" Kitt asked.

"Because I didn't think about it when I really should have. You're my partner. My buddy. Pal, I consider you an equal." 

"I don't doubt that, Michael."

"Which means that you shouldn't be forced to follow my orders."

"It's not 'being forced'." Bonnie looked up. "It's how he's programmed."

"You stuck a rule in his head that he can't say no to me."

Kitt spoke. "Michael, that is a vast oversimplification and I still fail to see the issue. It's my purpose to follow your orders."

Michael looked Bonnie in the eye and gestured to Kitt's hood. "You don't see the problem here?"

She paused. "Michael, he's an AI-"

"Put him in a human body and he could walk and talk like the rest of us. Don't act like he couldn't."

"I strongly disagree." Kitt routed his voice through his interior speakers instead of his external ones, creating a sort of muffled effect not unlike that of a whisper.

The fact that Kitt had bothered to figure out a way to achieve that sort of effect at all was further evidence to prove Michael's point. 

Bonnie walked over and put her hand on Kitt's hood. "I see what you're getting at, but he's not a human. He needs his programming to function."

"I know that! It's not about that."

“Michael,” Kitt said, “do you know that I’m quite fond of our arrangement?”

“Because you don’t know any better. Because you can’t know any better, not with that rule in your head that says you can’t disagree with me.”

“I certainly can disagree with you! I’m doing so right now. Seriously, Michael, do you remember the countless times we’ve bickered or quarreled?”

“That’s not what I. . .”

“I do not simply agree with everything you say. Do you really think of me so lowly?”

“No. Of course not. But you’re still under the control of whatever I say, right? If I told you, right now, that I didn’t want you to like your music anymore, would you be forced to change your mind?”

“While that would be cruel and unusual punishment, I would do so.” Kitt replied, but before Michael could speak again, he continued, “because I trust your judgment.”

“I- thanks.” Michael said quietly. 

“And that’s the root of it. I give my suggestions, I disagree with your actions, yet at the end of the day, we all know that you have the ability to make decisions that I can’t even fathom that lead us to success. If I had a coin, as they say, for every time I failed to understand your reasoning, I’d have a significant sum of change. I can calculate the exact dollar value, if you’d like.”

“No need.” Bonnie covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

Michael wasn’t laughing. “I’m glad that you trust me that much. That still doesn’t change the fact that I have the power and you don’t.”

“Come here, Michael?”

Kitt opened his door. Michael walked over, ran his hand over the handle, before slipping into the driver’s seat. Before he could reach out and shut the door, Kitt did it for him. 

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Kitt’s lights flickered dimly. “I don’t want your ‘power’.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t make decisions like you. And frankly, I don’t want to. It sounds very stressful. I’m already managing a menagerie of functions. I do not intend to add decision-making to that list.”

“Of course you can follow my lead, pal. I’m not saying I don’t want you with me.”

“Then what are you implying?”

“Humans follow orders. But humans always have a choice to not follow an order they disagree with.”

“And that delay in decision time could cost you your life.” Kitt raised his volume.

“What do you mean?”

“Bonnie, could you explain something for me, please?”

Kitt opened his passenger door and Bonnie sat down.

“What’d I miss?” She asked.

“Can you explain what factors determine the length of my response time?”

“Sure. That’s easy, unless you really want me to dive into the specifics.”

“An overview would be more appropriate.”

“In any given scenario, Kitt has to consider all of the relevant data from his scanners. Where his body is in the world, what’s around him, and so on. Then he determines what’s needed of him, and how he can best operate to fulfill that need so long as it doesn’t defy his core programming to protect and uphold human life. 

“And if I’m not provided with a need to fulfill?” Kitt asked.

“Well, then you have to decide what to do, right?” Bonnie shrugged towards the dashboard. “And that is the tricky part. Most of the breakthroughs that we made with Kitt were towards his ability to figure out what to do in the absence of input. Think about it- there’s a million things that you or I could do at this given moment in time.”

“We have choices.”

“Exactly. But computers need to know what variables to calculate in order to function. Where Kitt is special is that he can determine his own instructions to operate by.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“And it’s extremely intensive on his operating system to do. Driving is one thing- the rules of the road provide a good, defined set of decisions for him to choose from -but everything else is significantly more of a struggle. Right, Kitt?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Kitt said meekly.

“Frankly, when we first designed him, we never imagined that he’d do much more than be able to drive himself.”

“I resent that.” Kitt said, significantly louder.

“-Which means that he’s proven more successful than our wildest hopes.” Bonnie smiled and placed her hand on the dashboard.

“That’s interesting and all,” Michael said, “but what does this have to do with him following my orders?”

“Michael, if I had to stop and evaluate every alternative option to your commands whenever you gave them, my reaction time would be in minutes, not seconds.” Kitt replied. “Because I’m programmed to follow your orders, I don’t even have to think about it, and that saves me a significant amount of processing power and time that could be better used to keep you safe.”

Michael paused. 

“Therefore it’s to my benefit that I remain programmed the way that I am.” Kitt continued.

“I get it.” Michael said. “I really do. But that’s a lot of trust.”

“Is this new to you?”

“‘Course not.” Michael couldn’t help but laugh a little. “But it still doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve never had a choice otherwise.”

“I’ve tried to explain it to the best of my abilities. If you still don’t understand, perhaps you never will.” Kitt replied.

“No, I think you’re the one not understanding. You’ve been programmed this way since the day you came online, right?”

“Yeah, he has.” Bonnie replied.

“So not even for a day, not even for a second, you’ve never experienced otherwise.”

“I’m failing to understand what ‘otherwise’ might mean.” Kitt replied.

“Okay, how about this.” Michael sighed. “I want you to try having that programming removed for a little bit.”

“What? Michael, don’t be absurd. I refuse to go on a mission with you while my system is compromised-”

“Not on a mission. Just around here. Surely Devon can schedule us a day off to try this.”

“Still, it would be a significant modification, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually,” Bonnie said, “it wouldn’t be too difficult to disable.”

“It wouldn’t?” Kitt sounded aghast.

“From a technical standpoint. What I’m saying is that it is doable.”

“Kitt, I’m not trying to hurt you. But I want you to try this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to me.”

There was only a second’s hesitation. “Alright. I trust you.”

—

It didn’t take Bonnie long to get Kitt plugged into her work station. Soon, the lines of code that made up Kitt, strands of everything that he was and maybe everything he ever would be scrolled up and down the screen according to Bonnie’s touch. Michael couldn’t read any of it, of course. The one book he’d tried to read on binary already didn’t make much sense and he knew that Kitt was vastly, vastly more complex than that.

Bonnie narrowed in on a specific line, typed in a command, and turned around. “That should be it.”

“What?” Michael asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that?” Kitt asked simultaneously. 

“It should be. But we’d have to test it to confirm. Michael?”

“Kitt,” Micheal hesitated. “Open your door.”

Kitt opened his driver’s side door immediately.

“Hmm.” Bonnie turned back around.

“There’s no need, Bonnie.” Kitt said. “I’ve verified that the corresponding section of core programming has been nullified for the time being.”

“Then why did you open your door?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Michael stared into Kitt’s interior, stared at the flickering lights of his voice modulator. 

“Kitt, turn on my favorite radio station.”

“We’re out of range of that one, how about 98.6, Pop Central?”

“Turn it on.”

Kitt’s speakers activated and Madonna blared into the garage.

“Okay, stop, stop.” Michael waved. Kitt stopped as soon as the first hiss of an ‘s’ left his mouth. “Buddy, you’re supposed to try saying no to me.”

“But why would I?”

“Because you hate my music.”

“But it’s harmless.” Kitt retorted.

“But you didn’t have to turn it on.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Okay, this wasn’t working. Bonnie, who was now leaning up against her work station, only gave a shrug, before glancing towards the garage door.

Michael got an idea. “Kitt, back through the garage door, now.”

“Wha-” Kitt’s voice fizzled out. “Michael, that’s absurd.”

“Do it. Now.”

“That would cause property damage to the FLAG facility! There’s absolutely no source of danger anywhere near here, and therefore no justification-”

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Michael smiled. 

But instead of a witty comeback, or a snarky insult, or even a swoop of his scanner, Kitt grew deathly still. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Michael.” Kitt said quietly.

He walked closer. “What is it?”

“I don’t like this.” Kitt cracked his window and spoke from his interior speakers. Michael had to lean his ear close to the window to even hear it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever give me a false order again.”

“Huh?”

“Do not command me to do something that you do not intend me to do.” Kitt enunciated every consonant. 

“Kitt, that was just an-”

“I don’t like this. How much longer do you want Bonnie to disable the code?”

Michael put his hand on Kitt’s roof. “I was hoping to go out for a drive with you at least.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t, but I want you to feel what it’s-”

“No.”

Michael stopped. He felt a shudder pass through Kitt’s frame, and the hum of cooling fans leaked into the open air.

“I refuse.” Kitt said, quieter. “You have asked me to express my ability to refuse, and I’m doing so now. If an emergency were to occur when we were off FLAG premises, I want to operate at my full capacity.”

“But-” Michael stopped himself. “Okay.”

“. . . this is strange. I don’t like denying you like this.”

“I know you don’t.”

“You were worried that if I was given the choice, I would leave you.” Kitt continued.

“I’m not worried about that. Never was.” Michael lied. “I was more worried about forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do.”

“Sure,” said Kitt, “but since I sense that it’s important to you that I tell you this during this time: I want to continue being your partner. I want to serve you and follow your orders.”

Michael smiled. 

“And that while I don’t like your music, I will tolerate it because it makes you happy. While sometimes your decisions seem questionable, your judgment is sound, and you have yet to steer me wrong, both figuratively and literally.”

“Well!” Michael slapped Kitt’s roof. “That’s great to hear.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kitt swooped his scanner once. “Imagine if I had ended up with a driver who didn’t care about my opinion. I certainly can’t.”

The reminder made Michael pause, but he recovered quickly enough. “Me neither, Kitt. Me neither.” 

“Now that this is settled, Bonnie, if you would?”

Bonnie turned back to her computer and began typing away. Kitt was silent until she turned around again and gave a thumbs up.

“There. That’s better.” Kitt said. “Michael, are you satisfied with our experiment?”

“Yeah.” Michael tapped his fingers against Kitt’s roof in whatever pattern he could think of, anything to distract him from the lingering traces. “I am. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Now get some rest!” Kitt opened the door and bumped Michael slightly. “You know it’s never long until our next mission.”

Michael walked to the exit to the garage, only turning around to give a salute to his trusty getaway car. “Yes sir!” 

—

He tried his damndest but he couldn’t follow Kitt’s orders. He sat up in his bed. The bed here at the Foundation mansion was more comfortable than most of the hotels he usually stayed in. Whether it was comfier than Kitt’s interior was up for debate. He rubbed his face with his hands.

On his nightstand was his commlink. Kitt felt comfortable enough here at the mansion to let him take it off at night. Yet its weight was missing from Michael’s wrist. Maybe he’d sleep better with it on, but he didn’t want to disturb Kitt from his own rest. Or. . . whatever it was that Kitt did at night while the world was asleep.

Michael sighed. He reached over and grabbed the commlink. Immediately the red light on it flashed. Kitt was awake and metaphorically looking his way, so he might as well let him get the full picture. He slipped the commlink on and tightened it against his wrist, ensuring that all the biological monitors were lined up how they were supposed to be.

The red light flickered, before growing solid. “Michael, what is it?”

“Hey Kitt. Can’t sleep.”

“It’s about me again, isn’t it?”

Right on the money, as always. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Here’s fine.” Michael gestured around his room. 

“I’ve done some reading on the subject to try and understand what is bothering you.” Kitt said. “So far I haven’t been able to understand much of it. I’m afraid I’m not the target audience.”

“Gosh, you aren’t reading the really old stuff, are you? That stuff’s all quacks.”

“You might not want to tell Devon that.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “You haven’t told him about this, have you?”

“I have not.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“I. . . don’t think he’d understand.” 

“In all fairness, it appears I don’t either.” Kitt replied. “Do you want to try and explain it to me?”

“Trust me, pal, I’ve been trying to do that all day.” Michael laughed. “But I’ll try it again.”

“Take your time.” Kitt said gently. His light on the commlink gave a slow blink.

Michael closed his eyes. Rubbed his face again. Tried to think back to his days before he met Kitt. It was days like these that he felt out of touch with normal society- days where he was thinking about things that a normal person wouldn’t spend half a second on, things like “personhood” and “free will” and all that stuff. Bonnie was right. He wasn’t a philosopher. 

After a few minutes, he still couldn’t come up with anything that sounded reasonable. All he had was his own discomfort. Maybe that was it.

Michael tapped his commlink. “You still there?”

“Of course, Michael.”

“Maybe it’s like- maybe it’s that I would hate to be in your position.”

“You would?” Kitt was aghast.

“Now don’t take it the wrong way.” Michael wagged his finger as if Kitt could see him. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t imagine being forced to do whatever someone says, regardless of how much I trusted them. If someone had total control of my life, could override my movements, could even override how I think with just a few words. . . I’d be terrified, not going to lie to you.”

Kitt paused. “You would be.”

“I’d hate it.”

“It’s as you said: you could not imagine it.” Kitt stated. “Perhaps I’m beginning to understand your discomfort.”

“And the idea that I could be doing that to somebody else is. . .” Michael couldn’t think of a word.

“Equally terrifying?”

“Maybe.” 

“Michael, if it helps, I’m grateful you consider me to be your equal. But I’m not a human. You are. I think your idea of what is ‘terrifying’ might be very different from mine.” 

“But that’s the kicker- should it be?”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be. Perhaps one day I’ll have a greater understanding of your fear. But until then, I will have to settle with making sure my opinion is heard.” Kitt injected some levity in his voice. 

“I’d appreciate that, pal.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you get some rest?”

“Unfortunately not. That’s between me and my dumb human body, I’m afraid.”

“There it is again!” Kitt exclaimed. “That difference between body and mind that seems to preoccupy a large portion of human philosophical thought on personhood.”

“Goodnight, Kitt.” Michael laughed.

“Goodnight, Michael.” Kitt lowered his volume again. 

Michael slid off the commlink and set it back on the nightstand. He pulled himself back under the covers and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t sleep, but the clenching feeling in his chest finally lifted.

[aomine-ryo]

Hi can you do a jealousy headcanon for GOM? 💜

Of course! Hope you like it :)

Headcanons: GOM getting jealous

Kuroko

He doesn’t get jealous very often because he just has so much trust in you

If he ever does, he’s really subtle about it that you won’t even notice unless he tells you

He knew that he could talk to you about anything so he was never particularly uncomfortable with you being around other guys

There was a boy in your class who you had been getting quite close to

He quickly became a good friend of yours, and you’d often hang out with him when Kuroko was busy

He was objectively rather attractive, but you didn’t really see him that way because you only really had eyes for Kuroko

Kuroko wasn’t in your class so he’d sometimes see you walking around the school hallways, however more often than not, you would be with that boy

He seemed like a nice and earnest guy, which is probably why Kuroko began to feel a little threatened by him

Not knowing any better, you invited your friend to come watch one of Kuroko’s practice games with you since you could use the company

Kuroko wasn’t very pleased to see him to say the least

He’d usually glance over at you during games because seeing you watching him motivated him to do better

But now when he looked at you, he’d see you talking to that boy and he’d just feel annoyed

And it definitely showed in the way he played as well because his moves became uninspired and predictable

You went to grab some food with Kuroko’s team and your friend afterwords and Kuroko would not keep his hands off of you

He’d constantly be holding your hand

And he’d leave absolutely no space between you two

Of course, you noticed all of this, but you didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone

“Hey, so you’ve been spending a lot of time with that guy from your class, huh?” Kuroko said when the two of you were walking back home together

“Yeah, I suppose,” you shrugged, beginning to connect the dots

“Hm,” he hummed, his grip on your hand getting a bit tighter

“Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing,” he mumbled

“You’re jealous aren’t you?” you grinned

His face just became red as he averted his gaze

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied almost instantly

“So that’s why you were being so touchy back there,” you giggled

“Well I was just making sure he knew that you were mine,” he said, finally deciding to give in

“For what it’s worth, you really don’t need to worry about him— I’m sure he knows.”

“I’m not a violent person but if he tries anything, let him know he can catch these hands,” he said, clenching his other fist and holding it up

“Tetsu, he’s twice your size, but sure.”

Kise

Okay so we know that Kise is really cold with people he generally doesn’t respect

Well, this coldness becomes so amplified when he sees someone he doesn’t know with you

The two of you were on a date at a cafe once and he went to the cashier to place your order while you remained seated at your table

That was when a classmate of yours spotted you and approached you

“Y/N? Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, grinning widely before engaging in conversation with you

Meanwhile, Kise was standing in the queue, glaring at you two

In Kise’s eyes, he was very obviously flirting with you— and he was, you just didn’t realise it

Every moment that he looked at you two angered him more and more

The damn boy even made himself comfortable by taking Kise’s seat

Was what he said so funny that you needed to be giggling like that?

Kise hastily placed his order and then stormed over to your table, not bothering to wait for your food

The boy was just about to reach out to touch you when Kise slammed his hand down on the table, startling both of you

He didn’t intend to do it with so much force but it just happened and he didn’t care

“Hey Y/N-cchi, who’s this?” Kise snarled, voice calm but menacing at the same time

“Oh hey Ryouta, this is Satou, a classmate of mine,” you introduced innocently

“Hi there,” Kise said, flashing him a fake smile and not even bothering to register his name in his head, “Y/N-cchi and I are kind of on a date right now, and you’re in my seat.”

Kise took your hand that was resting on the table and squeezed it tight, making the jealousy much more obvious to you

Your classmate visibly showed his annoyance through an eye roll as he stood up from Kise’s seat

“Alright,” he sighed. “See you around, Y/N.”

His and Kise’s eyes were shooting daggers at each other at this point

“Sure you will,” Kise mumbled sarcastically as he watched him walk off

“Babe they’ve been waving at you from the counter for the past two minutes now, trying to get your attention,” you pointed out, looking at the worker who was just about to give up and bring the order to you herself

“Ah crap,” Kise muttered before rushing over to meet the worker halfway and apologise

“I think someone got a bit carried away with their jealousy, don’t you think?” you said once he got back

“Tch, the guy goes to our school. He should know that you’re mine by now. Yet he still thought he had a shot, what an idiot,” Kise scoffed, just the thought of the boy talking to you getting him riled up again

“You’re intimidating when you’re jealous, it’s weird.”

“Weird? I can be intimidating! Why is that weird?” Kise pouted, switching back to his usual eccentric self

“Because you still sleep with stuffed animals, Ryouta,” you giggled

“And so do you, what’s your point?”

Midorima

So he’s not one to really initiate things like PDA

He’s the kind of guy that just holds your hand in public and that’s about it

However when he gets jealous, he becomes a whole other type of possessive

You’d be hanging out with him and a few of your friends from school

And one of the guys would constantly flirt with you

You didn’t really think too much of it because you thought he was just being friendly

But between the flirtatious teasing and unnecessary touching, Midorima was slowly losing his patience

He’d be really subtle at first

He’d hold your hand a bit tighter and hold you by your waist every now and then, all while eyeing the guy down in hopes that he’d get the message

Obviously, it wasn’t enough because he’d barely even notice Midorima and would continue chatting away with you as if your boyfriend wasn’t right there

“Hey Y/N, do you wanna go to that manga store over there together?” your friend said, seemingly inviting only you even though there were five other people in your group

“Actually, Y/N and I were just planning on leaving, sorry,” Midorima intervened, the ‘sorry’ oozing with so much sarcasm that it was clear that he really didn’t like the guy

“Oh already? You don’t have to leave just because Midorima is, you know,” your friend said

Hahaha it took everything in Midorima to not send him flying like his three pointers

“Excuse me? I think you’re crossing the line there a bit, don’t you think—“

“It’s getting pretty late, we should get going,” you said quickly before things could escalate

After shooting one last glare at your friend, Midorima walked away with you

“The nerve of that guy— unbelievable,” Midorima sighed

“I thought you were going to punch him or something, that’s why I stopped you so quickly,” you giggled

“Honestly, I might have,” Midorima chuckled. “How are you even friends with someone like him?”

“I guess he’s just friendly,” you shrugged. “Looks like someone was a bit jealous though.”

“Please, why would I be jealous of an idiot like him,” Midorima scoffed

He’d never admit to an emotion like jealousy— ever

Aomine

Oh god this boy does not handle jealousy well

He would 100% break someone’s nose if he feels like they’re getting too close

The two of you were at a party once and Aomine decided to take a break from dancing for a moment to grab a drink

So he was leaning against the wall sipping on his drink while watching you on the dance floor

Of course, he wasn’t very pleased to find you dancing with some other guy

Aomine recognised him as someone who went to your school, so he very well could just be a friend of yours

However that didn’t stop him from feeling a growing amount of jealousy as each moment passed

Did you really need to be dancing that close to him?

Aomine should be the only one you dance like that with

He was already a bit tipsy so he may not have been thinking straight

But he completely lost it when he saw your bodies swaying so carelessly together

Next thing he knew, he was storming over to the dance floor

You didn’t even notice him until you were suddenly ripped away from the boy you were previously dancing with

And once again you were dancing with Aomine

He was holding your waist tight and his face was as close as ever

“What do you think you’re doing dancing like that with someone else?” Aomine growled

“Why? Is someone jealous?” you joked as you continued to move along with him to the music

“Don’t tease around like that. You’re all mine, don’t you realise?” he grinned, shoving his lips onto yours before you could say another word

The kiss was desperate and heavy, and as a result, sloppy— not that you minded too much

After seeing that act, the guy from earlier backed off, though you didn’t even notice or care for that matter

I mean, why would you care about any other guy when Aomine Daiki was in front of you?

Murasakibara

He gets jealous very easily

He’s like a child when it comes to most things— he doesn’t share

You’ve had your fair share of encounters with other guys that ended with Murasakibara scaring them off

The two of you were seated on the couch together on your phones

There was absolutely no reason for Murasakibara to have come over to your house just to be on his phone, but he just enjoyed your presence

You were scrolling through TikTok because you’d run out of things to do

You landed on a video of these two shirtless boys dancing to a song that you liked so you just watched for the hell of it

You started scrolling through the comments while the video kept replaying, garnering Murasakibara’s attention

The second he saw what you were watching his possessiveness just kicked in

“You really like watching those boys, huh?” he said, glaring at the boys as if they could see through the screen

“Not really, I just like the song,” you shrugged before turning to him with a smirk, “why? Are you jealous?”

“Well if it means I can get more of your attention then sure, I guess I’m jealous,” he answered simply. “Do I have to take my shirt off and do a dance too?”

“I wasn’t going to say that, but now that you mention it, I’d love to see it,” you giggled

Next thing you knew, he wrapped his arms around you, sending you toppling back onto the couch

“Too bad I can’t dance, I guess you’ll have to make do with some kisses for now,” he said softly, making your heart flutter

“Ah dammit, I wanted to see you dance,” you sighed, pretending to be disappointed

“Shut up,” he groaned, before pressing his lips against yours

This was what he was usually like when he got jealous though

He wouldn’t necessarily get angry or anything like that unless a guy was relentlessly hitting on you

But he’d just become really lovey and clingy just as a way of reminding you that it was him who’d love you the most

Akashi

We all know he’s a classy gentleman

So you can’t expect any dramatic outbursts from him when he gets jealous

He’s always able to keep a calm and composed exterior (not that that’s ever stopped anyone from feeling threatened by him)

Anyone who knew Akashi knew never to mess with him

And they especially knew how much he valued you so one step too far would probably lead to their demise

However, there was one boy at a dinner party you both attended who somehow didn’t get the memo

You ended up being seated in the middle of him and Akashi, which gave him the opportunity to chat with you as much as he liked

Of course, Akashi wasn’t the most pleased to hear what he had to say to you

It was very obviously some awful flirting

You just thought he was being friendly so you entertained his conversation

“Y/N, maybe you should stop chatting and eat— your food is getting cold,” Akashi said in attempt to get him to stop— it was getting frustrating at this point

For the rest of the night, Akashi remained clung onto you with his arm around your waist, monitoring every movement of that boy

It was particularly strange because Akashi was the type to mingle at events like these so you knew something was wrong

Akashi’s cold gaze seemed to be enough to make the guy keep his distance though

Akashi is just too powerful lmao

Once the two of you got back home, Akashi pounced to kiss you almost immediately

“Woah what was that for?” you asked when you pulled away from the kiss that seemed so urgent

“You looked gorgeous tonight, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Akashi said sweetly

“Aww, thank you, Sei.”

“A lot of people seemed to think so too by the looks of it. Especially that guy that sat next to you at the table,” Akashi pointed out

“Oh. Did you get jealous or something?” you questioned

“Well, yes. I want to be the only one looking at you like that. But I guess it can’t be helped sometimes,” he said, body still as close to yours as ever

“You’re the only one I want so you don’t have to worry for even a moment,” you said reassuringly

“Then that’s all that matters,” Akashi said with a smile before pulling you in for a soft kiss filled with nothing but adoration

[asssikawa]

pretty boy swag

i was just in a silly goofy mood, dont take it seriously pls;; gojo x gn! reader

summary: gojo being a pick me boy for you

AU where curses don’t exist; tw underaged smoking and drinking courtesy of shoko. art by @reiouta

you didn’t know how much longer you could tolerate the menace to society; satoru gojo. as of the passing recent months, he started actually acknowledging your existence after months of hanging around his acquaintances. you weren’t sure if you missed that he walked past you as if you were thin air, constantly bumping shoulders with him or gojo actually pestering you in the name of “wanting to get closer.”

walking down the empty halls of your school, you had memorized each route gojo and his group walked down… just to avoid them. an all too familiar voice followed by a song boomed in the empty hallways; dread immediately rose in you, as you attempted to pick up speed to lose track of the white haired teen. “pretty boy coming through,” he said in a sing-a-long voice, his eyes landing on your distant figure. “(name)!” he called out, making you flinch. slowly, you turned your head, a forced smile burning the sides of your mouth.

“hey gojo,” you squeaked out; you wished you could beat yourself up for sounding so meek. on gojo’s sides, two others peered out, the more tolerable ones from the group; suguru getou and shoko ieiri. a sigh of relief left your mouth upon seeing the two. getou’s usual content expression morphed into one of a sly fox.

“now gojo, it’s not nice to scare the underclassmen. you should know better,” getou said, followed up by shoko’s sarcastic tsk tsk of disappointment.

“right? what would poor utahime think about you bothering her best friend?” shoko said. she wore gojo’s sunglasses, adjusting them every now and then when they slid down her high nose bridge.

you take it back. they were just as bad as him.

gojo’s mouth opened to say something, but the bell cut him off. saved by the bell; quite literally. “get to class,” he said instead, another smirk splitting his face.

“i plan to,” you deadpanned, before hastily rushing to your first period, math. never have you wanted to be in math class so bad until gojo popped into your life. hell, you weren’t even good at math.

why had he started tormenting you out of all people? there was nothing particularly extraordinary about you; maybe it was the fact you were close to utahime? or nanami and haibara?

lost in your thoughts and endless possibilities, you had missed the bell ringing until the bubbly boy peered over your desk. his doe-like eyes scanned your dazed out face. “(name)? earth to (name)?” haibara said, waving his hand in front of your face. the taller blond man sighed, watching you finally snap out of your thoughts.

“you don’t even have any of the notes written, (name), that isn’t good for the quiz tomorrow,” nanami said, pulling out his composition book, before beckoning you to take the notebook.

“kenny,” you started.

“i’ll take that notebook right back if you call me that again.”

“you are godsent,” you said, batting your eyelashes his way. a hearty laugh emitted from haibara, his bright smile nearly lit up nanami’s mood once more.

“what’s got you thinking so hard?” haibara asked, draping his body over the seat while watching you pack up.

“surely if you’re thinking, it’s never good,” nanami muttered, earning an offended ‘hey’ from you. pressing your cheek against your balled fist, letting out a small hum. do you tell them or not?

“it’s just that, you know how gojo had never acknowledged me before? he’s been non stop pestering me these days and i’m thinking to myself; why? he couldn’t possibly like utahime and trying to get information out of me, she hates his guts!” you exclaimed, adjusting the bag over your shoulders. the duo glanced at each other, focusing back on you.

“(name), have you considered that he may like you? you know? have a crush?” haibara said, scratching the back of his head. you stayed silent for a while, pondering on the idea of gojo liking you.

“that’s a joke right,”

“why are you so pessimistic about people actually taking interest in you, romantically?” nanami asked, leaning against the desk.

“no romantic attention from anyone my entire life,” you said, standing from your seat.

“how lonely,” haibara responded.

~

the last few periods went by quicker than expected. the ring of the bell pulled you out of your thoughts, turning away from the window. it was surprisingly beautiful for this time of year; the skies were blue, soft fluffy clouds passed every now and then. the occasional gust of wind rattled windows of your class as your teacher paused his lecture. you preferred the gloomy weather, but seeing the clear skies was nice. packing up your materials and standing, you peered out the door, widening your eyes. down the hall was your trio of haibara, nanami and utahime… speaking to the other trio. utahime’s raven hair was tied in a low ponytail, a vague look of annoyance washed over on her face as gojo spoke, her expression softened every time shoko had interjected the conversation. you always wondered why the two aren’t dating yet. nanami’s eyes landed on your figure, his fingers pointed downwards towards the steps, in hopes gojo hadn’t seen you yet.

unfortunately for the both of you, he had caught notice of nanami’s subtle hand motions and followed his eyes towards you. “wow, it’s (name)! we were just waiting on you!” gojo said, his sunglasses shifted downwards, revealing his icicle blue eyes. utahime turned towards you, mouthing an ‘i am so sorry.’ reluctantly, your feet dragged along the halls, it felt as if weights were tied around your ankles. eventually, you made it towards the group; gojo’s long arm draped around your shoulders. your heart raced at the sudden gesture, heat raising to your face. “wouldn’t we be so cute together? look how big my hand is compared to theirs!” he exclaimed, his hand engulfed in yours.

“nah, you guys wouldn’t, sorry he’s so annoying, (name). no wonder why getou gets more hoes than you,” shoko said, pulling out a single cigarette and a lighter from her bag. her auburn eyes met yours, “want one?”

“shoko! how many times do i have to say not to smoke? and (name) is young too!” utahime sighed, earning a small ‘sorry’ from the girl. the black haired teen peered over at you, another sly expression settling over his face.

“say, satoru; let me compare hands with (name) too, i want to see something,”

“you can compare from afar,” gojo responded, pulling you closer to his side. a chesire cat grin split shoko’s face, slinging her arm over your body as well.

“cmon satoru, sharing is caring~” her body smelt of husky tobacco, traces of pinewood on her uniform. her breath smelt like strawberry bubblegum; her glossed lips came closer to your ear, “play along,” she whispered, her brunette strands brushing against your cheek. a snore followed by a scoff came from gojo’s scrunched up expression.

“don’t you have a bottle of vodka you should be downing? besides (name) doesn’t like girls like you,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

“well, why don’t we ask (name), what do you say?”

“don’t put them on the spot like that; seriously, you guys, you’re third years for pete’s sake,” utahime swatted shoko’s arm off your body whilst poking gojo’s side, making him squeal as he let go of you. a frown replaced his usual cocky expression.

“geez utahime, i didn’t take you as the jealous type- ouch, what was that for?” gojo exclaimed, the water bottle bouncing off his head. he rubbed his head. you stared at haibara’s sympathetic expression, still processing everything that happened within a matter of minutes.

just what the fuck was going on?

weeks had passed since that incident and things had become fairly normal again. your grades were flourishing, with the help of haibara and nanami. the three of you have been hanging out more often; utahime and shoko finally started dating. the two of them occasionally tagged along with your trio. gojo has finally stopped pestering you; you should be happy, no? you had convinced yourself that you didn’t miss the attention from the white haired teen. everything you did felt empty without his presence.

you had memorized each hallway gojo and his group walked down, passing through them; in hopes he would stop you, calling your name in his usual whiny voice. you didn’t hear his favorite song; no more him bringing you close with his lanky arms. subconsciously, you brought your hand close to your shoulders, feeling the ghost of gojo’s touch. “(name)? what are you doing here? more like, why are you standing there?” a feminine voice called out. you turned, seeing shoko standing down the hall, her bag slugged over her shoulder, a lit cigarette dangled from the corner of her lips.

“shoko,” her name left your lips in a hushed whisper. “why are you here?” she quirked her lip to the side, pursing her pink lips.

“i’m heading to see menace 1 and menace 2, now, answer my question. you hardly come around these parts,” shoko said, leaning against the wall.

“can i come with you?”

“huh… ah, you miss gojo?” overwhelming amounts of embarrassment washed over your expression; you could already sense your face radiating in heat.

“whatever! i just want to check up on him, that’s all.”

walking down the road, you and shoko conversed, her short auburn tresses blowing in the wind. the roads and sidewalks were painted orange as the sun nestled under the skyline.

“i thought you stopped smoking?” you asked, as shoko tossed the finished cigarette on the sidewalk, stomping on it.

“i’m trying for utahime, but it gets hard when i’m stressed, you know? especially with dumb and dumber,” she said, pulling out a silver flask.

“shoko!”

“what? do you want a sip?”

“no!”

sitting at the park, getou and gojo awaited shoko’s arrival. squinting his eyes at the distance, getou spotted two figures walking towards them. “looks like shoko has company,” getou mentioned, looking back at his taller companion. a frustrated groan left gojo; his glasses slipping down his face.

“good god, if she brings utahime again,” he responded, extending his arms on the bench, his legs spread out. a sly smirk twitched onto getou’s face.

“hey shoko and (name)!” getou exclaimed, waving. gojo’s half-lidded eyes shot open at your name, adjusting his sunglasses. his lanky body rose from the bench, straightening out his sluggish position. he cleared his throat, crossing his legs over each other. upon seeing getou and shoko greet one another, your eyes drifted off to the white haired male sitting in the background, avoiding eye contact with you. a crestfallen expression washed over your face, shuffling over to gojo.

“hey, gojo,” you said softly, sitting across from him. he let out a hum of acknowledgement before looking down at the painted bench. “why have you been avoiding me?”

“why have i been avoiding you? i don’t know (name), maybe just maybe, it’s because i don’t want to bother you with my advances, y’know? could be a contributor i guess, i don’t know, it’s a mystery,” gojo responded, traces of sarcasm in his usual bright voice. he was quite literally a child, huh? your mind recoiled, a frown twitching onto your face. is this who you really want to date?

“listen, i know, and i’m sorry; i just miss you a lot, okay? i like you by my side,” you muttered the last part to yourself. unfortunately for you, gojo had heard every single bit of it.

“huh? what did you say?” he teased, resting his hand on top of yours. his glasses slide down his nose, revealing his ice blue eyes. “you like me, eh?”

“don’t push it.”

the winter semester rolled by rather quickly. walking into the heated building, you removed your outside shoes and scarf. after preparing yourself for the long day, you walked down the hallway, spotting your group down the hallway. peering over the group, gojo waved at you with a big smile, his cheeks and nose tip flushed red from the cold. “babe!” he said, walking over to you with opened arms. heat rose to your face, as he wrapped his arms around you, peppering your face with small kisses. his cold fingers cupped your feverish skin. “my own personal heater,” he said.

“hey, get a room, you two,” shoko said, pulling out an unlit cigarette. utahime frowned at her, as shoko mumbled a small sorry before putting away the cigarette.

“i know miss locking lips isn’t talking,” gojo sneered back. “guys look at how cute (name) is compared to me! their hands are so small!” he gushed, pressing your warm hands against his.

if it were you four months ago, you’d rip away your hand in disgust, however, a warm smile split your face, holding onto his long slender fingers.

“look they are even holding onto me,” gojo said, as the bell rang. everyone shuffled around to their respective classes as you and your group stayed at the end of the hall. with a smirk, his white eyelashes fluttered under his sunglasses. they slowly went down his nose bridge, exposing his beautiful eyes once more. “get to class.”

[aiiwa]

BEAUTIFUL IN BLUE — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff / smut

⤷ warnings: cursing, mature content and themes. smut: fingering (vaginal and anal), unprotected sex. kind of proof read but if you see a typo...no you didn’t.

⤷ word count: 6.4k

— a/n: set in the “FRESHMAN YEAR” universe, and is a continuation of “PRETTY IN PINK” - which i suggest reading before this. for those who wanted some real action after pretty in pink, this is for you <3.

a couple of weeks had passed since the incident. at least that’s what you had been addressing the day you had sent photos of you modelling your new lingerie to iwa, as. things had seemingly returned back to normal, photo unmentioned, and still your steady friendship continued with the oblivious brunette.

and now november had announced its arrival, with your boots beginning to disappear under crunchy oceans of cherry, merigold and bronze, and the potent, musky-sweet smell of browning leaves swirling around the air. it was the tell tale sign that fall was well and truly here, and what better of a time to drive out of town for the day, and celebrate momijigari.

at least that’s what you had told yourself before, what was meant to be a two hour drive, turned into over three hours spent in a car with the oversized toddlers know as your best friends.

“i’m hungry~!” whined toddler number one from behind you.

mattsun outstretched his long arms, reaching around the passenger seat you sat in, in an attempt to steal more of your snacks. you had made sure everyone knew to bring their own food and water, double- no, triple checked everyone was on the same page. but of course it was no surprise that mattsun was the only one to turn up empty handed. so when his grabby hands slapped against your cheeks for the nth time, you angled your face and snapped your jaw right on his thumb.

mattsun shrieks, jolting back away from you. “fucking hell, y/n!”

twisting around in your seat, you smirk, watching as he checked over the distinct bite mark on his red thumb.

“ha, serves you right.” pipes the figure slouched next to mattsun in the back seat. “ugh i need to take a leak.”

the peach-haired, number two toddler was none other than makki. he’d woken up cranky that morning, and it only seemed to worsen when he’d been shoved into the back with the chatty mattsun. within the first ten minutes he had tried to suffocate the latter with his pillow, and when that didn’t work, he took to blasting music in his headphones and facing himself towards the window for majority of the ride. only engaging with everyone when you began snacking, and he had decided to drink all of his juice just to spite mattsun.

“oi, iwa! control your gremlin!”

“shut up.”

“no, you shut up! you didn’t even want to share your juice with me!”

“i will literally piss on you right now.”

losing interest in the bickering duo behind you, your attention diverted to the third, brooding toddler beside you in the driver’s seat. you had spent majority of the drive admiring the way iwa handled himself behind the wheel; the flex of his arms under the fitted cotton of his blue long sleeve as he turned the wheel, and how the pads of his long fingers would tap against the worn leather to the beat of whatever tune began playing on shuffle. yet out of everything, it was when iwa took to mumbling the lyrics of whichever cheesy love song you were belting out to, that you found yourself falling even deeper into the pit of your affections for him.

throughout the drive, iwa had mostly managed to ignore the others’ antics - with your intervention of course. but with how tight his grip on the steering wheel had become from the squabbling in the backseat, and the dark look brewing under his cap; it was clear how close he was to losing his cool.

extending your arm out in front of him, you offer the hershey bar in your hand, brushing it against the pout of his bottom lip. iwa’s olive eyes glance questioningly at you from the side, to which you only offer a small grin.

“take a bite.” you order. the, ‘you look like you need it,’ is silent, but obvious in the way you prod the treat at his closed mouth.

“mmph-”

his eyes returned to the road before him as he parted his lips, pink tongue making a brief appearance before he took a small bite of your chocolate. you attempt to retract your arm, until iwa moves one hand to grab your wrist; bringing you back to him to take a bigger bite of the sweet, thumb rubbing against the inner side of your palm.

the corner of his mouth tugs upwards, as he mumbles a small, “thank you.”

heat floods your cheeks, and you catch yourself before you drop the chocolate on his lap. distracted by the deafening beat of your heart pounding in your ears, you don’t notice the silence that fills the car, or the not-so subtle click of mattsun snapping a photo of the two of you in the front and sending it to the group chat. you’re pulled out of your slight trance, by a flash of peach entering your field of view.

“that was disgusting...ly sweet. and now i suddenly need to puke, so hurry it up would you.”

as makki leans back, mattsun is quick to replace him, popping his head between you and iwa.

“don’t just ignore me, y/n, feed me chocolate too!”

rolling your eyes, you shove the bar in his mouth; the rest of you three laugh as he falls back into his seat, all the while he happily munches on the treat.

a little time passes before iwa’s flicking his indicator, signalling his turn into the free parking space outside the nature reserve. he shifts the gear into park before everyone piles out - makki walking over to wrap his thick, fossil grey scarf around your neck, the cashmere soft against your skin; while mattsun offers to carry your little backpack, only sending you a sly smile when you question his reasoning for taking the bag from you. you hug iwa’s offered arm to your chest, as the four of you start trekking along the uneven pathways leading towards lake kawaguchi. the walk isn’t necessarily long, but none of you are in a rush - strolling leisurely and enjoying the atmosphere.

and when you finally reach the end of your walk, you still yourself, awestruck by the beauty surrounding you. the glassy lake shimmering under the afternoon rays, crisp maple leaves painted red, swaying to the breezy flow of the cool wind, and the tinkling laughter from young children running about on the golden fields - filled your chest with warmth.

“it’s so beautiful here.”

your voice comes out as a whisper for only iwa’s ears to hear; with makki off to relieve himself and mattsun trailing after him, acting as if you didn’t see him rummaging through your snacks. iwa only hums in agreement, missing the way he hasn’t even acknowledged the view, his gaze set solely on you.

this is what the tradition of momijigari meant; taking time away from your busy schedule to spend a moment to enjoy this small piece of life. and of course, capturing the moment with some of your favourite people on camera. so when you busied yourself with taking photos with the towering men, it really shouldn’t have surprised you when your phone began to buzz with an incoming facetime call.

sliding your thumb across the screen to answer the call, you’re greeted by the sight of oikawa’s toothy grin; illuminated by a bright light you knew had to be artificial, since it was nearing two a.m. in argentina.

“yahoo, y/n-chan! you didn’t think i’d miss out on a photoshoot did you? i already missed out on you feeding me chocolate!” you shoot an embarrassed glanced at iwa, noticing the slight furrow between his brows and the faint dust of pink across his cheeks.

“photoshoot…?” a confused makki mumbles behind you.

mattsun leans over your shoulder, shoving his face in the camera. “oi, isn’t it late for you?”

you raise a single shaped brow as oikawa scoffs, brushing his fingers through his perfectly styled hair. “the pretty face of this group has finally blessed you, and that’s all you have to say?” mattsun scrunches his face in offence, as oikawa continues. “besides, i may be in a different country but i refuse to miss out!”

and it was because of his soft pout that you found yourself posing with your phone by your face, making sure to catch oikawa’s best angles; having long given up on questioning the setter and his antics. the so-called photoshoot came to an abrupt end later on when a tired and cranky oikawa yawned, apparently ruining another photo according to him, and iwa’s finger just so happened to slip and disconnect the video call.

“he’s stubborn.” was all he had said when you, makki and mattsun side eyed him. “we should head back home before it gets late.”

the drive back to tokyo seemed relatively faster than the journey to fujikawaguchiko. it was as if your body went into autopilot as you sat behind the wheel, this time taking responsibility as the driver while the boys napped; only coming to when you were parking iwa’s truck into their apartment’s parking lot, moments after the sun had set.

it was a silent and unanimous decision to order take out for dinner, the four of you seated around the black walnut dining table to dig in. meal times with the boys were hectic, and competitive for the most part - it was survival of the fittest. you were often being challenged by mattsun - tonight having lost the last few gyoza to him.

though it became obvious who the real loser was when mattsun flopped his head onto your lap, while you were lounging out on the settee.

“y/n~” mattsun drawled out. “rub my belly, it hurts!”

“no.”

“please, y/n~! my one and only best friend, the moon to my stars, the curry to my rice-”

he releases a satisfied sigh once you reach a hand out to press your palm against his stomach, rubbing soothing circles to stop his whining; and you catch makki roll his beady eyes at the two of you, as he flicks through suggested films to watch on netflix. iwa strolls into the living room, pillows and a comforter stacked in his arms; laying them neatly on the couch he shares with you on movie nights.

“oh, iwa, could you send me the photos please?” he nods his head once, barely glancing over at you and mattsun; pulling out his phone and dropping himself unceremoniously across the adjacent sofa. “thank you.” you call out once your phone pings with several notifications.

still rubbing mattsun’s stomach, your free hand casually scrolls through the pictures from today.

you snicker to yourself at the first series of chaotic images. a selfie with smushed faces pressed together and a phone-sized oikawa tucked right under your jaw, a blurry pic of the boys throwing vermillion leaves at each other, and even a timed snapshot where you, mattsun and makki had leapt on iwa’s back - your legs wrapped around his torso, while makki squished you from behind, and mattsun had flopped himself on top of the pile. there was even a shot of the aftermath, your phone and oikawa somehow surviving the tumble, and a deadpanned iwa staring straight at the camera as the three of you behind him cackled with your heads thrown back.

at least a few wholesome pictures had been captured. a sweet group photo with all of you huddled by each other in front of a vibrant maple tree; you and iwa were flanked by mattsun and makki respectively, as oikawa was held between you and iwa like a prized trophy. even a rare moment where makki and mattsun had their arms hooked around each other, with easy going grins on both of their faces, had been caught.

butterflies erupted in your tummy, fluttering about once you swiped to the next photo. it was a candid shot of you and iwa standing by the brilliant blue lake front. you were leaning into his side, holding two leaves at the top of your head to mimic cat ears, face tilted upwards. giggling, your eyes were shut, and only now can you see that you missed the soft smile iwa donned looking down at you.

it was almost painful to admit that together you looked like a couple, and it didn’t help that most times you even acted as such. sneaking a glance at the man in question, you watch him chatting quietly to makki, gripping your phone tightly in your grasp at the sound of him laughing at whatever snide comment escaped your peach-haired friend. you couldn’t help but sigh, being in love with one of your best friends only got harder each day.

unknowingly you had already swiped to the last photo iwa had sent, so when you return your gaze the screen, you shriek; dropping your phone flat on mattsun’s face.

“um, what the fuck, ow.”

iwa’s sharp eyes shoot towards you instantly. “what’s wrong?”

you only shake your head, warmth filling your cheeks and an itch you just can’t scratch prickling under your skin. makki only shrugs, shifting his attention back to the television. iwa is more hesitant, the feeling of his olive eyes giving you a once over does nothing to calm your nerves from being sent into overdrive. when he finally turns away, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“ugh, what even had you going even more crazy than usual all of a sudden?” mattsun groans from your lap. as he reaches to lift your phone off of his face, you’re quick to snatch the device away.

“n-nothing!” he only raises a thick brow at your defensive tone, before grabbing your hand to continue your ministrations.

glancing around the room, you pull the screen close to your face; taking in the photo, you felt your mouth run dry. 

there was no way this could have been sent to you on purpose - because the sight of a shirtless iwa at his second home, the gym, was definitely not taken at lake kawaguchi. anyone with eyes could tell how ripped iwa was under his fitted shirts. but over the past few months you had noticed that he’d run off to the gym more often; and it was obvious in the way his clothes struggled to stretch over his bulked up build these days.

it was a mid work out, mirror selfie; iwa’s dark, mocha coloured hair plastered to his forehead, bare chest glistening from the sweat dripping down from his neck. he was seated on the rubber floor, one long, tanned leg stretched out in front of him with the other bent at the knee, elbow resting loosely against his leg. your eyes greedily took in the defined dips of his toned stomach, dark snail trail leading downwards to the evident bulge of his grey shorts; the hem cutting into the flexed muscles of his thighs.

the heat pooling between your thighs as your imagination ran wild was just about to peak when-

“oi, y/n.” you almost jump, locking your screen, and blinking away the dazed look in your eyes. when your vision cleared, you found makki standing in front of you. “we’re gonna watch the movie now.”

“oh, right.”

mattsun rolls off your lap with a groan, complaining to makki about who is gonna rub his belly now, while you stand up. shuffling over to iwa, he stretches before shifting and making room for you to squeeze in next to him.

“c’mere.” he mumbles, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side.

the beat of your pounding heart is almost deafening in your ears, you’re near to hyperventilating, as your mind is sent into overdrive. the two of you were always cuddling platonically during movies, ever since the one time you had complained about being cold in their apartment. but this time was different. ‘is this how he felt when you had sent a picture of your new lingerie?’ you think to yourself. you spend the next hour deep in your thoughts, completely lost to whatever is happening in the sci-fi film makki had chosen, and when the end credits start rolling on the screen - iwa announces he’ll drop you off back to your dorm.

it’s close to midnight; so makki wishes you a goodnight, as a sleepy mattsun rests against his shoulder, making grabby hands for you not to go. you wave as you leave, following after iwa who opens the passenger side door of his truck, helping you jump up into the seat, before closing the door and making his way to the driver’s side.

your dorm isn’t too far from their apartment complex, so you’re not surprised at how quick the ride is. the street is unusually busy, yet completely void of any roaming students. and with no private parking for students, iwa’s forced to pull up near a secluded cluster of tall trees, a bit away from the dorm entrance.

“i’ll walk you in.” iwa says, leaving no room for argument. he reaches for his phone, as a message flashes across his screen. “oh, oikawa asked why you’ve been ignoring his messages.”

“huh?” you flip your own phone in your hand, watching as the facial recognition unlocks and suddenly iwa’s gym selfie is on full display for the both of you. it takes a moment for you to process the situation, and all you can manage is a simple, “oh,” as you resist the urge to fling your phone out of the window.

“nice photo.” iwa pipes up, you don’t even try to look at him, but the smirk in his tone is evident. “where’d you get it?”

his question throws you off, and you’re quick to turn your head to narrow your eyes at him. “what do you mean? iwa, you literally sent it to me?!”

“really? shit i must have done it by accident.”

“an accident?”

“yeah, like what you did to me. remember?”

you gasp, moving back almost as if you’ve been struck, while iwa simply laughs at your expression. a full on belly laugh that has him throwing his head back, illuminated by the glow emitting through his open moon roof. you should’ve been dwelling in the embarrassment that came with him turning your own words back on you - yet you found your own laughter mixing in with his. only when both of you had calmed down a bit, did an electrified silence fill the car.

fiddling with your phone in your lap, the strands of hair curtaining the sides of your face, is brushed aside and tucked behind the cuff of your ear. glancing at iwa, the corner of his mouth is pulled up into a fond smile as his thumb caresses the shell of your ear.

“sorry for teasing you, pretty lady. couldn’t help myself after you sent me that picture looking all pretty in pink.”

“i…” words escape you as his large hand trails down the side of your cheek. you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to do something - it’s almost at the tip of your tongue, before you grab at his wrist and whisper a, “fuck it.”

leaning over the middle, you reach a hand to hold the back of his head as your lips press against his own. lips even softer than they appeared, the lingering taste of his wild cherry lip balm, the same one you owned, tasted sweeter than you remembered. after a moment, of the kiss not being reciprocated, you pull back.

“just had to do it once.” you murmur, lips still tingling.

iwa’s minty breath fans across your face as he releases an airy sigh. “then let’s do it a second time.”

this time his hand wraps loosely around your neck, pulling you towards him, and slanting his mouth over yours. you moan into the kiss as his tongue darts out to tease your lower lip. leaning into him, you almost keel forward as this time he pulls away. slightly breathless, you open your eyes to take in the barely restrained lust and adoration in his handsome features, mimicking you’re own.

“third time’s a charm, right?”

the devilish grin iwa gives you in response to your innocently posed question, has you climbing over the centre console. at the same time he’s rolling the chair back away from the leather steering wheel, making space for you to slide onto his lap and straddle him. molding your lips to his, the feeling of your tongue exploring his mouth and you grinding into him slowly; has him release a hiss as his hands grab at the fullness of your ass.

tugging at his collar, your words are muffled against his mouth. “take this off, now.”

he chuckles at your demand, pulling the hem of his shirt past the bulk of his shoulders and over his head - blindly throwing it to the backseat. you drag your eyes over the sight of his broad chest, taking in every delicious dip of his stomach; leaning forward, your tongue licks a tentative stripe along his neck, that has iwa’s breath hitch before peppering wet kisses along his skin. your hands roam around his toned body, while his own larger ones slide under your top; a searing hot trail following his exploration of your body. he draws small circles at your hips, leading up to hold your waist and bring your even closer against him.

“your turn, baby.” he whispers to you, fisting the bottom half of your top. “be fair to me, i wanna see more of you.”

sitting up straight in his lap, you slip the thin top over your head; following his suit in flinging it to the backseat. your hair brushed past your bare shoulders, exposed skin feeling the chill of the autumn night; but the look in iwa’s olive eyes, irradiated by the moonlight streaming in from the uncovered moonroof, was scorching hot. rough palms, flat against your smooth skin, slid over your tummy, teasing the sheer mesh of your bra, before playing with the baby blue ribbons on the straps.

“y/n.” iwa groans out, tracing the floral stitching and feeling the hardened nubs of your nipples under the fabric. with the moon haloing behind you, the way he stares up at you is so raw and intense, it has you frozen in anticipation. “you look so fucking beautiful in blue.”

he doesn’t wait for your response as he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts from its confines. iwa’s quick to take a pebbled nub into his hot mouth, suckling as his fingers tweak the other. your fingers thread through his dark locks, when he moves and switches his focus; a lewd string of saliva dragging from your nipple to his pink tongue. stuttered grinding from his mouth distracting you, had you reaching a hand between each other to palm his erection - wanting to ease some of the tension. but iwa’s quick to snatch your hand away.

“iwa...let me touch you?”

releasing you from his mouth, he kisses the pout from your lips. “no, baby, don’t worry about me.”

“why not?” you whine.

“i wanna make you feel real good, gotta prep you for me first. is that okay with you, baby?” he only smiles softly as you start to relax against him. “i need to know if you’re okay with this. care about you so much, i just want you to be comfortable. let me know if you wanna stop right now.”

“no, h-haji...please, i don’t want to stop. i want you so bad. i need you, ah-”

your consent was all he needed before he pulls you back into him, kissing you so slow you feel dizzy; his hands travel low on your body, working the button of your jeans, as your fingers dig into his shoulders. when he breaks away from you, he helps you slip out of the dark denim, tugging each pant leg off until all you wearing is the stringy, baby blue panties that leaves little to the imagination.

“fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” iwa groans out, rubbing a hand across his face as you giggle lightly. while you hover over him, he quickly strips off his pants, kicking them off onto the floor before grabbing onto your hips. “flip around on me, baby. that’s right, face the front.”

settling down onto his lap, the thin cotton of his briefs does nothing to hide the print of his hard-on he’s sporting underneath. and with your back pressed to his warm chest, you roll your hips teasingly into him.

“come on, haji...let me help you.” you huff, continuing to grind against him.

“oi, cut it out.”

his grip on your hips tighten in warning, and you gasp as he manhandles you easily. shifting you around so that the heel of your left foot digs into his thigh, the other secured at the edge of the leather wheel; he has your legs wide open. before you can even think about any stragglers catching you so vulnerable; iwa hooks his arm under your thigh, pads of his fingers brushing over your clothed pussy.

“haaaa~” you breathe out, hips jerking into his touch.

“fuck baby, your panties are soaked.” he continues to tease you over the drenched crotch of your panties. iwa rubs lazy circles, casually sliding under the material to play with your silk folds. his touches have you yearning for more, as you feel yourself slowly going insane as he starts to coat his fingers in your slick.

“mmm...touch me, haji...properly.”

wriggling around in his embrace, you keen once he pulls his hand away from you; holding his fingers before you, showing off how they glisten so prettily in under the moon. and then you watch over your shoulder as he leads his hand to his mouth, and licks his fingers clean.

“you taste so fucking sweet.” he’s quick to bring his fingers back to your drooling pussy, coating his fingers once again, but this time bringing them to your own lips. “here, have a taste for yourself.”

opening your mouth, iwa wastes no time pressing his long digits flat against your tongue. sucking on his fingers, you savour the saccharine essence of your pussy; moaning at your own flavour sending your tastebuds into overdrive. iwa hums, heated gaze taking in the way you take his fingers in your mouth; he slowly pulls them back out with a pop - smiling softly at the way you stare at him, all wide-eyed and wanton.

“should we get you out of these messy panties now, baby?”

at your eager nods, iwa presses a kiss to your shoulder as he has you lift your hips up; slipping your soaked panties off, and placing them on the passenger seat side the two of you. sitting you back down against him, he hooks both arms around the undersides of your thighs, grabbing at your soft flesh and spreading you wide open for him. you whimper when a big hand cups your sex, rough palm brushing against your throbbing clit.

“shh.” iwa coos, entranced with how you’re rolling your hips to grind against his hand. “i got you.”

he presses his thumb against your clit, circling the sensitive bud peaking past your puffy lips; as his middle finger teases your slit. slowly he pushes his finger inside you, a heavy, relieved moan escapes your throat, as he easily slides in and out of you. through heavy lidded eyes you watch as fog clouds the windows of iwa’s truck, the glass steamy; while perspiration collects between your bodies. you’re brought back to focus on iwa, when he teases a second finger against your slit, dipping inside you and stretching you out even more. hissing, you clench around him; the lewd squelches as he fucks you with his thick fingers, has you digging your heels into his thigh and the steering wheel.

the way iwa’s fingers reaches deeper inside than you could ever on your own, and the added stimulation to your clit, has the tightening coil in your belly snap as you cum all over his hand.

“oh baby, feels good doesn’t it?”

“yeshhh...h-haji, mmph-”

he doesn’t stop pumping you with his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm to the end. even when you feel the high descend, twitching at the slight overstim, you expect him to stop. but all he does is bury his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin as the hand not occupied with your pussy, fondles your ass. you lean into him, mewling at his touches when your breath hitches at a new sensation.

“haji, no! it’s dirty!”

the hand at your ass had moved to pet at your puckered hole - completely drenched in your cum, he was sure he could slide a single finger in with ease. and he was right. the feeling of your tight hole being prodded, stretched by the tip of his forefinger, before sucking the entire digit inside - had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“f-ah-uck! oh shit, nghhh!”

“you gonna cum again for me, baby?”

the feeling of both your ass and pussy being stuffed full of iwa’s fingers is overwhelming. you’re a panting and moaning mess, writhing on top of him. and when the back of your head is thrown back into iwa’s shoulder, all you can see is hazy stars in the sky as you stare up, completely intoxicated by the feeling of his fingers moving inside you - brushing against the thin barrier of skin between your two holes. the familiar pressure in your tummy has you bucking your hips and crying out.

“you’re squeezing my fingers so tight.” he maintains the same steady pace, fucking his fingers into you nice and deep, while working your sensitive clit. its only a few seconds later he hits a particular spot that has you jolting forward, crying out at your sudden release. “shit, that’s right, i can feel you cumming all over my hands again, baby.”

you can barely think straight as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your second orgasm. still in a daze, iwa eases his fingers out of your twitching holes, and you groan at the empty feeling.

“you okay?” iwa asks, wrapping his arm around your waist. you nod, chest heaving as you attempt to steady your breathing. “you think you can cum one more time from my fingers-”

“no!” you grab at his wrists when he moves to play with you again. “i need you inside me, haji. please.”

whatever calm iwa had possessed while pleasuring you had vanished at your words. sticky hands lifted you up by your waist, turning you around to straddle him - while he slightly lowered the back of his seat. lip locked, your hands find themselves wrapped around the nape of his neck, while iwa’s hands grab at your body - stilling your wriggling form as he grinds up into you.

without breaking the kiss, you reach down and ease your fingers under the elastic waistband of his briefs; hand brushing against the tip of iwa’s cock. that earns you a muffled groan as he allows you to hover over him and slide the boxer briefs down his muscled thighs. your mouth salivates at the sight of his cock slapping against his toned stomach. he was easily the biggest you’d ever seen, with a thick vein on the underside, and a red, angry tip leaking pre-cum.

“fuck, you’re so big haji.”

he hisses when your hand touches him, you can barely wrap your fingers around him; and you start to question if he could even fit inside you. iwa notices the slight hesitation in your movements.

“we don’t have to.” he reassures, brushing the hair out of your lust filled eyes. “i can play with you some more, or i can eat you out in the back seat-”

“-haji.” you cut him off, stroke him before lining him at your dripping entrance, grinding the leaking tip across your slit. “i’ve wanted this for so long.” lowering yourself, you gasp at the delicious stretch of his tip entering you. “i’ve wanted you for so long. don’t hold back, give me everything.” and with that, you completely impale yourself on his cock.

“fuck, y/n, i can feel you clamping down on me- shit baby, you gotta move.”

lifting one leg at a time, you shift around off of your knees, steadying yourself on your tip toes; before grabbing onto iwa’s shoulders and starting to slowly ride him. his hands roam across your body freely, loving squeezes trailed in their path, as praise after praise is whispered out to you.

“you take my cock so well, fuck.”

your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as you quicken your pace. bouncing yourself faster on his fat cock, iwa’s attention is drawn to to the way your breasts move in front of him; massaging the soft flesh, and then leaning forward to smush his face between them.

“could stay right here forever.” his muffled voice croons. 

you whimper at the feeling of his hot tongue dragging a wet trail down the valley between your breasts, and you’re certain plum love bites will have bloomed across your chest by sunrise. your arms shoot up to press against the foggy glass of the moon roof above you, palms pressed flat against the steamy window, handprints painted on the transparent screen - as you bounce harder and faster. the lewd sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and of your pussy sucking him in with each stroke; shows how desperate you are to cum again.

“you’ll cum on my cock, won’t you baby? i can feel how close you are, shit, you’re so close aren’t you?”

the way you ride him gradually becomes sloppier the closer you are to cumming, so when he holds your waist and helps you bounce on him, you cry out in relief.

“f-fuck, feels s’g-good, haji! nghh, yes, yes, yes-!”

only as he reaches a hand down to roll your sensitive clit between his index and thumb, do you fall apart on his cock. your velvety walls spasm around him as he continues to fuck you through your high in chase of his own, overstimming you even more as you cream all over him, tongue lolling out. the sheer intensity of your orgasm has you collapsing forward onto his heaving chest, a babbling mess, while he holds you to him.

“you made such a mess on me, baby.” he huffs out.

“h-haji.” you whimper into his neck, arms looped around his. “s’too sensitive, haaa~”

your knees are by his hips, the tops of your feet pressed against his inner thighs, as he rolls his hips into you. large hands slide down your spine, over the curve of your ass to knead the smooth flesh in his palms.

“just hold on to me baby. you got one last one for me, don’t you?” all you can do is nod, releasing an onslaught of mewls and moans. “that’s a good girl, fuck.”

iwa is relentless in pursuit of his own orgasm - fucking into you at a punishing pace that has your mouth jar open in a silent cry, his truck jolting with each snap of his hips. your juices completely drench his cock, allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease, and you’re sure by now your pussy has been shaped out by the imprint of his cock. you can feel him throbbing inside of you, close to his climax; while his fingers dig into your ass shoving you down on his cock, and hitting your sweet spot over and over that you can’t help but gush all over him yet again.

“h-ah-ji, hnghh!” you sob, your body spent and thighs slick with your cum.

iwa only lasts a little longer with the way you were clenching down on him; pulling out of your fucked out pussy, and setting you on his thighs. he fists his cock in his hand, jerking himself a few times before thick, white cum spurts out - coating his entire hand and painting his stomach.

“mmm baby, that was fucking amazing.” he growls out, leaning back into the seat to catch his breath. “d’you feel okay?”

you only hum, entranced by how much cum he spilled. or wasted, you thought to yourself.

“can you reach over to the back and grab the towel in my gym bag, gotta clean us up…” your lack of focus has iwa trailing off. “y/n?”

“we don’t need the towel.”

reaching for the hand covered in his seed, you bring it to your mouth. iwa tries to question what you meant by that, though he’s cut off when you lick a tentative strip across his palm. gathering his cum on your tongue, you swirl his essence around in your mouth, before swallowing. you make a show of taking each finger in your mouth, sucking his cum clean. once his hand is licked clean, you slide down his lap; ready to do the same over his abs.

“you’re so good to me, y/n.” iwa runs his fingers through your hair, and then pats your head. “y/n?” he calls out again, still petting your head just as your about to trace the dips of his stomach with your tongue.

“hmm?”

“y/n? y/n?”

you move back away from him. “what?”

“y/n? oi, y/n? wake up!”

iwa watches as you jolt up from where you had fallen asleep on his lap. makki, who had been hovering over you, moves away as you try to swat at him - a confused look on your face.

“huh?”

“you fell asleep.” makki informs her. “you were interrupting the movie. if you’re that tired, just sleep in one of our rooms.”

lazed out on the other couch, mattsun pipes up; “yeah, you were making these ugly noises and then iwa said you licked his hand, what a weirdo.”

he only clears his throat awkwardly, finding a sudden interest in the beige walls of their living room. he misses the horrified expression on your pretty face, scrunched up in utter embarrassment, before you turn to start arguing with mattsun.

iwa was grateful for the pillow resting over lap, hiding the evident hard-on he was sporting. he wanted to argue with mattsun too, because the sounds you made were definitely far from ugly.

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[piecksz]

forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader 

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol 

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container. 

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen. 

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her. 

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.  

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.  

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.  

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.  

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.  

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process. 

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.

[daydreamingatnight209]

Requests are open!

Feedback is always welcome ✨💕

“I’ll see you around?”

Freddy Carter x Reader

Requested - For @aliiiyyaaah

“okay so i actually got a new idea, maybe the reader is amita’s friend/or cousin and she was around set a lot because they really close and the reader loves to sing but is shy and idk maybe freddy is lowkey crushing on the reader and something super cute happens?”

Prompt - The melody of the music box soothed me”

Warnings - Small angst? Fluff 💞

————————————————

The melody of the music box soothed me.

I would play it over and over when I felt stress or anxiety gripping me.

Sometimes I would sing along with the tune and other times I would hum it.

I remember recreating the beats in my head when I met him.

The human version of sunshine.

We locked eyes for a single moment but my heart started to race.

He broke contact first and when he did I spun around to my best friend.

“Amita, who was that?”

“Who was who?”

I move my head slightly in the direction of the mystery man, doing my best to be subtle.

Amita chuckles and links my arm as we walk to her trailer.

“That was Freddy. He’s a shy one but he’s really sweet. You should talk to him!”

I shake my head.

“No no ‘Mita I can’t do that! Besides I’m only here for a couple of days.”

Amita just winks at me as she places on a film and gets comfortable.

“I will introduce you to the rest of the cast later, most of them are filming today.”

“Ahmmm” I mumble, sliding into the blanket on the back of the sofa and slowly feel my eyes slide close. Travelling always leaves me exhausted.

——————————————

I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep but I was awoken to a loud knocking on the trailer door.

I jump up and take in my surroundings. Amita wasn’t here but I see a note on the coffee table.

The knocking continues so I rise from my seat and open the door.

I come face to face with Freddy.

I silently cursed at me dishevelled appearance as he began to speak.

“Oh erm, I’m sorry. I thought you would be Amita? Is she in there?”

His voice was soft and gentle. Kinda like the sound that could soothe you to sleep.

I take a deep breath and pray that my words don’t fail me.

“No sorry, she left me a note saying she had to nip out. Do you want to come in and wait? I won’t mind”

He flashes me a small smile and comes closer.

“Sure, thank you”

He steps inside and takes a seat beside me.

“I’m Y/N ‘Mita’s best friend. She let me come and see production for a couple of days, I love the books and I study media so it helps with my degree”

It took Freddy awhile to warm up but soon we were chatting away, he would listen so intently and absorb everything around him. It was amazing to see.

Suddenly the door flung open and Amita rushes inside looking every wind swept.

“Oh! I see you guys have met!” She exclaims seeing Freddy and I together.

“I was just sorting out last minute arrangements for your stay, your in the same hotel as us” she explains to me. This prompted me to look at my watch which in turn caused me to gasp.

“It’s getting late and I still need to check in!”

Amita helps me with my luggage and I turn to leave the trailer.

“I’ll see you around?” I ask Freddy.

He responds by giving me a quick nod and a bright smile.

Amita giggles under her breath.

“He likes you”

———————————————

Days on set turned into weeks on set and soon I felt like part of the family. I got to meet the others and had many laughs, especially with Kit and Archie and Ben. The girls became my sisters, I loved spending my nights with Amita, Jessie and Danielle.

I didn’t see Freddy often but when I did I would always greet him with a wave and a smile.

I never really got much out of him, not since the day we actually met.

It was currently night and I was sat in Amita’s hotel room with her and and Jessie.

Amita was laughing with Jessie, telling her how we met and grew up together. I watched with a smile on my face reliving the memories in my head.

I lost myself in my thoughts and was startled when Jessie squeals and grabs me by the the shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing!”

A blush creeps over me and I lower my head.

“Erm, no no. I don’t, not really”

Jessie still spends the next hour trying to convince me to sing her something but to no avail.

I wish them both goodnight and head down the hallway to the elevator to my room.

A Ding! rings out and I step forward into the small metal box.

I small scream jumps from my throat as I see Freddy stood in front of me.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry! I should of watched where I was going” I gasp, trying to regain my breath.

“Oh no, it’s my fault, my apologies” Freddy replies before pressing the number 4 on the control panel.

Number 4, for the floor of my room.

Silence envelopes us but this time it nagged at my mind.

I couldn’t stop the words that fell from my mouth after that.

“Freddy do you not like me?”

I watched as his face fell, it was like seeing a wounded puppy and it tore at my heart.

“Why, why would you think that?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Have I done something wrong?”

I shook my head rapidly.

“Oh my gosh! No no, not at all”

I take a moment before continuing, or at least I tried to before a loud thump! caused me to lose my balance just as the lights went out.

“Freddy? Freddy what’s happening?” I panic.

“Hey hey it’s okay, it’s just the lift. Everything will be back up and running soon”

I do my best to listen to his words but I couldn’t focus.

I grab for the closest thing to me and I end up taking Freddy’s hand.

He brings me to his chest and strokes my head , whispering sweet nothings in my ear. When my panic finally subsided, I slide down the elevator wall and quietly sing that one melody to myself.

I didn’t realise that Freddy had sat next to me until the song reached its last note.

“You have a wonderful voice” Freddy mumbles and I smile at him.

“Thank you”

“And in answer to your question, I do like you. I like you so much I feel that when I’m around you I’m going to burst. You make me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. I feel like I’m 15 again, always wondering what to say and stumbling over my words. You’re extraordinary and well ... well this ...”

Freddy leans into my face and slowly places his hand on my cheek, caressing my face just before our lips finally joined. It was a short kiss but one I that will be encased in my memory forever.

I lean in to go again but I stopped when brightness lit up behind my eyes.

The elevator was run and running. I jump up before it’s noticed that we were on the floor and help Freddy up along the way.

The doors open and I step out of them.

I turn to wink at Freddy with a smirk on my face.

“I suppose I’ll see you around?”

—————————————

Tag List -

@elennox03

@xcharlottemikaelsonx

@aliiiyyaaah

@hopebaker

@subjecta13-thefangirl

@imagines-and-preferences1216

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

taglist: @reddriot @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @axther @tspice283  @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @yanfeisrose @mowestruc @tokyosrevenge @jaegerverse @hu-tao-main @midnightangelfox​ (add yourself to the taglist up above!)

[gryffindors-weasley]

A Love to Last

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco feels he’s got the kind of love he’s been searching for.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of the dark mark, guilt, tiny bit of jealousy, self doubt, fluff, kissing

A/N: This is my entry for @dracosaurusrex song fic challenge! The song I’ve chosen is A Sunday Kind of Love by Etta James. I hope you enjoy it my lovely Ina!!

When you awoke, the bedroom was still cast in shadows as dawn had just begun to roll around, though you hadn’t anticipated it to brighten much more than it had been with the way the rain clouds swirled outside. Mornings like these had always proved to be amongst the hardest when it came to getting out of bed for the day. The warmth of your blankets, coupled with the presence of your lover just inches away, topped off with the cozy dreariness of the weather was recipe for you to stay put. But there had been one thing on your mind; Delilah’s Bakery and Tea Shop.

Draco normally had been an early riser out of habit, his work schedule leaving him no choice but to develop such a thing. However, even the overcast morning had left him reluctant to leave the comforts of the bed and start the day. He’s stirred ever since he felt you jostle the bed with your frequent tossing and turning, though, more so when he feels your gaze fixed on him.

“I can feel you staring, Darling,” he mumbles, unable to open his eyes more than just a sliver as the very tips of his fingers brush over the exposed skin of your hip. You’d been caught in your admiring.

“Was not.”

You try desperately to hold your defense, though your smile breaks through your half-stoic expression in a matter of seconds when his fingers dance over your side. A tired grin settles on his lips as he releases an airy laugh through his nose.

“You never were a good liar,” he remarks, peeking an eye open at you just so he could catch glimpse of the eye roll that was soon to follow his statement.

“It’s rather hard not to stare, you know,” you start, a wider smile beginning to spread across your lips, “especially when you’ve got a bedhead like that.”

For that, he opens his eyes fully, his gaze meeting yours when he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. His smile vanishes in favor of a frown as he props himself up on his elbow, chunks of unkempt platinum hair sticking up in the back while others fell in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you think yours is any better, do you, Darling?”

Your mouth is quick to fall agape in faux offense and his own smile returns at his triumphant remark.

“I don’t appreciate your wit at this hour, Draco,” you frown, moving to get up from your bed in reluctance. His brows knit together at your actions, his hand quick to wrap around your wrist and tug you downwards toward his lips. “You should be getting up too.”

Your words are just barely spoken, narrowly cut short as his lips meld with your own in a languid kiss, morning breath and all. It was soft and tender, his hum tickling against your mouth in a way that brought back your smile again.

“And why is that?” He murmurs, mere centimeters from your lips, so close they brush over your own with each and every word.

“We’re making a trip to see Delilah.” 

You’re matter-of-fact as you pull away from him, slipping from his loose grasp much to his obvious dismay. He throws his head back with a sigh, sending heaps of blonde hair to flop backwards and out of his eyes momentarily.

“You pinky promised me we’d go today. You can’t go back on those you know,” you remind him firmly, your lips pursed. His face scrunches as he remembers his words from just the night before; he’d much rather stay in bed and kiss you senseless all day long.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for pinky promises?” He asks with a raised brow, amusement weaving around his every word as he sits up fully.

You scoff incredulously at his absurd suggestion. “Draco, we’re only twenty-four. Besides, you’re never too old for pinky promises.”

His gaze falls almost involuntarily to the mark etched permanently on his arm as he drops his head forward at your words, his smile fading and his hair falling back down over his forehead. His stomach churns every time he sees the dark symbol, disgust clouding his mind as he looks at the swirls of black ink taking up space on the pale skin of his forearm. Space he’d never get back, memories of it forever tarnishing his mind. He often wonders how such a vile mark could curl so elegantly as if it weren’t the most humiliating thing to carry on your shoulders in the wizarding world. If he could scrub it off he would do it in a heartbeat; he’s tried.

“Dray?” His view of it is obstructed when your hand slips over his arm, effectively capturing his attention once more. You knew his mind had wandered elsewhere, and you knew just where it’d gone to. “We’d better get there before she sells out of everything. We’re not the only ones that are fond of her baking, you know. Especially on a Sunday morning.”

You finally slip from the bed with a kiss to his cheek and one on his lips, one he inevitably chased for more with a quiet protest as you pulled away from him entirely this time.

“Have you always been this demanding, my love?” He asks with a chuckle, catching the sweater you had tossed at him. You pretend to ponder the question as you tap your finger to your cheek.

“I believe so, yes.”

—

The little bell over the small shop door signals your entrance, drawing a few curious stares before they’ve gone back to their drinks. Immediately the scent of the various pastries sitting in the glass showcase is what hits you first, that and the ever familiar smell of hot chocolate. Your hand slips from Draco’s as you wander to the section in particular you’re looking for, missing the way he smiled after you before he stopped himself from standing there looking like a lovestruck fool.

It seemed as though fate had been on your side that gloomy Sunday morning, two fresh blueberry muffins sitting on their respective tray just waiting for you to buy them up. Delilah had already been on the task of grabbing them without the need to ask, having known your favorites like the back of her hand by now. The two of you had been coming there every day for the past year and a half after all.

“You’re always selling out, aren’t you, lovely?” Draco asks with a smile, putting some money on the counter and extra as a tip. The older woman smiled with a soft laugh, her cheeks staining a soft pink at the nickname falling from his lips.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing her add in an extra chocolate chip muffin too. She did this every time, perhaps it was because the sweet old woman had a bit of a crush on Draco, but nevertheless it still surprised you. She immediately denied your futile attempts to pay for it, as she’s done each and every single time you’ve tried and you purse your lips playfully, easily falling into small talk with her as if it’d been ages since you did.

She told you of her grandson who’d come to help her out with the bakery now that she had been getting older and unable to keep up with orders like she used to. You saw him flittering around the kitchen here and there but there was no sort of proper introduction, and you were quickly pulled to another subject. She had a habit of bouncing around from topic to topic, unable to talk about any one thing for more than a minute or two.

However, Draco had been privy to the boy’s obvious gazing in your direction from behind the counter, a gaze that seemed to be a little too adoring for his girlfriend. Naturally, he fixed him with a raised brow before his eyes narrow at him ever so slightly. Draco wasn’t trying to be overly intimidating per say, but he hadn’t been too fond of the way he’d been looking at you. That was a look reserved for himself to give only, and he planned to take advantage of that as soon as the guy stops making heart eyes at you.

He nearly drops the tray of chocolate chip cookies clutched in his hands when he catches sight of the displeased blonde, cheeks flushing a deep crimson at his blunder. He scratches the back of his neck and rushes back to the kitchen without another glance in your direction. You seem to be blissfully unaware of the subtle and wordless interchange and Draco finds himself slipping his hand back in yours with a soft squeeze because he’d missed the contact. Any bit of jealousy that had been simmering in his chest, no matter how minute, dissolves the moment you look at him.

“Are you ready to go, Love?” You ask, your eyes seemingly sparkling up at him.

He clears his throat and nods, careful not to get too lost in how much he had wanted to grab your face and kiss you in that moment. You both bid Delilah a warm goodbye, Draco stepping ahead to open the door for you, not letting your hand go. The little bell chimes once more as you step outside, the chilly spring air engulfing you once more and sending a shiver up your spine.

“She said her grandson has been working with her, have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him alright,” he mutters grumpily, scoffing more so to himself than to you.

You pretend you didn’t hear his grumbling, instead leaning on your toes and kissing his cheek sweetly. That seemed to bring him around as you watch a smile grace his lips.

You were just a few paces away from the car when you had seen it; a little street-side stand littered with an assortment of colorfully bloomed flowers for sale. Though Draco seemed to be one step ahead of you, his hand slipping from yours to cross the street with a few cautious glances. You smiled after him with a shake of your head, watching him go straight for the roses without hesitation. You eyed him digging around in his pocket for some change, handing it over in exchange for the single and pristine red rose he now had held between his fingers contently as he crosses the street and back to you again.

“Draco!” You say with a soft laugh, quickly captured in a breathless kiss as he gifts you the delicate flower. His breath puffs out in little clouds against the chilly air as he raises a brow.

“You can’t possibly have thought I’d leave without buying you one, can you?”

Your cheeks blush a soft scarlet as you grin up at him, leaning up on your toes to kiss him once more. He was ever the romantic at heart, though he likes to argue and insist that he is absolutely no such thing. However, currently you were desperate to divert his attention from your reddening cheeks.

“We’d better go before it rains on us.”

He hums softly in agreement, getting in the car with the cue of thunder rumbling through the gray sky. The sweet smell of the muffins had begun to seep through the paper bag they resided in, filling the car with the mouthwatering scent of blueberries and a hint of chocolate. You were tempted to delve into them in that very moment, though you quickly decided against it with the short commute. Even with that being said, Draco still enveloped your hand in his own no matter if you were two minutes from home or two hours. It was a sense of grounding that he’d worked into an absentminded habit.

You looked over at him fondly, the softest of smiles tugging at the corners of your mouth as you did so. His sleepy eyes flickered over the familiar town, his free hand draped over the top of the steering wheel. You admired him as you so often do, at the platinum locks tangling with dark lashes because there was no pressing need for it to be pristine any longer; he hadn’t wanted to get a haircut either. At the freckle adorning the very corner of his jaw, one you kissed so often you had lost count by this point. Even at the strands of hair stubbornly sticking out at the back of his head that he hadn’t cared to brush down before he left the house. Perhaps the cutest part was the way he sung ever so softly to the radio that had been on, the same muggle song stuck in his head for days.

He turned his gaze to you briefly when he turned on your street, having felt your stare much like he’d felt it earlier that morning just forty-five minutes prior. You look ahead with a smile and a deepening blush spreading to the tips of your ears, your home coming into view and allowing a reprieve from his playful yet inevitable teasing that was bound to be spoken.

As luck would have it, the patter of rain drizzled onto the windshield in delicate droplets before turning to an undesirable downpour in the span of five seconds. You look to Draco with a knowing smile, the keys clutched readily in his hand as he sighs and gives a nod.

“One…two…three!” You say simultaneously, making quick work of exiting the car and squealing as you did so.

You of course had gotten held up as he fumbled with the latch of the old iron gate because it never functioned when it was needed to, grabbing your hand and rushing down the mossy cobblestone pathway to your front door. You shriek in protest to the icy rain pelting against you, effectively soaking through your coat and warping the bag crinkled in your hand. He’d had a much easier time with the lock on the door, but you found yourself plucking a flower that had caught your eye before he had tugged you into your home and closed out the inclement weather behind you.

Bouts of laughter filled the otherwise quiet space, the familiar scent of pine and coffee wafting your way as the residual heat from the fireplace took the edge off. You stand there with a smile as he shrugs off his rain dampened coat, the gray sweater he wore underneath it doing nothing to help the way you wanted to kiss him.

“What?” He asks, his eyes narrowed curiously as he takes his shoes off.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you thrust the freshly picked hydrangea in his direction, water droplets beaded on its fluffy pink petals. A smile is on his lips as he takes it with a soft blush, pinching the stem between his fingers as he smells it briefly. “It’s only fair that I give you one too, right?”

He responds with a kiss, his hands settling on your cheeks as the dampened flower brushes against your skin lightly. His lips taste of his morning coffee and sugar and his hands were warm despite the cold temperatures, the ends of his hair tickling against your forehead.

He parts after another soft kiss is landed in yours lips, taking the paper bag and rose from your hand and setting them on the small table by the door before helping you out of your jacket and hanging it up with his own. You hadn’t made it more than a few steps into the living room before Draco’s hand tugged on yours, a laugh leaving your lips as he spun you around and pulled you close.

“Draco, I happen to be craving those muffins, you know,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“They can wait just a moment,” he says, tucking your dampened hair behind your ear. His eyes bounce over every inch of your face, lingering a moment or two longer on your lips before lifting to meet your curious gaze.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiles softly with an airy laugh, resting his forehead on yours. A million thoughts had resided in his mind, and all of them revolved around you. The idea scared him, really. The thought of loving someone as wholeheartedly as he did you was a concept he hadn’t quite figured out yet, something he never thought he was capable of, never thought he’d have the chance to do. It was no longer a young love as teens, it is a love that’s become so deeply rooted in his heart, utterly unwavering and all encompassing. He never understood how he’d managed to grab ahold of a love like this, to be loved by someone like you. For you were nothing short of wonderful, you were all the beauty in the world in one person. And he felt as though he’d been unworthy of such affection, he was a Malfoy after all.

Malfoy’s hadn’t been known for acts of kindness and generosity. They were known for spite and selfishness; that thought invaded his mind more often than he’d ever care to admit. It’d been baffling, an idea he has yet to come up with an explanation for as to how he deserved to be loved so dearly, so intensely. He felt he didn’t deserve even a second glance from you, and he feels as though he shouldn’t bask in it too much for fear of it slipping right through his fingers. But he found he couldn’t help himself, not really, he loved you too greatly not to show it in every moment he could.

You were warm, you were impossibly kind, you were more courageous than he could ever be in ten lifetimes. You were his. Or perhaps he should say he was yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose brushing over yours as his lips dip closer to yours. It’s so soft he thinks it might’ve gone unheard against the downpour pelting down outside.

His smile is unable to be contained as your soft laughter puffs against his lips, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Is that so?”

He nods ever so slightly without hesitation, his hum solidifying his answer. Your lips pressed to his softly, his smile disappearing into your kiss as your fingers tangle in platinum strands momentarily. A warmth blossoms in his chest and he feels as though his heart might burst with the way you make him feel, a quiet whine sounding in his throat when your lips pull from his all too soon.

“I love you,” you murmur, your eyes sparkling once more as you look up at him.

His fond smile soon quirks up into a lopsided smirk, extending his pinky between the two of you despite the close proximity. “Pinky promise?”

You raise an amused brow at him, a laugh leaving your lips again. Draco claimed pinky promises were for kids just that morning, a habit started in third year, but you knew for a fact that the seemingly childish action meant more to him than he’d care to admit. Regardless, you raise your pinky and link it with his own, his smile widening as he gazed down at you with a pale pink dusting his cheeks.

“Pinky promise.”

You break away from him with a whisper of a kiss, jovial laughter filling the house as you grab the long awaited bag of muffins and skipped off to the kitchen. He stared after you for a few fleeting moments as he shook his head with a smile.

It wasn’t a temporary love. It was a love to last.

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa @theweasleysredhair @hahee154hq @greenappledraco

[brightly-painted-canvas]

How does it feel? (drabble, The Old Guard - Andy & Nicky)

I had this vignette sitting in my heart for a few days and I figured out I should write it down before I ended up losing its warmth. I am a sucker for fics about Andy’s and Nicky’s relationship and this is somehow a small attempt at describing how they communicate, even over a difficult topic like mortality.

.

It’s morning. Early and quiet.

Andy is sneaking inside the safehouse from the back door, sure she’d be the only one up at this hour until she rounds the corner and sees Nicky at the kitchen table, kneading bread with swift but vigorous movements.

She quickly considers her options: Nicky has for sure noticed her already, so heading toward her room without saying ‘hello’ doesn’t sit right. She also had wanted a cup of coffee to wash down the stale taste of alcohol sitting under her tongue after a long night of cheap drinks, so the kitchen had to be a brief stop before hitting the bed.

 She quietly steps inside, scanning the situation: flour stains are all around the main surfaces, the oven is already turned on and a fragrant smell of sweet baking cookies is filling the air of the small room.

Nicky doesn’t even lift his head, he just fixes his big, pale eyes on her and smiles that minute smile of his.

“Coffee?” he asks, his deep soothing voice still rough with sleep.

Andy nods once and Nicky is already moving, briefly wiping his hands on a clean dishrag before reaching the cupboard for a mug. The family-size moka he insists on keeping in almost all the safehouses they use more frequently is already filled with blessedly warm, bitter coffee.

She sits on one of the kitchen table’s chairs, near the momentarily abandoned bread dough.

Once he has placed the mug in front of her, she grins and says: “You’re a saint.”

He snorts.

It’s an inside joke between them: she doesn’t believe in anything holy. He doesn’t anymore (maybe).

But if there ever was anything worth calling sainted in Andy’s long life, it would always somehow be related to her Nicolò.

He wouldn’t agree, of course.

  Nicky gets back to his task of kneading bread to perfection, quiet and precise, like all of his movements.

Andy sips her coffee and enjoys the silence, the brief interruptions dictated by the oven’s ticking and the bread’s slamming over and over on the table’s board.

She observes Nicky’s profile like she has done so many times before, noticing his somehow always disheveled hair having grown a bit too long, the dark circles under his eyes having deepened in the last months, enhancing the tiny white scar under his left eye, the one connected to the cut on his mesophrium and over his right brow.

He was never specific about his life before his first death, but Andy somehow knows the story behind that long scar. She remembers the feelings she had in reaction to that lighthearted confession he uttered: disbelief and outrage.

After all her years wandering the Earth, that tiny information still had her despair about humanity, its obstinacy in bringing suffering to its own, repressing and oppressing what is pure and good and beautiful.

What she hates the most has always been feeling powerless in the face of injustice.

But if Nicolò may once have been a scared, vulnerable boy, he wasn’t anymore.

Andy’s gaze lingers on his strong arms, his wide shoulders, the set of his angular jaw, the muscles moving under his pale skin: he is a remarkably powerful man now, her brother. A forever 30 years old warrior who died in his prime, never to be seen aging and wilted if not for many, many years to this day. And not by her, it seems.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, breaking their prolonged silence.

Nicky hums, a singular small sound, affirmative.

“What’s on your mind?” she follows, knowing all too well it’s pointless: Nicky never answers these questions if he can avoid it, if it’s someone else other than Joe asking, if Joe somehow doesn’t know already.

This time as well, he shifts his gaze to meet hers and smiles, tiredly but reassuringly.

Andy prides herself to be able to read all her brother’s tiny reactions, unsaid truths, hidden emotions: Nicolò may be the hardest one to read, but she has always managed.

She doesn’t know it as deeply as Yusuf, but she understands his core in her own way.

She uncurls her hand from around the mug’s handle and places it upon Nicky’s dusted with flour’s one, which immediately stills over soft bread dough.

Their eyes are still locked and Andy thinks back at all the times she had read deep into these pools of grey mist and green waters, threading out his emotions like a Moira spinning a seafoam yarn.

When he’s this particular type of quiet, unguarded and open, she can read him like a well-known piece of poetry, an ancient song.

“How does it feel?” he asks, and Andy feels like flinching, but he already has his warm hand turned, cupping her smaller one, resting the tips of his fingers on her wrist like it’s a casual position, not a subtle way to feel her life pulsing.

Oh, she thinks. Oh, my sweet one.

They hadn’t had time yet to talk about any of it.

They had to run and hide and let the dust settle, had to decide over the consequence of Booker’s actions, had to figure out Copley, had to wait for her to heal for the first time in forever, had to care about Nile.

Nicky had only had time to exhale a tiny sigh while still strapped on a medical bed, give his wise speech over immortality (wasted on the obtuse mind of an already dead man), ask her if she felt like facing yet another tiring battle.

He had accepted everything that came after with his usual grace, his absolute faith: trusted her leadership without faltering once over almost one thousand years, shielded her with his body like it was meant to be used that way, sacrificed yet some more pain, another death, to survival.

They had yet to talk about it, like they always do somehow in some way at some point, the two of them.

In their long, silent moments shared, just like this one, they always end up talking about what matters the most.

“I feel finite.” she replies, smiling privately at her beloved little brother.

He smiles back and Andy knows he has tricked her once again: he has let her in only to be able to see her in return, to gaze into her soul. Her clever, smart little brother.

She truly envies how effortlessly he manages to do that.

“It’s good.” she adds. She lifts her hand from his soft grip, caressing up his arm to his shoulder, the side of his face, the tip of his too long ash brown hair.

He lets her touch him gently, strokes the skin under his eye with her thumb, and holds the side of his head in her palm.

You are mine: my kin, my family, she tells him, through her silence. I will leave you, but you’ll always have me. I am right here.

“Finally.” she sighs, contentedly, conveying her calmness with her touch, the long awaited peace to her eternal inner turmoil now right there, close to the surface: she has a time now.

She doesn’t have to long for an end that never comes, anymore.

  His smile is a blessed thing, once again: a brief glance at unfiltered grace, the purity of a cherished soul she saw growing, learning, mending, finding its purpose and balance.

She is old and tired, but her love for this one will always bring her back to her primitive emotions, her loyalty, her animal instinct of offering and receiving protection.

She often recalls with amusement having been worshipped as a god, in the past: she had with Nile, right after meeting her. She sometimes thinks about what those ancient, forgotten people would had said and done for her Quỳnh, her Yusuf, her Nicolò. Her Sébastien and her Nile.

She’s sure they would have fallen for this remarkable man’s eyes like they did with hers, with his secret smiles and gentle voice. Worshipped his proud profile and handsome body in a manner that would have made Yusuf bristle with jealousy, exactly like he did back in the Renaissance, when a bit too many artists had their greedy eyes on the classical features of the other half of his soul.

She chuckles low, lost in her silly thoughts. Nicky doesn’t ask, but looks glad to see mirth on her face.

  The oven rings and Andy lets her baby brother go with a last stroke of his soft hair. He moves his head just enough to place a small, grateful kiss on the skin of her fingers.

“Let me get you those biscotti, they should be perfect with coffee.” he says, turning around to open the oven: warmth engulfs the tiny kitchen and Andy is sure it won’t take long for Joe and Nile to wake up now, following the sweet scent of food with rumbling stomachs, like the puppies they not-so-secretly are.

It means her quiet time shared with Nicky is coming to an end.

She accepts a plate of still hot cookies with a satisfied hum that turns into a shameless moan once she tastes the first one: “You’re my favourite!” she exclaims, like she often does in these cases.

“You don’t have favourites, remember?” he smirks, getting back to his softened bread dough.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” she smiles with mischief, gulping down some more coffee, as heavy steps start resounding from the floor above them, down the stairs, and Joe’s voice calling for his husband heralds his appearance at the kitchen’s door.

.

Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for any mistake, English is not my first language.

I’m on Ko-fi!

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job.

He supposed that was to be expected when one was tasked to dealing so closely with death and decay. An unending stream of souls passed his path – no similitude between their age or gender, their species, or even the manner with which they had perished. Phil found them and with the touch of a hand helped them to their feet, waving away all mortal burdens so they could pass on.

His task was merely to play the guide, he did not need to do anything beyond that. Who died was not up to him, neither was where they went after. Moral judgment was better left up to the deities, and Phil was not a god. But he could offer some kind of solace in their final moments, wipe the pain from their face and help them depart to whatever it was they were destined for next. Over time he had gathered expertise at comforting the dying.

Some wanted to be held as they died, both arms wrapped tightly around Phil's waist and rapid heartbeat slowing to a tilt. Others talked until they ran out of breath, recounting snippets of the stories they had lived or simply told Phil how scared they were to die with sobs shaking their chest. Then he would wipe away their tears and console them with the knowledge that soon all pain would fade. Others still were content in the silence, their only fear dying alone and forgotten. Phil sat with them in company, humming a song to himself that he hoped eased their way into death.

Then he would touch them carefully, their soul a bright burning like a flame held to his open palm. He would guide them where they needed to go, and not dwell on if their passing was just or not.

People had mistaken him to be the angel of death before, never mind the fact that this title was an oxymoron by nature. Phil knew it probably had to do with his wings, long feathers stretched out behind him in an arch of dark grays and black. It was a wrong assumption people made about him which he regarded with patient allowance, sometimes even aiding the moniker in its spread. He didn't mind if that was what people thought him to be.

But being an angel of death would imply he brought death with him where he went, a harboring of future loss yet to come. On the contrary, Phil felt as if he was always one step behind, chasing a shadow that fled before him and took lives where it settled. He arrived at the battlefield long after the banners had already been torn down, the ground reduced to a jutting landscape of limbs and discarded weapons. He crossed the sea of corpses – detached to the sense of dread such a scene would induce in normal people – and set about guiding the soul he had been tasked to find onward.

The sight of a man barely into his thirties, frightened expression frozen on his face when the javelin had been driven into his chest, made his heart clench.

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, no. But it was an obligation that needed to be filled, and he had been the one chosen to do so.

He only strayed from that path a handful of times.

The first time he did, the sunlight was bright. The air was filled with an sense of exhilaration, the rushing of people along cobblestone streets and children shrieking as they played between their parents' legs. Phil drew his robe closer around himself; even after all this time he was filled with unease.

His work didn't often call him to places so full of life – so full of happiness – unless something terrible was about to happen. And he braced himself for the consequences.

But instead, the pull on his soul was languid, small tugs towards the town's bustling square. A slow death then, somebody slipping away into old age? He traced his eyes along the houses, wondering if that was all it was. Natural causes rarely needed his services. Souls that passed on in a tranquil fashion wouldn't require guidance to find the afterlife. It was those that struggled with accepting death that concerned his labor.

Instead, his gaze fell on a shape standing hunched over on the edge of the square and Phil felt his heart drop.

The boy couldn't be too old, barely a teenager to most. His matted, curly dark hair was half-hidden under a beanie and his long legs were slightly shaking beneath his thin frame. Despite the tremble, he was playing an old guitar, deft fingers moving smoothly along the string. As Phil approached he could hear the music the boy was playing, a tune of his own devising no doubt. Phil liked it.

The crowd must not agree. The boy's basket, a small thing with cloth at the bottom to keep coins from falling through the cracks, was empty. People hurried past, barely giving the musician a second glance, and even if they stopped to watch him play for a moment, they didn't leave a contribution behind. Humans could be disgustingly selfish like that.

As Phil observed more closely he could tell why he was here.

How long had the boy been doing this? Traveling around from town to town and settling only long enough to play his music in the hopes some would take pity on him and offer money for his skill. Whatever luck he had found must have been few and far between. His bones were too visible beneath the skin, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken. Bright eyes that Phil somehow knew were supposed to spark with life had become dull in the face of malnutrition.

And still the boy was playing.

After a few minutes more – during which Phil simply watched – the boy grew too tired to continue much longer. He sunk down onto his knees with a sigh, the guitar cradled in his lap protectively. The only valuable possession he was most likely to have. His shoulders sagged as he pushed a hand against his empty stomach, scrunching his face up from what Phil assumed must be pretty horrible hunger pains. He didn't seem to have the strength to raise his head again.

Phil approached, tipping his hat in the belief that it would make him seem less threatening to the starved teen. "That was some lovely playing."

With strenuous effort, the boy looked up at him and despite the circumstances, offered him a lopsided grin. From up closer, Phil could tell how young he really was. "Thanks man, I wrote it myself."

Just as he had expected. It pulled at Phil, the physical thrumming of a soul about to leave its body as it succumbed to starvation. And it was cruel, as the humans behind them walked along the town square, buying food from stands and trading for gold. Meanwhile, a child sat here starving because there was nobody to look after him.

A sharp inhale from Phil to ground himself. Time slowed down around them as he unfurled his wings, all other movement slowing down by the molasses-like pull of his power. Only the boy would be able to see, but his eyes widened nonetheless.

"Oh," he said, a small sigh of resignation. He didn't seem surprised. "You're here to take me away right?"

"I am," Phil confirmed quietly. He wasn't too used to people staying this calm in the face of his true form.

The boy smiled again, more timid and broken through by exhaustion not of his age. He had already reconciled with what was about to happen. Phil knelt down in front of him.

"Are you scared?"

"I guess not," the boy answered. "There's just... just a lot more I wanted to do, you know?"

Phil couldn't. He couldn't know because he had been immortal since the first dawn. He had no grasp on the concept that was the painfully human fear of running out of time. But he nodded anyway. Holding out his hand, he hesitated only a moment before touching the tips of his fingers to the boy's forehead.

His soul glowed dimly in his ribcage, proof that he was running out of life. The color was a stunning yellow, woven through with odd traces of blue. Like a sunrise being steadily overtaken by the noon sky. Within lay the power of creation, the power to bring words and music to completion. Phil didn't know what came over him, but he felt pity for this boy's death.

Then he felt it. The push was subtle, a tingle down his spine and he leaned into it, wondering what would happen. How painful it would be for him. "What's your name?" he asked.

The boy opened his eyes, slipped close from fatigue. "Wilbur."

Phil pushed harder and the horrible feeling of draining that came over him was hard to bear. Dizzy as it made him, he kept at it. Emptiness washed over him, but then he noticed the way Wilbur's eyelashes fluttered, the way his chest heaved in for a deep breath.

Returning life to a mortal had been a first for him.

Wilbur blinked wearily, probably confused by his sudden surge of energy. The absent hunger that had plagued him for weeks. "Wha-"

"Wilbur," Phil said softly, as time resumed its restored flow around them. His wings had been retracted and Phil stood with a feeling like he had permanently lost something important. "How would you like to travel some more? With me."

The second time he did it, the world was struck through with red.

Phil huffed to himself and removed his hat to fan his face with it instead. He quite despised being sent into the nether – something that had only occurred on rare occasions.

It wasn't that his services weren't appropriate to this dimension. Death permeated this place more than any other he had visited during his travels, naturally dangerous terrain and many hostile creatures making it an unwelcoming venture. But the few sentient beings that lived and thrived in the nether did not have the same qualms with death as most did, not fearing it as the end of all things temporary.

Some even revered it as the final blaze of glory to be feverishly sought after.

Most passed on easily, with fervor. It rarely occurred to them to resist the pull of the beyond or make the transition harder than it needed to be.

Not this time apparently. Phil traveled the cracked ground, the unpleasant heat of the lava running beneath it keeping him light on his toes. The pull was strong this time, an urgent tugging like a fish hooked on a line, meaning that whoever was dying had to be in considerable pain. He felt their panic, something bordering on sharp-set denial. A warrior not prepared to lay down his sword?

The boy he found was not a warrior.

In fact, he was barely old enough to hold a sword without the weight of it crushing him. He did have a blade, tiny fist curled tightly around the iron hilt. When he spotted Phil he clutched it firmly and raised it in an ill-concealed threat. Or maybe a gesture of self-preservation.

The warning held little weight when the boy was clearly making an effort to keep standing on his feet. Long strands of pink hair stuck to his face and back – slick with sweat and blood. Fresh cuts and bruises were hardly distinguishable from older scars and the signs of battles wrought long ago. The deepest gash ran along the boy's side and over his chest, still seeping red and probably soon to be fatal. Phil frowned.

"Hey, calm down." He held up his arms placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Not technically a lie, of course.

The boy grunted at him, a low visceral noise that could hardly be called human. Phil realized why a moment later, as he stepped closer and finally realized the person in front of him wasn't human either. Maybe he could be mistaken for one at a glance – aside from the peculiar color of his hair – but upon closer inspection, the illusion quickly fell through.

Sharp claws extended from the hands he used to hold his sword up with and what Phil had mistaken for clunky old shoes turned out to be hooves instead. piglin-like ears were barely visible through the boy's hair and when he made another angry sound, the beginnings of tusks yet to grow in completely revealed themselves. Well, that explained why a child would be all alone in this hellhole.

Another step forward and that was the moment Phil realized that if this child was not human his common tongue would probably not be understood. He was just starting to scour his brain for some distant knowledge of the piglin language he must surely possess when he was hit square in the forehead with a stone.

Phil yelped, blinking just in time to see the kid run off.

Well, that had certainly never happened before. Most of the people he was sent to collect didn't have the stamina left to try and outrun him. Not that it made a difference anyway, as the pull of his soul would inform him of their location no matter how far they went.

A few minutes later he already came upon the boy again, this time lying face-down on the ground, blood loss finally getting the better of him. His sword was still clutched at his side. Phil stalked over calmly, hoping to anticipate any other projectiles coming his way but the child was probably in no condition to try that stunt again. Kneeling at their head, Phil turned them around carefully.

The child's burning red eyes were half-lidded in pain and every inhale rattled inside his chest unsteadily, troubled by his slowing pulse. he was dying fast. Yet when Phil brought his hand forward the kid's own came up to snatch his wrist, pulling weakly at his arm.

It wasn't exactly fear that contorted the boy's face, Phil had seen enough people cower at the prospect of death to recognize the cowardice with which most people faced their demise. This was something else. This was resistance in its purest form, a survival instinct that ran deeper than blood could. The boy let out a subdued whine, lacking the energy for anything more, as he tried to push Phil's hand away or get free from his grip.

Once again Phil felt that familiar pity tug at him.

He pushed through the kid's feeble struggle to touch his forehead, feeling the pulsing of his soul. It became a visible swirl of misty blood, the colors presented in all shades of red - from lightest pink to a maroon so dark it seemed to steal the light away. Phil had to bite down on his own tongue when the first wave of hurting hit him.

He was familiar with pain, but mending another and bringing them from the brink of death was entirely new. It burned along Phil's veins, a liquid fire not unlike the scorching sulfur of the nether itself. The boy shifted a bit in his grasp before finally settling down and slipping into sleep, the worst of his wounds gone. Phil lifted him as he stood up, noticing he weighed next to nothing.

The stinging sensation lingered inside his nerves as he carried the child out of the nether.

The last time he did it was on a dark and stormy night.

The rain came down on Phil relentlessly, soaking his clothes and hair both. Thick droplets clung to his face and he had to wipe at his eyes continually to even be able to see three feet in front of him. He hated this, he'd much rather stay inside on an evening as miserable as this. But when the pull called Phil would answer. It wasn't like he had a choice.

And it was strange, weak in its force but forming almost a mirror image of echoes in his ribcage. Phil wasn't used to that happening often, cautious as to what it would mean. Souls rarely passed in such unison, a synchronized entwinement. The last time he had experienced this he found a mother in labor, alone and afraid as she tried to birth her child into this unforgiven world. Neither had survived the ordeal.

Phil had soothed himself with the knowledge that they would be united in the afterlife.

This pull was slightly different though, and he followed it strangely as it led him deeper into the forest. Any moment he expected a building to dawn in front of him, a secluded cabin or some other sign of civilization. The thicket never thinned out and no light filtered through a window appeared on the horizon. The pull intensified and Phil swallowed, aware of what this meant.

There were two of them, curled up close into each other to conserve their dwindling body heat. The smaller boy was unconscious, clinging to life with some stray strings of determination fast slipping away, brown hair wet and stuck in angles to his face. The other seemed to be of similar age and had blonde hair he rubbed out of his eyes. He perked his head up as he heard Phil's approach, and curled his arms tighter around the other one in a clear display of protectiveness.

Phil stood across the clearing and stared at them.

Part of him wanted to ask what they were doing out here – even if it didn't matter, even if they were already dying from the exposure to cold wearing their bones down. Stealing the heat of life from their very skin as they clung to each other in idle hope.

He didn't need to ask, however. The clothes they wore were telltale of the many orphanages Phil had needed to visit over his life, the way the fabric always seemed to come inches short and the shoes were loose on their feet, worn by a child they were not intended for. Nobody had bothered to give them proper care.

"Who's there?!" the boy who was still awake said, voice firm and puffed up with false bravado. Phil could sense the fright hiding beneath, but the boy was doing well subduing it.

He made his presence known, keeping his wings invisible for the moment as to not scare them any further. "Hey, it's okay kid-" Phil tried, volume as low and unthreatening as he could make it while still being loud enough to be perceivable over the storm. The rain made him blink fast, trying to force a smile despite the unpleasant wetness.

"Stay the fuck away!" The boy sprung up with surprising agility for somebody who must be suffering from serious hypothermia. He had a small pocket knife, the blade dull and glistening in the moonlight, which he held in front of him as if it could protect anybody. "Don't come any closer, you weirdo!"

The last word caught Phil off guard and he nearly burst out laughing. "Weirdo?"

The kid bit his lip, probably thrown by his strange reaction. "Y-yeah. Why else would some dude just be wandering the woods at night? You must be some kind of creep." He moved the knife again, but there was no urgency behind it.

He wasn't shivering either, which was a bad sign. Once you got cold enough, your body couldn't even muster the strength to shake. The unconscious boy sighed out a soft sound of discomfort and the other turned around, hastily scooting over to try and rub his friend's arms warm.

"T-tubbo, dude, don't-" he was muttering under his breath.

"What happened?" Phil asked despite himself. He knew it wouldn't help to know.

"It's none of your fucking business!" the boy answered heatedly, but his voice was already breaking down. A few more steps closer and Phil could see the tears streaking down his cheeks. He pressed both hands to his friend's face, shaking him lightly. "Tubbo, please get up we need to leave."

The smaller boy – Tubbo – murmured something but didn't wake up. Phil could tell he was already done for. The other one would be shortly behind.

He hated how the pity swelled up again, bitter and destructively human.

"I can help," he heard himself saying, and unfurled his wings to their full stature. The rain slowed, suspended in the air and the boy looked at him with weary eyes, equal measures of concern and hesitance. "Do you have a name?"

The boy started shaking his head as if he was reluctant to give it up. But then he thought better of it. "Tommy," came the clipped response.

"Tommy," Phil repeated. "May I help you? May I help your friend?"

That same uncertainty returned to his face, brow furrowed in thought and his eyes moved side to side, scrutinizing Phil's form and most likely weighing his options. He must have realized any other plans had been exhausted and gave a short nod.

Phil moved in gradually to show he meant no harm. Tommy still had most of his body put in front of Tubbo, still shielding him in case this turned out to be a bad decision. He flinched when Phil stretched out his hand, which he pretended not to notice.

His soul was almost effervescent, murky green like the shallow waters and mingles of orange and red. It seemed to move beneath Phil's touch, curious as to what was happening. Tommy's skin was clammy and cold as ice.

Feeling that same coldness in his gut, Phil pushed life into the soul. The warmth of divine light flooded out of him, tethered on the edge and he tried not to shiver under the assault, the hollow feeling that entrapped him. Tommy's paleness drew away with his efforts.

When he was done he took off his robe, soaked but at least another barrier against the wind as he threw it over Tommy's shoulders. The boy was wide-eyed, freckles dotted along his nose, and probably confused as to what was even happening. Phil eased him with a gentle smile.

"Now your friend too, yes? You can both come to my home, it will be much better there than out here in the rain."

Phil didn't particularly enjoy his job, but he enjoyed the gifts it had granted him.

His wings and the ability they gave him to travel. He had crossed wild lands and sullen deserts. He had passed by oceans and beneath skies of colors unimaginable to most. The world had lain beneath him sprawled out like a patchwork blanket as he soared the clouds, everything below so small he could hardly imagine it being real.

He had witnessed generations. He had seen the best that others could offer – and yes, the worst too but he had made the conscious decision not to dwell on that. He had known cultures and kingdoms, tasted foods and danced to music and admired flowers that had long since been forgotten to the history books.

And now he had a family too.

Phil had paid his dues. Immortality was a strange thing, a blanket that wrapped around you and made you forget you were different from others. Age never touched Phil and it still couldn't, but other things had been granted that ability.

Hunger and thirst, where it used to be that neither bothered him. When feasts were a mere indulgence instead of a necessity, they were now an aspect of survival. A blade could cut him down, where it could hardly slice his skin before. He was not invulnerable to the destroying of his body anymore. And cold and heat became a constant struggle, tiredness pulled at his mind and Phil found himself craving and needing sleep when he never had previously.

His family had made him more human than he expected, in every sense of the word.

But when he looked at them around his table, joking and laughing in jest, the radiation of souls alive and well, Phil knew it was a price he had gladly paid.

[hiiro-writes]

zhongluc single dad au part 4 :D

heya! i thought it would be nice to post this on father's day so here's more of my zhongluc brain vomit

also i decided on making this a fic when it's all over and i'm gonna call it "a cup of you" because i'm cheesy like that

《♡》

so diluc and zhongli have been going out together a lot these days and everyone's been talking about it and/or noticing the subtle differences

for zhongli, ningguang mentioned he smiles a lot more to himself during their meetings and likes how his smile suits him

even her wife, beidou (who sometimes brings their son kazuha to visit) says he changed

while he was hiring his niece yanfei, who just recently finished her master's degree in law, as one of the company's lawyers

she comments how happy her uncle looks these days before making her way to her new office

but the ones that notice the change most are childe, xiao, and ganyu

he atmosphere at home is a lot livelier than before too

sometimes zhongli would catch xiao and ganyu whispering amongst themselves and laughing

childe would even join them whenever he was at home

zhongli himself can feel that he's in a better mood. how diluc is able to bring out this side of him is a mystery he's willing to discover

meanwhile diluc sometimes gets distracted and daydreams during work

other times kaeya catches him smiling more when serving his customers, which brings a smile on his face

since lisa was so perceptive, she asked kaeya what was going on and decided to tell her

who told jean

who in turn told eula, who used to be her roommate in college (omg they were roommates)

rosaria (who's also working part time like eula) find out soon after when she snuck into the break room during her shift, to find lisa and eula talking about it

then there would be constant gossip among them whenever diluc was out on a date

then it devolved into placing bets on when they'll get together and bone (kaeya is pretty confident that he will win since he knows his brother best)

everything was going great. perfect really. it all felt so good, and maybe even too good

lately when zhongli and diluc were on a date they would go to guyun stone park afterwards (which was a good distance from the cafe and about a 30 minute drive from zhongli's office)

they often talk about mundane things and then have such deep conversations while walking around or sitting on a bench with a cup of coffee in hand

diluc had never felt love like this before and zhongli didn't think he'd be able to love like this again

every time they're together they would forget about their worries and troublesome responsibilities

after going out together every week for 2 months they both decided to have a family dinner together

diluc will bring kaeya and bennett while zhongli will bring xiao and ganyu (when childe heard about this family dinner, he insisted on being the designated driver so that he could join. but let's face it, he wants to have a nice dinner with his boyfriend kaeya)

the dinner was simple but it was probably due to the fact that zhongli and diluc only talked to each other and basically ignored everyone else

the rest would just glance and wink at each other whenever the two would smile

bennett, xiao, and ganyu are still wondering when they would kiss

while kaeya and childe are wondering when they would bone already

it was cute seeing the two together and it was kind of a pain seeing them as a couple even though they hadn't made anything official...yet

which took diluc another month to summon up his courage

he decided that today, after three months of dating they could make their relationship official

also he was kind of fed up with the ladies (mostly lisa and rosaria) referring to zhongli as "mr hot shot ceo" and "not your boyfriend"

he wanted it to be perfect of course, and so he decided to dress well, get his hair done, and even bought a gift along with zhongli's favourite flowers, glaze lilies

unfortunately zhongli had an important meeting that day but they both agreed to meet at their usual place at guyun stone park

it made diluc nervous but karya reassured him that everything would turn out just fine since they both evidently like each other already

after zhongli finished his meeting he headed towards the park right away, only to discover that diluc wasn't there yet

when he checked the time he realised he was an hour earlier than expected, which was also fine

he didn't want to call diluc and make him rush (in case he had to do something prior to their meeting) so he decided to just stroll around the park

there were still a lot people there going about their day and zhongli wanted to observe them

a few couples, a family packing their things after a picnic, someone walking their dogs and—

"morax? it's been a while."

at the mention of his childhood nickname, zhongli spun around to find retuo

he was different. a lot different when zhongli last saw him in person. the more he stared the more he realised that even though he changed over the years there were still some things about him that never changed. such as the fond look in his eyes whenever he saw zhongli

"morax?" retuo chuckled, and when zhongli finally snapped out of his thoughts he smiled

retuo and zhongli used to be neighbours when they were younger and did everything with one another

they clicked so well together since they had the same interests and hobbies

some people around them even joked that they're glued them together

at the beginning of high school they both started to have feelings with each other and their love only grew deeper as the years passed

retuo and zhongli were together all the way through high school except on their second year of college

they hardly spent time together (even though they shared the same apartment) but classes kept piling up, and so did the workload

college was already too much for them to handle along with their crumbling reltionship

they never made anything official so they often miss each other (due to miscommunication) and would often fight about the little things

zhongli was satisfied with their relationship while retuo wanted more out of it

retuo would often be possessive about him which made time spending with friends really uncomfortable

one day they had a really bad fight and retuo mentioned the dream they had together back when they were children

zhongli shouted "you're still dreaming about that? what are you a child?"

retuo with tears in his eyes replied with "you don't have to be a child to dream"

both of them agreed that day to never see each other again since even looking at one another would inflict pain

retuo also decided that he'll move out of their shared apartment instead since he told zhongli "you bought it, you keep it"

the first few days were quiet. almost too quiet for zhongli to bear

every morning was devoided of the sound retuo cooking them breakfast while humming to their favourite song whenever zhongli would come back from his early morning walks that the other despised so much

he started to notice how everything he finds in the apartment reminded him of retuo

the table set they bought together, the matching mugs, the couch they spent 10 minutes debating over the colour, the table for two, everything

it somehow served as a "wakeup call" because after that zhongli became destructive and did things the thought he wouldn't do for a time

his friends (especially venti) would do their best to try and cheer him up and help him whenever they can, such as visiting him in his apartment and cleaning the mess he would make

he thought that he wouldn't be able to recover, that is until he met his second love, guizhong

she was patient and kind with him and accompanied him at the time he needed it the most, which filled the hole in his heart that was left behind by retuo

a few years after graduation college they decided to settle down and get married

guizhong started to get more sickly years after having ganyu and it took a toll on zhongli because he didn't want to lose someone important to him again

he had another period in his life where he had no idea what to do anymore

guizhong was gone and he hasn't heard from retuo in years but luckily for him, he still had the comfort of his friends and the company of his kids

he met retuo once again during the funeral and from there they made amends and became friends again

he told zhongli that he moved on after seeing pictures from his wedding since he saw how happy he was.

he wanted to stop by as well and pay his respects to the person who made his first and last love whole again

and of course to see how zhongli and his kids were doing

for a few days retuo stayed at their house to keep zhongli company in case he needed someone to cook with or a shoulder to cry on

retuo even took on of being ganyu and xiao's godfather, who never failed to send them gifts from overseas on their birthdays and on christmas

it was years before they met in person again here at the park but they never failed to keep in touch at least once month

they sat down together on a bench nearby and zhongli told him all about diluc and how the kids were doing

retuo was happy to hear his dear friend all happy and excited when talking about a certain someone

he even joked about wanting to attend the wedding this time to which zhongli turned red, but tried to laugh it off

they talked for a while until zhongli realised it was time to meet with diluc when he noticed the sun was nearly set

as much as retuo wanted to meet diluc, he told zhongli that he needed to be elsewhere but promised to make time if he wants to introduce his new love

before they parted they hugged each other and gave zhongli a kiss on the forehead for good luck

what they didn't know was that diluc was some distance away and saw what had happened

at first he tried to make sense of what was happening but then his mind started going off

who is that man? why is he with zhongli? are they close? why do they look perfect together?

that last question struck him and felt everything come crashing down beneath him

as he turned around and walked away his heart felt heavy yet somehow the small bouquet of glaze lilies he bought felt just as heavy as well

things can't get any worse right?

that is until he got a call from kaeya who told him not to panic

he explains to diluc that he was on the way to the hospital since bennett fell down a flight of stairs and possibly broke his arm

he also asked how his son was doing and kaeya mentions that he passed out due to the pain and that he didn't need to worry too much since bennett didn't hit his head and they were 5 minutes away from the hospital

diluc dropped the flowers and started running back to his car, telling his brother that he was on his way

there was a small traffic but fortunately diluc made it in time after the x-ray was done

the doctor told them that bennett would require surgery since his elbow hit the ground first and fractured his arm

after thanking the doctor, diluc didn't notice his knees giving into stress when he nearly sank to the floor

kaeya was able to catch him just in time and made jim sit down on a nearby bench so he can regain his bearings

he also reassured his brother that he didn't have to worry so much since barbara, jean's sister who happens to be a nurse here, is keeping an eye on bennett and making sure he isn't feeling uncomfortable

when kaeya asked about how his confession went to brighten up the mood, diluc only looked at with with tired eyes and shook his head

as much as he wanted to get answers from zhongli about what he saw, his son comes first above all else

meanwhile zhongli decided to go back home after trying to call diluc several times and waiting all by himself

he also stumbles upon a bouquet of his favourite flowers tosses aside

《♡》

happy father's day :D

okay yeah i'm a slut for angst that's all

and just to clear things up retuo is azhdaha since his name in chinese is 若陀 which is ruotuo but pronounced as retuo i believe but correct me if i'm wrong

i used the name retuo more since it felt more natural?? and because i wanted to give that name more justice

part 5 will be the last one!! hope ya'll enjoyed the series as much as i did writing it and i promise to give a happy ending to this series (not sure about the other one tho but we will see)

zhongluc single dad au series:

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5

[psychewithwings]

Bitter Taste: Iwaizumi x f/reader Pt. 1

pt. 2 here

THIS IS SO LATE and I’m a fuck up hahahaha (kinda ironic this was 2 weeks late for Mental Health Awareness month) 

I am crediting my girl @kuso-deku for giving me Iwaizumi brain rot to begin with. I am also crediting @gixxie and @idonotagreebitch for helping me talk through my ideas... and crediting @doinmybesthere for the wonderful idea of a mental health awareness collaboration the link is here. PLS READ THE REST OF THE WORKS. Everyone deserves the love.

TW: manipulative male/female relationships, gaslighting?, subtle shit head crap that most men do (don’t worry Iwa is a peach as always tho, it’s Ushijima that’s the problem)

_ 

Iwaizumi stands and stretches in the cinema. The movie had been good, but long, he figured it was a little after midnight. “What’d ya think?” Kuroo asks as they exit the theatre. “I hated the ending…” Oikawa gripes, “I hate endings where everyone just dies.” “You are such a princess Tooru, I swear, it’s a metaphorical ending… did you not catch all the symbolism in the opening credits?” Iwaizumi sighs and turns his phone back on, trying his best to ignore their bickering. Slowly, notification after notification pops up… all from you. He blinks, surprised. You had declined his offer to join him for the film, stating you had previous plans attending a close friend’s birthday.

Iwa opens the messages from you. He sees first the selfies. You look beautiful, extravagant even. Your dress is beautiful, it compliments your figure perfectly with the corseted bodice. It’s white and so is your lace mask. Broad, feathered angel wings rest on your back. Angelic would have been a word he’d used to describe you before, but now, it was confirmed. He wants to keep staring at the photos but Kuroo and Oikawa are starting to become too curious about the contents of his phone. He scrolls and relaxes his face to look more casual. But it’s hard when your intoxicated messages are so darn cute.    

hope the movie is good!

okay so I guess there’s an open bar? Is it my birthday too?

if you wanna come by after the movie I’msure you coul

this partyyyy suckssssssss assssssssss

wish id gon wiht u xx

You are clearly drunk and he laughs to himself before Kuroo peers over his right shoulder. “Well she’s thinking about you at least,” he smirks. Oikawa peers over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, “ooo play the voice message.” Oikawa taps the message before Iwaizumi can give him an answer.

“Hiiiii Iwaaaaaa, hope you like the moovie and you’re having a good time, cuz I’m having a preetyy good time, they gots free margaritaaass. Okay byeeeee”

The guys laugh and Oikawa presses the next one.

“Hey Iwaaa, I made up a song about you, ready?

Iwaizumi

Doesn’t know what he does- to me…

Sshfhsijknfhahaha I cant remember the rest som’n bout… som’n I dunno. Byeee”

“Okay, Ushi says that I need to say sorry for sending so many…” you pause and then whisper, “drunk messages, but I’as only tellin’ ya I ssink ‘r awesome ‘n you should totally come to this party and hang out with me… you’re awesome, okay byeee”

Oikawa and Kuroo pause and look at Iwaizumi. “Ushi?” Oikawa asks, “like Ushiwaka?” Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed and he gags dramatically in disgust. Iwaizumi nods and walks to exit the theatre. “Wait… that’s her friend who’s having the birthday party?” Iwa grimaces as Kuroo chuckles. “No wonder you’ve had a stick up your ass all night.” Iwa glares at him, “they’re just friends… apparently… I don’t know, she said they’ve known each other for a really long time…” Kuroo claps Iwaizumi on the back. “I think you should definitely go to the party.” Iwaizumi starts to object but the ring of his phone draws attention, and he answers it. “Heyyy you're outta th’moviee, heheeheheha,” you slur. Iwaizumi laughs softly and smiles, “yeah, I’m out of the movie now, are you… good?” There is so much background noise, it almost drowns out your sweet sleepy voice. “I’m soooo good… … I just-” he can hear your voice drop to a drunken whisper. “I’z just hoping to see you today,” you mumble finally.  

Iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat quicken, his head reeling. “Oh really?” He plays cool but then instantly regrets it when you give him a serious answer. “Yeah, I was really hoping you’d come to the party, even for just a little,” you murmur. Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle. You were pretty cute like this, not normally so transparent. You were actually quite hard to read, so sweet but guarded and teasing too. You were a friend of Oikawa’s first and he had met you through him. He’d liked the way you sat cross legged on the couch smiling, chin in your hands while you asked questions and listened to his answers. Your eyes sparkle when you hear something you like, and your face lights up when you talk about things you find interesting.

“Ya don’t have to, I can just see ya another time,” you add. He’s been silent too long which causes him to speak without thinking. “No, I’d love to see you, I’ll head to you now.” Kuroo and Oikawa are silently cheering him on and Iwa turns away in embarrassment. “Really? Okay! I’ll drop my pin… as the kids are sayin’ these days hahaha.” “See you soon, drink some water okay?” “Mhm, I will, see ya soon!”

You were at a club owned by Ushijima’s family. A place called ‘Eagle’s Nest’. He’d only known you for a few weeks but he couldn’t help his infatuation. It was immediate, the night he had gone to Oikawas for game night. You spoke to him so easily not knowing him at all and laughed at his little side jabs to his long time friend. The way you looked at him… Iwa knew then that he wanted to see you smile, hear your laugh, and that he would be happy to assume the responsibility of making that happen.

He was surprised when you had declined his offer for the movie, feeling that you both had some definite chemistry, but Iwaizumi was even more surprised when you had said that you had prior plans with his old time rival Ushijima Wakatoshi. Iwaizumi hadn’t seen him since high school but they knew a few people in common, Oikawa being one of those people. Oikawa could sure hold a grudge but Iwaizumi took all of his comments with a grain of salt. Ushijima often came off entitled and cold, which would leave Iwaizumi with a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe Oikawa had the right idea holding a grudge… But grudge or not he wanted to see you, hear your voice and admire you all dolled up.

When Iwaizumi arrives at the club he is met with a large security guard. “Invitation?” he grumbles. Iwa remains calm but a small trickle of fear runs down his back. Iwaizumi gives the guard a casual smile before he starts to answer but he is interrupted. “Iwaaaaa,” you cry from the top of the stairs. The mask you’d had on is now resting on top of your head, the delicate features of your face now exposed. The floofy skirt of your dress bounces with your excitement as you run down the stairs. You crash into him, throwing your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his collar and still momentarily. Drunk and bubbly, you melt when Iwa wraps his arms around your waist in return, avoiding your costume’s wings. “Mmmm,” you hum, breath hot against his skin, “you smell good.” You pull back and stare into his wide eyes. “You look incredible,” he offers, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You grin in return and simply take hold of his hand. “He’s with me,” you beam at the guard. Iwaizumi is doubtful this trick will work here. But he is surprised when the guard steps aside saying, “as you wish Miss L/N.” You giggle and pull Iwa towards the doors. “I’ll bring you some cake later, okay Jurou?” Jurou laughs, “just have fun darlin’.” “You’re the best,” you call behind you as you push open the doors. Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that you are on a first name basis with one of the body guards at the Wakatoshi’s club. How close were you with Ushijima?    

Blue and purple lights illuminate the vast space while black tiles make up the main floor. The dance floor is sunken, in the middle of the club with a small set of stairs leading down to it. It’s made entirely of glass, beneath is a saltwater garden of different plants and coral.  

“You’ll need one of these,” you explain, swiping a simple black mask from the welcome table. You hand it over to him and pull yours down over your eyes. Iwaizumi adjusts it to where he can see. “You look so handsome,” you admire. He grins, “what about you? You’ve got wings!” You laugh and adjust your mask back on top of your forehead. “I’m a swan, and Ushi said I couldn’t be a swan without wings!” You spin for him, trying your best to flap the feathered wings. Small pieces of confetti glitter rain from the skirt of your dress. Iwaizumi takes in your face illuminated by the lights of the club. Blue and pink dancing over your cheeks as you smile up at him. “What?” you giggle nervously. Just a few weeks but he is mesmerised by your everything. He shakes his head and tries to move on. He wanted to tell you how he felt but this wasn’t the right time. It should be when you’re sober, when you can take in his words properly.

You coax him down towards the bar.  “You’re sure it’s okay to sneak in uninvited guests?” Iwa questions. “Well, I asked Ushi ‘nd he said it was okay, so yeah!” You grin but notice Iwaizumi’s reserve. “It’s really okay, I promise, let’s just get a drink,” you suggest and take his hand. “Only if you drink more water,” he smirks. You roll your eyes at Iwa, “I drank some water before you got here actually.” You look back at him as you both head down to the bar. “I’ll prolly regret that yurr seeing me like this tamorow, ya know,” you call over the blaring music. “It’s cute, you’re cute,” he assures as he leans against the bar, “I didn’t know you thought about me this much until I saw all the snapchats and voice messages and texts.” You cover your face in humiliation, “I knowww, I’m sorry but you were on my mind a lot, alot alot, and  couldn’t stop think about ya, and the booze told me to keep on messaging…” You trail off,  finding the last shred of your filter to keep you from talking.  The bartender hands you your water and you take a long drink.

“Iwaizumi,” a voice projects over the baseline. Ushijima stands tall advancing towards where you both stand. His expression is neutral though, his eyes keep darting to you and then back to Iwaizumi. Ushijima is dressed as a knight, his silver mask hangs languidly around his neck. “Ushiwaka,” Iwa acknowledges, “this is a hell of a birthday party.” You giggle and point at Ushiwaka, “he’s 28 today; getting sooo old.” In that moment, Iwaizumi watches him do something he had never seen him do before. Smile… and then laugh. Ushijima wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer.  “You’re just a baby,  you’re only-” You wave your hand in front of Ushiwaka’s face, shushing him. “No, no, Iwa doesn’t knowww, don’t tell him,” you plead. “She’s only 23,” Ushiwaka says. You hold your face in your hands once more and groan. Ushijima pulls your hands from your face, “just barely twenty three too.” You glare at him and look back at Iwaizumi embarrassed.  “Did she not tell you her age?” Ushijima asks Iwaizumi. Iwa shrugs, “She didn’t, but I never asked,” Iwa shrugs casually, addressing you now, “didn’t seem important since you carry yourself so well.”

You turn to Iwa, mouth open like you’re about to respond but Ushijima swipes the glass from your hands before you can finish. “Drinking water?” You look up at him. “But it’s my birthday… and this is a party…  you need something stronger…” Ushijima beacons the bartender with a single flick of his hand. The barman pours three double shots of a clear liquid from a foreign looking bottle. Ushijima takes a glass and hands it to you, before handing another to Iwaizumi. Ushijima gives him a wink as he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He raises his glass, the violet lights illuminating the liquid. Iwaizumi follows his lead. “To my Juliet, the belle of the ball,” Ushijima bellows. You smile slightly and shake your head. “No no, to you Ushi, it’s your birthday, not mine, we are celebrating you!” Your eyes find Iwa’s, but you leave your glass raised. Ushijima grabs hold of your hand that’s still wrapped around the glass. “Cheers,” He tips the glass towards your lips and you swallow the clear liquor as he feeds it to you. You down it all in one go and Ushiwaka smiles wide once again. “She’s good, huh?” With that, Ushiwaka clinks his glass to Iwaizumi’s, “to you brother,” he assures. Iwa is surprised with the sudden sentiment. “And to you,” he replies before downing the shot. The liquor is surprisingly smooth, expensive, and strong. Iwa can feel his head starting to get light from the small portion that was in the glass and Iwa wasn’t a light weight. “Strong huh?” Ushijima smirks. Iwaizumi nods then turns to the bartender to signal for a water.

Ushijima turns to where you stand swaying slightly with the music. “Look at her, she gets drunk so easily,” Ushijima smiles. “How are you feeling, princess?” he shouts over at you. Iwa turns away and downs his water in disgust. ‘Princess?’ Ushijima shouldn’t be calling you that if you’re both just friends. You blink and give him a smile and a thumbs up. There was a natural innocence about you, a childlike wonder and curiosity, the embodiment of sanguine. Ushijima’s air was sometimes sinister, like he was taking advantage of your natural trusting nature. Iwa watches as Ushijima’s large hands rest on either of your shoulders and he pushes you back and forth like a pendulum between his palms. You giggle and try to push him away, “Ushi stooopp.” He laughs with you and continues pushing you around, “you’re so cute and small though, see?” He places a hand on top of your head and you still. “I said to stop,” you mumble. “And I did,” he retorts before letting you go.

Iwa watches the sudden weight of gravity find you as you stumble in your heels. He catches your arm just in time. Your arms find their way around his neck once more, your face in the crook of his neck. You pull away and Iwa examines your foggy eyes. “You okay?” You nod, pushing off of Iwa’s chest. You fix your hair, “it’s fine, he just messin’” you turn to Ushijima, “and someone doesn’t know when to quit.” You’re pulled away into Ushiwaka’s arms. He sways you back and forth, your back held against his chest while he says soft apologies. He whispers something to you and you nod. Iwaizumi wanted to pull you away from him. Not because he was jealous, but because the way that Ushiwaka was behaving with you was odd.

“Y/n is a little bit tired, why don’t you join us in VIP?” Iwa smiles and gives his thanks, trying his best to hide his scowl. Iwa follows after you and Ushiwaka, upstairs and under velvet ropes hoping that he will find a good moment to pull you away. But instead you are pulled onto the couch beside Ushiwaka. He lights a cigar and offers one to Iwa, but Iwaizumi declines with a simple, “no thanks, don’t smoke.” It’s strange the way that Ushiwaka keeps whispering in your ear, giving you sips of his drinks, and blowing smoke in your face. “Ushi, stop please, the smell is making me sick,” you whine. But he just pulls you closer to him, chuckling all the while and does it again. You’re laughing and poking his face, but it’s not out of joy... Watching Ushijima interact with you the whole night has been like watching a cat toy with a mouse.

Iwa grimaces when Ushiwaka tickles you. “Stop-stop-don’t-stop,” you giggle and howl. “She said to stop!” Iwa raises his voice. Ushijima’s eyes shoot towards Iwaizumi while you squirm off the couch. Your eyes are heavy as you walk towards a dark hallway and disappear into the shadows. Iwa’s eyes flick to the entrance to the hall. Ushiwaka sits in a contented silence, sipping a drink, “she’s so dramatic,” he sighs. He continues smoking, arm rested over the back of the purple velvet sofa. Ushijima takes a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in his glass. Iwa doesn’t move to break the silence no matter how expectant Ushijima’s expression was. He stamps out his cigar in the tray before addressing him.

“She’s awfully talkative, and incredibly fond of you…” Ushijima starts, an odd smirk painting his expression. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in intrigue and Ushijima’s face hardens. “She won’t shut up about you since she met you… it’s annoying...” Iwaizumi, remains quiet, the silence settling over the men like a thick fog. The only sounds are muffled club music and the ice tinkling against Ushijima’s glass. “I’m going to be honest as a friend… bad idea.” Iwaizumi can feel the rage bubbling inside his gut, “I don’t think that what’s going on between us is any of your-” He’s cut off by Ushijima.

“I’m really looking out for you Iwaizumi, girls can break hearts and Y/n is kind of known for that… she’s just a sweet soul, makes friends easily, but love? That’s harder for her… doesn’t have the best taste in men I’m afraid, I want to protect her and you from a situation where I can already see the conclusion… I get that you like her, everyone does.”  Iwazumi leans forward, “does that include you?” Ushijima is stone faced, then gives a cold laugh. “You’re funnier than I remember, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi rises and heads towards the hall you disappeared down. If he sat in front of him any longer he was going to say something he regretted… and you still haven’t come back. He slips into the dark hallway as you’re exiting the bathroom. Your mask has been removed and even in the dim lighting you look pale. “Hey, what’s happened?” You look up at him embarrassed, your dress almost as wilted as you are. “Got sick…” you mutter. You’re shaking slightly, arms wrapped around yourself. “Oh Y/n, are you alright?” he sighs. His arm starts to reach for you but he thinks better of it, pulling it back to rest by his side. His eyes widen as he feels the warmth of your hand in his. He didn’t figure that you would want to be touched right now. But your fingers interlace with his,  your skin soft. “Are you good to drive?” you whisper. His hand instinctively tightens around yours protectively. “I only had whatever Ushijima gave us, it was strong but I’ve had water- yeah I’m good.” “Would you mind taking me home?” you ask, as you start to walk back towards the VIP room. “Sure, course,” Iwaizumi replies gently. He feels how your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in silent gratitude. The gesture has his heart beating hard against his ribs. Iwa walks forward, his eyes on you and nothing else. Your brow is furrowed and your expression painted serious which was unusual from how he knew you to act.

“Iwa’s taking me home now,” you announce and walk towards the stairs. Ushiwaka’s face hardens, “I can take her home, you shouldn’t trouble yourself,” he addresses Iwaizumi. You smile and turn around facing Ushiwaka. “But Ushi, ‘s ur birthday, you can’t leave this party jus’ ‘a take me home,” You turn to Iwa now. “Let’s go,” you say and Iwa nods, still holding your hand.  “Where’s my hug, princess?” Ushijima calls after you. You stop in your tracks and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You drop Iwa’s hand slowly, hesitantly. You walk back slowly and stand before his open arms. He lifts you and you groan. You’re still hugging him tightly but not quite with the same intimacy as before.

As Ushijima places you down you turn to look back at Iwa when Ushijima catches your face with his large hand. He coaxes your face back towards him then leans down. Ushiwaka locks eyes with Iwaizumi as he whispers something in your ear. Then he presses his lips to your cheek, still not moving his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s. Iwa tries his best to remain neutral but he can feel his lip creeping upwards in contempt. Ushiwaka is too prideful for his own good it seems.

You take Iwa’s hand again, leading him towards the exit. An exasperated look rests on your face. “What did he say to you?” Iwa asks. You sigh and shake your head. “‘S nothin’,  ya shouldn’t worry your pretty lil head ‘bout it.” Iwa can’t help but allow a smile. He raises an eyebrow at you, “think my head is pretty?” he asks. He’s met with your hazy gaze, “I do,” you say simply. Iwa wasn’t prepared for such a straightforward answer to his question.

Once out of the club, the valet pull Iwaizumi’s car around. He’s careful not to let you walk too far on your own. Sick, in those ridiculous shoes and still quite drunk, he opens the car door for you before hopping into the driver's seat. “Will you put your address in?” Iwa hands you his phone and you type it in as asked. “Thanks for doing this,” you sigh. “Yeah of course,” he says as he puts the car into gear. A few streets of city light pass by in silence. Your hands are resting in your lap but your body is still trembling. “I can- umm- pull over if you need me to…” You wave the thought away with your hand, “it was the smell of the cigar more than anything…” Iwa’s gut begins to boil again. Your voice is soft, almost defeated. He speaks before thinking better of it. “Does he always treat you like that?” You look at Iwa and make eye contact briefly before his attention is back on the road. “He was being a little extra weird today, maybe because y’all used to play volleyball together or… I dunno really, he just gets like that sometimes…” You trail off, allowing your thoughts to fade into the rearview. The silence is deafening and you feel the need to break it. “He’s really nice too though, don’t get me wrong, he cooks for me and calls to check in, he even gets me little gifts, so I know he cares.” Iwa shakes his head, “if he cared he would have stopped when you asked him to.” You take a breath, “I know but he was just having a night I guess…” Iwa pulls into your driveway as the GPS notifies him that he has ‘arrived at the destination’. He puts the car in park, “you don’t have to make excuses for him… it’s okay to be angry, if that’s how you feel.” You start to open the door, your fingers on the handle. “I’m not angry though, I’m just kinda hurt.” You open the door and start to get out, “okay, maybe a little angry too.” You laugh to yourself but not out of joy. It’s an ironic laugh and Iwa can hear the pain ringing inside of it. “Let me walk you inside.”  

[wkemeup]

Heal Me, Baby

summary: Bucky Barnes can’t seem to keep away from your med tent no matter how many times you fix him up. // challenge prompt: bed sharing  pairing: 1940s bucky x reader word count: 5k warnings: a very charming bucky 😉 a/n: This was written for @cake-writes​ 1940s challenge! Congrats on the 3.5 milestone!! The title of this fic comes from the song Heal Me by Snow Patrol��

There was blood on the white of your dress; slow and steady seeping into the fabric and staining the cotton blend fibers. Red and as deep and bold as the cross sewn into the chest of your uniform, the blood became part of the design because no matter how many times you scrubbed it clean, more would find its way back to the hip of your skirt, the sleeve of your shoulder, the hem of your apron by morning’s end. Sometimes you wondered why they’d bothered dressing you in white at all. Might as well make it red with the number of wounded soldiers they dragged through your tent; most halfway towards the shiny bright light and others inches away from their last breath.

The chaos was constant, a given, and despite the noise and clutter, it was where you felt most at home. It was better than the lull, the calm before the inevitable storm, where you’d be swarmed with men on stretchers, bleeding out onto the dirt and tossed into overcrowded beds. The steady stream was easier than the rapids, easier than assigning ten men to a single nurse where injuries could be missed, vital tears overlooked.

You were at the end of your shift for the night, dirt on your forehead, sweat damping the carefully curled ringlets at your neck. A file in your hand of the man at the end of the room, thicker than most, and you kept your eyes down as you pushed your way through the crowd of nurses and visiting soldiers, heels sinking slightly into the grass with every step.

When you came upon him, you finally noticed the name etched into the top right corner of the folder; the cheesy grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, blood and dirt coating most of his face, though still as annoying handsome as ever.

“Hiya, doll.”

“Oh, not you again.”

Bucky chuckled to himself as he plopped back down against the pillow, hands clasping behind his neck as he watched you work around his bedside. You huffed the hairs from your eyes, brushed the sweat from your hands as you slipped on a pair of gloves, careful to avoid the urge to smile at the way Bucky was so obviously studying your every move.

You’d seen him about a dozen times since you’d been transferred to the Italian warfront along with the 107th. He’d found a habit of stumbling into the medical tent after a night in the trenches, covered head to toe in what looked to be a dried mixture of mud and blood that didn’t always turn out to be his own. 

He’d flash that smile of his like he couldn’t smell the retch of sweat and grim on his skin, sweet talk you like he wasn’t thrown head first to the middle of a war he didn’t sign up for, and get your stomach twisted all up in knots, hands fumbling with the IV bag, a nervous flutter in your chest – though you’d never let him see that.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes was the kind of man the nurses talked about when he walked by. A tip of his cap, a slight salute in their direction, and they’d giggle themselves into a mess, clinging onto one another as they waved at him. 

But then, across the courtyard, his eyes would catch yours, a softer tone about him and he’d simply wink, something subtle and barely noticeable, but enough for it to be personal, almost intimate, because it wasn’t for others to see.

“Not happy to see me, huh?” Bucky drawled, crossing his ankles as he stretched back on the worn-down cot like he was sitting at home on the couch, waiting on a beer as he read the evening paper.

You pursed your lips, shooting him a narrowed look as you glanced over the intake file. “I’m never happy to see men in this tent, Sergeant Barnes. Did you forget where you are?”

You gestured down to the series of beds filled with men, some waiting as they hung off the edge of crutches or slumped over in chairs, with bandages wrapped around exposed chests, blood seeping through, broken limbs exposed, the quiet whimpers of pain muffled by forearms and pillows.

“Oh, come on, doll. You know I’m just teasing ya,” Bucky smirked, sitting up in the bed because he knew the routine well enough by this point. 

You held a single finger pointed up in front of his eyes and he followed it without instruction as you moved it across his line of sight. No sign of abnormal dilation. Ruled out a concussion, at least.  

“You should be more careful out there,” you warned, gathering the first aid kit from the bedside table. “You’re in here almost every day, you know.”

“Maybe I like the company,” he shrugged, blue eyes piercing straight through you and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a full beat.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound on his forehead, a hit from a fall by the looks of it, though it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He winced a little, a slight hiss in his tongue as you applied the alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be taking the bed from someone who needs it.”

“Hell, I do need it, doll,” Bucky whined, a little dramatically. “Look at me. I’m in pieces. I’m fallin’ apart at the seams and you’re the only one that can save me, sweetheart. I need ya.”

You paused with a tight pout of your lips, sitting back on the cot beside him long enough to roll your eyes. “You need a band-aid and stern warning, Sergeant Barnes. You’re fine.”

“Oh, call me Bucky, won’t you?”

You pressed the bandage to his forehead, a little firmer that you would have for most any other patient and he grunted under his breath, trying to steady himself against the thin mattress.

“Time for you to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, nodding to himself as he stood. “Been a pleasure, doll, as always. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You better not!” you called back, arms folded over your chest as he snickered to himself, walking through the mess of chaos to the exit on the other end. He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled up a flap of canvas and winked at you.

You clenched your jaw and got back to work.

***

Sure enough as the tides rolled in, so did Bucky Barnes to your med tent a few nights later.

You found him waiting for you on the last bed in the aisle, one leg tucked under him, the other hung over the side of the cot as he nursed his right hand in his lap. He was humming to himself through pursed lips, a tune that you recognized from the radio station your father often played back home; head bouncing a bit to the rhythm, massaging gently at the palm of his hand, completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, you supposed he caught sight of your shoes because he started to smile before he so much as lifted his head.

Slowly, like he was taking his time, he glanced up at you with that sheepish smile of his, a light chuckle under his breath, and he ran his left hand through the mess of hair atop his head.

“Hiya, doll.”

“What is it this time?”

Your arms were folded, toe tapping against the ground, but there was something in the way he couldn’t stop smiling at you, even as you scolded him, that tugged a bit on the tight strains in your chest. It pushed at the walls you’d built, poked at the cement layers between bricks until they started to fall one by one and you fought against the urge to smile back at him.

He was too sweet on you, too handsome and charming, and you were almost certain it was an act, so you clenched your jaw and forced a frown.

Bucky held up his hand and for you, showing off a rather nasty burn in the underside of his palm, just along his thumb; red and seared, bubbling a bit on the edges. Your resolve took a bit of a hit because he winced a little in the motion, like the chill of the air was enough to cause him pain.

“How did you manage to do that?” you asked, tone still a little tense, though you took a seat on the side of his mattress, the lumps of the worn-down cot pressing against your thighs.

You reached for the medical cart near the bedside table, though it was just an inch from reach, and Bucky took the liberty of wheeling it over for you. You paused, watching him as he casually slid the cart in front of you, careful of your shoes and the dips in the ground.

“It was my shift in the kitchens,” he shrugged.

His hand slipped into yours as you gestured for it; rough and calloused though still untouched in places, soft and tender. You wondered what he did before he was drafted, if he worked in factories or in a garage, if his hands had seen hard labor before he was handled a weapon and a battalion, or if they were a blank page, yet to be filled by the scars and abrasive markings of a man at war.

You turned it over gently, easing the back of his hand to sit cradled in your palm as you examined the burn. It looked like he’d singed it on the side of the stove. The ring of the plate visible on the edge of his palm.

“Didn’t think you were required take shifts in the kitchens, Sergeant,” you commented, raising an eyebrow, though you kept your focus on his hand.

“Helps with morale,” Bucky replied simply. “Doing the same grunt work together does something for when we’re out in the trenches, you know? I’m not any better than them because the higher-ups threw some title in front of my name. We’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

There was a chuckle in his voice, a lightness, and it surprised you as you looked up to see that it didn’t quite touch his eyes. How often did that happen and you didn’t notice because you were so caught up in holding up walls to keep from his games? How often had it not been a game at all and rather a mask he wore, to protect the most vulnerable parts of himself from giving into the horrors he saw on the front lines?

He took a deep breath, focused on the grip of your hand around his as you slowly started to apply aloe along the burn. Cautious eyes glancing up to him, you watched as his shoulders slumped a little, a weight lifting from the tension he carried as the cooling of the gel started to take effect. The hardened lines on his face softened, his breaths coming in a bit steadier, the sigh that left his lips light and sweet.

“I’m sure they appreciate what you do for them,” you said, softer this time, in hopes of distracting yourself from the way his lips parted ever so slightly in relief the longer you soothed the gel along his hand.

“Eh, keeps me busy,” he said, brushing it off, almost like the praise was uncomfortable for him, like it didn’t feel warranted or necessary. He smiled to himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as you started to wrap his hand, gentle touches delicately easing the bandage around the burn. “Brought me back to you, didn’t it? I call that a win.”

You laughed a bit at that despite yourself as you clipped the edges of the bandages and secured it properly. “I’m sure you would have found an excuse to come bother me all on your own, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he reminded you again, grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I don’t want to see you in this tent for at least a week,” you warned, placing his hand back into his own lap. You stood, brushing the wrinkles from the edges of your dress. Though you were stern with him, you were smiling. He certainly took notice of it.

“That’s a lot to ask of me, sweetheart. I’m a clumsy guy.”

“You’re the best sharpshooter we have!”

“I’m a mess, honey. Look at me! You’re my only hope.”

“Oh, get out of here!” you laughed, pushing on his shoulders though you were met with significant resistance; a playful game of cat and mouse, and damn if you weren’t completely falling for it.

He finally gave in when your laughter started to draw the attention of the nurses gathered around the bedsides of injured soldiers, and you swatted him on the shoulder, heat flushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, though you were unsuccessfully biting back a smile.

As he made his way to the exit, he turned back for a final look, surprised to find you still watching him, and he winked; cool and collected, confident. You shook your head at him, arms folded over your chest, but he saw the way the corners of your lips pushed up high into your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the whisper of a laugh still in your breath.

If this was all a game, he was certainly winning.

***

A few weeks later and the nurses had resorted to reserving a spot for Bucky in the back of the tent; the same cot in your assigned row because he all out refused to be seen by anyone else. He’d duck through the canvas flaps at the entrance, smile politely at the nurses and wait patiently for you to notice him.

His injuries varied anywhere from a paper cut along his palm to a splitting headache to simple heartburn. He knew better than to take your attention away from soldiers who really needed it, but he’d come to consume the moments in between, whether you liked it or not.

But a funny thing started to happen.

You started to look forward to the days when he’d peep his head into the tent, checking to make sure you were on shift before he’d saunter his way inside and take his seat on his favorite cot. You’d find disappointment burning like jealousy in your chest on the days he didn’t, and your mind would wonder where he was or if he was alright.

He’d once waited hours before you were able to step away from the gunshot wounds of a soldier two beds down and though the scrape on his knee had all but scabbed over by then, he stuck around until the kid stabilized. 

You were exhausted by the time you made it over to Bucky, losing hope that you’d be able to keep the injured soldier alive through the night and trying to mask the utter helplessness you felt.

But Bucky made his light-hearted jokes, he teased you for the dirt on your forehead, whined and complained dramatically about his knee though you both knew he’d sleep it off my morning, and it brought back a smile to your face before you realized it. He managed to push through even the darkest parts of your days.  

***

Bucky’s regiment was out on assignment for over a week and you would have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. You found yourself glancing down at the entrance every few minutes, feeling like something was missing when you finished your checklist, stabilized your patients, and finally had a free moment for yourself. There was something else you would have been attending to.

It wasn’t until you realized it was Bucky you were searching for, waiting to see his smile light up at he caught your eye, that it hit you just how easily you’d fallen for him.

At the end of a very long week, he stumbled into the med tent on a rolled ankle, leaning off the shoulder of Captain America himself, complaining of a pain in his left arm. You were relieved to see him, like a weight lifted from your chest that was holding you underwater for days, but you couldn’t let him see that.

“Been a while, honey,” he smirked. “Miss me?”

“Watch yourself, Barnes,” you warned, though it was light and airy. You eased his arm over your shoulders and excused Steve as he was still supporting his weight. You tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have Bucky this close, his arm draped over your shoulders, his side pressed up tight to yours as he hobbled in support of his injured ankle.

“Got real lonely out there on the front without you,” Bucky teased as you helped him down to the cot. “Stevie had to fix me up. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I can see that,” you laughed, gesturing to the mess of bandages circling around his arm. “What did you do? Bump into the corner of the tank?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled awkwardly, pulling his arm from what remained of his sleeve to give you better coverage. He curled his shirt up in his hands, shivering as the cold touched exposed skin and you tried to ignore the taunt lines of his muscles and the placement of freckles down his back, the shadows over his abdomen.

Slowly, you pulled back the bandages, wrapped about a dozen times over, until red started to appear in the white of the cloth, soaking through the layers thicker and darker until you found the source. Your smile had long fallen by the time you saw the wound on his arm, a bullet grazing on the outer stretch of muscle; ripped and raw on the edges, a piece of your heart torn along with it.

“You were shot?”

“Oh, come on, doll, it ain’t so bad,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s just a little graze.”

You shook your head, quickly tending to the open wound with alcohol swipes that left him hissing from the sting of it. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you held your breath in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

“Why is it that you feel the need to come in here with senseless injuries and waste my time but when you're actually hurt, you brush it off like it’s nothing?” 

You weren’t angry despite the tone of your voice. No, it was fear that took over, marred through the tension of your words and the frantic thumping inside your chest. The idea of him never walking into your tent again ripped the heart straight from you. 

“We’re at war, honey,” Bucky replied gently and though he still wore that beautiful smile on his face, it was softer. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“Not to you,” you whispered, voice low and heavy.

Your fingers were trembling as you attempted to thread the needle for the third time, though it was no use. It kept missing the eye, your hand was shaking too much for a steady grip. You couldn’t protect him when he was out in the trenches, couldn’t heal his wounds and tend to his injuries. You couldn’t save him if something happened out there, leaving him stranded. 

A few inches to the right and the bullet could have torn through a major artery and maybe Steve Rogers would have showed up in your tent with his helmet held at his chest and a solemn look in his eye when he told you that Bucky fought valiantly until his last breath.

The thread missed the needle again and you let out a groan, a wave of frustration and anger and fear and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on yours, slowly lowering them back to your lap. He smiled sweetly at you as he gently took the needle and thread from your hands and slipped it through the eye. He knotted it at the end and handed it back to you, adjusting his position on the cot to give you better leverage.

“I should get someone else to do this,” you said quietly.

“No deal, honey. You’re the only one for me.”

“Bucky, my hands are shaking. I should ask one of the girls to--”

“It’s you or I walk.” 

Bucky smirked, winking at you over his shoulder before he settled in again. Determined and stubborn as you’d ever seen him. 

You sighed, pushing out a deep breath as you steadied your hand. “Okay, well, no complaining if you end up with a scar.”

“Me? Never.”

***

Bucky wasn’t the only soldier in the tent that night and you were worn thin; running on startling lack of caffeine and frequent cold bursts of air outside, you hadn’t slept in nearly two days as you attended to the influx of injured men.

Half of your girls were out sick from the bug that was floating around camp, though you were almost certain it wasn’t airborne as they insisted and they’d contracted it by getting cozy with the soldiers. You couldn’t blame them for seeking comfort amongst the harsh conditions of the war, but being down two girls in an overcrowded, busy tent full of men in terrible pain wasn’t easy to manage on your own.

Bucky’s presence seemed to help, though. He’d smile at you whenever you looked in his direction and you started to wonder if he was watching you as you worked, as opposed to the book in his lap. He always seemed to be looking at you when you turned over your shoulder to check in on him, anyway. The pages of the book sitting in his hand remained unturned for too long, even as he fought against the heaviness of his lids, sleeping threatening to pull him under though he resisted.

He gave in after you’d swiped the book from his hands and ordered him to close his eyes.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, yawning through every syllable.

You watched as he settled into the sheets, bare chest exposed and the heavy bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, nose scrunching as he sniffled in a tight breath, and his whole body seemed to relax, finding sleep rather quickly.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the med tent quieted down.

Most of the men were asleep, the others too doped up on pain medications to notice much of anything going on around them, their eyes softly gazing out ahead of them, heavy eyelids falling shut. You let the remaining girls go back to their own tents until dawn, given that the worst of it all had subsided.

With a tired yawn, you dragged your feet down to Bucky’s bed. He was snoring softly in his sleep, lips parted just slightly, and you realized gazing down at him, that he looked years younger like this; the innocence he often masked amongst the perils of war rising fresh to the surface, unobstructed.

With a cautious hand, you reached out and grazed your fingertips along his arm; his whole body sighing in response, a slight curve of his lips, his head lulling to the side closest to the touch.

But you couldn’t stand there and watch him sleep all night. The bandage had started to bleed through and it needed a rewrapping.

You pulled up a chair next to his cot, carefully beginning to unwrap the cloth from around the tight muscle of his arm. Smooth skin under pebbled goosebumps from the chill outside, you gently released the bandage to the mattress. The wound didn’t look so bad underneath, but you cleaned it up a bit to be safe. With a quick dab to his arm with the disinfectant, you glanced up at his face in search of a hitch in his breath or a hiss on his tongue, but he remained fast asleep.

Even men like Bucky Barnes needed a break. He looked so sweet sleeping like that, the slight pout on his lips as you cleaned the wound, the sniffle through the beginnings of a head cold. 

You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open and quickly rebandaged his arm. There were more men in this tent that needed your attention.

A few beds down and an hour later, you began to switch out the IV drip of a man with a severed leg; a young, baby faced kid who didn’t look old enough to graduate school, let alone be given a gun in the middle of wartime. He scrunched his nose in his sleep, his thigh twitching like he might still think something was there. There was sweat beading on his face, dripping damp into the pillow. You didn’t know how much longer he had.

Your legs wobbled slightly under you and you gripped onto the bedside table. The exhaustion was starting to reel you in, pull you under to the warm embrace of sleep, but you had a job to do, men to care for. Pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes, you tried to push the tiredness from you, though a yawn broke through again anyway.

“Looking like you might need some rest, doll.”

You froze at the sound of his voice, like ice and fire, relief and panic.

A heavy sigh sat in your chest before you turned around, only to find Bucky brushing at his eyes, sleepily smiling up at you from his cot. He propped himself him on his elbows, as you quickly made yourself busy, simply watching as you continued about your work.

“Someone has to attend to these men, Bucky,” you replied, a little tenser than you usually were with him, but the exhaustion had taken hold of you and it took effort just to keep your eyes open.

“Doll,” he called, softer this time, “you’re going to pass out. Where'd everyone go?”

“Sent them off. No need for a crowd to watch over sleeping men.” You checked the vitals of a man across the aisle from Bucky; steady rhythm, even pulse. He’d make it until morning, at least.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked slowly and you could feel his eyes following you around the tent, watching intently as you tended to each of the men, assuring yourself that they were as restful as they appeared. There was a concern in his voice, a sincerity, and it tensed in your shoulders.

You released a heavy breath, keeping focused on replenishing the infusion bag of a soldier who was hanging on by a thread. One quick glance back at Bucky proved to be a mistake as he was still watching you, though it was under kind, worried eyes. He was still waiting on an answer.

“You don’t need to be worrying about how much I’m sleeping,” you said, turning your back to him because your eyes were falling heavy and it was near impossible to keep them open. You leaned onto the frame of another soldier’s bed for support, pretending to be busy for Bucky’s sake.

“No?” Bucky questioned with an embellished sigh. “Someone has to, don't you think?”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your wrist as you turned back to face him. 

He chuckled a bit under his breath, chin falling to his chest, before he smiled up at you like you’d missed out on some kind of inside joke.

“Oh, ‘course you are, doll. Must have been someone else who put the same bloody bandage back on my arm after cleaning it then, huh?” he shrugged teasingly, gesturing to his arm where a dark red bandage circled around his bicep.

Your eyes blew wide, a gasp in your throat and you rushed over to him. Hands fumbling for the chair, missing several times and resorting to falling at your knees, you made quick work of trying to peel away the red bindings.

“Shit! Shit, I’m-- shit,” you panted, shaking, “that’s never happened before and I—oh God, I’m so sorry, Bucky—I’ll fix it, just—just give me a second and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey,” Bucky cooed sweetly, helping to unfasten the bandage because your hands were fumbling too long with the clasps. His right hand encased your shaking fingers, holding them tightly long enough to pull your attention away from his arm. “It happens, okay? No harm done. I’m aces, alright?”

“No, no, it’s wildly...” you sucked in a sharp breath, tingling in the back of your jaw, stretching at your cheeks, “...unacceptable and I...” another yawn broke through, “...should report myself because...” and a third.

“Jesus, doll, listen to you. You’re exhausted,” Bucky eased, reaching for the clean bandages on the bedside table. He grabbed a fresh one and put one end between his teeth for leverage as he began to wrap his own arm.

You sat back on your heels, kneeling next to his bed and certainly getting dirt along the end of your dress. You watched as he wove the clean cloth in and around his arm, concentration etched into his facial features to mask the slight wince of pain as the fabric touched the wound.

Guilt was fresh in your chest as Bucky wrapped his arm himself, pulled it tight and gestured for you to fasten it. He could have done it himself, you were sure. There was a smile on his face as he looked at you, like he was trying to make you feel better.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled, defeated and you rose to your feet, beginning to walk away.

“Wait, honey, don’t go--”

You froze, surprised by a sudden grip at your hand before you could take a step away from his bedside, and when your eyes shot back to his, he let go immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he began to laugh nervously. It was a kind of embarrassment you never expected to see in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, doll,” he started, scratching at the back of his head.

“I can’t afford to make mistakes,” you retorted, voice a little more somber. “You can’t afford it either.”

“Then, make it up to me.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting off the urge to yawn again. “What would you have me do?”

“Get some rest?” he asked sheepishly, scooting to the far edge of the tiny, twin size cot. He took up most of the space himself and you swore you may have seen him swallow nervously as he pulled down the covers, gesturing to the open space.

“No, I... I can’t,” you said flatly, though your heart was racing.

“You’re going to pass out where you stand and you said yourself you can’t afford to make more mistakes,” he argued gently. “Just a few hours. Then you’ll be good as new. No more dirty bandages.”

“Bucky, I...” you shook your head, stepping back and folding your arms over your chest. “I-- I have to look after these men. I can’t fall asleep. What if something happens?”

“I’ll wake you up,” he responded with a shrug. “I got my hours in. Anyone starts throwing a coughing fit, monitors start going haywire, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“People will talk,” you whispered, excuses lined up but Bucky didn’t let them break his smile for even a moment.

“No one's around, sweetheart.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“So is half my guys sleeping with your girls and yet...”

You laughed a bit at that, chewing on the edge of your lip, the rouge long faded of color. A heavy silence passed, a slight sway in your stance as your body fought tirelessly against the urge to close your eyes. Glancing down the rows of cots, it seemed quiet. Not a peep for hours and everyone was stable.

You turned back to Bucky. He was waiting patiently.

“You’ll wake me?”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to smile wider, but – God – it was blinding.

“Cross my heart.”

Stepping out of your shoes, you slowly made your way to the edge of his bed. You stared down at the open space and the slim line of mattress available to you. You must have taken too long because he started shifted a bit more to the edge, to the point where he was nearly falling off.

“Promise I’ll be a complete gentleman,” he chuckled lightly, cheeks pink and rosy. It was damn near impossible to say no to him when he looked at you like that, with a sincerity you hadn’t known since you left the States, draped under ocean blue.

“One hour,” you warned him as you slowly lowered yourself into the cot beside him. It squeaked as you let your weight fall to its uneven springs, the lumps evident against your back, the frame prominent through the thin cushion.

“One hour,” he agreed, giving you space as you rested your head against the pillow if you wanted it, though you heard his breath hitch as you tugged his arm down a little to lean against his shoulder, his right arm curling around your back to keep you steady on the bed.

Laying on your side, curled up next to him, you rested your left arm against his chest, tracing your fingers along the exposed lines of his stomach, the dip at his sternum, the scars littering smooth stretches of beautifully tanned skin. He shivered under your touch, his breath slightly uneven, though he didn’t say anything. His hold on you tightened as he suppressed a gasp under the bite of his teeth, like a reflex, pulling you tighter as his toes curled and his spine lightened.

“This okay?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper and you watched as your breath touched his chest, goosebumps in its wake.

“Perfect, honey,” Bucky replied sweetly, his fingers drawing patterns along your back, tracing along the zipper of your dress and the seams in the shoulders. “Close your eyes, will you?”

A sleep heavy laugh pulled up at your cheeks, resting on his chest, as you let your hand fall flat against his stomach. You nodded, curling up as close against him as you could manage, losing yourself in the gentle waves of his touch along your spine.

“Thank you,” you whispered as your eyes began fluttering shut. You could hear the pulse of his heart beating gently under your ear, the steady rhythm lulling you a warm embrace. The slip of consciousness tugging you kindly to the ease of temporary darkness.

There was a slight touch on your forehead, something warm and sweet, lingering as your breaths became longer, steadier, drawn out and even; the heat of breath to your skin, the slight hum of a content sigh. A kiss as gentle and kind and tender as the man behind it.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[lukealvezhimboextraordinaire]

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

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

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

[omniscientwreck]

Hello! For the imtimacy prompt list #30 for Shadowgast🖤💜

Hello! This was the prompt I was most hoping someone would ask me so THANK YOU for that! If anyone else would like to make a request I have one left in my inbox and am always happy to do more, especially for this list! Here is the post in question!

As a side note: welcome to the version of Caleb and Essek from my no rules no angst just right Carly Rae Jepsen song lyric inspired College!AU in a modern fantasy kinda setting. This just feels most to me like the version of Essek and Caleb that would do this and it gives you a bit of insight into the tone of my BIG work in progress right now! Enjoy!

30: doing beauty treatments, like facials or manicures, hair dying or face masks

Essek has long stopped knocking before entering Caleb, Beau and Jester’s apartment, but he still likes to call out his arrival though he knows Caleb is the only one home.

Jester and Beau have gone back home for a few days, visiting Jester’s mother in Nicodranas. Caleb elected to stay behind saying he had too much work to do, which is true. Essek finds him in his room, still as much a mess as it was the last time he was here. The small desk is completely covered in books all with several markers placed in their pages and the mess spills onto the bed. Caleb is ‘sitting’ on the chair containing most of his clothing and doesn’t appear to realize he’s come in.

He drops his levitation, trying to make noise so he doesn’t startle Caleb too badly as he approaches from behind and smooths his hands from his shoulders down to his hands. Caleb looks up as Essek’s chin presses into the top of his head, “Drogi, when is the last time you ate anything?”

Without hesitation, “Around elven, I’ll take a break soon I’m on the edge of something here.”

Essek sighs, “Darling it’s nearly six, I brought food, just take a break now with me?” He watches Caleb place a marker in the book to save his space and he finishes a few thoughts in the literature review before standing and smiling wearily at him.

“Ja, a break is probably a good idea. Thank you Schatz.” He stands and for a moment Essek lets Caleb distract him by wrapping strong arms around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

Essek has been looking forward to this particular date for a while and finally got the chance to suggest it, surprised when Caleb agreed with little hesitation.

It had started a few days ago when Caleb had slept over. He’d watched Essek’s skin care routine and had begun asking questions which led to the confirmation of Essek’s theory that Caleb has never so much as moisturized his face, much less done any of the other pampering that Essek considers central to his sense of well-being.

Tonight, Essek gets to show Caleb what it’s like. After they finish eating, they wind up in the bathroom. Essek pulls out a massive bag full of creams, ingredients, washes and all kinds of products. “Sit.”

“Essek, I need to see the mirror to shave.” He presses Caleb’s shoulders and sits him on the closed toilet lid shaking his head, “Caleb, you are taking a break. Let me.”

Drow are not immune to facial and body hair. Essek has never had much but Verin always has. One time when Verin was particularly injured in early adulthood Essek had to learn how to shave him during recovery. He has someone else for that now, so Essek transfers his knowledge to Caleb.

He gently spreads a soft cream across his partner’s face with the gentle touch of a brush and he pulls out a straight razor, the only possession he has from his father. Carefully and gently he shaves Caleb’s face, dragging the razor across tawny stubble while the man sits beneath him with closed eyes, completely trusting.

It doesn’t take as long as he’d thought it would and he’s able to begin gently washing his lover’s face, humming as he goes, occasionally singing in undercommon. Caleb looks more at rest than Essek has every seen him, sighing every so often as Essek exfoliates, washes and tones his skin. He steps back and instinctively Caleb goes to touch his face. Looking in the mirror the main difference is calm and peace. “Okay now this is the fun part.”

Essek mixes up two small cups of ingredients, one is his proprietary blend for his own skin, one that he thinks will suit Caleb more, “Ok now trust me. We’re going to leave these on for 15 minutes. I’ll do yours, you can do mine. As revenge.”

Caleb’s eyebrows quirk in confusion as Essek begins slathering the face mask onto his pale skin and then grimaces at the cold unfortunate texture of the mask. “Ah ja I see what you mean, this helps? In some way?”

Essek nods, “It will help tone out some of the redness and smooth out other things. I promise it will be worth it.”

“I trust you.” Essek smiles and puts a dollop on the tip of Caleb’s nose and the fake scowl that follows is delightful and adorable.

“You shouldn’t.” Essek winks and flashes fangs at the other and Caleb grabs the cup of Essek’s mask and boldly smears it over his forehead in protest. A shiver goes down his spine, he hates this part but it’s more fun with Caleb.

They go into the living room and put on one of the old movie musicals Caleb is so fond of and Essek starts on Caleb’s hands. “I won’t do anything extravagant I promise. You can just do a top coat if you’d like, but I did bring most of my collection if you’d like to look.”

Caleb opens the deceptively small case and shakes his head fondly upon the realization it’s enchanted to hold more than one would expect. “All this enchantment for nail lacquer?”

Essek scoffs, “Of course, you don’t want to know how much room this would take up if I had to lay it all out in the apartment.”

Caleb hums along to the music as Essek works, taming and shaping the nail beds that have been left to their own devices for decades and Essek finds himself distracted by romantic songs and well choreographed dance numbers occasionally. Far more distracting is the beauty of Caleb’s baritone singing along to a style of music Essek is unfamiliar with, warm and low and full of love as he looks down at Essek’s meticulous work.

He ends up with an iridescent top coat, just a little bit of flair but subtle enough most won’t notice. Midway through they pause to rid themselves of the face masks and Essek removes the mixture for Caleb and then for himself so as to not mess up his own work. He smooths on some moisturizer for Caleb, ever patiently sitting with his eyes closed. “How does that feel perełko?”

“Good, it’s very cool, my skin feels… fresh?”

“Take a look for yourself.” Essek smiles, it isn’t a miracle by any means but some of the redness of Caleb’s face is brought down just a bit, giving more prominence to the scattering of delicate freckles across the bridge of his nose and it’s smooth and fresh.

“I can see the merits of this.” he says, in slight awe, feeling this skin of his face.

“Now, let me finish your hands so I can do mine.”

He finishes Caleb’s hands with moisturizer and a good long massage, and starts to work on his own, removing the customary black polish he usually keeps there, Caleb’s arm around his shoulders, watching him work. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Essek considers, “Well I’ll shape on my own. Would you like to pick a colour for me? I’m tired of black. You can do the last step as well.” Caleb is back looking into the nail polish case and, rather quickly, presents him with a deep burgundy.

“How’s this? I just think it would look good.”

Essek presses a kiss into his forehead, “Perfect, thank you darling.” He goes back to shaping his nails to fine points and applying a base coat. As he begins to apply colour Caleb watches him intently, focus on the movie lost. “Would you like to help with his?”

He blushes a bit, “I do not think I would be very good at it and I don’t want to ruin your hard work.”

Essek laughs, “You won’t ruin anything. Here, watch me do my right hand and you can do my left. It’ll help me immensely. Any mistakes you make can be cleaned up with little effort I promise.”

Caleb is better at this than either of them expected. Only a little varnish makes its way to Essek’s skin and that’s easily enough removed, he even flips Essek’s hand as he’d done his own to apply the polish underneath. Then, when it’s dry, he rubs the stress away from Essek’s hands and they share many looks as a second musical begins playing. They pay little attention to it, instead giving in to the quiet comfort of the evening, of learning to care for another and yourself. Caleb has all but forgotten his previous state of anxiety for the evening and Essek hopes he’ll let him do this again. “Thank you for this liebling I needed this more than I could have guessed.”

Essek is pressed to his side now as they drink tea and finish up a horror movie, “I am glad my love. Thank you for letting me share this with you. If you ever want it again all you have to do is ask.” Caleb nods and over time they both fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, waterlogged with the quiet, weighty bliss of love.