#knapsack bags

[bioluminosity]

The sapphire star

[magicalshopping]

♡ Halloween Ghost Drawstring Bag from Blippo ♡

[yarnings]

So, I’m not fully able bodied. I don’t really call myself disabled (physically), because most of the time I’m fine. It’s just that every now and again, one of my joints (these days it’s my ankles) will just up and tell me “nope, not now”. It doesn’t happen often enough for me even to have gone to the doctor about it (I admit, I was kind of hoping that getting my new orthotics would address it).

The problem is that one of those days was today. When I was *almost* to the bus stop, to go do a *big* grocery shop. Like, instead of my regular backpack I grabbed a hiking backpack to carry stuff that didn’t fit into the big bundle buggy home with. So here I am, coming home from the grocery store, hobbling to the courtesy seats at the front of the bus with a GIANT hiking backpack on, a 15+kilo large bundle buggy, and a bag of rice (only 8kg though) that didn’t fit into either of those.

I ended up calling a friend when I got off the bus to help me get everything home.

[caffeinatedkris]

(via "Posterized Bird Art Blocks" Comforter for Sale by kristalcurt)

[anthonyspage]

🏞⛰👨🎒🌹🐺

[moralesmilesanhour]

My second time writing a request foe someone rlly nervous lol

Can you do a

reader x earth 42 miles

Where reader wants to buy things for themselves but miles keeps buying stuff for them like anything we look at or love next thing Yk he’s buying it?

I rlly hope you can understand this bc im not sure if it made sense 💀

-sincerely sorry miller

Oh don't be nervous I understand perfectly fine!! (Under the cut as usual)

"See you, Carol!" You wiped the sweat forming around your hairline as you untied your apron with haste. You had taken extra shifts at the diner this week for extra spending money, and it had you counting down the days until Friday.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, the bell jingled as you pushed open the glass door with a grunt.

Right next door to the run-down diner was a small clothing shop, one of the few that managed to stay open. You had made it a habit to check the window for the mannequin that had your jeans on: A flaired, denim number that was optimal for weekend block parties.

"Come Friday, you're mine, baby." You say to yourself with a hand on the plexiglass display.

"I thought I was already yours," a familiar voice nearly made you jump out of your skin.

Miles' footsteps could almost never be heard, you swore he was a ninja in his spare time.

"Don't fuckin scare me like that!" You whined, smacking his shoulder as an amused grin spread across his lips.

He ignored your outburst and pointed towards the mannequin. "You want that?"

You gave him a warning look. "I'm gonna go shopping this weekend. When I get paid."

"You didn't answer the question."

"No comment," you said, spinning on your heel to walk away with Miles' gentle laughter following behind you.

When you don't stop, he jogs after you and traps you in a bear hug.

"Fuck off, Miles!" You laughed, fake struggling to escape.

"Alright, tell me what I did."

"Nothing!"

He let you go and opted to walk next to you, his long legs making it easy to keep up with you.

"Okay look, whatever you're mad at me for, I got a surprise waiting for you," Miles poked his head in front of you as you both walked, twin braids dangling over his shoulder. "Come over?"

You sighed, "Fine."

He gently took your hand and started tugging you along, presumably in the direction of his mom's apartment. "Thank you."

-

Miles' brow furrowed as he fumbled with his keys a bit before quietly unlocking the door. He turned to you and placed his index finger over his lips, and you nodded in understanding.

The familiar smell of yellow rice and scented candles engulfed the both of you when you entered the empty apartment. Rio was at work, and Uncle Aaron was likely napping in the living room, as it was only the late afternoon.

"So, where's the surprise?" You whispered.

"My room. Been up there for about a week."

You rushed up the stairs as quietly as your feet could carry you to catch up to your boyfriend, who was already halfway there and glancing down at you with an impish grin. You roll your eyes playfully. Typical.

"Lemme take that," Miles stuck his hand out for your work bag as he removed his sneakers.

Deeply inhaling the cool air of his room, you let him take it off your shoulders. You were sure that thing was starting to leave a mark from carrying it on the same side every day.

Miles sat on his bed for a moment to rummage through his black knapsack, and produced a small, pink plastic bag no bigger than the hand that held it. This confirmed one of your suspicions, and you gave him a tired smile as he stood to place it gently in your palm. He was a funny sight, hands clasped together in anticipation like a parent at Christmas.

Inside the bag was a little white box, which held a small necklace cushioned in the middle. You recognized the teardrop pendant from the mall. You had practically dragged Miles along, looking bored and scrolling through his phone the entire time. Or so you thought.

Now, he looked about ready to run a marathon from here to Manhattan as you removed the delicate necklace, the silver chain catching the little light that Miles allowed into his room in shiny strips.

"Thank you baby, I love it," you bit your bottom lip, "It's just that-"

"I could put it on you?"

You sighed, and held out the necklace. "Of course."

He damn near snatched the piece of jewelry from you to unclasp it, rushing to get behind you.

"Miles, if you break it-"

"I won't, relax!"

The cool metal settled on your skin as he gently draped it around your neck, and fastened the clasp.

"How does it look?"

Miles moved your braids back and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Pretty."

"I know you know more words than that, sir," you teased, "try again."

"Alright, breathtaking. Stunning. Effervescent."

"Now you're trying too hard."

"I'm about to take this necklace back," he muttered, earning a short outburst of laughter from you.

When the laughter subsided, you turned to face him. He let your braids slide across his hands before they fell back at your shoulders.

"Miles, I need you to do something for me."

Worry settled over the boy's soft features. "Such as...?"

"Don't buy me them jeans," you said, arms crossed but still smiling.

His brows shot up. "Why, you don't like 'em anymore?"

"I do," you draped your arms around his neck, "which is why I've been saving up to get them myself."

You watched Miles' eyes dart back and forth in thought before settling back on you. He was silent, imploring you to explain further.

"If I wanted everything gifted to me, I wouldn't have gotten a job."

Miles nods, and something seems to slot into place for him.

"So no more surprise gifts?" He says, pouting exaggeratedly.

"For at least another two weeks."

Miles winced, taking a nervous glance at his knapsack, "Damn."

Following his line of sight, you noticed the white plastic bag poking out from it.

Your jaw drops, and you give him another good smack on the shoulder.

"You bought it, didn't you?"

He smiles tightly. "Hypo...thetically?"

"Miles!"

-

A/N: idk why the hell that took me so long to write but it was fun! Happy reading!

[ma1dita]

no hard feelings

this was a request! find it here

words: 5k (CHRIST)

summary: How can you be in love with someone you barely know? Feelings are hard. James potter x fem!reader

warnings: none! Angsty, tumultuous feelings, insecure!reader, teenage awkwardness, consensual veritaserum dosing, tiptoeing around feelings, headboy!james

a/n: why is james always so easy to write for… hope yall like this one!! I miss having a crush lol

(posted 12/14/23)

—-

“You’re staring again…” Dorcas drones next to you one day in Potions class. Your ears are barely listening to Professor Slughorn drone on about the magical properties and proper use of Veritaserum but your eyes are most definitely focused on James Potter, as they always are. It’s kind of hard to not notice him when his energy breaks through every room he walks into.

“Can’t help it. He’s doing that thing again…” You mutter, leaning against your arm as Dorcas flips through the pages of the textbook. Air escapes you in a puff of exasperation and your quill thumps against the desk in a tiny rhythm. The truth serum you both have been brewing for the past month was steadily bubbling in your shared cauldron, colorless and almost complete, if it weren’t for your usual distraction in the form of Hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor.

“Him being a nuisance?” She smiles at you crookedly, looking at the soft gaze in your eyes.

“Him existing. How dreadful for me.” You say simply before turning back to the task at hand.

There’s something about James Potter that captivates the female gaze. All of Hogwarts knew, hell, he did too. Whatever it was, it’s starting to get annoying. Your eyes flicker back to him, hair swishing as your head shakes in contemplation. Dorcas grins at your predicament, this not being a new topic between the both of you.

James glances at you from his desk at the back of the room, fingers brushing the metal frame of his glasses as he catches you looking at him again, and he smiles boyishly when he sees your eyes dart elsewhere. Compared to other girls’ ostentatious efforts to grab his attention, you’d always been more reserved and standing a distance away. And despite your mutual friends, you both had never really had a proper conversation. Not alone at least. So yes, you may have an insanely big crush on the most popular guy at Hogwarts, but it didn’t mean he’d have to hear it from you. That would involve…having to actually find time to talk to him, which proved to be difficult with every girl that spent their free time batting their eyelashes at him, sending him declarations of feelings in the post, or falling over in front of him to ask him on dates. Slightly pathetic, but you admired their bravery. Silence was your own death sentence, and perhaps it was more suave in your mind. The cool girl who was anything but. Godric, why are feelings so annoying…

Your heart rate stays elevated through the rest of class, and as you pack your things, you rush to put your stuff in your knapsack, digging through the leather to find a hair ribbon. The distraction impairs your vision and your foot slips on a leather strap. Your body runs right into a solid wall of muscle, sending you into James’s seated frame, and both of you sprawling across the classroom floor.

“Wotcher, love,” Sirius laughs as he sees the blush rise to your cheeks. James daintily grasps your waist as you’ve landed bent over onto his lap, feet tangled in the fallen chair.

“I am so sorry…” You blubber, hair in your face as you scramble to lift off of him. Both you and James kneel on the floor picking both your belongings up, and you feel like the Earth could swallow you whole right now with everyone staring at you.

“Looking completely stupid is what. Pete, you have to stop putting your bag in the aisle! I could’ve killed Potter!”

Peter blushes as he nudges his bag with his foot, and James hands you back your things, both of your hands touching as you figure out who belongs to what. Your hand fumbles over a clear vial of Veritaserum he definitely wasn't supposed to take home, and your eyes meet James’ with a tilt of the head. His grin screams mischief, biting his lip, and taking the glass from between your fingers with a wink. I won’t tell if you won’t, his gaze says.

“Not a problem, darling. Anyone would be honored to be trampled by a pretty lady,” he says finally, dusting off his pants and offering you a hand to stand up. You scoff, taking it and not meeting his eyes in embarrassment. Remus lifts the chair that toppled over, handing you the hair ribbon you spent so long finding.

“Thanks, Rem. See you all later at the party?” Bobbing heads follow you out of the classroom where you are quickly bombarded by a gaggle of girls calling you lucky for bumping into James.

“You’re so smart for falling on him like that…” “He seems so strong picking you up so easily…” “Did he smell nice today? He always smells nice…”

All of the chattering voices make you laugh at these mere acquaintances who don’t care as much for you as they do for the boy standing in the doorway with his friends.

“Off to class now, ladies.” James reminds them, his Head Boy badge gleaming against the sunlight in the corridor. They scatter, leaving hushed compliments and giggles in his direction. But you don’t look at him at all, tying your hair back almost methodically. His eyes fall upon the slope of your neck, and he’s got that look in his eye…

“What, James?” Remus asks inquisitively, all four boys looking at you as you walk off down the hall.

“How come she barely talks to me?” he ponders, shoving his jumper over his elbows, and Sirius slings an arm over his best friend as he laughs.

“All the attention you get, and you’re still greedy, huh?”

“Not that, she talks to all of you so easily, and then she goes and calls me Potter like we aren’t friends…” he says, swiveling to look at his boys, walking backward to see their reactions. Well, he didn’t expect them to laugh that hard.

“Are you though? She’s our friend, we hang out with her… Have you ever had a real conversation between the two of you?” Pete points out, scratching the back of his neck.

“Suppose not…”

“Suppose you should… She’s really nice. Pretty funny too.” Remus pipes up.

James thinks back, and regrettably, he can’t remember much about you, always a wallflower in his periphery. He hasn’t made much of an effort to get to know you since you started being around the gang. Maybe that should change.

“She’s stunning, if I’m honest, boys. Way less forward than the other birds…”

“I can see an idea forming in your head James Potter, don’t even start…” Remus says, book in hand ready to hit him across the chest. Sirius and Peter laugh, starting to run around the two, and everything stops once the sandy-haired boy blurts, “Word out is that she majorly fancies you, Prongs…Maybe you should go for it!”

James stops in his tracks, bumping into a marble column as they round the corner. How can you like him if you don’t know him…and he doesn’t know anything about you?

“Highly unlikely, Worms. She doesn’t even call me by my first name…” The new predicament of this admission rises to the forefront of James' mind, and it’s all he can think about for the rest of the day, through the rest of class, and Quidditch practice, up until he gets ready for the party at Gryffindor Tower.

—

You’re getting ready with the girls, hands brushing over microscopic lint on your silk top, and you’re quite unsure of why there’s a nerve-wracking feeling overtaking your body.

“You look lovely, babe,” Alice says as she admires you from Marlene’s bed, legs hanging off the side.

“I need a drink,” you laugh, looking at the girls through the mirror, and Mary tosses you a shooter of firewhiskey to ease the nerves. The door swings open and Lily walks in, looking almost sternly at the lot of you.

“How are you all still up here? Everyone looks beautiful, now let’s all get drunk! Godric knows we need it after this week we’ve had…”

The girls walk down the stairs to the common room, you following slowly as your eyes meet the crowd of students all partaking in the grand celebration of nothing. Merlin, you love this school. Cracking the bottle open, you toss your head back as you take the shot, and then Sirius is swinging you around onto the dancefloor as you try not to gag. The party is in full swing—students dancing on the tables, drinks flowing, and music playing as loud as possible that you wonder how McGonagall won’t shut this down by midnight.

James tries to find a moment to talk to you all night, but he can’t seem to get an edge in. Were you always this popular? You were always dancing with someone else, or talking to a friend, and it’s also distracting to have girls trying to chat with him about who-knows-what, and he almost gets frustrated at the fact he’s unable to catch your eye.

“James, do you think I look pretty in this dress?” a hand grazes his bicep, and he remembers he’s in the middle of a conversation with… Flora? Frannie?

“Mhmm,” he mutters noncommittally, eyes searching the crowd for where he last saw you, watching you walk out towards the balcony.

“Sorry Fizz, gotta go find someone!” He skirts around the girl who yells, “It’s Faith!” almost indignantly, and James shakes his head as he weaves through the sea of drunk people to reach you before you get away again.

You stand on the balcony, alone. The party hums on behind you, through the open doors, but all of it feels miles away. You take a deep, steadying breath into your chest as you stare out into the field. The quiet serenity of the night and the alcohol is giving you a head rush, making you dizzy and lightheaded, but you feel your pulse beating like a drum as your hands are steady on the railing.

Sudden footsteps break the silence, and you turn to find that James is standing right behind you. He places his hands near yours as he steps closer, staring out into the night as well.

"Leaving so soon?" he asks as he slides up beside you.

"Just needed some air," you reply, looking towards the dancing masses spilling out onto the stairs and tables behind the glass.

"What’s a Gryffindor gathering without its resident life of the party?" he teases, leaning on the railing and smiling cheekily at you.

“Says you…” Your eyebrow quirks at his boldness. You don’t think you two have ever even been at a table alone, much less out here on the balcony by yourselves.

James is leaning close to you, still gazing up at the night sky. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, and you suddenly have a strange urge to turn to him, to look him in the eye and tell him how badly you wish to have a proper conversation with him. For him to know you like you know him.

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, a sly grin on his face. James raises an eyebrow, almost as if he's reading your mind.

"Can you keep a secret?" His voice is like cinnamon, sweet with an edge.

“If it’s about the Veritaserum, I didn’t see anything….” you joke, throwing your head back.

His eyes flash with amusement as he smiles at you, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Maybe you should look up at me for a minute." You turn to look at him, and your heart flutters at his words.

"I want to ask you something," he whispers, his face close to yours. You're not sure why he's whispering - there’s no one else out here, but you don't mind.

"What?" you ask. James grins at you, and you can't help but grin back. He pauses, biting his lip to hold in his laugh, and then he leans in closer, his face so close you can count his lashes, curly hair falling softly against your temple.

"Are we friends?" he asks, and the hilarity of it makes you scoff, but the smile on your face lets him know it’s not unkind.

"Maybe, but not really. You've always been out of reach for me, Potter."

"Do you wish we were?" He seems genuine in this moment, hazel eyes staring into yours as if he's trying to see into your soul. He's always been popular, and he knows girls fawn over him, but he's never spoken to you this way before. Perhaps his bravery only goes so far when he’s with you.

"I would love for us to be friends," you say quietly, unsure of his intentions. "I'm so awkward around you, I just... have a hard time saying what I want to say. It always feels like I'm going to say something stupid." You blush as you admit this, but you force yourself to meet his eyes.

James gives you a light, charming laugh, and you're left speechless as your words fade away. His eyes are so intense, and the way his jaw sits firm just makes you want to melt into a puddle at his feet. You stay still for a moment, your heart racing, waiting for him to say something, do something you know you don’t have the guts for.

"What if we tried..." he pauses as if he's thinking it through himself.

"Just being completely honest with each other? For the rest of the night?" he asks, his fingers pulling a familiar stolen vial out of his pocket.

"For the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice slightly shaky. "I... I don't know if I can..."

He tips a few drops of Veritaserum into both of your drinks.

"Bottoms up." He downs his cup in one go.

Your eyes meet his in shock, your lips slightly parted as you take in the realization that you'll finally get the truth out of him. But in the adrenaline that courses through your veins, you don't stop to think that this will affect you too. He can see how nervous you are, and he winks at you, and his voice drops to a whisper.

"Trust me," he urges, and it's impossible to deny his request with a smile like that.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble, but you take a heavy sip of the Veritaserium-laced drink anyway, and every single word that's on your mind attempts to escape, the air around the two of you feeling charged with blind confidence.

"We're playing a dangerous game here, Potter. Too bad I've had enough to drink to care."

You laugh at that, and he chuckles along with you. The alcohol seems to make the Veritaserum work even faster, and it's not as if it tastes bad. In fact, it's rather delicious. Addicting.

"You're right," he replies, laughing so much that he has to hold his sides. The mirthful grin that curls into your lips is only increased as you take in the scene before you. "So. What do you want to know?" he asks. He puts his hand on your waist, fingers grazing your belt loop and you feel your blood rush to your face.

“Do you still like Lily? And if not, do the girls chasing you around school get annoying?”

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he answers you with such seriousness that it makes you grin toothily. This is dangerous.

"I used to like her... a lot." The admission makes you lean in until you can hear his breathing.

"I've never felt anything like that towards anyone else, but I could. I might already." he continues, his voice so low, almost sultry, that your pupils dilate. Watch yourself. You're so taken with the way he looks at you, so focused, that you wonder if it’s really him or the alcohol.

“Ask me something, Potter. It’s only fair.”

James looks down at you with a mischievous smile. "Let's start with the big one, then... what are your intentions with me? Little mouse told me you have a crush."

He says it almost in a whisper as if it's a dangerous question, and you can feel his breath on your lips as he waits for your response. It is dangerous. The way he words it makes you laugh, but instantly, your deepest thoughts come tumbling out of your mouth. This was definitely a terrible idea….

“I genuinely think I’m in love with you,” you admit to him, unable to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

“But you barely know me, so you probably think I’m crazy,” you blurt out, hand slapping over your mouth.

"And I've wanted to be near you since the first moment I ever saw you. Something about you is... so..." You trail off, suddenly shy with your words, but you can feel his eyes on you as he waits for the rest of your answer.

"It's silly," you say, not wanting to admit the true reason you want him.

James grins at you and his nose brushes your cheek, the scent of his aftershave making you weak. He could be extra mean right now, coaxing the rest of the truth out of you with a single word, but the embarrassment that wrestles in your being is enough for the next few lifetimes.

"It's okay," he whispers and places a hand gently on your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Maybe things will be different now that I know."

He stares at your lips and then suddenly asks, "Do you want to kiss?" His voice is soft as silk, and you can't believe that you've heard right. What the hell just happened?

“Um, no. Sorry.” The door cracks open with Sirius peeking out to see the two of you, but you push past him back into the party. James is left dumbfounded by your rejection, feeling like he got caught in a riptide as he drowns in embarrassment.

His eyes are wide as you hurry out the door, and you don't even turn back to look at James - instead, you're so preoccupied with getting away from him and back to your dorm that you almost run into Dorcas, who offers you a curious look as you dump out the rest of your drink in a potted plant.

“What happened, Prongs? You scare her away?” Sirius says with raised eyebrows as he looks at James standing stupidly at the edge in the dark.

“Actually, she’s in love with me and she just rejected me. And I’m on truth serum for the next few hours, and I can't figure out how I fucked up.”

James has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth when he’s left alone, and usually he’s aware of it. But even with the Veritaserum, he can’t figure out for the life of him why you ran away, no matter how many times the boys rephrase the question to him.

—-

You avoid him like the plague in the days after.

As much as you've wanted to pretend that the experience with James with just a figment of your imagination brought on by the amount of alcohol you drank, you can't help but feel utterly mortified around James. You keep your distance, only leaving your room when you absolutely have to, running out of classes you share like you’re being timed.

As the truth serum left your body that night, you’ve become increasingly sure of how you feel about James - even more so than before. It was the first time you’ve ever said you’re in love, and how can you be in love if you didn’t know it yourself before the fact! You're absolutely terrified of looking crazy like that again, of being vulnerable. Even as you try to keep your distance from him, he's literally everywhere, which only makes things worse for your emotions.

It's late in the evening and you're finally mustering up the courage to leave your room and make your way to the kitchens to grab a midnight snack.

As you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks to see James leaning against the wall, his eyes closed as he seems to be enjoying the peace and quiet. The dim lighting of the passageway casts shadows over his features and makes you wonder if he can see you at all. Your heart races and you feel as if you're back on the balcony all over again.

His eyes pop open, almost as if he was waiting for you and you can feel your stomach drop to your feet as he stares straight back at you,

"Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?" He asks, a small smile on his face.

"And why are you out this late?" He sounds almost suspicious, and you suddenly feel like a criminal just for sneaking around him so much.

"Umm... nowhere," you stammer, wishing you could disappear into the night.

"I…” You take a deep breath. Own it, already! You were already caught!

“Are you asking that as Head Boy, or…”

His smile widens, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he steps closer.

“I could, but I’m asking as a friend.”

“Didn’t know you were patrolling tonight.”

He makes a noise that doesn’t sound like a yes or a no, because honestly, he wasn’t. The crinkle of the map in his pocket would give him away if you only knew about it. You sigh, running a hand over your hair and he’s still standing there, waiting for you to say something next.

“I just came out to grab a snack. I missed dinner, so I wanted to go to the kitchens.”

“Can I come with?” And before you can reply, he’s offering his arm out for you to latch onto. You both walk silently through the halls and tickle the pear, and this somehow feels normal, comfortable, though you’ve never hung out alone like this. The house elves whizz past you, tending to your needs, and they set a tray of pastries out for the both of you to snack on. He just watches you silently as you both tiptoe around the true reason you’re both here. You're in the middle of eating a danish when he suddenly speaks.

"Why did you say no?"

You stop, flaky crumbs hanging from between your lips as you look at him.

"I asked if you wanted to kiss me, and you said no. But you said you love me, so I’ve been thinking about it since that night," James says, and you almost spit out your food. Did he actually want to kiss you?

“We were under Veritaserum…I just... I got embarrassed. I've never told anyone I've loved them before." you mumble, eyes falling to the table.

"And you barely know me. Why would you want to kiss me?" you add, dusting crumbs off your shirt. He leans in closer to you on the bench as if he’s whispering a secret.

"You barely know me, why would you say you love me?" James counters, as if he’s making a point. In truth, you know him well enough from hanging around his friends. You just never mustered the confidence to actually be his friend. Intimidating as he is, point A being him leaning so close to you that you think he might smell your fear.

"But I do know you, you just don't notice me." you mumble.

You and James both sit in silence for a moment, still in shock by the words that you've both said. The sound of the creaking wooden floorboards catches your attention as someone enters the kitchen. The two of you freeze, looking up to see Remus entering.

"What are you two doing here so late?" he asks, confused.

"I'm not sure," you stammer, feeling your face flush as you realize that you're both alone together, almost cuddling on the kitchen bench. You grab another pastry off the tray and stand up to walk out.

"Goodnight!" you blurt, walking away quickly, but James isn't letting you off that easy.

"Scuse us Moons, I'm not done with her yet," he says, following your footsteps quickly out into the hall.

You hurry away from Remus and out of the kitchen. All of your fears and insecurities seem to fill you once again as you try to process everything that's just happened. You're halfway up the stairs when James catches up to you.

"Wait," he says, putting his hand gently on your arm. You turn around, your arms wrapped tightly over your chest as you face him.

"I'm not trying to scare you, I just wanted to know," he continues, the dim light from the candles above creating deep shadows under his eyes.

“I just... Why do you care? There's so many girls that go after you, so why are you so interested in me? I already embarrassed myself in front of you like the rest of them. What makes this different?”

"Because you're different," he replies instantly.

"You're honest. Not in the way they are which makes me wonder if they even like me or just want to be associated with me. I want what you have with our friends. I want to know you," he continues quietly.

"Those girls are so focused on the idea of me and what I have to offer, but something tells me you’re different than that. And I want to know you, love. I want to know what makes you tick. You're not just some pretty girl to me," he says softly.

“You already make me tick. Standing here makes me feel like I'm going to burst into flames.” You breathe shakily, throwing caution to the wind as you continue, "You already know you're attractive, and I don't lo----like you just because of that. You're really kind when you help other students, and you don't usually prod at me like this when I can't articulate my feelings, but you're considerate. You asked me if I wanted to kiss you. You care if people are happy, and you make people feel seen, even if they're bothering you. James, even if you're a leader it's because you're a great team player. Even if you don't really know me, it makes my day when you smile at me in class. You...make me feel important."

James just stares at you with wide eyes as you spew words like a waterfall. He suddenly bites his tongue as if he's trying to stop himself, a heavy blush covering his cheeks even in the darkness of the candlelight.

You suddenly take in everything that the two of you are saying - and you realize that he's actually listening. He's really listening. There's such a raw honesty to it, and your heart races so fast inside your chest as you tack it onto the mental list of why you love him.

"So I guess that's why. Even if I didn't know it myself. Sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what? For sharing your heart with me?" he asks, his voice growing soft and a boyish smile crosses his face. He steps up onto the landing so both of you are eye level.

"If I asked to kiss you, would you say no again?" he whispers.

“As a friend?” you joke, but you don’t move away when his nose brushes yours.

His voice sends shivers through your spine, and you look up at his hazel eyes as he gazes down at you. He pulls you gently towards him, your back meeting the stone wall as he lowers his lips to yours. You close your eyes for just a moment, but the moment between the two of you lasts an eternity. There’s something electric about your lips meeting his, and the two of you melt together in the darkened alcove. It’s funny how it works, your confidence making you feel like you’re floating as you loop your arms around his neck, and the usually assertive Marauder can’t figure out where to place his hands as they hover over your waist.

As soon as it ends, James breaks away from you as if he's suddenly embarrassed that he’s just kissed you right in the stairwell. Now he’s the bashful one. The taste of cinnamon and mint still lingers even as he steps away, hand scratching the nape of his neck.

"I didn't know what else to say. Can’t seem to be cool around you," he says as he fixes your hair, a quirk in his kiss-swollen lip as he stares at you, eyes twinkling.

"I like you a lot," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I want to be with you. I want you to call me by my first name."

"You'll have to get to know me first. No hard feelings though, Potter," you say cheekily, stepping away and walking back to your room.

All that’s left of you is the forgotten pastry on the ground. James’ chest rumbles with a laugh as he scoops it up, almost skipping away.

—

He doesn’t leave you alone after that. And you make him work for it. It’s new for him, to be someone’s first and earnest choice. He thinks about you often, even when you’re right next to him, and he wants to do this right. James learns to love like you do, quietly, honestly.

You’re all hanging around the Black Lake with your friends as he leans against a tree lazily, both your fingers intertwined in the grass. James watches you laugh at Sirius and Mary splashing each other in the water, and he can see how easy it is to love someone by just watching them.

"You know," he remarks after watching silently for a moment, "you radiate when you smile."

Your face goes flush and you look down at the ground, your fingers still intertwined with his. You can feel his gaze on you, but you're too nervous to look back up at him.

"I like it when you laugh loudly, and the crease in your forehead that shows you’re thinking too hard," he adds softly, and you look up at him with wide eyes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and a small smile plays across his lips.

“I’m finding all these reasons why I’m falling for you. Is it supposed to be this easy?” He asks, leaning his head on yours.

“Yes James,” you say without hesitating, no Veritaserum needed.

The next time either of you says I love you, it leaves his lips first, and you know it’s true because he’s more than a friend now too.

—

“To feel anything deranges you. To be seen feeling anything strips you naked.” -Anne Carson

love me some tunes! i listened to "you're here, that's the thing" by beabadoobee while writing!

taglist: @jsjcue

[r0-boat]

how do you think the kings would react to a very afeccionate mc? like, they are just hard clingy and loves to fill them with cuddles and kisses

Whb 5 Kings react to affectionate MC

Satan

Satan is not an affectionate devil. He doesn't do the mushy, gushy kisses and cuddles. However, you are the only exception. Being in your arms just calms him down. When he is in a bad mood and about to destroy the next thing in front of him, All you have to do is wrap your arms around him and bring his head into your chest, and he will take a deep breath, taking in your calming scent before exhaling deeply. He will crave your touch even if he doesn't know how to ask. Sometime, he even snatches you up and whispers mine, growling when you try to struggle out of his grip.

He'll give you lipstick just for you to kiss him and leave your kiss marks all over him and he will parade around like the happiest man on earth.

He loves most when you run give him soft supple touches It tickles and it feels good.

Mammon

Yes. However, your affection will always lead to something more because he's confused. What do you mean cuddles do not mean sexy time??

He likes being the big spoon; you're so small against his huge body when he holds you, he grabs all of you in his hand, and you're so soft compared to him. He wants to have you always.

His favorites are when you're in his lap, when he carries you like a princess when you try to wrap your arms around him, and you just can't because he's so big compared to you. He will gladly let you sit in his lap anywhere, anytime you may sit anywhere you like as long as it's on him. Mammon can effortlessly pick you up with one hand, carrying you around like the grocery bag or a knapsack; You don't have to worry about "hurting him."He likes being your big teddy bear.

Leviathan

What is this? What are you doing?? His eyes will go wide until he has realized this is what he's needed his whole life wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. This warmth that he feels being close to you. Levi does not understand that feeling, but is not a bad feeling—quite the opposite.

How to get Levi to be soft: step one cuddle. hold him close he will melt in your arms.

And when you try to get away from him, he will slowly reach and tug on your clothing, not wanting to let you go just yet. Levi takes his cuddle time very seriously. No one shall interrupt his precious time. Levi takes his cuddle time very seriously. No one shall interrupt his precious time

Beelzebub

What do you mean cuddles don't equal sex??? Though your touchyness is nice, I can see Beel becoming really touchy as well, like he cannot be in the same room with you without touching you in some way, from the littlest things like wrapping an arm around you to needing to be the one to sit so close to you that your shoulders are touching. Please don't move away from him. He will be crushed.

Pat or scratch his head He goes crazy for those It feels so good to get a head massage It feels like his brain is melting and all he can do is lay in your lap and think about how calming your fingers running through his hair feels.

Lucifer

Not much of a cuddler, But if it makes you happy, then I guess he'll indulge. He likes when you are sitting in his lap while he's working or laying on his shoulder while he's reading. Occasionally, he will bring his hand to your head and pet you or wrap an arm around you and bring you closer. But don't expect much from Lucifer. Just being in your vicinity is enough for him. If you ever walk out a room, he will pick up his stuff and follow you.

Lucifer will let you, but don't expect him to initiate back. But don't you dare stop; he will immediately think something is wrong. Just because he doesn't initiate touching that doesn't mean he doesn't want you.

[finnylemon]

🌲The Neverglade Trails🧊

More Below 🎉 Poppy meets John Dory??? Fic update as the adventure continues ✨️ EVERYONE forgets about Poppy's master manipulator skills? She knows just how to press Branchs every button and you KNOW that stuff would correlate directly onto the brothers, especially John >:3

I included a snipit from the fic of this scene >:3 enjoy!!

Not wanting to leave the pink troll to fend for herself in the approaching storm, John Dory hesitated on inviting her onboard. Poppy tore through the contents of her bag, taking out Branch's vest she had stashed in the knapsack.

She sharply inhaled as she held back tears, her ears folding back completely against her skull. She threw the garment aside, grabbing the thick leather book she had been carrying as well. She opened Branch's journal to the page she had turned to last: John Dory. Her eyes widened as she remembered the red ink that had scribbled out the page, scrawling “Do Not Contact” in Branch’s pristine handwriting.

“He was right.” Poppy croaked out, but it was loud enough for John Dory to catch on the wind. “You abandoned him. I don't know why I expected anything else…” Her ears stayed folded, her heart swelling with emotion. She couldn't let Branch down. She couldn't fail him. She let tears spill from her face as she started to sob, clutching the book and leafy vest in her hands as she folded over herself.

“I didn't abandon him.” John Dory sounded, alerting Poppy. She jolted, not having heard him approach. The wind had picked up quite a lot more, Poppy’s hair now beginning to blow into her face. “I went back to the Troll Tree. Everyone was gone.” John Dory pulled at his shirt collar, reliving his traumatic experience with this Troll he had met only minutes prior.

Poppy stared up at the older Troll, tears colliding with raindrops as they started to spill from the sky. John Dory’s hair and tail blew against the wind, giving him a more menacing presence than Poppy was ready for.

Lighting turned the sky white behind John Dory, reflecting off of Poppy's eyes as she didn't look away from the man above her. Her face stayed trained on a stare, unwavering from eye contact with the oldest of Branch’s brothers.

“That's what he said to Floyd.” Poppy’s voice strangely held no emotion. “That you abandoned him first.”

She could see that struck a nerve with John Dory, watching his brow furrow at the Pink Troll. Poppy pressed on the nerve. “And he’ll die still believing it.”

You can find her on AO 3 under "Finnylemon" OR "Alone Together (Floyd & Branch Trapped AU)"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“And this is your room,” Muriel stops before a door along the short hallway. “You have a neighbour just across the hall, and two more on the other side of the kitchen.”

You nod. It isn’t an ideal situation. Not one you ever saw yourself in. But survival isn’t built for the fussy. There are many others like you. Those not so lucky, those who are dead. Many who never got the choice of a new home.

You keep your hand on your rolling bag, your other on your canvas knapsack. They’re full of items that aren’t your own. Second-hand clothes acquired from shelters and toiletries given out by the support workers. You’re on your own now.

“Anything else, dear?” Muriel asks to your silence.

“Thank you, Muriel,” you murmur.

She hands you the key and leaves. Before showing you your own space, she took you around those shared by the rest of her boarders. You suppose they’re your roommates now. A kitchen, two bathrooms, a front room with a tattered couch and old tube television. You’ll stick to your own four walls.

You slide the key in the slot, the metal grinding loudly. You hear a throat clear and peer towards the noise. The walls must be thin. You’re still alone. You let yourself into the room, pulling the door shut behind you. You flip the lock back into place before you shove your bags by the wall.

There’s a twin bed with a metal frame, a single night table, and a standing lamp. There’s also a shallow closet. It’s not much but you don’t need more than that. It’s good to have a roof over your head.

You sit on the lumpy mattress and the frame squeaks loudly. You stand up again and pace around. There isn’t too much room. It shouldn’t matter, you won’t need it. You’ll be out working and back to sleep again. You start tomorrow at the convenience shop.

You hear a thump and your head pops up. You can’t help but jump in your shoes. Ever since the city rained down around you, every bump, every sudden noise has you skittish. It’s nothing, only another boarder.

You go to your bag and unbuckle the flap. You pull out a can of beans and the pocket knife in the side pocket. You go back to the bed and sit, another shrill whine from the metal frame. You pull out the can open from the pocket knife and peel back the lid. On the same keychain is a small metal spork you use to scoop out the beans, eating them cold as your stomach growls hungrily.

You eat, bite by bite, staring at the wall, just beside the only window. It isn’t home. You don’t expect one of those. It’s just a place to live. To survive.

🚪

You take your toothbrush and your tube of toothpaste with you to the bathroom down the hall. It’s just across from the other bedroom on that side of the flat. The doorway is dark, beckoning you inside. You flip on the light and shut the door as you enter.

You turn on the tap and set to brushing your teeth. Such a basic and simple task but one you didn’t always have the chance to do. It’s almost soothing to feel the bristles in your mouth. It makes you feel almost normal.

You take your time as the mint flavour sticks to your tongue. You rinse your brush and flick off the excess water, sliding it back into the travel tube and capping the paste. You look at yourself in the mirror, not for long, just to make sure you still recognise you.

You clutch your things in one hand and flick the light off. You open the door and nearly shriek at the shadow waiting in the hall. You waver in the doorway as a tiny wisp escapes your throat. You blink as the dark silhouette stands with arms crossed in the dim hall.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man says gruffly.

He's tall but mostly obscured. His hair wings out around his neck and his shoulders bulge broadly. You feel his eyes boring into you, as he can see through the darkness and you.

You dip your chin and sidle out, keeping your distance as you sidestep along the wall. You should apologise but your voice is buried deep down. You put your hand up in a show of deference.

“You done?” He asks.

You pause and look at the plaster across from you. You nod then turn your back to him completely. He must be the neighbour. You quickly shuffle to your room and hide behind the door. It’s much better than the shelter, you don’t have someone rolling into your sleeping bag, but still, you’re claustrophobic.

You mourn that most. The sense of privacy. Of personal space. Have a place that’s your own with people you know. People you love.

You toss your toothbrush and toothpaste onto the night table and huff as you sit on the bed. You frown and push your head back, trying to soothe the tightness between your shoulders. You blow out, breath rattling as your nose tingles.

You can never go back to Sokovia or how it was. You can only go forward and the road ahead is very lonely.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

Taglist: @mishaglass, @oceanicexolorer, @whitetiger846, @iknownothingpeople, @fruitdoom, @achillesquartz, @hindi-si-ikay, @ahopelesspedantic

[zeroeightzeroone]

souvenirs - han jisung

love collection

genre: fluff

pairings: idol!han jisung (istp) x fem!reader (infp)

synopsis: jisung comes home from japan.

wc ~2.5k | moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

j.one<3: bonjour love open le door

you: has felix been teaching you

j.one<3: teaching me what

you: nvm i'm coming

gently pushing against your desk, the desk chair you're seated on rolls back enough so that you have enough space to stand. your feet once again clad in warm, fluffy socks pad against the floor as you make your way out of your bedroom, down the hall and to the front door where your boyfriend waits patiently on the other side.

jisung stands with his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as his eyes graze over the door of your unit as he waits. the moment he hears you on the other side, fiddling around to unlock the door from the other side, his attention is immediately taken by you. a giddy feeling blossoming in his stomach.

you open the door to reveal your boyfriend clad in black jeans, a grey hoodie with a white t-shirt peeking out from underneath and a mask covering the bottom half of his face. alongside a knapsack resting on his back and a tote bag slung over his shoulder. a little keychain dangling from the strap of the lighter-weight fabric bag has you wondering.

prompting you to ask, "don't you have a key?"

jisung nods his head quickly as he makes his way inside, his eyes crinkled into crescent shapes and you know he adorns a cheeky smile underneath that mask; feeling incredibly proud of himself.

you close the door behind him, "you could've let yourself in."

"i know," he folds his mask, shoving it into his pocket, "but you opening the door for me means i get to see you sooner rather than later."

you're proven right as he sports a wide, ear-to-ear grin at how witty he finds his own antics. in the middle of an eye roll, jisung catches you off guard when his thumb and forefinger tilt your chin up to him. your eyes blown wide in surprise when he places a kiss on the corner of your lips, causing your heart to go into overdrive. meanwhile his second kiss on your deeply flushed cheeks has you swooning over the boy in front of you.

jisung retracts his hands, thumb and forefinger no longer tilting your head up to him as his arms fall back to his sides. the sudden loss of contact has your bottom lip jutting out as your boyfriend looks down at you with an even wider grin.

"yes baby?" he coos. patting down your hair and then playing with the end of your ponytail between his fingers, "you need something?"

you pucker your lips.

"you missed me?" he teases before leaning down to press his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, "i missed you too."

your arms move around jisung's waist, nuzzling yourself into his chest with a sigh of comfort. the two of you stand at the entrance of your apartment unit in each other's arms before detaching from one another long enough for your boyfriend to discard his shoes whilst you hold onto the tote bag. jisung then trails behind you as you make your way to your bedroom.

shutting the door behind him, jisung shrugs the knapsack off his back before leaning it up against the wall. from where you sit at the edge of the bed, you extend your arms out to hand jisung back his tote bag.

the boy shakes his head.

"that's for you," he informs as he walks around to your dresser, rolling open the first drawer, "i got you some stuff while we were in japan."

jisung shuffles through the drawer that holds his clothes with his back facing you, not noticing the small smile that plays on your lips when you gaze down at the tote bag.

the tote bag containing little souvenirs that reminded jisung of you during his trip to japan.

despite letting jisung know that he doesn't need to bring something back for you every time he's out of the country for work, the boy insists on it. when he sees something abroad that reminds him of you, something he thinks you'll adore, he can't just not buy it. jisung gets to tell you the significance of the trinket when he brings it home to you.

your curiosity regarding the contents inside the tote bag has taken your full attention as jisung pulls out a pair of his grey sweatpants. your boyfriend unbuckles his belt in the background and you hear his pants hit the floor. pulling out the contents of the bag and laying them before you, you can hear jisung shuffling as he pulls the sweatpants on.

when the task is completed successfully, he takes a seat on the bed, leaning up against your headboard as he watches you lay everything out. jisung finds himself smiling affectionately in your direction, watching as your eyes sparkle as you look over every item you've laid out in front of you.

a delayed gasp leaves your lips when your eyes land on the milk chocolate brown, plush bag charm. immediately reaching out to grab it.

"you got me one!"

jisung shakes his head with a smile.

"that's the one you're most excited about?" he moves to lay on his stomach next to you, "the han quokka bag charm?"

you nod your head vigorously, giving jisung whiplash when you're suddenly on your feet and grabbing the bag you always use when you go out. your eyebrows furrow as you focus on opening the ball chain, looping it through the d-ring and closing the metal clasp. 

with a huge toothy grin on your face, you extend your arms to display your shoulder bag with the new edition of a han quokka charm. the charm flopping around with the sudden movement.

"cute," han quokka himself comments.

"i know," you scoff playfully as you place the bag down, "hmmmm…"

jisung lies with his feet to the headboard and he's propped himself up with his arm to look at you. you crawl back onto the bed, choosing to sit cross-legged next to him, your elbow resting on his hip as you lean into him. the two of you continuing to go through the items jisung brought you from japan.

he picks up a box, "i heard these character masks were really good, so i wanted to try them with you,"

you get ahold of the box, turning it around to look at the variety of animal masks it says are inside.

"plus, i think we'll look scary with them on," jisung remarks and you laugh in agreement.

he picks up tabi-style socks; instead of one big pocket, it has a slit for the big toe. 

"i saw these and i knew you'd love them. they're not fuzzy like the ones you're always wearing but they're cute, and i know you like cute."

he's right, the socks are adorable. a bunch of little akita dogs decorating the blue fabric making different expressions.

next, jisung points at a couple kit-kat bags, each bag a different flavour than the next. he talks about how you love sweets and that he bought them so you could try all the different flavours together. along with other japanese snacks he found at the convenience store, some that you'd tried before and others you haven't.

"we went to a studio ghibli store and i remembered the first movie we watched together was howl's moving castle," he moves to point at the sticker sheet.

when you and jisung started dating, you had never seen a studio ghibli film and jisung couldn't have that. he made it his duty that the next time you were able to hang out together, he would go straight to educating you. when that next hangout came around, jisung went straight to turning on howl's moving castle. he wanted to show you his favorite studio ghibli movie before moving on to the rest.

"i chose this one because it has some stickers of heen," you look closer, "and i remember you thinking heen was the cutest thing in the world when he popped up on the screen."

your heart swells as you listen to jisung talk. the fact he remembers these small, seemingly insignificant details from the beginning of your relationship until now, almost two years later. he brings them up in such a nonchalant manner as if these facts are common sense and as if he isn't making your heart beat out of your chest from his thoughtfulness. 

jisung can feel your gaze on him, his cheeks heating up at the realization as he reaches over to get a hold of two medium-sized boxes, opening them up one at a time.

“this one’s from chan hyung,” he says, “it’s a daruma doll. the eyes are empty so you fill in one when you start a goal, then you fill in the other when that goal is completed. hyung bought nine, one for each member and one for you. he said i’d be a good token of motivation.”

“i’m the ninth member of stray kids” you gasp, reaching out for the hollow figure. 

jisung hands the figure to you, taken aback when your facial expression changes suddenly. your eyes that were once wide with awe were now narrowed at him as you point a finger directly at the boy.

“just to let you know, i can’t dance, sing or rap.”

jisung laughs loudly.

that is not what he was expecting you to say with your sudden change of emotion. the dark-haired boy laughs himself onto his stomach, one hand landing on your thigh, the boy now face down in a laughing fit next to you.

“is my lack of talent funny to you?” you poke the swirl in his hair at the back of his head.

still face down, jisung nods.

"wow, ok. rude.”

he rolls back on his side, gasping for air as you glare at him.

“but i love your dancing, especially the little wiggles,” he leans his cheek against his hand, “i especially love hearing you sing, i think you have a beautiful voice.”

he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, your glare softening at the gesture.

“my favourite is hearing you try to do my rap parts in a song. half the time you’re making random noises and maybe a word here and there.”

you swat his hand away with a pout, “you talk too fast!”

jisung giggles with a smirk, pretending to flip his hair over his shoulder, “thank you. i’m flattered.”

you roll your eyes as jisung proceeds to open the next box.

“this is a maneki neko, a lucky charm,” jisung hands you the small, black cat figure, “minho hyung got this for you, the black maneki neko is said to ward off evil spirits.”

you turn the maneki neko in your fingers, observing the details. while you’re occupied, jisung picks up something else.

“this is from seungmin."

jisung hands you a small stone. you blink, observing it in your hand.

you blink again, “what is it?”

“a stone. a rock.”

“ok, yes. i know that much,” you retort, “is there a message behind this one too? is it a lucky rock?”

jisung shakes his head and shrugs, “seungmin picked it up outside the stadium and told me to give it to you.”

your eyebrows furrow in confusion, observing the rock in your hands once again before a lightbulb goes off in your head. 

“when he said he’d get me a something that rocks from japan, i didn’t think he meant it literally.… my random japanese rock?”

the dark-haired boy shrugs his shoulders again, “babe, who knows what goes through that puppy’s mind? but anyway, i’ll let them know i gave you their gifts… and… the rock.”

jisung slides his phone out from the pocket of his sweatpants and he gestures for you to show off your new gifts so he can snap a photo. in one hand you hold the daruma and the maneki neko and the rock in your other hand. you smile widely towards the camera, the smile on your face mirrored by your boyfriend behind the device as he snaps the picture. the same smile doesn’t budge when he goes to send the photo into the stray kids family group chat, typing up a text message.

whilst he’s doing that, you take the time to examine the daruma doll and the intricate designs painted on the small figure. your lips parted in awe as your eyes graze over the strokes, imagining the time and effort put in by the talisman. amazed by the talent and dedication.

jisung’s phone buzzes and he chuckles, flipping the device around to show you the screen and the messages flooding into the chat.

yongbokkie: is that a rock

seungmoo: yes the best souvenir ever

leader bang: yay! did she like the daruma?

leebit: i guess the charm didn’t work you’re still there

jeonginnie: i think i should be y/n’s best friend i’d get her a better souvenir than a rock

seungmoo: fight me

jeonginnie: i’d win

hyune: lol hannie is an evil spirit

dwaekki: maybe y/n likes bad boys

you laugh at the abundance of incoming messages in the group chat and extend your arms to get ahold of jisung’s phone, which he hands over with no hesitation. beaming as he watches you type up a message to send into the group chat. once you’re done and have pressed send, you’re passing the phone back to your boyfriend who reads over your reply.

hanji: hi next couple of messages are from me, y/n i did like the daruma, thanks chan! best friend applications are open: whoever brings the biggest rock wins no comment on the bad boy thing lol

jisung types up his own replies before shutting off his phone, silencing it and placing it face down on the bed. there’s one more souvenir that jisung brought from japan that hasn’t been opened yet.

whatever is inside is hidden behind a white paper envelope. japanese characters are written vertically on the left-hand side of the envelope. your eyes sparkle with curiosity as you watch your boyfriend remove the contents inside the envelope. laying out two amulets before you: one pink and the other one blue.

"we had some free time before one of the shows so minho, hyunjin and i went to a shrine. we were looking at all the different omamori– lucky charms– when these two teens in school uniforms came over," jisung picks up the pink charm, "we saw them buy these two charms and run off."

you gaze at him lovingly as he recalls his time at the shrine.

"we picked up bits and pieces of their conversation; the couple had been together for a while and wanted to buy this charm specifically," he switches the pink charm to his other hand, leaning up on his elbow instead of on his hand, "these ones are love omamori or en-musubi omamori."

jisung picks up the blue one, holding it next to the pink one. his eyes grazing over the two amulets laying on his palm.

“i searched up the different omamori charm meanings while we were there and i read that en-musubi means something along the lines of binding of fates," he explains.

slowly, jisung’s eyes move from the amulets and meet your own. if it's even possible, his facial expression softens further as the smile on his lips reaches his eyes. holding the pink amulet towards you, motioning for you to take it. you tear your gaze away from his chocolate brown orbs and down towards at the pink, fabric amulet you hold between your fingers.

"i know that dating me isn't all that easy, that it gets hard. but even though it gets hard i'm lucky to be loved by you, i'm lucky to have you as my love. i'll be even luckier when my fate binds with yours, the most amazing person i know and the person i love more than anything."

a huge smile breaks out on your face at jisung's words. 

you take your boyfriend by surprise when you launch your body into his, embracing him in a hug. jisung grunts at the sudden impact as he rolls onto his back, his arms instinctively move to cradle your body into his. being in jisung’s arms gave you a sense of satisfaction, similar to the one you get when you find the puzzle pieces that fit perfectly with the other.

your face is nuzzled into the crook of his next, jisung leans his head on yours. your legs are perfectly intertwined with his as he holds you against him, feeling the way his chest rises and falls, the warmth radiating off his body. the two of you lay in each other’s arms for the next few moments, adjusting your positions so you’re laid right next to him instead of on top of him. one of jisung’s hands moves to caress your hair, and a sigh of contentment leaves him as he recalls how much he longed to hold you in his arms whilst he was abroad. 

cuddling a pillow to his chest, imagining it was you, didn’t help at all. 

“you want our fates to bind together?” you say in a hushed tone, jisung immediately nods in response, “really?”

“of course, why wouldn’t i?” he cranes his neck to look down at you, “binding our fates together means i’ll always get to see your little dances. hear you singing in the shower and attempting to rap along with me. i’m lucky enough to be able to do all that right now. i'd be the luckiest man in getting to do all that and more, with you, for the rest of my life."

even though you’re shaking your head with an eye roll at his words. you’re also cuddling more into his side as your heart leaps and swells listening to him.

“you got a way with words, you know that?”

“it's not like my career depends on that,” you gently slap his chest and the boy chuckles at your reaction, “i love you, you know that?”

you smile at the way he reiterates the end of your last response, “i do. i love you too.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

[pasukiyo]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | cedric diggory

cedric diggory x f!reader 2,733 words warnings; nothing except for fluff<3 summary; cedric diggory had an idea. that was never a good sign.

 He was staring again. 

 Out from the corner of her eye, she could see the bluish-gray of his irises, a rosy cheek squished against the heel of his palm where it rested, the fingers of his other hand drumming against the top of his desk. She shifted in her seat, color growing in her cheeks as she tried to focus on what Professor Trelawney was saying. Alas, between Cedric’s eyes boring into the side of her skull and the tedious Divination lesson, her attempts were aimless. 

 Her fingers curled around the edge of her parchment, her fists tightening with the paper balled inside them, her face so hot she was certain her skin would break out in a layer of sweat any moment. He was planning something. She could feel it. The only problem was, she had no idea what could possibly be going on inside that head of his. 

 The realm of possibilities were endless, and she found herself tapping her own fingers against the top of her desk, her opposite hand absentmindedly scribbling notes onto her piece of parchment in an attempt to ignore him. From the corner of her eye, she could see a blur of black and yellow as Cedric moved, and she blinked up to where Professor Trelawney stood at the front of the class, her back now turned. Cedric was leaning over the aisle now, his Hufflepuff scarf dangling in front of his chest, ignoring the looks he was getting from Fred and George where they sat behind them.

 She pouted. There was no way in hell the Weasley twins would let her live this down. 

 “Meet me in the South Wing at nine?” Cedric whispered in her ear and she narrowed her eyes, turning to eye his features. His lips were curved into a soft yet mischievous grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. Somehow, she had a strange feeling about this. “Nine o’clock?” She scoffed beneath her breath. “You are crazy, Cedric Diggory,” she shook her head. “You realize that I am not a prefect? I’ll be in trouble if I’m seen.”

 Cedric tittered and leaned in even closer, his breath a whisper against the shell of her ear and creeping shivers down the coil of her spine. “You know I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, her cheeks flooding with warmth. “Don’t you trust me?”

 It was then that the bells from outside began to chime, indicating that the period has ended, therefore finally, Divination was over. She practically sprung from her seat, nearly butting heads with Cedric as she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, making haste towards the exit. 

 She began her descent down the ladder leading to the hallway outside the Divination classroom and as soon as her feet hit the ground, Cedric was calling her name. She picked up her pace, her robes flying behind her as she dashed down the corridor, making it as far as the top step of the staircase before his hand was latching around her wrist, tugging her back into him. 

 “Cedric,” she whined, turning to peer over her shoulder at him. He chuckled, “you’re awfully fast.” She huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from her face. “And somehow, not fast enough,” she muttered. Cedric’s grin widened and his hands rose between them, a few rolls of parchment spilling over his knuckles. “You forgot your notes.”

 Her chest heaved when she sighed and snatched the parchment from his hands, stuffing them into the knapsack at her hip. “So… you’re meeting me in the South Wing at nine, yes?” He said, hopeful as he swiped his tongue between his lips, eyeing the way she gleaned down to her shoes. She exhaled again, leaning her shoulder against the wall as students passed by and Cedric, too, leaned into the wall, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, awaiting her answer. Unfortunately for her, she was a sucker for Cedric Diggory.

 “Do I really have a choice?” She finally asked, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked back up at him, to which Cedric’s lips peeled to unveil his pearly whites, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “So, I take it I’ll see you then? Say… in the courtyard?”

 Her shoulders droop in defeat, but when Cedric draws in closer to her body until his toes were teasing the top of hers, she knew she couldn’t stay upset for long. She gazed up at the Hufflepuff boy, and it was then that she realized just how close he was, his breath looming over her skin. Her cheeks burned and finally, she tore herself away, taking steps backwards down the staircase. 

 “I’ll see you tonight,” she confirmed. “But if I’m caught, I’ll never let you live it down, do you hear me, Diggory?” 

 Cedric rolled his eyes as he watched her venture further down the stairs, “you shouldn’t worry so much. You’re in good hands!”

 Sneaking to the South Wing after curfew proved to be a lot more difficult than she had initially anticipated. She wondered if Cedric chose tonight on purpose, if he somehow knew that Snape and Filch and Mrs Norris would be around almost every single corner. She huffed as she pressed herself further into the wall, hoping the shadows were doing enough to conceal her as Mrs Norris pranced by, thankfully not looking her way. She exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in as she turned into the– hopefully– empty corridor, looking around for Cedric.

 Where was that boy?

 She stopped in front of the door leading to the Clock Tower Courtyard to turn and peer over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes as she searched the end of the corridor to make sure the course was clear. She pushed open the doors as carefully as she could to avoid making noise, hoping that Cedric would be somewhere on the other side, waiting for her. She guided the doors closed behind her, wincing as they latched closed, hoping she had been cautious enough to not attract any attention. 

 She turned and blinked around the dark, empty courtyard, the boy in question still nowhere in sight. Her chest heaved when she huffed, crossing her arms as frustration swelled inside of her. It wasn’t like him to be late, but it was likely he could be messing with her. Cedric always loved playing games, but it was late and the wind had a chill to it, and the idea that she could be caught by Professor Snape had her on the very edge. 

 She turned around on her heels and was so close to slipping back inside the castle, but before she could even get her hands on the doors, a pair of arms slithered around her waist and her feet were lifted from the ground, the hairs on her body standing erect. Her lips parted and she nearly screeched, and she would’ve if she hadn’t realized who it was holding her close, her eyebrows knitted together when she turned to face Cedric, balling up her fist to give him a not-so-kind knock against the chest. 

 “Merlin’s beard, Cedric, don’t sneak up on me like that!” She whined, narrowing her eyes when he laughed. “It’s not funny. You know you happened to choose the night where nearly the entire teaching staff is on the prowl?” Cedric only rolled his eyes as he pressed her back closer into his chest, swaying them back and forth as he buried his lips in her hair. “You underestimate Cedric,” he murmurs into the top of her head, “Cedric is a lot more than a pretty face, you know.”

 She rolled her eyes and turned in his arms to face him and even in the dark of the night, she was still able to make out the gleam in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she whispered, eyes surging into his, her lips twisting into a scowl. “But I already think I’m not going to like whatever it is.” 

 Cedric’s bottom lip jut out into a pout as she began to slip from her arms and he caught her hands before she could detach completely. “You’re no fun,” he groaned, squeezing her hands even tighter when she whined, trying to pull away. “But I’m going to prove you wrong.”

 She pursed her lips, giving up her attempts to tug her hands away from his to once again gaze up into the slate grayness of his irises, illuminated with mischief. Despite his claims that she should feel otherwise, she had a terrible feeling about this. 

 “Cedric…” she trailed off as he began to tug her forward by the hand, leading her through the moonlit courtyard, dread creeping down her spine and making her insides churn. “...where are you taking me?” She asked, her glare like a dagger against the back of his head. 

 If he could feel her gaze, he paid it no mind. 

 He led her outside of the courtyard and past the walls surrounding the castle, leading her further into the black of the night. “Cedric,” she whined, shaking his arm until his stride fell to her pace, glancing to where she walked beside him. “It’s cold. You couldn’t have chosen somewhere indoors?” She asked as he led her further down the hill until he came to a stop and she turned to gaze at the moonlit water ahead of them.

 And it was then that she realized where he had taken her. 

 “Cedric…” she murmured his name in a warning tone, eyeing him as wiggled his hand out of her grasp and knelt down to work at his shoes, tossing them off somewhere behind him. Her lips fell agape, “Cedric!” She shook her head. “You cannot be serious!”

 Cedric’s lips only curved into a crescent, beaming at her as he rolled his socks off his feet and began to shoulder his robe off of him. “What’s wrong?” He tittered, cocking an eyebrow to his hairline. “Scared?”

 She pressed her lips together in a firm line and crossed her arms over her chest, scoffing at the Black Lake, the moonlight rippling in its waving waters. “It’s freezing out here, Cedric,” she hissed between her teeth. “And there’s… there’s things in there.”

 Cedric chuckled, “I should know. I had to swim it to rescue you for the task last month, remember?”

 She scoffed again and rolled her eyes as Cedric finally stripped down to nothing but his undergarments, backpedaling towards the shore. “So? Are you coming?” He questioned, the water rolling around his ankles. She raised her eyebrows and scoffed, “you’re insane, Cedric Diggory,” she said, disbelieving the scene as it unraveled before her. She could still make out Cedric’s grin even as he waded further into the water until the lake swallowed his shoulders, leaving everything except for his head submerged. “Crazy! And there is no way that I am swimming in that freezing, creature-infested water!”

 Cedric rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the surface, somehow reveling in the icy cold lake as if it were a warm bath. She shivered, chills littering her skin with goosebumps partly due to the breeze but also from just watching him. “You needn’t worry,” Cedric said as he rose to his feet, droplets of water dripping from his arms and chest as he gave her a little salute. “Your knight in shining armor is he–!”

 Her eyes widened in their sockets and her lips fell apart in a gasp as Cedric tumbled backwards as if something had grabbed ahold of him, tugging him below the surface. She stepped closer to the water, searching the surface for any sign of him, her search coming to no avail. 

 A string of panicked curses tumbled from her lips as she made quick work of ripping her shoes from her feet, quickly stripping her body of her clothes until she, too, was down to her underwear. Pursing her lips and puffing out her cheeks, she willed herself to wade into the water– which was just as cold as she had anticipated it to be. But Cedric still had not reappeared to the surface and she knew that if something had really grabbed him, it was only a matter of time until it was too late. 

 “Cedric!” She called his name, shivering as the water rose to her shoulders, ice frosting her limbs and making her muscles numb, every move she made harder than the last. “Cedric!” She called again, her feet no longer able to touch the sand below, her arms swinging as hard as they could to keep her head above the surface. Her heart began to drum against her chest– how long had it been since Cedric had been dragged down under? Was he alright? Was he still able to breathe?

 She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to muster up all the courage she had to will herself below the surface despite her fears of whatever lurked beneath, despite how cold she was. Just as she had begun to take a deep breath, something latched around her ankle and dragged her down below the water, completely submerging her. Her mouth parted to release her scream as she snapped her eyelids open, still somehow to make out Cedric’s grin even below the surface of the dark lake. 

 She furrowed her brows as he circled his arms around her waist, trying to sneak his lips onto hers as she kicked and flailed, bringing them both back up to the surface. She gasped as air filled her lungs, her cheeks warm with anger as she watched Cedric brush his hair back away from his face, laughing as she pushed water into his face. 

 “You are such an arse!” She shrieked, her body trembling as the breeze hit her wet skin. “I thought something had you! I thought… I thought you were… ugh!” She kicked her way to an area where her feet could touch the ground, crossing her arms back over her chest as she turned away from him, glaring up at the castle. Cedric chuckled as he made his way over to where she stood, slithering his arms around her waist and dropping his chin to her shoulder, giving the wet flesh of her neck a few playful kisses.

 “Awe, are you mad at me?” He cooed close to her ear and she pressed her lips together tighter, yet, allowing herself to fall back into his warmth. Cedric pouted, planting more kisses along the curve of her shoulder. “Please don’t be mad at Cedric,” he said, knocking the pitch of his voice up a few octaves. “Cedric isn’t a bad boy. Cedric loves you very much.”

 She rolled her eyes again but couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up on her lips, breathing out a laugh. “You’re such an idiot, Cedric Diggory,” she tittered, twisting in his arms, his interlocked hands now pressing against the small of her back. She rested the sides of her fists against the slick skin of his chest as his forehead dropped against hers, scrunching his nose at her. “But because of my brilliant plan, you got in the water,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders as he gently swayed their bodies back and forth. “So, you know, I’m not a total idiot.”

 She scoffed, but it came out as more of a laugh as he nuzzled his nose against hers, breathing in her scent, drawing her body closer to his. “This is nice,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss beneath her eye. She shrugged, “I could do without the ‘freezing my arse off’ part.”

 Cedric chuckled and the tip of his nose dragged down along her cheek until his lips were against hers, gentle as they captured them in a soft, chaste kiss, the pad of his thumb soothing over the skin at the small of her back. Her heart stuttered in her chest as they pulled away, and she blinked up at him, reveling in the reassurance that she was in her boy’s arms, and he wasn’t going to let her go. 

 With her still in his arms, he kicked back off the ground, leading her further into the lake. “It’s a beautiful night,” he whispered, brushing wet strands of hair away from her face and behind her ear. “Let’s enjoy it.”

a/n; OMG I FINALLY FINISHED AN IMAGINE! so sorry this one took so long to write up and post, i went to disney world and universal studios at the beginning of may for my birthday so i didn't have any time to write and then when i got back home, i just didn't feel like writing lol but! it's been awhile since i've written for the best hufflepuff boy and there's definitely not enough fics out there on this platform for him so here you go<3

[dindjarindiaries]

When a House Becomes a Home

summary: A new home brings new responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can teach Din how to cook a proper meal: you.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

contains: food, domesticity, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.833k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Din sighs as he looks over your shoulder at the datapad in your hand. “I didn’t realize cooking would take as much effort as a job,” he confesses, his modulated voice laced with amusement. He points at the vidscreen. “That’s a long list.”

“What you put into it is what you get out of it,” you insist. You gesture to the cabin from where you stand in the threshold. “I’m not letting our first meal in this home be mediocre.” You give his armored shoulder a playful nudge. “And I know you love a good side quest.”

Din tilts his helmet at you. “Only with a good partner by my side.” He sets a gloved hand upon your back. “Come on, riduur. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back.”

Grogu’s pod floats at Din’s other side as he starts to lead the way into town. You glance at him with an eyebrow raised. “Are you becoming a homebody already?”

Din shrugs, his fingers giving your back a thoughtful tap. “We’ve been traveling the galaxy for many years.” He swings his helmet to look at you. “A night of rest sounds pretty tempting after that.”

“Well, this shouldn’t take too long.” You look over the list of ingredients on your datapad again. “You’re a bounty hunter, after all. Just pretend everything on this list is a quarry you have to find.”

Din huffs at your words. “Like I said before.” He gestures with his helmet to your datapad. “It’s a job.”

You lean close to his visor. “With a delicious payout.” You tuck your datapad on your belt and take his hand from your back, lacing his gloved fingers with yours. “If you cook as well as you make an argument, this will be the best meal of your life.”

Din chuckles at that and gives your arms an embarrassed swing. You laugh and bring yourself closer to his side as you continue closing the distance towards the heart of Nevarro.

It’s easy for Din to navigate the bazaar, even after all this time. He’d spent many years on planet before your travels together began, and despite how much it’s changed since then, Din seems confident in the way he strides towards the merchant’s booths. You release his hand to take the empty knapsack off your shoulder and hold it towards him. “Do you mind helping me collect our items?”

“Sure.” Din nods and takes the knapsack from you, holding it between his gloved hands as you reach for your datapad and reference your list. “Where are we headed first?”

You show him the list and let him glance over it. “We’ll need to find a butcher, a flora stand, and…” you hesitate as you see more of the random ingredients, “I guess we just need to look everywhere.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” Din tightens his grasp on the knapsack and gives his helmet a quick tilt. “I like it.” He pats your shoulder and looks to the way ahead. “Let’s do it.”

You and Din work together to make your way through the booths and collect the freshest versions of everything you need. The hardest challenge is keeping Grogu from eating both your product and the merchants’, one that Din handles for the most part while he lets you make the selections. For once, credits are easy to come by, thanks to Greef Karga’s generosity. The gratitude of the Nevarro citizens helps when they recognize Din and the role he had to play in saving their city.

The walk back to your cabin is even quicker than before. Din keeps the knapsack slung over one of his shoulders and his hand has found its way into yours again. There’s almost a skip in his step that you can’t help smiling at.

“Someone’s excited to get in the kitchen,” you observe, your fond grin only growing.

“I’m holding on to a bag full of food.” Din lifts his elbow to lightly jostle the knapsack. “I’m just ready to have something other than rations.”

You chuckle and wait for Din to take the keycard from his belt. He unlocks the cabin door and pushes the button to open it for you. With a nod, you thank him and walk inside first, taking a deep breath as you look around the space that’s set to become your home. The door slides closed after Din enters with Grogu’s pod and he stands just behind your shoulder, as if he’s also taking in your surroundings. You look at him and watch as he lifts both hands to remove his helmet, his brown gaze shining as the corners of his lips gently tug up in a small smile.

“I’m… still not used to it,” Din confesses, his natural voice always a welcome surprise. “It’s much different than the tunnels and the Crest.”

You turn to face him and ease the knapsack from his shoulder. “Then let’s start to make it feel more like home.” You press a hand upon Din’s cuirass. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll get everything prepped. Okay?”

Din nods, his gaze full of wonder as his eyes search yours for a long moment. Your hand rises to the side of his face as you press a kiss upon his cheek, sending him off with a gentle tap against his skin. You hoist the knapsack onto your shoulder and take Grogu out of the pod, setting him down in the living area with the shift knob from the Crest to keep him busy. He coos with delight and begins to entertain himself, allowing you to focus on preparing the kitchen.

Greef had been kind enough to make sure the cabin was fully furnished, and that included supplies for cooking. You smile to yourself in gratitude as you set the recipe on the datapad in front of you and take out whatever you need. The ingredients are arranged in a way that makes sense, especially for someone as organizational as Din. You pause to check on Grogu every once in a while, watching as he plays catch with himself using his powers.

Din catches you in the midst of one of these moments, his presence adding an even warmer glow to the room as you turn your head to look at him. He’s reduced himself to his pants and the black tunic he wears underneath his flight suit, his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides. His attention is focused on Grogu’s play even as he continues making his way towards you.

“It’s good that he knows how to keep himself busy,” Din states, setting his weight on one hip as he reaches your side. You nod, unable to speak thanks to the overwhelming flutters within your chest. He turns to look at you and raises an eyebrow at your silence. “What is it?”

You beam and shake your head. “Nothing.” You focus back on the preparations in front of you. “Okay, the first thing we should do is roast the flora.” You take the bunches of the flora and offer a few to Din. “Can you help me cut these?”

Din nods, though he hesitates before he accepts them. “Wait.” He goes to the water pump and washes off his hands, making you bite back a smile. Din’s always been adamant about his cleanliness, that of himself as well as his weapons and armor. He returns and gently takes the flora from you. Once he sets it down, you offer him a small knife. “How should I cut it?”

“Into small pieces.” You demonstrate a few for him, pausing to make sure he’s gotten it.

Din copies your work and lifts the small piece in his hand for you to see. “Like this?”

You grin and nod at him. “Perfect.” You turn your focus back to the flora and speak as you work. “You’re well on your way to becoming an expert.”

Din scoffs. “This is just the first step, cyar’ika.” He adds his pieces to the place where you’ve been setting your own. “You’re being too kind.”

You release a soft laugh. “All I’m saying is that a lot of cooking is cutting things.” You gesture with your knife to his work. “And you’ve got that down pat.”

“With all of my vibroblade training, you’d hope I would.”

You give his shoulder a gentle nudge and giggle when he gives you one in return. You finish right before Din does, though he takes his last piece and walks away with it. Your brow furrows as you watch Din bring it over to Grogu, offering it to the little one with a small smile. Grogu coos in gratitude and eats it as if he’s never had a meal before. Din stands from where he’d been kneeling and returns to you.

“The flora has been Grogu approved.” Din brushes his hands together and sets them on his hips. “What’s next?”

You turn to the datapad with an amused smile. “An efficient and eager learner.” You steal a quick look at him. “Your metrics in the kitchen are panning out to be quite high.”

Din’s face turns the slightest shade of pink and he shrugs. You take a vial of oil and offer it to him. He accepts it, though his gaze never leaves you as he awaits his instructions.

“Drizzle this over the flora.” Din nods and opens the vial. “It’ll be ready to roast once we toss it.”

Din pours some of the oil out and stops abruptly. He turns to look at you. “Was that too much?”

You shake your head. “No, no. That’s fine.”

Din closes the vial and sets it down. “It came out faster than I expected.”

“That can tend to happen.” You reach your hands forward to toss the flora in the oil. Once it’s all covered, you gesture to the fireplace and spit. “Can you get a fire going so we can roast it while I wash my hands off?”

Din nods and disappears from the kitchen for a moment. You watch in confusion until he returns with his vambrace on. You can’t help chuckling when he bends down to the tinder and gently engages his flamethrower, getting the small fire started in no time. He stops as he walks by you washing your hands off. “Is ‘use what you’ve got’ a rule of the kitchen?” He gestures to the vambrace on his arm.

You grin at him. “It absolutely is.”

Din returns your smile before he leaves to set his vambrace back in the bedroom. He comes back and exhales, rolling up his sleeves. “The warmth of that fire works quickly.”

“That’s why we’ve got to do the same.” You take a protective glove and use it to set the flora and its container on top of the spit. “The flora will roast fast, and when it’s halfway done, we’ve got to add this tip-yip.”

“Understood.” Din gestures to the meat you’ve already set out. “What can I do?”

You take one of the two pieces of tip-yip and hand it to him. “Can you guess?”

Din chuckles and raises his knife. “Cut it into small pieces?”

You nod and lean closer to him. “You’re catching on.” You give his cheek a kiss and watch as it burns a deeper red this time. “They don’t have to be too small, though.” You demonstrate one strip for him. “Like this.”

Din nods and once again tries to mirror your work. “Is there something else to do with it after?” Din steals a quick glance at you. “At the covert, we just used to throw it on a spit and call it a day.”

“I figured as much, and that’s okay, too.” You point with your knife to a collection of herbs. “Your covert eats for health and nourishment, but we’re cooking mostly for flavor. We’re gonna use that to season it.”

“That sounds nice.” Din’s voice is only slightly strained as he goes on. “I think… my parents used to do that, too.”

You stop what you’re doing and set your full attention on him. His brow is slightly knit as he continues cutting the tip-yip, though he’s quick to finish and return your gaze. He catches your concern and offers a reassuring nod as he sits his hand over one of yours.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

You smile and return his nod, exhaling a soft breath as you finish with your piece. You reach for the herbs and other seasonings and set them between you and Din. “All it needs is a few sprinkles of all of these.”

As you finish each one, you hand it off to Din, letting him do the same to his share. Once it’s all distributed, you toss it just as you had with the flora. You take a moment to look at Grogu as you work, though he’s still busying himself with the shifter knob that he tosses into the air over and over again.

“Now that it’s all combined,” you start, taking both your share as well as Din’s and adding it to a transfer plate, “we can add it to the flora. But first…” You trail off, lifting your season-covered hands for Din to see.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Din smiles and races you to the water pump. You laugh as you try to push him aside and he chuckles as he does the same to you. He ends up taking your hands and washing them for you, letting you dry them off while he does the same for himself. Din takes the initiative under your lead in wearing the protective glove and transferring the tip-yip over to the roasting flora. “It already smells good.”

You raise your brow as he sets down the plate and the glove. “How good?”

Din tilts his head at you as if he’s still wearing his helmet. “Really good.”

“Well, you know what?” You step towards him and set your hand on his chest. “It’s gonna taste even better.” You keep your hand where it is as the other reaches around Din and finds the long, metal tongs. “We ought it to keep it from burning, though.” Din huffs and nods in agreement. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Din takes the tongs from you. “I’d be honored.”

You walk with him over to the fire and watch as he gently tosses the roasting food around. “That makes sense for a man as honorable as yourself.”

Din looks at you with an eyebrow raised. “That’s a lot of ‘honors.’”

You chuckle and shrug at him before you cross your arms over your chest. “I mean, I did ask if that was what you wanted.”

Din’s lips start to curl up in a smile as his gaze returns to the food. “I’m trying to focus, cyar’ika.”

“That’s just another rule of cooking.” You come closer to him, hooking a finger on the collar of his tunic to press a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “Multitasking.”

Din’s head whips around to face you, his brown gaze a sweet warning. “I can multitask.” He gives you a once-over. “What you’re trying to do is kill me.”

You laugh, not expecting him to say such a thing. “Din!” You brace yourself against his shoulder. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Din gestures with his head to the roasting food. “I’m tending to food on an open fire and you’re over here doing…” he hesitates, glancing in Grogu’s direction, “that.” He turns his attention back to the tip-yip and flora. “You know you’re my biggest threat.”

You smile at him. “Sure.” You step away to begin setting the table while Din finishes cooking the food. Grogu jumps up from where he’s been playing and coos with interest. You give his head a gentle pat. “Would you like to help, Grogu?”

Grogu nods and babbles. You hand him three utensils.

“Set one of these next to every plate.” Grogu nods and follows you around the table. You’ll set down a plate and he’ll put a utensil next to it. Once you’ve both finished, you brush your hand over his head. “Very good. You made it look so nice.”

Grogu lifts his ears in joy at your praise. You leave him to return to Din in the kitchen. He gives you a quick glance. “I think it’s ready,” he informs you.

You observe the tray and nod. “I think you’re right.” You hand him the protective glove. “Can you distribute it to the plates?”

Din nods and slides the glove on. “I’ve got it.” He gestures with his head to the table. “You and Grogu just lay low.”

You beam at him before you obey his soft request. When you reach the table, Grogu points to a specific plate, making you giggle as you sit there. “Thanks for helping me choose.”

Grogu nods and sits by another plate. He leaves one in between you two for Din, a thought that only makes your smile grow. Din remains careful when he joins you and distributes the meal as evenly as he can, knowing full well that Grogu can eat just as much as the two of you—if not more. Once he’s finished, Din sets his supplies down in the kitchen and joins you and Grogu at the table. He glances at his plate in hunger, yet he still nods at you. “It’s time for you to do the honors,” Din insists.

You know better than to argue with him. You take the first bite and smile in pure content. From the flavors to the memory of its preparation, everything about this first meal in your new home is perfect. “I think you’re gonna like it,” you say, gesturing to Din’s plate with your utensil.

Both he and Grogu try it for themselves. Grogu’s ears rise on his head as he goes on to start devouring it while Din gives you an impressed raise of his brow. “Riduur.” He points at his plate. “You were on to something with this.”

“I told you,” you remind him with a smile. “What you put into it is what you get out of it.”

Din takes another bite and returns your smile. “Then this was a job well done.” He enjoys more of his meal before he goes on. “You were right. The payout is delicious.” Din turns his attention to Grogu. “Isn’t it, buddy?”

Grogu offers a sleepy coo from where he sits with his plate already empty. You laugh as you and Din take your time finishing up your own meals. By the time you’re all set, Grogu’s completely asleep, satisfied with a full stomach and the warmth of the cabin. “I’ll get him to bed,” you assure him as you stand from your seat. “We’ll clean up when I’m done.”

Din nods, giving Grogu’s sleeping head a gentle tap before you carry the little one away to his own room. You tuck him into his pod and give his wrinkly head a soft kiss, imagining the day when you’ve finally gotten him a more comfortable bed of his own to have apart from his pod. You close his door and heave a soft breath as you make your way back to the living area and the kitchen.

You stop short when you see Din’s already cleared the table and is cleaning up on his own.

“Din Djarin,” you scold him, though your lips have already started curling up into yet another grin. Din’s brow furrows as he watches you approach. “I thought I said we’d clean up when I was done!”

“I’ve got it,” Din insists, stepping between you and the dirty dishes. “You planned all of this out and did most of the heavy lifting.” He nods at you. “Let me clean it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fine.” Din slowly turns back to what he was doing, giving you the window to reach for a cloth and try to make a dash for the table. Din’s Mandalorian reflexes are too quick and he captures your waist before you can get anywhere. You squeal with laughter and shock as he pulls you away.

“Come on, Din!” you plead, still laughing as he wrestles with you. “Just let me wipe down the table!”

“No.” Din lifts you and sets you upon the nearest countertop. He lifts a finger to point at you like he often does with Grogu. “Stay here and rest until I’m done.” Still, his chivalry can’t allow him to stop there. “Please.”

You let out a dramatic exhale, despite the way you’re beaming at him. “All right.” You take the cloth and set it over his shoulder. “But only just this once.”

Din starts to smile as he nods at you. “Understood.” He goes back to the washing he was doing and you watch him with fond eyes. He’s already put out the fire, but the ghost of its warm glow remains. This night is just the first of many, whenever you and Din aren’t on a job. It’s a safe place where you can come back to time and time again instead of finding whatever’s available. There’s no need for blasters, armor, or any kind of self-defense. It’s something of your own creation, and tonight, you’ve already started a perfect ritual.

This house has finally become a home.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you keep watching Din move around your home. He takes the cloth from his shoulder and wipes down the table. It’s so inefficient for you to be sitting here, but that’s not the point. Things don’t have to be rushed anymore. They can be comfortable and caring, which is exactly what Din is doing for you.

You lose yourself in these thoughts until Din finishes and approaches you again. His brow is slightly furrowed as he unravels your arms and sets his hands upon your waist. “Are you okay?”

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers hang loosely behind his neck. “I’m the best I’ve ever been.”

Din starts to smile at that. “Good.” He leans his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the moment before he goes on. “Well, we’ve made our meal and we’ve enjoyed it.” He circles his jaw with a raise of his eyebrow. “Do you know what that means?”

You don’t speak, instead letting Din answer his question for himself.

“It’s time for dessert.”

You laugh and Din absorbs it with a long-awaited kiss, one that prepares you for something much more sweet and indulgent than anything you could’ve ever dreamed of whipping up in the kitchen.

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