#once again it is not fics But!

[shushmal]

Steve watched Eddie's van turn the corner and shut the front door, closing himself away from the outside world so none of his neighbors could see him as he rested his forehead against the painted wood.

"I'm not going to cry," he told himself.

He said it even as his eyes began to burn and his face began to twist, teeth grinding and throat closing. He wiped quickly at his face, again and again, as he stumbled to the couch to sit, drying each tear as it rolled down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw.

"I'm not going to fucking cry," Steve choked, and then doubled over into himself, arms around his thighs, and he began to sob.

So what if he was twenty-two, living in his parent's house alone, working the same dead-end job with a sixteen year old manager. So what if all his friends and family were in college, spread out from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles. So what if his boyfriend was moving to Seattle for his band and they broke up, because Steve was never going to be his parents, resenting and being resented for keeping his partner from his dreams. So what if he was too scared to ask Eddie to stay, to ask Eddie if Steve could go with him. So what if everyone moved on and Steve couldn't?

Steve grew up lonely. He could get used to it again.

He didn't realize how hard he was crying until the front door burst back open and Eddie hurled himself at Steve's feet, long limbed and clumsy and babbling.

"Baby, oh fuck, I'm sorry," he said, already untangling Steve from himself, tying all his loose ends back up together with his until they were a knot of their own. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Stevie. I never should have— I wanted to—"

"I'm sorry," Steve sobbed back. He gasped and swallowed it all back down. Eddie had already gotten them raveled up again, it would take forever to pick it back apart. Steve knew it would hurt worse this time. "Fuck, Ed, you didn't have to— I'll be okay, I don't want to hold you back—"

"Come with me," Eddie burst.

And Steve couldn't help himself, and began to sob again.

"Please," Eddie begged over Steve's crying, his voice shaking and his face wet enough to match Steve's. "Please, sweetheart, honey, please just come with me?"

Steve took a shaky breath, embarrassed and now too full of hope and fear. "You sure?" he whispered. He pressed his face into Eddie's neck, breathing him in again for what might be the last time, again. "Eddie, don't—"

"I'm so sure," Eddie said. "I'm so fucking sure, Steve, please."

"Okay," Steve breathed. Eddie had always been the braver of the two of them, especially when it counted. Steve leaned back so he could look at him, red faced and watery eyes. He tried to give Eddie a smile, but he knew it was wobbly and weak. "Okay."

All of Steve's fears meant nothing as he watched the happiness break like dawn over Eddie's face.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[choccy-milky]

seb about to learn every language there is 📚📚

[a11eya]

TITLE: do you still think about me?

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Okay, so you had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on Bakugou when you were both in high school. He was kind of your first love, if you believe in those kinds of things. But you got over it. It's fine.

You see Bakugou sometimes at hangouts, at get-togethers. He's in your orbit, or you're in his, because of your mutual friends. You're all adults now, so it's fine. It's a little weird, but fine.

You're supposed to be on vacation, at a place that's hours away from Musutafu. You're not sure what you've done to deserve it, but Bakugou's here too. And instead of both of you pretending the other doesn't exist, as usual, he's talking to you. He's everywhere. It's fine.

(It's not fine.)

TAGS: pro hero Bakugou Katsuki, aged-up characters, friends to lovers, soft Bakugou Katsuki, fluff, mutual pining, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, reader with afab body parts, reader with hair that can be pushed away from face when damp

STATUS: Completed; 3 of 3

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

NOTE: Minors, DNI! This chapter contains smut.

“Watch it,” Bakugou snaps. 

His hand shoots out to grab your upper arm as you stumble over a hidden tree root, too engrossed in the pictures you’re taking with your phone to notice what’s underfoot.

“Pay attention,” he growls as he steadies you. His hand is warm where it’s wrapped around you. 

Heart thumping in your chest, you slip your phone into your pocket, feeling duly admonished. 

“Sorry,” you say, looking up at him. “And thank you. Your reflexes are amazing.” 

Bakugou scowls at you. “Be more careful or I’m taking you back down.” 

“You and what army?” You stick your tongue out at him.

Some expression you can’t quite read flickers across his face, and he narrows his eyes at you.

Your momentary courage deserts you. You squeak and pull yourself free from his grasp, making your way hurriedly up the marked path while trying to balance caution and speed so you don’t trip and fall on your face.

Behind you, you hear a sharp bark of laughter. You can’t help but look back. 

Bakugou’s gaze immediately catches yours. There are traces of laughter still in his face—in his eyes, on his lips. 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard him laugh, of course. Kaminari’s hilarious, and when he, Kirishima, and Hanta get going at parties, everyone’s laughing. (Even if Bakugou sometimes laughs at them more than with them.) And that’s not even taking into account how much of a menace Bakugou is when Todoroki’s around to tease.

But it’s the first time you’ve made him laugh. You want to keep making him laugh, you realize. You really like him, and it’s such a problem. All that time spent trying to keep your distance, get over him? Undone within a few days.

As Bakugou’s long strides quickly eat up the distance between you, you try to compose yourself, hoping none of your thoughts are visible in your expression. It’s fine.

He puts a hand on your back, nudging you forward. 

“C’mon,” he tells you. “If you wanna make it back in time for dinner, save the pictures and the attitude for the top.” 

Much of the trail takes you through a forest filled with cedar and birch trees with a steady incline upwards. Wooden stairs and handholds appear a couple times, as this hiking trail is well-traveled. You pass some people in pairs or families on your way up, but not often. 

When you hike—and yes, you usually do take a friend or two, Bakugou—you prefer not to talk much. A lot of the time it’s because your lungs can’t multitask; the physical exertion of breathing is more than enough. But it’s also because you hate to cut through the sound of nature with your voice. You love the birdsong, the wind rustling the trees, the faint hum of insects. 

Bakugou is quiet too, for the most part. When he does speak, his voice is low, quiet, with check-ins and directives. 

“You out of water? Here.” You find out he has water, a first aid kit, snacks, and who knows what else in the backpack he’s brought along.

“Gimme your hands. Rocks’re slippery here.” He’s all easy strength, a warm grip. Your hands in his. 

“Let’s stop here for a minute.” He’s not tired at all, but you are as things get steeper, and you don’t even need to say anything for him to pause for a break. 

Bakugou’s a good hiking partner. He’s better than Rie, who refuses to do anything with an incline and complains the whole way anyway, or Hanta, who chats your ear off the entire time and outpaces you with his long legs and hero stamina. 

Maybe when the two of you get back to Musutafu, Bakugou’d be willing to go on another hike with you. A friendly hike. You’ve never done anything one-on-one with him before this weekend, and since you’re slowly coming to accept that maybe you’ll have feelings for him forever, it’ll be fine. 

You reach the peak around noon. 

“Bakugou,” you say, staring out into the distance. You glance away briefly to put your hand on his forearm, shaking it slightly in excitement. 

Bakugou huffs, stepping closer to you. 

“Look,” you tell him, and his eyes meet yours. You know it’s because of a few clumsy moments you had getting up here that he’s keeping within arms length of you at all times, but—he’s so close. And he acts like he has no idea what he looks like, sunlight limning his blond hair and turning his eyes clear crimson. 

You look away, back out. You don’t want to make things weird when—when you’re friends, now, right? The time you’ve spent together this weekend, just the two of you… you’ve got to be friends at this point. 

You push your thoughts aside and try to recenter yourself, focus on what’s in front of you.

Trees grow everywhere you look in deep shades of green and umber. The nearby lake shimmers, placid. In the distance are mountains, making their mark against the horizon. 

“It’s so beautiful out here,” you say. You turn your head to look at Bakugou again, smiling, only to find that he’s still looking at you. Your hand’s still on his arm. 

A little flustered, you let go of him. In a voice softer than you intend, you tell him, “I’m having a great time. Thanks for coming with me.” 

He looks at you for a long moment.

“Good,” he says. 

Soaking in the open-air bath does wonders for your body. 

It’s a little too early for muscle aches and soreness, but you can already feel how fatigued certain parts of your body are—your feet, your calves. The hot water is like a balm as you submerge yourself to your chin. 

The public onsen is nice, but crowded. You visited yesterday, after the morning market, and enjoyed it. But it’s a different experience, here in your room’s private outdoor bath. It’s like you’re the only one in the whole world. You needed this time and space to yourself after returning from the hike with Bakugou. When you’re with him, it feels like all your senses are dialed to 110% and the only thing you can think of is him. In the hours since the hike, you took a nap and then checked in with your friends. 

Sero finally got back to you late last night, letting you know that he’d met Rie halfway and traveled back with her to Musutafu. Rie messaged you a picture she’d taken of herself, looking haggard and depleted, with her client barely visible in the background looking stunningly gorgeous. Rie’s always been super talented at turning people into works of art.

They both asked how you’re doing. In your group chat with them, you sent along pictures of the gifts you’d gotten them and the photos you took on your hike. The views you captured look unreal, like CGI, they’re so pretty. 

You even got Bakugou to take a few pictures—a couple of you, with a big grin, throwing up a peace sign, and even a selfie of the both of you. He’s not smiling, exactly, in it, but his neutral expression is handsome anyway. You weren’t sure he wanted it, but you sent the picture to him, just in case. 

You did make the mistake of sending one of your solo pictures in your group chat with Rie and Sero because Rie immediately sent you several follow-up direct messages while Sero just sent a thumbs up.

Rie: Who took this????

Rie: Who were you with??

If you told the truth, you’d never hear the end of it. Instead of replying to her, guiltily, you left her messages unopened, to deal with later. 

You drift, eyes closed. The daytime sounds of birds and cicadas have been replaced by the chirping of crickets as the sun sets, casting a dreamy orange glow over everything. 

You’ve nearly dozed off when the sound of knocks on your door has you stirring. 

Briefly, you entertain the urge to ignore it. It’s probably someone who’s got the wrong room, as you aren’t expecting anyone. You do plan on ordering the in-room dining menu but haven’t gotten around to requesting it yet. 

But the knocks come again, and then your phone pings. 

Sighing, you stand, water sloshing and streaming off your body. You grab a towel and briskly rub yourself down so you aren’t dripping water everywhere, and then you shrug on the onsen-provided robe. 

As you pad over to the front door, you grab your phone and glance at the screen. 

The message preview says—

Bakugou: You in your room? 

Blinking, you jerk your head up to stare at the door. It’s quiet now. 

Hurrying over, you open it. No one’s there. 

You stick your head out and look both ways. To your left, you see Bakugou’s retreating back.

“Bakugou,” you call. “Come back!”

He stops, turns. His eyes land on you, and he scowls. 

You resist the urge to jerk back. What’s his deal? You were in the bath; you answered the door as fast as you could.

You make a face at him. 

With long strides, Bakugou’s back at your door. He steps close, almost crowding you. 

“Get back in there, you aren’t even dressed,” he says. His eyes drop down to your shoulder, then quickly dart back to your face. 

Your robe had loosened, one side sliding down your shoulder a little when you’d leaned out to look for him. You feel your face begin to warm as suddenly, you’re hyper aware you’re not wearing anything under this robe and he’s just a step or two away. 

You fix your robe.

“There isn’t even anyone around,” you say, stubborn, just to get your mind off of the path it’s taking. He’s clearly freshly showered, hair damp, and you’re reminded of your first night here in the bamboo garden, him, under the moonlight. 

Stop. 

As if to prove you wrong, you begin to hear the faintest sound of voices echoing from down the hall. Bakugou looks at you as if to say I told you so. 

You step back. “Come in.”

Closing the door behind him, you cross your arms over your chest, trying not to feel self-conscious. 

“What brought you over here, anyway?” you ask. 

“Was gonna ask if you wanna eat with me for dinner,” Bakugou says. He avoids looking at you, glances around your room, and you’re glad that you’re generally a pretty tidy person. Glad that he’s not looking at you, but also a little disappointed, though you know it’s dumb. He’s not interested. 

“I’d love to, but I feel like a limp noodle,” you say. “I doubt I’ll make it to the restaurant. And I might fall asleep over dinner. I was gonna order their in-room dining menu instead.” 

You’re telling the truth. You feel like you’ve spent your time well on this vacation, but you’re tired.

But you don’t want to say no; you don’t want to turn him away. You’ve already spent so much time with him, but it’s like you can’t get enough. 

“Do you wanna join me?” you ask. 

Bakugou puts his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. But let’s eat in my room.”

You furrow your brows. “Why? We’re already here in mine.” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “Go get dressed.”

You stare at him, bewildered. What logical explanation could there be for him to want to dine in his room instead? Maybe his room’s nicer than yours? But he’s never struck you as the kind of guy to care about stuff like that. Maybe he forgot something in there? But that’s silly, he presumably just came from there. The in-room dining menu costs the same across the rooms, so it can’t be that…

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him. “Wait. Is it because you want to charge the meal to your room?”

His silence is telling. He looks at you, unwavering, as if maintaining eye contact will make you back down. But you’re unintimidated. 

“I know your tricks now, Bakugou,” you tell him, smug. “You can’t fool me. We’re eating here, and I’m paying for it as thanks for the hike today. Go sit on the couch, feel free to turn on the TV. I’ll be right back.”

You turn before he can say anything, grabbing some clothes from the dresser and walking into the bathroom to change. Faintly, you hear the sound of the TV being turned on. 

Your small victory has you re-energized. You change, buoyed with it. You do wonder about this newly discovered quirk of Bakugou’s—paying for things unnecessarily. You do recall he’s never been stingy, covering rounds of drinks at get-togethers, spotting your mutual friends’ meals on birthdays. 

It doesn’t come across as—I have more money than you do, so I’m flaunting it, even though you’re aware that he does make more than most of your friend group because of his higher hero ranking and the fact he owns his own agency. It feels more so like his way of showing his friends he cares; it’s warming that it’s something he’s trying to do with you. 

It’s juvenile, this need to be reassured, but you wish you could ask him if he thinks of you as a friend. 

When you leave the bathroom, you find Bakugou sitting on the couch, flipping through the provided menu. He looks up as you approach and sit a cushion away from him. 

“You like fruit?” Bakugou asks. 

“…Yes?” you say, blinking. “That’s so random.” 

He tilts his head toward the other end of the couch where the gifts you’d bought at the market sit. Sero’s bag of fruits is open, peeking through. 

“Oh! Those are for Hanta. You know he likes citrus fruit, right? You got him those oranges a couple weeks back.” 

Bakugou raises a brow. “He tell you about that?” 

“Yeah! He was talking about them non-stop for a couple days. Couldn’t get him to shut up. It was really sweet of you—I think those oranges are his favorite variety.” 

Bakugou’s expression is hard to make out, but you think maybe he’s pleased. He’s a really great friend, you think. 

“Let’s order,” he says. 

You order to your heart’s content, feeling justified since you’d only eaten an onigiri and some snacks Bakugou’s brought for lunch, at the peak. While you wait, a hero special on All Might begins playing on the TV, and the both of you are unable to resist being drawn into it. He was the hero of your childhoods, after all, the biggest star.

“What’s he like, anyway?” you ask Bakugou. When he looks at you askew, you make a face at him. 

“I only ever saw him at events or peripherally, teaching the hero course,” you say defensively. “You probably don’t remember, but I was in the management course.”

“I remember,” he says. You resist the urge to grimace. You wish he didn’t; you’ve been getting along so well that you lulled yourself into forgetting about your cringy past. 

“...He’s annoying,” Bakugou says after a moment, interlocking his fingers and staring down at them. “Old man doesn’t know when to quit. Still at that damn school.” 

“Still teaching?” you ask. “That’s nice.” 

“Should retire,” Bakugou mutters. “He’s done enough.” 

“He’s done more than enough, I think,” you say. “But you heroes always give so much of yourselves, going where you’re needed. It’s one of the best things about you.” 

Bakugou looks up at you, tilts his head. 

After a moment, you realize. 

“About you, as in heroes in general!” you say hastily. You’re a liar. You were thinking about him, not All Might, not all heroes. 

A couple knocks at the door save you, and when you move to get up, Bakugou motions for you to stay. 

“I’ll get it,” he says. You sit there, beating yourself up over your slip-up, as Bakugou speaks to the people at the door. You greet them when they come in, watching out of the way as they quickly set the table and arrange the dishes you’d ordered. 

You hardly notice as they leave as quickly as they came, so dazzled by the food on display. 

Bakugou touches your back, and you startle. You look at him. 

“Come sit,” he tells you.

“Okay,” you say. 

The food is delicious, but the company’s even better.

You find yourself talking about all kinds of things with him. 

“Do you go hiking often?” you ask. “You looked pretty comfortable out there.” 

“I like outdoorsy shit,” Bakugou says. “Hiking’s fine. I like mountain climbing best.”

“Mountain climbing?” You tilt your head. “That’s pretty intense. It suits you! I have a friend who’s into bouldering and is trying to get me into it. I feel like that might be more my speed.”

“You scared of heights?” 

“I’m scared of falling!” You laugh. “But with your quirk, I guess you don’t have that worry.” 

“If you want to try bouldering, tell me,” he says. He brings his cup of tea to his lips, takes a sip. 

You blink at him. “Do you know how?”

“Started with it a couple years back and moved on to climbing. Being outside’s better,” Bakugou says. 

“Okay! I’ll take you up on it,” you say, trying to hide the little thrill that runs through you at the thought that he wants to spend time with you, even when the both of you return home. 

You reach for the teapot to refill his cup, and your hand brushes against his, resting on the table. He doesn’t pull away. His eyes lift to meet yours, deep carmine in the low light. 

Before you know it, it’s true night. It’s not so late according to the time, but it feels like it is because the both of you were up early and had a physically taxing day. 

Mid-sentence, you cover your mouth as you yawn, little pinpricks of tears springing to your eyes. 

“Sorry,” you say, just as you catch Bakugou hiding a reciprocal yawn. It’s cute. You don’t think he’d appreciate you saying so, so you hide your smile. 

“You wanna sleep here?” you ask. “I’m sleeping in the bed nearest the windows. The one next to the wall was Rie’s, but they changed the sheets and everything yesterday. It hasn’t been touched since.” 

Bakugou looks at you for a moment. “You good with that?”

“If you are,” you tell him. “And if you’re okay with using the complimentary toothbrush they give out.” 

He snorts. “Thanks.” 

Getting ready for bed at the same time as him feeds into thoughts you refuse to acknowledge. He tells you to get ready first as he takes care of cleaning up the food and dishes to be taken away by the staff. You try to help, but he gives you this stubborn look you’re too tired to fight. You thank him instead and retreat into the bathroom. 

It’s only when you’re both in bed, the lights out, that those thoughts return, make themselves manifest.

The awkwardness you used to feel around him, the self-consciousness about your history, the pressure to keep him at a distance—it’s all faded so much into the background. Instead, your body hums with nerves, with a different kind of awareness. 

He looked at you a lot, today. Whenever you looked at him, he was already looking back. He made himself known with little touches here and there: on your back, your arms, your hands. You thought you’d imagined it yesterday, this morning, but—no. 

You’ve had partners before, both short and long term. That dance in the beginning, that will we, won’t we—you think you’re not imagining it here, with him. 

“Goodnight Bakugou,” you say quietly, in case he’s already asleep. You don’t trust yourself to look at him to check. Seeing him across sheets, soft and undone… you don’t trust yourself to look at him and keep these bubbling feelings inside.

“Night,” Bakugou says. 

When you wake, the sun isn’t even up. 

The room is dark, though it’s in hazy shadows that speak of a coming dawn. 

Blinking sleep away, you rub at your face and turn onto your side to reach for your phone. 

You freeze mid-motion. 

You’d forgotten Bakugou, sleeping in the other bed, still deep asleep. His face is restful, uncreased by a frown, though you can’t make out much more in the gloom. 

You look at him for a long moment. 

Quietly, you grab your phone off the bedside table and get out of bed, heading into the bathroom. You wash your face and brush your teeth before undressing and donning an onsen robe. You pad over to the sliding glass door leading out to the deck and open-air bath and step out. 

A simple shower sits in the corner of the deck, intended for rinsing off before bathing. You stand under the spray, scrubbing yourself down.

You want to use the open-air bath one more time before checking out. You want some time to yourself before you have to face the morning. Soaking in the steamy water, watching the sunrise—it’ll be a nice ending to this vacation. 

Suitably clean, you slip out of the robe, hanging it on a hook on the wall, before sliding into the bath.

It’s so hot it makes you hiss as you sink down, the steam visibly wafting in the air. The seats within the bath are at a perfect height for you to sit sideways in one of the corners, arms folded across the ledge. You rest your head on them.

The sky’s begun to change to a blue, with pink and orange streaking the horizon. You stare out into the distance, blinking slowly. 

You don’t regret spending so much time with Bakugou this weekend. You had a lot of fun, and when the alternative would’ve been a rather lonely couple of days, you’re grateful. You’re happy that you’ve grown closer, when it seemed an impossibility a couple days ago.

Knowing him as you do now—you like him so much. You like what you’ve learned about him, up close.

You feel guilty keeping your feelings from him; you want to tell him, but you’re not sure. You're teetering on the edge—are you reading too deeply into his words, his actions? Does he return your feelings? Or is his interest fleeting, just because of circumstance, likely to fade once you leave this ryokan behind? You don’t know. 

The sound of the sliding door opening jostles you from your thoughts. 

You turn just your head, keeping your front pressed against the side of the bath. 

Bakugou stands there, looking rumpled but forcibly alert. Like a tiger, just woken up from sleep, not sure what’d woken it up. Little water marks stain the front of his shirt, and the edges of his hair are damp, as if he’d washed his face. 

You stifle the urge to smile. 

“Good morning,” you say softly.

He grunts out what could be a greeting back.

“Did I wake you up?” you ask. “I’m sorry if I did.” 

“Y’didn’t,” he says. “I usually get up early.” 

Bakugou looks out over the pond, out at the trees on the far side, before looking at you.

“S’early for a bath,” he says. 

“Wanted to use it one last time while watching the sun rise.” You push your hair away from your face, where it’d begun to cling because of the steam. His gaze tracks your movement, the sluicing of water down your forearm. The bare line of your back. 

His eyes snap back up to yours, but it’s too late. You caught it. 

You watch him for a long moment. Take a deep breath. 

“Wanna join me?” 

He studies you. The longer the silence stretches, the more your nerves fray. 

You swallow, open your mouth to take it back. Maybe you’d imagined the look in his eyes. 

“You sure?” he asks. His voice is raspy with the remnants of sleep, deep with something else. His words are heavy with things unspoken, and you shiver despite the warmth of the water. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

He turns to the shower you’d just used, and you look away as he grips the back of his shirt, pulls it over his head, revealing a tantalizing expanse of skin. The broad breadth of his shoulders, the hard lines of muscle leading to his waist. Old scars, telling of the fights he’s survived, the fights he’s won. 

You whip your head forward, looking away, feeling impossibly warmer than you already are in this bath, steam rising around you. 

There’s the sound of clothes hitting the deck and the water turning on. 

You keep your eyes on the horizon, the peek of the sun over that line, even as you hear the shower shut off and his footsteps approach, even as the water level rises as he climbs in. 

Heart thumping fast against your chest, body tense with anticipation, it takes all your will not to startle when his hand touches your bare back. You shift to face him, and he’s close, so close. Like yesterday, and the day before, but today maybe he’s finally within your reach. 

“This what you wanted?” His hand slides down your skin, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. You reach a hand up to his face.

He stops you, grip encircling your wrist—a familiar motion. 

“Y’gotta say it,” Bakugou tells you. His eyes are molten red with the sunrise, heated. Your breath catches. 

“Yes, yes, wanted this,” you say, trying to move closer, and he huffs out a laugh, the glimmer of a satisfied smile on his lips. 

You look up at him, soft, putty in his hands. He’s so handsome like this. 

Unable to resist, you lean up to kiss his cheek. 

He turns his head as you retreat and kisses you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as your head tilts to press against his lips better. He’s warm. You only realize he’s let go of your wrist because your hands come up to brace against his chest, unfettered. His hand on your back grips your waist, and his free hand comes to rest on the other side. They’re searing against your skin. 

When he touches his tongue against your lips, a request, you open up for him, a door thrown all the way open. He kisses you deep, plundering, tongue sliding against yours slowly, sensually. The sound your mouths make when you part for air is filthy. 

You want to be closer, ever closer. When your chest touches his, nipples hard against his skin, he makes a rough noise against you that has you humming in pleasure. 

Fuck it, you think, and you shift so that you’re straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, skin to skin now. 

He’s half hard from just a few kisses, pressed against your lower belly. There’s an answering pulse in your sex that has you arching against him, craving friction. His hands slide to your ass, fingers dimpling into your skin, pulling you to him.

His mouth travels down your neck, biting gently here and there, sucking. His hand cups up to cup your chest, thumbs across your nipple. You gasp. 

He kisses you again, drinking you in like he can’t get enough. You’re dizzy with want. 

When you pull back for air, he’s breathing hard, and so are you. His eyes are hazy with arousal. You feel like you’ve been taken apart. 

“We movin’ too fast?” he asks.

You blink at him, mind fuzzy, slow to process. “Hm?”

Bakugou lifts a hand, cups the nape of your neck. His thumb glides against your skin, distracting. All you want is for him to keep kissing you. 

“Said we needa slow down.” 

“No,” you say immediately, and he snorts, lips curving. 

He disentangles himself from you, and the sudden space between you leaves you feeling bereft, adrift. 

He stands, completely unselfconscious despite his nudity and visible arousal, and steps out of the water. You watch as he walks over to where you’ve hung your robe and returns to the edge of the bath. He holds the robe open.

“Let’s go inside,” he says. “You've been in there too long.”

Leaving the bath feels a little like Bakugou’s broken a spell that’d fallen over the two of you. You’re not sure what’s going to happen next, and it makes you a little anxious. 

But he’s right. You’ve been in here too long, and you’re a little lightheaded from the heat. 

With a quiet thanks, you step into the robe, the cloth immediately clinging to your damp skin. As you tie it closed, he rubs his lower half down with his discarded shirt and picks up the pants he wore to sleep, puts them on. Then he opens the sliding door, nudges you inside. He heads to the kitchen area. 

You stand there for a second, unsure of what to do with yourself. You wish you knew what he’s thinking. 

“Hey, c’mere. Drink this.” Bakugou returns with a water bottle in his hand. He gives it to you, then corrals you towards one of the beds. “Sit down, you’re swaying like you’re a damn penguin.”

This startles a laugh out of you, and you shake your head, twisting the water bottle open and taking a drink. Bakugou sits next to you, close, legs pressing against each other. He’s still shirtless, a couple drops of water still dripping down his torso here and there. 

You like him so much. You inhale. 

“I’ve liked you since we were teenagers, though I don’t think you noticed,” you say, avoiding his eyes. Your heart is racing. “I don’t think we’re moving too fast if you don’t.” 

Bakugou snorts. “I noticed.”

You turn your head sharply to stare at him for a moment. He gives you one of his mean little grins that has you feeling warm, self-conscious, because it makes him so boyishly handsome.

Groaning, you cover your face with your hands. “Can you just… find someone with a memory quirk and erase all your memories of me back then? Thanks. It was a super embarrassing time of my life.”

Bakugou takes your wrists in his hands, pushing them down so he can see you unhindered. He leans forward and kisses the side of your head, your ear. 

“You saying it was embarrassing, liking me?” he rumbles against you. You shiver. 

“The way I went about liking you was,” you mutter. He snickers, and you shove him. 

After a halting moment, you ask, “Umm… So I thought you barely knew I existed, before this weekend. What…?”

You’re not sure how to finish your sentence. And you hate yourself a little for bringing this up, for potentially killing the mood. But you have to know if this is just a casual thing or—or something else. You don’t know what you’ll do with the answer, but. You want to know. 

He looks at you for a long moment, considering. 

“Only thing I cared about while I was at UA was being the best,” he says, at last. “After the war—I knew I needed to be stronger, to be strong enough. So much shit needed to change. Didn’t have much use for dating.”

“Right,” you say quietly. The years after the war were hard for Japan. So many systems were dismantled and built anew. Some older heroes lost their faith in what they did; the younger ones struggled with the trauma of what they’d lived through. Everyone, hero or not, had to rebuild their lives.

You understand. And Bakugou’s always been so driven and focused with anything he puts his mind to. He’s been instrumental in shaping what this new generation of heroes looks like. 

Bakugou reaches over, puts a hand on your thigh. Even over the cloth of the robe, his warmth reaches your skin. He doesn’t do anything more, just rests it there. Distracting. Sending goosebumps across your body. 

“You were always around, these past couple of years. Hangin’ around Soy Sauce Face and his girl. But you were always fucking running away. What the hell was up with that?” 

Bakugou scowls at you, squeezing your leg a little, and your mind scatters. It takes a moment to gather yourself and process what he’s asked. When you do, you frown. 

“What do you mean, I was always running away?”

“You tell me,” Bakugou growls. 

When you continue to look mystified, Bakugou’s scowl deepens. 

“Whenever I tried to talk to you, you’d scurry away, like a little mouse,” he says. “Didn’t even get to say shit before you’d be gone, hiding behind Tape Head or his girl.” 

As he talks, puzzle pieces begin to fit together in your head. 

When you’d see him at get-togethers, you’d always worried about how you’d come across to him—that he’d be able to tell your crush on him had endured, that it’d become more. So maybe you overcompensated a little. You tried to play it cool, super disinterested in prolonged engagement, and when you could… maybe you did avoid him a little. 

You didn’t realize he’d notice, let alone be bothered by it. 

“Oh,” is all you can manage. 

He narrows his eyes at you. “S’only here that I’ve been able to really talk to you. No Soy Sauce Face. No Soy Sauce girlfriend.”

“Sorry,” you tell him, meek. “I… I’m gonna die, this is so embarrassing.”

You look up at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. “I was trying to keep my distance because this dumb crush on you never went away. And you were obviously not interested, so I wanted to be respectful. Sorry I made things weird instead.”

Realization hits you, and you turn your head to him. “Wait, so—you are… interested…?” 

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “You think I was going to all these dumb hangouts this past year just because I wanted to be there?” 

Oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure what he sees in your face, but he barks out a laugh. He reaches over and takes your face in his hand, squeezes so that your lips and cheeks puff out. 

“For someone so smart, you can be a dumbass, huh,” he says, and his tone is so warm that you don’t even mind. 

You wriggle out of his grip. He lets you, watching you. Your hand drops to your robe’s tie. You undo it. It loosens on your frame. 

You take one of his hands and slip it under the robe, sliding his hand across your skin. The motion bares you to his eyes as the robe falls open. 

“Not moving too fast,” you tell him, and his gaze is so heated, you feel like you’re burning up. 

Bakugou leans forward and kisses you hard. You open up for him immediately, letting his tongue dart in and tangle with yours. Your arms come up to wrap around his neck as you press closer. He shifts so that his body covers yours, and he slowly tilts you back so that you’re lying across the bed.

You love the feeling of his weight on you. You arch up to put pressure against his cock, steadily hardening, and he grunts against your mouth, grinding down onto you in an instinctive motion. 

When you part for breath, he mouths at your neck, biting gently. You squirm, can only clutch at his back. 

“Bakugou,” you say, and his name’s half air.

“S’Katsuki,” he tells you as his lips travel down your body. He takes your nipple in his mouth and sucks. His hand comes up to tease the other one, squeezing, groping your chest. Your legs tighten around his waist, grinding against his bare abdomen, seeking friction to soothe the heat in your sex. 

Bakugou pins you, stopping any motion. He lifts himself up a little, and you whine. 

His gaze drops to your lips, kiss-swollen. His eyes warm, go half-lidded. “Y’hear me? Say it.” 

“Hmm?” You’re so far gone, turned on out of your mind. You just want him inside of you.

You try to press against him, but he pins you with hands on your hips. 

“It’s Katsuki to you,” he says, and you shiver. You put your hands on either side of his face. 

“Katsuki, please,” you say, and you only get a glimpse of his curved lips before they’re on yours again, swallowing you up. 

He gets you fully out of the robe, tosses it aside somewhere. When you wordlessly push at his pants, he takes those off too. 

Skin to skin friction has the both of you so worked up. He’s so hard against you. You want to touch him, so you do, hand wrapping around him and stroking the silky skin. 

He groans, and you’re on fire. 

But Bakugou grips your wrist, stops your caress. He repositions your arms so that your hands are up by your head. 

“You keep them there,” he tells you as he moves down your body, and before you can ask why, his fingers are grazing over your clit, thumbing at it. 

You arch, gasping, and he teases his fingers over your slit, feels how wet you are. He massages slow circles into your clit, and you’re clenching inside, wanting. 

“Please,” you say, throwing an arm over your face, overwhelmed. Bakugou huffs a laugh against your abdomen, pressing a kiss there. He pushes a finger inside you, stretching you. He’s gentle, going slow and paying close attention to your reactions to see if anything hurts.

But he’s going too slow—it’s not enough. 

“More,” you tell him. “It’s okay, more.” 

So he adds another finger, and your pussy flutters around him as he begins to loosen you up, pumping them in and out, curling them when they’re inside you. You’re so slick that your sex makes a filthy wet sound as he plays with you. 

“Fuck,” you say, mind splitting apart. You kiss him, messy, and he just feels so good. It’s such a pleasurable stretch when he adds a third finger. 

When he takes all of his fingers out, your body chases him, arching. You’re so close. 

“Katsuki,” you begin, just as he puts his mouth on your clit and sucks. 

Your entire body shudders, and he licks up and down your slit, tongue dipping inside you. Your hips begin to undulate as you begin to peak, your hands gripping the sheets on either side of you. 

You come as his tongue flicks at your clit, gasping your pleasure. 

He wraps a big hand around your waist as you ride it out, mouthing at your inner thighs. 

You’re breathing hard, little shivers going through you in tiny aftershocks. Bakugou comes back up the bed, wrapping his arms around you. You immediately turn your head for a kiss, tasting yourself on him. 

His cock’s still so hard, pressed against your leg, your ass. You’re not done yet. You want to make him feel good. 

You reach down and take him in hand. It’s so big with how turned on he is, just from giving you pleasure, and it twitches in your grasp. His hips jerk, searching for relief. 

“Want you inside,” you tell him, and his eyes are searing. 

You shift so that you’re on top of him, pussy pressed against the line of his dick. He’s throbbing against you, and it’s a little mean, but you grind your hips down on him, moving so that he slides up and down your slit. The tip of his cock slips over your entrance over and over again, pushing in a little but not quite. 

Bakugou grips your waist with two hands to halt you. You bite your lip to hide a smile. 

“Brat,” he growls, dangerous.

In answer, you take him in your hand and position the tip of his dick right at your entrance and slowly sink down. 

His eyes drop to watch his cock enter you, inch by inch, and his grip on you is nearly bruising, fingers indenting your skin. You’re still sensitive, clenching around him, but you’re taking him so easy because you’re still wet from your orgasm. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Bakugou says, and he says it so low, guttural, that you tighten around him. The look on his face is working you up; it’s an intoxicating expression of desire.

You begin moving, lifting up and down on his cock. His eyes are cloudy with want as he watches you on top of him, you with your tits bouncing. He reaches up to cup your breast. Leaning forward, you kiss him, and his answer is hungry as your pace quickens. You pant into his mouth. 

But you think maybe you’re not going fast enough for him. He’s careful with you, but looking down at him, you can tell he’s holding back. 

So you stop, lift up off of him, let him slip out of you.

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, and his next movements are so fast.

Bakugou lifts you up off of him and presses you back into the bed. He takes your legs, spreads them so they’re straddling his hips, and he’s back inside of you with a hard thrust. Gripping your waist, he chases his pleasure, slamming his cock in you over and over again.

The sudden intense friction against your walls has you climbing that peak again, and you clutch at his back. As if sensing it, he slips a hand down between the two of you to massage circles into your clit. He catches your moan in his mouth. 

“Katsuki,” you say, just as you begin convulsing around him, feverish, nails digging into his skin. 

“Fuck, you’re so—” he growls as you continue to tense up around him, fluttering, and then he’s following you over. You can feel his warmth as he comes in you, his big body coming to rest against yours. He kisses the side of your head, your forehead, your mouth. You smile against him. 

Sleep comes for the both of you, for a while. You’re not sure if it’s been minutes or hours when you come to, but when you do, soft morning light floods the room. 

You jolt up in a panic. Looking around, you search for your phone. You move to get out of bed when you don’t immediately find it. 

“Where the hell’re you going,” Bakugou grumbles. He throws an arm over your waist and mouths at your hip.

“We gotta get packing, Katsuki,” you say, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Or at least I do! I’m checking out this morning.”

“Stay another day,” he says, voice a little growly and his eyes closed, and you stop. “I know you’ve got a shit ton of leave saved up.”

“And how would you know that?” you ask. You put your hand on his head, thread it through his blond hair.

“Tape Head said you haven’t taken off in forever,” he says. 

Bakugou opens his eyes, looks up at you. He presses a kiss against your skin. Bites you gently. 

“Stay with me,” he tells you.

And what else can you say but yes?

Final Notes: And we're done! Thank you all of you for following this little labor of love to its conclusion. 💖 Bakugou's birthday fic's finally completed, over a month after the fact.

A couple things! Some of you caught on to the fact that Bakugou being at this onsen ryokan at the same time as reader was a little fishy—you were so right. Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari gifted Bakugou the reservation for his birthday, knowing that you would be there with Rie, knowing Bakugou's been interested in you for a while now. (Bakugou knew something was up immediately after he saw you at the ryokan.) Rie having to leave was purely coincidental, but it turned out to be a happy coincidence!

(I love you guys; the comments you left last chapter and the conversation you guys were having with each other made me laugh.)

The location for the hike is based off Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park, specifically the Mount Amagi hikes, with a lot of creative liberty taken.

I think the only Japanese used here was a mention of onigiri, which are rice balls with a seaweed wrapping with various fillings inside.

Once again, thank you for reading! All your likes, reblogs, comments—I appreciate them so much. Hugs and kisses, and until next time! ✨💞

Tag List: @blairbellerose @yeehawgiddyup13 @reads-stuff-quietly @surprisemodafakas @scarlett-witchh @queenpiranhadon @sleepyyhabii @j-pendragonx @bakunianadecorazon @dreamingoftomorrow @nonamebbsblog @gina239 @seabass17 @dynakats @I-bozo-I @humblechumbble @universal-s1ut @sweetblueworm @kukikoooo @liluvtojineteyam @nemisimp @bkgnotsuma @poemzcheng @farrowroyale @simp-plague @dreamingoftomorrow @mystic60 @k0z3me @buzzyandbadatmath @anicaaa67 @icedemon1314 @lovra974 @andyetshewrote @frostbez @mo0nforme @mrsjna @pinkpurpledreams

[aerequets]

this was a commission for the lovely @nightofnyx8 for her AMAZING AMAZING fic The Woman in Red!!

this scene is right at the end of chapter 3. if you have not read this fic i HIGHLY recommend it! im pretty sure i have recommended it before already HAHA but now i got to draw one of my favorite scenes. i dont want to spoil but it just makes me crazy fr. they're just so...!!! HNNNGHHH!! i've literally read it like 3 times. if you like protective loid + badass yor + the best, coldest serving of revenge justice, you need to read this story! her writing is absolutely amazing and im not gassing this up bc she commissioned me LMAO its genuinely just so good. if ur still reading my little rant pls go read woman in red its 7 chapters and its completed and. Sigh. time for another reread

[aromanthiccc]

I know the sound of your heartbeat

[drewsephrry]

Drew Starkey via his sister's Mackayla instagram

[elliethefroggy]

Buck doesn’t let his jealousy get the better of him, doesn’t body check Eddie at the basket ball match, Tommy doesn’t go over to his apartment, there is no kiss, Tommy does not ask Buck out on a date.

What happens instead is this:

Tommy becomes an honorary 118 member, starts hanging out more and more with everyone from 118. By extension, Tommy starts spending more and more time around Buck. Tommy finds it very inconvenient when he starts crushing on a supposedly straight Buck (Tommy tries to resist but that resistance crumbles every time Buck smiles at him).

Queue Tommy secretly pining over Buck, and sighing longingly whenever he catches a glimpse of Buck.

Now in my mind, Tommy and Chimney remained pretty close after Tommy left, close enough for Tommy to drop everything the moment Chim calls to steal a helicopter. Chim also undoubtebly knows about Tommy’s sexuality.

This means that Chim is witness to Tommy’s pathetic pining. This also means that Chim is there to catch Tommy spending far too much time looking longingly at Buck’s various assets.

“Buck’s going to remain straight no matter how long you stare at his ass,” Chim reminds Tommy. This is not the first time Chim has had to remind Tommy of this.

Tommy sighs despondently, “I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view.”

“This wouldn’t be nearly as difficult if Evan didn’t have both gorgeous looks and gorgeous personality,” Tommy says one night at a bar. Being a good friend, Chim has started taking Tommy out whenever Buck’s straightness becomes too much for Tommy to bear.

“He’s just so adorable,” Tommy continues.

“I know, buddy,” Chim says, patting Tommy on the back (Chim has also had to pat Tommy on the back a lot as of late).

“Are we sure Evan’s straight?” Tommy asks after the first beer.

Chim, with absolute certainty, says “Yes, now get over yourself, you sad, sad man.” And then Chim buys Tommy another beer because he’s a good friend.

And because Chim is such an amazing friend, Chim can’t help but pay attention whenever Buck and Tommy interact, mostly to make sure Tommy doesn’t make too much of a fool of himself.

Which means he’s also watching Buck, and he’s watching Buck watch Tommy.

And that’s when the doubt creeps in.

Chim’s known Buck for a few years now, has seen what Buck is like around women he’s attracted to, knows what Buck’s pining face looks like.

And he’s seeing that face now whenever Buck looks over at Tommy.

At first Chim doesn’t believe his eyes, figuring that listening to Tommy compliment every single aspect of Buck from his eyelashes to his laugh has corrupted Chim’s brain, making Chim see things that aren’t there.

Because Buck’s straight.

Right?

The more Chim watches, the less he’s sure. Because there’s Buck being somehow both endearingly awkward and seamlessly smooth around Tommy. There’s Buck spending way to long gazing into Tommy’s eyes, and staring at Tommy whenever Tommy’s not looking. There’s Buck zeroing in on Tommy every time Tommy enters the room; There’s Buck holding onto every word coming out Tommy’s mouth. There’s Buck laughing at every one of Tommy’s jokes (and, sure, Tommy’s a funny guy with a real dry sense of humour, but he’s not that funny).

If Chimney didn’t know any better, he would say that Tommy’s not the only one who’s got a crush.

All signs are pointing to Buck wanting to hold Tommy’s hand, go on romantic walks along the beach with Tommy, as well as do more than PG13 things to Tommy.

Does Tommy actually stand a chance?

Chim doesn’t want to get Tommy’s hopes up straight away. He needs to make sure that his hunch is correct. He needs to gather more data.

So Chim starts inviting Buck and Tommy everywhere he can think of, and then pretends to take a really long time in the bathroom so that Buck and Tommy can have some alone time while Chim is hiding behind a bush or a potted plant depending on the location, spying on them.

Tommy, because he’s a very observant person, notices Chim in the bush with binoculars pointed at where Tommy and Buck are seated, and confronts Chimney after Buck has gone home.

And Chim can’t keep a secret for shit, so of course he tells Tommy about his doubtS even though he really doesn't want to disappoint Tommy if it turns out that his hunch is wrong.

“I’ll keep investigating,” Chimney says, once again patting Tommy on the back, watching hope bloom on Tommy’s face.

Chim continues inviting Tommy and Buck to hang out, sometimes inviting others as well to avoid suspicion (Buck isn’t suspicious at all, but Hen has start narrowing her eyes at Chimney).

Tommy calls it torture, Chim call it science. Oblivious Buck is just concerned about the amount of time Chim spends in the bathroom. He asks Chimney if Chim’s having any any bowel problems. Chimney insists he doesn’t, but Buck figures Chim’s either putting on a brave face or is too embarrassed. Buck doesn’t bring it up again, but he does leaves some pamplets regarding bowel problems and their causes in Chim’s locker as well as sends Chim links to various medical websites.

Chim is mortified. Tommy finds it hilarious. Chim decides to attempt a different approach.

To try and throw Hen off the sent and to further advance his research, he gets Karen to drag them all to a gay bar to see how Buck reacts around other queer men (Karen is very amiable once Chim tells her of his suspicions; she always enjoys gossip).

Chim and Karen sit opposite Tommy and Buck, the better to observe them. Eddie, poor confused Eddie had to be discretely elbowed aside when he tried to sit next to Buck, and has been dragged next to Karen, supposedly so that Karen can arrange a play-date between Christoper, Denny and Mara. Though Karen is paying much more attention to Buck’s every micro-expressions than any word coming out of Eddie’s mouth.

Unfortunately, the gay club is a bust because Buck’s too busy learning about monster trucks from Tommy to pay attention to any other attractive man at in the bar. It’s hard to tell if Buck’s attention is due to an attraction to Tommy or if he’s just really interested in soaking up new information in that spongy brain of his.

Chim starts leaving queer memoirs scattered around the fire station (Karen gives excellent book recommendations).

Chim starts commenting on attractive men they see on the tele when it’s a particularly slow day at the station. He does this to such an extent that some of the members of B shift are wondering if Chim’s the one with a case of latent bisexuality. That thought is strengthened in their minds when Chimney starts bringing some those magazines with the romance quizzes in them: ‘Best guy for you’; ‘Your ideal guy’; ‘What your celebrity crushes say about your love life’; ‘Take this quiz to reveal your partner’s star sign’; etc.

Then Chim very loudly goes on about how gay and single Tommy is whenever Buck is in earshot (and now some of B shift think Chim’s planning on leaving Maddie for Tommy).

The first time Chim brings up how gay and single Tommy is, Tommy takes him aside to ask him what the hell that was about.

Chim says in response, “Listen, if Buck isn’t 100% straight, he needs to be aware that you’re on the market so that he doesn’t go check out all the other male fish in the sea.”

Buck doesn’t make a big deal out of Tommy being gay, acts his usual self. Though he does manage to slip into conversation that he’s an ally. And when Buck does that, Tommy feel his hope to one day hold Buck’s hand during a romantic sunset walk along the beach shrivels up a little inside him. Chim gives Tommy yet another commiserating pat on the back, and takes Tommy to a bar later that night so that Tommy can drink his problems away.

Meanwhile, Buck knows that Tommy being gay isn’t a big deal, but for some reason Buck can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s not like he’s ever had a problem with anyone’s sexuality before, so what is it about Tommy?

And representation really does matter. Here Buck is, being confronted with a Man, a big, muscular man like himself, who enjoys going to the gym like himself, who’s in a similar profession to him. And this man is gay.

And that’s going to cause something in his mind to shift. Maybe he doesn’t notice that shift at first, maybe it’s only subconsciously.

Maybe he’s going to start picking up a few of those memoirs that Chim’s been leaving around; Buck’s always been fond of non-fiction after all.

Maybe he’s going to ask Hen and Karen about their experiences figuring out their sexuality, their coming out stories (during this conversation, Karen will be staring intently at Buck, looking for any signs of the queer thoughts Buck may or may not be having).

(Chim is very happy with this because pointedly asking Hen and Karen about their queer experience was next on his game plan.)

Buck doesn’t ask Tommy about his sexuality though, not yet at least. Buck can’t seem to bring himself to ask Tommy. Though he doesn’t know why.

Then Buck does as Buck does best and goes on a research binge about all the different sexualities, but more specifically bisexuality (I imagine there is at least one sexuality quiz during that research binge).

And, at the end of that research binge, the results are conclusive. Buck is bisexual. Maybe he says that out loud in his empty apartment “I am bisexual” and it feels right and it feels so very exciting.

Once he realises that he’s bisexual, a lot of things start making sense. Including Tommy’s ass. Tommy’s very fine ass that Buck can’t help but stare at. And Tommy’s eyes. And Tommy’s hands as well. And Tommy’s laugh; And definitely Tommy’s smile. Basically all of Tommy.

Buck keeps his newly discovered sexuality to himself for a bit, wanting some time to himself to live in this new reality of his, basking in this new part of himself.

Also so that he can spend a few days staring at attractive guys without any knowing looks from his loved ones.

Turns out he spends most of those few days staring at Tommy which, again, makes sense.

Because he is such an open book, it doesn’t take Buck long to come out.

He decides to tell everyone at the next get-together. They’re all outside, having another barbecue at Bobby’s and Athena’s. Tommy is also present for this.

Everyone is of course supportive and happy for Buck. Chim is forcing himself to stay still, even though he really wants to jump up and down, high-five Karen, high-five Tommy, and then shove Tommy in Buck’s lap.

Meanwhile, Tommy is in his chair, having a deer-in-the headlights moment, staring up at Buck, wide-eyed, slightly pale, a forkful of potato salad halfway to his mouth. Tommy is so frozen that Chim has to nudge him so that his fork continues its journey to his mouth.

Tommy chews on the potatoes mechanically, no longer paying attention to the delicious taste that he’d been previously enjoying, too busy trying to act normal and trying to rein in his growing hope. By Chim’s side-eyes, Tommy isn’t doing a great job.

As the night goes on, Tommy forces himself to not approach Buck no matter how much he wants to, mostly because has forgotten how to act like a normal human being.

But then Buck is right there, in front of him.

“Hey,” Buck says.

“Hi,” Tommy replies. So far so good.

Buck is looking at him, and Tommy is trying to remember what he’s meant to do with his hands.

“Congratulations,” Tommy forces out because congratulations are definitely in order, “How are you feeling?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Good,” Buck says in that sincere way that comes so naturally to him.

“Yeah?

“Yeah, great. I feel, I don’t know, lighter I guess. I mean, I’m still me, but now I know why I spend so much time staring at men’s asses.”

Tommy snorts, “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

There’s a pause. Buck’s staring at Tommy, and Tommy’s staring at Buck, and neither want to look away.

“Hey,” Buck finally says, “tell me if I’m completely off base, but there’s this little Italian restaurant I’ve been meaning to try, and I was wondering if you’d want to come with me.” Buck stops, swallows. Tommy watches his adam’s apple move. Buck continues “Like, as a date.”

Tommy forces his eyes back up away from Buck’s neck.

“A date?” Tommy repeats, the hope inside him soaring.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Tommy says, smiling, not sure if he can believe what he’s hearing.

“Okay,” Buck says, smiling back. It’s a smile so soft that Tommy wants to trace it with his fingers, but they’re definitely not there yet and Tommy’s trying to act normal.

“Okay,” Buck repeats a little breathlessly, that soft smile still in place.

(During this whole interaction, Chimney is hiding in a bush, binoculars in hand. Karen is at his side, asking him what they’re saying.

“I can’t read lips!” Chim says, though he tries anyway with mixed results.

But then, Hen comes along and puts a stop to it, dragging Chim and Karen out of the bush and confiscating Chim’s binoculars.)

[mangostarjam]

sparring accidents — kaiju no. 8, fluff, kissing, hoshina soshiro x female reader, use of "sweetheart" as a pet name, 1.3k words — part one and two

"Did you… get a haircut?" 

Your Vice Captain — no. Your boyfriend — freezes in the act of reaching out to tug you closer, one calloused hand wrapped around your wrist loosely. 

"... No?" 

You peer up at him. "It looks like you got a haircut. Your bangs are kinda… choppy? What the heck?" 

Hoshina Soshiro finishes tugging you closer and basks in the easy grin you flash at him, relaxing in your presence as he smiles back. "Wanna check?" 

He's teasing. Soshiro likes the way you get flustered when he does things like this — when he gets into your personal space and invites you into his, when he navigates the new lines around your relationship and you draw some of your own. 

For instance: pulling you closer? Perfectly okay, except when in front of the Captain or any higher ups, because you get worried they'll transfer you to another platoon. Any public displays of affection in front of higher ups are actually off the table entirely. In fact Soshiro sometimes wonders if Captain Ashiro even knows the two of you are dating. 

In front of the others, though, you don't mind the occasional hand touch or his arm draped across the back of your chair. You seem to have a thing for touching his biceps, too — your hands always seem to drift towards them when you're passing him in the halls or tugging him closer to look at something on your computer screen. 

And if both of you are off duty, you'll hold his hand freely. Soshiro likes that the most. You've gotten so comfortable with it, too — reaching back somewhat blindly for his hand, always knowing he'll lace his fingers with yours as soon as he notices, even when he's watching the way your eyes light up over some new book on display or a new dessert you want to share with him. 

It makes his chest ache something fierce, thinking about that trust that he'll be there to hold your hand. 

Man, he really likes you. 

"You'll have to bend a little if you want me to check," you say dubiously, and Soshiro laughs. 

"Need a lift, sweetheart?" 

"Don't you dare," you say flatly, stretching up on tiptoes and cupping his face in your hands. 

The movement brings your face very close to his face, but before he can even glance at your lips you've tugged his head down. You hum as you examine his hair, flipping the strands this way and that, and Soshiro pretends like his heart rate is normal. 

"What's the verdict?" 

"It looks like you got a silly uneven haircut while sparring. Were you guys using real blades?" You drop back on your heels, but your hands drift down to rest on his shoulders and he clears his throat nervously at the way your chest brushes against his — you're standing so close. 

The study room isn't empty. Soshiro can hear officers nearby, the shuffling of papers, the gentle ribbing between teammates. He found you among the shelves, though, and nobody's close enough to see him settle his hands on the gentle dip of your waist beneath your lab coat. 

"You think my hair looks silly?" 

He doesn't keep the pout from his voice, and he's rewarded when you giggle and lean closer. His thumbs rub soothingly along your shirt and skirt, basking in the warmth of you so close to him. 

"Hoshina-kun, don't avoid the question!" 

"Aw, alright," he sighs, "we were usin' real blades, but I swear to ya that we were bein' careful!" 

"I know you're fast, but I guess your hair wasn't fast enough to escape, too," you say. Soshiro snorts. "It's unfair, though, because even with a silly haircut you still look good." 

Your shirt is loose, untucked after the long shift. His thumbs slip beneath your shirt and rub along the bare skin of your waist. He freezes for a split second, but you just sway closer to him. You're blushing. Oh. Your chest is pushing up against his, now, and your skin is so warm and soft and — 

"Can you please kiss me already?" 

Ah. Yeah, he can do that. He can definitely do that, no problem, you've been dating for a few months now and he's been wanting to kiss you and this is a perfect time to do that since nobody's around and you're already in his arms and your hands are shoving him downwards and — 

Oh. Your lips are soft. A little chapped. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears. 

"Hoshina-kun," you pull back slightly to huff a laugh, tilting your head. Soshiro can feel your lips move against his own as you whisper and it makes his head spin. "C'mon, kiss me." 

You kiss him again and he groans, blood rushing through his body as he draws you closer, follows your lead and tilts his head, moves his lips against yours firmly as you kiss and kiss and kiss. 

You taste a little sweet, like that strawberry pocky you like to snack on. He makes a strangled sound when you part your mouth and nip softly at his bottom lip, the slight pinch going straight south in a way that'd be concerning with how closely you're pressing up against him except you just sink your fingers into the soft fluff of his hair and sigh. 

Oh, he'd do anything to hear you sigh like that again. Soshiro chases your lips when you try to pull away, snickering as you laugh and scratch at his undercut. "Someone might come by," you whisper, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. 

"I'll order them to leave," he whispers back, fingers loosening on your waist. He's left marks, probably, from how hard he was holding you, but you don't seem to mind. "We're off duty, anyway, ain't we?" 

"Yeah, but we're still at work," you point out. Your eyes are sparkling under the study room lights and you're a little breathless. Soshiro wants to memorize the way you're glowing from the inside out. "It's almost time for dinner." 

"But what about my hair?" 

Your smile tilts into something fond as you scratch at his undercut again, sliding your fingers into the silky strands further up his head. "Don't worry, I don't think anyone else will notice your haircut." 

Soshiro grins. "Are you fussin' over me right now?" 

"Shut up," you say, but there's clear affection lacing through your tone. "I might've… been a little too enthusiastic. Stay still and let me fix your hair." 

He obliges, keeping his hands lightly at your waist to help you balance as you comb his purple strands back into place. The calm between the two of you is peaceful. Soshiro likes moments like these, holds them close to his heart and lets them shine in his mind's eye as he breathes before heading onto the battlefield. 

He feels your nails dig slightly into the back of his neck as you pull yourself up to kiss him again, a sweet, smiling kiss that makes him grin. "Careful, sweetheart, or we'll be here all night." 

"No way, mister," you say, "they're serving oyakodon tonight with your favorite Mont Blanc for dessert. I asked Captain Ashiro if we could get it on the menu this week." 

"For me?" Soshiro can't keep the surprise out of his voice. You tug at his collar, pulling it back into place and smoothing your hands along his shoulders and chest. Your hands are trembling, just a little bit. 

"Yeah. You've been working really hard and I thought you could use a boost." 

"Hmm," he leans down to kiss you lightly, basking in the ability to just do this now. "You're all I need for a boost, sweetheart. But thank you, I appreciate it." 

"Don't expect kisses before you go into battle," you say, but you're giggling as he leans down for another sweet kiss. He admires the sweep of your lashes against your cheeks and nearly misses your next words. "I won't be held responsible for distracting you." 

"What about as a reward?" 

Your lashes flutter and he kisses you again, warmth curling and settling deep in his chest. His jacket crumples as you clutch at him for balance and he grins back at you, soft. 

"As long as you don't come back with any weird haircuts." 

[mrghostrat]

Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up

i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰

[eggsdrawings]

miruko doesnt rock with dabihawks ‼️

[envy-of-the-apple]

Dark! Gojo Satoru x reader (Soulmate Au blurb)

(warnings: dark content, implied kidnapping, implied noncon, masochism)

I really like the idea of soulmates in the JJK world. They're rare, but the reason why they're so coveted is because they are the only person in the world who is immune to their soulmate's cursed technique. 

Being Gojo's soulmate would be like hitting the jackpot, at first. You're a regular person, with no cursed energy. Maybe you and Satoru's hands bump into each other while you're at a cafe, grabbing your respective drinks. To you, it's just an accident. You apologize, make your way out. 

To him, it's like submerging himself into an ice bath. For the first time in years, someone had gotten past his limitless technique. It was so unexpected, and real, and so warm.

Your hands were warm. 

It's the thrill of it that gets him first. The unexpected. No one's ever come close to him. He is the summit of the mountain. The strongest. And yet, there you were, effortlessly able to bypass his barriers without even trying. With women, with Geto, he'd always have to turn his technique off. He'd have to let them do something to him. You could do anything to him, and his powers wouldn't even stop you. You could kick him, punch him, bite him. Anything you wanted, and for once, he'd be powerless to stop you.

He can't detect you with his six eyes. It makes the hunt even better when he catches up to you. It's days of stalking and harassment and the touching that finally makes you snap and slap him. 

It hurts. 

It hurts and he fucking loves it. 

He already made up his mind days ago, but this only cemented it. When he finally takes you home, to his bed, it's euphoric. You scratch and bite and scream and hurt him over and over again. Hours later, when you've passed out from sheer exhaustion, he has more bruises than you do. They'll fade eventually, but that's okay. 

You could always make more. 

[ahhrenata]

distractions ✨

[bluerosefox]

Hey once again looking for a fic (or was it a prompt?) where Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were fighting the 'stronger' versions of themselfs from different timelines/realms.

Dick was fighting Vampire King Dick Jason was fighting some sort of eldritch monster of himself Damian was fighting 'himself' that was actually Ra's in his body and meanwhile Tim.

Tim's other self was Ghost King Danny who wasn't fighting him because just because he was strongest version doesn't mean they had to fight. and they instead team up!

I forgot to save it when I read it. Can anyone help me out? (will delete this post when found the story btw)

[marigoldenblooms]

An Important Lesson - One-Shot

Pairing: Professor!Wanda x Fem!Reader (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Prompt: After years of rigorous study, you were nearing the end of your graduate program. Companionship had become a figment of your imagination, until your film professor caught your eye. Taking something from her desk, you hope you could catch hers- and you got more than you bargained for.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Who is Y/N I don’t know her, Dom!Wanda, Sub!Reader, Porn with plot, teasing, orgasm denial, vibrator use, thigh riding, Mommy kink, Professor kink (sparingly), no aftercare, slight dub-con, dumbification, praise, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance (professor/student), age gap (Reader is 26 while Wanda is 34), brat taming if you squint. 

A/N: Holy balls, I did not realize smut was so hard to write. Major kudos to all who seem to do it so effortlessly! I know I envy ‘em. This is my first foray into writing this kind of fic (my university’s spring break has brought a lot of writing firsts), so if you have any feedback I’d love to hear it! This is also vaguely proofread! Wanted to do some practice before the evental sex in Unica Sempter Avis (Because USA is certainly an Abbreviation of All Time), and other ideas I’ve got cooking up. I'd love to write another part to this, if y'all would be down! Thanks y'all again!  Edit: An Important Lesson is getting a second part! Read a teaser here! >:)

Word Count: 2.5k - Read length: 9 minutes, 5 seconds.  Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners! ~~~ 

The pen hadn’t been worth stealing, and yet here you were. 

Professor Maximoff’s classroom was overwhelmingly quiet, dark and empty with familiar rows of tables curved in a half arc around her desk, pushed off to the side. She’d always pace within the front few rows where you sat, and you’d have to crane your neck to keep her in view when you weren’t scribbling down paraphrases of what she said. She taught Advanced Film and Media Critique, which generally lended itself to analyzing the shit out of old TV shows. Maximoff was a difficult professor, but you weren’t looking for easy, especially in your graduate program. After a few years of working your ass off to make enough money, you’d wiped the floor with your bachelors and now you were vying for your masters, in your last few weeks of grad school. And you knew Professor Maximoff liked you, which didn’t make it so bad. 

You knew other things about her too - for instance, there was no way she wasn’t a lesbian. Whenever you’d raise your hand her eyes would snap to you, and you swear her face would curl into a smile that was beyond professional. You’d catch her staring in your direction during exams on multiple occasions (to be fair you did the same when she wasn’t looking, but that’s besides the point), and you swear up and down that she winked at you during your midterm. She’d hold onto your hand a little too long when you turned in papers, and always offered ‘tutoring’ sessions which you humbly declined in the beginning of the semester, your grade being nigh perfect in her course. Between that, the short nails, tailored suits, and the rings- oh, so many rings- there was no way your professor wasn’t gay, and possibly had the hots for you. Your studies had been your priority over companionship for so long,  And now, within a few weeks of your final, why not make a move?

Heist films had been the topic of last week’s lecture, and so nicking something small would be a good segway, right? You’d return it to her tomorrow after class, mention something flirty (perhaps about stealing her heart), and see where it went. If you were lucky, you’d have her number by the end of the course, and perhaps take the older woman to coffee after your final exam. You’d bring her to the movies, but that might turn into more of a lesson than a date. 

As you’d pluck a pen from one of her desk drawers, you notice that it was slightly heavier than most. You clicked it once, then a second time- and nothing happened, so it went into your pockets. You’d move to exit the dim room, before a plaque caught your eye- her degree. It was neatly pressed into its frame: Wanda Maximoff, Masters of Arts in Film and Media Studies. You remembered her mentioning she was working on her doctorate, a proud grin sparking at that. Perhaps you’d get to know more about her dissertation and herself shortly. ------------------------------------------

Class went by faster than most, although it didn’t help that you were anxiously awaiting the end of Professor Maximoff’s lecture. She had worn a trim fitted sleeveless blouse and buttoned pants, both beautiful shades of burgundy. A myriad of gold rings decorating her hands as she’d motion with them through her talk. You’d have to keep your eyes off her fingers, nose deep in notebooks as you’d scramble to collect her words before your incoming final exam. 

“And what is the significance of I Love Lucy’s laugh tracks?” Wanda would ponder aloud before your hand immediately shot up, the lone attempt out of your fifty or so classmates. She’d grin at you, “Yes, dear?” 

You almost forget what you were about to say, holding onto the vestiges of it as you’d sputter, “Oh, uhm- yes, well, I Love Lucy didn’t have laugh tracks, mostly- they were the first sitcom to have a live studio audience.” Her eyes would crinkle with mirth, and you could tell immediately that you had the right answer. You tuned out her words as your mind would swim, thinking back to the weighted pen in your jeans pocket. The pet names were new, settling a joyous fuzz both in your mind and between your legs. It was things like this that had you on the back foot- this was your chance to get her back.

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

“And I’ll see you all in two days,” Wanda would return to her desk, sitting atop it rather than in the chair behind it. One of your classmates had asked why in an icebreaker towards the beginning of the semester, and if you remembered correctly she said ‘Just like the view from up here,’ or the like. If you’d been on the same track mind as now, you probably would have noticed how she stared at you during her spiel, a detail only discovered in hindsight. Now, you had all the pieces. 

You pack up slowly, shimmying your belongings into your overly stuffed bag. Hanging back until there were few students left, you flag her gaze with a hand and an upturned smile, “Professor, I was wondering if I could..” Your words would halt in your throat, thoughts thickened and syrupy as she’d look down to you, head tilted a degree off kilter. Would it be embarrassing to admit you’d never been this close to her before? Her lips would be pursed, but would break into a wild grin, and you felt yourself melt right there. You weren’t a teen anymore goddamnit, focus- “Talk-” you’d squeak, clearing your throat hastily to camouflage the blunder, “Talk with you, after class. Professor.”

Her brows would raise, and you could almost see the cogs rotating in there. Her eyes would dart within the now-empty room, adjusting her position on the desk- and it’d become increasingly obvious (you can deny it no longer) that you were standing directly in between her slightly parted legs. This wasn’t how you were expecting it to go, but here you were. She’d start taking off her rings. “Of course, darling,” she’d tease again with a roughened lilt. Those damn pet names. “What do you need?”

“I think I have something of yours, Professor-” Your mouth would open a few seconds before you’d speak, and you swear she’d smirk at how she had you, devoid of any thought. Something about her had you smiling and kicking your feet, and boy did she know it. Without any further bravado, you’d pull out the pen, “I hate to say it, but I think you’ve stolen-”

“Oh,” She’d breathe, Wanda’s face tinting with a pinkish hue, yet her smile only grew larger. Her gaze would narrow, voice dripping with a sultry air that almost knocked you off balance, “I didn’t let you borrow that, did I?”

“No Professor,” you admit, beginning to launch into your story, before she’d shush you- shush you, words piling up into a lump in your throat. 

“And do you know what it does, darling?” She asks, her tone a breathy whisper now. You swallow, shaking your head no. She fucking giggles. She takes the pen from your hand, clicking it three times, and it’d start to buzz. Oh, my god. It was a fucking vibrator.

“Too dumb to even recognize what this is? And I thought you were so smart..” She’d tease, a flush forming on your face in tandem with a shiver down your body. You open your mouth to speak, and yet her warm, calloused fingers would clasp your jaw shut. “Shhh, don’t want your pretty little head to even think, darling. How about Mommy show you how it works, hm?” 

You’d nod immediately. She’d abandon the toy, clicking it off as her hands would slip beneath your shirt, and it felt like time had frozen. She was so soft, and your mind glazed over. Your breath hitched as she’d trail upward, palming your skin before running her fingers over your bare breasts. You’d watch as Wanda’s pupils would blow in seconds, a devious smile bubbling into view, “No bra?” She’d murmur lowly shaking her head as she’d start to knead your flesh, “Just couldn’t remember it, hm? My precious student, too busy thinking of me to get dressed, were you?” You nod again, a pitiful mewl escaping your throat. 

“Yes- Yes, Professor..” You arch into her touch, although that bliss was short-lived as you feel her dig her hands further into your tits, sharper than you’d like. She’d tsk at your reply, and you look up to meet her eyes- oh, that was the wrong answer. 

“Did you already forget my title, baby?” She’d ask almost tauntingly, her gaze sharpening as she’d shift her hands from your skin. You’d chase her warmth, dazed as your skin would flush and tremble, slotting yourself up against her. She’d run her thumb over your lips, crooning at your immediate submission. She could use that. 

“It seems Mommy has a lot to teach you, dear..” Her touch would ghost across your exposed forearms, her feather-light touches only stuttering your breath further. “And I think you’re ready for your first lesson. Think you can handle that, darling? Keep your eyes on me,” Her hands would dig into your jeans, rougher against the hem’s fabric, “Think you can take this off for Mommy?”

“Please..” You beg, raising your hips to strip yourself bare, your glance trained on her. You don’t miss how her eyes darted down to your bare cunt, having slid off your panties too, or how she licked her lips at the sight of your slick. Her hands would hold your legs open, the cold lecture hall’s air chilling your exposed skin. Still staring at Wanda, you’d discard your shirt in the same breath, her jaw clenching as all of you felt the cool air. Feeling exposed, the urge to flee ebbed away some of your arousal. Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom? Your focus was immediately drawn again as she’d capture your chin in her hand, pulling it harshly to meet her gaze. Her eyes were dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she’d pant, both from your disobedience and your thighs rubbing against hers. “Look at me,” she’d hiss, taking your lips into a searing kiss. Your answer? Fuck. Yes.

Your cunt would grind against her leg as Wanda would pull your hips up and onto her thigh, grip bruising as your lips would crash together. You could smell her vanilla perfume as she’d tug at your bottom lip with her teeth, a familiar buzzing sound heard but not registered before you felt it on your clit. “Mommy- yes, Fuckin’ christ, there-” You’d keen, lurching back as Wanda’s hand would rest on your hip, keeping you from escaping her touch.

Wanda would groan at your words, voice a little breathier as her hips would stutter against yours, “There’s my good girl..” Teasingly, she’d circle your clit with the pen-shaped toy, gasping herself as she’d feel the aftershocks of its pulse on her clothed cunt. “Taking Mommy’s toy so well..such a sweet girl for your Professor-” 

You’d rock your hips against her, the friction from her dress slacks and the vibrator’s pulse bringing you to the edge embarrassingly quick. Wanda wouldn’t notice your frenzied breathing or how you lost your rhythm, but she would hear your words; drawn between husky whines, “Mommy, please, I’m so close, fuck-” Your face would flush, legs beginning to tremble before the whole feeling was ripped away from you, Wanda’s grip leaving as the buzz would click off. With shaky breaths, your eyes would rise to meet hers- only to see a teasing grin. She’d pat your arms, gently coaxing you off of her thigh, the few sparks of friction from that not enough to bring you anywhere close to your release. You’d blink, thoughts thickened and reeling, brow furrowed ever so slightly for her- and Wanda loved it. 

“You did so well for your first lesson, dear..” She’d croon, brushing herself off as she’d rise to her feet, leaving you on her cluttered desk. “But, Professor, I didn’t-” You’d begin and she’d silence you right there, hand rising to close your jaw shut again. 

“And you won’t come unless you call me by my title, darling. You’ve received your correction for your first mistake- and for stealing from me,” You nodded slowly, absorbing her words as though they were molasses, and her smile only widened at how dazed she’d made you. “And if you disobey again when you’re with me, alone- then I’ll lower your grade by five points. Understand?” 

If you were in any kind of fog before, you cleared it from your thoughts immediately. “Yes, very clear- uhm,” You pause, noticing the stain on her pant leg where your pussy had ground into the fabric, and you feel your face warm. Wanda would shift her stance and you’d look up- she leaned above you, a single brow raised. You’d swallow, keeping your eyes on her completely, “Yes, Mommy- I understand.”

“Good girl.” That was the right answer. She’d smile at you, her praise going straight to your cunt. Could she not have given you a few more seconds? Maybe you could’ve gotten off without her noticing. She’d interrupt your mind with a quick peck on the lips, and you felt your wits slow, swimming with thoughts of her mouth. Oh, that was why- couldn’t get away with anything if you didn’t think anything at all. Wanda’s grin would only intensify as she’d watch you dress, clothing rumpled from the haste it had been taken off. After a few minutes, you were back to prim and proper..besides your racing heart and flush whenever Wanda so much as moved. “This was great..” You’d murmur, pressing the wrinkles from your shirt, gaze flicking back up to Wanda’s- your professor still watching you with a smooth, secretive smirk. 

“Of course it was, dear..but it’s still nice to hear you say that. Anything for my best student,” She’d wink at you and you’d fold, feeling your palms clam up. Since when were you this weak in the knees? She’d settle at her desk again, her hands clasped together on its wooden grain. You’d be taller than her now, with her sitting down- and yet there was an aura she commanded that you couldn’t outdo. You turn to leave without any further fanfare but her voice would seize you again, just as warm as her touch. “I’ll be expecting you after tomorrow’s classes, then? I think some…after-hours remedial work for my course would do you well.” 

Were you really about to fuck your professor in her own classroom, again? You’d leave her hall with a bright smile, a reply, and a secret. Your answer? The same as before - Fuck. Yes. 

And your secret?

You’d stolen the ‘pen’ again.

[casdeans-pie]

The first time Castiel heard the phrase to 'kiss something better' he thought it sounded like a ridiculous notion.

How could a kiss heal a wound? Kisses held no magic. No power.

But Castiel found the phrase drifting back to him while he looked at Dean, hissing with pain as he wiped blood away from his grazed skin.

(Dean insisted on wearing jeans with useless intentional rips on the knees, so it felt inevitable that he would eventually scuff the skin there.) (Castiel had even told him so.) (Dean had told him to stop being such a nag.)

Strange how Castiel knew that there were no mystical properties to a kiss, and yet now it was all he could think about. He could sink to his knees and place his lips directly over the wound, letting his grace knit the flesh below. Or... he could grab a fistful of Dean's flannel and crush his lips to Castiel's own, walking them backwards until they hit the wall, bodies lined up, grace pouring in through their joined lips to thread down Dean's body to the injury and-

"Hey, Cas? You okay there, buddy?" Dean said, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts. His lips pulled up into a playful grin that actively grew as Castiel huffed and narrowed his eyes. "Y'kinda giving me a look like you might smite me or eat me."

"Your jeans are impractical," Castiel snapped in a deep rumble. He prodded Dean in the forehead with two fingertips - felt his grace seal the injury instantly - and disappeared with a hard flap of wings.