#u know he wakes up early just to figure out how to look presentable

[marcobodtlives]

Imagine almost dying on the front lines because majority of the population is actively being by eaten by giants and one of your fellow Scouts is late to the fight because it’s “really hard to style my hair while I’m trying to grow it out.”

[zyafics]

play fake | part five

series play fake — ( masterlist )

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole

zya's notes thank u for being patient with me! <3

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

You weren't a cuddler.

At least, not with Rafe. When you fell asleep on his bed last night, he scoffed at the sight. How tired you were. How you immediately fell off post-orgasm. He had other plans, to make you come more, but it was obvious it wasn't going to happen. Instead, he helped you get under the comforter, and when you did, you instinctively pulled to the edge of the mattress, like you knew to put as much distance between you and him.

Rafe thought it would change by morning. That you would find yourself in his arms and he would be able to tease you about it. You didn't. Your hands tucked under your head, you faced the wall, laid on your side, and you did everything possible to avoid contact with him.

For some reason, it pissed him off.

Like he was mad at your subconscious when you didn't do anything wrong. He thought—assumed—you would let him in. When he poured a bit of himself last night, letting himself be vulnerable with you, he thought it was a gateway for you to return the sentiment. But, somewhere, deep down, you still didn't trust him.

He was the one who got out of bed first.

He went to the ensuite and took a shower, washing away his sweat and subtle case of hangover. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad. He doesn't know if it's because, halfway through the night, clarity dawned on him or because he was crossed with a different drug than his usual high. Either way, he was grateful.

Until the ringing started.

It happened once. It was your phone; the ringtone too obnoxious to be his. Then, it ended. And started again. This happened a couple more times until Rafe got annoyed and stepped out of the bathroom to check on who the fuck was calling you so early in the morning.

It was your job.

He softens for a moment. He forgot that you had shit to do, that the two of you were on opposite sides of the economic spectrum. He may have luxury and all the time in the world but you had work. You weren't kidding when you said you needed to pull doubles just to stay afloat.

He wanted to wake you up and give you the phone to handle it. But, something about your sleeping position makes him hesitate. You look so peaceful. Calm. Like you haven't had a good night's rest in a long time and he wasn't going to ruin that.

So, he did something he probably shouldn't.

He turned your phone off.

He went back to the bathroom to finish the rest of his routine and when he came out, you were starting to stir. Your hands were rubbing the sleepy haze out of your eyes and you were searching around the room to figure out where you were.

"You're up." He acknowledges, stepping out into his room. "Get ready. We're heading out."

"Go where?" You mumble drowsily, trying to remember your own name right now, much less try to get ready. "Wait, what time is it?"

Rafe doesn't say anything, glancing at the present that sits on his desk. He grabs it, throwing it onto the bed, which you manage to catch in the nick of time. "Here, before I forget." He declares, going to his closet to exchange his sweatpants for some outside attire.

You look inside the bag, more thoroughly this time. You counted a total of fourteen Plan B packs, the stems of the tulips were slightly-wilted from lack of water, and the envelope isn't a letter but rather a thick wad of something—like cash.

"I'm not taking this." You pull out the envelope and slide it across the bed. Rafe glances down at it, then back to you, a scowl forms on his face.

"You don't know what it is."

"It's money," you say, easily. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"So what?" He steps forward, closing in the distance as he stands before the bed, grabbing the envelope and holding it out to you again. "You need the money. Take it."

"No." You cross your arms, stubbornly.

God, this fucking early in the morning?

He clenches his teeth. "Why the fuck not?"

You take a beat before you answer. "You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

He looks genuinely serious about knowing your answer. Not just another way to pick it apart and fight back, but to be willing. It makes you consider telling him the truth. Sighing, you explain. "It's just... it means that whenever you fuck up, you get to put some money in it and it fixes everything. I refuse to let you think that you can wave some cash in front of my face and everything will be forgiven."

There's more reasons why you don't accept the money, not for the exchange you're doing, but you rather not get into that right now. That explanation, in this context, was the most appropriate.

"That's not... I..." Rafe trails off, his mouth slightly slack from the confession. That's not what he meant to do, but there's some merit behind your words, nonetheless. It is easier to flash his wallet than apologizing for any misdemeanor he committed. It's something he does. It's something he learned from his father. "I'm not."

You chuckle. "Say that more convincingly and I might believe you."

Rafe swallows, watching the gentle smile light up your lips. He didn't realize how much he didn't appreciate it before. Not until you gave him the whole silent treatment and called him out.

"It's not," he starts again with a clear of his throat. "I do that. I'm not gonna lie about that. But, in this case... It wasn't just that. You needed the money. I took it out of your paycheck to buy Plan B. It cost nothing to me."

You don't answer him, glancing back at the bag. "You already bought me Plan Bs."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can cover rent with fucking contraceptive pills."

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you take his words with some consideration. You admit, this is a version of his apology, no matter how pretentious it may seem. With that, you accept the envelope out of his hand. "Thank you."

Rafe is pleased at that. That you finally didn't give him such a hard time to help you. That you just accepted it, even if it was done with some initial hesitation.

Pulling himself off the mattress, Rafe turns back to his closet, only for your voice to stop him.

"You know, it's a bit presumptuous of you to assume we'll be having sex this much."

He looks at you, seeing you tilt your head at him in a challenge. The bag lifted off your lap to demonstrate the amount he bought.

"It's so I'll ever have to hear you complain about spending money again."

You chuckle. There it is, the cover of assholery to make up for the vulnerability he exposed just moments ago. "If this is the rate we'll be going, you should've just bought me birth control."

"Fuck off, it's not going to be a regular thing."

You laugh. "I guess I'll just use these with my other boyfriends. Since we won't be needing them."

Rafe stills. He knows you're teasing him, to get a rise out of anything you can find yourself on. But something in his blood runs hot as those words escape your lips. At the idea of you with others. He turns back to the bed, lowering himself to your level before grabbing your cheeks in one palm.

It wasn't done roughly. That's the reason why your smirk is so fucking conceited right now. He wants to do something to make you take back your words.

But nothing came to mind. Not this morning. Not after last night.

Instead, he mutters, "you play too fucking much."

He releases you with a light shove, enough for you to fall back against the pillows. Rafe grabs the first thing out of his closet and walks back to the bathroom, and just when he's about to close the door, he hears your laughter erupt from behind.

—

After getting ready, by wearing whatever you could find in Sarah's closet—which Rafe made you use because she hasn't been home in over two months—you called to check in with Sailor. Your phone was off, for some odd reason, and when you called to make sure the place is running regardless of your absence, you agreed to go to whatever the fuck Rafe planned.

It was shopping.

You feel out of place the moment you arrive at the outlet downtown of Figure Eight. It's mainly for Kooks to come and shop, the boutiques and storefronts are out of your price-range for so many reasons. You thought it was a cruel joke for Rafe to give you some money, only to expect you to spend it in places like here.

"No," you shake your head for the umpteenth time, moving onto the next space. For the past twenty minutes, Rafe's been trying to get you to stop and try on clothes. You've been declining all of the options. You know you won't be able to afford them so there's no real point. You hope you reject enough of them that the both of you can leave.

"You have to pick a place at some point."

"I don't see why we have to shop here." You turn to him. "There's plenty of places near The Cut we can go to. It's cheaper."

His expression is sharp, as if the suggestion disgusted him to consider. “I'm not going to The Cut for their cheap-ass clothes."

"Well we're not going here either because there's no way in hell I can afford these clothes, Rafe," you retort, crossing your arms. He said he needed to get you some new clothes because your dress was too short, and since you don’t have many options in your closet, you agreed. You just didn’t expect to file for bankruptcy in order to afford it.

You're about to walk off again, furthering the sidewalk to preview the other shops you can't afford, when Rafe grabs your arm.

"You're not paying, alright?" He asserts. "Now, get into the shop before you piss me off."

You don't move. Not with that attitude.

"What's the magic word?"

"Fuck off."

You imitate a buzzer. "Wrong."

Rafe closes into you until he's right in front of your face. "If you are trying to get me to say please, think again, sweetheart, because there's no way in hell that I'm going to beg you for this."

You aren't intimidated. Glancing down at his hands, you ask, "how's your wrists, by the way?"

He rolls his eyes, forging annoyance, before pulling you to the nearest boutique. He knew it wasn't done without some willingness on your end, that your comment satisfied some power trip, and the two of you slipped through the glass doors of a fancy establishment.

An older woman welcomes you. She asks what you were looking for and Rafe answers before you get the chance to. When the saleswoman gathered the directive, she headed off to grab a couple of dresses from the store.

Rafe requested a private room. Since they had no such thing, this agitated him. However, since the store is mostly-empty right now and no one is using the fitting room lounge, Rafe’s mood slightly lightens. Sitting on the designated waiting couch, you head into one of the fitting rooms to try on the first item.

"What is this going to be for?" You ask, tugging on the strapless dress against your braless chest.

"There's a gala next week for Cameron Development. We're going."

You hum in response, acknowledging that this isn't a spontaneous trip done out of the kindness of his heart but because of your deal. The ploy you're fronting for Ward to see Rafe as reliable. You can't help but feel a small dose of disappointment.

Glancing at the mirror for a final check, you step out to find Rafe leaning against the long cream couch with his legs spread apart.

Rafe watches as you exit from the stall, reluctance pouring into each step you take. When you stop in front of him, you stretch your arms out to let him see the full details, before dropping them mere seconds later. "Good enough?" You ask.

"Turn around." He commands with a whirl of his ringed finger, making you roll your eyes but doing as he says. He studies the back. "Try another one."

Without another word, you head back to the room to pull off another dress from the rack. It became a routine for you: trying on one, doing a little spin for Rafe to see the completed look, waiting for his decision, before returning back to your stall to repeat.

None of the dresses have been a good fit, meaning you liked them, but Rafe found enjoyment in the process. This surprised him. He always hated going shopping for Wheezie or Sarah—especially the latter—but something about going with you, making you try clothes on for him, getting his opinions, stirs something primal in him.

He had to adjust his pants on the fourth dress you tried. That one revealed too much of your ass.

Despite your initial reluctance, you were starting to have fun. You never got the chance to be this girl—the one who spends their days dressing up, acting like a princess getting ready for her first ball—and it makes you excited. A little happy. But, you'll never admit it to Rafe.

However, your options are quickly dwindling. The saleswoman had to go to the front to gather some more dresses for you. As you pull the last one off the rack, you step out of the fitting room.

"Fuck." Rafe swears under his breath, watching you come out with a new piece. A long satin dress that clings to every curve of your body, showing off every impressive inch of your cleavage while leaving more to the imagination and a high slit that cuts up mid-thigh. It might be his favorite.

It was definitely yours.

"What do you think?" You prompt timidly, the lack of outright comment about your attire made you a bit antsy for his thoughts.

“I…” Rafe trails off, his eyes lifted to find yours. “What do you think?”

"Well," you spin, demonstrating with the little twirl that Rafe always makes you do. "I like it. I think it fits me."

"Then, let's get it."

You shake your head, laughing at the idea. "It's outrageously expensive. I can't afford it in this lifetime."

His expression shifts to an unreadable one. "I said I got it."

"And I don't think that's necessary. I can take care of myself." You say, which is true. You know Rafe has money, and you know he wouldn't feel a dent in his wallet if he bought it for you. However, the idea makes you uncomfortable. Not because he was spending money, but because you're letting someone else take care of you. Have power over something you spent your entire life controlling. It feels... wrong.

His jaw locks, his words sharper than before. "I took you here, that means I pay."

"No." You stand firm, shaking your head. "It's fine. I'll just try on something more affordable."

You go back to the dressing room without allowing Rafe to get another word in and he slumps back into his seat with mounting agitation. Rubbing his tense jaw, he can't seem to understand why you won't let him do things for you.

He's capable. He has money. All of this rationalization leads to one infuriating conclusion: why the fuck do you act like he has none of that?

It's simple.

You don't trust him.

"Rafe." You call out. It pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts and he turns to the closed door of your stall. "I can't get the zipper out. Can you help me?"

He was on his feet before you finished your sentence. Knocking, he hears the soft click of the lock as he pushes the door in, stepping inside the limited space. Standing in front of the large mirror, your back is turned to him.

Glancing over your shoulders, you offer him a sheepish look, "just pull it down. I think it's stuck."

He wordlessly steps forward before grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing it to the side. His large hands descend from your neckline to the tiny zipper tucked behind the fabric.

You watch him through the mirror, his expression is hard but his eyes are completely focused on the task at hand. A small smile rises to your lips.

When he lowers the zipper down to the end of the teeth, just at the midsection of your dress, he turns back to you. "Done."

"Thank you, boyfriend." You hum with a grateful grin, holding onto the front of your dress as it started to spill over from the lack of restraint. When you turn around, you’re surprised to find Rafe remaining. "I need some privacy to change—"

"Drop your arms."

The demand startles you. "For what?"

Rafe has the strongest urge to rip off your crossed arms himself, your questions delaying him of what he deserves, but he knows you. At least, he's getting to. Even if his mind is caught in a turmoil right now and he just wants to do something to prove to himself that you bare some semblance of trust in him, he can't force you. Not when he has an inch of restraint left in him.

He wants you to be willing.

Swallowing hard, he confesses. "Because I want to see you."

You can tell it took everything in him to say that. The corner of your lips finds your smile again. "You could've asked nicely."

"That is me asking nicely."

You chuckle, your arms still guarded over your chest. His eyes glance down. "Strip."

"Is this part of the arrangement?" You tilt your head, teasing out the moment a little longer. "An inspection for your girlfriend?"

He cups the underside of your jaw, almost in a chokehold. His eyes are hard on you, his patience wearing thin. "Stop playing with me, sweetheart."

You look up to him, doe-eyed and innocent. "Remove your hand, darling."

His jaw clenches at your own command, his grip around your throat sends a pleasurable sensation straight to your core. With great reluctance, he drops it.

"Who knew you'd do well with instructions?" You grin, taking a step back, closer to the mirror. Your heart is hammering with anticipation.

"If you don't remove them in five seconds, I'm ripping them off."

Excitement stirs in you. At the way he looks at you. The way he wants you. Rafe watches as you slowly drop your arms to your side, the flimsy satin glides off your body into a puddle by your ankles.

His breathing hitch in his throat as his hungry eyes take in your naked body, complete from head to toe, saved for a pair of panties hung around your hips that he's positive won't be there in the next few minutes.

There's a palpable silence. His eyes are intense but his words are obsolete. You needed something from him, some vocalization of his thoughts. Placing a hand on your hips, you ask, "did I pass?"

"You have a fucking nipple piercing."

You laugh at the astonishment in his tone, glancing down to your full tits and seeing the metal barbells lined through your nipples. "Is it not worthy enough of a Kook?" You ask with a tease, running the pad of your thumb over the sensitive bud, biting back a moan. "Am I going to get punished?"

He groans. Having enough, Rafe steps forward and captures your lips with his. His force pushes you against the cool mirror.

"I can't fucking stand you." He murmurs, his hand traveling down to cup one breast in his palm. "You were hiding these from me? The whole fucking time?"

The way he's handling you feels so good. "Didn't know I had to share everything with you."

"You do." Rafe asserts, his fingers pinching your sensitive tip and causing your whole body to arch. "God, they're sensitive, aren't they?"

You nod, needy. His hot mouth descends and his tongue swirls around the metal bar, eliciting a whimper from you. It's very sensitive, and you steady yourself against the mirror as Rafe lowers his other hand over your hips, pushing your panties down.

Rubbing your clit with one hand, teasing you with his mouth, you can't help but build towards a climax at the double sensation.

"Do you know what you do to me?" He whispers against your bare skin, his eyes flickering up to meet your heavy-lid gaze. "Parading around in dresses all day, trying them on for me?"

You feel yourself getting closer, but you can't help but tease him. "They weren't for you—"

His hand covers your mouth, the one slick with your arousal, and the removal of his touch leaves you empty and aching. You regret it instantly. "I don't want to hear you mouth me off again. You had your fun." He warns, his expression hard and resolute. "Now, here's what we're going to do. You're going to pick up that dress, fold it neatly on that chair, and I'm going to buy it."

A protest forms in your throat, but he catches it, deepening the pressure of his palm against your mouth. "Then I'm going to fuck you against this mirror. Remind you who you're with. Is that enough instructions for you, sweetheart?"

Desperate for a finish, you nod. Rafe watches as you pick up the dress and fold the fabric over the chair, before returning back to your previous spot.

"Turn around." He commands. You face the mirror, seeing your bareness in the reflection and the eagerness on your features. "Spread your legs."

You do, obeying him, and he chuckles darkly at the sight. "God, you're so fucking obedient now, aren't you?" He taunts, his eyes flicking to your face in the reflection as his hand lands a slap against your ass. "If I told you to touch yourself right now, you'd listen, wouldn't you?"

You would. The realization makes your face burn, your arms instinctively went to cover your chest. His expression hardens. "Not so fast, sweetheart," he grabs your wrist. "Do I need to tie them up for you too? Drop them."

Your pulse sputters, you lower your arms to your side, tucked. "I knew there was a good girl in there somewhere."

"Rafe." You whimper softly, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. "Please fuck me."

He grins at your plea, removing his slacks and briefs in one swift motion. You watch his swollen cock spring free, the tip running beads of his precum. Your mouth waters and you resist the urge to squeeze your legs together.

"You want this dick, sweetheart?" He teases, approaching you from behind. "You want me to fill that sweet, tight cunt?"

"Yes," you beg, "yes, please."

"Put your hands on the mirror." He instructs, his hand grabbing a handful of your hair, tipping your head back to meet your gaze in the reflection. "Look at yourself when I fill you."

Lining his erection against your entrance, you watch as he slowly enters your pussy from behind. The image is so gratifying and sensual. "So tight for me," he groans, a hand grabbing your hips to steady him. "Feels so fucking good."

Your eyes roll back to the back of your head as Rafe pumps in you, finding a pace, the angle from behind allowing him to hit deeper spots. You hold onto the mirror tighter, trying to contain your moans and the pleasure coursing through you.

"Look at you," he mumbles against the shell of your ear, causing you to meet his gaze through the mirror. "Taking me so fucking well."

You nod desperately, moaning at his thrusts roughly slams against your walls. "You fill me up so good."

"Just for me, right, sweetheart?" He lands a sloppy kiss against the side of your neck, to which you respond with a mewl. "My fucking girl."

Nodding, your eyes flutter at the way he rocks inside of you, your walls clenching around his length.

"Rub your tits for me." Rafe demands roughly, his pace growing more fervent as he watches your body through the reflection. You do as he says, using a hand to pinch and pull your pierced nipples between your fingertips, the sensitivity of your buds adding to the quickly-rising climax. "Fuck, I love watching you do that."

The praise unburdens something deep inside of you and your goal becomes to make him feel satisfied. Steady yourself with one hand on the mirror, your handprint greasing the clean silver, you play with your nipples further, twisting and moaning in your own pleasure. "Like that?" You ask sweetly, watching as he nods heavily, his chest sheen with a thin layer of sweat.

"Fuck." His rhythm goes faster, the sound of his balls hitting the back of your ass echoing in the empty lounge and overwhelming pleasures causing your eyes to close shut.

Rafe catches that. Pulling you into him, with your arched back pressed against his chest, he roughly grabs your throat and forces you to open them, staring right at your reflection. "You're going to watch me fuck you, sweetheart," he pants into your ear, the sight before you driving flips into your stomach. "And you're going to fucking remember this."

Your hair is a complete mess, his hand wrapped around your throat as the other gripping your hips harshly to steady his sloppier thrusts, and you're being fucked in a public dressing room and loving each second of it.

Both of your moans and his grunts echoes. Your peak rising.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, your thighs burning from the intensity of Rafe's pumps and your position. "I think I’m going to come—"

Someone calls your name.

Rafe stills.

"Are you in there?" The old saleswoman asks, her voice soft and delicate. You know she would die of a heart attack if she looked inside this room. "I brought more dresses for you. Where did your boyfriend go?"

"I—" Rafe begins to slowly rock against your body, his smile devilish in the reflection. "I–I'm here." You choke.

"Where did your boyfriend go? Did he leave you alone?"

No, you answer in your head, but your words are muddled as Rafe quickens his pace. Not enough where you can hear the sound of your pussy squelching, but enough for you to feel the returning buzz of your orgasm.

"Answer the nice lady, sweetheart," Rafe mumbles into your ear with a smile, pushing your hair to the side, as you send him a glare. Which quickly turns into a look of ecstasy as he hits your g-spot. You slap a hand over your mouth. "Don't be rude."

You had many words for Rafe, but none of them were coming out. You could only do so much. "He's–he's fine," you declare shakily, "I think he went to—" you let out a small whimper. Rafe's hand is now rubbing your clit in unison to his penetration.

You want to kill him.

You want to come so badly.

"He went where?" She prompts sweetly.

"The bathroom!" You shout with a half-moan, Rafe chuckling as he lays kisses on your backside, against your shoulder blades, increasing his thrusts. Your walls twitching around his cock.

"We don't have a bathroom."

Rafe tsk against your burning skin, shaking his head in forged disappointment. "Bad little liar."

"I'm going to kill you," you croak. Your climax builds so fast, you're trying hard to hold it off as long as possible.

"How are you going to come, then?" He taunts through the reflection, watching the way your body rocks with each drive. Your legs are weakening. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head desperately, almost to tears, gripping the mirror edge for the life of you. "Please, don't."

"Then answer her."

"Hello?" The woman calls out, her voice pitched with a slight annoyance from your lack of response. "Do you want to try on the dresses? Should I bring them to you—"

"You can just le–leave it out there!" You moan with abandon. There was no way to avoid it.

"Are you sure—"

"Go away, please!" You plead, Rafe landing a hard thrust against you and causing your knees to finally buckle. He catches your waist with one strong arm, holding you upright.

The old woman huffs at your brusqueness, her little footsteps padding across the floor and exits from the lounge. With that signal, Rafe slams into you, with harsh desperate beats, to make up for the lost time. You come within a matter of seconds.

Worn out, he holds you up for a few more pumps before he spills into you. His hot cum filling your cunt. You're catching your breath, your face is completely flushed, and Rafe holds you tightly as the both of you come down from your high.

With enough strength, you pull yourself up and lean against the mirror for support.

"That was rude of you," Rafe declares with a tease, going to grab his discarded clothes.

"I hate you." You pant, your legs wobbling from your own weight. "I hate you so much."

He chuckles, redressing himself. Watching him as he collects himself, his eyes glance over to the chair before finding your exhausted face. "Now, are you going to let me buy that dress or are we going to have to do this again?"

—

Rafe ends up buying the dress. You were no energy to argue, and when he pulls you to the register to purchase the expensive satin, the old saleswoman gives you a withering glare—either at your rude outburst or the product of your image being a clear indication of you being throughly-fucked in the dressing room—that you quickly exit the boutique.

It didn't stop at the clothes. Rafe also pulled you to a nearby jewelry store too. He got you a gold necklace; your argument was completely futile with one glance.

"The necklace was unnecessary." You complain, pulling out the gift-wrapped box in the passenger seat of his car. Rafe is driving you back to your house.

He glances at you from his peripheral vision. "You need to look the part."

"But did you have to buy the most expensive one?" You retort, glancing over to him. "There were cheaper options. There's even fake ones I saw at the end of the display."

His hand, resting on your thigh, squeezes the flesh. "You think I'll let my girl walk around with fake gold? Do you know what they'll say about me?"

"That you're financially responsible?"

He scoffs, pinching the inside of your legs. You giggle. "That I can't afford to give my girlfriend some nice things. I'm not fucking broke."

You roll your eyes, opening the box. Your fingers trace the gorgeous details of the necklace, landing on the pendant at the center. "R, huh?" You say with a tease, looking over to Rafe again.

He shrugs. "Had to let everyone know who you belong to."

You know this is a fake relationship, that this is nothing more than to keep his image clean, but you can't help but feel a buzz at the possessiveness of his words. It almost makes you feel like you’re his.

Rafe pulls up to your neighborhood and is about to pull up to your house, when you stop him. "Right here is fine," you announce, holding your hand over the clutch to make him park. He does, his brows furrowed at your abrupt reaction.

"I could drive up—"

"No, it's okay." You wave him off with a small smile, unbuckling your seat and gathering your things in the leg compartment. "The walk is good for me."

It isn't that far. It's just off the edge of your driveway, enough where it doesn't look like Rafe is coming into your house but close enough where he can see the front porch.

Grabbing your bags, you bid him a farewell. You close the door of the passenger side and rush up to your porch, Rafe waits until you make it into your house.

This is the second time you've done this. You never let him go further up your driveway. Don't let him meet you at the door. It was like you were hiding him—embarrassed of him.

His hand grips the steering wheel as he watches you ring your own doorbell, waiting a few moments before the door swings open.

And it was fucking Heyward and Maybank.

They set out to greet you, pulling you into a side hug while pointing at the bags in your hands, to which you shyly tuck behind your back to hide from them with little avail. Rafe tightens his grip against the wheel, his knuckles whitening, as he watches you step inside, closing the door—with them.

He should leave. He knows he should. That's what he promised himself he would do. But, knowing you’re in there, with two men, drives him to stay. He can't go up to your doorsteps, you wouldn't allow it, so he waited. And waited. And waited.

It was over an hour and neither Maybank or Heyward exited from your house. It drove Rafe furious. Deciding that was time, he turns off the engine and marches up to your porch, banging on the door.

You open it in a matter of seconds, afraid that you were getting raided by the cops. Your outfit had switched into a baggy tee with shorts—too fucking short, he decided—and your expression etched with surprise.

"Rafe? What–what are you doing here? I thought you left—"

"Where is he?" Rafe declares, glancing over your shoulders with tightened fists. Trying to gain control of himself before he snaps. "Where the fuck are they?"

"Who? JJ?"

"Is that it?"Rafe snaps, his anger rising in waves. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

"I...I was helping him...?" You answer hesitantly, watching his expression shift from rage to fury.

"Helping him with what? Fucking him?"

You blink back in surprise. Your words caught in your throat by his outrageous accusation that it renders you speechless. Rafe, catching it as hesitation, had enough. His last string of restraint snaps. Finally, he steps inside, forcing you in and slams the door close behind him.

He grabs you by the throat, his fingers gripping the sides, causing a pleasurable sensation to your core. "Maybe you're right," he declares lowly, his darkened gaze lowered to you. "You do need to be punished."

— part six here —

taglists: @quicksilversg1rl / @uraesthete / @maybankslover / @trshngyn / @irides-solstice / @kur0obaby / @groovycass / @emmalandry / @rivaiken / @outlawedmando / @ditzyzombiesblog / @mattyskies / @sunshinepanic / @too-deviant / @rafesgiirl / @lafavoritaangel / @bunniii-98 / @vvvhack / @babygoddam / @cami-is-reading / @peachesmilk / @whore4fictionalman / @artemiswinnick / @janediazwindsor / @pandora-rosier1 / @solanathascientst / @itshellie / @grace-sully / @loveyouok / @tayrcse / @mysteris-things / @ella131989 / @starrkissezz / @sanriobuny / @alyssax25 / @chopshopcheesecake / @fentyxmalik / @fleets-world / @supernaturalwriter / @taylorsmissamericanna / @hehelollmao / @lac0nically / @elysiasshit / @kravitzwhore / @tommysaxes / @ma-yangg / @carolinaxvz / @bandsbooks / @sourjoonie / @rafemotherfuckingcameron

[starboybutler]

Blue Christmas

summary: austin throws a christmas party while elvis is feeling fuzzy.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: age regression, pure fluff

notes: this is actually a bday gift for one of my mutuals!! @mooodyblue happy (early) birthday lily!!! hope u enjoy and have a happy birthday 🫶🏽

christmas was elvis’ favorite holiday.

a lot of people said christmas was their favorite, but elvis held it near and dear to his heart. he loved it all– the lights, the gifts, being with family, cooking food– all of it. it made him feel like he was a boy again, pestering his mama about whether or not they’d see santa in their small little armpit of a neighborhood. he’d always fall asleep though– and wake up to one or two presents underneath their small tree.

they were never big gifts, and that was fine, because just being there with his momma was enough for him.

elvis, despite his big and loud lifestyle, actually liked small, quiet christmases. he loved when it was him, and a handful of people that he held near and dear to his heart.

this year, however, austin had decided to throw a little christmas party. elvis was surprised by this, because austin was a pretty reserved person. he didn’t like crowds– they made him nervous– and he was a wallflower at parties. but he told elvis that it would be small– just a few friends and some family that were coming to visit him, and that they wouldn’t stay long at all. austin said he was allowed to invite some of his friends, but…

it didn’t matter. elvis would get through it fine. he was looking forward to spending one on one time with austin, but if there were a few people around, he could handle it. he was a little worried about them figuring out his identity, but austin said he had told them some lie about him being a friend that just looked a lot like elvis– or something like that. whatever.

the day of the party came– christmas eve– and elvis was able to greet everyone with a smile and a handshake, despite that fuzziness in the back of his head. there was austin’s older sister, ashley, and his close friend, also ashley– and his dad, and an aunt, and someone’s boyfriend– and a baby–

about ten people in total showed up. it wasn’t a ridiculous amount, but it was more than elvis was expecting. he saw austin shoot him a nervous look from the corner of his eye, before trying to get everyone settled in the living room. he heard mumbles of people telling him he had a nice place, or that he really did have a friend that looked like elvis.

after that, austin approached him, smiling softly.

“i know i said a few people–”

“it’s fine, aus.” elvis said, waving him off. “y’don’t gotta justify nothin’ to me. it’s your party. i’m fine.”

the blonde looked unsure, gently taking elvis’ hand in his. “y’sure? you don’t have to pretend to be alright with this– i know this isn’t what you were expecting, and–”

“it’s alrght,” elvis hums, rolling his shoulders. “i’ll jus’ try an’ sit back. observe.”

austin gave him a warm smile, caressing his knuckles with his thumb. “lemme know if y’need me at all, okay?”

elvis nodded, and trailed behind austin to the couch, waving meekly at everyone. they all began talking, gossiping about things elvis didn’t quite get and people he didn’t know. he felt so out of place, but he did his best to look like he was somewhat invested in the conversation.

as time went on, he zoned out. he couldn’t stay focused on anything– even if he tried. that fuzziness in his head tried to take over, but he was determined to let austin have a good time. he tried not to give into that feeling or those thoughts. he tried not to think about how nice it would be to get nice and comfortable in his favorite pajamas right now– or how he desperately wanted to watch cartoons while snuggled up in the blankets on the bed upstairs– or how he really wanted a pb and j and some milk.

“...e? e? what about you?”

“huh?” elvis hummed, snapping out of his thoughts abruptly. “what about me?”

“you enjoyin’ the party? y’seem a little in your head.”

it was austin asking, but the whole room was staring at him, waiting for an answer. that didn’t help the tiny feeling in his brain as he scrambled to answer, the words seeming to get stuck in his throat. “i–”

he stuttered something awful, his cheeks flushing as he began to fidget with the sleeves of his sweater. “i-i– yeah, i’m…it’s fun. f-fun.”

the room accepts his response, but austin furrows his brows in worry as he gently grabs elvis’ hand.

“uh– we’ll be right back.”

austin pulled him up, leading him into the kitchen gently. elvis felt dazed and small and stupid for stuttering like that, in front of all those people, but all of that melted away when austin’s thumb gently brushed against his cheek.

“hey now,” the blonde crooned, his eyes gently glimmering with all of the pretty colors of their christmas lights. “whatsa matter, huh? you look all sad.”

elvis swallowed hard, wanting so badly to lie and try to spare austin’s feelings– but the more he thought about going back out there in his dumb sweater and uncomfortable pants, the more he cracked and just sniffled, overstimulated.

“i hate it, momma.” elvis whimpered, eyes watering with unshed tears. “too many people– ‘s all loud and hot and this sweater is itchy– i jus’ wanna snuggle with you and watch cartoons.”

“oh, baby,” austin frowned, taking elvis’ hands in his and caressing his knuckles. “why didn’t you say nothin’? i told you i was right there if ya needed anything.”

elvis sniffled softly, his cheeks flushing as he murmured quietly. “wanted you to have fun, momma. d-didn’t want you t’worry ‘bout me.”

“baby.” austin sighs, pulling him in for a tight hug, immediately making him melt into the warm crook of his neck, sniffling softly as the blonde rubs soothing circles into his back. “i’m your caregiver, i’m supposed to worry about you. you’re my little prince, and i’m your momma. i would do anything for you. you got that?”

“b-b-but–”

“no buts,” austin hushes, running his fingers through elvis’ soft locks. “how about this– you go upstairs ‘n get comfy, and i’ll be up there in a few minutes, okay?”

“okey,” he sniffed, pulling away from austin reluctantly and walking towards the stairs, hearing austin reassure the group of people behind him that he was perfectly fine.

he reached the bedroom and sat on the bed, fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for austin to show up. he heard their voices down there– faint and mumbly, and then a door closing.

the room to the door opened, and austin smiled at him softly.

“hi baby.”

“hi momma.” elvis muttered, rocking back and forth idly. “where’d everyone go?” he asked, noticing the lack of mumbling from downstairs.

“i sent ‘em home.”

“wha– why?” elvis whined, a little embarrassed. “y-y’didn’t have to– i-i didn’t mean f-for you to end the whole thing!”

“it’s not a big deal.” he said. shrugging. “besides, i was gettin’ a little tired too. and i missed my baby.” he hummed, pressing a noisy kiss to elvis’ cheek.

elvis whined, his face flushing as austin’s plush lips met his cheek. “momma!”

“sorry, sorry, i know how you are about kisses.” he hums, sitting next to him. “you ready to watch a movie?”

“r-really? wh-which movie?”

“any movie you want.”

“o-oh, uh…c-can we watch the grinch?” elvis asked eagerly, practically bouncing as he looked up at austin with eyes that were practically glowing.

“of course. let’s get your pjs on first.” he hummed, taking elvis’ hand and standing him up, letting him look at his options in the drawer before him. “pick a pair.”

“oooh….uhm, i want the pink ones!” he decided, his thumb making its way between his lips as he spoke. “the ones with the yellow stars,”

“okay prince.” austin hummed, before tsking and pulling elvis’ finger away from his mouth. “nuh uh. we don’t bite our fingers. you want your paci?”

elvis blushed, but nodded shyly. “uh huh.”

austin handed him his favorite pacifier, a baby blue one with little stars scattered all over it, making elvis smile as he took it into his mouth and began suckling idly. austin smiled and ruffled his hair, getting out the pajama set elvis had chosen.

austin sat him down and undressed him gently, poking him in his stomach teasingly every few seconds, making elvis pout and whine. once his shirt was buttoned and his pants were on, austin kneeled in front of him and looked him over once, before sneaking a kiss on top of his pacifier.

elvis went red, but didn’t whine. he just looked away, embarrassed as austin giggled at his expression.

“okay baby, let’s put the movie on. you ready to snuggle with momma?”

elvis nodded, crawling in the bed and snuggling into his usual spot, pulling the blankets to his chin. austin smiles fondly, making sure to grab elvis’ stuffed bear before he crawled into bed next to him. elvis eagerly grabbed his stuffie and snuggled it close to his chest, scooching closer to austin as he settled down next to him, turning the tv on.

it was quiet as austin put the movie on, save for the steady sound of elvis’ breathing. he snuggled into austin’s side as the movie began to play, giggling and smiling at the jokes and such.

not even halfway through the movie, he was fast asleep, his gentle snores filling the room as he subconsciously tried to press closer to austin, hugging his tiny stuffed bear to his chest like his life depended on it. austin couldn’t help but smile down at him, admiring how peaceful he looked as he slept. it warmed his heart seeing him rest– especially since he didn’t get good sleep often. the fact he felt safe and secure enough to sleep in his arms made him proud.

austin turned the tv off, pulling elvis’ head closer to his chest as he settled into the covers himself.

“goodnight, little prince.”

[roseyange]

happy bday human ~

mammon x gn!reader

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

♡ reader is referred to by they/them/you

◇ kinda angsty but has a happy ending!!

an : really wanted to make a post for my birthday, but I'm impatient and decided to post it a few hours early lmaooo. this is my first time writing something this long in forever so!! hope u like it!!

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Mammon woke up just like any other day, immediately regretting it and wanting to go back to sleep. He cuddled up to his human who was still fast asleep, letting out a deep breath and allowing himself to get lulled back to sleep, but something didn't feel right. A nagging in the back of his head told him that he had something big happening today. After a few minutes he blew it off, letting himself relax more, deciding he can figure it out once he wakes up.

On the verge of sleep, it hits him, his eyes fluttering open with a shocked look on his face. Today was his human's birthday! How could he have forgotten?  He allows himself a minute to mentally scold himself, not believing he almost went back to sleep. All of the plans he had made over the past three weeks would have gone to waste.

He slowly lets go of you, gently making his way out of the bed, checking to make sure you are still asleep every other breath you take. Another thing that would ruin his scheme he had been planning would be you waking up before anything is prepared.

Once he makes it safely out of his bed, he pulls on a shirt and grabs his DDD, checking the time before making his way out the door, making sure to quietly shuts it behind him. He ran over his list in his head as he made his way to the third born room. His knuckles rasped on the door, knowing that the chances of the otaku still being awake were very high. After a few loud grumbles and a very concerning thud noise, Leviathan opened his door, a tired and angry look sitting on his face.

"What the hell Mammon?! You made me pause my game! I am just about to beat my high score too!" Levi whined, rubbing at his eyes as if trying to rub the sleep out of them.

"I'm here for MC's gifts! Remember, you were lettin' me store them here?" Mammon said, peaking around Levi's shoulder hoping to see them sitting in sight so he could just grab them then get on to his next task, but the look on Levi's face suggested otherwise.

"Oh, yeah, that. I remember seeing them the other day. Let me go and look! I just got a few Akuzon orders the other day so they may be mixed in with those boxes." Levi assured, turning to go to the corner that he stacked all his Akuzon boxes in. He could build a cardboard castle the size of Lord Diavolo's castle with the amount of boxes he had. Levi quickly started shifting through the boxes as Mammon let out a sigh, rubbing his face, wishing he never put your gifts into Akuzon boxes to help them blend in with Levi's room.

After a few minutes of Levi's failed attempts to find the packages, Mammon started helping him. Making angry comments about the amount of stuff Levi bought, even asking Levi if he was sure he wasn't the Avatar of Greed. It took thirty five minutes before the first box of presents was pulled from the bottom of a stack, revealing some of the clothes Mammon had bought you. After that, it took an extra ten minutes to find the rest of them. With a mumbled thank you from Mammon, he was out the door, quickly heading to one of his younger brothers' rooms.

This time, he knocked a little bit harder, knowing that Asmodeus was more than likely still asleep. He knocked three  times before Asmo opened the door. He had his hair pulled back in a loose top knot, pulling his eye mask off of one eye, squinting into the hallway..

"Mammon, what are you doing up so early?" He asked, raising a hand to stifle a yawn.

"You and I were talkin' earlier this week and you were goin' to wrap MC"s birthday presents for me. Could you please get them done before breakfast is done?" Mammon asked, pushing his box filled arms towards Asmo. Asmo dodged the boxes then tapped his chin, as if trying to remember the conversation like Mammon had not texted him to remind him the day before. Asmo gasped and started laughing.

"Oh yes! I do remember that now! Of course I will! It may take longer than that though. I told MC I was going to take them out shopping today!" He said, taking the boxes from Mammon and setting them down on a table next to his bedroom door. Before Mammon could protest, saying that that was not what they agreed to, Asmo waved with his fingers and shut the door. Mammon raised his fist to the door to give Asmo a piece of his mind, but he took a quick glance at the time on his DDD, realized how much time he had taken with Levi and dropped his arm, deciding that he could talk with Asmo later.

He quickly walked down the stairs, taking two at a time, before practically jogging to the kitchen. His plan for breakfast was simple. He was going to make you breakfast in bed, something sweet and simple, so you could both enjoy the morning together. What he didn't expect was for Lucifer to be sitting at the kitchen counter with coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

"Lucifer?" Mammon said confused, barely catching the glance Lucifer gave him over the top of his book.

"I was expecting to see Beel before I saw you."' Lucifer said, then took a long sip of his coffee.

"It's MC's birthday and I wanted to make them breakfast in bed.'' Mammon responded, making his way over to the cabinet where he had hid some of the ingredients to your favorite breakfast food, in hopes of keeping it out of yours and Beels sight.

"I know it is MC's birthday. I`m up earlier than normal because me and MC are going to head over to Lord Diavolo's castle as soon as they are awake to have tea." Mammon wasn't sure what made him stop in his tracks. Was it what Lucifer had just said, or the empty ingredient boxes that sat lazily thrown back into their hiding spot.

"Oh." Was all Mammon could say as he slowly turned around, leaning against the counter as he looked over at Lucifer. He was still leisurely sipping on his morning coffee as if he didn’t just drop a pipe bomb on Mammon.

"Are you sure you can't wait a bit till headin' over to Diavolos? I had been plannin' this for a while and it would mean a lot. I know I ask for a lot Lucifer, but this one thing means a lot to me." The white hair demon asked, a wave of defeat washing over him. He had all of this planned out so well, why did it seem to be going so wrong all of the sudden? Lucifer sighed, placing down his book while he stood up, straightening his shirt then grabbing his mug and walking to the sink next to Mammon.

"I can not do that Mammon. I can not leave Lord Diavolo waiting, nor reschedule at such short notice." He said as he rinsed out his cup and placed it gently in the sink, not passing Mammon a single glance. Mammon went to say something, but he was interrupted by you walking into the kitchen. You were wearing a pair of jeans and one of Mammon's shirts, tugging on a  jacket as you made eye contact with your lover. Mammon's heart skipped a beat at the wide smile that crossed your face.

"Mams! I was worried about you this morning. I'm glad to see you're not in any trouble " You said, sending a wink his way, then turning your attention to his older brother who was also facing you.

"Lucifer, is Diavolo ready to see us now?'' You asked as Lucifer nodded, grabbing his jacket from the chair that he was sitting at, then walked towards you.

"He is. We should not keep him waiting any longer.'' He said as he walked past you, turning and starting to head to the door. You watched after Lucifer then turned towards Mammon.

“Wait for me out front! I will be there in a minute!" You yelled after the oldest, then quickly ran over to Mammon. You threw yourself into his arms, holding onto his neck tightly. It caught him off guard, but within seconds he was melting into your arms, wrapping his own tightly around you. You pulled back just enough to be able to look up at the demon's face, placing one hand on his cheek. He could feel the blush creeping up his ears and cheeks, and by your ever growing smile, he knew you could see it too.

"Happy birthday hun. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I wanted to make you breakfast in bed but it looks like Beel got to it before I di- " He got cut off by you placing a sweet kiss on his lips, which he quickly returned. You both could have stayed like that for eternity, but your ringing DDD in your pocket broke you from the shared embrace. You groaned as you rested your forehead against Mammon's chest, no other words needing to be said, you both knew it was Lucifer impatiently waiting for you at the front door.

"How about we Akuber some food once I get home? Just a bit of a change to your plan. " You suggested as you started leaving the kitchen, pulling out your phone from your pocket, and by your eye roll Mammon knew it was Lucifer calling you. He nodded at your suggestion, not completely satisfied with the beginning of his planned out day going up in smoke in front of his eyes.

"Bye Mams! I love you! " You said, blowing him a kiss from the doorway of the kitchen as you placed the ringing phone next to your ear, quickly reassuring Lucifer you were heading towards the door. Mammon shouted an “I love you” after you as he went to the kitchen entryway, watching you walk down the hallway and into the main entrance, pocketing your phone and walking out the door, closing it with an annoyed thud behind you. He sighed and leant against the entryway. He couldn’t help but think about how poorly the morning seemed to play out. 

No matter the disappointment Mammon felt, he didn't let that affect the rest of his plans he had for the day. He took the first hour of you being away to get himself ready. Taking a shower and changing into one of your favorite outfits for him, not forgetting to add accessories you had gifted to him over the span of you being in the Devildom. The next hour he made his way to Asmodeus’s room, seeing if there were any updates on the presents. Just like that morning, he knocked multiple times, never getting an answer. He opened the door slowly, poking his head into the room in hopes of seeing his younger brother.

Asmodeus’s room was deserted. His bed straightened and done up nicely, his vanity clean and organized, only a tube of lip gloss sat lazily tossed to the middle of the vanity. Your birthday presents sat in their Akuzon boxes off to the side of the vanity, wrapping paper and decorations sitting next to them in a basket. Mammon couldn't help but let out an aggravated sigh. It was  past the time he had asked Asmo to get them done, and now it was past the time Asmo had said he would get them done by. It was about two hours before lunch time. Maybe if Mammon was lucky, you would come home within the hour so you two could have a light brunch then go out for lunch.

With wishful thinking and some time to kill, Mammon settled himself on Asmodeus’s floor, pulling your gifts out of their temporary boxes and grabbing the paper, scissors, and tape. He may have gone overboard on the gifts, but dear Diavolo did he love to see you happy, and he was so greedy for your smile. If you two went out and you spared an item a second glance, Mammon would mentally note it and return to buy the item. If he saw something he even remotely thought you would like, he had bought it before you could even say Goldie. He was so in love with you. He was so greedily in love with you. He couldn't help the feeling of sadness wash over him as he thought of you sitting with Lucifer and Diavolo in Diavolo's castle, chatting and laughing while sipping on tea. How badly he wanted to spend your birthday with you. Compared to him, human birthdays seemed like a once in a lifetime experience to have. He would give all three realms up just to spend them with his precious human.

Mammon was brought out of his thoughts by his DDD chiming. He picked it up and saw a message from you. It was a picture you snuck, showing Diavolo and Lucifer in a deep conversation. You sent a text along with it saying how they had been talking about RAD for the past fifteen minutes. He sent an apologetic response, knowing how conversations about RAD between the two of them got, then followed with a question wondering if you knew when you would get home. He then placed his phone down, quickly getting back to wrapping your presents.

It took a lot of effort to not tape himself to some of the packages. He put a few bows on the gifts, dried flowers on some others, while leaving a few plain so you could enjoy the beautiful floral wrapping paper. When he was content enough with the gifts, he started taking them down stairs, storing them in a small closet next to the living room, knowing that's where everyone would retire to that evening to share gifts. As much as he wanted to give you the gifts first and alone together that morning, the plan was ruined, so he decided to play it safe for once.

Around lunch time he still had not received a response about your estimated return, so he decided to grab a quick snack. While eating ,he pulled out his phone deciding that writing down his plans would help. Now it was lunch time, your presents had been retrieved from Levi and they had been wrapped, a bit behind schedule no thanks to Asmodeus. He thought about some of the other stuff he had planned as back ups, going to the movies, going to one of Diavolo's lush gardens, taking you for a drive out in the Devildom, going out for dinner.

He brain stormed, looking at the chat room between the both of you, staring intently at the delivered message under his last text. He decided that maybe dinner was the best option. Without a response from you, it gave about a six hour time frame for you to return, which seemed reasonable enough for him. He quickly put a table for two on reserve at Ristorante Six, thankful that there was still a table available at this time.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Mammon did wait, that was for sure. First he hung out in the living room right next to the front door, eagerly awaiting your return. Then he drifted to the kitchen, making himself a cup of noodles to hold him off till dinner. He ended up in his room, laying on his bed as he watched Deviltok. 

Hours seemed to pass. Hours did pass. And not a single word from you.

Fifteen minutes before your table was reserved for, Mammon was seconds away from calling you, knowing there was no way to make it in time for the reservation. He heard the door burst open downstairs. He was off his bed and halfway down the hall before he could even back out of your contact on his DDD. He half stumbled down the stairs as he turned to look at the door. You walked in with Asmodeus, both giggling with bags filling up both of your arms. Lucifer came in behind you both, a single small bag on his left hand as he shut the door behind you both. Mammon's heart broke a bit, but he was relieved to see you safe.  You looked up at him, your smile glowing a bit more.

"Mammon! I missed you so much! I'm sorry. My DDD died right as Asmo swung by Diavolo's castle saying he was going to take me shopping. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it in time for breakfast." You said, making your way up the stairs to stand next to him. You put all of your bags into one hand as you reached out the now empty one to him.

"Why don't we go to my room and spend some time together? I can show you what all I got!" You said, as Mammon instinctively grabbed your hand.  You had a perfectly reasonable reason that you were unable to text him back, Mammon was just happy that you were back with him.

You lead him to your room, kicking open your door and dropping all your bags near the bathroom door. You plugged your DDD in and sat it down on your bedside table, turning to Mammon with a tired yet beautiful smile. He would be lying if he said that his heart didn't melt a bit at your smile. You sat down on the edge of your bed, falling back so you were laying with your legs hanging off the side, you opened your arms for Mammon. He quickly sat down next to you, laying his head on your chest as you wrapped your arms around him.

"Today has been a bit hectic hm? You asked, Mammon letting out a small laugh.

"You wouldn't even believe it" He responded, letting himself decompress in your arms, the tension that sat in his shoulders releasing as he enjoyed  your embrace.

"It's okay though! We still have tonight! Maybe your brothers will give me enough time to spend with my boyfriend on my birthday." You said, letting out a breathy laugh. Mammon couldn't help but smile, hoping you were right.

After a few more minutes of laying together, you asked him if he would like to see some of the new clothes you had gotten as a gift from Mammon. He said yes as he pulled away from your embrace, allowing you to get up as he situated himself comfortably on your bed. You showed him some of the items, one of the most notable was a hoodie that looked strikingly similar to one of his that you enjoyed to steal. 

“So are you not goin' to steal my hoodie anymore?” He asked, raising an eyebrow doubtfully, a bit sad at seeing the comfortable looking hoodie. He loved when he stole his clothes. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m not going to steal them anymore. Maybe we can just match sometime.” You responded, folding the hoodie as you sent him a wink. Just then, your door burst open and Belphie walked uninvited into your room. 

"Lucifer wants everyone in the living room." He announced, turning on his foot, leaving with your bedroom door wide open.

"Can't have a single moment alone with my human? I swear!" Mammon groaned, standing up from your bed and leaning over to peck you quickly on the lips. He grabbed your hand in his and helped you off the floor,  then out of your room. 

You both made your way downstairs, you updating Mammon on all the stuff that had happened while you and Asmo went out. Once in the living room, Lucifer looked around the room at everyone then nodded.

"As we all know, today is MC's birthday." He announced, eyes stopping on you, " To celebrate, I will be taking us all to Ristorante Six." He finished, all of the brothers gasping and chatter quickly filled the room. Mammon stood dumb struck.

"Mammon? Are you okay?" You whispered, squeezing his hand that was still nestled into yours.

"Yeah.. Yeah. Just funny timing I guess." He said, looking over at your sympathetic face. He had not told you about the abandoned reservation, but just by his comment earlier about everything going wrong, you could only guess what he meant.

"I'm sorry Mams." You said, offering a bit of comfort as you squeezed his hand.

Lucifer announced that you would all be leaving in thirty minutes and expected everyone to be ready by then. Asmo screeched at the short deadline, then made his way out of the living room first, everyone else piled out after him. You and Mammon made your way back to your room, you changing into one of the new outfits Asmo had gotten you while Mammon sat on your bed, scrolling through his phone, unbenounced to you looking at his list. Even though everything had gone the opposite of what he would have wanted, at least you were happy.

Ristorante Six was packed. Every table was full, well, other than one. It sat overlooking the Devildom lights below. You had followed Mammon's gaze to it as your party of 8 was being escorted to one of the private rooms.

"I'm sorry Mams." You whispered to him, his eyes turning to catch yours holding a sympathetic gaze. He waved his hand as a small smile pulled on his lips.

"At least I get to spend time with my favorite human on their birthday! I was startin' to get a bit worried." He said, pulling you under his arm so he could rest his arm across your shoulder. You leaned into him, smiling as you all entered the private room.

The night carried on blissfully. Everyone indulged in the food, and enjoyed the company of each other. Mammon snuck in an order for a two hundred year old wine, mumbling to you to not worry about it since it was all on Lucifer's card. It was an enjoyable dinner. The trip back home was full of laughter and playful jokes, everyone just enjoying the time together.

Once back at the HOL, everyone made their way to their rooms to grab your presents while you and Mammon stayed back in the living room. Mammon brought out all of his presents for you from the closet. 

“You know you didn’t have to get me so much Mams.” You said, watching as the pile of floral clad presents kept piling up around you, almost making you a throne of gifts. Mammon took a step back and admired his work, seeing his human surrounded by gifts he had gotten. 

“What do ya mean?” It’s ya birthday! Of course I am going to go all out for my humans birthday!” He exclaimed, finding a seat next to you as the other brothers made their way back to the living room. There was only room for Mammon and you on the couch thanks to all of the gifts, and Mammon saw nothing wrong with that. He watched as you slowly made your way through all of the gifts. The love all the brothers had for you apparent just by the sheer amount of gifts you had received.

The night went by fast. Before Mammon knew it, everyone was retiring one by one to their room, wishing you one last happy birthday wish before leaving the room. Beel was the last one to leave, holding Belphie over his shoulder he wished you both a good night and disappeared around the corner. Mammon looked over at you, you were admiring a broach Lucifer had gotten you for your school uniform. You must have felt his eyes on you, because you turned to look at him. You scooted closer to him, resting your back against his chest, interlocking your hand with his. 

“Thank you for today Mams.” You said. Mammon was surprised at your words, but you wouldn’t be able to tell. After such a long day, the comforting silence other than the popping of the fireplace had brought him to the first purely calm state since you two had been in your room earlier in the day.

“I wish I could have gotten to spend more time with you.” He responded, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. He was taken by surprise when you turned around to face him, grabbing his other hand. 

“I know things didn’t go as planned today. Asmo ended up telling me all the things you had planned while we were out, and I simply can’t begin to say thank you for all of your effort. I wish everything would have gone to plan, or I at least got to spend more time with you today. But you know how it can be sometimes with your brothers. There are seven of you for crying out loud.” You said, a smile pulling at your lips as you made the comment about him and his brothers. Mammon couldn’t help but smile too. You took his face into your hands, blush instantly creeping up onto his cheeks.

“How about tomorrow, we don't do anything. Just you and me all day. We can get up early and make breakfast together, then take it back to your room and pretend that we had made it for other.” You suggested, he couldn't help but laugh and nod in agreement. Your smile grew a bit before you gasped, scrambling off the couch and over to one of the tables by the fireplace, opening one of the drawers and pulling something out. You plopped down on the couch next to Mammon, holding out a small box. 

“I got you something while I was out with Asmo.” You said, pulling the lid off the box and showing two gold rings. You took one out and slid it onto Mammon's finger before putting on the other.

“I know we already have some matching jewelry, but I figured rings would be a nice surprise.” You told him, him taking your ring clad hand to adore the matching rings. He couldn’t say anything, he just took you in his arms and hugged you tightly. After such a long day filled with so many emotions and uncertainties, your love was one thing that he could always count on to be there. He peppered your face in kisses and showered you in thank you's and praises of how beautiful the rings were. 

“I knew my human had good taste!” He exclaimed as you giggled at his reaction. Both of you are falling silent at a loud yell coming from upstairs. 

“MAMMMONNNNNN” Lucifer yelled, the house pretty much rumbling at his yell. You both shot each other concerned looks, both knowing he had found out about the wine Mammon snuck onto his tab. A smile pulled on Mammon's lips.

“How about I treat my human to a nice hotel tonight for their birthday. Or er, the next few nights.”

[jreads]

Unexpected Constellations (Part 05)

Rating: I have no idea how to do ratings, can you tell? Let's say PG-13.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: Angst, Canon level violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of alcohol, Insinuation of SA (but not really), Dark Themes, Foul language, Bad writing

A/N: I sort of hate this but I get guilty when I haven't uploaded in over a week. Also, I have no idea where to draw the line, do you guys prefer light and happy reader inserts or do u like this stuff. Let me know what the people want, I'll deliver. Next part is more fun, I promise. Again, thank you for all the love, this is more attention than I ever though this fic would get. Please check the masterlist for tags and other parts. If you reblog, I'll fly to your place and propose to you while across the stars plays in the background.

Din woke just before sunrise, fragments of his dream chasing him into consciousness. The way your breathless moan had sounded when he closed his lips over the pulse in your neck, the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the way your body fit so perfectly under his.

He dreamt of you more often than not, sometimes relishing in the ability to touch you, taste you, even if it was merely a figment of his imagination. Some nights, his dreams would be terrible and violent, ones he couldn’t wake from, in which some elusive enemy would seek vengeance against him, and you or the child would get caught in the crosshairs.

On those nights he was glad for the separation between you, if only so you wouldn’t witness the way he jerked upward, gasping, sometimes removing the helmet to take down gulps of cool air.

He felt around in the darkness for it now. The door to the sleeping nook was closed and all of the lights were off, affording him the luxury of sleeping without it. His fingertips made contact with cold metal, and he sat up to retrieve it. Dull pain lanced through his side.

Right. He had forgotten about the injury, how you and the kid had healed him and then… He had told you not to sleep in the cockpit and you had stiffened so visibly…

He had overstepped. He cursed himself silently in the dark.

Sliding the helmet over his head, he felt along the wall for the button to open the door. It rose with a sharp noise, and he scanned the hull, darkness leaking through the ship. It must still be early then.

He’d go to the cockpit, wake you, and tell you to take the bed until the suns rose. He had gotten enough sleep; he would spend the rest of the dark hours trying to figure out some sort of strategy regarding the impossible job he had been presented with. 

Sliding out of the alcove, he looked up towards the flight deck, the visor’s night vision helping him to make out the ladder and the door. It was open.

And the seats beyond it were empty. A dark, yawning pit opened in his mind. You were gone.

He sat at the edge of the bed, unmoving. After last night, after he had asked you to stay, after you had told him you weren’t leaving. He must have made you uncomfortable. He had known this would happen, had expected it. It was why he had tiptoed around the truth for so long. He had shown you just a fraction of what he felt, and it had sent you running. Of course it had.

As if in a daze, he began collecting bits of information throughout the ship. The child, still dozing in his cradle. The medkit, bloodied cloth still strewn atop it, sitting on a stack of crates. Your bag, full, perched against the hull wall. 

Strange. You wouldn’t have left without supplies. Warning alarms blared in the back of his mind, snapping him out of his spiral.

Closing the top of the child’s cradle, he was out of the Razor Crest within moments. The sky was still dark, stars just barely visible against the black backdrop. He scanned the hangar for you. It was eerily quiet.

Wasting no time, he activated the analyzer in his helmet. The footprints that the tracker picked up were several hours old, partially obscured by the constantly shifting sand. But just to his left, a fresher track, with a sole tread he knew to be yours. The prints led directly to the doorway of Peli Motto’s office.

The small lady was curled on a cot to the side of the space, snoring. The candles burned low, fat pools of wax cooling on the stone surface. A small labour droid buzzed around, seemingly aimlessly. He stood in the doorway. The prints led here, but there was no sign of you in the room with Peli.

As if on cue, she coughed herself awake, letting out a hoarse yell when she beheld Mando silhouetted against the doorway. Had he not been wound so tightly, he might have laughed at the sight. Instead, he wasted no time.

“Where is she?” His voice was low, hesitant. Briefly, he wondered if he really wanted the answer.

Recognition crossed Peli’s face. “Oh, yeah, right.” She sat up. “See, I told her you’d have a conniption when you woke up.” The woman ran her hands over her face and through her curls, taking a deep breath.

His hand rested on his belt. “That doesn’t answer my question. Where did she—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay you big mother hen, calm down.” Peli rubbed sleep from her eyes. “She said she was going to go out looking for information, since your intel mission went so splendidly.” The sarcasm was evident in her voice. 

He was far from amused. He barely even registered the fact that you hadn’t left for good. The loss he had felt earlier was immediately replaced by something sharper.

“And you let her?” Mando might has been shaking, just a little. “Go out into Mos Eisley. Alone. In the middle of the night.” He knew he was being too hard on Peli. It was difficult to keep you from doing anything once you had set your mind to it.

Her hand stilled in her hair, as if she realized that she had, in fact, done just that. He turned from the doorway.

She was up and following him at an impressive speed. “She can take care of herself.”

He kept walking.

Peli called after him. “And you’re still injured!”

Still, he didn’t falter.

“How are you going to find her? You don’t even know where she went!”

He replied over his shoulder. “I’m a hunter.” He had cleared the hangar doors. “I find people for a living.”

While the port had quieted significantly since he had been out, there were still all sorts of species out enjoying a night of debauchery. He walked past another human, barely upright, arm slung over the shoulders of a pink Twi’lek. She laughed shrilly at something he said. 

Tracking you shouldn’t be hard. He knew you, the way your mind worked, the mix of logic and intuition in your decisions. But he’d never needed to track you before. Underneath the thick layer of worry, part of him sang at the idea. He set off down a side street, coming out onto the wider stretch.

You were rational. He knew you’d keep to the main road because it was busier. You’d be most likely to overhear something in the more bustling areas of the space port, and you would try to avoid venturing into the darkness.

You had been drinking with Peli earlier, so you would avoid places that would make you look conspicuous for not ordering alcohol. That crossed out the bigger cantinas and the underground haunts. He walked rather briskly down the sandy laneway, narrowly missing an overexcited Ronto.

In the following minutes, he continuously scanned the ground for your prints. He found a match just off Spacer’s Row, but high traffic meant there was no easy track to follow. He took a gamble and turned down the lane. 

Drunken patrons stumbled past him, often quieting as he came near. Having a reputation meant easier pay, and the shining beskar body armour was an effective protector, but he absolutely despised the lack of anonymity. He was out in the open, a veritable beacon, and right now, especially in this space port, he could have used a bit of obscurity.

Too frequently, his hand flexed to his blaster when someone’s eyes lingered just a moment too long. He knew and had heard of many of the hunters associated with the Guild, but he’d be a fool to think that Guild members were the only ones who had gotten wind of this job. He would have to be wary of everyone.

Very few people knew of the Mandalorian’s involvement with you, which was certainly one point in your favour. Obviously, Boba Fett and Fennec Shand were aware that the two of you travelled together, and the nature of your powers. But Boba had dealt with force wielders before, and he trusted the man not to say anything or put you in unnecessary danger. Greef Karga knew Mando now travelled with a companion, but he had not shared any further information about you. Karga had pushed to meet you before and Din had rather passive aggressively declined. He didn’t want you mixed up in the Guild and its politics, but he also didn’t want Karga to have intelligence he could share to other parties.

Altogether this meant, to his displeasure, that you probably would be more effective at eavesdropping and picking up information. But that didn’t stop a selfish part of him from wanting to keep you hidden, safe on the ship, where you could happily play with the child and not share in the life that had coated his own hands with so much unnecessary blood.

His train of thought was broken abruptly as something caught his eye.

Colours. Vibrant and captivating, offset against the drab and monochromatic backdrop of the town. A row of bright banners hung across makeshift scaffolding, interspersed with small, warm lights. An open-air bar, quite busy given the activity he could see, even at a distance.

He knew before he moved any further that he’d find you there. You were always attracted to unique and vivid scenes such as the one before him. Like called to like.

Ducking behind a stretch of domed structures, he closed in on the bar. A Devaronian and a modified protocol droid were making a show of mixing drinks, eliciting oohs and ahhs from the customers watching. You had your back to him, but he could tell you were following the display, the angle of your head and shift of your hair indicative of your interest. The weight on his chest lifted, just a fraction.

The bartender tossed a shaker in the air, twisting with ease before catching it in the opposite hand, not a drop spilled. The protocol droid was cutting a jogan fruit with such speed that its blade tipped arm was a blur. Din wished he could see your face, the way your eyes were sure to light up at the theatrics, an easy smile likely gracing your features. He would have watched you openly, unabashedly under the safety of the helmet. 

Unfortunately, the Weequay across the bar did not have such a luxury. His attention on you was glaringly obvious and clear with intent. As you angled you head again in his direction, the man raised a leathery hand and waggled his fingers suggestively at you. Mando had to curl his hand into a fist to refrain from reaching for his blaster. You didn’t shift. 

Oh. He knew what you were doing. 

Slowly, he took in other details of the scene. Specifically, the six other males the Weequay sat with. Their expensive-looking weaponry scattered atop the table and leaned against its legs. An endless number of blades, blasters, rifles. They were hunters… all of them.

The group’s table was also littered with empty cups of varying sizes, which would have painted a clear enough picture without the loud, slurred speech that Din could pick out through the sensitive audio receptors in his helmet.

If he were to emerge from the shadows and cross the street, drop credits on the counter and tuck you into his side, would they try to stop him? Given how earnestly the one hunter was surveying you, he supposed so. A million scenarios flashed through his mind. The priority was getting to you, he could handle whatever came next. Perhaps that incessant twist in his chest would ease once he could feel you closer to him. 

He reached for the darksaber at his side, the weight of its hilt reassuring. He couldn’t make such a scene here, as much as a very selfish part of him would love to sink the onyx blade into the man’s chest for looking at you that way, for even daring to breathe in your direction. That left his blaster and a few hunting knives. I he could just—

But your seat was now vacant, the protocol droid reaching for an empty mug of what Din could only assume was caf, scooping up the credits beside it. He watched as the Weequay got up too, receiving nudges and claps on the back from his mates as he made his way around the edge of the bar. Following the man’s line of sight, Mando saw red. He was pursuing you, just a few steps ahead, blissfully unaware of his presence. Shit.

He couldn’t just run after you. The armour alone was a dead giveaway, and the hunter’s friends were all watching him stalk after you with wicked expressions. He wanted to hurt them all, slowly, in the worst way imaginable. He would have enjoyed it too.

You turned right into a dark lane between buildings, the Weequay ducking in just paces behind you. Farrik. He’d have to take a longer way around, to avoid being noticed. Ignoring the ever-present ache in his side, Din broke out into a run.

You were hyperaware of the footsteps behind you. The man was trying his best to mask them, but after the amount of alcohol he had ingested with his friends, he was clumsy and uncoordinated. 

You had led him into a darker area of the town, one you had scouted out beforehand due to its confusing, maze-like layout. 

You had sat in that bar for almost an hour, noting the table of hunters in the corner. Mention of a dangerous job and promise of riches had confirmed your suspicion, and you had dutifully listened to what felt like a moon cycle of useless information to try and glean anything important. It was then that you had noticed the man’s interest in you, crooked teeth glinting in your direction. You had supressed a shiver. But if the table wasn’t going to share any more about the bounty, then you would have to get your information through different tactics. So begrudgingly, even though every fibre of your being was screaming at you to stop, you sent a shy smile back. 

Fast forward to now, and the man was probably a few metres behind you. You had taken two lefts, a right, a left again, and two final rights before you ended up exactly where you had planned: a dead end.

“Are you lost, princess?” His voice was a rasp behind you.

So slowly, you turned. The man had his hands braced on his garish belt buckle, blocking your escape from the alley. He bore no weapons; he must have thought you an easy target. A vile grin painted his features.

You took a few steps towards him, close enough that you could smell the liquor on his breath. Yes, this would do nicely.

 “No.” You replied. “Actually, I’m right where I want to be.”

He reached for you then and you dodged, his arm stretching wide. One twist of your hand and his bone severed cleanly just above the elbow. He let out a howl, falling to his knees. You circled him while he cradled the limp arm, huffing and whining.

He hissed. “Witch.”

“Not quite.” You were at his back now, trapping him in the same place he had trapped you just moments ago. “You have some information I want. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

He twisted to look at you over his shoulder, spitting at your feet. Sighing deeply, you rolled your eyes. Seconds later, he was choking and flipping to face you, eyes wide. Hands enclosed around his throat, he shuffled backwards on his ass until his back hit the wall. You released and he gasped.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” Your voice was sweet. For the first time, he regarded you with real fear. Good. Your eyes were probably beginning to take on that saffron tint that came with the use of the dark side of the force. It had taken you months on Sorgan, constantly checking your reflection in the still water of swamp pools, to finally see the colour completely fade from your irises.

“I want information on the bounty your group was talking about. Everything you know.” The man was still heaving, trying desperately to take down gulps of air. He was silent for too long and you lifted your hand again, staring him down.

He crossed his one working arm in front of his face. “Wait! Wait. I’ll tell you—I’ll tell you what you want just…” You lowered the hand, motioning for him to continue. 

He took a few more wheezing breaths. Finally, he rasped: “Raider’s Cove. The person who has the bounty told people to come to Raider’s Cove on Rishi if they wanted to buy it. Bootlegger’s Market, I swear… just let me go.”

Rishi. You had heard of the planet before, but never set foot on it. You wondered if Din knew anything about Bootlegger’s Market. 

Maker, Din.

You felt his presence behind you as if you had summoned him. You shouldn’t be surprised that he managed to find you. Without turning, you addressed him.

“You should be resting.”

His answer was curt, sharp. “You should be on the ship.” Oh, he was not pleased with you.

You twisted to give him your best smile. “I guess we’re both misbehaving then.” You could have sworn even the dark visor looked slightly murderous. A thrilling feeling coursed through you at the sight of him.

Reluctantly, you returned to face the man in front of you, still cowering on the ground. “Why don’t you tell the nice man here what you just told me.” You motioned to Din with your head.

You would have thought it impossible for the hunter to look more frightened than he had moments ago, but now, as he surveyed the both of you, he looked about ready to puke.

Swallowing audibly and still cradling his arm, he spoke directly to Din, avoiding eye contact with you. His rough voice wobbled. “We were told we could find the bounty in Bootlegger’s Market. Someone was taking bids there and would sell to whoever paid the highest.”

“Who gave you that information.” You could have sworn Din’s voice was rougher than usual. He felt tense and unfocused beside you. 

“It was an anonymous tip.” He cringed. “Please… that’s all I know, I swear. Just let me go.”

You turned your back to the man, instead facing Din. You wouldn’t have to worry about the man trying to attack you from behind; you knew Din would have him down before he could even lay a finger on you.

“We can’t just let him leave.” Din’s voice was hushed.

You exhaled. “I know.” 

He regarded you for a long moment before reaching for the blaster at his side. “I’ll do it.” He moved to push past you, but you stopped him with a hand on his pauldron.

“Wait.” Surprisingly, Din obeyed.

You spun again, walking back towards the Weequay on the ground. You had only tried this once, and the results had been less than impressive. But murder hadn’t really been on your list of things to do tonight.

He was scrambling again. “No.. wait please, I’ll do anything you ask.” 

You didn’t have to reach far to bring your palm to his cheek. His skin was rough, textured, like aged Bantha hide. “I know you will.” You whispered.

Unconsciously, he leaned into your touch. You closed your eyes.

Memory rubbing was an old Sith technique, one you had been trained in just once, and succeeded only partially in performing. The results wouldn’t last forever, hopefully just long enough for you and Din to finish the job and get out unscathed.

You filtered through an overload of memories: being cast out by his family, the cruelty of his father, turning to bounty hunting for money, the horror of his first kill, the fine piece of traditional Weequay jewelry he had purchased with his pay, a band of pirates back home, the people he considered friends. Slowly, you witnessed the tainting of his personality, you watched the line between moral and immoral start to blur, bit by bit. Finally, you came across what you needed, the image of you and your Mandalorian in the sandy alleyway coated thoroughly with the tang of fear. Slowly, methodically, you unwound it.

He would remember drinking too much, going for a walk, passing out behind a residential hut. When you were satisfied with your work, you spooled bits of your consciousness back into yourself. 

The physical toll hit you like stone, and as the man collapsed into slumber, you faltered as well.

Strong arms caught you around the waist, keeping you upright and practically hauling you out of the alley. You wanted to say something to him, but your mouth was so dry, your mind wouldn’t work.

A few paces away, he set your back against cool stone, propping your body up against his own. You were already slowly starting to get your strength back, but you weren’t inclined to tell him to move. You kept your eyes closed, breathing through ebbing waves of nausea.

You could feel the waxy leather of his gloves, tilting your head this way and that, likely trying to gauge injury. 

“I’m okay.” You reassured him. “I’m sorry.” You added. There were too many things to apologize for.

There was a moment of silence. And then…

“You can’t keep doing that to me.” He sounded angry, tortured, in pain. You weren’t sure.

Your eyes shot open, looking straight up into the darkness of the visor. He was so close; you could see the yellow of your irises reflected in it. You squeezed them shut again, not wanting to see it, the tangible proof of what you had done.

You drooped you head, mumbling your apology again. “I know we came here for intel and I didn’t want us to come up empty. I thought I’d make it back before you woke. I never intended… I never planned to hurt him… I mean I knew he’d come after me I just… I didn’t mean to.” You were rambling. Taking a steadying breath, finally, you admitted: “I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

“You think that’s what I’m upset about?” There was such incredulity in his modulated voice that you opened your eyes and looked at him again. 

“He made the choice to come after you.” He was shaking his head. “You had every right to defend yourself.” Guilt settles in your gut like a leaden stone. You had exchanged smiles with the man, encouraged him to follow you. It wasn’t self defense. It was an ambush. You had been fully aware of your actions. At what point had that part of you taken over? You hadn’t sensed a shift in yourself.

Din interrupted your train of thought. “I’m upset because I keep thinking I’ve lost you. When I woke up and you were gone…” He trailed off. 

“You should have woken me. I could have trailed you at a distance, at least made sure you were okay.” He was right, of course. It was foolish of you to go off on your own; though perhaps some darker part of you had persuaded you to do so, knowing that things would end up this way.

“I’m sorry….” It felt like you were constantly apologizing. “…for leaving without telling you and for… this.” You motioned back towards the alleyway, where the Weequay lay unconscious. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

“I don’t care about any of that.” He inclined his head over your shoulder toward the same alley. There was true sincerity in his voice. “Everyone gets carried away like that sometimes, it’s normal.” It sure as hell was not normal. You avoided his gaze.

“You’re not evil.” It was your turn to shake your head. He caught your chin between his fingers. “No. You could have let me kill him, but you made the choice to let him live. Even though you knew his intentions when he followed you here. You would have had every right to want him dead.”

“You’re not a bad person.” His breath was shaky. “I know you’re not, because you taught me that I wasn’t.” 

And just like that, your resolve faltered. 

“You don’t ever have to justify that part of yourself. Not to me.” He released your chin to grab your hand. “We’re the same. You and me, remember?” Again, you saw the reflection of your own irises, staring back at you through the darkness of his visor. 

For the second time, you closed your eyes. 

His thumb rubbed soothing circles just above your hip. “It’s okay, they’re already starting to fade.” You nodded, trying not to focus on the feeling of his hands on you. You couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken this much. He had this uncanny ability to calm you down, to ground you, anchor you when you were at risk of losing yourself.

“Thank you.” It was all you could offer. It was an absolute role reversal; he had all the right things to say, and you were practically speechless.

“We should get back to the Crest.” Opening your eyes again, you noticed the lilac tint of the sky, just peeking over the top of the nearest domed hut. The suns were beginning to rise. 

“Can you walk?” Din asked.

You didn’t want him to move. He was so warm, the weight of his body so pleasant against your own, even with the unforgiving armour plates.

Begrudgingly, you nodded. You felt the loss of him like a physical blow.

The walk back to the Crest was a quiet one, as the suns began to appear over the horizon. You seemed less burdened, but Din knew you hid it well.

He hadn’t expected you to feel such guilt from your actions; he thought you had handled yourself admirably. In fact, there was a part of him that delighted in the sight of you commanding the attention of the man on his knees before you. He tried not to think too much about the rush of heat that went through him at the sight of it, so distracting he could barely focus on the words of the bounty hunter you had trapped. The information that you both had come to this planet to retrieve.

Bootlegger’s Market. He had visited a few times before on Guild business and had some contacts there that he could call upon to help. Still, the anonymity of the source baffled him. If someone was trying to make a sale, wouldn’t they leave a way to make contact? There was still so much he didn’t know about the bounty, and he hated to be in an uninformed position. 

You both rounded a corner, finally arriving at Hangar 3-5. Walking through the doors, Din beheld Peli, sitting on a stool watching the sun rise, bouncing a giggling Grogu on her lap. The child had a fistful of worms and was alternating at high speed between laughing and eating. He tilted his helmet, just enough to witness the real smile that broke across your face. His knees almost wobbled in relief. 

He placed a hand on the small of your back. Any excuse to touch you, it was shameful really. “I’m going to go warm up the engines.”

“Okay.” The sun’s warm light was catching the edge of your face, lighting it up in a way that made him feel a little dizzy. The gold tint of your eyes had faded completely on the walk back.

He moved past you, striding up into the coolness of the Crest. So faintly, he could hear you talking to Peli.

Moments later, finally seated in the cockpit, he fired up the engines and set course for Rishi. Looking out the window to his right, he could see the lady engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, pushing you away to give you what looked like a rather stern lecture. You were nodding your head and smiling faintly. She then shook you back and forth, your head bobbing with the force, until you broke out into a laugh. It might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Within minutes, you were in your usual seat to his right, the child happily collapsed in your lap. The haunted look from earlier was gone, replaced by a muted version of your usual vivacity.

As the landing gear rose from the ground and retracted into the hull, he noticed the metal ball unscrewing itself from the dashboard lever. Twisting in his seat, he fully expected the kid to have narrowed eyes and outstretched claws. Instead, it was you, hand lifted, gaze fixed on the sphere now floating leisurely through the air. 

You gave him a smirk and a shrug as Grogu caught it and let out a squeal of excitement. Din huffed and spun back around, taking control of the ship. He was relieved, so relieved to be leaving Tatooine with you. He had almost lost you twice in the space of one day, and he had no doubt that the tension would catch up with him in the form of fatigue once the ship entered hyperspace.

But for now, he was content to hear to roar of the Razor Crest’s engine, interspersed with coos and cackles from the child at his side, and the comforting presence of the travel companion who had become both the leading cause of stress in his life, and his most unfathomable obsession.

“Anything I should know about Rishi?” You asked.

There was really only one thing to say. 

“It’s hot. It’s really kriffing hot.”

Taglist: @that-girl-named-alex @aavengingbucky

[mochikeiji]

Looking Like U Got Me

Request: "Prompt no. 56 and 55 for Gojo ＼(^o^)／"

55. "You look like my husband/wife"

56. "Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster"

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x Reader

↠ Warning: none! Simply fluff

↬ Word Count: 1.7k

↠ a/n: i accidentally mixed up prompts 55 and 57 ;-; but still hoping this turns out good!!

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event!

All he wanted was to wake up in bed, next to you— who would cuddle deeper in his arms even in slumber so he'd smother you with his kisses and tighten his hold around you and drift back to sleep longer, finally free of responsibilities for once and enjoy quality time with his only favorite person. But instead he wakes up with a groan passing through his lips, supporting his back side with his hand while shuffling to his side in a different position as the light sun rays shun through the window blinds, softly fanning his eye and forehead.

Gojo chuckles a bit before wincing. His lower back so tensed that he feels himself get older by the day. Pouting at the empty space next to him, he palms the cold sheet in wonder of where you are. Up so early in the morning when you could've just stayed in for him. How annoying. His eyes shut for moment when the scent coming from outside the room intruded his senses. Ah, you must be cooking breakfast. How sweet of you.

Thank goodness it wasn't another batch of dried crackers or cup of noodles that'll enter his mouth. He was never one to cook meals when he was on solo or when you weren't around. The very thought of not only the meal was awaiting for him outside, but also you excites him that it made him feel tingly inside. Call it dramatic, yeah, but it's not every day someone gets to wake up and immediately feel this full of love in the morning. You were the only and last love he's ever wanted to have in this world. It was so surreal even to him.

Sighing before pushing himself up, Gojo yawns out the remains of drowsiness in his system and stands. He didn't bother wearing a shirt since last night, claiming that he misses how his body rubs off yours in both comforting and suggestive ways. Plus it was just you and him home, he'd rather walk naked than wear the usual long sleeved uniform on a warm day.

The scent of coffee got stronger as he closes in his journey towards the kitchen. There was faint sizzling coming from the pan as you stood there in attendance. Stuck in your own little world, swaying to the sound of the radio playing, U got Me by Yung Heazy. It was one of the few songs that reminded you of Gojo back when you were both high schoolers. The exact song you remembered playing when you both hung out on a small cafe in Tokyo. Where he was so flustered, attempted to hide his blushes with his round glasses. The little things that reminded you of that memory never fails to make your heart race.

Of course Gojo knows this one as well. Because it was on that date as well he had call you, "his" after masking his embarrassment and from obviously checking you out every minute. How could he contain himself? He was a young man who was having trouble in the arts of love. Nevertheless he was glad to have grown up from those years. If his younger self could see him now, he'd be gagging at the sight of a softer version of his older self.

Snaking his arms around your torso carefully to avoid surprising you, he places his chin above your shoulder. Salivating at the sight of thick bacon in deep frying, shamelessly letting you know he was hungry from the sound of his stomach growling. "This is a nice way to greet me." you smile at the man behind you, who had his eyes closed in delight while rubbing his cheek against yours like a cat in need of attention. "Good morning to you as well, sweet cheeks." he says after  pressing a kiss on your skin.

"You got up early." whining softly, his hair and nose tickling the side of your neck and shoulder, "I was hoping to stay longer y'know?" trailing his hands underneath the his shirt you were wearing, mapping out on all the skin he could squish and hold with his large palms. Noticeably pressing himself closer to your body, the much needed space gone but you weren't complaining. After all, this was Gojo, a man who knows no boundaries.

"I wanted to make breakfast for you. We haven't had one together since we're both busy." you say as you grabbed the nearby plate, turning off the stove as the now cooked meal sizzles softly from the pan before sliding down to the porcelain surface. In attempt to lick his lips at the now prepared food, his tongue grazes upon your skin, sending you to jolt a bit, hearing the joyous laughter from him as he places a kiss on the spot as an apology.

"W-why don't you go sit down, there's rice bowls and cooked eggs prepared already." stammering, you quickly excused yourself away from his embrace to clean out the mess from the counter. Gojo sighs out the adoration but obliges to your command. Not long after you had finally settled down in front of him. Seeing him in all smiles as he scarfs down on his food made you smile as well. Thank goodness his blindfold was off, they looked adorable twinkling in happiness.

This felt nice. To have an opportunity to be a normal couple once again. So many times you could only daydream of scenarios like this. He could say the same as now that you were present on the usual spot he'd come home to empty. Often dozing off during meetings thinking of where you were or how you were, the multiple times Megumi has fed up with his whining about how he never gets to see or have more time with you. Nobara even pointed out a fact saying, "You act as if you're both married." and Yuuji, being the happy child of the three had said something that always ponder in his mind, "Why don't you marry each other yet, sensei?"

It was a statement he's been considering for a long time. Marriage. Of course Gojo wanted to marry you after years of torment love. To have his precious students say that you both already looked as if you were married got him all heart racing, and very very happy. He's had vivid images of a life with you. Not far from what it is today, but imagine. Unlimited happiness after so long of fearing it. Perhaps maybe even tiny legs running around, giving him such big love as his grows for the family he's craved, watching you smile beside the doorway and calling them in for a meal.

If marrying you means he can have that every day, then the hell with it.

"You look like my wife."

The spoon drop echoes. Slowly his face erupted into a faint blush while staring back at your widened eyes and opened mouth. "What?" gulping down the stuck food in your throat, Gojo bites his lips watching you maintain your composure. So cute. "Y-you know you say funny stuff when you're out of it. Maybe some daifuku would help? Yeah! Wait a sec." quickly getting up from your seat and rummaging in your fridge, you breathed out the heavy puff of air from your lungs.

He did not just say that so directly towards you. Maybe you were dreaming? You wouldn't be if your heart wasn't practically being forced out. Gojo is always fun and games, right? He doesn't mean that.

Sad to think of it that way.

"Ow!" thumping your head above the fridge as you grabbed some of the take outs of Daifuku you got yesterday, closing the fridge back before returning shortly to Gojo, who seemed as out of it as you were. "You did say your brain functions best when you eat sweets. Luckily for you I bought these yesterday. That's why I cooked earlier now because I wanted to try it out with you!"

Gojo can't tell if he wants to be offended at the fact that you think he was joking or just now, cover his half of his face to hide his laughter and igniting squeals. God he wished he had his phone right now, the moment was just so priceless and precious as you were.

"...ter"

Muffles from behind his hand was heard. Tilting your head to the side, trying to process what he said but no avail. "What was that?" you moved a little closer next to him, tapping his hand away almost eagerly. When he does, you spot that knowing smile present on his lips and the uncharacteristic blush still painted on his cheeks.

"Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster, honey."

You've gotten more shy when his hand held yours in the most loving way while drawing patterns. Searching through his eyes if he was playing around, but you were met with ones you know of when they were full of sincerity. "I-i. You know, they were so cheap anyways and I figured you'd want them." he snorts before leaning his head on your arm and laughs hysterically. It was painfully obvious that you were in state of shock that you couldn't even process his words.

Up until now the effect he has on you was still there like before.

"Sweetie." he turns his body away from the table to face you, pulling you so that you were standing in between his legs looking down shyly on the floor. "I'm serious." his fingers reached for your chin to pull your head up to meet his features. His other hand still holding your smaller one; index finger tracing your ring finger in circular motions as if he was creating a make believe ring.

He should thank himself for falling in love and be trusting once again.

Because now, staring back at your eyes filled with the same amount of emotions as his. Reciprocating the exact thing he was feeling. Waking up just to start the day already wanting him to be there. Knowing all the littlest things he's shared. Hearing the erratic sound of both of your heart beats.

He knew he's made the right choice.

"You really do look like my wife. My future."

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[prettyboykatsuki]

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

__

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,”  he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

__

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning  on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart  in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

__

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You  cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

[kiridarling]

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

request | Can I have royalty au (soon to be king bakugou) (and soon to be queen reader) , katsuki and reader are supposed to be getting married (not to eachother) but they end up sneaking around and doing IT with eachother so top!kats , exhibition , begging , dumbification and spanking THANK YOU💞💞

this lovely request was submitted for the kissing booth event (the rest of the drabbles come out soon, ahem :)) so, if this was your request, um...hAHA whoops.

katsuki bakugou | f!reader, royalty!au, infidelity, nondescript!fiancés, angst (gasp), fingering, exhibitionism, dumbification + more! minors dni!

— 3.7k words

“C'mon, princess...can I make you feel good once last time?

You're getting married.

No more ignorance is bliss, no more I didn't know any better—this is when you put all your childish antics to the side and fucking woman up, now in charge of the safety of your kingdom and its inhabitants and whatnot. So yes, you must snuff all your adolescent tendencies, and that includes sleeping with the Crowned Prince of the neighboring kingdom behind your fiancé's backs.

But, boys are stubborn. And stupid.

Ding ding ding!

"Excuse me, Everyone!" Your fiancé announces to the crowd in your dining room as he stumbles to his feet, spoon clinking against his glass. He nearly trips, but no one sees except yourself. "I would like to make a toast."

You frown. This wasn't a part of the rehearsal dinner.

"First of all, I would like to thank you all for being able to be with us tonight," he says, shoving the glass higher in the air. As red wine splashes over the rim, you think to remind him that isn't a toast, it's the beginning of a speech, but your comments have rarely deterred the man in the past. "As you’re all aware, this marriage is vital. Not only for our kingdom, but for the neighboring kingdom as well."

Your fiancé regards the Bakugou’s with a lift of his chalice. In the coming weeks, two arranged marriages will melt the four most influential kingdoms into two, and your fiancé and his family had the genius to throw a massive Gala to celebrate it. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got off to the idea of stretching themselves so thin their hair falls out at age thirty; they won’t even allow you to choose the type of dress for your wedding.

"I would also like to thank my lovely, lovely wife, for just being so... lovely.” Your fiancé chuckles, accompanied by an uncomfortable massage to your shoulder. The guests find amusement in how whipped he is as he gazes your way expectantly, conceivably wishing to see you swoon at the compliment. All you give him is a blank face. His elation falters.

"You know, when I first met this woman, I knew she was going to be the love of my life," your fiancé shakes your glare off. You purposely block out the rest of his story in favor of folding and unfolding your napkin again, puffing under your breath at the cheesy comment.

"Sap," you grunt to yourself, obviously. You don't expect anyone to hear, but there's a snort to your right. Your eyes lift from your lap—and straight into Katsuki's smug blood red ones. He winks at you from across the table and your eyes roll at that, though there's a small smile playing on your face that's impossible to hide.

"Isn't that right [Y/N]!...[Y/N]?"

You blink yourself back to life, eyes reluctantly leaving Katuski's hypnotic ones for the pair that make you nauseous, "Oh—u-um, yep!"

The place bursts in laughter and there's even a little smile dancing on Katsuki's face. He catches you staring so your eyes divert to your lap, but his remain a physical force against you for the rest of the night.

*selene — the greek goddess of the moon

The balcony is much nicer than the ballroom.

For one, it's the farthest place you could have gone from the commotion, all the way on the opposite side of the castle. It's a solid five-minute walk when you aren't in heels and a heavy petticoat, but it provides a lovely view of your front yard, subjecting you to watch the early-sleepers leave in their carriages to call it a night. Meanwhile, *Selene watches you from her telescope the moon with a sigh and a sad smile, because she's the only one who knows how completely and utterly alone you will be.

You glare at her—the goddess doesn't waver.

Bitch.

It's no secret that Gala’s like these get overwhelming—especially when you're the center of attention. You see Lord Shinsou (Earl) stuff the eager Lord Kaminari (Baron) into his silver-plated carriage before looking around to ensure no one saw, and blanche upon seeing your figure stood on the balcony. You salute so he knows his secret is safe with you, and relief washes over his face before he too hops into the carriage. What a scandal, you giggle.

Plenty of couples resign home after that; it makes you uneasy. You're unsure as to why, but you have the ever-increasing urge to nip at your fingernails until you don't have them anymore, and jamming the sharpest point of your heel into the concrete seems like the only proper way to release enough kinetic energy before you explode.

"He loves me."

He does, embarrassingly so—so what's the issue?

There isn't an issue; there shouldn't be. He reminds you how pretty you are and you compliment his influence. Neither of you are marrying down. You look good together. The kingdom's future power couple if you will, where you two supposedly mold the great future in your peculiarly young hands. There isn't an issue. You're the one for him, and he's the one for you.

The balcony door whines open. You don't turn around, praying whoever it is will see that it's occupied and turn the other cheek. Yet, the stomp of whoever's boots only grow louder until you’re adjacent to a shadow of a being, his chin lifted towards the stars. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, though dyed a pale white by the silver moon, and you two stand in a strangely comfortable silence, watching carriages roll out of your driveway.

The silence doesn’t last for long, though. It never does.

"D’ya always go disappearing like that?"

You frown. "What?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Katsuki grumbles—he has yet to look at you. Seems like Selene captures more than one person's attention tonight. "Blinked and you were gone."

Your frown only deepens, and you return your attention to the courtyard. "I didn't know you were paying attention."

The ash-blond presses his forearms against the railing for support. "I wasn't. He was."

Oh.

"Said he wants you to come back, so," Katsuki clicks his tongue, carmine red eyes finally flicking your way through the darkness. You don’t dare look at him. “You run off often, or what?"

"Tell him I'll come back in a second," you sigh, balancing your face in your hand. Katsuki says nothing, but he doesn't leave, and you hate that you don't mind.

Until he points towards a couple crossing the lawn and says, "Oi, that's the Duke from my fiancé's kingdom. Fucker tried to poison my dad for the throne—straightened him out real quick.”

"Why are you talking to me?" You snap like a cornered animal. Katsuki lifts an eyebrow.

"What? I can't have a goddamn conversation?"

"I—" your chest rises and falls with a reason to why he can't, but you can only come up with one—and you don't want to think about it.

"Listen. I don't like these things either, alright?" He huffs defensively, so defensively that you have to take a step back. "If I have the opportunity to get some fresh air, I'm gonna fuckin' take it."

You shrug, supposing it makes you one and the same. The wind blows, not harsh, but harsh enough to ruffle your gown, and make the gold jewelry decorating Katsuki's tunic jingle.

“So. I guess this is it, ain’t it?”

You sigh, “Katsuki, you know we—“

"Yeah yeah, that's all you fuckin' say," he growls bitterly, and you blink in a poor attempt to find where the animosity came from. His face twists in an ugly way as he sits his hands on his hips, nose scrunched to mockingly pitch his voice that doesn't sound like yours at all. "We can't, we shouldn't—"

"Because we shouldn't!" You nearly shout, and Katsuki jumps from how quickly you raise your voice. "Because—because if we get caught, we're fucked. And I can't go to sleep terrified that I'll wake up to an exposé tomorrow morning and get beheaded by the afternoon. So...please. Just stop."

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

"You don't love that asshole."

Your throat feels tight—much too tight to be comfortable, and your chest rises and falls with disbelief as you search for the words before you can talk again, eyes never dropping from the stars. You've had this conversation, fuck, you have it too often; often enough to know that he would say those exact words, and enough to know precisely what you'll say in response.

"I love him, Katsuki."

"No, no you fuckin' don't," the ash-blond chucks a laugh and it's nothing short of acrid, his words eating away at your skin more than you'd like them to. You sigh, resting your forearms on the railing too.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Always gotta be so goddamn emotionally unavailable, huh?" He growls, glare set on the mountains presented in front of you. You feel his suit jacket hit your freezing shoulders, unaware of the cool temperatures until you feel the cloth brush against goosebumps. It’s your turn to laugh bitterly.

“Careful. People might think we’re getting married to each other.”

“One day you’ll let me fuckin’ live,” he grunts, and your eyes meet for the first time. His usual red is dyed a deep purple by the moonlight, their usual hardness traded for something much softer. “Can’t even give you a jacket when you’re shivering like a goddamn leaf in the wind.”

You give him a look of utter exhaustion because you’re tired—tired of all this running around and hiding, the secrecy. It eats at your insides like a caterpillar does a leaf, knowing that you go to sleep every night to a man who’ll barely touch you, but at the same time, feeling guilty that you don’t need nor want him to.

“Why are you here?”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. His warm body settles behind yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not close enough to feel him. “You looked lonely.”

“I thought my fiancé told you to get me?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Katsuki rolls his eyes, his arms settling on both sides of yours.

“He did. But I didn’t refuse the damn request either.”

“You saw my loneliness all the way from the ballroom. What an eyesight,” you scoff. Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but it’s clear he’s fighting a grin because you’re a little shit who loves giving him a hard time. The ash-blond’s chest rises and falls, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“You know what I mean.”

You snort, tilting your head to the right. You suppose you do.

“And I’m marrying a bitch,” he adds to his list of grievances, his hands finding yours to gently play with your fingers. You nod in agreement. A bitch she is.

“And...I’m really going to fuckin’ miss you.”

It might as well pass for nothing but a breath, eyes trained on your held hands. His chest suspends like he has more to say, but his teeth tear at the inside of his cheek before he can. “I—fuck, I get it, okay? I’m a selfish asshole—“

“This doesn’t have to do wit—“

“And I really, really need to get my fuckin’ priorities straight. I mean, they are, just not in the way they should be.”

“Hey,” you chastise, shaking his hands for his attention. “You can’t control who you love, okay?"

Katsuki grumbles at that but you refuse, turning around to look him in the eyes.

"And neither can I.”

You let go of his hands in favor of pulling him down via his cheeks and giving him a big fat kiss on the lips. It’s peckish and brief, but it’s sweet and gets your point across. It's comfortable.

“The hell was that for?” Katsuki asks once you pull away. Though you see him struggle to hide a grin, eyes squinting more than they should.

“Easy,” you say, stepping forwards (as if there’s any space for that), “You looked lonely.”

Katsuki snorts, dropping his head, “Bastard.”

“And I’m being married off to an asshole,” you lament, pulling his face so close to the point you’re sure the strain on his back has got to be anything but sexy. He accommodates anyways—Katsuki always has; and night seems to suspend along with his baited breath as he waits for the next line, eyes shining with a painful hope you’re about to confirm.

“And I’m really, really going to miss you,” you say, shaking your head at how utterly true that statement is. Fuck.

The vulnerability slowly fades from his eyes at that, and Katsuki hums, clammy hands finding their rightful place around your hips.

“You shouldn’t call him an asshole, you know,” he says, face inching so close you can smell the champagne on his breath. “He means well.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” you quip back, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki shrugs, and you don’t realize he’s backing you up until your back kisses the cool railing.

“Well. I can’t help but feel a little bad,” he says cheekily as he inches closer, “‘Cause I make you feel so good, don’t I, Princess? Last time I checked, better than he ever could.”

You scoff at his audacity though it’s all good-natured, eyes preferring the moon over his heated gaze as he turns you around to face the courtyard.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, redirecting your attention using a finger on your jaw, “Eyes on me, Princess. You look really fuckin’ pretty under the stars, y’know.”

You snort at the compliment, rolling your eyes.

“‘M serious. A fuckin’ goddess,” he growls, leaving wet kisses up the column of your neck. Your breath hitches as he reaches your sweet spot and sucks, and you’re swatting him away before he can leave a mark.

“I sai—“

“One last time, Princess,” he bargains lowly as his hot hands slide their way from your waist to your breasts, taking their sweet time. Katsuki hooks his chin on your shoulder. “Lemme—Can I make you feel good one last time?”

You’re nodding with a whimper before you can berate yourself for being so fucking easy, the thought of not being able to indulge yourself with this, with him, any longer tosses any and all resistance out the window.

“Good,” Katsuki hums, tweaking your nipples through the bodice. “‘M gonna pay you back for being so good to me, yeah? For puttin' up with all my shit."

You scoff, mouth dropping to tell him you weren't putting up with his shit, but then a warm hand lands on your thigh—somehow, he's found a way under your dress. The hand slides up inner thigh and you feel Katsuki's chest shudder against your back as he finally reaches where you need him most.

"K-Kats—"

"Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you?" He grunts, pulling your panties to the side. You shiver from the change in temperature, watching another Duke and Duchess of half-drunkenly stumble into their carriages for the night, before there's a crack of a whip and hooves beat towards the exit. It's only a reminder of how painfully exposed you two are—one glance towards the balcony and any onlooker would know exactly what's happening. You hate it.

You hate that you don't.

"Atta girl," Katsuki purrs, groaning as he inserts a finger. You shiver, the weight of his being practically trapping you against the railing. "Always so fuckin' tight. I swear that asshole never fucks you right."

Katsuki's never been an impatient man and fills you with a second finger awfully fast, chuckling when you bite into the meat of your palm to hold back a whimper. His hips start to grind against the puff of your dress and he groans as quietly as he can, carelessly shoving down the sleeve of his suit jacket to bite into your shoulder.

You let out a broken moan much too loud for this time of night and it prompts Katsuki's free hand to stuff an equal amount of fingers into your mouth. "Y'know, something tells me you wanna get caught. You want the whole world to know how much you fuckin' hate that bastard, huh?"

You choke as Katsuki slides in a third digit next to the second, the slap of his palm against your pussy becoming nothing but obscene as your slick accentuates the sound. His hips speed up against your ass and that's enough friction to have the ash-blond groaning, along with the spit that drips down his forearm.

"So dirty for me, Princess," his hips stutter when you push back, tongue laving over the bite mark you'll probably have to conceal in the morning. Asshole. "You wanna cum like this, don't you? You're gonna cum all over my fingers in front of the entire royal court. Dumb little girl, can't even keep her mouth shut to keep us from gettin' caught."

You jam your heel into the balcony concrete so hard you positive it cracks before you're coming all over Katsuki's fingers, nearly choking on the ones in your mouth as you release the loudest broken moan you have that night. Katsuki's hips stutter against you and you're positive he's filling his boxers from the airy moan that follows, and his hand goes limp in your mouth before it slides out completely.

Your chests balloon in unison, his body draped over yours, and as you two catch your breath under the moonlight, you can’t help but think how much you’re going to miss this.

"Run away with me."

"I—" he does this. He always does this. He makes you feel on top of the world, acting like everything's fine, and then he pulls this shit on you. You look everywhere but him, nearly scoffing in disbelief. "Katsuki—"

"C'mon, Princess," Katsuki scrambles to flip you by the waist until your back is flush against the railing again and he’s cradling both your hands in his semi-damp ones. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t like, and it makes your chest burn. "Across the sea, people are movin’ over there and I—I know someone there, okay? Someone we could stay with, maybe help us get back on our feet an-and I found a fuckin’ ferry guy to take us across, and I can even pay him a little extra, o-or you, or—"

"Katsuki," you give him a sad smile, squeezing his hands tight. There's hope, too much hope in his eyes and it's fucking blinding. "Running away? I—this is—we have an obligation, we can't jus—"

"It'll be fine," he insists, stepping forwards and squeezing you back twice as hard. You sigh."I—the two kingdoms can merge or whatever the fuck they wanna do and then we'll be—"

"Katsuki."

"I—fuck Princess, I don't beg but goddammit, I'll do whatever you fuckin' want, get on my knees, I ca—"

"You really want to know what I want?"

Katsuki freezes. It's the first time you've ever seen some semblance of emotion in him that isn't anger or lust, with carmine red irises swimming in unshed tears—and fuck, you hate the sight. You want to shoot yourself in the fucking foot for what you’re about to do, but it’s for the best. It always is.

"Love her."

Katsuki looks at you, and his face drops, chest shuddering.

"I can't."

You drop his hands in favor of holding his face, thumbing at the hot tears running as they fall. God, Katsuki’s pretty—too pretty for his own good and he doesn’t even know it. His unsteady hands find themselves massaging your ribs and your foreheads knock together. "You need to try. Love her as much as you love me, yeah?"

"'S fuckin' impossible," Katsuki says with a wet snort, shaking his head with eyebrows raised. You giggle, throat impossibly tight.

"Almost, then? For me."

Katsuki’s red eyes stare at you through the darkness. You have half a mind to look the other way, but you figure you owe him this if nothing else, and as he lovingly absorbs your being under the moonlight for the last time, you really wish you could take your words back.

"I'll...fuck. Fine. I'll try." Katsuki resigns with a shrug, shaking his head. You two sniffle in unison and you suppress the strange urge to pinch him. "'M not gonna try to get over you, though. Sorry, not sorry."

You roll your eyes at that but it's all good-natured, followed by a choke you struggle to hide as his arms coil around your waist, "Then I won't either."

A genuine grin spreads across his face, and it’s borderline giddy—and a stark contrast against the waterworks. "She finally fuckin' admits it."

"Figured it was about time," you give him a wobbly smile before your eyes flicker to his, red blurring from being so close. Selene looks upon both of you with a reminiscent sigh.

"I love you, Katsuki Bakugou."

Katsuki sniffs before he laughs; it's wet, and near bitter, and he pulls you so close your face nearly shoves into his chest. "Fuck. Fuck, you're an asshole, you know that?"

"This is when you say it back," you bargain, squishing his cheeks. Katsuki presses his forehead deeper into yours.

"I love you too, Asshole."

He speaks with a softness you've never heard and it's like a gunshot to the heart, and as his lips inch closer to yours as your hands slide to thumb at his ears. One last kiss wouldn't hurt, would it?

Until there's a whistle and the click of footsteps. You and Katsuki jump a mile apart.

"Oh, [Y/N]! You're still out here in the cold?" Your fiancé asks with a raised eyebrow, but it seems like that's only an afterthought as he turns to Katsuki to say, "Your wife’s found the alcohol."

"Great," the ash-blond groans, understanding the translation—your fiancé is piss drunk in the ballroom.

"I do recommend you take her home. She's making quite a mess of the eclairs. And her face."

Katsuki heads inside without giving you a second glance, and your fiancé gives him a solid pat on the way in before turning to you halfway through the doorway, "Are you coming inside, Darling?"

"In a moment," you say with a smile. Your hand never leaves the railing. "Just getting some fresh air."

"Alrighty, then. I'll be in the bedroom. Waiting~" he winks, and with that, he's spinning on his heel, and you're alone with the moon again.

You watch Katsuki guide his inebriated fiancé into the carriage lovingly, with a smile on his face that isn't quite the one he wears with you but close enough, whispering whatever pleases her at the time with a chaste kiss on the cheek. You feel comfort in knowing that he has someone to love and someone to be loved by. He doesn't look your way—not once.

It's not until they drive away that you realize you still have his suit jacket draped over your shoulders. You don't doubt he did that on purpose, either.

Asshole.

[mothra-mcyt]

Hi! Love your work!! Can I request a Schlatt SFW alphabet please? Thank you ❤️

(Remember that Schlatt is just a character/persona and this is not about the realy person behind that character)

☾ Jschlatt SFW Alphabet ☽

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

I don't think he would show you affection directly. Most of the time it's subtle like if you two are hanging out he will play your favorite song he remembered you talking about, making sure you drink enough water, always asking if you've eaten something already etc.

Or giving you presents like new video games, buying a hoodie that he saw you looking it while thinking about buying it

And of course he would also show you affection through bullying.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The friendship would probably start with a love or host or the two of you got introduced to eachother by a friend.

He would be a fun bestfriend having the attitude of "I'm the only one who's allowed to bully you everyone else can shut the fuck up."

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Likes to lay on his back with you at his side with your head laying on his chest. Puts his arm around you and pets your hairs.

Also really likes to lay his head on your chest and hearing your heartbeat.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Imma be honest he's not that good at cooking or cleaning always having unwashed clothes and ordering food most of the time.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It depends on how long the relationship has been going and on how strongn the bond of you two is.

If you two haven't been together for long it would be way easier for him making him able to tell it to you without being very sad.

But if you two have been a couple for a long time it would be very hard for him probably not being able to keep the tears in.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I feel like he has commitment issues and he just constantly worries that the two of you are going to break up after marriage so it would take him to really know you're the one to get married.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He doesn't really like showing when he's sad because he thinks it makes him look weak but if you're sad he won't think of you as weak at all and will do his best at comforting you.

He's very aware of his strengh and is very gentle physically always being careful when picking you up or hugging you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

At first he's like "Na i don't really like hugs that much" until once you gave him a hug while he was angry to calm him down. That moment he realised how much he likes getting hugs from you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

The words "I love you" mean a lot to him so it would take him a long time to say it with a meaning behind it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

It really depends on the person. If he trusts the person you're hanging out with and knows them then he doesn't care because he trusts you.

But if he already thinks the person you're hanging out with is sus then he can get kinda jealous.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He really likes to kiss you on your neck because he likes the reaction he can get out of you.

Most of his kisses are really heated taking away your breath but if the moment is fitting he likes softer kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I don't think he's that good around children. He doesn't like how loud and annoying they are. But he finds it adorable how curious they can be sometimes and how they don't give a shir and tell you straight in the face when they think you're ugly.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sounds really weird but because i know that he likes animals i feel like he'd watch animal documentaries that are playing on the tv early in the morning while laying in bed with you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

If he has to edit it's probably spent with him sitting at his pc while you're in the room doing whatever you want because he likes your company.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

I think he would start revealing things pretty early but he waits a while to reveal things slowly and not everything at once. Letting you take your time in figuring out if you like him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Usually he doesn't get seriously angered easily but plays being angry. He could never be seriously angry at you because he's scared you're gonna hate him. But if someone is being mean to you he can get angry easily.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He likes to remember stuff about you and write it down in his phone. Your favorite colour, favorite flower, favorite song, your insecurities etc.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Once when he was editing you fell asleep in his lap trying to stay awake so he acted like you were a cat and did his best not to move to disturb you in anyway that could wake you up.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

If he sees you being uncomfortable because of someone he can be pretty protective. If it happens outside he will get you out of harms way and probably insult the person that is making you uncomfortable. Is also not afraid to throw hands.

He's basically constantly 'bullying you' but if someone other than him bullies you he's like 'Hey bitch you can't do that'

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts a lot of effort into dates and anniversaries making sure that you're going to like what he does/gives you.

Usually when he gifts you stuff it can be anything that he finds on the internet but he likes to gift you games over steam.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He's not very good at expressing his emotions especially sadness so he tends to bottle up all sadness until he has a breakdown. While in that breakdown he distances himself from you because he's scared you're gonna hate him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I mean he's not completely obsessed with his looks but he just likes to look neat for himself. What he is kinda obsessed with tho is his beard and he always wants it to look good.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

The thing is he's definitely able to be alone for a while without immediately missing you. But he loves just you being around him without conversations so he would probably start to muss your company.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If he really trusts you he'll lay his head in your lap and if you pet his hair he'll probably fall asleep. Loves to do this after a long day of editing or streaming.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn't like it if his partner gets overly jealous. It annoys him and he sometimes just wants to hang out with friends.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He has a tendency to pull the blanket closer to him when sleeping so you better cuddle with him if you don't wanna freeze.

He also sometimes drools but don't tell him that.

Masterlist

[neovrse]

— TEASER

“dude, it means i have a crush on you”

genre — fluff, angst, mark lee being his regular cute self

warnings — swearing, sexual themes, sexual tension, smut, exhibition, oc is pretty harsh to mark at times, she is a literal ice queen. mark not knowing how to talk to girls

word count — tba (somewhere inbetween 13k-20k

songs to listen to — i like u by niki and ordinary love by park kyung ft park bom

summary — mark is not your friend. you would even consider him a senior because you guys are the same age. you had no problems with mark, until your group’s comeback got pushed back because of a collab you have to do with sm’s golden boy. now you have to spend every waking day with the boy in order to get your work out faster. there is absolutely no room for a friendship between you and mark. it’s strictly business in your eyes. mark on the other hand cannot help but wonder where this arrangement could take the two of you

release date — sometime next week, will clarify as i get more done

an — if you want me to tag you when it is released just send me an ask

you would hardly consider mark lee to be your friend. colleague, senior if you really had to watch your honorifics around the staff but friend would be an exaggeration 

interactions with him when you were a trainees together were limited and short. he was a shy boy he barely met your eyes or anyone’s for that matter as he was still getting accustomed to the new country he was continuing his life in. as soon as mark arrived he threw himself into practicing at a young age which to assumed was to cope with the new changes in his life 

all the late nights you walked passed the dance practice room or the studio and saw the boy practicing himself to the bone, seemed to pay off as mark debuted a whole year before you

there was no sense of resentment as you knew the boy worked hard without ever telling him to his face, you were happy for him 

though none of the events in his life impacted yours as you continued with your daily lessons and dance practices. seeing all of you fellow friends who debuted before you just motivated you to work harder 

it was finally your turn, a few trainees you became close to were finally given the opportunity to debut. you could easily say there was nothing like the preparation for your groups debut 

majority of the stuff you have done in the past to prepare yourself were individual so you were stepping into foreign territory 

you moved away from your parents and moved into a dorm with your members. the five of you ate together, practiced together and recorded together, which was crucial to build the relationship with one another 

after spending so much time together, you could confidently call them your best friends, something you never experienced since moving to korea 

after debut you rarely saw mark, he was a busybody even when his group was not promoting, he was almost always doing other schedules and promotions 

for the entire year, you almost completely forgot who mark lee even is

well until now

you were told to dress nicely by your manager. to meet her downstairs for whatever reason while all you members remained asleep from the long night of recording an ost for a drama, you couldn’t careless about 

while hoping the backseat of the van, your manager sat beside you and looked at you with tired eyes. you felt bad for her, she was always there. always punctual and never failed to set you guys straight. what a lot of you guys forgot to realize at times was the she had a life too and a family outside of the group

she deserved better than babysitting a bunch of 20 something year olds 

“honey, just a heads up, you are gonna have a meeting with the creative team today” she finally spoke as she sent you a weak smile

“why just me?” you sat up as you placed your airpods in your ear but held back from playing anything 

“i am not too sure, i am sorry” manager lim apologized with her face already flushed. you raised your hand lightly telling her it's fine

“its okay, a surprise wont kill me?”

 that was your first wrong 

when you walked into the room, all eyes were on you as if you were late. you noticed a man who looked much older than manager lim stand up first as he bowed. next to him was a brown haired boy who you instantly recognized as mark. why was he here anyways?

“ah, you are finally here” you met with the eyes of the man you knew as mr. hong who was the head of the creative team that usually worked with your group as well as nct. The questions were still floating around in your head, why were you and mark the only one present?  with the curiosity still lingering in your thoughts, you bowed to the staff that were in the room

when you got to mark, his head was already tilted downwards, you barely even got a glimpse at the boy before bowing quickly and slipping into the seat closest to you at the table 

“i am sure the two of you are curious as to why it is just you and not your members?” mr. hong smiled obviously trying to ease up the stiffness that was clear as day 

mark and you nodded respectfully awaiting the answer for their long lasting questions, “we have been planning for you to start your solo career later this year. we have been working really hard trying to think of ways to get you started” he spoke towards you as your expression remained unresponsive 

“yeah, we really appreciate your time and effort” manager lim bowed, her eyes widened as she noticed your stiff figure, she pinched your thigh roughly, have some respect, she mouthed to you as you quickly ducked your head while rubbing their throbbing stop on your thigh 

“of course, uh” mr. hong cleared his voice, why did he look so nervous anyways?, “mark, you have been our ace for so long and in my opinion no one is a better rapper than you” mr. hong praised the boy across from you as mark quickly became flustered. he never did know how to take compliments.  

mark muttered a quick thank you before looking back down at his hands, “both of you guys are very talented so we came up with the idea that the both of you should collab together” you stopped all your movements as you heard the last word fall from mr. hong’s lips, collab?

you sat up straight in your chair, opening your mouth to decline the idea right way until you felt manager lim grab your shoulder and guide you back into your seat

“collab? i thought vixen were having a comeback soon” manager lim spoke up, taking the words right out of your mouth

“sooyoung-ah, it's still early in the year. the kids will have plenty of time to resume their comeback preparation” mr. hong quickly said as you felt manager lim sigh lowly from her spot next to you 

you felt your blood boil and it was clear that you were seeing red right now. after all the preparation the five of you and manager lim have done. the endless dark nights at the studio and early morning win the dance practice rooms for the last two weeks are all stopping all because of mark lee? 

the more you thought about it the angrier you became. they care so much about their precious that they have to mess with my girl’s comeback? you turned to manager lim with  a attonshed expression painted all over your face

looking at the pleading expression on manager lim’s face was enough to tell you that you had to hold your tongue and refrain from saying all the things that were racing through your mind

you let out a breath before looking up at mark who still refused to meet your eyes, was he some sort of coward? how could he avoid your gaze after he single handedly ruined your group's chances at an early comeback this year? not only that but trampled all over your solo activities being well solo 

“the two of you are the same in age, so why not drop honorifics” mr. hong chuckled lightly still trying to slice through the tension in the room. to your horror, mark nodded and you followed suit 

“ah great to see the two of you get a long already” mr. hong clapped as he patted his hand on mark’s shoulder but knew better than to come near you with that deadly expression your face 

“when we were thinking of a concept we came up with something like a new and young love concept. the two of you are so young and mark has his adorable boy-ish charm” you recognized the voice came from miss kim. you almost gagged at his words direct towards the brown haired boy

“also it would be good for you to do a more soft concept for once to show your fans your duality” she winked at you, it was true your group were more use to darker and sexier concepts

you had no words so you settled on a simple nod, for the first time since you came into the room you were one avoiding marks eyes they fell open your figure 

he hasn't had a good look at you since god knows how long. your hair was short, contrasting the lengthy black hair you had when he first met you. was it seven years ago already? he lost track of time as soon as he became a trainee. it was like he was introduced into a whole new world  

mark suddenly remembered the little conversations he had with you in the past. he could barely even let out one word to you at school or at training classes because at that time girls were an unsolved mystery to him. you were just teenagers back then. ironic that the two of you see each other for the first time in so long, on terms such as these 

“the two of you are very talented so we want you to be a part of the songwriting process” bait. almost everyone in the agency knew you were a songwriting junkie, but to write a song with mark? about love? even that did not seem possible 

“oh okay” mark finally chirped in. your head shot up as you looked at him like he was a madman, why would he agree so quickly?

“great! I hope you guys become good friends during this process. lets work hard!” mr. hong collected his papers that were scattered across the desk and made his way out the room. you stood up and bowed to him respectfully and the rest of the staff as they exited the room

without giving mark another glance, grabbed your phone from the table before walking out with pure rage. you heard manager lim’s heels clacking from behind you as she tried to catch up to you

mark sat there for an extra moment before his manager patted him on the shoulder and told him it’s time to go back to the dorm

mark was so out of it he couldn’t stop thinking about your actions and body language while you were in the room. you seemed upset, no you seeemed angry

was it because of him? what did he do do make you so mad at him?

he would make sure to ask you sometime along the road, considering this would not be the last time he would see you

the two of you had a lot of work to do together, starting now

[iam93percentstardust]

Hey, I hope you're had a very pleasant birthday and birthday month! If the prompte are still open: Can you do Stony with Tony finally and sorta randomly confessing his love to Steve and Steve only then realizing that what he feels for Tony is romantic love as well?

Hello! Sure thing! Quick note: there’s a change between present and past tense for a flashback, for anyone who doesn’t like that kind of thing

As always, everything I write is also on ao3

~

“I love you,” Tony says, and Steve doesn’t quite know what to do about that.

He won’t say that he’s thought about it before because he hasn’t. But he won’t say that he’s never thought about it either—because he has, occasionally, glanced at Tony’s ass outlined by his perfectly tailored pants and appreciated the sight, and he has, once or twice, wondered what Tony’s warm, sparkling eyes would look like when hazy with pleasure. But a quick, glancing thought that he immediately moves on from is not the same as being attracted enough to Tony to think about asking him out or anything past that.

And now that he’s faced with that question, he doesn’t know what to say. Is he supposed to thank Tony? Is he supposed to acknowledge his feelings and say that he doesn’t feel the same way? Is he just supposed to ignore what Tony said? This is why he has so much trouble with his dates—he never knows how to act in a way that isn’t awkward. No wonder Natasha recently declared him hopeless after he came back from his last date covered in her sticky drink because he accidentally called her a dame.

“I love you,” Tony says and Steve doesn’t know what to do about that, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to do anything, because Tony nods immediately afterward, says, “Good talk,” and turns and walks away like he wasn’t expecting an answer—or at least, not one that he would like.

Steve doesn’t know what to do about that either.

~

“Do you think I’m in love with Tony?” he asks Natasha later that day when they’re relaxing on the couch while some mindless sitcom plays in the background.

Natasha blinks at him and then caps the nail polish she was using and puts it on the coffee table. “Do you think you’re in love with Tony?” she asks carefully.

He frowns at her. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I should just tell you what to think.”

He sighs and takes another sip from his Coke, only to realize that it’s empty. Yeah, that describes his life pretty well. “I’m gonna get another one,” he says, standing up. “Do you want something?”

She shakes her head. It’s not until he’s in the kitchen, grabbing another Coke from the fridge, before she asks, “What brought this on?”

Steve thinks about the vulnerable look on Tony’s face as he said those three words. He probably wouldn’t like it if Steve told Natasha what they’d discussed. Or, well, he’d probably act like it was fine but he’d secretly feel hurt and might put the workshop into blackout mode again. Steve hates it when the workshop is in blackout mode. He doesn’t like that he can’t get to Tony when he’s feeling so terrible that he has to shut himself away. He wants to be there to support him, and he hates it when he’s the one who makes Tony feel like he has to close off the workshop.

“Nothing,” he tells Natasha.

She gets up to come into the kitchen, where she eyes him for a moment and then declares, “Tony finally told you, didn’t he?”

How does she always know?

“How do you always know?”

She smiles enigmatically. “I always know,” she says in that mysterious tone.

Steve glares at her. “Tony told you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t.”

“One of these days, you’re going to have to admit that you two are friends.”

“Hmm,” she agrees. “But not today.” She hesitates, watching as Steve starts preparing a ham sandwich. “So Tony told you he loves you and you said?”

“Nothing,” Steve says with a shrug. “JARVIS, do you think it would be a good idea if I took this to Tony?”

“Sir has not expressed an explicit desire to keep you out of the workshop but I believe he would not appreciate you down there at the moment.”

Steve sighs. “Great. Could you send U up here to bring this sandwich down?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

With that taken care of, Steve turns back to Natasha, following her back out to the living room. “I didn’t say anything because Tony didn’t give me the chance. He just took off.”

Natasha is quiet, studying him for a long moment. He knows what she’s thinking, since it’s probably the same thing he thought: that Tony was too afraid to hear the answer to give Steve the chance to respond. Eventually, she asks, “So how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about Tony like that before but—we act kinda coupley, don’t we?”

Before Natasha can respond, the previously bright sky outside goes dark. There’s a bright lightning bolt right outside the window, followed by the crash of thunder and then a loud rushing sound. It dissipates after a moment, the sky lightening again.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS says, “Thor has returned to the tower.”

~

The Steve and Tony story goes something like this: instead of going on his planned road trip, Steve returned to the tower the day after the Chitauri invasion to offer his apologies to Tony about what he said on the helicarrier. Somehow—and he’s not sure how, even to this day—he found himself getting wrapped up in the tower repairs with a room of his own on one of the lower floors. And by the time those were done, Tony had apparently also redone some of the apartments near the penthouse as a headquarters for the Avengers. Steve hadn’t been lacking for options after the battle (the Army, in particular, wanted him back) but he’d moved into the tower permanently instead.

He and Tony had clashed a few times in those early days but once Bruce came back from wrapping up his affairs in India and Natasha and Clint left SHIELD to join them, they settled into a bit of a truce.

And over the semi-regular movie nights and the training spars and the late-night conversations after they both couldn’t sleep, that truce became a friendship and before Steve quite realized it, Tony had become one of his best friends. Slowly, Steve found himself being pulled out of the shell he’d withdrawn into after waking in this new century. Tony dragged him to lunch at new and exciting places, places that Steve could never have even dreamed of when he was growing up. They planned missions and training days together. Steve had even gotten adept enough at handling the press with Tony to feel confident accepting interview requests with him.

He hadn’t realized though that Tony had taken it as something more serious though. And now that he does know, he’s not sure what to do about it.

~

He eventually goes to Bruce, since Pepper is busy dealing with a business merger and Colonel Rhodes is out of town in some undisclosed location (though Steve is certain that Tony knows where). Bruce’s lab isn’t quite the wonderland of light and holograms that Tony’s is, but it’s still impressive to someone who grew up with nothing. Tony makes sure that Bruce has all the latest equipment so the lab is a gleaming marvel of sleek instruments with silver and white colors everywhere. It doesn’t look like the most soothing environment but the speakers pipe out some sort of piano music that Steve vaguely recognizes and there’s a teapot on one counter, keeping whatever Bruce is drinking warm.

Bruce is currently examining something under a microscope. Steve can make out what looks like a purple smear on the slide from where he’s standing in the doorway, but that’s it. Bruce doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet, even though JARVIS announced him, so he waits patiently until Bruce has rolled away from the microscope.

“Bruce, you got a second?” he asks quietly.

“Hey, when did you get here?” Bruce asks, offering him a tired smile. He waves Steve over to the teapot and offers him a cup.

“Just a couple minutes ago. I didn’t mind waiting,” Steve assures him. “What’s the blend?”

“Lavender and chocolate.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind a cup.” Bruce hands him the steaming mug. Steve has to add the sugar himself (only Tony knows how he prefers his tea).

“What brings you to my lab? Tony’s downstairs today,” Bruce says, fixing a cup of his own.

“I’m not looking for Tony. Not yet anyway,” Steve corrects. “I did want to talk about him though.” He hesitates and then decides to take the plunge. “Has Tony ever said anything to you about—ah—”

“About his feelings?” Bruce asks knowledgeably. “It’s come up a few times.”

Steve takes that to mean that it’s come up fairly frequently. Tony does like to overshare sometimes and trying to figure out what he’ll overshare about and what he’ll clam up about is about as accurate as trying to make one of Clint’s trick shots. “He told me today,” he begins carefully. “But he didn’t let me say anything.”

“Well, he wouldn’t,” Bruce says, like that’s perfectly reasonable and not absolutely surprising to Steve. He must see the confusion in Steve’s face because he adds, “He only just figured it out a few days ago himself, even though he’s been talking about you for months. I don’t think he was expecting you to feel the same way as him right after he realized it.”

“But why would he say it then?”

Bruce takes off his glasses, holding them in front of him as he thinks. “Tony—he’s got a weird relationship with love. He told me once that he thought he’d lost the chance to tell Pepper he loved her, first in Afghanistan and then with the palladium poisoning.”

“His parents,” Steve realizes. “He didn’t get to tell them either.”

“Exactly,” Bruce says, pointing at him with the glasses. “He doesn’t like to wait. So even though he knows you don’t feel the same way, he felt it was important to tell you.”

“What, in case I die tomorrow?”

“Or if he does.” Bruce must catch the stricken expression on Steve’s face as he smiles gently. “It’s not just about getting the feeling off his chest for Tony. It’s about making sure that you know you’re loved too.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly.

~

Normally, he would go down to the workshop to think about something that’s puzzling him but he doesn’t want to bother Tony right now. Instead, he goes to his second-favorite room in the entire tower: the library. The library was designed specifically by Tony for Steve after he mentioned how much he liked the tablet Tony had given him but how he missed paper books too. He hadn’t been angling for a library out of the conversation but Tony, generous to a fault, had immediately gotten to work on one.

It’s a beautiful room, completely incongruous with the sleek modern style of the rest of the tower, but perfect despite that. It takes up an entire two floors of the tower with balconies, a spiral staircase, and several sliding ladders for Clint to reenact a scene from some movie that Steve hasn’t gotten around to watching yet. Tony had done the room in dark wood with enough windows to make it feel light and airy instead of cramped. There are little nooks hidden among the shelves and a few window seats for anyone who wants to gaze out over the New York skyline while they read.

It’s perfect, made all the more so because Tony designed it for him.

“Steve, you should have realized how Tony felt sooner,” he mutters to himself as he settles on one of the cushy armchairs with his sketchbook. But how could he have? According to Bruce, Tony hadn’t even known how he felt until a few days ago.

He sketches as he thinks, no subject in mind until he looks down to find that he’s roughly sketched out Tony at his workbench, arguing with DUM-E over something silly. Steve smiles fondly down at the drawing, rubbing his thumb over the curve of Tony’s cheek. He remembers this argument. It had been a couple weeks ago. Tony had asked DUM-E to bring him a wrench and instead, DUM-E had brought him two screwdrivers, three hammers, and a level before finally bringing the wrench. It had made Steve laugh, which had just encouraged DUM-E. Tony had acted frustrated but he knows Tony well enough to know that Tony had been secretly proud about DUM-E’s personality, both for DUM-E and for himself. After all, as Tony said, any monkey could design an AI. It took skill to design one with character.

In his sketch, he’s drawn something of that conflict in Tony’s face—the frustration in the downward turn of his mouth but the pride in the twinkle in his eyes—and it only makes him more beautiful.

“Beautiful,” Steve repeats, awed at the thought. Tony is beautiful, when he’s tinkering, when he’s flying, even when he’s going toe-to-toe with Steve over something stupid (usually Tony’s self-sacrificial tendencies).

He flips through the book, taking in each drawing: Natasha, Tony, Clint, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Tony, Tony, Tony. “Yeah,” he murmurs, looking back down at the drawing he just finished again. He thinks he’s got it figured out.

He stands, tucking his sketchbook under his arm. “JARVIS, do you think Tony would mind talking to me now? I’ve got something important to tell him.”

JARVIS is quiet for a moment, then says, “Sir would be happy to see you.”

He makes his way downstairs, thinking about what he’s going to say, but as soon as he sees Tony—wonderful, beautiful, perfect Tony—playing with one of those incredible holograms he designed, the words fly from his mind and he blurts out, “I’m not in love with you.”

And then he winces. Yeah, okay, so he’s a bit of a disaster.

Tony looks hurt for a moment, but it’s quickly covered up with dramatic offense. Before Tony can make one of his infamous quips that’ll just make light of the situation, Steve crosses the workshop and pulls Tony’s hands into his, rubbing them gently with his thumbs.

“I’m not in love with you,” he repeats. “But I think I could be soon. I’m not where you’re at yet—my brain isn’t nearly as quick as yours, Tony, of course you’re a step ahead of me here too. But Tony, you’re on almost every single page of my sketchbook. We go on what we might as well call dates together. We talk for hours. I know you almost as well as I know myself. I’m not in love with you yet but I think I’m only a couple dates away from it, so you should take me out, and we’ll see how fast I can catch up.”

Tony is smiling by the end of his little speech. “How are you always so good at that?” he asks.

“I was born like this,” Steve says seriously, only to crack a grin when Tony laughs.

“No you weren’t,” Tony argues. “You were born small and spiteful.”

“And full of good speeches. But no one wanted to listen to a little guy like me so I had to bottle them up to use on you.” He pauses and looks down at Tony. “Um, not to pressure you, but does a date sound good?”

Tony thinks about it for a moment. “Depends. Where are you going to take me?”

“Oh, am I taking you? You’re the billionaire, shouldn’t you be treating me?”

Tony’s eyes darken as he purrs, “Only if you’re very nice.”

Steve shivers. He hadn’t really thought about how it would feel to have the full Tony Stark Seduction TechniqueTM turned on him, but he’s thinking about it now and it is absolutely delightful. “What if I’m not nice at all?” he whispers, hands tightening on Tony’s.

Tony’s smile turns downright filthy and he leans up to brush a kiss over Steve’s cheek. “Hmm, I’ll think of something,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear.

He’s not going to act like a caveman and take Tony to bed. He’s not. He’s going to—“Sal’s!” he blurts out, immediately regretting it when Tony takes a step away, brow wrinkling confusedly. It’s really cute. Steve wants to kiss it away.

“What?”

“Sal’s,” Steve says again. “Best burgers in Brooklyn. I want to take you there.”

Tony smiles again. “Sounds like a date.”

[ppersonna]

half baked - pjm | m

baby we two distant strangers. i know you don't speak my language, but I love the way she's talking to me - love talk, wayv

↳ summary- park jimin gets a job at your bakery, and you can’t help but find yourself annoyingly attracted to the cocky man.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ word count- 5.2k

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, lightly dom!jimin, sub!reader, slight enemies2lovers, sex in a kitchen, please god don’t fuck in a kitchen its a health code violation, spanking, nipple play, cum play, fingering

↳ a/n- ahHH!HHHHhhh!H! i blame this 100% on @wwilloww​ for merely putting the idea in my head and i had to take it and run with it.  also thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ my babe/my loml for the amazing banner! i truly do not deserve u but ily so much.  and thank you to @chimoona​ @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ for being the best mf squad a lady could have and beta-ing this for me! i love you all so much! i hope you enjoy silly cocky jimin!

 Two cups of flour, one and three quarters cup sugar, 2 cups of butter.

You know the recipes by heart.  In fact, one might postulate that the recipes themselves are the sole contents of your heart.  

You live and breathe baking. It is your solace and your truest love.

Which is why it is all nearly thrown into catastrophe when Park Jimin comes into the picture.

It starts on a rather busy day.  You’re hard at work in the kitchen, prepping the finished products and presenting them in neat little boxes, when your best friend and co-owner of Wake ‘N Bake, Willow, lets out a frustrated squeal..  You turn your head to find her covered head to toe in flour, making you snort as she shoots you a playfully ominous glare.

“Shut up,” she sniffs as she attempts to pat some fine dust off of her, to no avail. “I only have two hands and about fifty things to do with them at the same time.”

Your lips part to reply something equally sassy when the bell over the front door rings, notifying you of a paying customer.  Grabbing a towel, you quickly wipe off cookie debris and throw it at your best friend to do her best to clean off as she follows behind you.

You pause as you take stock of who stands there. A handsome man arrives at the cash register and peers around, presumably looking for an employee.  He is gorgeous—ethereal even and looks like someone who walked out of the pages of a magazine. His bone structure screams model, and you can’t help but feel the stirrings of desire for the beautiful stranger.

“Hi! Welcome to Wake ‘N Bake!” Willow sings cheerfully, despite being coated in baking flour.

The man eyes her with a glint of humor in his eye, and Willow’s cheeks turn a hue of pink when she remembers her current appearance.

“Hi,” he speaks. His voice is smooth like butter, and gentle. It makes you feel weak, like you’re warming in the very ovens that your pastries rise in.

“I saw your shop from down the street and I had to stop in. Your desserts look amazing.  Is the owner here by chance?”

Your smile fades as he looks around the room for someone else, someone beyond you and your best friend.

Of course.

No one believes that two young women could start and maintain their own business. Everyone assumes that some older, well-off man was at the helm while you and Willow toil for minimum wage.

Your arms cross over your body in clear displeasure.

“We are the owners.”

“Oh!”  The man looks surprised but not put off. “Awesome. I was hoping I could… talk to you about, err—… a job?”

His face is sheepish and Willow nearly coos at the sight.

Unfortunately, it appears you and your best friend have warring ideas.

“Yes!” She chimes at the same moment you dead-pan a resounding ‘No’.

Your heads spin to stare at each other—Willow’s eyes wide in disbelief and yours in annoyance.

“We need the help!” She huffs.

“We can do things on our own, like we always have,” you remind her.

Willow gestures to her flour covered clothing in desperation.

“We clearly could use help with how successful we have gotten!”

To your chagrin, she has a point. It might be nice to have someone to help in the front while the two of you manage the kitchen in the back.  It would increase your productivity by double what you’re able to do now.

But there’s something about his attitude coming in that rubs you the wrong way.  Like, he’s too pretty. Too confident. Too nice.

“What’s your baking experience?” You ask as you turn back to the hopelessly lost, yet ever eager man.

“Oh, err—,” he stutters. “I worked at my friend Jin’s restaurant. That served desserts, too?”

You shake your head in disdain while Willow claps her hands in excitement, a puff of white flour dust pluming into the air.

“Perfect! So you could do sales!?”

“Yeah! I can do sales, no problem.”

You turn your gaze back to Willow who stares at the man like he is her knight in shining armor.

“Willow?! Can I talk to you in the back?”

She knows that tone—the one that tells her you’re not pleased with her decisions. She nods once and politely excuses the both of you from the man before heading back towards the kitchen.

“What in the world is wrong with you?!” She asks the moment the swinging door closed.

“Me?!” You’re incredulous—hands flying in the air. “You’re over here trying to hire the first Joey Hot-Lips who walks in off the street!”

Willow’s anguished face falls and turns into a devilish smirk as she leans back on her heels.

“Aha! You’re attracted to him,” she notes as if she figured out the world's greatest mystery. “That’s why you don’t want him here.”

“What? No!” Your defense crumbles around you. “Did you hear him? He totally acted like he didn’t believe we could be the owners!”

“Oh, come on, that was a simple mistake and you know it!  You’re just being protective.”

You ‘humph’ a non-committal response—unable to argue.

You are protective of your bakery. It’s your combined love child with Willow. What started as a dream between cocktails with your best friend became a real brick and mortar reality.  You had been through enough trying to open it you can’t help but feel skeptical of anyone trying to get involved. Many tried to discredit your ability to maintain such a successful shop, and you’d rather continue to run it with no one else than see it fall at the hands of another.

“Just as I thought,” Willow hums. “In that case, he’s hired!”

You’re given no chance to reply—the flour-covered girl pushes through the swinging doors and announces to the handsome man that he’s hired and free to start the following day.

“Great!  Thanks!” His smile is sincere—blinding and breathtaking, and you hate how much you want to see that smile again.

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, waving goodbye as he exits the chiming door.

“Now, you need to deal with whatever issues you have about letting others into the shop,” she says pointedly, pushing a finger into your arm gently. “And whatever issues you have with wanting to bone him.”

“Willow!” You gasp. “I do not want to bone him!”

“Sure, babe. You think you can fool me but I know you too well. Just try not to fuck him in the kitchen, alright? I don’t need the health inspector up our ass.”

The next early morning starts at 4:30 am, with you elbow deep in cookie dough for a catering order.  You’ve nearly forgotten about the new employee starting until the man himself strolls into the back kitchen as if he’s worked there for years.

“Hey!” He says cheerfully, two cups of coffee in his hands. “I got you a coffee. Willow said you’re a nightmare without some in the morning.”

Your eyes narrow at the man. It’s unfair how delicious he looked so early; while you look like a frizzy mess who rolled out of bed and walked into work (which you did), he looked polished and crisp and clean. It’s infuriating as much as it’s glaringly attractive.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you pick cookie dough off your hands and pull off your plastic sanitary gloves. “Every girl loves hearing she’s a nightmare.”

He chuckles behind his steaming cup and places yours on the workbench next to you.

“Those were her words, of course. I’d never call you a nightmare.”

You easily flush, then chastise yourself for allowing him to make you feel so weak so early in the morning.

“To be fair,” he continues. “I don’t even know your name.”

“___,” you sigh as you grab the coffee and bring it to your lips. “And you?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin.”

The first sip of coffee is like a soothing hug. He somehow knew how you took your coffee—two creams and two sugars.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just guessed.”

“Good guess.”

Jimin smirks and looks proud of his accomplishment.

“You seem like the type of girl who likes balance to her sweetness.”

You stare at him curiously over your own steaming paper cup, unsure of what to make of his comment.

“Good morning to the love of my life!” Comes the voice of your best friend entering through the back door.

You roll your eyes in amusement as she teeters in, peppy and perky as she always is this early.

“Oh! Hi, Jimin.”  Her cheeks turn a familiar shade of rose as she realizes he heard her. “I didn’t know you were here yet.  That’s just a… thing we say to each other every morning.”

“Cute.” Jimin smirks at you, making your stomach lift with unwanted butterflies. “Where do you want me?”

Underneath you, beside you, above you, any possibly way...

You shake your head quickly to push away the sexual thoughts of the gorgeous man taking you from any position. No, you refuse to let your mind wander there.

Willow finishes washing her hands and putting on her apron before she nods to the fridge.

“If you can get the milk, eggs, and butter out, we’ll use you for creaming.”

Your cheeks heat impossibly as Jimin smirks even wider.

“Oh, I’m fantastic at creaming.”

Your hands pause from where they massage dough while you close your eyes and breathe, before lifting to glare at your best friend who wears a faux-innocent look.

“I’m sure you are, Jimin,” she chimes virtuously, before getting to work.

The next few weeks were a haze. You’re so caught up with graduations, birthdays, weddings and major events that your time spent at the shop overtakes your time sleeping, breathing, existing in any way that isn’t baking.

Even Jimin was busy.  Despite your initial hesitancy, he was proving to be an excellent third member of your team.  He’s a pro at sales—you’re sure his good looks and the mostly female clientele helps—and he pitches in in the kitchen without fail. He even tries his hand at decorating cakes, with only one frosting-based spill.  You would never give Willow the satisfaction of telling her outright, but she made an excellent decision in hiring the dazzling man.

But it doesn’t stop your annoying heart from fluttering every time he comes close to you—rubs elbows as he helps you roll out dough or smiles at you from across the workbench as he stamps out sugar cookies.  You refuse to allow yourself any thoughts on what it would taste like to lick dough off his fingers or how he would look bending you over the countertop to take you from behind.

You only allow such thoughts at night, safely tucked into bed with your vibrator cranked to the highest setting.

It doesn’t help that Jimin solidifies himself in your life by introducing his handsome and dopey best friend Jungkook to your gorgeous and clumsy best friend Willow.  The moment they laid eyes on each other, you knew you were doomed to have Jimin in your life with or without the bakery.

And you weren’t sure how to handle that notion.

Was Jimin flirting with you simply because you were there?  He seemed to have no problem flirting with the customers.  Sure, the shop has never made more money than when Jimin works his charms and seduces women of all ages to buy the extra cookies, cannolis, and cakes—not that you watched or glared or hated every second. No, of course not. It was for the good of your business and the angry jealousy demon inside you would need to stay firmly locked away.

Except, it’s on a particularly crowded day at the shop that your jealousy gets the best of you.

You’re up front assisting Jimin by boxing and bagging the treats he rings up.

You know he’s flirtatious, but it’s when he goes the extra mile for an extra pretty girl that you lose your cool on him the moment the customers leave.  

“Do you have to eye-fuck every single co-ed that walks in this place?!”

Your hands fly up in frustration, and Jimin watches you with a soft gaze.

His silence and knowing smirk makes you continue.

“Seriously? What the fuck was that about?! You’re acting like you’re about to bend her over right here in front of us! Jesus!”

Willow hears the commotion from the back and comes forward.

“What’s going on here?” She asks suspiciously.

You point towards Jimin who maintains his poised demeanor.

“I’m reminding Jimin that work is not a place to sexually engage our customers!”

Willow rolls her eyes as she pulls her apron off and grabs her coat from the hook.

“Whatever, you’re being ridiculous. Jimin’s never been inappropriate. Plus, he’s making us a fuck-ton of money,” she sighs. “You two can close up without killing each other right?”  She eyes you in particular.

You cross your arms and huff, glancing at the clock to find you have two hours still until closing. “Why? Where are you going?”

Willow’s annoyance fades away as if it never existed.

“Jungkook is taking me to the Museum of the Printing Press!”

You can’t help but choke a laugh while she pushes your arm.

“Shush! You know how much I love them! And he totally surprised me with tickets!”

Willow can’t shake that lovesick look in her eyes and your heart melts a little. She’s your best friend and you’re thrilled she’s found someone who wants to indulge her in her nerdy fascinations.

“Go have fun, babe,” you smile sincerely. “We can take care of closing. Now, go fuck on a letterpress or whatever!”

Willow snorts and hugs you tight, bids goodbye to Jimin, and exits the store.

Now that your quick anger is gone, you feel sheepish around the man who has yet to reply to your tirade—but you refuse to stick around under his piercing gaze.

“I’ll be in the back,” you mumble under your breath before slipping into the kitchen before he can get any word in edge wise.

You spend the rest of the evening monologuing an apology as you prep ingredients for the next morning and clean your workstations.  The shop is closed, doors locked, and Jimin is somewhere at the front of the house finishing his duties.

“‘Hey, I’m sorry for the way I acted’,” you practice out loud. “Hm—no, not humble enough. ‘Hey Jimin, I was a real bitch’, too degrading?  Maybe something like, ‘Hey Chim, can I call you Chim? That was fucked up, wasn’t it? Haha.’ God!” You throw your rag down in a huff, frustrated at your inability to form a decent apology.

“You can call me Chim, if you want,” a voice speaks from behind you.

You squeak in surprise and turn around, clutching your apron in your hands as you find Jimin leaning against a wall with a smirk on his face.

“Only my closest friends call me Chim, but I think we’re close enough.”

You swallow hard and nibble at your lip.

“I’m assuming you heard that whole… thing,” you mumble anxiously.  His nod confirms that he heard your entire play-by-play of the apology you would deliver to the handsome man.

“Yeah,” he licks at his lips. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re jealous.”

“J-jealous?” You nearly trip over your own tongue.  “I wasn’t—, I’m not jealous!”

Jimin begins a slow approach towards you, striding as he keeps his sparkling eyes on yours.

“Oh?”  He quirks his head, making his soft hair fall into his face.  You desperately want to push it away, cup his cheek, kiss those ridiculously plump lips.

He can tell you’re staring at this mouth and it makes his smirk turn nearly feral.

“So, you weren’t jealous? Not a single bit?”

He inches closer and you can feel your heart tighten in your chest and your stomach twists in on itself in excitement, in nerves.

“N-no,” you whisper, unconvincingly.

“You didn’t want to be the one I was making eyes at?  The one who ‘gets bent over the counter’ as you said?”

“I—,” Jimin cuts your words short as he stands a breath away from you.

“I guess if you weren’t jealous, then I don’t have to tell you you’re the one I really want to bend over the counter.”

You’re sure your heart stops beating—positive that it will fall from its place in your ribs into your feet.  

“What?”

Jimin cups a hand to your cheek and smiles as he steps even closer.

“If you’re not jealous, then I don’t have to reassure you you’ve got nothing to be jealous over.”

Your lips run dry, throat parched as if you’ve never had a sip of water.  Jimin is standing so close to you you can feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

“Jimin—,” you breathe and he continues forward until he presses you against the countertop and crowding you into the metal and wood.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

You gulp, eyes seeking his for an answer, for any information.  Is he playing you? Does he know you’re hopelessly attracted to him?  Does he find it humorous to tease you when Willow isn’t here to insert herself into your flirting.

“I was jealous,” you admit slowly. The words are hard to release, but once they do, the floodgates open. “I wanted to be the one you flirted with.  I was jealous because I want to be the one you notice.”

Jimin smirks, then pulls your face in quickly for a heated kiss.

His lips are just as plush, just as soft as you imagined.  They’re puffy and sweet and he tastes like one of the treacle tarts you made that morning.  He must have had one with lunch, and you find yourself addicted to the way he tastes with your creations on him. You wonder what he’d taste like with your arousal coating that tender, plump mouth.

He bites at your own lip and tugs, chucking under his breath as you mewl your desire at the slight hint of pain.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re angry like that,” he breathes as he presses his forehead to yours.  “I nearly popped a boner while you were yelling at me. I could tell you were jealous, and it made me want you more.”

It’s hard to hear him speak so candidly—it makes you groan.

“Jimin—fuck,” you sigh. “I’ve been attracted to you since you walked into this goddamn place.”

He smirks and snags your lips up in another desperate, yet quick, kiss.

“I know.  It’s why you didn’t want me to work here.”

You grumble after he pulls away, tired of the teasing and wanting nothing more than to stop talking and start doing.

“I didn’t like you because you assumed I wasn’t the owner.”

He smiles and rubs at your arms, a softer expression crossing his face.

“No, but I hoped you were.”

It’s silent for a moment and you let his words wash over you as he continues.

“I was attracted to your authority.  I could tell you were important here somehow, just didn’t know in what way.”

You swallow your growing guilt.  You had clocked Jimin entirely wrong.

“Jimin, I’m sorry,” you start.

“Hey, hey, I already heard your apology, remember?” He smiles.  “Although, I could think of a great way to mend the wounds if you’re interested.  No pressure.”

His soft smile becomes a devilish grin instantly and your body lights with instant arousal.

“What did you have in mind?”

His lips press to yours again and you nearly lose yourself completely in his embrace.  Your arms circle his neck and he holds you tight at your waist, before pulling away from you, yet again.

“I happen to be very good at creaming, if you’ll recall.”

You can’t hold back a snort of laughter, that quickly gets covered by Jimin’s hot lips, one’s he will not pull away from you any time soon.

“You want to, right here?” You ask as he trails a hot line down your throat.

“Yeah, do you?”  

You vaguely remember Willow’s threat of not fucking in the kitchen, but find you can’t seem to care an ounce.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Jimin needs to hear no more.  He pulls you close and kisses you with the remaining amounts of pent-up passion and emotion he feels for you.  He’s grown to love the way you take charge, the way you move through the building like you own the place—because you do.  He loves the power you radiate and wants nothing more than to make you give up that power for a single night, to him.

“You wanna do this… all the way?” He asks, re-assuring himself that he’s not throwing himself at his boss.

“I want you, Jimin.  I want you to bend me over this workbench and fuck me until I’m crying for more.  Please.”

He grins and lays a hand on your neck, fingers tracing the gentle lines.  

“I might not let you boss me around,” he warns.

“Take control.”  Your eyes are blazing with need.  It makes him smile, and he gives the moment a slight pause.

“Then, get on your knees and show me just how sorry you are for yelling at me.”

You’re sinking to your knees quicker than you can comprehend.  Jimin is almost thrown at how instantly you caved and submitted to him.  He watches as your eyes stay fixed on his and your hands work at the button of his tight jeans.  

“That’s right,” he murmurs.  “Right where you belong.  No one else.”

You preen—heart warming at the idea that you’re the only one he wants kneeling before him and tugging his cock out of its confines.  

It springs forward, and it pulls your gaze from Jimin’s magnetic eyes.  It’s long and thick, just like you suspected all those nights with your vibrator stuffed where he should be.  Your mouth waters at the sight and you lean towards it to mouth at it gently—pressing soft open-mouth kisses to the tip.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasps.  Your fiery mouth feels like heaven on his cock.  It’s something he’s equally dreamed about—spent many nights fisting his cock to the thought of you.

You take your time, licking tiny stripes around the head and down the shaft, until Jimin becomes weary of the teasing.

“Please, take it all.”  His request is so genuine, so needy, that you’re loath to deny him.

He slips into your mouth with ease, slicked up just enough by your trailing kisses that he slides in and hits the back of your throat in seconds.  His eyes close as he feels his cock-head hit the back of your throat—a tighter and more constricting feeling in your already impossibly tight mouth.  It feels like absolute bliss, and he’s gasping for air after mere moments of you holding him inside your mouth to the hilt.

He doesn’t need to speak; you know what to do.  Your mouth works him in and out, tongue swirling around any open real estate of his cock.   His moans echo around the tile of the kitchen walls and he’s sure that the sight of you on your knees with his cock disappearing in and out of your mouth will have him cumming in no time.  

He steels himself, makes his body behave because he wants to enjoy this and the way you feel.  As good as your mouth feels, he’s desperate to know what it’s like to slide into that cunt he’s spent too many nights dreaming about.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as you make delicious, slurping noises from the gathering saliva.  It’s a wet squelching sound that makes him even harder than what he believes is possible—all blood in his head now completely rushed to his dick for his pleasure.

“B-Babe!” He calls as he feels his balls tightening.  He doesn’t want to cum, not yet.

He grips your head by the scalp of your hair and pulls you off his cock that is seconds away from losing control.

“Please, I’ve got to fuck you,” he nearly begs.

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand and smirk, licking the tip of his cock teasingly before standing up to his full height.

Jimin’s hands fly to your expensive leggings that you insist on wearing to work while he kisses you.  The kiss is feverish, frantic. It’s full of tongue and teeth and desperate moaning against each other as he pushes down the pants and delicate panties, and cups your cunt in one hand.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper against his mouth as the pad of his finger slides against your clit.

“You’re fucking soaked.  All from sucking my cock?”  He’s cocky and sucks a mark onto your neck as he massages the bundle of nerves.

“Don’t be arrogant now,” you warn with a smile.

He presses his tongue to your ear and licks a stripe and chuckles.

“I think you like it when I’m arrogant. Your pussy sure seems to like it.”

He emphasizes his words by slipping two fingers into your channel and fucks into you, scissoring you open.  He cuts off any chance for you to retort by launching his lips back to yours and prowling around your mouth with his tongue.

His fingers are small but fill you so deeply, and you’re sure his hand is drenched with your arousal.

“J-Jimin, please,” you gasp as you pull your mouth away to breathe in deep.  “Please, just fuck me already.”

He growls into your ear.  

“I thought I told you you’re not in charge.”

He spins you easily until your back is pressed to his chest.  He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts, throwing the shirt away and quickly making work of your bra clasps to join the shirt on the floor.

His hands cup your full breasts and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling of his soft and warm hands.  He feels so good against the chilled skin of your chest and he tweaks and thumbs your nipples until they stand perky and erect.

“I’ve always wanted to bend you over this counter,” he muses in your ear as he pulls a nipple harshly.  It makes you squeak out at the pain, then moan as the pain turns into a sizzling, pleasurable spike that runs through your veins.

“Every time I would catch you staring at me, I just wanted to fuck your cute little throat until you were gagging around me.”

Your eyes close as he continues his abuse on your perky nipples and whispering his deepest thoughts about you.

“I wanted to lift your cute dresses and eat your cunt until you’re wailing loud enough all the customers can hear.”

“Jimin,” you nearly cry.  “Please, fuck me.”

You can feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your sodden folds to cover his length in your slick juices.

“I like it when you beg.”

He kisses at the juncture of your neck before letting his teeth graze over the spot and bites down—right as he pushes your face down to the workbench and slides his cock into your spread heat.

He bottoms out easily.  You’re soaking wet and he buries himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.  He groans out loud—stunned by the heat and wetness of your pussy and how tight it grips him.

“Oh, holy shit,” he gasps as he gives himself and you a moment.  His hands grip at your waist, one hand coming to rub the tender skin of your supple ass.

“Jimin, fuck, you’re so big,” you whine.  

He brings his hand up, then slaps it down on your ass hard, hard enough that the crack echoes around the large kitchen.  You cry out in delight, in pain, as the reverberation of the stinging wraps around you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess,” he whines as he sets a pace.  Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust, and he punctuates every few pumps into you with another hard slap to your ass.  He wants you screaming his name, crying out for him loud enough that the neighbors know who he is.

He’s relentless in his pumps—gripping your hips tight as he fucks you deep and senseless.  Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body.  Your tits rub raw against the wood of the workbench and you’re weeping fat tears of pleasure as Jimin continues his plight.

“God, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns.  “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You slide a hand down to your clit, eager to add the ultimate piece to what makes you unravel.  He grins and pumps into you harder, slaps your ass repeatedly until he knows it’s going to leave bruises.

“That’s right, baby, rub that pretty little clit,” he urges.  “God, I can’t wait until you you sit on my face and let me eat this fucking cunt for hours.”

You blubber a response of desire, nearly begging him for more and more, as you swirl your fingers around the tight bundle.  You’re peaking towards the summit of your climax, ascending to a point you’ve never gone before.

“Fuck, Chim!” You scream. “Gonna cum!”

Your warning falls on deaf ears—you’re cumming and pulsating around his thickness instantly and Jimin moans mix with your own to create a symphony of pleasure.

“Good fucking girl,” he coos.  “Your cunt is so good to me, baby.  Mmph—let’s frost this cake, now.”

Instantly, he’s groaning as he pulls his cock free from the vice-grip of your cunt and jerks himself twice to completion, allowing his hot seed to splatter against the tender flesh of your ass where he’s left a clear print of his hand.   The warmth soothes the battered skin and you shake your ass teasingly as he continues to stroke himself through his climax.

“Ohhhhh, my god,” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the wooden workbench as your breathing slowly settles back to normal.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper with a smile.  Jimin bends down to press soft kisses to your spine, before grabbing a towel to gently clean his cum off your beaten ass.

“Willow’s going to kill you for fucking me in the kitchen,” he warns with a laugh as he kisses the same spot he came on.

“It takes two to bake a cake, buddy,” you tease.

He laughs and brings a hand down to your untouched asscheek, making you squeal with delight.

“That’s not how the saying goes, but sure, doll.”

The next morning, you’re hard at work making a five-tiered wedding cake with Willow at your side, when Jimin throws open the door.

“Good morning to the loves of my life!”

Willow chokes on her own air while you hide a giggle behind your cake covered hand.

Jimin approaches the pair of you while she splutters and gasps.

“What?”  What happened last night after I left?”

Your cheeks heat and Jimin wears a face of pure cockiness.

“Oh my god,” Willow gasps as her eyes open wide, snapping your tender ass with her rag.  “You did NOT fuck in my kitchen!”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

taglist -  @preciouschimine​ @nyamjinnie​ @unicornnomore​ @bangtansbun​ @theneighborhoodfangirl​ @cyberbunny21​

[kenmei]

-ˏˋ FOREVER N THEN SOME! ˊˎ-

♡ gn!reader x kozume kenma

cw: pinch of angst (to fluff !!!), romance, slice of life, crying, established relationship!au, timeskip!au

synopsis: in which he’s actually more traditional than he leads on

wc: 2000+

notes from mei!

ive had this idea rattling around my skull for the longest time

sixteen and a handshake. a standard, normal handshake, but still awkward.

you remember how his hand perfectly fit with yours—how his palms were searing hot as they met with your much colder ones.

you remember him, as a second-year, as the setter for the team you cheered for from the stands. you remember his flushed cheeks when you kissed him on the cheek for a first time, watching as his brain malfunctioned as the rosy hues on his face spread to his neck and the tips of his ears.

you remember him, as the captain, worn out and exhausted at your doorstep.

you recall how he slumped onto you, making you somewhat drag him to your room. half because he really was that tired, and half for his own amusement.

you know him. you know him a bit too well and it’s both a blessing and curse.

because you wonder if he’s finally grown out of it—of this.

looking at the empty spot beside you, you think that, perhaps, he really has—the signs are staring right at you. lately, you’ve been sleeping in a cold bed, waking up to yet again another empty penthouse as you figure he’s at the office again.

(you hope he’s at the office, at least).

texts replies are always hours apart. it seems like he’s been doubling up on streams. friday’s that have always been reserved for two since forever, have only had one person attending these past few weeks.

this is sad, your chest clenches dejectedly at yet another morning where it’s only you. looking around, a part of you wishes that kenma’s actually here, that any second now, he’s going to emerge from his game room, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he scratches his tummy.

because even if you both don’t talk as much as you used to, it’s enough for you simply when he’s present. it’s enough for you when he mutters a good morning, waddling past you to go make his coffee before sitting on the couch.

it’s enough for you when he’s here.

the absolute bare minimum can make you the happiest, but you wonder if even that is too much.

twenty-four and you’re still overthinking.

“just talk to him!” your friends say, but truly it isn’t that easy. even if you’ve both promised to be better at communicating, something about this whole situation makes communication feel so much more difficult.

“you’ve been together for so long, you both still aren’t married?” if you’re being honest, it does bother you sometimes and you wonder if maybe, you should just get on one knee instead.

but you don’t. you don’t because you and kenma already both live(d) like you’re married. you both still share(d) that dynamic of being a laid-back couple who deals with problems as they come.

you don’t think about marriage with him because it already feels right. you don’t mind not getting married and honestly, you’re pretty sure kenma isn’t that kind of guy.

you’re startled by someone poking the side of your head.

your head turns to see kenma, brows slightly furrowed as he analyzes you.

you shake your head, sitting up straight on the couch. “’what’s u—wait, aren’t you supposed to be streaming right now?”

kenma nods his head, plopping into the spot next to you. “ended early. chat was being rude today.”

your head bobs in understanding as you try to find words to piece together. he must be frustrated, you know a little bit about how difficult it can get as a streamer and you also know him, that if he doesn’t want to be near you or hear you, he simply wouldn’t be.

you smile slightly, “t—”

“why are you so tense?” he questions, leaning back. his eyes study you and you feel like hiding.

“’m not.” you defend, shrinking.

“you are.” he replies, “what’s wrong?”

you hum, grabbing a throw pillow and falling onto your side, opposite from him. “class was hard today. your paparazzi found me at the grocery store—”

“that happened last week.”

you groan, because fuck, you really can’t lie to him. he’s too good at getting you to open up, no matter how hard you resist it.

“it’s stupid.” you pout, covering your face with the pillow, already feeling your wound up emotions spiraling back up to the surface.

kenma’s hand lands on your legs, situating them over his lap. he pats the side your calves, humming. “talk to me.”

“what about you?” genuinely, you feel like right now isn’t the best time to talk about this. “you were just telling me about how your chat was being rude!”

“that can wait.” he replies, patient, like he’s always been. “something’s been bothering you, no?”

yes. you think. but i don’t wanna talk to you about it ‘cuz i’m scared.

“are you tired...” fuck, you think, because once again, he’s getting you to talk. “of—of me?”

he’s always been good at this. somehow always getting you to say whatever’s clogging up your mind. he reads you like an open book and you hate it, because even after all these years, it’s still scary.

it’s daunting, because he knows so much about you. if he wanted to, he could pick you apart all too easily, knowing exactly what buttons to push to make you break and that’s scary. it’s terrifying, even.

you feel his hand, as warm as they’ve always been, slide under the bottom of your loose pajama pants, warming up your ice cold skin.

and the feeling is weird, because you feel like you’re on fire, yet his hand is still so much warmer than you.

it’s comforting. you’ve both always been touch-starved and kenma knows this, he knows this as he traces small shapes on your calves, the hem of your pants riding up a bit.

“why would i be tired of you?” he mumbles, eyes moving to see your face is still very much covered with the pillow.

you shrug, leg twitching under his feathery touch. “you’ve been distant and stuff... i dunno.”

and it feels like he’s back at square one with you. kenma feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner, cursing himself for being so caught up with work (and something else) that he’s been neglecting you.

you’ve always been a bit of a crybaby, only him and your close friends know this.

he notes that you tend to cry even when you both have the smallest fights, and it’s something he’s used to.

so to know that you’re holding everything in, it makes his chest tighten.

“i’m sorry, angel.” he says, quiet. “work’s been busy.”

yes, work is busy. even if he finds it enjoyable, it can get taxing sometimes. but he’s also been looking around for something, something that he needs perfect.

“‘s okay.” you mumble and he knows he’s fucking up even more. “i just miss you.”

he tugs on the bottom of your shirt, “c’mere.”

you shake your head and he ponders on what to do.

because even now, even though you’ve both been together for so long that existing with the other is literally needed, there are times when you both get stuck—where existing together feels more complex than it should ever be.

“please,” he pleads softly, “i miss you.”

and if you’re not gonna come to him, he’ll come to you.

so he leans down, forcing you to hold a bit of his weight as he lays atop you. he pulls the pillow away, wiping the few tears away with his thumb.

he kisses your cheek.

twenty-four, you let yourself cry because you’ve missed him so much. seeing other in the evenings or exchanging a few short words doesn’t do it for you anymore, it never will.

another kiss, but on the other cheek. i’m sorry.

another for your forehead, then one more on your nose. i love you.

your hands cling to him and he smiles, caressing your hair. his head lays in the juncture of your neck, frequently wiping your tears with his thumb.

he makes you sit up, only because he wants to hold you.

with your back to his chest, his warm hand envelopes yours. he doesn’t make you face him, because he knows that wouldn’t make you feel comfortable. 

it’s only when he hears your crying subside, that he holds your chin, making you look him in the eyes.

“are we okay?” he mumbles, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath.

it still gets to you. he still gets to you like you’re both still teenagers; your heart thumps in your ears, body burning because fuck, he’s really close to kissing your lips.

you nod, “’m sorry. didn’t wanna talk to you ‘cuz i was scared.”

his lips slot against yours and it’s gentle, your mind becomes fuzzy with a warmth only kenma can provide you. he chuckles when he pulls away, your lips chasing his.

“don’t worry about that,” he says softly, “i might’ve accidentally made it harder to approach me.”

you shake your head. “thought it was just my overthinking.” you fiddle with your fingers, “i didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”

“next time,” he says, “make a big deal out of it. you gotta talk to me, angel.”

you whine, feeling embarrassed because you’ve gotten this lecture from him so many times.

kenma sighs against your skin, wondering if now is the right time. it feels like a good time, but he doesn’t want to waste a special moment because of a good feeling.

“what’s wrong, ken?” you ask, tilting your head back onto his shoulder.

your eyes are red, you’re still sniffling every now and then.

he smiles, hand travelling to his pocket as he pulls out the ring, holding it in front of you. “this is why i was so busy. t—the box is in my gaming room, though, fuck—”

“is that—”

“w—wanna get married, y/n?” his whole face is red. you giggle at his shaking hand as you hold out your own (shaking) hand.

“yeah. i really wanna.”

and you’re crying again as he slips the ring on your finger. the diamonds sparkles at you and you can’t help but fawn over the ring as you sob.

“crybaby.” he mumbles, kissing your cheek. he nuzzles into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. “i love you.”

and it’s here you realize that kenma is a lot more traditional than you thought. memories flood in of him always getting you to watch the first snow with him through his window, forcing you under the kotatsu with him as he shows you a new game he started playing.

eighteen. for your two year anniversary, he took you to a place with love locks. signing one off with you before throwing the key god knows where. and you remember thinking it’s weird, because the month before that, he was telling you stuff like that is kinda phony. 

nineteen. you recall him grumbling about getting into a yukata for the festival, but grumbling even more when you gave in and said you’d both attend in normal clothing, because he’s already halfway in the yukata, why would he change? (he just wanted to wear one with you).

twenty-two. his persistence to keep you awake to watch the sun rise on new years.

you realize kenma follows traditions more than you do and you chuckle.

giggling, you hold your hand out where the diamonds on your left ring finger shine happily, tilting your head to kiss him yet another time.

“i love you.”

change. you know your daily lives aren’t going to be much different, but you both like how your last name will be the same as his.

twenty-four. he proposes to you so casually that some might find it weird. but you both aren’t ones for big gestures. you know kenma loves you, it’s in the way he moves your hair out of your face as he asks you if he can still make it up to you.

and he knows you love him, when you laugh and tell him he already has—when you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the top of his hand, kenma knows and you know, too.

forever it is.

[polishksiezniczka]

Hello! Can I request a fic or whatever u want about Carmalengo falling for a single mother. It can be NSFW if the mood strikes u. :)

YES! I have been waiting for the opportunity to delve into Patrick's soft parental side (I say this like he isn't the kindest, sweetest human ever normally).😂 As I am not a mother myself, I apologize in advance if any of this is a little unrealistic or misrepresented in any way. But I hope you like it, and I'd love to do a pregnant!reader piece in the future! ❤️

A Mother's Love | Patrick McKenna x Single Mother!Reader

A delightful little set of headcanons about the camerlengo falling for a single mother

Notes: S/D = son/daughter; C/N = child's name. Showers of praise on @thisbreakableheaven for being the best beta reader/co-conspirator anyone could ask for! ❤️

“I watch you raise C/N and fall deeper in love with you each day.”

He sees Mary, the Mother of God in you

When he finds you with your S/D asleep in your arms, his heart melts

Telling you how much your S/D looks like you: “(S)he has their mother's stunning eyes.”

Patrick would be a wonderful father figure to your S/D, and he would strive to play a greater role in your child’s life than his own father (even if the child wasn’t his)

It would probably be okay if your child referred to him as "papa"; it would raise little suspicion anyway because his official title is "Padre"

Your S/D loves Patrick, and Patrick absolutely adores them

If you have a baby, they relax and quiet immediately in his strong arms

His soft tone and warm voice are naturally soothing to fussy babies and children

If your child is in primary school, their favorite activity is reading with Patrick

Patrick always makes time to read to C/N on evenings when he’s able to visit

Speaking softly to them—you know he would never raise his voice against your child

He’ll hum lullabies or psalms to C/N as they slowly fall asleep

If C/N is a toddler, they absolutely love to play games with him!

Hide ‘n’ seek, color by number, board games like Chutes & Ladders

And the pet names he uses! 🥺

If you have a little girl, he calls her “sweetie,” “piccola,” or “topolina”

For a little boy: “little lad” or “bambino”

One of your favorite little things Patrick does is when you’re holding C/N in your arms, Patrick comes up to plant a kiss on each of your cheeks

Tickles and hugs abound when he visits!

Seriously, he is one of the best partners anyone could ever hope for

A bonus lil' NSFW drabble because how could I not?

“Caro mio,” Patrick greeted warmly as he kissed you. “Where’s my little boy/girl?” He looked around, expecting C/N to have come running into his arms by this point. You smiled, easily melting into his loving embrace. “They’re with their grandparents for the weekend.” You gave him a light peck on the lips before happily contemplating his handsome face. An ever-so-subtle shift in those dazzling cerulean eyes made you pause, their nascent desire failing to escape your notice. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment, the low timbre of his voice sending delicious vibrations through your whole body. He spoke lowly in your ear, “Angelo…vita mia....” He paused.“...I-I have a proposal for you.” “And what might that be?” you inquired breathlessly, nerves set alight. “This weekend. Just the two of u-us. Alone together. En-entirely devoted to you.” He punctuated his words with wicked intent, hot breath fanning over your skin like flames from a glorious pyre. The sensation of his warm, calloused fingertips stroking the delicate arch of your collarbone caused shivers to run down your spine. You hadn’t been able to spend a weekend alone together since you first began seeing each other, what with both of your busy work schedules, your own parental responsibilities, not to mention Patrick’s very public position in the Vatican. So, in many ways, this weekend would be the closest thing to a honeymoon you’d share with him. Obviously, you were no blushing virgin when it came to sex, but you simply couldn’t calm your nerves as Friday night approached. You were consumed by a heady mixture of schoolgirl-esque giddiness, extreme agitation, and ravenous desire. If only you could’ve seen Patrick suffer.

Oh, but when Friday night came! Sweet mother of mercy.

Lots and lots of lovemaking

On the couch, a relaxing movie long forgotten, a spontaneous session or two in the shower

Of course, in your bed, Patrick’s preferred location (your scent is intoxicating to him)

Taking a relaxing hot bath together

With the time you had together, you wanted to savor these moments.

You loved waking up with him in the morning, and by the time Sunday morning rolled around, you pouted like a child when he needed to leave very early to be on time for morning Mass

Not before you squeezed in one final session

One quiet evening, you lay across Patrick’s chest, both of you thoroughly spent after several passionate rounds of lovemaking, your hand intertwined with his while the other stroked his sprinkling of soft, ginger-blonde chest hair. You felt completely at peace in this moment, the quiet rhythm of your breathing perfectly matching Patrick’s steady heartbeat. You wished you could stay like this together, uncertain of where your body ended and his began—not that you particularly cared. Your core tingled in delight, still reeling from the waves upon waves of pleasure coaxed out of you by Patrick as only he could. You smiled fondly, burying your nose in his chest like an affectionate puppy. He hummed in appreciation, bringing your hand to his lips, where he began to lay light kisses across your knuckles. “I’d love to have children together,” he whispered hoarsely against your wrist. Your breath hitched, hardly believing the words you had just heard as you sat up to face him. Your eyes were wide in apprehension. “Patrick…” your voice trembling, “Do you mean that?” When he didn’t speak immediately, the blood in your veins ran cold. What was this, some kind of cruel joke? Your experiences as a single mother in the present day—the rush to judgment, the patronizing attitudes, the intentional devaluing of your worth as a romantic partner—had you bracing for the hurt. No, it couldn’t be, he wouldn’t do this. But what would you possibly say if he did? You were snapped from your reverie when you felt a warm hand gently take yours. “With God as my witness.” And in that moment, you looked into his eyes, trying to find any trace of ridicule or doubt there, but you simply could not. Instead, they were overflowing with complete, unconditional love. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes at your realization. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky and breathless, face flushed from embarrassment and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “And I you, angelo.” You kissed him deeply then, fingers sinking into his hair in a mix of elation and desperation as a whimper escaped your already kiss-swollen lips. You felt him begin to harden beneath you, followed by that familiar ache pulsing between your thighs. “Let’s start trying right away then,” you whispered hotly in his ear before pulling him down for another searing kiss. Translations piccola = "little one" toporina = "little mouse" bambino = "little boy" Caro mio = "My dear" Vita mia = "My life"

[drasin]

Day 12 - Clothes swap

Johnny Cage x Erron Black

Prompts list -> [LINK]

Link to Ao3 if anyone prefers to read there -> [LINK]

Erron wakes up in an empty bed, which means Johnny must have woken up and left early. So why was it his clothes that disappeared?

Tags  / Warning(s): none

Word Count:  1,744

Black woke up when sunlight could freely stream into the room. The warmth was pleasant in itself; what couldn't be said about the blatant rays disturbing his sleep. Now he regretted that they didn't take a moment to use the curtains last night. He rolled to the other side, but was unable to find a bit of a shadow.

"Cover the window..." He muttered quietly in a sleepy, hoarse voice. There was no reply. And when he ran his hand over the bed sheets in search of his partner, he found nothing. Only then did he force himself to open his eyes slowly.

As was to be expected, Johnny wasn't next to him. He rubbed his sleepy face, and soon after, a protracted yawn escaped his mouth. He lay down on his back, only turning the head to look around. All alone. So much for the plan to continue sleeping. He had to get up.

Well, Cage certainly wouldn't mind, even if Black lay here all day. But the cowboy had no intention of lounging in a room that wasn't his own. It was a bit of a shame, especially now when the bed was incredibly soft; and the comfort made gravity pull him with even more force. Unfortunately, pleasures slip away the fastest.

He rose to sit, running fingers through his hair. A passing glance at the clock, announced that it was a few minutes past six. He didn't know why Johnny was up so early, considering he had today off. However, it was easiest to ask instead of speculate, so he threw off the blanket and slid to the edge of the bed.

Feet met the cold floor, and in that moment something strange reached him. He was just about to get dressed, but... it was almost certain that he had left his clothes on the chair by the desk yesterday. They weren't there.

Cage wasn't in the habit of presenting his things, but even if he did Black still didn't see them anywhere. He stood up in search. Nowhere in sight, so he even looked under the bed, but nothing.

Now he began to consider different options. Johnny could take them to the wash, sometimes he did that. But that didn't seem to add up either. He wouldn't do it because Erron was only coming for one night. He was going to be leaving today, so he didn't have any clothes for a change.

It was getting problematic. The most sensible solution was to call. He found his phone and picked his partner's number. With the first beep, Johnny's ringtone resounded in the room. Great. He hung up and threw the smartphone back on the bed.

Now what? He stood in the middle of the room with hands on his hips. He could wait until the soldier got back, but didn't know how long that would take; and he just hated sitting around doing nothing. So the easiest way was to find him and ask in person. However, he couldn't leave like this.

He sighed disappointed at his next idea.

Cage had a lot of clothes, but he didn't want to rummage through his closet. Besides, he just wanted to find him and figure out where all of his own clothes went. So he picked up the pants Johnny had been wearing yesterday and quickly dressed them, throwing only a black sweater over the top.

In theory, he could have left like that already. But then his attention was drawn to the mirror on the wall. Or, more specifically, his reflection and the marks Cage had left on his neck. He groaned. Right now his poncho would really come in handy. In fact, upon closer inspection, he noticed that there was literally nothing from his outfit. Not even his mask or shoes. Everything was gone. This was very strange, all the more reason he needed to find it.

Once the military boots were in place and tied, he also put on a vest to cover the hickeys under the collar. Then he looked in the mirror again, and... oh crap, it looked ridiculous. He even wondered if it would be better to go out in only underwear.

But he still had some dignity left; so he accepted the situation and exited the room, hoping not to run into many people.

Too bad it wasn't clear where to go exactly. He considered calling Cassie, but she was probably still asleep and he wasn't going to be the one to wake her. So instead he chose the walk of shame along the hallway. Didn't have a specific destination, but more like a few of the places Cage was most often hanging out.

"How's going’?" Suddenly, one of the soldiers came out of the corner and greeted him, undeniably amused.

Wonderful. Here's his luck. But he had some irresistible feeling that the man knew something he didn't. "Where's Johnny?" he asked at once.

"Apparently in front of me." The man joked, but Erron didn't even flinch. Now everyone's a comedian. As if one wasn't enough for him. Fortunately, the dude quickly realized that the cowboy didn't feel like laughing. "Break room."

"Thanks." Black moved on taking quicker steps. He preferred to avoid any more taunts of that sort, and in this outfit he was asking for it himself. Neither did he want to think what Johnny's reaction was gonna be when he saw him like this...

There were many more people in the previously mentioned room than he expected. From afar he could hear muffled conversations and laughter. He looked around, but couldn't see his partner anywhere.

However, something more strange caught his attention.

"What. The. Fuck." He whispered under his breath, staring at someone's back. And more precisely at his poncho. His poncho! Along with a hat, shoes, damn pants! Everything! All the gear, pads and the rest of the equipment.

Then someone in the crowd suddenly noticed him and poked the person wearing his clothes. The man turned around and Erron momentarily recognized him despite the mask. Of course it was fucking Cage. Though there was a lot of relief in that, because he would have been freaked out if it wasn't.

Johnny squinted with a probably wide grin and grabbed his hat, standing up in an exaggerated cowboy way. "Howdy partner! You're awake!" The self-satisfied bastard. Why did he even expect any remorse from him? "You look good, but you missed the glasses."

"That's the best thing I saw today." Someone spoke up with a laugh.

Black did the only thing left to do. He turned and headed back to the room. A few cheers went up in his direction, but he ignored them as well as Johnny's call. 

Let him fool around all he wanted, but Black wasn't going to do the same. Unbelievable that he even came up with such an idea. He entered the room, shutting the door, but it opened again as the soldier walked in shortly after him.

"Are you angry? Don't be angry." This time he sounded contrite.

Erron looked at the man who now held the hat against his chest, and limp hair fell over his forehead. How was he supposed to be angry when he looked like that?

He sighed, stepping closer. "I'm not. I just don't see the point."

"Sorry, I thought it would be funny. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." What he said must have sounded more hostile than he had planned, cause Johnny looked like he regretted what he had done. And well, maybe it was stupid, but not necessarily wrong.

"I mean, I'm not used to things like that. Or such an infantile relationship with anyone. And I'm not saying it's bad, just different. You really have a… personality. And I like that. I truly do. I just need to get used to it. Your ideas are crazy sometimes."

Cage smiled so softly that the mercenary immediately relaxed. "So in that case..." He grabbed him by the loops of his pants and pulled him close. "I've noticed that you're missing not only the glasses, but also the belt with my name on it." His mood was changing incredibly fast.

"Really?" Black raised one eyebrow.

"It's my most important attribute! You have to admit it's stylish!" He let go and went for the mentioned item. "Come on. Put it on."

"No." He said firmly, but somewhere in the back of his head he had the feeling that it was useless.

"You have to complete the outfit!"

"What for? What kind a game is this supposed to be?" He whined in respondi when Johnny didn't seem too bothered by his refusal. "It has your name, I don't want that."

"Come on, it's not a collar." He drew him, putting the belt through his pants. "And the game is called “having fun.'"

"Johnny no."

“Johnny, yes.” He frowned, but didn't interrupt, allowing the man to buckle the belt and then slip the sunglasses on his nose.

"I hate you." He was sure he looked ridiculous.

"Sorry, you just said you liked me, I'll stick to that." With a wide grin he stepped back, taking a good look at him. "Damn, you look great!" He walked back, grabbing the phone on the way and put arm around his shoulder. "Smile! You know, like me."

"Don’t push your luck." He rolled his eyes and wished that Cage could see it through dark glasses. "Why do I even let you do all this shit." The question was probably directed more at himself.

After taking the picture, Johnny victoriously set it to his wallpaper. "Because you know I'm a man of honor."

Black blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

In response he was pushed onto the bed and Johnny stood over him with his thumbs behind the belt. "I was the one who got you into this, so now I'm going to take responsibility. Getting my clothes back piece by piece."

And Erron couldn't find any objection to arguing with this. He leaned back on his elbows and smiled slightly. "Bring it on." Apparently, the soldier was always able to find a solution that would satisfy them both.

"You got it." He put his knee on the bedding between his legs. "And I'll stay in yours for a while longer." He ran his fingers over the brim of his hat.  "I can be your hometown sheriff."

"Don't even think about it."

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Christmas at the Hoods

You escape your family by going home with Calum to Australia for the holiday. And the escape is necessary, but at the end of it, you’re reminded that sometimes family is chosen rather than given. 

Reader Insert. Fluff a little bit of angst. You just a perfect amount of tear your heart out but then put it back like nothing ever happened. 

CW: Death of a parent, strained family relationships. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

Support me on KoFi

__________________________________________

You stare down at the text from your mother. Are u coming home for Christmas? The truth is--no, you don’t want to come home. Home is too stiff, reminds you just how much you don’t fit. And maybe it’s just you, you thinking that you won’t ever live up to their expectations of what your life should be like, and maybe it’s not fair to them. But given all that, you still don’t want to subject yourself to that awful feeling, the squirming in your spot wondering how long is appropriate for you to stay before you dip the family pretend bonding.

You don’t want to go home. But you don’t have an excuse not to go. You sigh and place your phone face down on the counter. Ice clinks around in the glass that Calum sets down in front of you. Over the speakers faintly, you hear the twang and kick of guitar as Carla Thomas sings her conversation with an imagined other. At Christmas time, Calum gave you control over the speakers whenever you come over. He liked the Christmas music you had saved and even if he didn’t always get full on decorations the music helped the holiday feel a bit more real for the time you were over at least.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “That had to be the heaviest sigh I’ve ever heard.”

“My mom,” you reply, unlocking your phone and showing him the text. “I can’t exactly say, ‘No, I don’t have any plans. But I don’t feel like pretending to care so I won’t be coming home.’ Wouldn’t go over nicely.”

Calum stares down at the text. The exchange previous to this was a Happy Thanksgiving text that you replied to and prior to that it seems like the conversation was just your mother updating you about the changes she was making to the home office. To which you only replied with ‘Pretty!’ but nothing more. He always suspected you and your family weren’t that close. You talked pretty highly of your dad, but he passed away a couple years ago. And you and your mother just didn’t click. Any sort of sustained interaction always seemed to go south. He just hadn’t had a clue just how sort you kept your conversations with your mother.

He had plans to go home to Australia. His sister was flying in too, the first time he wouldn’t have to split his Christmas vacation time between London and Sydney. Calum knew for sure that Luke was going home to Australia too. He wasn’t sure about Michael, though if previous years proved to be any sort of pattern, Michael would be spending Christmas with his partner’s family. Ashton seemed to be tentatively planning spending New Years in Australia at the very least. Sure you had other friends but given the holiday, he suspected that they might be traveling home or spending time with their families.

“Come with me to Australia,” he offers.

“You leave in a week, tops? The cost of that ticket on it’s own is going to be fucking awful.” You take your phone as it’s handed back over, but you only focus in on him. There was no way he was serious about an offer like that. There was no way he was getting a roundtrip ticket for you under three grand. Tickets for that kind of travel months in advance were easily a grand or more. So there was no way Calum could guarantee a ticket for you round trip in a week for a reasonable price.

“I always told you I was going to take you home with me one of these days,” he counters. “Show you those Sydney streets I grew up on.”

You laugh at the way he bobs with his fists in front of his face like a boxer in the middle of the ring. “Yeah, when we could both plan it out and I could at least pay for my own airfare. I can’t Cal. I appreciate it and you. But that’s too soon and I can’t have you dropping money like that on me such short notice.” You take the glass from the counter and spin around in the barstool before traveling to the couch.

Calum drops his arms and follows behind. He’s not worried about money. That’s nothing. “I can’t leave you alone for the holidays. I know going home would just be rough right now. I’d-I’d come with you if you wanted.”

“Oh my god, Calum, no. Go home. You haven’t seen your mom and dad in ages. I’ll be okay.”

“If I cancel I can still get a voucher for another time,” he offers and settles onto the ottoman in front of you.

“Go home. See your parents. Give them a hug. Fucking hell, I’m not worth canceling a trip over. I’ll suffer through this Christmas like I have every other Christmas.”

With a tap to your knee, Calum shakes his head. “My friend absolutely cannot spend Christmas miserable. I won’t have it.”

You shake your head. It’s not like you haven’t had to spend every other CHristmas miserable--what’s one more to the list? Calum looks to the coffee table and spies his phone. He stretches out for it. This would be embarrassing to admit. He wasn’t going to do it like this. In all actuality, he had meant to ask you last week. But you had to out of town for a conference. He hadn’t realized the conference was this late in the year but it was one that you had been trying to get into for years, so when you landed the opportunity, Calum knew you’d take it in a heartbeat.

You take hold of the phone as it’s handed to you. “What’s this?” You ask but Calum remains silent and you glance down to the phone to see it opened to an app. “Why am I staring at trip information?”

“It’s because I bought two round trip tickets,” he returns.

“What do you mean you bought two tickets?”

“One of those is for you. If you want to go.”

You drop his phone into your lap and push to the edge of the seat. “When the hell did you buy these tickets?”

“A couple months ago. I knew the holidays were always a little rough for you.” He shrugs. “At least you won’t have to lie to your mum now.”

“Calum you are the most insane person I’ve ever met and I’ve lived with myself for a while now. When the fuck were you going to tell me?”

“I had plans to last week. But I remembered you were going out of town for that conference and I wanted you to focus on that since you had to present and be on a panel too.”

“How fucking early do I need to wake up?” you asks.

“I-I figured you come over the day before, sleep over and then I’d drive us to the airport.”

“It’s summer in Australia right now, correct?” He nods at your question. “Beaches?”

“If you wanna go, sure.”

“Do I get to say that I’m being kidnapped for Christmas?”

“If you really want to phrase it like that.”

“I’m in,” you agree and Calum smiles, wrapping his arms around you as you fall into him in a hug. “Thanks, Cal.”

“Of course,” he returns softly. He’d do anything for you, or just about anything if he’s honest. You matter to him and even if he does have to kidnap you for the holidays, he’s happy to do it if it means you won’t be miserable.

A couple hours go by and you head home, now having to start packing for the holiday trip with Calum. As you sit on the floor in front of your suitcase, you pick up your phone. You aim to go the weather app and see what it’s like in Sydney right now. But the text notification from your mom still lingers on the messages app. You tap on it and reply. No, Mom, sorry. Going to visit Australia for Christmas.

Who’s in Australia?

Calum’s family is there.

Who’s Calum? Is that the boy you talk about in the band?

“Fuck,” you mutter, realizing there were two ways this could go. You hadn’t ever really talked about your friends with your mother. Your dad knew and he filled her in a little bit, but even still you didn’t tell him a lot before he died. Mostly because you were afraid. What would happen if you told him everything and you needed help and he died? He’d be the only one to know and then he’d be gone. You’d have no one. So you told him half of everything. You told him about the band and some of your friends and you told him that you were doing okay. But you didn’t tell him that you were finally starting to figure what what you were meant to be doing on this earth. You didn’t tell him that you were dating around. Your dad only knew half the truth and now you realized all he could tell was half your truth to your mother. He could only convey what he knew and your mother didn’t always listen too well. She always got into her head what she wanted to hear and that’s the version she went with.

You can almost imagine your mother now, sitting on her couch tapping at the screen of her phone with one finger and looking up to the kitchen where your dad would usually be--and here, she would call out to your dad to ask Do you know about this Calum fella? They ever talk to you about ‘im? And your dad would reply in some sorts clipped and in half truths, Yeah, they’re friends or something. He’s got a good head on his shoulders from what I could tell. Because that what your dad would always say about any of your friends, that they always had a good head on their shoulders because he trusted you.

Your dad told you once that he said they always had a good head on their shoulders because you had a good head on yours and you’d never be friends with anyone that didn’t match morals like yours. He knew you’d never get mixed up in something that you couldn’t see yourself out of because he had raised you, because he had to trust you now; his fears couldn’t stand in the way of you living your life.

If you could tell your dad the whole truth, you would. You would tell him the first year after his diagnosis you lost yourself. You’d tell him that Calum had found you more than once on the edge of something dark and secured you to his chest for nights on end. He’d take you the studio with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. You’d tell your dad about the times you cooked all his favorites just so your house smelt of him. You’d tell him that even though you and your mother fought and you felt like you were always at arm’s length with some family, you always loved him. You’d tell him everything in full detail so that when he died, he would die knowing fully.

Yeah, you start typing to reply to your mother’s question, he’s the guy in the band.

Enjoy. But you should see family during this season too. Remember the ones that have been with you through thick and thin.

You don’t respond to the text. More than half of your mom’s side didn’t show up to the funeral. They never liked your dad all too much and you were slowly uncovering why. But no matter the reasons, it hurt. It hurt to walk with your mother down the aisle of that church to the funeral procession and seeing a halfway empty church because her side hadn’t supported the marriage. Your father was dead and the least they could do was show up to a fucking funeral. There’s no thick or thin in that, just them.

Another text buzzes through your phone. It’s from your aunt, on your dad’s side. We’re loving the pj’s! Nana’s rocking the new slippers and everything. Take care and rest. Wanna come by for New Years? We may be old but we can still keep up!

You laugh at the photo of your grandmother, sleeping as she sits on the couch, bundling up in the robe you also ordered for her. The new slippers are almost falling off her feet. That’s keeping up if I’ve ever seen it, you return. I might come by a little after New Years but I’ll bring the wine--you just bring the chips and dip. Going out of town for a little bit.

No worries! We’ll see you then. Chips and dip are stocked. Don’t you worry. Enjoy!

There’s a twinge--you almost want to stay just for them. But nothing feels the same anymore if you’re honest. When you hang out with your dad’s side of the family, there’s a hole. His seat is way too empty, even if you sit in. There’s no one to joke around. Your grandmother has no one to pass on her list of chores too besides finding people in town to help her with. And it’s not the same. They don’t laugh when she hands it over. They don’t joke that they only had a son just so he could do all the house repairs, or lawnmower repairs.

It has to be hard for them too. It’s all around just not a great time. But then in your peripherals you see your halfway packed suitcase, the swimsuits you’ve rolled up and tucked into one of the mesh pouches. Was this running? Or was this healing? Was going all the way to Australia just an escape? Maybe it was all three, but it was running into an escape but on the other side, there was some healing in it too. You continue packing, pulling out some loungewear and figuring how many pairs of jeans to include on this trip too.

You feel silly in your sneakers and leggings as more people filter into the terminal area from TSA in bulky coats. But Calum’s dressed roughly the same next to you, only in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Your phone shakes in your hands. Let me know when you land, your mother requests in the text.

Will do.

“Do your parents know I’m coming?” you asks, suddenly remembering that you will be in their place for three weeks.

“They know,” Calum returns, slouching down in the chair. “Trust me. Mum keeps asking me if you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions. And everytime I answer, she asks if I have checked in with you recently about it. And I have a feeling if you suddenly sprouted some new allergy, I would know by now.”

“That’s how moms are,” you laugh.

“Don’t be surprised if you find your favorite snacks just chilling in the kitchen.”

The thought of Joy going out of her way to find out via Calum about your favorite snacks and to only have them just in her cabinets or pantry makes you laugh but deeper than that you feel touched, chest warming just a little at the thought that she’d do something above and beyond. You slouch down to match Calum and rest your head onto his shoulder. “Is your childhood bedroom still embarrassing?”

A soft exhale of laughter pushes through Calum’s chest. “No, not too embarrassing anymore. Some of the posters are still up and mum’s changed the bedding for sure. A few of my things are tucked into the closet. But Mum’s said she’s been going through things in the house slowly so maybe she’s put more things on display just to set me up.”

You nod. “I imagine there are going to be lots of sports posters.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Calum chimes, resting his cheek on your head. “I was supposed to be the sports kid. I mean, I was the sports kid for a really long time.”

“Then you found out you had those pipes,” you laugh, tapping on his chest.

“Yeah, then I realized music was a thing. Mali used to blast R&B and I mean blast it. But she’s always had great taste in music so it was never like the songs were bad. They were just loud. Sometimes I’d stay with Michael for as long as I could. Not that I didn’t want to be home, I just wanted to save my ears for a little bit before Mali and Dad would take over.”

“Your dad sings?”

“He’ll tell you only a little bit. But yeah, he sings.”

“So it’s a family trait!” you laugh. “A long line of singers.”

“Mum would disagree with you.”

You glance down and look at the initials inked into his skin. You brush your thumb over Joy’s. You had only heard about her. Once you saw her. Calum was calling home when you dropped by unplanned. It was quick, you waved at her from his computer but mostly you hang around in the kitchen, petting Duke as he wrapped up the call. From the way he talks about her, you know he’s close to his family. You know being away from home is hard sometimes for him. You’ve talked to Mali more, caught Calum a few times FaceTiming her too, or meeting her when she visited LA for his birthday. You know about his Dad too. Haven’t met him yet, but you’ve seen him when you watched the ARIA’s one year and he dad popped up in the crowd while the band performed. You screencapped the moment and send it as a reaction photo to Calum whenever he shares good news. You’re sure he must be sick of it, but he never says anything about your habit.

“There’s a little shop not too far from the house. I used spend hours to looking at all the trinkets. I think you’d like it,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, I’d be down for that.”

“But first, there will be food,” he laughs just as the speakers overhead crackle to life and the voice faintly reminds everyone of the boarding procedure. You can Calum both stand, slinging backpacks onto your shoulders as you want for them to call group one to board. “Lots of food.”

“I’m ready,” you return.

Sleep on the plane isn’t all that restful, but you take it in stride though you manage to make progress in your book. Halfway through the flight, Calum holds out one of his earbuds to you. “You’ll like it,” he urges and you take the bud placing it into your ear.

Somewhere between the songs that Calum plays and the movie you’re not fully paying attention to, sleep claims you once again. And you let it hold you well past the light layer of sleep you had the first time. Sleep lays claim to you, holding you deeply into its grasps. You only find yourself waking up when the lights on the plane lift just a little and it breaks through your lashes and Calum shakes you awake. The two of you climb from your seats, backpacks on shoulders and wind through the airport to baggage. Thanks to the cat and dog luggage tags you bought, spotting your and Calum’s luggage is easy. Calum easy snatched the cartoon dog but you didn’t put up a fight. You let him have it, especially since it looked slightly reminiscent of Duke.

As you gather your luggage, you hear a voice from behind you. Calum turns to the sound of it immediately, his hand leaving the handle of his suitcase. You grab it for him and watch him, hearing his laughter escape him, as he runs up to his mother. “Mum,” he laughs, “hey!”

The hug looks bone crushing, only the hug a mom can give that even if it shouldn’t be tight is tight because there’s nothing like the squeeze. “Oh, my boy,” she grins. It lights up her whole face and you stand, just behind them, a couple feet off, both suitcases in front of you.

Joy spots you and the grin grows brighter. She releases Calum and shuffles up to you, arms still opened wide. “Hi! Look at you,” she greets. You immediately step out from the luggage. She’s warm and taller than you imagined as you hug her. She gives you a squeeze and your eyes water just a little. There’s something to the embrace that makes your chest tight and you find yourself clinging a little tighter to her too as she runs on about how late it is, and how hungry and tired you both must be. She keeps you close, an arm around your shoulders, hand splayed across your back. Joy pinches Calum’s cheek and wraps her other arm around his waist.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she urges. “David’s with the car. But I just couldn’t wait to see you both. Oh, it’s so good.”

Even as you exiting the plane it shocked you just how bright in the day it was still. But when you look down at your phone you realize you’re almost a whole day ahead, now standing in the middle of the afternoon, as if you somehow only flew a few hours instead of half the day. Calum’s dad is not parked too far from the entrance. As the three of you approach, he runs up some of the way with a large smile. “Aye!” he laughs, hands clapping Calum on the back. “Look at you!” “I swear I haven’t gotten any taller, Dad.”

“Coulda fooled me,” David returns. “Now,” he laughs, pointing to you. “I heard you got dragged along. Did ya put up a fight?”

“Less of a drag, more a kidnapping,” you return but step into the embrace with a laugh.

“Next time, next time, you’ll go a couple rounds with him, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, next time.” You don’t know if it’s going to be a next time but the idea sounds nice. Calum and David load up the suitcase into the trunk before all four of you slip into the car--you and Calum in the back.

“Hope they haven’t scared you off,” Calum whispers to you. You shake your head, mouth opening to say more but then David pipes up from the front seat. You almost don’t catch what he says, but Joy and Calum respond, so you stay quiet with a bit of a nod and watch the lights fade behind you as you travel down the streets. You make sure to text your mother that you arrived safely.

Calum’s room isn’t so bad, like he figured. Though you do almost wish there were a few more embarrassing posters on the wall. No sooner than the two of you can slip bags off and get out of shoes, a knock sounds from the door. It’s Joy, peeking her head inside. “Calum knows this, but you’re free to whatever’s in the house to munch on. I think there’s a few beer already cold too. But,” she waves her hand a little as if dismissing the thought. “either way, whatever’s there, you’re welcome to take.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hood.”

“Joy, call me Joy.”

“Thank you, Joy.” She nods and then slips back out of the room.

“They’ll be like that for another couple of days, but don’t mind them.” Calum shows you were the linen’s closet is and where the bathroom is too. “If you wanna shower first, I’ll whip up some snacks.”

“Oh, that’s some hard work putting together some snacks.”

He glares at you, throwing a towel at your head. You manage to duck it though it does land on your shoulder. You laugh as he flips you off and then heads to the kitchen. You head back to the room and grab a different set of clothes. It takes a moment to get the water right but you keep the shower as short as you can and slip into the clean clothes.

You return to the kitchen and find Calum with a plate of various chips, fruit snacks, and a small section of meat and cheeses out. He cracks open a beer just as you pad into the kitchen. “Want one?” he asks, but you decline the offer.

“It’s cozy,” you say softly looking around the living room and kitchen of the house. Even Calum’s room teleports you. You’re not sure where just yet, and even though it’s obviously a whole different continent there’s something about the house, about seeing Calum’s family so visibly happy to have him back home and the genuine smiles that feels like a warm blanket straight from the dryer. It envelopes you.

Calum shrugs a little. To him, it’s just familiar and a tad foreign. Like he can’t remember if the paintings are the same ones from his last visit but the pictures of him and Mali have never changed. The family vacation photos still line the walls too--unwavering it seems even against all of his mum’s decorating attempts. “Once Mali comes into town, it’ll feel complete,” he states. You wonder how any of this could feel incomplete, but don’t voice that curiosity.

Calum runs up to shower next and in the middle of your munching, Joy returns to the kitchen too. “I’m surprised you’re still standing upright.”

“Oh I could fall over at any point. Keep an eye out.”

Leaning into the counter she nods. “Time zones are killer. I’d say try to make it through as much of today as you can and then zoink out later on. Might be easier to adjust to the time that way.”

“I’m hoping,” you say.

“Calum told me you went to a conference last week. How’d that go?”

“It went well. Slight tech issues with my presentation but we managed to pull through unscatched after that.” You talk a little bit more about it, but are aware that you feel like you're rambling. When you ask her a few questions, she’s more than willing to answer them but she keeps them short and instead asks you more questions too.

“As the best friend, I feel like I need embarrassing material. Do you have photos of baby Calum?” you ask after a bit.

“Of course I do. He asked for some for a video once and I scanned over the most neutral ones. But if you want embarrassing photos, I got ‘em,” she laughs, wiping the salt off her fingers from a chip and waving for you to follow her.

Calum returns the sound of laughter and you cooing about something, he thinks you might’ve mentioned chubby cheeks and he knows without a doubt it’s him. “If you are going to embarass me I’d like to be in the room,” he states, seeing the photo album open on your lap. He steps to the arm of the couch you’re near and watches you flip through a few pages. You pause at a couple and pull your phone out to snap a few pictures of the picture. He doesn’t miss the several messages still lingering on your notification screen from your mother.

It’s over dinner that Joy suggest putting the tree up over the weekend, since Mali will be in town at that point too. No one objects to this plan and the latter half the week you and Calum spend mostly trying to adjust to the time change, though Calum seems to be having an easier go of it than you. Mali is licked up from the airport and you linger behind knowing that there’s not quite enough space for all three of you in the seat. It’s a little strange to be lingering around in Calum’s old room at his mum’s house but it’s not to bad. You take in all the sports posters, notice some medals and trophies still hanging around to otherwise bare shelves. Among them are some photos too--mostly of Calum and the guys. A few of some people you’ve never seen before and you assume they’re friends from soccer, or other sports along the way.

The sound of laughter echoes around you. Though you do hold onto one photo of Calum. He’s in a jersey, arms thrown over the shoulders of two other boys. They smile wide and big at the camera. The grassy fields hold blurry people and you like to imagine in that blur there are parents hugging kids, or kids running to their parents. There are coaches, people shouting in those blurs. The sounds of feet on stair should break you out of your trance staring down at the photo and you hear more laughter too. But you continue to stare down at younger Calum.

Calum tries to catch onto Mali’s wrist. “Do not! God,” he huffs when she slips through his hold. She laughs, backpack still on and barrels past her old room to Calum’s. You’re standing halfway turned to the door, but still clearly engrossed in something.

“Hey,” Mali huffs out, slipping just inside the cracked door. “Have you found the good blackmailing photos yet?”

You jump just a little but lift your gaze and find Calum’s sister beaming brightly at you. “Hi,” you return with a laugh. “I found a few. Your mum broke out the photo album.”

“Good,” she returns. “Sorry for kicking you out of the arrival party. It’s not normally five of us.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I couldn’t necessarily swing a vote on voting Calum out, so, I just took that blow.”

She gives a light tuft of laughter and hisses just a little. “Yeah that’d be a little hard to swing. But I’ll teach ya a few pointers for next time.”

“I’d appreciate that,” you return and Mali excuses herself to drop off her bag. Everyone seems hooked on the concept of a next time. It falls easily from their lips and while you’ve enjoyed the time here thus far, next time isn’t on your mind. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s on your mind besides not thinking about the text messages you need to respond too. Most of them seem to be about making sure you’ve adjusted to the time difference, if you’ve seen anything exciting. And you want to tell her--but you know you’d most likely tell her half truths too. Possibly even quarter ones. So you’ve opted to tell her nothing really. It seems trivial to explain to her that you’ve gone out a couple times--to the beach and the shop that Calum mentioned earlier. Most of the time though, you spend with Calum going down his memory lane. You rode past the school’s he attended, saw all the spots he used to hang out. Those don’t feel like the spots your mother is looking for.

When the Christmas tree is unearthed and Joy brings out the decorations you don’t think about those text messages again. You instead help feed the garland around the tree to Calum who’s standing at the back of the tree and he passes it along to his mon and she passes it to Mali and Mali passes it back to you. And that’s the way it goes for the lights too. Once those are put up, you look over the bulbs that Joy has. Behind you Calum and Mali are already working to put the hooks through the box Joy approved. You’re trying to help her find the last box in that set.

“Short end, Calum. Short end is what you hook through the top of the bulb.”

“Which end is short then?” you hear him return.

“That end,” she laughs. “I’ll put the hooks. You put them on the tree. Don’t put the same colors close together. Space them out.”

“I can decorate a tree,” Calum states.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

You find the last box of bulbs in the matching set, under a layer of icicle like ornaments. “Found ‘em,” you tell Joy and she beams, stopping her work on the box she was digging in.

“Ah! I’m not sure how they got separated.”

“Someone packed them wrong,” Mali returns, focused in on hooks still. “Most likely,” she counters. You step over to her and help prep more ornaments. A few look homemade with popsicle stick and felt. You pause looking at them on the table.

“Made ‘em in primary,” Calum answers, picking up the ornaments you’ve already hooked. “I thought Mum would give up on bringing them out.”

“But I never have and never will,” she counters picking them up and proudly displaying them on the front of the tree.

Calum makes a show to wave his hands. “That.”

“You made them and I cannot not display them,” Joy laughs and takes the bulb you’ve prepped.

“I think it should be the star,” you tease.

“Do not give Mum any ideas,” Calum groans. “She needs zero ideas.”

“My dad would put mine near the star. I used to hate it too,” you offer.

“Because he was proud of them! See, it’s a parent thing,” Joy laughs, taking another ornament.

You don’t respond, giving a shrug. Maybe it’s a parent thing. And maybe it’s just a love thing, you think. Maybe putting your atrocious ornaments near the top was a way your dad was saying you were always near the top, he was always thinking of you first. When you blink the silver hooks blur for a moment and it hits you that you might be crying. So you blink again and the tears don’t completely clear.

Arms are around your shoulder and you think it’s Calum but as you turn into the embrace, you notice it’s Joy. “Hey, it’s okay,” she offers. She’s quick to scoot you over to the other end of the living room and hands you a tissue. “Do you want to keep on decorating? You can take a breather.”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Her hand runs a soothing line up and down your back. You can only nod. It takes another moment and a deep inhale before you find a resolve. Joy takes your spot hooking the ornaments and you hang one up on the branch. You’re not even sure if Calum and Mali noticed your quick time out, but they don’t seem to be visibly concerned. You finish the tree half an hour later--many ornaments had to rearranged after realizing the back hadn’t gotten nearly enough love. You snap a photo and you don’t think too much about sending it to your aunt and your grandmother, but you hover over your mom’s contact.

Would she think you’re betraying? Would she find some way to say that you could’ve been home decorating the tree too and that she could’ve used the help since Dad wasn’t around anymore? You don’t hit send. Instead you lock your phone, place it face down and ask Joy if she needs or wants any help cooking dinner. She waves you in happily, explaining the dish she’s preparing to you as you wash your hands. This is easy. This feels complete, listening to the sounds of the TV in the background. Knocks at the door don’t make your heart startle and you almost know, without looking, that it’s David. And he no doubts has an armful of things--food, drinks, and god knows what else.

“Do-do you mind me asking about your mom?” Joy brings up as you tend over your hot pan.

“I,” and all words have fallen from your brain. “I don’t know,” you answer. It sounds so stupid but it’s the truth. The whole truth. “I don’t know how I feel. I-I wouldn’t be upset, but there may or may not be a reason I’m hiding on the other side of the world.”

It’s a small laugh, but a laugh nonetheless that Joy gives. “You know, fair. It’s okay if you don’t know. Instead, we’ll knead dough,” she offers, “or whatever else we need to do.”

“I’ll take kneading dough.”

There’s a nod and a smile, an understanding that kneading dough is the best alternative. The sleeves to your hoodie start to slip down again and just before you can clear your hands from the flour to pull it up, two hands come from the side. Calum, you deduce. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Did Mum put you to work or did you volunteer?”

“Volunteered,” you answer and go back to kneading the dough. The fridge door opens and then closes a few seconds later.

“You’re a guest. You don’t have to you know?”

“I know. Just need to do something.”

“Besides not answering your mom’s texts.”

“Besides not answering my mom’s texts,” you agree. Calum reaches across the counter and grabs your phone. You gave him the passcode ages ago and shockingly he remembered it. “Gonna delete the embarrassing photos?” you tease. You already emailed yourself copies just in case you tried too.

“Nah, no need. You’d just find a way to get them again.” You watch him for just a moment open up the app and the picture of the tree is still loaded in. “Why didn’t you send this?”

“Because I didn’t want her bitchin’ to me about how I could’ve been doing that with my real family. I would rather decorate a tree with you and your family anyway. Just as real as anything else,” you huff out, pushing in a little harder into the dough.

Calum pauses for a moment, glancing over to you. He’s not even sure his ears actually heard what you are saying. “What?” he asks in an exhale.

“I’d rather spend legit any holiday with you.”

He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “Did-did you just admit that you’d spend any holiday with me and my family?”

“Do you want bread or not?” you ask and he releases your wrist. “But yes, I did admit it.” You look up from the dough, knowing you’ve worked well enough for you to be done. The Christmas tree twinkles from the corner and it’s nice to see a family together--there’s no arguments, no need to feel like you’re at arm’s length. The TV plays and it’s idealistic. It’s what you want, not the screaming that occurs on most holidays, no one too drunk off their ass, no one being kicked out.

“I like it here,” you admit softly. Christmas is about five days out and you still need to wrap Calum’s present. It’s currently hiding in your suitcase and you want to get something nice for his parents for hosting you, and you’re not entirely sure what to get Mali but you want to do something nice for her too. Calum doesn’t miss the way you stare, the longing in your gaze as you’re still knuckle deep in dough. “I could send the photos to Dad. He’d probably just send a thumbs up. But, still it would’ve been better.”

“Then send it to him.”

“Mom disconnected the line. I have no clue who has the number now.”

“Send it anyway. Whoever it is, probably wouldn’t mind.”

You shake your head and look down at the dough. It’s done and you place it back into the bowl. The idea is asinine to you. No stranger would be okay with getting a random text about a Christmas tree you decorated and whatever sob story you’d type out. Best not to bother a stranger. Even as Calum tries to urge you one last time, you don’t give in. You move about the kitchen as if you’ve always worked in and wash your hands. It doesn’t take you long before you settle onto the couch next to Mali.

I know this might be strange, Calum starts drafting. But my best friend lost their dad about two years ago and this is his old number (this is their number and they still has the number saved). I took them to see my family for Christmas since they and their mom and that side are in a rough spot. I say that like it hasn’t been years of a rough spot but they helped us decorate the tree. I don’t know who’s going to see this, if it’ll go through or not, but I’m hoping for a miracle, I guess, for kindness in the universe and kindness in a stranger. They just needs something good, so we hope you enjoy our Christmas tree. They told my mum about how their dad would put the homemade ornaments near the star. Needless to say my mum agreed with the idea.  If you see this, and get the picture, I hope you have safe and happy holidays.

Calum doesn’t even think twice about hitting send on the message. He finishes pouring himself a glass of water and pour another one for you too. By the time he grabs a snack too your phone buzzes again. There’s a response from the number that once belonged to your dad.

Tree looks awesome, kid, reads the first message. And then another one follows it. Homemade decorations near the top are the only way to go. Hope your friend gets through the holidays safely, but with people like you in their life, we think they will. Happy Holidays and enjoy our tree too. A picture comes attached with it.

Calum leaves the response up. It works out perfectly that the first response sits directly under the picture Calum sent. The first part of the second text is still visible but he doesn’t worry about that. He taps on your shoulder. “The world’s not so bad after all,” he states.

It takes you a moment to realize who the message is under. And you know it’s not actually your dad. You know that line went cold months ago.Your dad didn’t call you kid too much else he was trying to annoy you.  But it’s something about seeing a message from that number that makes your chest ache. For a split moment in time, he’s real again. A sob racks through your chest and you're quick to cover your mouth, aware that other people are around. “I should’ve told him so much more,” you gasp and another sob breaks the sentence up just a little at the end. But all you can do is stare at the response with blurry vision.

Calum wraps you into his arms, pulling you into his chest. “Hey, you can still tell him. Maybe not by texting this number but you can still tell him,” he whispers. And though you tremble against him, he manages to get you to the shelter of the stairs. You settle oddly on top of him, your legs draping over his and your cowered into his chest mostly. But you don’t object to the arrangement.

Joy places a box of tissues down next to you both and settles on the step just below Calum. Her hand is warm on your knee. “I thought you were kneading dough.”

You chuckle just a little but tremors still rock you. “Dough didn’t have a lot of resistance.”

She nods, tsking just a little. “Ah, next time I’ll have you knead two loaves.” Once she’s sure you’ve cried it all out, she leaves you be, though most of her comfort was soft reassurance and knee pats. But it’s just what you need.

Calum guides you upstairs and unearths his journal from his bag. Or at least a journal you think you’ve seen him writing in before. “I was going to give this to you on Christmas. But it sounds like you could use it now. Whatever you wanted to tell your dad, write it down. Pretend like your writing letters to him. I know know it might sound silly, but it helps me.”

The journal is leather, embossed on the front are your initials. It almost looks too expensive to even write in it, but when Calum hands you a pen you think you might explode again if you don’t get it off your chest. So you settle onto the edge of his bed, which is barely just enough space for two of you to sleep on during the night and tell your dad all the full truths. Everything you felt like he couldn’t take the grave, you spill onto the page.

Dad, It’s Christmas. Or it’s nearly Christmas. I’m in Australia with Calum and I’ve already had one emotional breakdown. So we need to reset the count on that one. It’s hard without you. Joy put Calum and Mali’s old homemade decorations near the star of the tree and all I wanted was to be six again and be up on your shoulders and have you force me to put my decorations up high on the tree for everyone to see. I used to hate it. When you did that. But now I miss it.

I miss a lot of things, I guess now. I miss being honest with you. I wasn’t very honest while you were dying. I was afraid that I told everything I’d be weak. That if I told you everything you’d take all the words with you when you died and I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else since it would’ve been one of the last things I told you. It all sounds silly now to write it down, but that’s what I thought.

Here’s the other half I never told you.

Calum lingers, sitting on the floor and finding one of his old guitars sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. He slides over, and places it into his lap before strumming mindlessly over it. The scratch of the pen is hardly audible as he strums but he can envision what it sounds like, see how fast you’re scribbling words down onto the page.

Later in the week, as you have Mali and Calum helping you find a gift to give their parents, you stop at one of the small shops in the mall. Mali’s wandered off to the far corner but Calum’s close next to you, glancing around the walls for something that looks remotely interesting and appropriate. The housewares all look too dated and Calum’s not even sure what his parents do and don’t have to even suggest something like this. But Mali thought it might be a good place to stop so the three of you stopped to look.

“Thanks,” you say to Calum, running a finger over a serving spoon. “For the journal. It helped a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams at you. His attention is still filtering around the store. “I have no clue what to even suggest in a place like this for my parents. They’re not super into stuff like this.”

“You sure a Kiss The Cook apron wouldn’t do the trick?” you joke holding up the red and white apron.

“Hmm, afraid not,” he laughs. The two of you still wonder about the store and you find a couple cookbooks that seem interesting. One’s for cocktails and Calum says it’s a definite--his dad would enjoy flipping through it. Neither he or Mali had gotten one for him before, so it won’t be a duplicate.

“Your mom has a lot of photos you guys. You think she’d be into something like this?” you ask, pointing out to a few picture frames. They’re all collages, just arranged differently. Calum seems to be vaguely interested though Mali worries about the fact that she tends to keep them in a particular way.

“Could make one with the photos you’ve taken over this trip, she loves stuff like that and I’m sure she wishes she could get more photos of us now since we’re gone. We spend a day taking some photos in front of our old stomping grounds and I know she’d love it,” Calum offers looking over to Mali.

She shrugs. “That could work. Sure we can’t say it was from all of us?” she jokes.

“I wouldn’t mind, especially since you two would be doing some leg work in it,” you state.

“If we’re going to do it,” Mali counters. “Let’s go with this one.” She points to a wooden slab with rows of twine wrapped around and clasps that are wooden too where stock photos are currently pinned but it’s clear that you can add your own photos.

“This really blows my flowers out of the water,” Calum mutters, holding onto the paid for box of the wooden frame.

“You also got her the embroidered pillow,” you counter. The pillow has the coordinates of Sydney, LA, and London on it--for each of the cities they’re in respectively.

“True,” he nods. “But still,”

“If you don’t want--” you start but he cuts you off.

“Hey, no, I want to do this. Shush,” he laughs. “We gotta make another stop though. I’ve seen ads for those portable printers and can print photos and I don’t see either one of you with those old school polaroid cameras.”

“I’ll have you know,” Mali teases. But she interrupts her own joke as a ponderous hum falls from her. She rattles off a couple stores that could have it.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Calum returns. The first store is a bust but the second one has it. They grab one of the last ones off the shelf and scurry to the lines. They’re long and it’s no avoiding it two days from Christmas. The rest of the day, Mali navigates, pulling over into random parking lots and telling stories about their childhood.

You snap as many photos as you can. Some are more planned than others but it’s okay. You play with angles, flipping your phone upside to get some cool shots and you’re honestly impressed with the quality of just a cellphone camera. By the time it starts to get dusk, you’re half convinced your phone will alert you that you’re almost out of space. It’s not too hard to sneak the bags up to the bedrooms. You take up distracting Joy just a little as Calum and Mali book it up the steps.

“Oh, this reminds me,” Joy says standing right as Mali clears the first step. “If you need any sort of wrapping supplies they’re in here,” she directs you down the hall and you watch Calum and Mali clear into one of the bedrooms, you think it’s Mali’s before diverting your attention back to the wrapping paper.

“Thanks,” you nod at her. “I’ll be down in a few if you want help with dinner?”

“An extra pair of hands never hurt,” she counters with a grin and it’s become a tradition, or a thing at the very least that you help her with dinner and she’s given up on trying to shoo you out of the kitchen.

You take the stairs slowly, but you can feel the buzzing in your pocket. No doubt Calum bugging you relentlessly that you’re needed upstairs. You find them in Mali’s room situated on the floor as she removes the pictures from the frame and Calum seems to messing with the printer.  “Thank you for joining us,” he teases. Music starts up and the door closes.

You settle on the floor next to him. “My job was to distract so that’s what I did. What do I need to do?”

“Pairs with BlueTooth, so I just gotta get this thing on.”

“Let me know when it’s up,” you return and then pull up the photos you took on your phone. Mali helps pick out which photos have to go onto the frame. It’s only a minute or two later that Calum tells you to make sure your phone has the BlueTooth turned on.

“You cannot use that,” he laughs, as the first photo prints out. “I look so dumb in that take.”

Mali laughs. “Oh, c’mon it’s a pretty shot.”

“Yeah of you,” he returns.

You swipe to the next photo and there are no photo blunders for either one of them so you print that one down. Some are in front of buildings that you’re not even sure could mean anything. A couple are of Calum’s old practice field for soccer--the same one from the photo you were looking at when Mali first arrived. There are a few of Mali in front of the place she sang to a large audience for the first time. There’s a picture of the Christmas tree as well--Mali and Calum are in the photo adding decorations to it. There’s one of you, in the middle of Calum and Mali, arms wrapped around each other. You’re laughing because even standing you nearly stumble just trying to shift your weight a little, but the picture is perfect as the sun just starts to step a little behind you.

With the last photo printed, you look over the arrangement and give your approval. “Did you remember to grab our wrapping paper?”

“Shit,” Calum sighs. “I’ll run to the car and grab it.” You nod and head back downstairs just in time to help Joy.

It’s late before another opening arrives for you three to place the gift under the tree and during this time you also add Calum’s and Mali’s gift to the bunch. You managed to snag some cool t’s with Calum’s help for her. She eyed them in your shopping adventure and carted them around the store before ultimately deciding to put them back. Calum stayed behind to grab them off the rack while you went with her to the next store.

Over mugs of hot chocolate--though the Australian heat doesn’t warrant it-- you, Mali and Calum sit on the floor in front of the tree. “It’s been nice to outnumber him,” Mali laughs.

“I’m already outnumbered with you and Mum,” he retorts.

“Yeah, but it’s Mum. She counts but like not really. Now you’re outnumbered by someone in our age range.”

Calum shakes his head. “If you say so. I’m glad Mum and Dad weren’t too weird about it.”

You know he hasn’t brought anyone home in a long time. And part of it is probably just time, but another part is deliberate but you don’t know why. “I’m sure they were starting to think I wasn’t real,” you joke.

“Haha,” Calum gently shoves your legs. “You’re a fucking comedian.” You snicker and take another sip from your mug. The night almost doesn’t feel like it’s slipping away as Mali and Calum take turns on the guitar. You climbed up onto the sofa at some point during the night, asbentedmindly playing in Calum’s hair. But somewhere in it the strumming, sleeps pulls you under, you felt your eyes blinking close but weren’t able to recall when the final blink took you full under.

You find yourself startled awake to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Mali’s asleep on the couch, facing the opposite away of you. Calum’s reclined against the sofa between the both of you but still sitting on the floor. There’s a faint light coming from behind you and you squint against it to see the kitchen light’s on. You settle back against the arm of the couch and let yourself fall into sleep a second time.

When you wake the second time, it’s to gentle shakes and you’re not even sure you had fallen asleep again. Until you find yourself stretching again and blinking back the light of the living room. Calum’s slumped to the floor. “No, five more minutes.”

Joy chuckles. “It’s your presents you’ve gotten open.”

“Hmm, maybe I’m awake enough for presents.” Presents are slow to be handed out, mostly to the three of you still trying to wake up. But Mali gets the first tear into the wrapping paper and beams over at you spying the two shirts.

Joy loves the pillow from Calum and the jacket from Mali. Calum gets a few things, most of them necessities but the socks are cool enough to put on immediately. Mali’s content with the clothes she’s received and the necklace. Calum thought about wrapping your journal as a joke but he hands you a tiny stocking stuffed with some candies, a cool pen, and some knicks knacks he found during some of the shopping adventures. David’s tickled as he flips through the cocktail recipes.

“What is this?” Joy laughs pulling on the wooden and twine picture frame ad she’s handed it.

“For you,” you answer. “A collective effort between the three of us.”

“But originally their idea,” Calum tacks on.

Joy looks at the three of you, unsure of what trick might be pulled. She unveils the first corner and pauses. “Seriously, what is this?”

“Just keep going Mum,” Mali counters.

Joy continues tearing at the wrapping paper and she gasps for a moment noticing the photos hanging from the pins. “No way,” she laughs, lifting it up to take a closer look at the photos. “No way,” she whispers.

“The pictures can be switched out, so you can frame some, or just rotate it based on the season,” you explain.

The tears collecting in Joy’s eyes don’t get past you but they do hurt just a little. In a good way. You hadn’t seen a teary eyed smile like Joy’s in such a long time you almost forgot how good it felt, but how much it hurt too.

“You did all this for me?” she asks.

“I had help,” you return. “But I wanted to do something or give you something nice for hosting me the past two weeks and agreeing to take on an extra mouth to feed. It’s a thank you.”

She gives you another one of those hugs that squeeze more than they should, more than thought possibly. You squeeze in return and though you feel a couple tears slip down your cheek, you aren’t so afraid of the emotion. It’s something like loved, maybe it’s understood. Quite possibly it’s just the feeling of being embraced without judgement or restriction. You’re not really sure, but you do know you like it.

“Thank you,” Joy whispers while still hugging you. She makes space for the frame almost immediately though it takes a little rearranging of the living room but she finds the space. You’re sucking on a piece of candy, looking down at your phone. You know your mother is still living in Christmas Eve and the only message she’s gotten from you are about you being safe and okay.

I would send this as an actual letter, but I worry from Australia to home would take too much time. So I guess this works as next best. I can only hope you understand.

The easy things: Australia’s been fun. Haven’t run into a spider as big as my head just yet but there’s still plenty of time. Calum’s family has been amazing. I helped with Christmas decorations. Joy and I are cooking buddies. If I never had to leave, I probably wouldn’t.

And on and on you go about the tails of this particular vacation before getting to the hard stuff, how it’s hard sometimes to be home because home feels empty and too far away and how it’s hard sometimes to feel like you fit in the puzzle of it all. You tell her how hurt you are seeing how her side paid the death of your father dust. How nothing’s felt right once and you don’t know what caused it. You don’t know how it started but all you do know is that when dad was around, when you and him had those quiet moments it was closest to right you had every experience until now--sitting in your friend’s childhood home in a whole different country, more than half the day ahead of your own family and watching someone else’s world that you know you’re not really apart of but somehow you fit even as a stranger.

There’s that nagging voice in the back of your head that tells you this could all go to shit. Your mother could read all this and blow her top. But at least she would blow her top knowing the truth and the whole truth at that--that you love your family for being your family but recognizing the detriment happening.

I need you to know Mom. Because Dad didn’t. Or maybe he did, but I know I wasn’t the one that told him. So I am telling you. You don’t have to like it. You don’t have to like any of this and I’m not asking you or telling you you have to. But you have to know the truth and I have to tell you.

Before I go, there’s a present for you. Hidden in the top box of Dad’s stuff in your closet. It’s only tiny pieces of me and him, of us, but I hope you enjoy it. I hope it provides comfort.

While you’re not the most crafty, you know your way around a sewing machine. You didn't keep nearly as many t-shirts from family vacations as you would’ve liked to, hanks to a couple moves. But you kept enough and you snagged a few of your dad’s t-shirts and some of his old flannels too. All together it made a decent sized blanket--it could’ve been larger but there were a few failed starts before you got the true hang of it.

You’re not sure the whole message will send correctly and you think maybe it should’ve been an email, but that feels even less personal. So you watch the message lift up, hover for just a moment before it settles down and just beneath it, Delivered, pops up. Immediately, you place your phone face down. A watched pot never boiled and a watched text is never actually read.

“Calum!” Mali laughs. Just behind you they go barreling past, through the living room and he tries to make an escape up the steps but she manages to lunge fast enough to take hold of the back of his t-shirt. “Drop the cookies and no one has to get hurt.”

“Never!” he cries in return. His attempts are half hearted and you can only giggle watching them. That in turn earns you target as a potential accomplice and he calls out to you to get you to take the cookies and make an escape.

You walk over, take the packet of cookies. They’re decorated for Christmas and you decide take one off the top is fair pay for whatever mess you’re stepping into. After your take the first bite of your cookie, you hand the packet over to Mali who happily release Calum to snag a couple. “Traitor,” Calum returns, but takes another cookie too.

“I got my pay,” you laugh, polishing off the one cookie in your hand.

David enters then, taking another cookie too. “I got mine too,” he laughs before disappearing again back down the hallway. There are a few things around the house he needed to repair and Calum had been helping him though you suspect more than helping, Calum was sneaking cookies and trying to hide them from Mali. You offered to help too, but David insisted that you actually take a rest at least once during this time away.

You manage to catch the buzz over all the laughter. You don’t think your mother could’ve responded that fast. It’s not possible. But you slip away from the group and grab your phone from the couch cushions. Your heart hammers against your ribs, you can feel the vein in your neck throbbing.

Thank you for the blanket. It’s quite lovely. Glad you’re enjoying Australia. I don’t know if I can say sorry and have it mean much. But in turn, thank you for telling me the truth. Somehow you expected this to be much more emotional, much more earth shattering. But tides don’t change in the blink of an eye and cities don’t build themselves in a day.

“We should have a board game night,” Mali suggests from behind you. “Dunno know. Not much will be open up for long.”

“I’ll kick your ass in Scrabble,” Calum returns, “Anytime.”

And just behind is all you’ve ever really wanted. But just in front of you is all you’ve ever had, your mother and the distance. Maybe it’s not a matter of what you deserve or what is actually yours by blood. Maybe it’s just time to admit that family is also chosen. And you did all you could with your mother. You told her the truth.

A tear splashes onto your screen and you wipe at your eyes quickly. When had those formed? They didn’t even sting that time or maybe they did and you just hadn’t felt it. You’re not sure. Her message doesn’t warrant a response. Though you do imagine for a moment, her curled up on the couch, your blanket across her lap as she snacks on pistachios and the fireplace blazes next to her. The TV is playing Polar Express, her favorite Christmas film. And if the scene is sad, your mother is sad. And if the scene is happy, your mother is happy. And you like it better that she is tethered to the film’s emotions rather than anything going on outside of it.

“You down for a board game night? If not, we can find something else.” Calum’s voice is close and you can feel just how close is he off to the side of you.

“I’m down for a board game night,” you nod. Your voice quivers just a little. Crying is exhausting and you’d wish you had nothing left, but there is always the dregs left. Just enough to make your cheeks wet.

“You good? What’s up?”

“Told my mom,” you answer truthfully.

He figures it didn’t go super well given your silence.  “We can watch movies in my room then.”

“She didn’t threaten to blow up the country so I think we’re good,” you continue on. “But she loves her Christmas present. So I’ll take it as a win.”

“It’s the small victories.”

You nod, looking at the photos hanging right next to the Christmas tree. “Like kicking your ass in Scrabble,” you laugh. “I’m on Mali’s team.”

“Fighting words, those are fighting words. I brought you out here and you already turned over my cookie stash. Now you’re going against me in Scrabble! Really?”

“I’ve chosen you over and over,” you admit quietly. You’ve chosen him as a friend, and confidante and you appreciate him for being there. But you don’t say all that, instead you counter with, “But I think sometimes I should kick your ass in a game of Scrabble or too.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he returns with a laugh.

“I am,” you state simply. “I am lucky.”