#upon witnessing comments as per usual

[sunboki]

002. THE MOVING IN DIARIES — ANTHOLOGY

PAIRING. Lee Minho x gn. reader | WORD COUNT. 2.3k & 12 minute read | SERIES PLAYLIST. | WARNINGS. cursing, anxiety, metaphor referring to getting high, talk of sex & implied smut | TROPE. friends to lovers, angst, fluff, suggestive, comfort, basically moving in together au!

( ✉️ ) — although this fic turned out shorter than expected, i have to remind myself this is a “mini”series 😭😭 please leave a reblog or comment if you enjoyed it! love you guys!!

Playful banter while driving to your new home is a must, but upon opening the door to your first home together, the big moment truly sinks in — especially when he wakes up beside you the next morning. Wow.

Heaving the massive brown boxes through the door with your boyfriend right on your heels, you practically slam the box labeled “Kitchen” in neon tape down, wiping the sweat off your brow before looking up.

It’s one thing to sign the papers to a new home, but another when you actually realize the reality of it all.

Minho seems to be in the same state of awe as well.

New. Everything is new. Your new home, a new chapter in either of your lives.

Together.

. ..

People genuinely underestimate the entire process of buying a house.

In other words, the entire daydreaming phase disappears instantly once finances, planning, and packing are introduced.

And it’s a fucking nightmare.

From initially digesting the prices to agreeing on a house in general, you’re certain gray hairs are mere days from appearing atop your head. Although, your boyfriend was here too, every step of the way.

My god were you grateful for that.

He handled the stress like a pro, picking out certain flaws in layouts you’d been completely oblivious to and always leveling you out when you got overwhelmed with things. Plus, you got to witness him looking illegally attractive in his glasses more than ever over the four-month long house-buying hell.

.

.

.

“And what about option two?” You ask, referring to your boyfriend currently calling about some new places he’d scoped out.

You swear this same conversation has popped up almost every day over the past month and a half. At this point it’s instinct going through the bottomless list, crossing off place after place, neverending.

Like you said, house-buying hell.

“Pretty spacious except the kitchen takes up half of the house,” Minho grunts, and you envision his glasses-clad self hunched at his desk with Dori on his lap, likely dozing off.

Before you can reject though, he huffs a chuckle, one filled with nothing but mischief.

“Hey, kitchen sex would be great.”

Thank god you weren’t drinking something or it definitely would’ve come out of your nose.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Awe, you love me sweetheart. And you know it's true.”

As much as you’d like to deny it, he’s no fool. Because kitchen sex with Minho is heavenly, and you’d be a liar to say otherwise. Unfortunately, your lack of reply evidently stroked his ego to no end, cocky giggle rumbling through the call.

Asshole.

You love him.

Reminding him you’d send a text while on your way home, you, as per usual, clock in for your shift after his whining and many repeated goodbyes. Yet you can’t seem to let go of the thought, plaguing your mind like an infectious virus.

Doubts.

Doubts about things working out, about your relationship working out, about your love working out. Especially once you move in, if you move in, no, of course you’ll move in, right? Where it came from you’re not sure, only aware of the tightness of your chest when you step outside for a breath of fresh air.

Suffocating. You feel suffocated.

Reaching into your pocket, moments of hesitation keep your thumb lingering longer over his number, regrettably stuffing the forsaken device in your pocket.

Not now, maybe later. It’s just a thought. Nothing serious.

Except you were a hypocrite, and it was serious, because by the time you stepped from the building you practically cried in the middle of the road, barely able to contain the frothing wail that left a nasty aftertaste burning your tongue.

Fuck it. You’re calling him.

Not until he attempts at getting out a full sentence without you dissolving into sobs does an audible phrase leave your mouth, pitifully curled up atop your bed after charting the messiest walk home in history.

“But– But what if the something happens and the agent messes up and–”

“Baby.”

The voice, the subtly stern tone immediately stops your fervent ranting. Your chest feels seconds from exploding, stifling every pained sound clambering to escape.

“This is our journey, our struggles. Don’t put so much stress on your shoulders when I’m here to help you carry it, okay? I love you, and I need you to know you’re not handling this by yourself.”

He’s speaking so quietly, so kindly, and you can only hum to keep from breaking into tears again while leant against the wall, phone pressed against your ear.

He’s said those three words more than ever in these past few weeks—knowing that he needs to hear it, that you both need to hear it. “I love you”.

It never gets old.

Also, once you're officially homeowners, you won’t have to constantly call each other anymore. It brings a watery smile to the corner of your lips.

“Hey Min?”

“Yes?” He hummed, mirroring the same sound made when he ate a good bite of food. It’s the cutest thing in the world.

“Yes?”

“Can we.. stay like this? I just want to know you’re there.”

A breathless laugh utters through the line.

“I’m right here all night sweetness.”

And like he promised, he stayed, the call ending almost seven hours later. Having fallen asleep a mere two hours in, Minho spoke all the while, mumbling to both himself and you. Plans for the future, his current grocery list, and, while deep in thought, how he so badly wanted to marry you.

He wouldn’t mention the last one when you woke up.

Eventually, he too began drifting off, and it wasn’t without telling you good night that he let himself fully travel to dreamland, whispering: “Good night baby, ‘sleep well.” Before clicking the red icon, signaling the end of the call.

Call Ended: 6:43:17.

. ..

The clock hung on his wall reads 2AM and his hand ferociously maneuvers the mouse, eyes practically bloodshot. You’re behind him on his bed, immersed just as intensely on the blinding screen.

Yesterday you’d received the best kind of news, but the trial was far from over, and you couldn’t quite celebrate till the keys came in—the exact thing you were religiously looking into right now.

He’s relentlessly scrolling through emails, running a hand through dark brown hair with prominent dark circles shadowing beaneath his lower lashes.

Having met with your agent that afternoon, you were nearly finished with the entire closing process when ding! A notification buzzes.

Scrambling, you jump off his mattress, both blinking dumbly, mouths agape.

Hello, I am pleased to inform the Minho family (you laughed at the name) your keys will be available at 8am tomorrow morning. Thank you for your cooperation, I was delighted to be the agent you chose for your first home purchase!

Oh my god.

Slowly turning to face one another, huge smiles grow at your cheeks while the boy’s apartment erupts in loud, victorious screams. He pulls you into a big hug and you do the same, mimicking his bouncing excitement.

He can’t even describe how happy he is.

This is really happening.

Your boyfriend hides himself in your chest and you gently pat his head, allowing the thundering of his heartbeat to calm.

Surreal.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you. Perhaps it was the aftermath’s effect, too intoxicated by happiness to think sensibly. Not that he didn’t constantly kiss you normally, but this time it was different.

Plus, how could he stop when after the third kiss your lips were all puffy and glossy, begging to be kissed.

Holding your wrists, he tips his head to an angle, nipping the swollen skin of your bottom lip and ushering a deep sigh from you.

So when he does let go, you effortlessly hold his face, falling back onto the bed without a second thought other than having Minho as close to you as possible.

To say the least, fucking at almost 3AM was criminally underrated.

Towel hanging around his neck after his shower (and the euphoric afterglow), he took on the job of coordinating how each item was organized, deciding to worry about packing up your flat after coming to the conclusion trying to sleep at this point was futile.

“We’re such good adults.” You satisfy, popping the cap off the Sharpie and being sure to label the box in front of you as “Cat toys'' (Minho’s instructions).

”Please don’t ever say that again.” He leans down, stealing a peck for the nth time off your pout. You don’t complain.

You groan. “What? We just bought a house all by ourselves y’know.”

He busies himself in the bathroom, fetching additional toiletries while wearing the horrifically ugly slippers Changbin gifted him last year.

“After four months,” He says, tone laced with bemusement.

“Hey! It’s about the journey, not the reward,” You point an accusing finger his way, him responding with a rather unimpressed expression.

“You’re a loser.”

“Your loser.”

He wrinkles his nose, appearing disgusted.

Typical Minho reaction.

To no one’s surprise, you spend the remainder of the night scurrying around the place, too high on anticipation. Although, even after countless nights of no sleep, you don’t feel exhausted. You feel alive, relieved.

And it’s when he rolls over to face you, smiling so faintly you can barely make out the shadow lining his usually furrowed exterior that you realize he’s just as ecstatic as you are.

. ..

“Oh please, Lee Minho, you’re already hot, and we’re gonna be late!” You holler from his complex's parking lot, shutting the trunk filled to the brim with luggage. Of course, your boyfriend takes his sweet time sauntering over, placing the keys in your open palm and sending you a sarcastic grin.

“Never knew we booked an appointment with the house,” He scoffs, and you slip your index into his belt loop, tugging him closer with a shared sneer.

“Well now you know,” You cockily tilt your head, a sudden tension overwhelming the minimal space between you two, testing each other's teetering resolve using a mere stare and your finger still wedged in his belt.

He steps closer, you hold your breath.

So it takes you a moment to realize he said “I’m driving” till the keys were snatched from your grasp, leaving you to scoot your legs away and side-eye him the entire ride. Worst part? By the look of his stupidly-handsome-no-good-please-stop-so-I-can-despise-you smile, he enjoyed every second.

Yet, opposed to the cold-shoulder attitude on the drive there, you’re giggling like idiots upon pulling in the driveway. Your poor neighbors have to be terrified at this rate, worried their new next-door acquaintances are some deranged circus clowns or something.

They’re not half wrong.

After your starstruck admiration opening the door though, you get to work arranging things. Assembling shelves, cleaning floors, washing windows, you name it, the first half of the house was spotless.

First half.

As for now, you sprawl in Minho’s lap, a fan replacing the lack of air conditioning and a mandatorily delivered magazine fanning your sweaty faces. Any other situation you would’ve been miserable, but there’s no other contentment better than this.

Because it’s not much, but it's yours.

And that’s enough.

Despite the blinds pulled tightly closed, peach rays of light strayed through the crevices, painting the room a warm glow. You stirred awake, genuinely shocked with, one, this bedroom not being your own, two, the subtle wondering of how you ended up here from the living room, and three, a presence pressed against your back, hand slipped between your legs to hold the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Minho. Minho!” You poke, jabbing an accusing finger against his jaw. His brow twitches, slowly blinking up at you. He grumbles, squeezing the supple skin there as if you weren’t staring at him incredulously.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Glaring into his genuinely innocent eyes, he purses his lips with a very kissable pout, appearing completely confused before noticing where his hand lay.

Compromising. Quite compromising.

“It’s warm and soft, why not? Or is it that I’m turning you o—“ Words cut short from you muffling him with a pillow, he squirms, infectious laughter radiating through the silk fabric.

Clad in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt that rose up just enough to grant a peek of his soft tummy when he stretched, your boyfriend padded through the hallway, approaching you only to scoop you up into his arms from behind—hand slipping beneath your top.

Before you can interfere though, he mumbles beneath his breath, voice hardly audible after just waking up.

“Don’t move, ‘wanna stay like this.”

Ah.

Morning Minho. You love morning Minho, especially now that you’re living together.

Before now, the only time you’d ever get to wake up beside each other was after, well, that. So to think about tomorrow where you'd get to do this again and again and again felt like a daydream.

Relaxing into his touch, he presses his nose into your neck, eyelids fluttering shut to simply bask in the atmosphere, the quietness occupying the home, your home.

Standing there motionless for a few moments, he takes you in, the softness of your skin dappled in sunlight filtering past the window, the rise and fall of your chest. Beautiful.

“So what’re we supposed to do now?” You aimlessly ask aloud, avoiding eye-contact with the massive amount of boxes stuffed in the corner—too exhausted to continue unpacking the night earlier. Save for another time.

“Fuck?” He mutters, but it comes out more muffled, more gravelly. Ungodly attractive.

“I…” Sentence getting caught up in your throat, you move equally as fast toward the bedroom, his nimble fingers pulling the straps of your top down your shoulders, chasing after you.

“—Hate you.” You finish, simultaneously trapped between him and the door.

Nevertheless, you give in. With Minho, you always give in.

You love him.

He knows.

> SERIES TAGLIST. @phtogravi @liknws @luckieleaf @jhstayy @meloncremesoda @chans1aptop @eternitywaveshello @meanergreener @ladylexis @love-gy-u @hanjingin @idkluvutellme @dark-anxel @yubinism @rachabreathing @seung-scrittore @fylithia @skzsupremacy @alrm02 @ener-energy @koliki @anskiiz @dprkbyn @bellamuerte1987 @ylixbok @hanjisung-enjoyer @youngunknownwitch @hwangflora @starlost-andfound @taeriffic @flwerfield

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @rosieathena - thanks so much!! ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

Goodnight’N’Go

“God...damn, do you see that girl?” Derek commented, his eyes distracted by another woman that had captured his full attention, as per usual.

And as per usual, Spencer was unfazed by his friend and coworker being so easily distracted, and was instead focussed on continuing the investigation. Admittedly, there was very little for him and Derek to do, Hotch was leading an interview with a witness inside the house they were standing outside of, which was where they had been instructed to stay until the interview was over. Still, it wouldnt hurt for Spencer to memorise as many details about this house as he could, just in case.

“Seriously, kid, look at her!” Derek uttered, a dazed tone to his voice as he nudged his friend, causing Spencer to glance over his shoulder at whoever had mesmerised the man beside him.

He wasnt expecting to recognise the dream that Derek was entranced by, but he did, and he immediately understood his friend’s entranced state.

“Im gonna have to go talk to her...” Derek mumbled, only managing one step in her direction before Spencer placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me.” Was the only explanation he gave Derek for his actions, and it caused his friend to step back and raise his hands in a surrender. Not that Spencer noticed, he couldnt tear his gaze from you, nor could he continue to resist the urge to run to meet you.

An ice cream truck was the reason you had crossed that very street, not taking note of anybody or anything, completely consumed with thoughts of which ice cream you were going to order. Just as the cone was handed to you, the sound of fast footsteps approaching you was finally acknowledged by your otherwise distracted mind, and when you looked up, there he was. Giving you the same wonder-filled eyes he always gave you.

Tell me why you gotta look at me that way, you know what it does to me.

He hadnt even known you were in town, he wasnt even in the town he lived in! But that was just the way it was between you two. One perfect coincidence after another, from the day you met, to every other day you managed to find each other again, to have another perfect night together. Whether it was at your place, his, or some cheap hotel room, it didnt matter. You found each other time and time again, and every single time, it would end the same way.

“On a case?” You asked, the same question you had asked on so many occasions upon bumping into him, the same question with the same slight smirk on your face.

“Yeah. What’re you doing here?” Spencer questioned, his voice blessed with the tone of surprise and awe that never failed to expose his excitement at seeing you, every single time.

You shrugged. “There was a concert last night just down the street. Thought I’d check it out, booked a hotel room the day before. I was in such a rush that I accidentally overbooked, I’ve got the room for another night.”

And you watched as his pupils dilated, nodding as all words escaped him.

So baby, what you tryna say?

You smiled and took ahold of his hand, pulling a pen from your pocket to note down the phone number of the hotel you were staying at, as well as the room number. Of course, you could have given him the address too, but you knew Spencer was smart enough to find you based on a list of numbers alone, and his intelligence never failed to amaze you.

“Show up whenever you’re free. If Im not there, just wait for me, I wont be long.” You breathed, words so light and so void of emotion, but filled with so much context that remained an utter mystery.

Without any further words, you rose to your tiptoes and left a lasting kiss on Spencer’s cheek, before you turned and walked away from him, leaving the genius in a state of shock, and the sound of the ice cream truck fading into the distance as you drifted further away.

Sure enough, at exactly 8:31pm, there was a knock at your hotel room door. You opened the door, a small smile already on your face, which only widened upon seeing your favourite person in the world standing before you. His hands found yours, and you lifted them to your face, allowing him to hold your smile in his hands as you both stumbled into your room, your eyes never leaving his.

You already know what I'm thinkin', boy.

As soon as you heard the door click shut, you jumped on him, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms locked around his neck, your fingers pulling at his hair as your lips found relief in his.

Some nights, that’s all it was between you. Find each other, find a room, and intertwine your souls all over again. It really depended on how long you had gone without seeing each other, because on the nights when you could be in his presence for more than a few minutes without tearing each other’s clothes off, you could experience a year’s worth of joy in a single evening.

Wherever you were, Spencer would begin planning out an evening from the moment he saw you, he’d remember every possible date destination he had seen that day, recall any reviews he had read for them online, and correlated that information with your interests. He would buy you a bouquet of a dozen roses, which would be in his hands when he showed up at wherever you were staying, and you’d go out to whatever destinations he had found. Sometimes it was a movie, sometimes it was dinner, sometimes it was a romantic walk along a city street at night. And when you both started to feel the night lay heavy on your eyes, you would stumble back to wherever you would be staying that night, order a pizza, and watch trash tv until you both fell asleep with smiles on your faces and your bodies wrapped up in each other. The way he treated you made your heart sing and sink with guilt simultaneously.

Oh, why'd you have to be so cute? It’s impossible to ignore you.

Every time you were apart, you tried to convince yourself things were fine, that you were better off on your own. You even tried to deny that your heart ached for him, but that was the most pitiful state of denial you had ever experienced. Nothing in existence had the power to divert your desperation for him.

Whenever you were together, you spent every second smiling. You’d listen to countless new facts that Spencer had memorised in the time since he last saw you, never failing to leave you thoroughly impressed. A night with him always passed in the blink of an eye, but you live out a whole other life in every blink. So many memories in one single night, so many conversations, compliments; it was for those few hours that he was your constant, like he had never been away from your side. Every night with him became the new best night of your life, filled with nerdy jokes that had you chuckling months later when you randomly remembered them, as well as the familiar ache in your heart at the memory of how much you laughed the first time you heard them, and the proud smile on his face as he watched the happiness he brought you bloom before his very eyes.

Why must you make me laugh so much?

It was those eyes, the way he looked at you, the way he smiled, talked, laughed, whispered, mumbled in his sleep. All of it. Every single thing left you swarmed with sickening guilt, because every night would end in the same way. You would be holding him, or perhaps he would be holding you, you would say goodnight, and there would always be a sadness in Spencer’s voice as he said goodnight back. But there was always a glimmer of hope in his tone too, the tiniest spark of hope that maybe this time you wouldnt disappear after saying goodnight. Maybe he would wake up and you would still be beside him, maybe you could continue the fun you had the night before, maybe you could admit the feelings you had instead of running away. But his hope that he held onto so desperately fell flat every single time.

Just say goodnight and go.

And that night you assumed would be no different. After making out for a few minutes and landing on your bed, you broke away from the kiss.

“Drink?” You asked breathlessly, staring up at Spencer with swollen lips and messy hair.

It took him a moment to reply, because he was caught up in admiring you at what he believed to be your most beautiful, but when he did, it was what you expected.

“Yeah, ok.”

He fell onto his back beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath as you sat up and ventured over to the mini fridge a few feet away from the bed in your hotel room.

“Is it a shots kinda night or a classy slow sip kinda night?” You questioned, looking over your shoulder at the man sprawled out on your bed with an arm over his eyes.

“I think it’s a night for shots.” Spencer answered, and you made a mental note that he needed to unwind, whatever had happened on the case today had left him stressed; you didnt need to ask about that, you just needed to make sure he was alright.

“Do you wanna just split a bottle or do you want shot glasses?” You held up some shot glasses and a bottle as you turned to face him. Sometimes, he preferred shot glasses, and he was a germaphobe, but he had accepted that - considering the amount of...exchanges, the two of you had experienced - he had already contracted pretty much all the germs he could get from sharing a bottle with you.

“We can split a bottle if you’d like.” Spencer suggested, and you nodded, putting the shot glasses back down on top of the fridge before taking your place beside Spencer with a bottle of vodka in hand.

You took a swig, your face scrunching up at the bitter taste as you wiped your mouth and passed the bottle to Spencer, to watch him have the exact same reaction before passing the bottle back to you. For a minute or two, you took in turns taking gulps of vodka from the bottle in silence, until you decided to break it.

“So, what’s new in the life of Doctor Spencer Reid?”

We’ll have drinks and talk about things.

As usual, you talked for hours about anything and everything, sometimes turning on the tv until one of your drunk personalities turned it off again, but mostly just having the weirdest and funniest drunk conversations.

“What happened to that woman at your work that you said you had a crush on years ago? JJ? Do you two still talk? Is she still hot? Spill!” You poked his chest as you took another swig, and Spencer laughed, hiccuping in between some of his laughs.

“It was JJ, and we still talk, we still work together, but there’s nothing there. Hasnt been anything there for a long time. She got married and had kids. Guess I just moved on, spared my heart the pain.” Spencer explained in a drunken hurry.

You frowned “That’s a real bummer dude, Im sorry about that.”

He nodded but didnt elaborate on anything he’d said, so you lifted the bottle in the air.

“A toast! To our mostly unscheduled but always very fun cuddle and sex dates!”

That brought a smile back to Spencer’s face, and when you both realised he had nothing to toast with because you were sharing a bottle, you both burst out laughing. It wouldnt have been funny if you werent drunk, but considering you were, it was the funniest thing in existence, and you ended up rolling around the bed with tears streaming from your eyes.

“I think 8 hours of cuddles tonight sounds reasonable, what do you think?” You started a brand new conversation the moment you calmed down.

Spencer wiped his eyes “Sounds good, are those awake or asleep cuddles?”

You roll your eyes “Awake, obviously! Sleeping cuddles dont count!”

Spencer smiled “Of course, how could I forget!?! We’d better get started then, cant have either of us falling asleep!” And with that, he opened his arms for you to fall into.

Any excuse to stay awake with you.

It wasnt until an hour and a half later that you really processed what Spencer had said.

“Who did you move onto?” You questioned.

Spencer frowned at you, you had shifted cuddle positions several times until you decided that tonight the most comfortable one included you lying on top of him, your head on his chest and his arms holding you there.

“What?” Spencer was completely lost, and you werent surprised. You were both drunk, and the words he had said that you were referring to were said a little while go.

“Earlier, you said you moved on from JJ, you saved your heart the pain. You could have moved on and gotten over it, but the way you phrased it was like you found someone that’s better for your heart. Who’s that?” You clarified.

Spencer sighed. “We both know who it is, you dont even need to ask.”

You couldnt figure out whether it was the weight behind Spencer’s confession or whether it was the alcohol in your system, but you felt dizzy all of a sudden.

“I feel the same, y’know.” You’d never said it aloud before, but you knew it to be true, and drunk you was just a little worse at keeping it a secret.

“I know.” Spencer answered, and your heart stopped.

“Sorry, just scared.” So few words, but so much explained within them, and you knew he understood, he deserved to understand.

“I know, and it’s ok, you dont need to worry. I’ve fully accepted my fate of waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready, whenever you feel safe...I’ll be waiting.”

Even when not entirely stable, his words touched your heart in a way that felt different. Part of you was always worried that this thing with Spencer would never last, because you knew of his feelings, of course you did, you shouldnt have been surprised that he knew about yours, but you were worried that he’d get sick of this. Sick of you running away, never admitting what was blindingly obvious. You thought at the very least that he’d get impatient with you, but there he was, telling you that he would wait for you, no matter how long it took.

We’d be good, we’d be great together.

There wasnt a rush, he was willing to wait. The pressure was lifted from your shoulders with that confession alone. You felt rushed to feel safe in giving your heart to him, because you wanted to, so badly, and you felt terrible that you couldnt because you knew he wanted you to. But he was prepared to wait, and to continue to wait for however long he needed to.

You lifted your head from your chest to look at his face. Spencer. Your heart sang, whimpered, and screamed his name all at once. This was the man that had been in love with you for a time that you didnt know, the man that put his heart on the line every single time he saw you, the man who continued to love you even when you left him time and time again. Those were the eyes of the one person that loved you more than anyone else ever could, and ever would. This was it. He was it.

I know how you want it, baby, just like this.

And when he stared into your eyes, he thought the same about you. You have been, continue to be, and always will be, everything. It is absolute in his head, he knows it. You are the best parts of his past, present, and future. His favourite memories, and the holder of all his favourite future memories too. You are the keeper of his heart. The eyes that can melt him with a single glance, the girl he’d do anything for without you even needing to ask. He saw the rest of his life in those eyes, even if that future consisted of just waiting for you, he would love every second of it. And you could see that, finally.

Spencer’s eyes left yours to glance down at your lips. He wanted to kiss you more than he had ever wanted anything else in existence. Prior to the confession you had just given him, the only proof he had of his feelings being reciprocated was in the way you kissed him. But now he’d heard it, you’d told him, the secret was out. He didnt need to wonder anymore. And yet, all Spencer wanted was to kiss you, still.

While you're lookin' at 'em, baby, read my lips.

“I love you.”

[tieflingsfingers]

The Barbaric Feminine

What and who: Humor, Mild Fluff. Thomasin and Alfira play music. Wyll and Karlach roast Astarion. Aradin and Remira need to leave. Summary: Thomasin encourages Alfira to put on a little show for the caravan to both cure her writer’s block and encourage her peers. All the companions witness Aradin and Remira's pettiness. Astarion learns the true meaning of art. Warning/Content: Just a little fun character building and au event in the grove. I love the tieflings. Part of series. More in the realm of character study, per usual, so also a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. And an ounce of fighting. Word Count: 3,443 Ao3 Link

Thomasin swished her skirt to and fro to the light jingling emitting from her boots. Bells hooked on straps, buckled onto her shoes for a theatrical flare. A contraption she’d made herself after inspired by another performer long ago. She tightened her finest corset, whose fabric had to be fully reupholstered upon purchase, and let it cinch the excess of her dress. Her sleeves billowed, to match every other asset, and followed every single movement she made.

With a sudden stomping of her heels, she clacked them firm onto the wooden floor boards beneath her to settle the small crowd of tieflings. 

“Well, thank you kindly for wanting to see me perform today!” she announced to the gathering, careful to make sure each word had its proper annunciation. Her hosting skills were quite rusty. “After the warmth, gifts, and open arms, how could I say no? My name is Thomasin, if we haven’t formally met, and I’m here to lift a few spirits today!”

In front of Dammon’s roost and the soup kitchen, the wooden platform where many rested their heads was reinvigorated and reinvented into a makeshift stage. Rudimentary in design and weathered by the elements over years, but that didn’t stop Alfira from proposing such camaraderie nights before. Each performer was to simply stand at the edge of the staircase and present their talent. 

Alfira had found herself confessing worries of her passing teacher’s legacy and the artistic block that coincided. How the confidence of herself and her people had been lost after such rocky migration and the nerves of the caravan were relentlessly rustled. She wished that, for one single evening, battles were of little importance. And, in her own wholesome logic, she decided that entertaining her brethren was vital. 

The tiefling would heal with the arts. She would play her lute. Someone wanted to juggle. Someone could eat an apple in two bites. No auditions, just nonsensical amusement. They had sat through scrappy children showing off their introductive cantrips. Lullabies and travel songs belted from the lungs of mothers. Sword balancing acts and flashy conjuration spells with advisory warnings. Thomasin needed no begging to be thrown into the roster.

Scattered before the staircase were horned children, parents, and tipsy friends alike. Even with little luxuries, they set out blankets in the dirt and indulge in whatever festivities they could find. Dammon’s blacksmith quarters radiated a heat that cozied the onlookers as they passed around loaves of honey bread and apples. Bottles of gin and moonshine made their way around. No fear or pain where the supply was constant, guzzled down until the last drop hit someone’s tongue. 

Behind Thomasin, Wyll, Karlach and Astarion settled near a table atop the platform, further behind the performing acts. Out of the tieflings’ eyeline, but more than participating from the comfort of a canopy. The same spot where Remira and Aradin had previously settled their claim. 

In honesty, the humans' plans to head out in search of holy artifacts and bounty riches gave Zevlor respite. Their presence was now nothing more than packed bags and distasteful comments upon passing. Remira stood a few feet away from Astarion and the others, tucked behind a sturdy support beam engraved with white naturalistic patterns. She watched Thomasin with contempt, awaiting Aradin’s return so they could leave before sunset. Going out in a flash of dramatics would give them more trouble than it was worth.

Thomasin readied herself. The half-elf lifted her violin up to her chin, tucking it comfortably, and raised her bow. A studied grace. “If you know the words to this one, please join! Nothing more beautiful than a harmony from your good graces!”

Before she knew it, she had slipped into the role. It didn’t matter how makeshift or sudden the gig was, there was tremendous relief. The connection to others in the name of mundane, if not jovial, normalcy. She was in her element. Glittering pigments collected over years sparkled on her eyelids and left iridescent streaks across her cheekbones. No more than a few hard smacks of her heel and the half-elf began to sing a common, yet classic bard ditty. Something bright and upbeat.

They all watched as Thomasin glided around the small corner of the platform, some in awe like she were an exotic bird spreading its wings. Circles, winks, keeping multiple rhythms in tact. Her ribbons were tightened and her outfit meticulously ironed by metal heated over their campfire. Like a single fraction of time where everything was in its place.

Propped against barrels under the canopy’s shade, her companions watched her perform. Karlach busied herself with fruits warming in her hands and gin she passed back and forth to Wyll. The two practiced their most enthusiastic cheers. If they were to tour this to Baldur’s Gate, their fanaticism had to be as perfect as their friend’s talents. 

Astarion opted for a subtle approach. He leaned back, arms crossed, perhaps to prove he knew how to consume art most effectively. Even if his expression settled into cynicism, there was no doubt he couldn’t help but gaze upon her. 

Thomasin swished her hips, making a spectacle out of every inch of her person. The dulcet tone of her voice. The strings of her violin. The bells shaking and whipping about with each step. Even when she stopped her flow of dancing, earning pause from the crowd, her skirt would wrap around her legs, then unravel in a swirl of cornflower blue revelry once more. 

Astarion found himself squinting at the details of her dress.

He remembered the night he and Thomasin laid under the stars and reminisced about their favorite, most prized thefts. Small trophies, but ones that lived on as fashion staples. High heeled boots from a cheating man’s wardrobe. Bolts of fabric lifted from elderly women with a storefront and unwelcoming demeanors. Beads broken from a drunk aristocrat’s necklace and confiscated with a swift scoop up into pockets.

That’s what he recognized. The hem of her dress. The glint of repurposed opalite beads sparkled against glowing faerie lights. A product of multiple late nights, pinning and picking at a dress she never wore on the road. He’d watch her fall into a quiet trance for hours around the fire, pulling at thread and pinching tiny beads, stringing them along. It was one of the few guilty pleasures she invited in. A reward after mending a hole along Wyll’s inseams or re-attaching a buckle to Karlach’s leather straps.

Astarion was getting lost in the magnetism she garnered from her act. Admired how she bounced back from days where bodies ached and brains barely functioned, now teeming with unbridled vitality. No longer in lethargic depths, free to experience the wonder of watering her like a well-pruned leafy plant. Naturally, he took the credit where he could though. His personal rations and food scraps were often gifted to Thomasin in nonchalant exchanges. If he wasn’t to eat it, at least she could be nurtured.

He noticed her growing into her softness. What he imagined she was like before the days of treacherous nature walks and feasts only composed of wine and wild lentils. The masses now got to gawk those same ample hips but jealousy was nothing he was going to voice. Their minds must’ve ventured into poetic saccharine monologues. Ones that, in his opinion, were for lust-riddled simpletons. Nothing more than idealism and viewing her beauty as a commodity. Best used to simply get you wanted and leave before the beautiful possession caught on.

“Philistines can’t even enjoy music without all the moonshine coursing through them,” Astarion muttered.

Karlach stopped in the midst of her swaying, befuddled at how he could keep still. How he was not enamored, even at the most platonic level, by the art Thomasin created. She knocked her bottle of gin into his arm, shoving his lithe frame a bit. The joy in her voice was palpable.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look at you. Can’t even enjoy yourself for a night. You upset because everyone is looking at how pretty she is all dressed up?” the large tiefling said, trying her best to keep her volume respectful.

He scowled at Karlach, knowing she wasn’t phased by such grouchiness, and snatched the gin from her hand. His eyes watered with regret immediately upon taking a swig, scrunching his nose. It burned with a fierceness down his gullet. “Ack- gods no. I’m upset by the terrible choice of alcohol in this place.” 

Astarion looked back over at the half-elf to assess his thoughts. Despite encouraging her musical endeavors, he always included a jab that undercut such complimentary words. It was natural to him. Yet, he began to realize had never heard her sing more than a well-tuned hum. Never saw her dance unless guided by Wyll’s hand.

The closest he could recall may have been during her worship of Eilistraee, but those were always witnessed from afar. Memories housed only within the context of his own selfish voyeurism. Maybe self-expression wasn’t always frivolous, he thought.

The elf caught himself staring, mind drifting between conflicting hypotheticals and amorous soliloquies. Details that he was quick to shake from his consciousness. “Thomasin is doing a just fine job,” he followed up plainly.

“Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two, Astarion. How to show that personable side hiding deep in that illustrious heart of yours,” Wyll teased, his half of the gin adding blush tones to his cheeks. “What if you’re a natural born performer?”

Astarion scoffed. “I’ve got a skillset already, thank you very much. I haven’t gotten this far just on looks, I will have you know.” His fingers pressed flat against his own chest. “Personality is half my charm. You should try it sometime.”

The sour attitude and unapologetic gumption tickled his two drunken companions, suppressing their laughter to not become interruptive. Mirth so bountiful, it leaked between the cracks of their fingers clasped over their mouths.

“I’ve gotten this far on looks alone, you should try it.” Karlach eventually said, catching her breath. She had begun to stretch her chest wide, back tightened, and presented the bend of her arms in a muscular flex. Years of pommeling through Avernus had to pay off in some capacity. “It’s versatility, ain’t it? Being hot in every sense of the word really gets the ladies going.”

Wyll clinked their shared bottle onto her bicep in agreement before gesturing to his own horns. A facet of his appearance he was still getting used to, but bonding amongst Elturel survivors made acclimation easier. “The horns are also a definite plus, I’m growing to learn. Nothing like romantic poetry penned by a horn dipped in the finest oil inks.”

“Yeah, exactly. Oily inks.” Karlach pointed to Wyll with her thumb, mouth full of fruit, mumbling her words. Juices from an apple, crisp between her pointed teeth, flew out as she spoke. Although she decided to ignore the fact, knowing she would break into a fit of laughter over Astarion vocalizing disgust. 

He did notice.

He did sneer.

“You two are insufferable. I’ll let you know I have remarkable, if not astonishing, reviews without all the tricks,” Astarion said, waving a dismissive hand. His lips, then, curled in a hint of amusement at their taunting. 

They three continued swaying their heads, clapping as stray copper coins and picked wildflowers were thrown at Thomasin’s feet. The half-elf felt herself return back into her body by the end of the song, engulfed by the rain of praise, and grinned from ear to ear. Genuine unadulterated happiness. She bowed to the small crowd.

When she rose, the sting of coins pelted against her back, followed by a familiar thud. The sound of arrowheads, two to be exact, penetrating wood behind her. She rolled her shoulders, determined to not acknowledge it. To not let it ruin her composure. At her feet, she noticed Wyll crouch to gather all the flora and tips left, whispering tipsy affirmations to her and lurching back to their spot to keep her gifts safe. 

Thanks to him, her smile never faltered, and she went onto presenting the next act. 

“Thank you! Thank you all very much, dearly,” she cheered, holding her violin idle in her arms. “This lovely evening was all brought to you by the ever so talented, Alfira.” 

Alfira ran up the far staircase where Karlach and the others stood, flashing them a sheepish delight with her lute clutched tight. Karlach felt herself blush at the sight of the feminine tiefling’s pastel whimsy, offering her own toothy grin. The bard looked overwhelmed, but particularly gorgeous that night. The way her pink and blue undertones glowed under the low sunlight.

She had to say something. Anything. 

“You’re gonna do wonderful, babe,” Karlach whispered, giving Alfira a thumbs up as she scurried down the long platform and up to the crowd. A sigh as Karlach critiqued her less than smooth demeanor.

Thomasin’s arm extended to present Alfira in all her glory. “Speaking of the delight of your travels. Please give a round of applause and your utmost attention to Alfira on the lute!” The two musicians exchanged a supportive hug before Thomsin bowed again and walked back to her companions.

As she approached the canopy, she caught the sight of Aradin and Remira. The curly-haired man had returned, hand just barely on the railing before he made eye contact with her. A face plastered with smug satisfaction and obvious inebriation on his breath. 

Remira glared at the drunken human coming up the stairs. Not only did she recognize his anger simmering, but she was pinned to the support beam by the shot of arrows through her clothes. Two, again, to be exact. Comeuppance for the fact her silly little hostile coin toss resulted in Astarion’s swift archery. Pettiness resolved by the act of more pettiness. All she could do was await for Aradin to reign terror in her honor and help her down. 

“Did you need something, darling?” Thomasin said softly, setting her violin aside and kneeling before him from her elevated height. Her fingers fiddled with the buckles on her boots, unlatching the bells from them. She felt her performative pleasantries loosening as she remembered her first day at the grove. How punching him square in the face may have not been the answer, but her tolerance for masculine pride had been long ground into oblivion. Now, she was in her brightest pigments. He was no match for her when rouge made her stronger, taller, more powerful. 

Aradin flicked a coin her direction, amused by his own taunting as it bounced off her shoulder. His eyes wandered long after though, taking a step closer, blatant and unrepentant in her objectification.

“Was gonna call you a bitch for making all this commotion by our awning, but I gotta admit you clean up pretty nicely, don’t ya?” he responded. 

The comment made her grin. Solidified her reasoning for retaliation. Her lashes fluttered in the name of feminine mystique before glancing over at Alfira at the opposite end, entertaining her peers. Dancing lights bloomed around the tiefling as she reveled in the attention. Belting out a song that would make her teacher proud. As long as the tiefling was well into her song, Aradin would be dealt with. 

To the backdrop of Alfira’s lute and nervous melody, Thomasin took a step forward, pressing the base of her heeled boot against Aradin’s chest, its thick stem situated right atop his sternum. Her shoulders pushed forward, chest enclosing in on her bent knee, and kicked him back with the force of her shifted weight.

His build hit the ground with a solid heft, blood pressure rising at such disrespect. Perched upon his elbows, back still laying in dirt below, Thomasin grabbed the bottom of her dress and walked down the steps. The human’s face contorted into a myriad of emotions. Disdain, confusion, and then reluctant enticement as she walked over him and settled in a straddle atop his lap. 

Astarion’s eyebrows rose at her sudden dominance, noticing Wyll and Karlach’s similar disbelief. They merely waited with excitement and bated breath for this was the last place they expected a bar fight. So, the elf did the honors and grabbed her instrument for protection, stepping back with no comment or snark to be heard. He respected the arts now, after all.

Thomasin grabbed Aradin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, noting the lack of struggle on his part. It was a relief. Reassurance she had the upper hand. A man that could overpower her if he wished, playing feeble in hopes of gifted flesh. She proceeded to tighten her posture, back curved and body shifting into fluidity. 

Practical, utilitarian sexuality. It was all performative in nature, far from her actual desires, but the skill set promised survival. Retribution was never a natural instinct of hers. At least not one from birth or even youth. The seed was planted over decades of unpredictable company, learning from the adults around her. Their feuds, loyalty, murder, and pacts. It bore its roots deep, granting her access to her own sadism. Sleeping, unkempt, until it thrashed out in the name of untrustworthy bandits or unsavory temporary lovers.

“Aha- not one for being on the bottom, but I’ll take one for the team,” he tittered.

Thomasin giggled back at him like she’d done to countless others before. 

Methodical and sensual, she crept closer and closer to his ear. The half-elf braced herself for whatever his reaction may be, screwed her eyes tight, and let forth a faint blue glow from her lips. Dissonant whispers. The language of her ancestors spliced with nightmares of catastrophic proportions. Threats to the nervous system, disjointed phrases, and speech so rapid, it ran his blood cold.

 They all clashed into one another, almost as painful to his biology as it was incoherent. The glowing wispy smoke crawled into Aradin’s ear canals and thrashed through every microscopic crevice of his brain. Only a few seconds, but enough to make up for the multiple stressors he inflicted on others outside the grove.

He gasped for air as his body took its time regulating itself, crawling backwards in desperation. Trying to figure out how Thomasin had shifted back from an extraplanar terror back to her unintimidating figure. Chest heaving for any semblance of comprehension.

The half-elf leaned back, palms flat and raised to allow him to scurry away. She didn’t prolong his horror. She had no need to. But, she couldn’t deny her heart raced with self-satisfaction. No matter how many times she found the drive to fight back, she knew it had a chance of ending with her demise. Of course, the thought frightened her, but she couldn’t dwell. She knelt where he left her, brushing off stains from their grassy tussle and watching his dilated pupils mellow.

“First the tieflings and now the drow. No keeping the fucking peace in these parts,” he spat at her, scrambling to his feet to scuttle off.

“Don’t be scared everyone is going to find out you’re nothing more than an impetuous noisy cuck.” she retorted, scorn riddled on her face.

Thomasin turned her head to notice the three watching her in light awe. She tried to catch her breath from the intense exertion of both her emotions and the Weave, reminding her body that she was safe. An easy assertion for a titter soon left her lips. She noticed Astartion’s foot propped up beside Remira, giving her mercy with a yank of the arrows to allow her to fall to the floor. No much grace offered, but the human wanted no pity after being strung up in humiliation.

The group watched as the two humans darted away, bickering at one another for their lack of judgment, and then focused back to Thomasin.

“Cheers to that, I suppose,” Wyll said, raising his bottle and taking a swig, then handing it off to Karlach.

“Cheers. Not going to sugarcoat it, that was kinda hot, mate.” The tiefling grabbed the gin, colored by her love of rough-housing and unfortunate touch-starvation. Her word was an objective, undebatable fact.

Astarion felt himself laugh. Unhindered and genuine for the first time that evening. 

“Praise the Dark Maiden,” he proclaimed.

[moondirti]

← chapter 1

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Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rated: Explicit Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Moving in with the Mandalorian involves way more sexual tension and boredom than you'd originally presumed. Warnings: Language, brief mentions of masturbation, just some more pining (I'm sorry) Notes: I got around to editing chapter two! My first version of this was a little rough and didn't align with the characterization I had planned. If you missed my last note, just know that this was originally posted on ao3 (you can see that here). There are a few more chapters out on there if you want to check it out. Additionally, thank you so much for all the love on chapter 1! Your likes, reblogs and comments mean so much to me

One thing about the Mandalorian is that he can not sit still.

It’s been a week since he bust your door down and tried to die tragically in your arms (though he’s insistent you’re dramatising it all, it truly did feel that way to you). Theoretically, he could have been fully healed by now - what, with all the bacta you’ve been slathering onto him - but his refusal to take it easy has had some adverse effects. For one, he almost immediately began sporting the beskar get-up again, despite your insistence on it not being a very good idea - you know fully well from your inept attempts at polishing it that it is heavy. It came as no surprise to you, then, when you found that his newly-formed scabs reopened under the strain the armour put on his back. Even he recognised his error upon witnessing the tempered rage you barely kept at bay while sanitising the area, his helmet premeditatively turned the other away to avoid your glare. 

You seriously wonder how he hasn’t torn a muscle yet; your shoulders ache after slouching for too long, to carry upwards of 50 kilograms in pure metal at all times should be considered an extreme sport. 

‘Probably why he’s so grouchy all the time,’ you grumble to yourself.

Because yes, Mando is grumpy and irritable and a pain in the ass. He boldly returns any painkiller he doesn’t deem necessary, can constantly be found doing manual labour around the house for all your instructions to rest, and sleeps on the other side of your very thin bedroom wall, meaning you can do little to relieve the ache between your legs that’s settled since his arrival. The thought of his toned back haunts you wherever you go; in the shower (apparently too small a space to get off), on your supply runs; hell, even when Mando is around do you catch yourself reflecting on the rest of his body, and whether it matches the portion you’re allowed to see. 

Your assessment so far is as follows: living with the man is torturous. That conclusion is suddenly brought to glaring importance when you’re reminded of your promise to move onto his ship. 

“Pack your things.” You’re plating freshly-grilled frog skewers for the kid when his father speaks from behind you.

“Huh?” The child grins in thanks; you pinch his cheek as you turn to Mando. 

“We should leave soon. Been here too long.” When he isn’t on the verge of death, Mando’s sentences are always clipped, as if he has a limited amount of words he’s allowed to use per day. Perhaps that’s the case in his creed - speaking too much might risk revealing more than one should. 

You don’t have time to shoot him the incredulous expression you’ve grown so accustomed to using in his presence before he’s walking away. “You’re not healed yet!” You vainly call after him. He resorts to his usual, handy response - nothing at all. Not like you expected him to actually acknowledge his weakness, though. He seems intent on getting off of Nevarro as soon as possible, in spite of both you and his wound. 

“Wanna know a secret, stink?” You brush your thumb over the kid’s fuzzy head. He babbles back at you. “You’re my favourite.” 

You discover rather quickly that you don’t have much to pack. The house you’ve decided to hold on to for practicality, meaning all of the furniture and knick-knacks you’ve collected over the years were to be kept as is. That left you with only your clothes, medical supplies and blaster to stuff into your duffel bag, alongside an old threadbare blanket you opt you can’t live without. You’re done that next morning, freshly showered and a surge of thrill circuiting through you. 

When Mando leads you out towards the Razor Crest, there’s a particular lack of sorrow in saying bye to your home. 

It may be that something deep within you that caused you to question if you are really cut out for a bounty hunter's life, bound to tuck your tail between your legs at the first sign of trouble and come skipping back to where it’s safe. Or maybe it’s the bitterness at those several, several, lonely nights you’ve spent here in silence, rotting on your couch while perusing through mindless holodramas, trying to get a taste of something more. There’s nothing for you here; your life has been a series of translucent meaning, stuck in a perpetual loop of charged static particles - buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. It’s misery fit only for the girl you were back on Corellia.

Nevarro’s rocky terrain and sinking black sands made it so that your group didn’t reach the Razor Crest until hours later. You briefly ponder on how Mando managed to get to you in his injured state when his ship is parked so far away, but you know better than to ask; tension radiates off him in waves today. You really don’t want to be on the receiving end of his killer cold shoulder. 

“I’m going into town to collect bounty pucks from Karga. I should be back by nightfall.” Mando declares before inputting something on his left vambrace that releases the ramp. You dodge the lowering gateway, grumbling when he steals your duffle bag to throw it onto the docking port of the Crest. 

“If I unpack to a broken jar and spilled salve, you’re paying to have my closet revamped.” You huff. 

“Can’t be of much help there.” He begins to usher the child’s floating pram onto the Crest. 

“Oh, being stingy with where you got that cuirass tailored?” You clamber up behind him. “What if I want the latest Mandalorian fashions?” There’s a second where he wavers, helmet turning to face you with a fixed look. 

Snorting, you pull away to look around. A narrow cage against the wall adjacent from you captures your attention, gas canisters and a system of wires adorning the inside. A carbonite freezer, you realise with a shiver; a model very similar to the one you used in the academy to transfer specimens through space. From your disjointed memories of your time there, you recall it has a sixty-percent survival rate for carbon-based beings. Truly, it’s a heartless piece of equipment, never the best choice unless one is going for convenience. 

But of course, Mando is a bounty hunter. You forget that fact far too often when it’s just the two of you. Convenience, ruthlessness, is key for him. 

Suddenly, you’re very aware of just how much he lets you get away with. You even have half a mind to apologise for your joke, especially while watching him take stock of his weapons closet. He handles the artillery with skilled precision, fingers locating each switch and clasp with little difficulty, like he has practised it in his sleep. 

He’s good with his hands. You jot that mental note for later.

Blinking, you shake away the tangent and carry on with your self-led tour. On your right is the docking port, an area of space crammed with crates, toolboxes and old machinery; on the left, two doorways. You assume one leads to a bunk and the other to a refresher when you notice a distinct lack of the two in your inspection of the second level. All you find up there is the cockpit and a storage room for his frozen quarries. Overall, it’s a regular ship, save for the cold store on the lower deck. 

You just had one question: “Mando? Where will I be sleeping?” 

Scaling down the ladder, you appraise his armed form. He was a step away from leaving the Crest. 

“On the bed.” His helmet nods towards one of the two doors to the front of the ship. 

“That’s yours.” You don’t mention that the thought of sleeping next to him every night makes you want to combust - partly because you know that isn’t what he meant, mostly because your tongue is stuck in your throat.  

“We’ll take turns.” That’s the end of the conversation for him. He turns to exit but falters when you stammer out:

“Erm… Is that alright with you? I don’t wanna intrude. I’m okay with sleeping on the floor, you know.” You sleep like a loth-cat in hibernation - hardly anything can get you out of it. And this is his home, you’d feel terrible if he couldn’t so much as nap because you were hogging his bed. 

“It’s fine. I hardly sleep anyway.” His tone softens, his helmet bowing down at you. Although it’s barely noticeable, his inflection isn’t that of a liar. Somehow, his telling the truth is worse, if not for anything but the dysfunction of what he just admits to. 

You frown. “That’s not good for you.” 

There’s a modulated hitch of breath, a shake of his shoulders. Was he laughing at you? For what? You aren’t the idiot, not when he is the one parading around guns slinging with few moments respite. You open your mouth to expand on your point, only for him to interrupt with a hand at your shoulder. 

It’s steady - comforting, and debilitating all at once. Then, Mando dryly remarks. “Yes, doctor.”

And he trots off, leaving you with only the sarcastic retort to turn over in your head until he comes back. 

No sooner than when the ramp closes shut, you practically melt, knees entirely too weak given the distance you just trekked. Stars, the way he said it - the way he tauntingly used your designation and sauntered off like it didn’t itch the unreachable part of you so desperate for validation. He can’t have known, he can’t have known of the way it renders you a pile of useless putty in his hands. Still, he was entirely too confident with the taunt, infuriatingly self-assured for someone with a deficit in social skills. It's ridiculous.

The pressure at your core returns, broiling. You need to get this situation of yours in check before he comes back, for everyone’s sake. 

You almost forget to tuck the napping child into the hammock you spot above the bed, too intent on finding release up in the cockpit. 

Hyperspace is a marvel to behold. It’s all the light in the galaxy passing by in blurs of blue and purple, surrounding - engulfing - you in its infinity. The cockpit of the Razor Crest is absolute metal and mismatched parts, ugly in every sense, but in hyperspace, it reflects every colour, every shape. And seated in the passenger's chair, you are smack dab in the centre of it all, fascinated - for the first hour of travel - by the kaleidoscope that overtakes you. 

Now, however, it’s been three. Three hours, and the beauty has begun losing its charm. 

Maybe you’re salty. Each time you readjust or shift in the slightest, you’re reminded that you never got to cum. There’s a pulse that twinges with the least bit of friction, tucked away in a spot you didn’t manage to hit, a spot that Mando can probably dig out with ease. Pathetic. It’s like all you can concentrate on is how hard he’d fuck - pressing you up against some unknown surface of the Crest - or how desperately he probably needs it. Shit, is this going to be the death of you? This sexual frustration, that multiplies and stretches and grows exponentially whenever you are in his presence? You scowl to yourself, just as well, it would be a suitable end for a woeful life.

The man in question sits diagonal to you; arms crossed and legs spread. You already mistook him for asleep, having idiotically waved your hands and pulled faces at his visor for five straight minutes before he decided enough was enough and pushed your head away. You don’t think you’ll ever live down the embarrassment of it, in all honesty; you make a point to pointedly avoid his amused glances when he turns to check if the kid is still satisfied with his metal ball. 

When his back is to you, however, you can’t help but be transfixed by his lap, captivated in his pose, his thighs, his-

You really need to cut it out before you start frothing at the mouth. 

“What do you usually do for fun around here?” Your voice is rough with misuse. You cough to get rid of the scratch in it. 

“Man the ship.” His helmet still faces the vast nothingness outside.  

“That’s not fun.” 

“You asked.” A smidgen of annoyance eclipses your incessant need for him. You gorge on it, chasing the irritation. You have more of a chance at satiating that, at least. 

Leaning forward, you flick his pauldron, accomplishing nothing but hurting yourself. “Forgive me for expecting you to actually entertain me for once. I thought it safe to assume, given you’re literally doing nothing, either.” The remark escapes harsher than you intend it to be. Deep in your gut, where only doughy, vexing empathy exists, there’s a twinge of guilt. All the same, you hold your ground, resting your chin on a propped arm as you lour at the back of his head.

He hums, flicking a switch on the overhead panel instead of gracing you with a response.

“Do you wanna play a game?” The suggestion is not at all light-hearted, and is solely made to introduce a scenario through which you can channel your displeasure. Mando must pick up on this, for he shuts down the possibility before you get too ahead of yourself. 

“I don’t like games.” 

You clench and unclench your teeth. 

“I can make it worth your while.” You grit out. “How about… one of us hides something and the other has to find it, hm?” You’re hinging on desperation here; you can’t help the optimistic lilt at the end of your question. 

“I’m a bounty hunter. Finding things is my specialty.”

“That’s the fun part. You can go first.” That will occupy you for sure. He’s familiar with his ship, is intimate with every crevice and cranny, and if he were to give his all into concealing an object, it’d take you years to uncover it. 

“You’re going to make a mess.” He waves. That’s off the table, then. 

“Okay, message received. No sabacc?” You are not good at sabacc. You briefly recall losing about 500 credits on it at the academy, actually. 

“No.” Probably for the best. You’re quickly running out of ideas, though, and you desperately need something to help you ignore the effects his drawl has on you.

“So does The Way say no to having fun?” 

He sighs. “I play with the kid, sometimes.” The concession throws you off guard, your face abruptly warming with a flush at the domesticity of the act. His care for the kid hasn’t escaped you - you’ve picked up on it in the way he keeps a hand on his pram at all times and washes his mouth after meal times - but playing is another thing altogether. It’s one more point towards the new portrait you’re conjuring of the man beneath the suit. A kind man, a loving one. 

“I’ve tried that. He’s too preoccupied with his… toy, to pay me any attention,” You side-eye the babbling green monster, who sits slobbering over the ball. If he wasn't so cute, you’d cringe at the mess he’s made of his romper. 

“Try painting yourself silver, maybe then he’d be interested in you.” 

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you. It’s irrepressible, bubbling up from nowhere, stirring your chest with an unknown feeling. "Told you; I need me some Mandalorian armour. He exclusively likes metal things.” 

And then he’s chuckling along with you, and you’re able to pinpoint it as a school-girl type of giddiness. What’s best is that you’re hardly horrified at the prospect, either. You like it, this flutter that racks through you. It’s so different to the heat - of both ire and lust - you feel when you’re around him. It emboldens you to keep talking. 

“What do you say about answering a few questions of mine. I know your blood and bones better than I know you.” You simper, “You can ask me whatever too.”

“Alright.” He flicks on autopilot controls before kicking back to face you. You beam at the receptiveness. 

“Hmm…” Pointing to the blaster at his hip, you ask, “Your first weapon, what was it? And how old were you when you mastered it.” You’re familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know that weapons were part of their religion; it was as good a place to start as any.

Cocking his head, he deliberates for a moment. “Must have been a spear.” If the vague gesture he makes is anything to go by, the artillery doesn’t hold much significance to him. You can’t say you know much about them either, compared to your ingrained index on blasters and rifles. “I was put in a spar with it at ten, but I haven’t really used any since.” 

You process his words, searching for an acknowledgement that wouldn’t offend. “That’s… really young.” 

“Mandalorians by birth start younger.” And though he nods, there’s a subtle hesitation in his statement, like he's ashamed to admit it. You can't decipher why; he’s the best damn warrior you’ve ever come across, regardless of status. Curious, you attempt to prod further.

“You’re not a mandalorian by birth?” 

“I was rescued by one as a child.” You consider biting the dust and bringing up the elephant in the cockpit, but you are already breaking new ground with the guy. You don’t want to make him relive his trauma just yet. “I’m a foundling.” The kid coos. 

“Takes one to know one, huh, stink?” You toss at the baby, who now reaches for his father. Mando picks him up with one swooping movement. “Where are you from, then?” 

“Aq Vatina.” It’s said so quietly you almost feel bad for asking. He pauses. “Are you from Nevarro originally?” 

“No, and thank goodness for that." You break off for a moment. It isn’t like you are proud of your birth planet either. "Corellia.” 

The air shifts. The Mandalorian’s hand stills upon the child’s chest, his visor now solely trained on you. You can’t blame him, your home planet truly does have a reputation for being an awful place. Yet with the way your cheeks tingle, you think he might be reassessing the tell-tale arch of your nose, the dimensions of your face. More than anything, you feel the cogs in his brain turn as his perception of you settles. 

“Born and raised there, went to the medical academy when the Empire was still around. Jus’ moved later in life.” 

“Hm,” This hum is much more thoughtful than the dismissive ones he’s thrown your way before. You don’t like it, being perceived like this, with this past. Not to mention, the uncomfortable reminder of why you really left Corellia leaves an ache in your bones. An image of your father’s face flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Explains the mouth on you.”

Shaking it off, you mumble. “What’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Longshot anyway.” You reconsider, landing on a generic question that’s been clawing at you for ages now. “How old are you?

You’ve tried to guess in the past, based on a multitude of factors you’ve observed. He has the exemplary stamina of someone still in their prime. Initially, that placed him in his twenties. That is, until more of his personality made itself known and you found he acts like a senior citizen greatly dissatisfied with the view in their nursing home window. That raised him to a solid forty in your head. 

“Lost track. Probably in my late thirties.” Close enough.

You chortle. “Old man.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m getting there.” Something in his timbre reminds you of his back, of the skin that warms up so easily under your hands. His muscles pulse with life whenever you touch him, flourishing under the small instances of physical touch. The life of a Mandalorian must be an impoverished one, to go without all the things people needed to live - that pure, skin-on-skin contact. For almost forty years, no less. 

You’re suddenly extremely honoured that he’s taken to you as his doctor. 

“I’m about a decade your junior.” You try to fill the silence; he didn’t ask, and you don’t manage to catch onto his reaction, mind too addled with a snowballing jumble of emotions that you race after, trying to untangle. Yes, there is the ever present desire that seems to be a condition of being his companion, but there’s also an effervescent centre to it all, sparkling in and out of existence all too rapidly for you to place. 

“Kriff…” You perk at the curse. “You’re just a kid.” His cadence has drawn to a gentle murmur, as if everything has just fallen into place for him. 

Your heart twinges, frightened that his opinion of you has degraded, somehow. He likely regrets inviting yet another responsibility, another addition to his burden in trying to survive the galaxy while remaining as morally sound as possible. You’re not just a kid, no, but you are all of those other things. Useless. A liability. More trouble than you’re worth. 

If Mando senses the change of tone in your next words, he doesn’t mention it. “Only in spirit.”

You need to mean more to him, you conceive. 

chapter three →

[jesswritesthat]

Suna Rintarō: No

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: fluff

• The 5 times Suna Rintarō said 'No' and the 1 time he didn't.

Warnings: none

>>>>——————————>

In most instances when love connects two people, a frequent phrase is 'they can never say no to you' whether due to overcompensating feelings of attraction or reasonable requesting - you supposed it varied.

Suna Rintarō was not like that.

In fact, he was the exact opposite. 'No' was a prominent choice in his vocabulary when anything was even scarcely linked to you.

It started back in the Aichi Prefecture during elementary school and slowly became a child-like game. Getting Suna to say 'yes' to you would be a personal win - worse, the brunette had predicted your intentions and found far too much enjoyment in your frustration to give up now.

"Can I call you Rintarō?"

"No."

"But you call me (Y/n)!" That was true, you’d become friends early on, with Suna dropping formality rather quickly.

"I like calling you (Y/n)."

"Fine, Rin."

"Hey - you didn't ask if you could call me that!"

"Now we're even."

Mutual smiles were shared - of challenging determination, like you were opposite sides of a childish war - but nonetheless it represented foundation.

———

Part of you had missed him once migrating to Hyōgo for middle school, the entertaining exchanges actually becoming a highlight of your childhood - so when you saw him again upon starting Inarizaki High, you felt that fire relight.

"Suna-san! Do you remember me?"

"No?"

Instantaneously, you felt your heart sink with your posture apparently mirroring the feeling and you'd wished you'd hidden your disappointment better.

That's when you saw the cunning quirk of lips and the familiar mischievous glint flash across his eyes once he'd locked with yours. You were still playing this petty game then?

"Yes you do smartass."

"The (Y/n) I knew never called me Suna-san. Don't start now okay."

———

You'd been 'friends' for so long that many doubted this habits existence, unless they'd bare witness to it themselves like the Volleyball club had - Sunas’ deadpan nature intact either way.

"Hey, Rin! I attempted to make a bento, wanna try some."

"No."

You rolled your eyes, giving a scoffing sigh as per usual whilst the Miya Twins curiously took to either of your sides.

"I'll try it for ya (L/n)."

"Me too, I'm starvin'."

"Sure go ahea- Suna!" The moment you'd removed the box from your bag, the brunette had skilfully swiped it from your grasp amidst resilient Miya protest.

Obviously you issued a potent glare, even more so when he'd taken a picture of your handiwork, then a bite, and preceded to return it to you like nothing. Honestly part of you thinks he does it to annoy you, finding quiet solace in the prominent reactions he'd successfully elicit from you.

"Dammit Rintarō! Did you even like it?"

Trick question.

Undoubtedly he did, you knew that, he knew that - now you were trying to get him to admit it. In a split second he'd analysed his options:

• To get himself out of trouble, he'd have to say 'yes' to you, which means you'd win.

• By saying 'no' he'd keep this little game going but would've convicted himself. You'd win again.

Only one valid choice then.

"No comment."

"Ughhhhh Suu-naaa!"

———

There were rare instances where it didn't work in his favour; where this stupid competition between the two of you made him regret ever playing in the first place.

Like when riding the high of winning the Hyōgo tournament and knowing they’d be going to Nationals again that year.

"Oi Sunarin, can I kiss you?"

That caught him off-guard, you'd spoken so frivolously, challenging him with the same knowing expression you’d always wear when asking teasing questions like this. Fans swarmed Inarizaki players to offer congratulatory acts of affection, which is exactly what you’d referred to.

"...No." He wondered if you knew how he'd begrudgingly forced that out; if you noticed the brutal war in his nonchalant gaze because yes - he wanted to kiss you.

There was a bemused hum from you, tilting your head slightly and naturally he'd narrowed his smouldering gaze in return. Suna flickered momentarily, immediately inferring you were scheming which undeniably sparked him up - he liked these moments.

"Is there someone else you'd rather be kissed by?"

"No (Y/n)~"

A victorious smirk tainted your angelic beauty, Suna silently thanking the Shrines for your effortless understanding of his nature once he’d faced forward again.

The warm feeling of your lips to his cheek -no matter how short- left him scrunching his nose in mock disgust, relishing in the bemused tut leaving you afterward. His hands slipped into his shorts though, shoulders slumping as he leaned into your side ever so gently, overlooking the celebrations.

Suna wondered then, in the briefest moment of contentment, what you’d say if he asked you out - would you say ‘no’ like he always did, or maybe ‘yes’ because you were always the better person.

"Are you blushing Rin?"

Part of you thought you'd heard a hushed 'Ye-maybe, shut up.' but concluded it was a mistake due to the boisterous cheering overshadowing it.

———

You'd grown accustomed to his ways, how he'd always try to do right by you with actions rather than words. Early on you'd learned that the majority of unspoken sentiment took place inside his head - wishful remarks toward opponents, future snarky comments, and sweet nothings promised to only you.

It's why his constant denial hasn't phased you throughout the years, because even he'd slipped up a few times - Suna would scour the internet for a specific thing you'd offhandedly mentioned, craft playlists tailored to your personal taste, and stand by your side whenever the option presented itself.

It was on one of your frequent friendly escapades did he do things differently, by buying you flowers and taking you to watch the sunset under the cherry blossoms (you've got the pics to prove it) where you'd calculatingly caught him out.

“Do you hate me?”

“What? No!” There was uncharacteristic emotion there, an offended expression contorting his usually deadpan features whilst you nodded with a relieved smile.

"You do like me then huh?”

Suna hated that you were so close, if only you’d altered one word in the last two questions you would’ve received your long-desired answer.

"I'm not saying that I don't."

"Real smooth Rin."

"I try for you, sometimes."

Moments of content silence passed under the warming glows of a Hyōgo evening. You’d locked eyes, a conversation spoken in the silence where a nod of understanding could speak more than a thousand words.

"So, is this still a 'friend' date Suna?"

"No, unless you want it to be?”

“No. I think I like dating better.”

———

The two you had one of the special relationships that survived past graduation - you’d both deny overly-romanticised connotations from the team though.

Regardless, you regularly reunited with fellow Inarizaki grads at Ongiri Miya, nights were full of lively conversation, catch-ups, and pure immaturity supplied by the Miya Twins at times.

Tonight you’d suffer the latter, especially when your envied relationship had been brought to light.

"Do ya love (Y/n)?"

Dumb question Atsumu, one you'd strategically avoided like the plague because you didn't want to hear the answer said aloud. It was no, it was always 'no' with Suna - only you figured this one would withstand.

"Yes. Why?"

Strangled noises of disbelief emitted around the restaurant, attention snapping to you since your eyes widened and you’d effectively choked on your drink, coughing and waving your hand as assurance to being okay.

“Suna you love me?!”

“Yes (Y/n).”

Once regaining a modicum of composure, you’d darted to your deadpan boyfriend who smugly snapped a photo of your flushed features and deadly (adorable) glare. He’d anticipated this the second he’d spoken.

"That's a cute one babe."

The ‘yes’ matter wasn’t addressed further, considering you’d near enough tackled your partner with demands of deletion flying from your mouth. Aran held you back whilst Suna teasingly patted your head for continued aggravation and Atsumu recorded his own blackmail.

Unbeknownst to you, Suna had every intention of losing this game, he'd decided his fate years ago when you'd first reunited.

The game wasn’t rigged, it hadn’t been for a very long time - Do you love me? The answer was a predetermined ‘yes’. You’d just never asked the one question Rin couldn’t say ‘no’ to, the game would’ve ended far sooner if you had.

'Yes' would automatically slip from his lips when he'd agree to a future together, and Rintarō would say 'yes' without hesitation when you'd ask if he was sure he wanted to marry you because yes, you were the only one for him.

Suna would ultimately win in the end, as long as he had you, but would he ever admit it?

No.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 06 —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

‘‘ I swear I am going to have someone beat your ass Park Jimin!’’

‘‘ It’s not my fucking fault! I broke up with her but you lead her to the apartment  knowing she’ll follow!’‘

‘‘ Damn it Jimin im going to kick your ass!’‘

Your eyes pop open just in time to see Jungkook on-top of Jimin hitting him repeatedly on the face while Jimin manages to push him off of him and begin his fist fight against him. He straddles Jungkook to the floor and punches are thrown left and right. Now the sudden headache of seeing the two brothers fight has began in your head and you cannot stand hearing the groaning and yelling between them. Bringing your hand up to signal them to stop, you realize they don’t even know you’ve awakened.

 Jungkook on the other hand is not having it so he throws Jimin off of him harshly making Jimin groan. The way he grabs Jimin’s collar with venom fast strength finally gives you the courage to yell out to them.

‘‘ Stop! Damn it, you two are like literal fucking teenagers. Act your age!”

The both of them turn their heads toward you slowly. Jungkook drops his fist, which was going to connect with Jimin’s face. You take a good look at them. Freshly bruised from each-other. Great.

‘‘ You think fighting is going to solve this problem huh? Get over here now.” You say, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Jungkook gives Jimin a death glare before rushing to your side and feeling your forehead. You slap his hand away and pull him down by his shirt only for him to recieve a harsh slap to the forehead.

‘‘ Shit!” He stumbles back and rubs his forehead. He shoots you a glare, wanting to yell at you but doesn’t.  You motion for Jimin to come to you too. He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

‘‘ I don’t think it’s necessary for you to do that..” He says, as if your death glare towards him isn’t enough to tell him you aren’t joking whatsoever.

He gets the memo when you disregard his comments before hanging his head low and bending down a little to your height. One slap against the forehead and two across the wrists.

‘‘ That’s for you fighting He was only looking out for me. The last two were for having a psychotic girlfriend who almost killed me. Look at my wrist!’‘

You hold them out to see two I.V’s, one for blood transfusion and the other a regular for nutrients on your right wrist. Both of them bandaged up which does need to be changed because of the old blood.

‘‘ I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would be this upset.’‘ Jimin says, hanging his head low. Jungkook rolls his eyes at him out of annoyance.

‘‘ Whatever. I already called my lawyer for your case. Since Isabel tried to attempt murder to you, you will win this case for sure.’‘ He proudly leans against the wall hoping to atleast crack a smile from you.

You don’t smile though. The last thing you need is another scandal. If this were to make the news and blogs right now then it could be a bad thing. You’ve just started your modeling career again and right now would be the worst time to have something like that. 

Jimin leans on the wall with his hands in his pockets, still avoiding locking eyes with you which is something he usually does. Something tells you that he’s hiding something. Something that you just can’t put your finger on.

‘‘ The police will come shortly for witness statements and your statement. Then they’ll call for a court date as soon as possible.’‘ Jimin’s voice low, illuminating with a hint of sadness.

Out of curiosity you want to say something more. To ask him whats going on and why he’s acting rather like this. It’s really not like him. He’s hiding something for sure and you just cannot put your finger on it. You just agree and pull out your phone. A missed call from Ryan. You try texting her and she almost always responds immediately. This time she doesn’t. What’s really going on?

You don’t know but Ryan took it upon herself to pay Isabel a visit. Usually visitors aren’t allowed for people in holding but with a little sweet talk of hers she got to get atleast 10 minutes to talk. That’s all she needs. When it comes to you, her bestfriend, she never messes around. Hearing the news from Jungkook yesterday she almost went luncatic. Throwing things at him, calling his brother every disrespectful name in the book. Oh she hates him now for sure.

Jungkook had to stop her from going over to the hospital to beat his ass into a bloody pulp for causing you pain and getting together with that crazy girl just to break up with her. Ryan was heated. 

But now she can take this heat and serve some to Isabel right now. She walks with confidence into the room. Nothing and nobody can stop her and if they even try, she’ll chew them up and spit them out. Catching a glimpise of Isabel sitting at the table with her hands cuffed and security next to her, Ryan shoots her a devious glare.

‘‘ What brings you here? I expected my boyfr-’‘

A harsh slam from her hands hit the table as she bends a little to her seated level, ‘‘ He’ not your fucking boyfriend. You were lucky I wasn’t there to beat your fucking ass.”

The guard tenses up at the sounds and sudden movements. Ryan notices, and decides to take her seat to calm down before she’s the one sitting behind the jail bars too. 

‘‘ Ryan.. I thought we were friends?’‘ She frowns, pouting her lips while fake wiping tears away. 

Ryan scoffs,shaking her head ever so slowly with a devilish grin on her face. “ We aren’t. Don’t let me catch you un-attended without your manager or body guard.. Isabel.’’

Isabel laughs one of her evil laughs, throwing her head back then coming back up, “ Oh how cute. Is this a threat from little ol’ you? Me and Jimin were doing just fine before your bestfriend had decided to enter his life again. I’m not the only bad guy here. She should know boundaries for taken men. Ex’s aren’t supposed to be firendly and lovey dovey. Spending nights and going everywhere with each other. Especially when one’s a famous idol with another idol girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

“ Maybe you should take that up with your hoe of a boyfriend. He’s the one who can’t leave her alone.” She yells, inches away from Isabel’s face. The two stare at each other long and hard. Isabel is no match for Ryan though.

The guard clears his throat to break the two’s glares. The tension is thick in the air.

“ If you ever touch yn again, I’ll make sure you’re the one in the hospital this time around.”

‘‘ You’ll all see. I’ll win this court case. Trust me… there’s things you do not know.” 

Ryan rolls her eyes, strutting her way out the room with the sound of her heels clicking right behind her. Consider the message recieved. 

It’s been one week after the situation. In which in between those days you were dismissed from the hospital and have been in at Jimin’s house ever since. You didn’t want to be here. You want to be at home with your cat, Clara. Jungkook’s been going over to feed and play with her. Jimin kept pleading for you not to return home just yet because it could be a danger to you. It makes sense. You never know what Isabel has up her sleeve. 

So you’ve been sitting here doing the same old thing everyday. Eat, watch movies and netflix tv shows,  sleep, and repeat.

Jimin would come in and out of his home studio to check in on you. He still has to work on producing and singing his songs. He’d bring the food and your medicine he prepared per usual,  kiss your forehead, and go right back out to producing his highly anticipated album.

It all seems fake to you. Something is off. Something is not being told to you. You can feel it in your gut but can’t put a finger on it.

‘‘ This is so cliche.’‘ You murmur to yourself, switching the flat-screen T.V off.

And as if on cue Jimin comes inside your- well his room with a glass of water and prescribed pain killers for you. The slight smile on his face makes you want to smile but you don’t.

‘‘ Smile for ocne yn. Do you not like staying here?’‘ He says, sitting next to you on the side of the bed and places the glass in your hands.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, taking the two pills out of his palm. “ No.. but be honest with me Jimin okay?”

His face turns a quick shade of pink then pale as if you had said the wrong choice of words at the wrong time. As if he had seen a ghost at this very moment. That’s not a good sign at all.

‘‘ Are you.. hiding something from me?’‘

The atmosphere is thick and silence fills the room. You don’t say anything and he doesn’t either. Your eyes meet his and for once they don’t pull away first. 

Jimin doesn’t know how to break it to you though. It’s now or never.

‘‘ She will never leave me.”

You bite your lip hard, “ What do you mean?”

“ That she said that she’d do everything to ruin our relationship if we continue to persue one. She’d spready rumors about you to Dispatch. Make a scene whenver you’re near me. Anything she can do, she will do it.”

You don’t know how to take this all in. You knew Isabel was possesive but not this possesive. The thought of her doing things on purpose for you to make everyone hate you makes you want to cry. To just bawl your eyes out right here right now. You can’t.. you won’t do it. 

You won’t give in because thats what she wants. To make you cry. To ruin your reputation and work. Jimin came back into your life and of course you don’t know what to do or how to deal with it. But this is what you wanted right? You’ve been longing for you and him to get a second chance. It’s you. You’re the one who’s been putting things off and not letting things go with the flow. Maybe he came back to you because he realized how wrong he was for cheating on you. For leaving you behind. For not seeing things for truly how it is. 

You knew Isabel was bad luck from the beginning. Now is the time to try and take back what was originally yours. That will hurt her more than ever. 

“ She needs to have a reality check. Not everything revolves around her.”

‘‘ I agree. Putting her behind bars might give her a reality check. It should serve her right for harming people.” Jimin sighs. 

The silence is thick. You both don’t know what to say and it’s sure as hell awkward more than ever right now. Until that silence breaks. 

‘‘ I feel like you aren’t being your true self to me. If we are getting things out now.” 

His sudden comment makes you lift your head up from playing with the comforter. “ What do you mean?’’

‘‘ You.. don’t want to take actions on what you feel, say, or want to do with or about me. It’s killing me inside.”

He’s right. You do try to push your feelings aside no matter what the cause is. It’s just you trying to not set yourself up for hearbreak again. You do want him. You do want everything to do with him. Considering the things that happened in the past, it’s no doubt theres a fence guarding your heart from intruders. 

You exhale out heavily, “ Im just.. scared.’’

‘‘ Of? “

‘‘ Being hurt again.”

Dead silence again. This time he’s the one trying to come up with words to redirect your view of him. Yes, he broke your heart in the worst way possible. He wants you to see he’s changed. 

Jimin bites his lip, voice shaky when he begins talking again. ‘‘ How can I show you that i’m not the same anymore. Im not I promise you. I want you to see I have changed. I know it’s my fault. I destroyed you but let me fix it.”

It’s all come down to this. You’ve wanted this and now is the chance to get it. Now is the chance to have what was once yours. But the feeling of doubt had taken its course on you at the worst time.

‘‘ Jimin.. how do I know that for sure?’‘ You say, unintentionally fluttering your eyes at him. To you it’s to prevent from letting tears fall. 

Jimin see’s it as that specific thing you used to do when you wanted him. When you craved him and would drop hints. To be completely honest, you do crave him. You do want him. Make-up sex was something you two used to do often. It was your toxic way of saying im sorry. 

Somehow you want to put that toxic thing into action right now. As fucked up as it is, that’s how you two know you’re sorry towards each other. Actions speak louder than words. 

He closes his eyes for a quick second before clenching his jaw to contain himself. Your weak spot.

‘‘ Stop doing that. Unless you want to start something you don’t want to finish.” 

You smile just a little, hoping he’d get the memo. “ What if I do want to start and finish it..”

As if a car alarm went off, Jimin’s eyes pop back open with a suprised look. That’s the last thing he’d thought he’d be hearing from you. “ Are you sure about that? I mean we don’t have t-”

You lean in closer to where you guys are inches apart, his lips softly rubbing against yours. “ I’m all for it.”

Within seconds, Jimin’s shirt is removed off of you only revealing your blue panties which have became a little soaked with your wetness. He takes in the scent of you before his mouth connects with your thighs, slightly sucking to leave bruises on you.

‘‘ Jimin.. don’t tease me.”  You sigh, laying fully down to spread your legs even more. He hums against your skin making you catch chills up and down your spine.

‘‘ That’s my specialty baby. You know that.” He trails a kiss with each word all the way down to your core where he dips a finger inside. You tense up attempting to close your legs. He doesn’t allow it, spreading them open harshly again. 

‘’ Jimin-’‘ You barely utter before he begins to move his fingers in and out of you slowly. You let out a whine to try and make him go faster but it doesn’t work.

He comes up to your mouth and plants a wet, sloppy kiss. “ No whining. You’re gonna get what you want. Just relax baby.”

Is all he tells you before he goes back down to your core to tend to your desires.

The first lick between your legs is ever so gentle. Too gentle for you right now considering that you want release badly and Jimin knew exactly that. He opens his mouth and swirls his tongue up and down your slit. A groan leaves his mouth once he gets a taste of you which sends a vibration to your sensitive bud.

Each time his tongue laps against you your body jerked and shook but that only makes his tongue go faster. Sending you into a moaning and groaning mess as you tug on his hair.

“Mmh you even taste the same like always.” He moans with a smirk.

“Jimin please-” you cry out, locking your fingers into his hair when a finger is inserted into your dripping wet hole.

‘‘ No whining babygirl.’‘ His voice gentle as ever when he removes the finger inside of you making you pout a little. But that pout soon turned into your eyes becoming wide when he starts to take off his shirt, then grey sweatpants, then his underwear where his thick cock springs up.

Your eyes can’t leave his body. God it’s been a while. He looks pretty damn good. You wan’t to take all of his length in your mouth right now. To hear him praise you about how good your mouth feels against him. God you want it right now. 

He gives it a few strokes before walking over to you. Just before hovering over you, he gives you a passionate kiss while lifting up your legs and positioning them to his liking. Missionary.

The tip of him pokes at the entrance of you, teasing in and out. Soon enough he enters you slowly making both of you moan together.

You still wrap and fit around his member smug as ever, and he could not believe it. The feeling of familiarity of being inside you sends him into a moaning mess with each stroke. You can’t contain your moans and screams. He feels way too good. 

Jimin begins to deep-stroke you by pulling all the way out and slamming back in. You scream his name out in pleasure as your nails scratch up his toned back. Wet sounds fill the room with him picking up his pace. You take a glimpse of him only to admire his figure right now. Forehead forming sweat beads while he groans and moans biting his plump pink lips.

Your breathing becomes faster when that familiar feeling soon starts to take over. You turn your head to the side and let out a string of moans. Jimin isn’t having that though. His hand grabs your face gently and makes you make eye contact with him. Your legs start shaking as your head tilts back moans getting more faster. You finally let out one last one in sync with him, his hot sperm shoots inside of you.

Jimin pulls out, breathing heavily and collapses ontop of you. You let out a small grunt with the sudden extra body upon you, then giggle at him when he lays his head lays against your chest. This is what you wanted. He’s true. He’s sorry. 

‘’ I love you.”

That word surprises you. You weren’t prepared for it. Somehow though, you enjoy the fact that he’s said it to you. Love. Jimin’s love. Your love. 

‘’ I love you much more Jimin.’’ 

[god1ngs]

╭៹ꜜ # i. proposal ༉

awesamdude x gn!reader [ hero au ]

◟ᝰ summary・after a certain intern's praise, you find yourself talking to the warden.

◟ᝰ warnings・swearing, starts in third pov and goes into second pov.

◟ᝰ notes・first chapter :D very excited! enjoy!

previous chapter | series masterlist

Powers are considered a gift. Not many are born with the abilities that make some so special. However, those who are, are held to a certain pedestal in life— practically worshipped for their supernatural abilities. Some use it for good: protecting the citizens and receiving fame and praise as their reward. Some use it to terrorize the citizens instead. Heroes are around for a reason, after all.

Many of the heroes in the city had stayed that way for a while— protecting the civilians for months, if not years. New heroes weren’t rare, per se, but they were treated with a certain curiosity. Usually, the townspeople would grow accustomed to the new hero within days.

Perhaps this is why Ace had been so widely accepted so quickly.

Ace, like many heroes, was wonderful at catching the villains. Swiftly capturing them and turning them into local authorities for questioning or holding; the people didn’t question what they did with the villains.

Ace had quickly piqued the media’s attention, leading up to interviews and television show invites— It was amazing that a new face had gained so much attention so quickly. Some thought it to be a little too amazing.

Currently, you sit in a filming room, cameras pointed at you from every angle. Being on television wasn’t something you were used to, but you welcomed the new found attention.

“You’ve seemed to capture the attention of, well, everyone right now!” The news reporter exclaimed, smiling a bit too big and teeth a little too white. “What will be your upcoming plans, Ace?” You pondered the question for a moment. Or, acted like you were— Of course you knew your plans.

“To continue helping the citizens of the city, ma’am.” You answered, confidence lacing your tone. The response seemed to satisfy the woman, adjusting herself in her seat. “We all believe you will Ace. Now, for our last question of the day: Do you think you’ll ever join Awesamdude Incorporated?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one day in the future, if The Warden decides to invite me.”

Awesamdude Incorporated: The towering building that sat at the heart of the city. The company and building was run by one of the top heroes of the city: The Warden. He was as scary as the name suggests, his stance tall and his words firm.

Awesamdude Inc., essentially, is a base for certain heroes. Headquarters for them to do all kinds of things. Heroes Dream and Inferno can usually be seen training on the roof, a spectacular sight for anyone with good enough eyesight to witness.

The inside of the building is unknown to anyone besides the people in it. The building is scarily secure: set with passwords upon passwords that only the members of the company have knowledge of.

From inside a building, a television screen plays footage of the current news program. A man sits there and watches, eyes squinted at the bright screen. He’s always preferred to observe in complete darkness.

“Bro, you have got to stop being in here with all the fuckin’ lights off. You’re going to get bad eyesight, dumbass. I don’t want to have to shove carrots down your throat.”

The man sighs, turning around in his chair to face the other. “Yes, Boomer, I’m aware. It’s just easier for me to work in, that’s all.” He murmurs, turning around to look back at the screen.

The other, now known as Boomer, steps to stand beside him. “Are you watching the news? Old ass.” He comments. Silence fills the room before he recognizes who’s on the screen. “Is that the new Ace motherfucker? Aren’t they, like, super popular right now?”

The man nods, leaning back in his chair, yet his eyes never leave the screen. “Yes, they are. The media and the civilians have taken an interest in them.” He answers. His eyebrow twitches at Boomer’s snort.

“Well, are they any good? Or are they just straight up dog shit?” They lean against the table, despite how many times the man has told him not to. He sighs; Boomer’s always been vulgar. “They are good, actually. I’ve watched them apprehend villains a few times. Their reflexes, speed, strength, and agility are all above average.”

“That’s actually kinda cool,” Boomer mutters, eyes flickering between the screen and the man. “You gonna invite them here?” The man sighs, again, something Boomer despises about him. “I don’t know. Tell me what you think, Boomer— Would they be a good fit for the company?”

Finally, the man pries his eyes away from the screen to stare at his intern. Boomer shrugs, thinking over his answer before looking back at him. “Maybe. They might not be able to shoot fuckin’ lasers out of their ass, or conjur up lightning, but they seem to be strong. They might fit in here too.”

The man thinks over their words, his hands folding in front of them. He sighs, once more, Boomer is close to yelling at him for it. The man stands up, towering over Boomer at his full height as he stares down at him. “Let’s go ask them.”

Boomer grins, doing a mock salute. “Yes sir, Mr. Warden, sir!”

The Warden turns the television off.

The interview hadn’t been something you were expecting would happen, but you didn’t mind it. You felt important being up there. A smile twitched at your lips at the thought of it.

You were surprised at how fast you had grown already— You hadn’t expected all the attention, but you weren’t mad at it. If anything, it could keep coming your way.

As you were walking down the street, of an unpopulated area, you hadn’t realized that someone was behind you until they tapped your shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

You turned around to see the person behind you. They looked friendly— White hair, yet they looked young, with a green frog hat on. They had overalls on with a green shirt, matching their aesthetic.

“You know The Warden, right?” They continued at your nod, “I’m his intern or whatever. He wanted to come get you, but was being too much of a pussy, so he had me get in you instead. He’s waiting at the big ass building he owns, if you would want to come.”

That’s how you ended up walking to the heart of the city with them. They told you that their name was Boomer and that they had originally wanted a job for the summer, just to get some money, but now they work for The Warden himself (Sounds familiar).

When you two reached the building, they had told you to “cover your eyes or something, bozo.” while they input the pin. You didn’t expect for the door to actually open, you had originally thought they were some kid that was trying to prank you, but what a surprise: The door was open.

You were being dragged inside and the door was being slammed shut behind you before you could process what was happening. “Don’t just stand there, dumbass! Some hoard is gonna come rushing to try to get inside.” He scolded, rolling his eyes. You apologized, but he paid no mind as he began calling out for The Warden.

“Yo, Mr. Warden! I’ve got your guest you wanted! Don’t make us sit around here all day, dumbass. I know you’re busy, but you can’t leave a guest hanging, bro— that’s just fuckin’ rude.”

There was a noise, as if something was being brought down extraordinarily quickly. You whipped around to see someone stepping out of a tube: The Warden, in the flesh. You felt as if you were a fan seeing their idol for the first time.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so vulgar around our guest, Boomer.” He spoke, his voice soft yet firm. Boomer only scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sure they don’t mind at all. Right, Ace? Right?”

As if the spotlight had just been placed on you, you waved your hands and shook your head. “No, no, I don’t mind at all!” You exclaimed, wincing at the voice crack in the middle of your sentence. Boomer began cackling about it before you could even clear your throat.

The Warden strolled up to you, his figure towering over yours. You’ve never met him in person, but you didn’t expect for him to loom over you. He held his hand out, “Disregarding Boomer’s usual antics, it is nice to meet you. I’ve heard about you. I’m sure you know who I am, yes?”

You shook his hand, anxiety eating you up. “Yes, of course! Haha, I’m Ace— If you didn’t know, although I’m sure you did.” You would be sure to yell at yourself for how nervous you sounded later.

“Yes, I have. I won’t waste your time, as I don’t want to waste mine either,” His eyes glared bullets into yours, “Would you like a position here at Awesamdude Incorporated? We provide food, housing, training areas— Anything you could possibly want or need, it’s either here or can be here. However, do not feel pressured to accept my offer.”

“I’d love to join.”

ᝰ TAGLIST ◞ open

@madituck @wingedghostpepper @fischlvonluftschloss @zippiio @itshalza

[panda-noosh]

   draco doesn’t remember how or why he fell in love with you.

   it wasn’t supposed to happen. not at all. his entire life, he has been prepared for an arranged marriage, something examined by his father, picked apart and carefully chosen to ensure the malfoy line is carried on only by the best, most pure wizards the world has ever seen. from a young age, draco was prepared to put up with whoever his parents decided was good enough for him.

    but he grew up.

   he grew up, and he went to school, and life became his own. without his parents swarming his every move, he was free to do whatever he wanted, like whoever he wanted, and that was very dangerous ground for a boy as curious as him. never wanting to disappoint his parents, but wanting that freedom, too - it was never going to work in his favour. 

    you came to hogwarts during his third year, a third year yourself having just transferred from another wizarding school in britain. a smaller wizarding school, and draco remembers walking through the halls, listening to people snicker about how far behind you were, how little you knew. he didn’t even know who you were at that time, as he was yet to have any classes with you, but he was prepared to experience the same amusement as the rest of his classmates upon initial meeting.

    “snape had a field day with them,” said pansy, over a bowl of porridge at breakfast one day. “absolutely shocking how little they taught them at that old school they’ve come from.”

   draco snickered. “what did snape do?”

   “he was about to kick them out,” replied blaise. “honestly, draco, just wait till you see them. it’s hilarious.”

    and so, draco prepared himself the entire day for the moment he would finally get to witness the reason behind his friends amusement for himself. classes ticked by in a blur, him scribbling down notes carelessly, knowing full well he would have to copy off his friends later on; for today, he didn’t care. he just wanted to get to astrology, the one class he knew he had with you.

   when the bell rang for final class, draco all-but sprinted to the astrology tower. throwing open the door, his grin widened, his excitement spilling over, a snide remark already forming on his smirking lips-

   a snide remark that died the instant he saw you seated upon one of the pillows strewn across the floor.

    because you are everything he didn’t expect. you are nothing like the image he had conjured in his head, the image of stupidity, a dopey face and a clueless gait, someone he could make fun of without feeling terribly sorry about it.

    but you’re not that at all. you’re small, and not in the sense that you’re particularly short. you’re short in the sense that overwhelms draco with the sudden need to protect you from everything and everyone. you’re small in the sense that you clearly understand you have been the butt of the joke since you arrived at hogwarts, and the comments aren’t exactly helping you get comfortable.

    his falter didn’t last long. people started bustling into the classroom, forcing him to his seat even as his eyes never left you. you hadn’t even looked up, too busy staring at the hands in your lap, the hands that hadn’t stopped twisting and twitching the entire time. you wore a set of rings - one on each finger - and usually this fashion choice would have been a bit over the top in draco’s opinion, but the rings glistened on your fingers, complimented each and every one, even as you pulled them off and replaced them in that nervous way he found himself so entranced with. 

   you were seated on a pillow directly in front of the window, and even though the classroom was fairly dark - easier for trelawney to teach the planets in the dark - there was a soft glow spread across your cheeks, illuminating your cheekbones, making your eyes glisten every time you looked up. it left his heart thumping, a feeling most uncomfortable when he had never felt it before.

    but from that day on, his heart thumped every time he saw you. his hands got clammy. his throat became dry, and he often found himself shamelessly leaning against a locker, or saying something witty in the hopes you would like his voice, stop and talk to him, compliment him on his oh-so original humour.

    his friends started to catch on, but by the second week, draco was past the point of caring. no longer did he try to hide his affection for you, an affection that didn’t even make sense, because you had never even given him the time of day. you walked past him with your head ducked down. you didn’t speak to him in class. you got on with your life all on your own, and honestly, that was part of the reason draco was so enamoured by you.

   one of the many, many reasons.

    after two weeks, his resolve was starting to disappear. he couldn’t just ignore you. he couldn’t keep himself contained for much longer, a desire he had never felt before springing to the forefront of his very being. he’s always been so content with his friend group, but he wanted to speak to you, wanted to hear your voice just the once.

    and so he found you in the library on that fateful tuesday afternoon. he had no classes, astrology having been cancelled as trelawney claimed the spirits were telling her it was a bad day to come to work. draco usually took his free periods as a chance to go out and practise some quidditch moves, but this day he needed to make an exception. the team could make do without a seeker for a little while.

    he pushed into the library, offering the librarian a keen smile and a nod; she merely scowled, but she does that to everyone, so draco didn’t think too much into it. his brain was elsewhere, anyway.

    he flew through the library, ducking his head into the shelves in search of you. in minutes he found you, curled up in an arm chair by the fire, a thick leather bound book on your lap. as per usual, you didn’t even look up when draco approached, eyes glued to the novel, finger tracing the words in an attempt to stop the cramped, tiny sentences from getting jumbled up.

    he cleared his throat. your head flinched up.

    you stared at him a moment, thumb placed upon your bottom lip. it was endearing in the worst way, making something stir in draco’s stomach.

    he cleared his throat again and said, “hello,” because he’s always been fairly certain that was the best way to start a conversation.

    you blinked. “hello.”

   “draco malfoy.”

   you nodded. “i know.”

   his heart thundered. he was certain you could hear it, could probably see the sweat dotting his brow, too. “oh. great.” he rubbed the back of his neck. “what’s your name?”

   “y/n l/n,” you replied. “is everything okay? you look a little ill, if you don’t mind me saying.”

    he didn’t. he didn’t mind at all. 

    “everything’s fine,” he said, before gesturing to the empty seat to your left. “do you mind if i sit?”

    “be my guest.”

   he sat down. “you don’t mind the company?”

    “i like meeting new people.” you looked down, biting your lower lip. draco was overcome with the sudden desire to reach over and grab your hand. “i haven’t got many friends around here, you know. it’s nice to finally speak to someone.”

    draco’s chest tightened. he remembered the comments, the snickers, his initial plans to make fun of you just like everyone else had been doing. 

   but then he remembered your face in trelawney’s classroom, the faux light dancing across your cheekbones, that twinkling laugh you let out when trelawney got one of her predictions wrong and was gravely embarrassed about it. 

   “but that’s not important,” you piped up when draco failed to pull himself together in time to respond. “how have you been finding everything? i know you’re on the quidditch team - what’s that like?”

    and so the conversation bloomed, draco loosening up with every passing moment, every phrase where he could fit in a question. he learned more and more about you, tiny facts that would usually hold no weight whatsoever, but facts he suddenly cherished - your favourite colour, where you’re from, the names of your parents, a pair of muggles who raised you to believe you were normal until your powers started to show.

    at some point, you said, “i know the malfoys aren’t big fans of wizards who aren’t pure bloods.”

    draco’s face warmed. “yeah, well...”

   “are you going to get in trouble for talking to me?”

   “probably.” he leaned back, crossing his leg across his own knee. “i don’t care, though. they’re not here right now, are they?”

    so no, draco does not know the exact moment he fell in love with you. he doesn’t know how, or why, or when, but he knows it happened. at some point during this strange, spontaneous relationship, he fell in love with you, and has been unable to shake himself out of it.

   it might be because you’re beautiful. it might go deeper than that. it might be because he’s never felt so comfortable with anyone in his entire life. it might be because, for the first time ever, he doesn’t care what his parents think. for the first time ever, he is more than willing to make his own decisions, to go against everything he has ever been told just to sit with you for one more day, one more minute, one more second. 

   and it’s not like these feelings crashed upon him all at once. it was gradual, an almost painful experience, an extraction of his sourness, replaced by this. . . fondness? this love. this love for a person so different to him, a person so unexpected, a person that shouldn’t fit so well into his life, but does so.    

[silvials]

Books and Heirs

In which Auguste travels to Akielos for his little brother’s wedding.

Auguste was going to be late for Laurent’s wedding, and that was unacceptable.

A logical part of him knew they would wait for him and even postpone the wedding if necessary. After all, this was a historical union between Akielos and Vere, and both kings had to be present to witness it, but when the Captain of the ship told him it was not safe to set sail today, Auguste was almost tempted to race to Akielos on horseback. By some miracle, the storm clouds that had been brewing in the horizon soon dissipated, and they were able to depart later that afternoon.

They arrived at Ios on the day of the wedding itself, which was a lot later than Auguste had planned, but it no longer mattered. He still had a few hours left to spend with Laurent before the ceremony formally began, and he was determined to make the most out of it.

Damianos was the one who welcomed him at the palace steps because Akielons apparently believed it was bad luck for couples to see each other before their wedding. He clasped Auguste’s shoulder in greeting, and Auguste simply congratulated him on his upcoming nuptials without adding any obscure threats. He used to do that a lot, much to Laurent’s chagrin, but now he knew Damen well enough to know he would never break his little brother’s heart.

There were Akielon dignitaries who were eager to speak with him when he entered the palace, but Auguste waved them off politely and told them he wanted to rest after a long journey. He was shown to his own chambers first, but Damen came back to accompany him to Laurent’s rooms before leaving again to start his own preparations for the wedding.

When Auguste entered the room, he found Laurent sitting in front of a vanity, flanked by servants who were fussing over his appearance. Laurent didn’t seem aware of Auguste’s presence. His back was to the door, and the flurry of activity around him disguised the sound of new footsteps. Auguste crept quietly across the room and gestured for the servants to give him more space. Then he sprang up behind Laurent and held him in place so he could ruffle his hair.

“Auguste!” Laurent gasped between fits of laughter. He tried to reach out to tickle Auguste, but when that proved to be ineffective, he twisted in his chair and tackled Auguste into an embrace. They both collapsed onto the floor in an ungainly heap, while the servants watched them in bewilderment. They must have made quite a sight, the King of Vere and the soon-to-be King of Akielos rolling around the floor, giggling like children.

“I thought you had forgotten about me already,” Laurent said once they both clamed down a bit.

“Of course not,” Auguste said, indignant. “I was going to come here on horseback if I had to.”

“I hope you didn’t exhaust any of the horses.”

“Aren’t you at least flattered to know that I would do anything for you?”

Laurent turned to fix him with a glare, and Auguste rolled his eyes in response.

“Calm down, the horses are fine. They are being spoiled at the palace as per usual.”

“Good,” Laurent said and picked himself off the floor. Then he held out a hand to help Auguste to his feet, all while teasing him about old age.

“You wound me, brother,” Auguste grumbled. His joints chose the perfect moment to creak, which only made Laurent laugh harder.

The servants moved towards them once they were both standing, presumably to resume their preparations, but Auguste waved them away. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his brother yet, so he held Laurent at arm’s length and simply looked at him. It’s been over two months since they last saw each other. Laurent’s hair was longer now, and there seemed to be a permanent blush adorning his cheeks, but other than that, he was still the same. And yet there was something different about him that Auguste couldn’t quite place.

It took him a while to realize it was his own perception that had changed. He no longer saw Laurent as a little brother, but as a young man about to get married. Auguste couldn’t help the tears that began to pool behind his eyes.

“Auguste,” Laurent said, exasperated. “If you cry, I will kick you out.”

“You’re getting married before me,” Auguste pointed out. “What happened to me having heirs and you reading books?”

Laurent shrugged. “I won’t be having heirs anytime soon, and I’ll still have my books. Perhaps you should take this as a sign and learn how to flirt properly. Damen and I could help—”

“Alright, enough of that,” Auguste cut him off. He had witnessed enough shameless flirting from them to last a lifetime. “You should be getting dressed already.”

Laurent’s wedding garment was made of ivory and gold. It brought out the startling shade of blue in his eyes and lent an ethereal glow to his silhouette. He was beautiful and resplendent, no longer his brother’s shadow, and Auguste was glad that people were finally going to see Laurent the way he was meant to be seen.

When Laurent was finally laced into his clothes, Auguste dismissed the servants and decided to add the finishing touches himself. He placed a circlet on Laurent’s head and pinned a golden lion brooch to his collar, then he guided Laurent in front of a floor-length mirror.

Laurent had never been one for extravagant events, but he looked happy now, excited even. It was something Auguste thought he would never see. He always lamented the fact that his brother was probably destined for an arranged marriage, so he silently thanked whichever stars were responsible for allowing Damen and Laurent to cross paths and fall in love.

“Are you ready?” Auguste asked.

Laurent said nothing and simply stared blankly at their reflections. For a moment, Auguste worried that he might be having second thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Much to his surprise, Laurent flung himself into his arms. Auguste was taken aback by the sudden embrace, but he hugged his brother back just as tightly. He thought he felt a dampness soaking into his collar, and he couldn’t help but comment on it. “Are you crying, brother? It looks like you’ll have to kick yourself out.”

“Shut up,” Laurent said, still clinging to him. “I just realized I’m going to miss you even though you’re so annoying.”

Auguste laughed. “I’m going to miss you too,” he said. “Be sure to visit me at least once a month or else I’ll sell all your horses.”

Laurent gave him a playful shove. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You better not force my hand then.”

“Fine,” Laurent said with a put-upon sigh, but he was smiling again.

“Come on,” Auguste held out his hand, and Laurent took it, following behind his brother as always. This time though, they weren’t shirking their duties to go riding, nor were they sneaking out of the palace for a late-night adventure.  It was a bittersweet realization, but right now, Auguste was just glad that Laurent found someone who loved him as much as he did.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (chapt. 5)

[Donnie x fem reader]

sfw, chapt. 4 here

Just as Donnie had predicted, the night air was cold on his scales. Right upon leaving, Mikey brought up to Leo going in pairs this time, to cover more ground, he said. An extra thorough patrol. Donnie honestly couldn't make up his mind and so by then he was flying by the seat of his pants, not objecting to Mikey's plan, but also not agreeing. He doubted Leo would be convinced, anyway. They didn't do duo patrols that often. 

"I was thinking we could split up this time, you know, me and Donnie, you and Raph?" suggested Mikey, closing the manhole behind himself.

"I thought you liked it when we're all together," Leo commented. 

Donnie shot Mikey a look, trying to tell him to cool it, but he shrugged, "Come on, it'll be like some kind of training or...something," Mikey went behind Leo and shook his shoulders, "aren't you into that?"

Internally, Donnie facepalmed. Unless he actively tried to stop this, it was going to happen, wasn't it? One way or another, probably; it all depended on how Leo was feeling that night. Raph was indifferent. He didn't care whether they were all together or in pairs, just that he got to flex his combat skills some. If he could, he'd go out and do it on his own, even. 

Leo looked around, considering Mikey's suggestion. "Okay," he agreed, eventually. "You and Donnie take East, Raph and I will cover the usual route and then—" 

"No," Mikey interjected. Both Leo and Raph's brows furrowed as they stared at their brother. He motioned toward Donnie, "Me and Donnie can take that, you guys just go on ahead," he smiled. "You know I like checking out the skatepark!" 

"No skating," Leo said. 

"I'll just watch whoever's there, then." He pouted.

Raph snorted. "Yeah, make sure he actually pays attention, Donnie." 

"As usual," Donnie sighed, and looked at Leo. 

"Well, what do you think, Don?" 

The decision is up to me? 

Turns out it was his all along, but he wanted to feign innocence in saying that Mikey was the one to drag him through it. Easier to not take responsibility and let life happen at you rather than making a conscious effort, at times. 

"I guess we can do that," Donnie answered reluctantly. He could have said no. Why didn't he? In the corner of his eye, he saw Mikey beam, giving him a discreet thumbs up. 

"Alright, meet back here by four AM, and if either of you run into big trouble, call. We'll come," Leo said. "Same for us."

"Yeah, we'll holler for ya," added Raph dismissively. "And nah, a big dog doesn't count as trouble, Mikey." He sounded gruff, but in actuality, he was still chuckling to himself over that years later. After they got over being annoyed that he had called them from that far while they were on a supply run. Chased by a junkyard dog—some of their least favorite parts about visiting those places. 

"Hey, it was mean! And way fast!" Mikey protested as they parted ways, them taking to the East and red and blue the opposite way. 

As per course, Donnie and Mikey took their normal route, and his heart skipped a beat when they met the scene of their last run-in with criminals. Not because of them, no, but because of the familiar apartment building that was now more intimidating than he'd expected. They circled the area like they normally would have, but Mikey came to stop them on a roof just opposite of the complex, eyes searching each window. Obscured by the height of the building, he sat on the edge. 

Donnie didn't know what to do with himself. He stood back a good ten feet, somehow paranoid of being spotted even though he knew it was not possible from their angle in the complex. Mikey was comfortable, and weirdly at peace as he sat there quietly on the edge, assumed to be waiting for his brother to make a move. But Donnie was stuck in place. 

"What are you waiting for, D?" 

The sudden question broke him from his stillness. It was true; he didn't know what he was waiting for. 

"I—I don't know what you want me to do, what are you thinking?" Donnie asked in return, stepping back a little further as he noticed movement behind the curtains of a lit window. 

"Get your phone out and talk to her," Mikey told him, waving his hand at the apartments. "What did we come out here for if you aren't gonna make it right, bro? Do some smooth talk, tell her you're sorry and you wanna get to know her better…"

"This is absolutely a ridiculous plan," Donnie said, though as if his hands had thought of their own, they reached for his phone, and a moment later he was looking at the messages. Still nothing. Radio silence on both of their ends. How would he approach it? "I'm sorry I went from hot to cold so fast. Please talk to me again." Too strong. "Sorry, can we get a redo?" Too casual. "I'd like to apologise for being a jerk." Okay, that's just not good. Reconciling was going to be as difficult as he'd thought it would be. 

Mikey came over and looked at his phone screen and his brother floundering, thumbs stuttering across the keyboard, deleting the text, retyping it over and over again for perfection where he wasn't going to find any–

"I got this, let Love Doctor Mikey handle it," he said, taking the phone right from Donnie's hand. 

"You've never been in a relationship, not even talked to anyone, how would you—" 

Mikey shushed him. Donnie was going to snatch the phone away but he spun around, draping himself over his shoulder.  "Just let me work my magic, dude!"  

Donnie couldn't watch; he had to turn away. How sure he was that Mikey was going to say something uncalled for, something weird or bone-headed, and the wait was killing him. What if she didn't even respond? Was that better than doing damage control for Mikey's shenanigans? For someone usually decisive, he could not for the life of him make up his mind about what he wanted at that very instance. 

The phone vibrated. 

Mikey cheered. "Got her on the line, now you just gotta reel 'em in," he grinned, handing the phone back to Donnie. 

"Hey :/

I thought you wanted to stop?"

Mikey kept trying to lean over to catch a glimpse of the screen, but Donnie felt that it was a personal moment, so without skipping a beat, he activated the electric current in his staff and poked it behind him into his brother's plastron. 

"Fine," Mikey whined. He stepped in one last time, "But don't hold out on me here!" 

Trying to find an graceful way to patch this all up, Donnie replied: 

"I apologise for that, and I know you probably want an explanation, but it's hard to explain

Moment of weakness? 

I guess... 

Anyway. I'm not expecting you to suddenly be cool with it, if you don't want to talk to me I understand 

Sorry."

Mikey noticed Donnie's dismal expression and he mellowed out accordingly, standing close but not putting a hand on him, nor saying anything. He didn't watch the phone, but Donnie's face and slumped shoulders. He'd thought it would have been going better by now. 

"I won't lie, I'm still confused 

But if you're going through something, I'm right here for you

Don't worry about it. Just don't give me a spook like that again, I thought it was me  

lol 

Okay it's not funny but this is a little awkward" 

Donnie's heart sank reading that. He'd made her feel bad, even question herself over his problem. Never had he wanted to make her think it was her that drove him off. 

"No, no, it was never you 

Again, I can't really explain…

Is it okay if we just try this again? 

I understand if not."

"Jeez Bo, I already said it's alright 

I WANT to keep talking to you, you're cool

So let's forget about it, yeah? 

Friends again :) "

And like that, his heart took a leap. A smile slowly spread across his face, and without looking away from the screen, grabbed Mikey by the shell, pulling him toward. "Look at this!" he exclaimed. 

"You see it too?" he quirked, pointing at the apartment complex across the road. 

Donnie paused and looked over his shoulder at him, "What?" 

On one of the balconies sat a lone girl, on her phone, and if Mikey looked hard enough, he could see a smile. Definitely a smile. 

"Ah!" yelped Donnie quietly. He scurried back against the wall of the attached building behind him, as far as he could. 

"Dude! Come on, this is perfect!" Mikey nudged him, and when he didn't hop up onto his feet, dragged his brother near the edge of the roof. Donnie was boneless but unwilling, his mind stuck on the fact that she thought he was cool. Him, cool. Was he? She didn't know even the half of it. She didn't know he was a martial artist, technically a genius, and that he'd gone against some of the worst the city had to offer. And without that, she still thought he was cool, as an average guy. 

As average as what my circumstances will allow me to be. 

Feet dragging all the way, Donnie's stomach did a flip as they met the ledge, peering carefully over it in a crouch. They were prone, watching the girl who was completely unaware of their presence. He was, simply put, enraptured, for a second there, studying her features as much as he could from where they were. The details of her face were not distinct due to the distance, but he could tell she was both nothing like he'd imagined and so much more. For once, he didn't immediately question the validity of the situation; there was no "it could be a coincidence", or "it's too unlikely that she would be out just as they were". Not right away. But it hit him when Mikey spoke. 

"You're so lucky, D," he said wistfully. "Really." Head rested on his forearm, his gaze fell on not one thing, but the whole scene, a somber smile gracing him. He was excited, happy for his brother. But deep down, Donnie knew that though Mikey wasn't envious of him in a resentful way, it had to have stung to witness such a thing unfold for someone not himself. Their youngest had always craved connection the most. He looked away from the girl, "I wasn't gonna let you throw away an awesome chance, was I?"

Releasing a heavy breath, Donnie crawled away from the edge, but his eyes remained on that balcony. It was weird to watch someone who didn't know they were being watched. Not in that context. 

"I...guess I may be," Donnie responded. But it would only get more complicated from there. His phone vibrated, breaking his trance, and the message he found read:

"Anyways, with that out of the way, what are you doing?"

Just watching you from a roof, nothing much, Donnie thought. 

"Currently out enjoying the night" 

"Isn't it kinda cold?" 

"What about you?" 

He knew what he meant, because he was there watching her as a chilled breeze rolled through, but she told him she wasn't doing anything. Only relaxing and talking to him. 

It took him a few minutes to get his bearings. To know that he now had tangible evidence that she was a girl, an ordinary person, and that said person really thought he was cool. Worth the effort. He felt exceedingly difficult for not being able to give her a rightful explanation, but comforted by the fact that he wasn't being demanded of one. He felt light. Almost weightless, with Mikey next to him instead of his other cynical, skeptical brothers. For a moment, he had nothing to worry about. 

From across the roof, he could still see the yawn escape her mouth. Probably an indicator that it was time to wrap things up. He didn't want her to stay up too late; it was already odd that she was up at such an hour, almost two AM, but glad nonetheless. 

"Are you tired?"

"Yeah

I think I'm gonna hit the hay

So goodnight, Bo

Talk to you later (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞" 

She got up, leaning on the railing which faced them. 

"I want to stay up with you but—"

Donnie sucked in a sharp breath as she looked up, just barely able to see from underneath the balcony above her. He snagged the strap on Mikey's shell and yanked him back with him away from the edge of the roof, taking cover behind the wall. 

"Shit," hissed Donnie, "do you think she saw us?" 

These shells, they make us look so big! 

"Relax, bro, even if she did, it was only a little bit. Besides, we could be anyone from this far, they don't have pigeon vision." 

"You mean 'eagle vision'?" 

"They're both birds!"

Donnie deadpanned and peeked over the wall. She'd gone in. Three minutes later, he hadn't gotten any texts yet about something weird on the rooftops, so he could finally relax, groaning lightly. "Too close," he breathed out, "Mikey, we need to go, Leo's going to notice we're not back in time if we don't hurry up and get the rest of this route done."

"Already on it," he whooped, vaulting onto the next roof.

As Donnie was scaling the wall of the attached building, he felt his phone vibrate, and curious, he checked it one last time before getting on his way.

"One question before I go

You ever see stuff you can't explain but even if you did you'd sound crazy?"

Oh, no.

"No, I don't."

Chapter 6

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 28th of July 2021

This is speculation only

Cards drawn 28th of July 2021

I am putting this reading under a cut so you can skip over it if you want. I can not emphasise enough that this is speculation only.

Question: Was Prince Charles sexually involved with Meghan Markle in any way?

I did a private draw on this this reading around November last year, and the answer I got then was that Meghan definitely offered, but I couldn't tell whether Charles had taken her up on the offer or not. Yesterday, the question and prior reading came to my mind after I read a comment on one of my other recent readings, and the question tugged at me until I drew cards on it. I was looking for further clarification on the 'did he or didn't he' aspect. I was expecting a No, he did not, but what I got was very different.

Interpretation: At the very least, there was some heavily sexually charged flirting going on. There are several indications that this went further.

Card One: The King of Swords. This is a person who is very good at strategy and cold, rational thinking uninfluenced by any emotions or even morality. The person on the card is Odysseus (Greek) or Ulysses (Roman), the King of Ithaca who spent ten years getting home after the Trojan wars because he had angered the gods. His voyage took him to many perilous situations, and he had to use all his wits and guile to get out of them, with some methods being not exactly honest. He was seen by the Greeks as a master of strategy but called 'cruel' and 'deceitful' by the Romans.

This energy from this card is that of Meghan's attitude to flirting/being sexually available to Charles. Like the two faces of Odysseus, she pursued what she saw as good strategy even though it involved being deceitful and even cruel to others. She thought that this behaviour was the best strategy to get get her what she wanted, and she went for it. The fact that Charles was married to Camilla and she was engaged/married to Harry did not bother her one bit.

Card Two: The Devil. The figure on this card is of Pan, the god of nature and of your most basic instincts. The Devil itself is a card of being bound to addictions - sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling - and/or of following your most base level desires. it can mean being in an toxic relationship, being codependent, having toxic behaviours, habits and/or thought patterns. It can represent an inordinate love of luxury.

The Devil is the card for the sign of Capricorn, and it can mean the negative Capricorn traits of social climbing, obtaining higher social status at whatever cost, flaunting brands to show wealth and prestige, and so on.

I am getting two energies from this card. The first is Meghan. She was definitely sexually available to Charles if he so wished, and I think she was hoping to get Charles dependent on her or in her control using sex. She did this for the benefits Charles could give her - money, including her in royal events she would not have otherwise attended, money, possibly access to State jewellery, money, overseas tours, and money.

The second energy is of a base level sexual desire - I see, I want, I f*ck - nothing more complicated than that. This seems to be the level at which Charles would be operating if he took Meghan up on her offers, i.e. nothing more than the desires of the moment, like a drunken fling. I think he would be ashamed of himself afterwards, but it wouldn't stop him coming back for more if he wanted to. I feel that Charles has poor control over his desire for other women, so it is hard for him to turn down offers that he finds attractive. It is coming through very strongly that this is low-level sex, the gratification of the desires of the moment that does not last beyond the act itself.

When I was shuffling the cards, I said that if Meghan and Charles were sexually involved, to give me the devil card, and it appeared in the spread. I will leave you to draw your own conclusions from that.

Card Three: The Five of Wands. This is a card of conflict. It shows Jason and Medea fighting the dragon who guarded the golden fleece. Jason was only able to complete his quest with the help of Medea. He ended up abandoning her so he could marry another King's daughter, which would help him financially and politically.

The energy from this card is one of conflict, and the conflict is between a couple who have passed through troubled times together, as Jason and Medea did. The conflict was definitely caused by Meghan's flirting (and anything else that was offered). One half of the couple was worried that the other half would neglect them and their interest in favour of Meghan - that they would end up abandoned as Medea was.

In this conflict, Meghan is the dragon, who is trying to destroy the couple. I don't think Meghan set out to destroy the relationship, but she definitely knew about the conflict she was causing (as the dragon knew who was fighting it), and I am getting that it gave her joy that she was the source of the conflict.

Card Four: The Two of Cups. This is a card about relationships, of choosing to be in a relationship, of long term, enduring romantic relationships, and of starting a new relationship, and of reconciliations in relationships. The card shows the god Eros rescuing Psyche from where she was left to be devoured by a monster, a 'knight in shining armour' act that was the start of a long journey of growing into a mature relationship.

The main energy I get from this card is that of a long term relationship, and of reconciliation - overcoming trials to be together, as happened with Eros and Psyche, with the relationship changing as a result of those trials. The clarifiers show that the relationship is Camilla's long term relationship with Charles.

As the Two of Cups comes after the Five of Wands, this tells me that the conflict of the Five of Wands has affected the relationship shown by the Two of Cups. The conflict hasn't broken up the relationship, but it has been something that called for some sort of reconciliation in this long term relationship. Camilla and Charles have had to work together to reaffirm their commitment to each other and to heal the damage caused to their relationship by the conflict shown in the Five of wands.

As a card of new relationships, this card suggests that the conflict of the Five of Wands is based on the fact that Charles did have a relationship, however fleeting, with Meghan.

I drew two clarifiers for this card:

Clarifier One: The Five of Swords. The card shows Orestes being confronted with his duty by Apollo, a duty that is an impossible choice - he must kill his mother to avenge his father, but that will mean invoking the wrath of the Furies, as matricide is a sin against the gods. The card is about a situation that means that even when you win, there is a sense of loss.

The energy I am getting from this card is one of duty. Camilla will stay with Charles, as she sees that as her duty (and she does love him), but she stays knowing that he is susceptible to advances from other women, even after all these years together. Her 'winning' by keeping her relationship with Charles is accompanied by a sense of loss, as the trust between the two of them has been damaged. They can reconcile, but the relationship will never be what it was before Meghan's flirting and whatever else happened between her and Charles.

Clarifier Two: The Queen of Cups. This is a water sign person, particularly a Cancer, and in this spread it represents Camilla, who is a sun sign Cancer and in a long term romantic relationship with Charles. The Cups suit represents feelings in the tarot, and I think Camilla definitely has Feelings about this situation.

Card Five: The Ace of Wands. This card is about an upsurge of new creative energy, and in this reading it is sexual energy. The figure on the cards is Zeus, the chief god of Olympus who was well known for not being able to keep it in his pants, and he is holding a thick wooden staff that is spurting fire/creative energy everywhere. It does not get much more sexual than that.

Zeus represents Prince Charles, as in this deck the gods usually represent members of the BRF, and Zeus is the chief god just as Prince Charles is now the top ranking male in the BRF. There was definitely sexual energy between Charles and Meghan. Whether Charles acted upon that energy - the card says yes rather than no (as per the imagery in the above paragraph), but I am having trouble believing that, so if you are as well, I do not blame you.

This card, and especially Zeus on the card, reminds me of Charles's sexual past, and the stories about him having Camilla as his girlfriend and anyone who took his fancy on the side, and later on having Diana as his wife and Camilla as his mistress. The theme of Camilla having to share him with another woman/women is what stands out to me.

Underlying Energy One: The Tower. This is the card of s sudden, shocking event that destroys part of your life and leaves you to rebuild it from rubble. The card shows the god Poseidon, the lord of the sea, destroying a tower. The sea imagery is standing out to me, and this tells me that this tower moment is all about feelings (as water represents feelings), tumultuous feelings that echo the rough sea. Poseidon was also a god known for his fertility and his rampant sexuality.

I think that Charles's actions towards Meghan have stirred up some very strong feelings in Camilla, and as a result his relationship with Camilla was badly damaged. He may also have damaged his relationship with other family members by favouring Meghan, especially in the area of money. Both he and Camilla would have to work to rebuild their relationship after the damage caused by Meghan.

Underlying Energy Two: The World. This is a card about the end of a cycle. It is time to pause, reflect on the past, celebrate the success, and then to go forward from here. The energy I am getting from this card is very much 'the end of cycle' and not 'celebrate the success (of the end of a long term project)'. With the tower moment, something in the relationship between Charles and Camilla has come to an end. The relationship will continue, but something within it is over and has moved into a new way of being. It can not go back to how it was pre-Meghan.

Confirmation Spread: After I finished this spread, I asked again if Charles was sexually involved with Meghan, and I said if he was to give me the Devil or the Lovers card. I shuffled and drew the three cards shown under the spread:

1. The King of Cups, which is a water sign card, especially a Scorpio, and here represents Prince Charles, a sun sign Scorpio

2. The Lovers - The Lovers is a card about values and choices, especially choices in love. Do we choose relationships from a mature perspective, based on our long term values and beliefs, or do we choose them from an immature perspective, according to our base desires of the moment?

3. The King of Wands, which is a fire sign person, particularly a Leo, and here stand for Meghan, a sun sign Leo.

So we have Prince Charles, The Lovers, and Meghan.

I think the conclusion is obvious.

Conclusion: From the above cards, as much as I do not want to believe it, I have to conclude that Prince Charles and Meghan most likely had one or more sexual encounters - or at the very least, that the offer was there, it was blatant, and Charles was considering taking her up on it.

Meghan was willing to make herself available to Prince Charles sexually as a matter of strategy, to get more money and benefits from him. Prince Charles considered the offer and/or took her up on the offer from a base-level sexual impulse - the satisfaction of the desire of the moment. This act caused tension and conflict between Charles and Camilla, as Camilla thought that she and her interests would be neglected in favour of Meghan. It caused a rift and a coldness in their relationship. Even if what was between Charles and Meghan was just heavy flirting with the offer of sex, it still caused a rift between Charles and Camilla. Once again, Camilla was sharing Charles with another woman.

This event/offer/situation was a Tower moment for Charles, something that damaged his marriage and while the damage could be repaired, something in the relationship has changed and/or ended. It will not be the same as it was before Meghan's advances (whether Charles succumbed to them or not).

Note: I will be revisiting this question in a few weeks, if only privately, to see if I get the same answer or not.

[cripplingaddictions]

Bakugo x Reader: Confession

Summary: After Bakugo’s mental breakdown with Midoriya outside the dorms, you take it upon yourself to get him to open up. Of course it isn’t easy, but you two had known each other for years. Bakugo realises how he really feels and claims you as his own.

Rating: SFW

Genre: Fluff, angst, lime

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: I love comfort fluff and tending to wound tropes... and I also used the headcanon that Bakugo needs hearing aids, so that is included in this fic. I’m also sorry about the slow updates... I’ll have some headcanons out for haikyuu in the new future so stay tuned!

The crisp night air flooded through the open windows as you held a warm drink in your chilly hands. A fluffy blank landed on your shoulders as Mina deposited them off to everyone. You shifted yourself to meet Mina’s extraordinary eyes, nodding in thanks. Mina returned with a cheery smile of her own.

All the girls of 1A populated the couches, basking in the much needed warmth. A few boys sat amongst you, such as Kaminari, Kirishima, Ojiro, and Sero. Mineta desperately cried for help, wrapped in a cocoon of Sero’s tape after a perverted comment directed at Momo. Todoroki did as he always did, awkwardly standing slightly adjacent to the lively group, a keen but kind eye flickering between classmates as they contributed to the conversation.

“Everyone!” Iida marched up to your group, “Leaving the windows open in this weather is incredibly irresponsible! You will all get a cold!” His rapidly chopping hands paused momentarily to hurriedly pull all the windows shut.

“Thanks, emergency exit!” Kirishima waved at the class representative. A satisfied expression washed over Iida’s face.

You rolled your eyes, slightly smiling at them, before taking a prolonged sip of your warm beverage. Without spilling it, you pulled your legs up on the couch to cross them.

The class was happily celebrating a successful hero licensing exam. All but Bakugo and Todoroki. Hagakure and Momo had insisted they could join you too. It didn’t surprise you that Todoroki showed up but Bakugo didn’t, for one of them took it a lot worse than the other.

Bakugo was your childhood friend, knowing him since forever. There wasn’t a time you didn’t know each other, but not quite outdating him knowing Midoriya. You never really announced yourselves as “friends”, per se. It more so happened by consistently interacting, never really introducing yourselves. One of those friendships that “just happened”, neither of you remembering when you really met each other. Turns out, your mothers had been friends for years prior.

As you two grew older, and Bakugo became more and more like... himself, you did not condemn for anything he would say to Midoriya, being quirkless. Luckily, you happened to manifest a fairly powerful quirk, so he never judged you for it. He could never find himself to explode at you whenever you told him to back off. He may yell, but it never went further than petty insults. Of course, Mitsuki would have been appalled with him if he did. She definitely had a soft spot for you.

Once starting at UA, Bakugo’s ego slowly but surely began to deflate. He began to obtain standards, something that surprised you plenty. You noticed how he acted around Kirishima. That was when you realised the difference between how he treated all his peers. He seemed to rank them - most worthy of his friendship and time to least. Upon witnessing Kirishima - someone pretty high in those “ranks” - interact with him, you noticed the outside perspective. How nice he was to you and Kirishima, compared to people like Midoriya.

Eventually, you grew an odd feeling in your chest whenever he showed up to class. Top buttons undone and without a tie. Or when you caught a glimpse of his ember swirling eyes. Not to mention during training, rocking up in that hero costume of his.

You even began to play a little game. Testing him to see how long you could pester, order, or genuinely annoy him before he literally exploded at you. More and more of late, that time stretched. Unfortunately, your little experiment didn’t go unnoticed. All the girls of 1A knew, questioning you about it. You passed it off as something you thought would be funny. Only Mina saw right through you. She knew you liked him and constantly teased you about it to no end. Midoriya and Kirishima were the only others to notice you pushing his buttons more than usual lately.

Uraraka’s voice broke through your elaborate train of thought, “Y/N...”

“Yeah?” You answered.

“Do you have any idea where Deku is?” Her voice trembled slightly, her cheeks going slightly pinker as she rubbed the back of her neck. She couldn’t be more obvious about her crush on Midoriya, so you had nothing to worry about. “He hasn’t come back since Bakugo said he wanted to talk to him. I’m kind of worried about him.”

A huff left your lips, “In all honesty, I am too. There’s no telling what Bakugo wanted to talk to him about.”

“He might be seeking girl advice,” Mina chimed in, sending a sly wink in your direction.

You immediately took a long sip of your drink, hoping the cup hid your slight blush as you furrowed your eyebrows at Mina.

“I highly doubt it,” Tsuyu placed a finger to her chin in thought, “I’m not sure that Bakugo would need that kind of advice. Especially not from Midoriya.” Your gaze fell.

“He probably wants to kill him,” Jirou shrugged her shoulders, taking a sip from her own drink.

Jirou’s comment silenced the group of 1A girls. Only condescending sipping of drinks and the guys chattering filled your ears. Your attention left your drink to the sound of shuffling feet approaching. Bright yellow eyes met yours when the source of the shuffling feet sat beside you.

“Ladies,” Kaminari’s smooth voice wooed as he rested his arms on the back of the couch, “What’re you guys talking about?”

Dyed red hair, held up by a graphic bandana, flashed your peripheral vision as Kirishima took a seat next to you. He pouted slightly when you flashed him an almost sarcastic smile. The pout couldn’t mask that he could see right through you. Worry for Bakugo plagued your mind. There was no doubt Midoriya had improved his ability to use his quirk. If Bakugo had indeed wanted to fight him, he definitely underestimated him.

“I’m sure he’s just in bed, Y/N,” Kirishima placed a hand on your shoulder, “It is way past eight-thirty.”

You stifled a small giggle, nodding at Kirishima’s words and mentally thanked him for his optimistic nature. You continued to sip your drink in silence, occasionally tuning in to Mina and Kaminari’s chaotic conversation. Overall, you felt the homeliness of this family created through 1A. A homeliness soon to be destroyed.

A loud bang caused everyone to close their mouths, the worst case scenario filled your head. Luckily, when you followed it to its source, it came to a slammed door. An easy answer came to your mind; the wind. However, standing before the door stood Bakugo and Midoriya. Both definitely looking a bit rough around the edges. A gauze on each cheek, they looked defeated. They refused to reach each other’s eyes, or any other pair staring them.

You cautiously planted your cup on the coaster before you, as if you were afraid of agitating Bakugo, easily spotting the anger and emotion in his ruby eyes.

“Bakugo and Midoriya!” Iida rushed over to them in a flash, his arms chopping up and down in anger, “Where on earth have you been? Why do you look like you just got into another brawl with some villains?”

“Shut the hell up, four-eyes,” Bakugo snapped, grumbling to himself. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, before storming past the couches.

Before anyone could stop you, you leapt to your feet. Your drink left behind, you rushed after Bakugo. The blanket around your shoulders flowed behind you like a cape, you called out to the angry blond, “Bakugo!”

Bakugo ignored you, continuing up the stairs. Hurriedly, you sped up the stairs and overtook him.

Your body blocked his, “Bakugo, what the hell happened?”

His head continued to hang low, his blond hair falling to obscure his eyes from view as you desperately tried to meet them. Scratches, grazes and cuts littered his face and arms, some covered up with gauze. The two gauzes on his cheeks mirrored each other, lightly stained in blood. Dust and dirt smudged up his arms; his wounds weren’t properly cleaned. His hands stuffed in his baggy sweatpants shook slightly, from both physical and emotional pain.

“Shut up, Y/N,” Bakugo’s wavering voice protested, failing at any attempted aggression, “I don’t need to tell you shit.”

You heaved in a shaky breath, “True, but I want to know. I might be able to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” his voice raised, causing you to step back. You really wished you could see his eyes, to see what kind of pain he was in.

“You won’t know that until you tell me what’s wrong,” you sighed, trying your best to stay calm and not snap back.

“Get out of my way...”

Bakugo harshly barged his shoulder into yours, causing you to stumble to the side slightly. You stepped after him as he continued to his dorm, the most likely place you imagined he would storm off to. You caught up again, flinging an arm out in front of him. His warm, sweaty hand latched onto your forearm. Your heart skipped a beat, relishing the ironically soft touch.

However, the softness of his touch contradicted his tone, “Y/N, move... right now...”

“Bakugo!” You cried, not afraid of the slightly startled boy before you. 

You didn’t budge or flinch as you laced your fingers between the ones he gripped onto your forearm with. With a soft touch, you lifted his chin upwards to get a perfect view of his face. 

His cut up face held the softest expression you had ever seen. No crease sat between his eyebrows, grazes over his forehead. The gauzes taped to his cheeks hid the worst of his face injuries, letting a small amount of blood to seep through it. His eyes glistened with tears, about to be spilt. They stung red, from previous tears.

Katsuki Bakugo stood before you, with tears in his eyes.

The Katsuki Bakugo.

“You can tell me, you know,” You hushed, once his bloodshot eyes met your sympathetic ones, “I’ve always been there for you, like when you got your hearing aids.”

One hand still holding his, you let the other one slip up to expose the small black device in his left ear. It wrapped around the back, resting behind his ear. A soft sympathetic smile graced your features, as Bakugo squeezed his eyes shut. He entered a vulnerable state, allowing you to wrap an arm around his lower neck and pull him into a hug.

“Please...” You whispered, “It’s better if you let it all out.”

Bakugo awkwardly stepped out of the hug, slipping his hand out of your grip. His eyebrows creased again, squinting his eyes to hold back any tears. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and refused to meet your eyes again.

“I’m just fucking pissed!” He raised his voice again, “I’m pissed at myself. At damn Deku! How did he become someone so damn special? And I didn’t!? When I finally get fucking recognised for something... it’s because I ended All Might! Why me?”

Your breath hitched. All of Bakugo’s pain unloaded onto you. All Might’s end happened a small while ago. He held this guilt in for that long? No wonder he was angry. In a way, you felt privileged and relieved Bakugo opened up to you. You always tried to be there for him. You wished you could have been there earlier, to stop him ever feeling like this in the first place.

“Bakugo...” You hushed his uneven breathing. It almost sounded like he was about to have a panic attack, “You couldn’t have prevented it. No one knew that it was going to happen. The last person who should be blaming themselves is you.”

“I could have done something! All I did was stand and watch. I left as soon as I saw you call out to me. Damn it!”

“Look at me, Bakugo,” digging into his pockets, you removed his hands from them and held them in your own, “If you didn’t leave when I called you, not only All Might would have ended. You would have too. And I don’t know what I would ever do if you did.”

A sharp inhale came from Bakugo’s parted lips, before he trailed off, “Da-damn it...”

“I care about you, Baku,” you let your thumbs run small uncoordinated circles on the back of his warm veiny hands. You couldn’t force yourself to look into his eyes, afraid of how he would respond. “I care more than you can ever imagine.”

“I- I-, fuck...” He couldn’t form sentences, let alone words. You, of course, couldn’t blame him. Not only because of his current emotional state, but you knew it would take a little bit more to get something so sincere out of Bakugo.

“It’s okay,” you finally met his red eyes, trying to mask the glossiness of your own, “It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings... I won’t take it too harshly.”

A small cocky grin slid its way onto Bakugo’s disheartened features, “Who said I didn’t, baka.”

Little giggles left your mouth as you wrapped your arms around his neck. A newfound sense of confidence filled you. Not only did you let the burden of your confession lift off your chest, but he reciprocated the feelings. You couldn’t wait to tell Mina all about it.

“Now...” All sadness and sorrow had drained from Bakugo, a sudden huskiness melted off his words, “Let me claim you as mine.”

“Wait, wha-” Without warning, Bakugo cut you off by pushing you forward towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. A small laugh left you again upon witnessing the determination - no matter what it was for - return to Bakugo. The Katsuki Bakugo you knew and loved was back.

Without letting go of your wrist, Bakugo frantically pressed the elevator button, “Hurry up, you damn elevator!”

“Yelling at it want make it come faster, you know.”

“Shut up, Y/N.”

Once the elevator pinged, the doors slid open. Bakugo rushed you inside, turning around to watch as the doors slid shut again. No words were spoken, both of you urgently watching the elevator travel up to the level his dorm stood located in. You adjusted your hand in Bakugo’s grip, only for him to squeeze your hand tighter. The small action caused a tiny smile to tug at your lips in satisfaction. Damn, it felt good to finally have him.

The travelling between the elevator and Bakugo’s dorms happened so quickly it was all a blur. The only thing you knew was the sound of the door slamming behind you, before you were back up against the wall beside it.

Bakugo’s rough, calloused hands pinned your wrists to your side. There was no time to protest before the gap between you two closed. Your lips roughly fought against his a loosing battle. His lips felt chapped but soft at the same time. The taste of nitroglycerin lingered between your lips, the smell of caramel wafting into your nostrils. His hands let go of your wrists, finding a new home firmly on your hips only to press you further against the wall. Hands now free, they rushed into his hair. Silky blond locks weaved in and out of your fingers before you ran them down his neck to grip his shoulders.

The tickling of his tongue on your bottom lip begged your lips open, allowing it to slip inside your mouth. You desperately fought against his rough movements, only to lose. He took complete dominance as he slipped a knee between your thighs and propped you even further up the wall. In retaliation, you wrapped your legs around his waist, so he supported your full weight. Your crotch shamelessly pressed against his lower abdomen.

A gasp left your mouth as his warm hands glided up your curves and beneath your shirt. Bakugo’s skilled fingers ran patterns on the soft skin of your back, sending countless satisfied shivers up your spine. Your mouths continued to move in sink as his fingers slid along the skin just beneath your bra. The moan that escaped your mouth sent a wicked smirk onto Bakugo’s lips. Without warning, Bakugo’s lips left yours and attached to the soft skin of your jaw. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access to trail kisses down the curve of your neck. At the same time, one of his hands ran to the clasp of your bra. He fiddled with it, desperately trying to unclasp it before he gave up and detached his warm mouth from your neck.

“Damn it,” his warm moist breath tickled your neck, “How does this shitty thing work?”

You let a laugh leave your lips as you arched your back for your own hands to slip up your shirt. In an instant, you had detached it. The bra lacked straps, causing it to immediately drop to the floor.

A growl left Bakugo as he began sucking on the soft flesh of your neck. His warm, wet tongue pressed and flicked against it. The occasional sensation of his teeth grazing over your neck made a shiver slide up your spine. Bakugo’s large hands travelled back to the front, fanning over you exposed breasts. They travelled over them until he lightly fondled them in his hand, squeezing gently. Your hands on his shoulders quickly gripped onto the fabric of his black tank top. One of his thumbs flicked over your hardened nipple, causing his name to fall from your mouth in a pleasurable moan.

Bakugo greedily grunted, whispering against your neck, “Yeah, I like that, Y/N...”

His tongue continued to trail over your skin, sucking and flicking until he pulled away. Your eyes fluttered open, leaning down to press your forehead against his. Slowly, Bakugo’s hands trailed back down your sides and pulled out of your shirt. Your feet made it safely back down to the ground. When you attempted to meet Bakugo’s eyes, you found them trailing over purple bruises covering your neck, continuing up to the start of your jaw.

“Now you’re mine,” Bakugo brought you into a safe hug, letting you rest your head into the crevice of his neck. Your eyes squeezed shut again, delving yourself completely into his sent of caramel.

“As far as first kisses go,” you teased, letting a cheeky grin slide onto your face, “that wasn’t half bad.”

“Damn well, it wasn’t half bad!” His voice lifted higher, a familiar angry tone taking over. An even bigger smile came to your face once you realised he had almost completely forgotten the predicament he was in previously. “That better have been the best kiss ever!”

A little string of laughs left you, “Yeah, yeah. It was the best. You got me there.”

The silence continued for a little longer, until Bakugo retreated out of the hug. He cleared his throat before turning away from you. You took the opportunity to rush to his mirror, observing the damage he had done. A dozen or so purple hickies littered across your neck. They travelled all the way to your jaw and almost your ears. It would take a lot of foundation to cover those up, you thought.

“I’m definitely yours, it seems,” you turned to Bakugo, who only grunted, “I almost look as beat up as you.”

“I’m fine,” came his reply.

“You still need to clean those wounds and cover them up.”

“I don’t need Recovery Girl.”

“No, we shouldn’t bother Recovery Girl right now. I’d be happy to do it for you in the girls bathroom. Mr Aizawa is long gone, don’t worry about him catching us.”

“What about your annoying extras?”

“If any of the girls come in, I’m sure they’ll understand and make a pretty quick exit. I promise.”

Bakugo huffed in reply as you tilted your head in the direction of the door. You made your way to the door. As you reached out for the door handle, a bundle of black was thrown at you.

“Cover up, damn it,” Bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets and joined you by the door, “You don’t even have a bra on.”

“Oh, yeah,” you hurriedly unfolded the black clothing item, to find it was one of Bakugo’s plain black hoodies. You slipped it over your head and let it drop down a little further than your hoodies usually would. Caramel scent engulfed you, making it clear it hadn’t been washed since the last wear. Normally, that would disgust you, but it was your boyfriend’s. You plotted how long you were going to hold onto it in your head as you bundled the hood around your neck.

You gestured to yourself, only to receive a shrug from Bakugo. The shrug couldn’t hide the tiny reddish tint on his cheeks from the sight of you in his clothes. A victorious smile made it to your face, and you opened the door.

The journey to the girl’s bathrooms was uninterrupted. You led him there, linking pinkies the whole way. He hesitated to walk through the door, after all it was the female bathroom. The door shut suddenly behind you as you pointed Bakugo to sit on the bathroom counter. Swinging open the cabinet above the sink, you pulled out a small box of first aid supplies. You placed you hands on your hips after allocating the box a spot next to Bakugo.

“Take your shirt off,” you demanded, the authoritative tone desperately hiding the redness of your ears.

“Why?” Bakugo grumbled, mocking you with arms crossed.

“So I can see if you have any further injuries,” You opened the first aid box, pulling out a dry rag. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Bakugo lifting his tank top over his head to reveal his toned chest and abs as you ran cold water over the rag. Wringing it of excess water, you turned to see him checking himself over for any injuries.

“Nothing,” Bakugo bluntly replied.

“Yes, but your ribs are bruised,” you pointed at the green patches of flesh along his sides. The mirror didn’t indicate any wounds or bruises on his back. Without warning, you dragged the moist rag over the bruises. A few droplets of water rolled down his chiseled stomach as he pulled back.

“That shit is cold!” Bakugo exclaimed, “I’m getting wet now, damn it!”

“It’s a rag with water, what did you expect?” You hummed, continuing to trace the bruised ribs softly with the rag. You leaned over the counter to grab hold of his closest hand, resting your sover it. “Stay still.”

Once you had finished, you gently gripped one of his forearms. The cloth traced his skin, washing it clean. You had to scrub it softly at some points, but avoided any of the open grazes and cuts. You travelled the cloth to run over his biceps, this time lightly dabbing at the largest graze. Your skilled hands couldn’t hide the blush on your face, especially with his fiery eyes watching your every move. They occasionally shifted to your concentrated features.

The cloth quickly passed over his shoulders and chest, before repeating the process on his other arm. This one wasn’t as scratched up as the other, making your job a lot simpler. Once you finished, you took a step back over to the sink.

“You’re probably gonna hate what I’m about to do,” you sighed, wringing out the rag after rinsing it.

“What are you gonna do?” He demanded, less agitated than he usually would be.

You didn’t answer with words but with your actions. Stopping the dripping of the rag, you dragged it around the gauze on his cheek. His hand swiped up, grabbing your wrist and pulling my hand away from his face.

“Die shitty rag! How dare you come near my face!”

A full hearted laugh left your lips, your head tilting back, “I’m trying to help you, baka. Please let me.”

Bakugo studied your face for a short while, until he ripped his eyes away, “Fine.” He left his cheek exposed, letting you place the rag back onto it. All the dust and ash had been scrubbed from his cheeks and nose. You softly dragged the rag over his forehead, softly dabbing it over a shallow graze. Once, your hand pulled away, you leaned up to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Are you done?” Bakugo rolled his eyes, pressing his bare back against the mirror.

You shook your head, “Nope. Not even close.” You placed the damp rag in the sink, digging around in the first aid box again. Bakugo groaned in annoyance, causing you to smile and shake your head again.

Cold plastic slipped between your finger tips - a small bottle of antiseptic. Pulling it out, you placed a few cotton balls next to it. Carefully, you dropped a small amount of antiseptic onto the cotton ball. You lifted it towards Bakugo, who grimaced at the sight.

“I can’t promise this won’t hurt,” you hissed in empathy, hesitantly detaching he hand from the counter. Pulling his arm closer, you dabbed the cotton ball onto one of the shallow grazes on his forearm.

Bakugo immediately pulled back, “Antiseptic can die!” You smiled, knowing that was his way of saying that it stung.

“It’s gonna sting a little bit,” you rolled your eyes, “I did tell you that.”

Your hand swiped out to grab his wrist in it again as he constantly ripped it away, “Katsuki Bakugo! It’ll get infected and hurt even more if you don’t let me do this!” You exclaimed in a playful seriousness.

“Say that again,” the grimace on Bakugo!s face dropped, his features now softer.

“It’ll get infected?”

“No, baka. My name.”

“Your name? Katsuki Bakugo?”

The smirk on his face now unmistakable, he placed a hand on your waist, “Yeah, call me Katsuki. I like when you say my name.”

A similar smirk crossed your face as you placed a hand over his on your waist. Without warning him, you took the cotton ball and frantically dabbed it onto the next graze. Katsuki grunted, whipping his arm out of your reach.

His eyes remained glued in the victimised graze, “What the hell? That was a dirty trick!”

“It worked, though,” you replied, drenching a new cotton ball in antiseptic, “That’s all that matters.”

“Whatever.”

Eventually, he gave up fighting against you, allowing you to finish applying antiseptic to grazes and cuts on his arms and shoulders without much fuss. You left the injuries covered by the gauze on his cheeks alone, immediately tending to the largest and most tender graze on his forehead. With your free hand, you pushed back his blond hair that shaded it. You kept that hand lovingly caressing the start of his hairline, while the other hesitantly dabbed at the graze.

Katsuki hissed through his teeth, causing you to slip your hand down the side of his face. You held his cheek in your palm and sent him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” you placed the cotton ball down into the small pile of used ones under Katsuki’s observant gaze.

“I think I’m going to leave that one exposed. It needs to dry out to heal properly,” you explained thoroughly. A grunt left Katsuki as you pulled out more gauzes and a roll of bandage.

After a silent moment, you had successfully wrapped up his entire right forearm in a bandage. A large gauze covered a wide but shallow graze on his left shoulder and a couple of smaller ones littered over some small ones on his left bicep.

As you began to quietly pack up the first aid box, you felt a pair of arms slide around your waist. You stood on your tippy-toes to place it back in the cabinet, only for the limbs to wrap around you tighter. Katsuki’s breathtaking red eyes met yours in the reflection of the mirror, where you swayed in his arms in contentment.

“When I’m let off this shitty house arrest,” Katsuki grumbled into your marked neck from your previous activities, “I’m taking you out.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, leaning your head against his, “I’d love to, Katsuki.”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

A giggle left your lips, leaving both of you happy as you stood in each other’s arms.

[outroego-hobi]

(Gift) For You. 🎁 | jjk

➳ Pairing: jungkook x reader

➳ Genre: fluff, established!relationship AU

➳ Word Count: 2.1k

➳ Synopsis: Jungkook seems to be on edge a few hours before the clock strikes 12 at Christmas.

➳ Warnings: some cursing (it’s just a few words)

A/N: Here it is, my first fic! I was planning on posting this at least 2-3 days before Christmas, but I had a lot of doubt with this one. 🙁 I know that this is still lacking in (many) ways, but I hope you still enjoy reading it. 🥺 I hope this isn’t too late as a Christmas treat. Happy holidays! 🎄🎁 

(gif not mine, credits to the owner!)

Things are doing great, well, fine, perfect, IF you were to ask him, but in reality, Jungkook is panicking.

He made sure everything is perfect, from your couch filled with pillows and blankets that are meant only to be ‘used during Christmas’ (as per your words), your favorite holiday songs playing softly in the background, and of course, the 7 feet Christmas tree that serves to be the star of your living room, filled with ornaments and polaroid photos of you together, some with his hyungs, your and his family, and friends. He made sure that all of your requests are granted, as he wanted to make this celebration perfect. But one thing is missing. Perhaps one of the most important thing. His gift. For you. His gift for you is missing. Gone. Nada.

That brings us to the current situation, with him pacing around the living room, trying to find that small, silver box wrapped with a green and red ribbon, and a greeting card attached to it. How could that small box be gone out of all things?! At this time?! He tried looking everywhere, on every corner, but it seems like luck really isn’t on his side today. “Okay Jungkook, think, think, think. Where did you last put it?” He told himself, while trying not to go on full panic mode and trash the whole living room he just arranged. He was muttering to himself, concentrating heavily on remembering that he didn’t realize the front door opening and closing.

“I’m home!”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. I’m doomed.” He hurriedly went to the hallway, almost tripping on his way, leading to the front door, immediately leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, trying to act as calm as he possibly can.

“Yeah I know, I heard the door, opening and closing, you know?” He snorted, staring at you by the wall with his body leaning on it, arms crossed, making his biceps flex under his thin, (almost) see-through shirt. “Well, a little help wouldn’t hurt you know? These bags aren’t very light, thank you very much.” You stomped your foot on the rug, trying to dust off the snow that got stuck on your boot. “Alright princess, no need to be grumpy. It’s the holiday season, didn’t that one Christmas song said, ‘tis the season to be jolly?” He pinched your cheeks before grabbing up the bags from your hands then walked straight to the kitchen. “Well, I wouldn’t be this grumpy if someone did not forget to buy the ingredients that we oh so need so we wouldn’t starve during the Christmas E—

“Okay okay, I get it alright, I’m sorry about that. You know I didn’t mean it right? And look, I made it up to you by arranging the living room per your request.” He faced you, showing those puppy eyes that he knew you couldn’t resist. You sighed, closing your eyes for a few seconds before looking at him straight in the eyes. “Alright alright, let’s just put these things away, okay?” One by one, you put out the things that you bought, mostly ingredients for the simple dinner that you are going to prepare. Holiday songs are playing softly in the background, engulfing the kitchen up until you spoke, “I’m gonna prep the ingredients now and cook dinner so that we don’t have to eat at exactly 12 midnight since we’re still going to watch later and open our presents, is that okay?” You asked him, while continuing to prepare the ingredients. A few seconds has passed and he still hasn’t answered, so you turned back to look at him, surprised to see him deep in thought.

“Hey, you okay? Something bothering you?” You put down the pot that you're holding on the counter and approached him, immediately worrying upon seeing the frown on his face. “Oh, yeah, just thought of something. Nothing to worry about, I’m fine.” He smiled forcibly, not quite reaching his eyes, making you worry more. “You sure?” You held his hands, brushing your thumb on his, knowing that it helps him calm down and ground himself when he’s in deep thought or worrying about something.  “It’s fine, don’t worry. You need help with dinner?” He stated, trying to change the topic, and went straight to see the contents of the bags that you carried home. “I got it, you can go take a shower, I’ll handle this okay?” You wrapped your arms around his tiny waist from behind, nuzzling your face on his muscular back. “Okay, just call me if you need help, hm?” He turned around and wrapped his arms around your waist, looking straight at you. “Alright alright, now go take a shower, not going to lie, you stink.” You playfully shoved him, pinching your nose and waving your hands through the air to make your statement more dramatic. “Yeah, yeah, heading to the shower now.” He rolled his eyes, then walked out of the kitchen. You chuckled, shaking your head with both of your antics. Breathing heavily, you now concentrated on the task at hand, wanting to immediately finish it so that you both can eat dinner, watch a movie, get cozy, cuddle and finally, open up your presents under the Christmas tree.

Even during his shower, Jungkook is still deep in thought on where he could have possibly placed his gift for you. He sighed, letting the hot water run through his body, trying to relax his mind so that maybe he can remember where he put it. He turned off the tap, grabbing his towel so that he can hurry up and try to help you (and find the gift once again, hopefully). He went downstairs, contemplating whether he would go straight to the kitchen or try to search at the living room. Deciding to look for it, he, once again, looked on every corner, behind the pillows, under the couch, coffee table, even on the mini cabinet under the TV but no luck. Sighing heavily, he sat on the sofa, burying his face on his hands.

Upon hearing some rummaging noises on the living room, you called for him on the kitchen. "I'm almost done, can you set up the table please? I'll just take a quick shower after this." You transferred your food onto the plates, waiting for him to set the table, so that everything is in place before you head to the bathroom. You can't help but notice that he's been kind of quiet,  especially since he's usually throwing remarks here and there. But you brushed it off, not wanting to bother him, since it's the holidays and you don't want both of you to get into an argument in case things get out of hands. You just observed him quietly, trying to decipher what the heck is bothering his mind.

Jungkook is awfully quiet. Not that it's a bad thing though, but this level of quietness is so unlike him. You just finished eating dinner, proceeding to watch a movie while snuggling under the cozy blankets that you specially bought for Christmas. Usually on times like these, he would be throwing out side comments and some (nasty) remarks about the characters of the movie or the scene that just played on the screen, but he hasn't uttered one word since the movie started. You sighed, deciding to just focus your attention on the movie.

As the ending credits rolled, you stretched your limbs, yawning, trying to shake off the sleepiness seeping in through your bones. Glancing at the clock, you saw that it's already 15 minutes left before the clock strikes twelve, so you stood up quickly, feeling energized as it's now time to open the gifts that are sitting prettily under the Christmas tree that you both built a few weeks prior. You tugged his arm, excitedly dragging him to sit in front of the presents. "Come on, let's open the gifts already! I want to know what they got me!" He let you pull him, now both of you sitting on the floor, one by one picking up the presents that got your name on it, given by your friends and loved ones. You finally picked up all yours, and all that's left under the tree is Jungkook's, and upon seeing that he hasn't at least reached out to grab it, you turned your attention on him. "Aren't you getting your gifts? It's not gonna walk to you, you know?" You chuckled, trying to get some reaction from him, yet he's just staring blankly at the floor. You started to worry once again, "Are you sure you're okay? You know you can tell me if something's bothering you, right?" You tried talking him out of it, not liking the quiet atmosphere basking in the air.

"It's just that," he pondered, not really wanting to say it, but having no choice as you're waiting for him eagerly to state what's been bothering him. "I kind of misplaced my gift for you... I know you said that it doesn't matter if I got you a present or not, but I wanted to and now it's gone... I don't know where I put it.. " He looked down, having trouble making eye contact with you. It's so endearing to see him like this, acting all shy and timid, compared to his boisterous and loud personality. You reached for his hand, intertwining with yours. You can't help but smile upon his behavior, not used to witnessing such shy Jungkook in front of you. "So yeah, that's why I've been quiet, because I'm racking my brain where I could have put it.. " He sighed once again, feeling disappointed with himself. 

"It's okay Jungkook, with gift or not, this Christmas is still special because I'm with you, okay? I'm happy that I got to spend it with you, and that's all that matters." You confessed, not wanting for him to beat himself up about it. "Sure, I get excited when someone gives me something, because I appreciate it. You know I'm not requiring you to give me one, right? Your presence alone is enough gift for me." You wrapped your arms around his torso, your knees touching, wanting to show your affection through a gesture he sure would appreciate. Soon after, he also wrapped his arms around you, burying his face on your neck. You rubbed his back, not wanting to break the intimate moment you're having when a glinting object caught your attention. You broke the hug, him complaining about you pulling away, demanding for you to stay still and wrap your arms around him once again. 

You stood up, trying to locate where you saw the shining object that caught your attention. Finally locating it slightly behind the boxes that once contained the Christmas ornaments decorating your living room, you picked up the small, silver box and asked him, "What's this? Is this yours?" You tried shaking it, out of sheer curiosity, wanting to guess what's inside it. Surprised by the gasp he let out, you looked at him, surprised once again upon seeing his face no longer frowning, but rather something out of pure relief and joy. "What? Is this yours? Seems like it by the look on your face." You teased him, chuckling lightly from the whiplash of his expressions. He laughed, a bright smile now decorating his face. He approached you, immediately picking up the gift you're holding. "No, it's my gift for you! I can't believe you found it! " He laughed once again, not quite processing how you are now holding the box that's been causing him stress a few hours ago. He was staring at it affectionately that you can't help but tease him more. 

"So, are you just gonna admire that or finally give it to me so that I can see what's inside?" You crossed your arms, raising your brows at him. He scoffed, but nonetheless pulled your hands, placing the box on your palm, staring at you. "Merry Christmas, love. I hope you like it." He smiled brightly, one that surely reached his eyes. Chuckling, you hugged him, nuzzling your face on his neck while thanking him. "Thank you Jungkook, I know I told you that you don't have to, but still, I appreciate it very much." He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face on your hair. You stayed like that for a while, basking in the feeling of being in each other's embrace. After what seems like a few minutes, you pulled away, glancing at him with a hint of playfulness in your eyes.

"Now, let's see what's inside this mysterious box that brought out the shyness in you, hm?" 

"Oh shut up and just open it."

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 2)

There is a part 3 coming, I think these two deserve the...culmination, but I wasn’t sure if I could have it ready soon enough. Stay tuned for more, hope you enjoy! x

Part 1   -   Part 3*

It starts with a resounding bang. A back curving over maple hardwood; taut muscle stretching soft cotton fabric; twin jades squinted in concentration; a shoulder blade protruding briefly for one swift determining movement. Red, blue, yellow, purple, orange phenolic resin scattering across green worsted wool like a dozen pinballs simultaneously kicked in various directions.

It ends with the deep echo. A ball falling into emptiness before meeting rock-bottom; the release of a soft withheld breath; firm flesh unflexing with satisfaction; two sets of glossy eyes meeting in a knowing look. "Nice break, Styles. Stripes it is," y/n happily comments once Harry leans back from the pool table.

Gibson’s is full of rowdy chatters, tipsy laughs and fulsome smiles. Strangers bonding for a night of undiluted carefreeness, clicking drinks after merry drinks in honor to their new ephemeral best friends. All sorrows have been forsaken on the coat rack at the entrance,  hung in insouciance, leaving nothing but good spirits to sit at the tables and loiter near the bar. Everything about this place is warm and nurturing, a cosy embrace after a tedious day, a home for the people that lets them nurse bottles and wounds alike, and sees them leave later on, cheerful, relaxed and healing. It took but a second for Harry to understand why y/n is so fond of the place and he was not surprised to find her on a first-name basis with the barmaid, the two of them catching up on life while she was preparing the drinks.

Now, fifteen minutes in, they’ve happily made their way to the vacant timeworn pool table at a secluded corner of the bar, drinks and grins in toe. The space is only lit up by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting daedal shadows along the walls and across the table’s carpeted surface. The subdued light and music crooning in the background make for a suggestive atmosphere, air thick with limitless curiosity and enticing promises.

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks in a wry smile and a bold glint takes residence at the crease of his eyes; the telltale sign of a burgeoning idea brewing up in his cheeky mind. "What’dya say we make this a lil more interesting?" The offer is served with a raised brow, a hand on his waist, and one foot perched on its toes over the other as he leans against the cue.

From across the pool table, y/n is quite endeared at the sight but her response comes out in fake offense,"oh I’m sorry, am I boring you already?"

"Quite the opposite actually." His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, gaze unwavering from her face in a mission for persuasion.

Her lips grimace as she tries to suppress a betraying smile to no avail, "fine, I’m listening."

He grins victoriously at her inability to keep a straight face, his limbs dislodging from his casual pose. "We take turns," his motions at the space between them. "F’we pocket, we get to ask one question. No bullshit answer, jus’ the truth." His eyes are wide as he gauges her response.

"A question, huh?" she takes her time to contemplate the proposition just to watch him squirm in impatience. "Damn, for a sec I thought you were about to suggest strip-pool." She sends him a playful look as she walks the length of the table to step closer to him and have a better look at his chiseled features.

"I mean, m’totally down but might be a bit unfair on your part," his eyes briefly trail down her body in silent conveyance of her single-piece attire. He’s got much more material to shed before exposing skin than she does.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." The suggestive retort has Harry’s stomach churn with humid passion, the question of just how many layers she’s wearing exactly, playing with the most lascivious parts of his brain. "Not that it matters, you’d be butt-naked before you’d get a nip-slip."

"Overestimating yourself?"

"Just giving you fair warning," she shrugs in nonchalance running her fingers along the edge of the table, "so you know what you’re getting yourself into."

When she lifts her head back to connect their gaze again, she finds him biting at his bottom lip to contain his signature smirk, "no worries there, darlin’. M’all willing." He almost punctuates his retort with a salacious wink but decides to save it for a more opportune time. Something tells him he’s in for a long evening, not that it’s any cause for concern. Like he said, he is very much consenting to anything her heart desires to do to him.

"Good to know." Y/n quips back with a smile before leaning on her hand resting upon the pool table. "What’s your question then?"

For a moment, Harry forgets he just broke the rack and successfully sent a plain purple ball in one of the table’s pocket, taking him one step closer to victory and granting him one question as per his own proposition. He quickly gathers his reeling thoughts before settling on an easy inquiry, fingers fiddling with the desire to sketch every bit of her character. "Right um, do you have other hobbies besides playin- or should I say, winning pool?"

She wants to slap- or should she say, kiss the smug look off his lovely face, but her answers airs in the same level tone she employs at work, "yes I do."

It’s not enough for Harry’s archeologic curiosity though. He’s barely dusted off the ground beneath his feet to reveal the hint of new groundbreaking findings; armed with sieves and brushes, he is eager to dig a little further, "and what might those be?"

However, y/n is quick to rebuff him, "uh uh, that’s two questions."

Indignation soars through his straightened posture, as he cries out a faint ’what? no!’ and her own ego grows two size at her cunning deceit, "gotta up your game if you wanna keep that perky bum intact, Styles."

Earlier words resonate in the confines of his outfoxed mind then, you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and he tries really hard not to think about the promise following them. Instead he counterattacks in obvious diversion tactic, "that’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass in the past 5 minutes, perhaps I should read into it?"

"I guess you’ll have to wait and see," she lithely deflects as she grabs her own cue with a determined look etched upon her face, "my turn now."

With powerful strides, y/n navigates around the table to position herself at the most promising angle for a score of her own. Once she has both her target and the cue ball in firing line, she tunes out every last bit of stimulus encompassing her; the muffled sound of the music, the sticky oxygen filling up her lungs with sensual tension, the charming presence of the beau intently ogling her every move.

It barely takes her a couple seconds of intense concentration before a sharp thump is bouncing off the table and piercing through the air. The shot is so accurate, clean-cut, vigorous yet graceful and elegant all out once, Harry finds himself mesmerized by her skills more than the subtle form curving out from her bent posture.

The satisfaction is evident in her traits as she straightens up to face him, a pleased rictus forming at her lips. She doesn’t let any suspense unfurl before she cashes in her prize, "so what’s up with the muffin deliveries? You a stress-baker or summat?"

It’s a puzzle that’s been boggling her mind for while now; ever since the first time she watched him gallivanting around the office, handing out kindness and freshly baked goods for the small price of a friendly smile; it’d been a reoccurring thing ever since. The recollection has Harry’s cheeks warm up to a bashful shade of vermillion at the thought of admitting the reason behind his action: he’d bake a basketful of cakes just so he could give her one without exposing himself. Being straight forward with his infatuation may have been unfeasible at the time, but there was nothing against inconspicuously indulging the sweet tooth he knew she had, right?

"I dunno, just like seein' people smile, and everyone likes a good muffin, right?" His answer teeters on the ledge between veracity and evasion, the genuine ‘they were all for you’ being replaced by a less naked truth.

Y/n nods at his answer and waits until he is about to aim for another shot to voice her musings out loud, "mmm, they are quite delicious." Her attempt to distract him turns fruitful when his ears perks at her sultry voice right as he pointedly knocks the white ball with his cue. It’s off by an inch but a near-hit doesn’t help assuage his frustration, "fuck."

"Oh bummer. Guess you’ll have to pass," y/n can’t help but to tease him.

And the pout on his lips does nothing to quell her amusement, "bollocks, you distracted me."

"I did no such thing," she denies before taking his place at the table. The odds are in her favor, a perfect alignment offering itself to sink the blue striped ball right into the closest pocket. And because y/n never misses a clear shot when she’s handed one, that’s exactly what happens. Tucking the cue back at her side, she mulls over the hundred questions titillating her mind and settles for another pass at him,"is this suit the most extravagant you own and if not, what are the others like?"

Harry scrunches up his nose at yet another dig taken at the expense of his clothes, his voice pitching a halftone higher than usual, "hey, s’nough outta you, leave my suits out of it." There is a pout puckering at his lips and y/n giggles at his theatrics when he brings his hands to his chest in a protective gesture. This man and his suits…

"Somehow I don’t believe you give a single fuck about people’s opinion on your fashion choices."

"Very true. But I do value your opinion." For a brief moment, humor and wit give way to vulnerable sincerity as the two of them lock eyes over the pool table. A shy smile graces y/n’s lips, her heart faltering at his sweet sentiment before Harry gently breaks the consuming stare-off, "well, if you’re lookin’ fo’ more extravagant, I actually have a canary yellow flared suit that goes with a violet dress-shirt." And just like that, they found their way back to confidential banter.

"Damn, now I have to see it."

"One day if you’re lucky," this time he does wink at her, and this time he doesn’t let her enchantress juju distract him from the task at hand. As soon as the balls vanishes from the table, the question flies out of his mouth, "do you really find my suits obnoxious?"

Y/n pauses at the inquiry and tries to read into his eyes. She inspects the bright emeralds for  any unsuspected insecurities and when she finds none, she sends him a simple smile, "I love them. I just enjoy too much your reactions when I give you shit about them." Her chuckle tugs at Harry’s lips, before she lets honesty flooding past hers, "you got such a great sense of who you are, Harry, it just shows in the way you dress. I admire that, don’t let that go."

Interiorly, he’s heart is jumping in somersaults at possibly the kindest compliment someone’s ever granted him, the fact that it came from her only sending his beating organ into more acrobatics. Exteriorly, he returns her tender smile and mutters a timorous ‘thanks love,’ before watching her pocket another ball.

This time she doesn’t have to mull it over, "why did you wait?"

"Huh?"

"When we kissed earlier, you said you’d wanted to do it for a while. Why didn’t you?"

Her words are bare of any reproach as they both lean on their side against the table, inches apart from each other. It’s a fair question; one that she doesn’t really own as the word could have easily tumbled out from his mouth instead. It’s him on the spot though, and while he didn’t quite expect to broach such hazardous matters over a game of pool, he appreciates the openness of their bond. "I dunno, you always seemed so attached to boundaries at work, always so professional, I didn’t think you’d want me to make a move."

"I secretly did," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Goosebumps race down Harry’s arms as he takes in her confession and the way her teeth are  nipping her lips into a darker shade of pink. His eyes are drawn to them, the urge to close the gap and have her moaning in his mouth growing harder and harder to ignore, "fuck that’s sexy. You’re sexy."

The praise washes over y/n like a cold shower after a scorching day at the beach; startling shivers at first, golden skin tingling, and then all-encompassing relief. She loves how unfiltered he is with her, baring his thoughts to her just as they come, no editing, no secret agenda, no diffidence. Just her pure effect on him plastered across his beautiful face and candy-coating his words with a thick oozing layer of honeycomb syrup.

Leaning the slightest bit towards him, she tempts him with a near-kiss, almost dipping her lips in exquisite spongy fudge, but stops just as their breaths starts blending in one hot mess, "your turn," she purrs against his lips tantalizingly, before stepping away.

Harry looks like he is now the one in need of a cold shower, eyes pinched closed as he tries to compose himself, "right," he clears his throat. It takes him a bit more time to regain enough focus to make a successful go at the game, but once he’s got a good hold on the cue, a stable breath and a clear view of the shot, he takes it with ease and fortune.

As soon as he straightens up, he erases the distance between them, a determined look hardening the subtle lines of his face. "Did you ever think about me like I thought about you? At work, did you ever see me pass in the hallway and it took everythin’ you had not to follow me and kiss me senseless in the copy-machine room while no-one was watchin’?"

"Fuck. The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice," y/n confesses in batted breath. It’s clear the scenario isn’t so much a fabrication of his mind made on the spot as it is  a confession of his own experience, and the thought has the air in her lungs going scarce, as though she’s reached the apex of Mount Everest.

Harry isn’t fending off the heated tension much better, fingers twitching around his cue as he’d rather have her underneath his fingertips instead. He takes one look at the ceiling to stave his yearning some and draws in a deep breath."This is killing me," he whimpers while his lips skim over he skin of her forehead. "Go on, take your damn shot so we can be done with this game."

"It was your idea," she reminds him wryly. All of it, really; coming here, playing pool, playing 20 fucking questions, this heated hodgepodge of salacity and virtuous adoration is all his doing.

"I miscalculated."

"Poor you," y/n gently mocks is disgruntled attitude before scoring another ball, or as she likes to regard, another question, another opportunity to further tease at his already crumbling countenance, "what about you, Harry, do you ever think about me? At work… or otherwise?"

She already knows the first half of the answer and only voiced the double-entendre to rile him up, so she’s quite stunned when he whizzes, "too fucking much fo’ my own good."

The pained expression on his face is almost comical for y/n, she can’t resist probing at his despair, "me too." He groans at the flowing visuals he can’t ban from his filthy mind before she gestures towards the pool table in a gentlemanly way, "and that’s your cue," they both share a chuckle at her silly pun.

If Harry wasn’t so lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, he would revel in the way their intellects seem to dovetail on all fronts; humor, banter, seduction, sincerity, nothing is lost in translation, they seem to talk in the same love language. From teasing digs and dirty innuendos to play on words or heartfelt confessions, they know exactly which frequency to tune in.

"Fuck, I can’t see straight," he laughs as he misses a shot for the second time, and y/n quickly takes over his spot around the pool table. Settle, relax, aim, breathe, shoot; another point to her flawless record. She turns to him, looking intently at his blown irises to stir up the flame already inhabiting them, "was it good?"

"Mind-blowing," he answers without unlocking their eyes, and the whole conversation is starting to get to her too. Her thighs rub against together, knuckles turning white around her cue as she tightens her grip and Harry has to bite his lips to contain a moan. He tries to distract himself by taking his turn in the game, and burst out in laughter when he pockets the ball and y/n cries out, "blue ball in the pocket! I feel like their might be a subliminal message somewhere but I can’t quite put my finger on it"

Once they regain their breath from laughing, tears of joy actually peeling from the corner of their eyes, they go back to staring at each other. It’s Harry’s turn to ask a question, and the anticipation had y/n fidgeting under his consuming gaze. She expects him to bounce back on the previous question, but to her surprise he decides to take a different route, "tell me darlin’, if I were to kneel at your feet and look up that pretty dress right now, what color your lil panties would be?"

The question sounds boyish really, yet instead of rolling her eyes at him, her core clenches around emptiness at the thought of having him between her legs right this moment, "can’t answer that, sorry."

"Oh come on love, you gotta say. Them’s the rules," Harry tries to coax the answer out of her but she’s not budging.

"Sorry, Harry. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell." His eyes widen at her lewd implication, the revelation of just how many layers away she is from being in the nude, coming into light. Damn, he would have gotten much more than a nip-slip.

"Fuck me, I need to sit down for a mo’."

She laughs at his dramatic response before picking up her cue, "you do that, in the mean time…" The rest of her sentence is cut short as she positions herself at the pool table, and the next sound cutting through the humid atmosphere comes from the ball falling into its target.

"Jesus, do you ever miss?"

"I don’t play to lose, Styles," she quips back. "Now, what’s your biggest fantasy? Aside from shagging in the copy-machine room, that is."

Harry takes one step closer, gently backing her against the table with one hand encasing her at either side of her waist. As he towers over her, his ardent look ignites a fire at the pit of y/n’s stomach, flame licking all the way up to her heart and down to her toes. Her core throbs before the words fall out of his supple lips like maple syrup on a stack of fluffy pancakes. "Right now? Bend you over this pool table and have my way with you."

"In front of all this people?"

"What d’you think is stoppin’ me from doin’ it right now?"

"Manners?"

The retort earns her a deep chuckle, as he shakes his head in disbelief, "fuck y/n, I lost my manners the moment you kissed me."

The raw admission sends a shiver down her spine, before she regains her full bearings and pushing his cue against his chest for him to grab, "your turn."

Barely moving from his spot nestled against her, he successfully sends the ball down the drain and doesn’t waste any time before asking in the same sultry voice, "favorite position?"

‘Why are y’asking?"

"Future reference," he announces confident.

"Well in that case, kinda like this…" she brushes against him as she bends over the table, ass jutted out on one side, before adjusting the angle of her cue and aiming for the pocket, "…when everything aligns and it just sinks…" bam, she propels the sphere in one strong hit "…right through." She finishes her demonstration with a score and a suggestive smile, only but one ball left for her to obliterate; the eight ball. "Are you ready to lose, Styles?"

"Dunno, is that your question?"

"Yes. I got everything I want to know already."

"Then I don’t fucking care about losin", s’not the game I wanna play anymore," he trails a finger down the skin of her back, goosebumps erupting at his touch. He is stopped by the tip of her cue pressing at his chest, slowly pushing him back from her space, and his hands meet this air in surrender. She’s got a wicked smile on her lips and a title to uphold after all, "last shot, make it count."

Harry takes the shot hastily, half expecting another miss, but the solid yellow ball disappears into the table’s corner in a vibrant crash. Eyebrows raised and shallow breath, he pivots back towards her, "please tell me this is turnin’ you on s’much as it’s turnin’ me on?"

"Yes," she rubs the exposed skin of his chest, eyes leaving his face to trail down his torso. "I’m just better at hiding it," she brings her lips to his ear, "physically or otherwise apparently." Then she leaves a loud smack on his cheek and goes around the table to sink the last ball standing in the way of her victory. In true y/n fashion, she completes a faultless round with one last graceful hit that leaves Harry transfixed by her dexterity.

"Damn, you are the queen of pool, I’m bowing down to you. Any final question?"

She lays the cue down on the table before coming up to him, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to my place?"

His head falls back on its neck, eyes closing in deliverance, "fuck yeah." This whole night may have been the most intense and rousing foreplay he’s ever experienced, he can’t wait to deliver good on his own promise.

➪ Masterlist

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[shyrose57]

Thank you other anon for wishing me well!! That means a lot to me! 

He does but Raq doesn't actually know Rans backstory. So he doesn't know Ran has siblings. He just assumes his mom either died or abandoned him due to finding Ran completely alone and being a hybrid. Before Ran would just scream at Raq in Enderian, now both Raq and Ran scream at eachother in it. Jackie describes it as, "A screaming match to assert dominance." 

Yep, his body was already straining itself to fend off the posion and the teleporting ended up straining him more than he could handle. So as soon as he teleported them he collapsed and wasn't able to even stand. 

That just made me imagine them digging down only to look up and see Phil clambering down after them like a mole. 

After he made a scavenger hunt made out of everyone else's items. Phil found his axe in a destroyed tree trunk and Ran found his sword buried in the ground. While Sapnap found his bow hidden behind stones and Jackie was never able to find his particularly because Ranboo forgot where he hid it. 

Yes, although its very rough. 

Porkius is very very suprised and needs time to come to turns with them being there. While Porkius reacts well to Techno, Techno does not like Porkius and has threatened to punch him a few times and one time he followed through and punched him hard enough to make him fall to the ground. 

Definitely.

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Ranboo is still his ancestor! Ran feels mostly confused, startled, scared, and oddly a bit comfortable. Phil makes him feel comfortable because he reminds him so much of Watson who was a very close and comforting figure to him. But Techno kind of scares him cause while Porkius was kind to him he was also strict, so he's afraid Techno will be stricter and mean just due to how he looks. He also just kinda ignores Ranboo at first because he can't handle the fact he's looking at his now alive ancestor. 

Not really I'd say, even though they all have different enderman percentces, they have the same instincts. Though due to Ranboos memory problem, his memory of enderman culture is almost non-existent, and instead presents itself through his instincts. If any of that makes sense? 

Karl is terrified upon seeing Ran, as soon as he even hears he's here he immediately drops what he's doing and after a few questions runs off to find and confront him. Tubbo is incredibly fascinated by Ran and at first he respects Ran's boundaries and stays away from him, but as soon as Ran is walking around outside and exploring the surrounding environment, he sees that as the perfect opportunity to bombard Ran with questions. Eret (who I like to headcanon is like a medic and knows a lot more about medicine than most), doesnt comment at first and is instead focused on helping him, but after he learns more about Ran, he is fascinated by him but takes time to get to know Ran and work on making a friendship with him. No one else, not even Michael knows about Ran being there, though they do eventually find out. 

A multitude of reasons 1. He landed wrong and ended up breaking an arm and cracking two ribs due to the sudden stop. 2. He isn't used to traveling through time so time travel had the affect of making him very sick, including headaches and nausea. 3. When he was dragged into the timetravel a match in the Pit just ended and he had a few bruises and cuts that hadn't been taken care of yet, so the travel and harsh landing just aggravated them and re-opened some. 4. The harsh landing ended up also giving him a concussion. 

When Ran is finally consciousness enough he refuses to speak in anything other than Enderian. At first Phil and Techno are scared he can't speak nor understand their language. But Edward steps in and tells them he can both understand and speak it he just doesn't want to necessarily. So Edward does the communication with Ran on their behalf, he also takes the time to comfort and help him come to terms with him being there. Edward is also the one to gently push/convince Ran to actually speak to them. 

Agreed, uh, maybe From Future to Past? Idk. 

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I already have a name for this au thankfully, Tip of the Iceberg AU. (Also I wanna say real quick not every single character in the Dream SMP or Tales From The SMP will be featured in this au because it's just to many characters for me to keep track of, it'll mostly be characters I feel like I understand if that makes sense)

They end up everywhere, the Bandits end up in Las Nevadas and end up robbing the place before they bolt, running with no real direction in mind. Zack and Cletus end up just outside of Las Nevadas but they run off into the woods once they hear yelling inside the country. Isaac, Porkums, and Grievous end up in Kinoko Kingdom. Ran lands in Erets castle and accidentally breaks a window from his entrance. Jackie, Jon Jon, and Sheriff Sherman end up in Pogtopia but manage to get out (expect Jackie who is stuck and they can't get him out so they actually left for help). Benjamin lands into the ocean around the Guardian farm. Ranbob also lands near the Guardian farm but instead on land. Charles and Watson land somewhere nearby Foolish's summer home. Ranbulter and James get dropped onto Tommys Memorial Island. And Ash lands in Snowchester. (Note I believe these will be all the tales characters I'll be mostly using, but if any get added I'll probably mention where they also ended up). 

Something important though is that almost no one stayed where they landed, Ran ran off into the surrounding forest so he could focus on regathering himself and calm down without worrying about getting attacked, Benjamin just randomly picks a direction to go (North) and ends up picking up Ranbob to join him. John John and Sherman went different directions to look for help; the Kinoko Kingdom group argues before finally Porkums and Grievous head off together having elected to follow the oceans edge (they think the Kingdom is abandoned and think following the ocean will eventually lead them to a city or something), while Isaac calls them stupid and stays around the Kingdom, exploring and taking stuff; and Charles and Watson just kinda walk around though stay in the general area. Anyone I did not mention stays where they landed or is close to where they landed. SOMETHING IMPORTANT THOUGH IS THAT NONE OF THEM GET DIRECTLY SEEN BY ANY SMP MEMBERS RIGHT AWAY, its only found out what happened when Quackity accuses Fundy of stealing from him which he heavily declines. And instead says that he saw others riding out of the country so it must've been them (he saw them from a distance), and their descriptions are enough to unnerve Karl who then goes back to Kinoko Kingdom to look at his Tales from the SMP books where he runs directly into Isaac and realizes what he feared is true. 

Once Karl gets confirmation that people from both the past and future are here he immediately calls an emergency meeting and just tells everyone almost immediately that he's a time traveler so it doesn't become a problem later, they don't believe him but Isaac is kind enough to help convince them. Soon everyone is convinced and while everyone is included only a few are actually part of a active search party. Those people being Techno, Phil, Ranboo, Tubbo, Foolish, Quackity, Sam, Eret, Bad, and of course Karl. Everyone else is assigned to just keep a eye out. Not everyone is in the party because they didn't want to be or they had other stuff to be doing.

He explains the In-between and Other Side but other than that they never really interfere, if anything he gets dragged into both sides when sleeping and the two sides both push him to find everyone and fix it all.

Jackie, as per usual, is the funniest gremlin on the block.

Poor Ran!! At least he gets some rest?

Absolutely terrifying image, I pity the poor fool who witnesses it.

Pfft. Can you just imagine the chaos? Half the time it's probably just caused by his memory issues. Prank war a few weeks ago? Ranboo forgets the traps he put up, and everyone ends up with brightly colored hair, and a large amount of rabbits in their house, and he;s standing right there with them trying to figure out who did it.

It's something, so I'll take it!

Technoblade: Nearly starting wars since...uh, whenever he spawned in, I'm not really sure of the details there.

Good.

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So Ran is aware Ranboo is his ancestor? Does he have the same backstory as Brothers AU!Ran?

Does this mean Ranboo is working solely on instincts when around other Endermen or Ran? How does that work out?

And since Enderwalk has all his memories, what are Ran's encounters with him like? Is he aware of Enderwalk state, or was that lost to time? Where do their instincts lead them? Does Ranboo get a bit more hesitant towards Ran when he's leaning more on them? Or is he more open and welcoming? Can he tell Ran shares his blood?

Confrontation? Uh oh, how does that go? Especially considering Ran's possibly the only one to have a vague idea of Karl's hobby? Does it end up coming out?

How does Ran feel about having Tubbo constantly ask questions? Is Tubbo just curious, or is he trying to figure things out? Does this mean Ran ends up in Snowchester, or does Tubbo head to the Antarctic? Medic Eret?? What kind of relationship do they have with Techno and Phil to get called in and come to their aid? How do Eret, Karl, and Tubbo learn of him, if this is being kept hush-hush, and why is it being kept such?

Poor Ran, he's really gotten the short end of the stick here. So time traveling can negatively effect those not used to it/built for it? Does Karl suffer similarly?

And Edward speaks Common, then? Also, Edward!! Is he still Techno's roommate here? Does he have a little nearby area? Or does he head back to the End when he's not hanging around? Has he been helping Ranboo as well?

Sounds good!

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Gotcha, gotcha.

The fact that the bandits first instinct upon appearing in a strange new place with no prior warning is to rob it brings me great joy. How does that go for them? How far do they get, what do they steal?

Cletus & Zack: Dunno who you are or where I am, but I don't like the sound of that, so lets bolt.

Issac, Porkums, and Grievous actually don't sound like a chaotic combination, so they probably don't cause too much trouble.

Poor Eret. Imagine just trying to enjoy your day and coming back in to see your window broken.

Jon Jon and Sherman with Jackie just sounds really funny actually. The blatant contrast from time periods and all, and Jackie's pure chaotic energy...Also, they'd both be so much taller than him. Why was he stuck though? What happened?

Another question is, at what point was everyone tossed back? Long after Karl had left, before meeting him, in the middle? Is it different for some? How do those who've met him before react? Why does Isaac believe Karl, and how does he help convince the others?

Who's found first? What happens then? Is anyone hurt? What are both sides definition of 'fixing it all', and how does being dragged in between the two effect Karl?