#AND FREEZING HERE...you do nothing but sleep the entire fucking day...(seriously i have never seen her pick up a textbook or ppt)
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I will murder my roommate one day hahahahahah
#ITS FUCKING ENDTERMS SEASON AND THIS BITCH NEVER STUDIES#AND WE FUCKING ENGINEERING MAJORS (my second roommate and i) NEED TO STUDY TILL 4 IN THE MORNING IF WE WANT AN A GRADE#she is a mass com and journalism major with a rich ass father necer have seen her study#this bitch literally said ('um cant you just go and srudy in the staircase') BITCH ITS FUCKING SINGLE DIGITS IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT#AND FREEZING HERE...you do nothing but sleep the entire fucking day...(seriously i have never seen her pick up a textbook or ppt)#all she does is lick the ground her professors walk on and gets good marks (trust me bro one of her professors is borderline infatuated wit#her like calls her 5 times a day)#lol i forgot to mention the actual problem: she has a problem if we want to study till 4 with the lights on
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Apologize
Pro Hero! Shinsou Hitoshi x Pro Hero! Female! Reader
***This is an 18+ fic. Minors DNI***
Warnings: noncon/dubcon (seriously it's very much not verbally consentual so be warned) dom/sub dynamics, brat/tamer dynamics, Shinsou being mean as fuck, breath play, humiliation(?), hatefucking, edging, light bondage, threat of heavier bondage, begging, nicknames (pretty girl, baby, baby girl, sweetheart, brat), he calls reader a bitch once, brat taming(?), sub drop, shitty ending cause my brain didn't want to imagine that bit. an itty bitty drop of yandere if you squint hard enough. lmk if I missed anything
Word Count: 2k
Author's Note: Nobody look at me, don't even percieve me. This came to me at asscrack o'clock in the morning while I was TRYING to sleep. Everyone can thank my insomniac brain for this. Honestly, fuck you brain. I need SLEEP. Anywho, I cranked this out in like an hour all in one sitting. Fun.
Anywho, enjoy~
***
He’s been relatively nice to you, in the short time you’ve known him. Working alongside the purple-haired hero has been pleasant, you’d even go so far to say it’s been fun. Little jokes shared here and there, random short games like tag in the middle of a slow midnight patrol.
But there’s always going to be sides of people you don’t know about, and it’s really only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose. It starts with a bad bad day.
You’ve both been hunting down a lead for a special case you’ve been assigned for the past week. Today you got so so close. It leads to a dead end. After that, it only gets worse. Dead ends, one after the other, as you try to backtrack your way through where you could have gone wrong. Nothing. And Shinsou is getting more frustrated by the hour as you both hunch over his desk, scouring the case file for anything that could help. At some point, you give up. Decide it’s better to let it go and pick it up another time with fresh eyes and rested brains. You try to be encouraging when you ask him to do the same and join you on the couch.
“C’mon, Shinsou. Relax just for a minute, at least. We’ll look at it again in a few, but you gotta give your brain a break.” He huffs, glares at you for even thinking to suggest that.
“I refuse to sit on my ass like you. I’ve got shit to do.” Now that makes you freeze. He’s never…accused you? Like that?
“Wait- what is that supposed to mean? I’m trying to keep my head on straight instead of stressing and possibly missing something. What do you want me to do?” He slams his fist on the desk, only managing to get a small jump out of you.
“I want you to do your fucking job.” What the fuck? You’re on your feet, slowly stepping toward him. It’s a challenge, really, for him to do or say anything like that again.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He straightens and steps around the desk toward you, meeting you in the middle of the room. Both your eyes burn into each other, anger heating the entire room and painting it deep red.
“You heard me the first time.” You huff out through your nose, right in his face, before swiftly turning to make your way toward the door.
“Fuck you, Shinsou. If I knew my ‘partner’ was such an asshole I’d have never agreed to this bullshit.” Yeah, you’ve been fine with him. But you have zero tolerance for bullshit.
And then, in some doomed stroke of luck, you’re pinned to the wall before you can even react. Your vision blurs as you’re spun, the wind is knocked from your chest as your back hits the wall and your entire body is pinned by his own. Both your wrists are swiftly gathered in one of his large fists above your head, and his other hand wraps delicately around your throat, deft fingers squeezing ever so gently.
“You’re being such a damn bitch. Don’t you know this is important shit we’re working on?”
“What the fuck? You lash out at me and I’M the bitch?! Fuck o–” You’re cut off when his fingers squeeze hard, the rest of the word coming out garbled.
“Fuck, do you ever shut up? So vulgar, too.” You almost manage an eye roll, between trying to breathe and wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to escape. He’s playing with your breathing, squeezing in pulses and never letting up for too long. It’s making you dizzy, your chest heaving with every breath he so graciously granted you.
You hate to think it’s turning you on.
“I should gag you and string you up in the closet with my binding cloth. Maybe then I’ll be able to get something done for once.” He can feel your pulse quicken, see your pupils dilate just the tiniest bit and your thighs squeeze together ever so slightly. He’s got you right where he wants you.
“Oh? Little brat likes that idea? Well too fuckin’ bad, you don’t get what you like, or what you want.” He quickly spins you around and brings your hands down behind your back, securing them with that damned cloth of his, before slinking a hand around your throat again and pinning you to his front.
“Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna apologize for interrupting me, for slacking, and for being a brat. And you’re gonna convince me you’re sorry, or else you don’t get to cum. Understand?” Who knew he could be so damn sadistic? And so fucking self-centered. What a piece of work. And you make it known how you feel.
“As if I’d apologize to the likes of you. Jackass.” He only chuckles before wrapping an arm around your waist, slipping his hand down the front of your sweats and snapping the band of your panties against your skin. Fuck. Why can you feel yourself getting wet?
“Now, what do you think I’m gonna find down here, huh? Cause I can tell you’re already hot and bothered, all for me.” You squirm harder, wiggling around to get him off you. But were you really trying? You’re a pro hero for god’s sake, surely you could get yourself out of this even with your hands bound. But why would you want to, when you already feel this good?
He’s walking backward, dragging you along with him until he reaches the couch, plopping down and leaning against the arm, sprawling his legs along the cushions with yours over top of them. With your arms bound it’s easy for him to release your throat in favor of tugging down both your sweatpants and panties, chuckling at the dark patch right in the crotch of your underwear. He doesn’t say anything about it. You both know he was right earlier, you both know your burning embarrassment.
He drops both items to the floor before gripping both your thighs and prying them open, despite your nowhere-near-best efforts to keep them wedged shut. Your knees are either side of his and his ankles hook over top of your own to keep you spread for him. Exposed for him.
“Let’s try this again, pretty girl.” It’s sickly sweet, the way he says it. Mocking and praising at the same time. A hand is at your throat again while the other reaches down to glide his fingers between your folds. You’re wet. Really, really wet. You can hear the squelch as he gathers your juices on his fingers and spreads it over your clit, rubbing slow firm circles over the already swollen nub. You jolt, and he chuckles. Fuck this is humiliating. And so hot.
“Apologize, and I’ll let you cum. You’ve got all the time in the world. As long as you do it before you cum I’ll work you through it, I promise.” You don’t want to. Apologizing is just admitting defeat. He can’t play this game forever, you can hold out, you’re sure of it.
Except his fingers are moving faster over your clit, rubbing harder and working you closer to that edge. And fuck, if it doesn’t feel so good the be so close to cumming. Your legs are starting to tremble, thighs trying to close around his hand and your breathing is getting heavier. You’re so close. Just a little more.
And then he stops.
Your entire body jolts with the lost orgasm, and you bite your lip to keep from making any noise. You can’t let him know he’s getting to you.
“Aw, did that not feel good baby? I’m sure you didn’t like me ripping that away from you. But it’s okay, you’ve got another chance to make it up to me.” And that isn’t a lie. You do get another chance. One you don’t take. He builds you up with just his fingers on your clit, dragging them away before you can fall over that blissful peak. It’s so frustrating, being so close and yet still so fucking far.
After the fourth or fifth time, there are tears in your eyes begging to fall, clumping your lashes together. Your thighs and abdomen burn from the constant tensing. And Hitoshi is getting annoyed.
So he starts again, running tight circles over your raw clit with those deadly fingers of his. But this time he dips two down into your pussy and curls them hard, slamming that spongy spot inside you. It’s so unexpected, so sudden you let out a loud, wanton moan as you arch off of him and buck your hips into his hand.
“There we go, baby girl. That’s it. Make some noise for me.” He doesn’t stop when your moans turn to whimpers and your whole body begins to shake with the intensity of your oncoming orgasm. You can feel that tight knot in your belly start to fray, pulling so tight it’ll snap any moment now, and the instant you start to cum he rips his fingers away from you. The tears you’d willed not to fall begin to stream down your cheeks, you’re too far gone to care that your sniffles and cries sound so pathetic. And you begin to grovel. Just like he wanted you to.
“Please -hic- please ‘Toshi, I wanna cum. Please let me cum it hurts.” He coos down at you, nuzzling his cheek against your own and you nuzzle right back, wrapped right around his sticky finger.
“Awe, poor baby. It hurts?” you nod, “Well, then you know what you have to do right? All you gotta do is apologize, and you can cum as many times as you want baby. Yeah? Doesn’t that sound good?” You nod again, whimpering into his mouth when he turns and ghosts his lips against yours.
“Go on then, sweetheart.” You shudder and hiccup some more, before finally giving in.
“I’m s-sorry, Shinsou. ‘M so sorry, I didn't mean to be a brat. I’m sorry for making you mad! I promise it won’t -hic- happen again, please I’m so sorry.” He’s glowing from it, from how pathetic you sound, how helpless and blissed out you are. Limp against his frame after being edged so much. So beautiful. And all his, he decides.
“Such a good girl for me. You can cum now, baby. Cum for me.” His fingers return to your sopping pussy, immediately battering your g-spot while his thumb rubs at your clit. You’ve never cum so fast or so hard in your life. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you see white, ears ringing as your whole body tenses and shakes, bowing off him as you nearly shout a broken moan. He helps you ride it out, continues stroking at your walls and clit until your body falls back down and shakes from overstimulation. Only then does he stop, wiping his cum soaked fingers across your thigh before tilting your head to lock his lips with your own. Though, you’re a little too out of it to reciprocate the sloppy makeout.
“C’mon baby, come back to me.” He’s tapping your cheek lightly, releasing the cloth around your wrists and massaging the tender skin. It takes a few minutes for your eyes to refocus, your breathing to stop stuttering and your limbs to stop trembling. When you do come back to reality, you cling to Hitoshi like a magnet.
“There you are. Shh, you’re alright baby.” You cry into his chest, almost wailing after the sudden release of endorphins. You’ve never felt so low, especially after such a heavenly high. He holds you, rubs your back and pets your hair, presses little kisses everywhere he can reach until you’ve fallen asleep from exhaustion.
He decides that maybe a break was needed, and that an apology from him was in order. But that can wait until you’re both rested, and you’ve been taken care of. For now, he allows himself to drift to sleep beneath you.
#shinsou hitoshi#hitoshi shinsou#shinsou hitoshi bnha#shinsou hitoshi x reader#hitoshi shinsou bnha#hitoshi shinsou mha#hitoshi shinsou x reader#tw noncon#tw dubcon#twnoncon#twdubcon#tw: noncon#tw: dubcon#not me tagging every 'tw'#just covering my bases honestly
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Thanks everyone for the prompts! I decided to try and knock these all out in one go:
@thegirlwhotrashcans: remember, you asked for it. au, nobody dies, wwx and yanli bodyswap. they're married to lwj and jzx. 100% crack. bonus points if jin zixuan completely loses his shit and lwj looks very calm but loses his sh*t after everything is back to normal
@alightbuthappypen: Competency kink! One or both of them (when I say 'them' I mean wangxian obvs, I know what I'm about) getting hot and bothered about the other being amazing. On a nighthunt maybe? Or anywhere else that strikes your fancy!
@hearteyeswangji: WRITE MORE P*RN
I think I can manage that. With a few tweaks, accidental seriousness, and broad, ridiculous fix-its tacked on. I have no idea how long this might be. Let’s try it in installments? I’ll reblog and add on as I go. Maybe it’ll be fun. We’ll find out.
Disclaimer that this is just gonna go for it with no revising and no beta readers, so pls do not hold me to any conceivable standard of coherency thx
--
WILL INCLUDE: wangxian, xuanli, let jyl and lwj be friends agenda, canon divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, arranged marriage, bodyswap, light angst, getting together, Attempts at Comedy, eventual (light?) wangxian smut
The Sunshot Campaign has just been won. Everyone goes over to Jin Guangshan’s house after the Nightless City banquet, to Negotiate Stuff, and some hasty political marriages happen resulting in Xuanli Wedded Bliss and Wangxian Un-confessed Wedded Tension. Then, suddenly...a curse befalls our brave heroes.
--
Wei Wuxian wakes suddenly, feeling odd. He’s sleeping on his stomach for one thing, which is not his usual, but he feels warm and comfortable enough that he doesn’t think it strange. But then there is the scent of peonies and gardenias, which is both familiar and alien, somehow. It makes him open his eyes.
Which is when he sees the hand before him on the bolster. It is slender and elegant. Small. Pale. Familiar? Wearing a jade bangle. He pushes himself up a bit, startled, only to see the hand move when he does.
The hand. Is his hand. He stares at it. The shock of it, coupled with the early hour, leave his mind working very slowly.
At length, he becomes aware of an odd weight across his back, which then shifts. Wei Wuxian turns.
He is met with the sleepy, moon-eyed stare of one Jin Zixuan, still cradling him in his arms.
“What the fuck,” says Wei Wuxian. His voice is. Soft. And high.
He would think this was all some messed-up dream if not for the fact that his dreams of late have all been messed up in an entirely different way. He’s also certain, in an odd, detached way, that he never would have imagined the battle scars that mar Jin Zixuan’s distressingly visible skin.
Jin Zixuan’s brow furrows, and he blinks. “A-Li?”
“...What the fuck.”
~~~
When Lan Wangji wakes at his customary hour, he is just slightly more tired than usual. The coverlet over him is oddly heavy, but he does not give it any thought until light from the rising sun slips over an unfamiliar sill and into his eyes. His entire body goes tense as he remembers.
Jinlintai. The long hours of debate, of negotiation. The hasty marriages.
He sits up in his strange bed and turns. There, in the bed opposite, is Wei Ying’s sleeping form. Close, yet still distant. Safe, at least.
Lan Wangji relaxes, and takes a breath. It was a near thing, keeping the sects from demanding more and more from Wei Ying, from treating him like a criminal instead of the hero he is. But somehow, Jiang Wanyin and Xiongzhang ended up on the same page, defending him, working tirelessly toward a compromise with the more critical parties. And now Lan Wangji has the dubious honor of ‘keeping Wei Ying in check,’ as Yao-zongzhu so inelegantly put it, through marriage.
A strictly political marriage. A convenient solution. To bind them together, to keep Wei Ying tied under the umbrella of Lan Wangji’s rigid honor.
It is unclear, as of yet, if Wei Ying resents this arrangement. He has not been himself since Nightless City, and the destruction of Wen Ruohan’s forces. First his long coma, then a lingering tiredness that he has not seemed able to shake, which dampens his normally-vivid expressions of feeling.
Lan Wangji is worried. But this, at least, Wei Ying has made clear is unwelcome. He seems to want to pretend that nothing has changed. Not about himself, and not between the two of them. Lan Wangji has done his best to honor his wishes, despite everything.
Now, he rises and dresses before sinking into his morning meditation. It is still strange to do so fully dressed, weighed down by the propriety required for the public, but it has felt necessary, now that Wei Ying shares chambers with him. A physical manifestation of the barrier between them, more important than ever now that they are, bizarrely, married.
Before his meditation is finished, he hears Wei Ying stir. It is unusual for him to wake so early. Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open, immediately searching him for signs of pain.
Wei Wuxian turns over, then goes very still. He sits bolt upright, searching the bed with wild eyes, then turns them on the room at large. When they land on Lan Wangji, he curls in on himself, the fingers of one hand tightening at the collars of his sleeping robe, clutching it closed.
“La—Lan-er-gongzi?”
His voice is oddly breathy, and his eyes...they are wide with confusion, with just the slightest tinge of fear. Lan Wangji is struck nearly senseless by the term of address, aberrant in Wei Ying’s mouth.
“What is wrong?”
Searching the room again, Wei Wuxian moves toward the edge of the bed with a strangely graceful modesty. It looks alien on his long limbs. “My...my husband. Where…?”
The word jolts through Lan Wangji’s entire body. He has never heard Wei Ying say it before. He has...wanted to hear it. Dearly, he realizes suddenly. But it sounds wrong. Distressed. Everything Wei Ying says sounds wrong.
“Wei Ying,” he says.
Wei Ying’s eyes snap to his. “A-Xian? Where is he? Is he with A-Xuan? Are they alright?”
Lan Wangji blinks at him, uncomprehending, for several seconds. Then he begins to understand.
“You are not—”
The doors to their chambers burst open, and Jiang Yanli rushes in. The tasteful purple and gold robes she has adopted in the few days since the weddings are loose, uncharacteristically askew—not impreprietous, but verging on it. She spots Lan Wangji and her stormy expression clears.
“Lan Zhan,” she says, and her shoulders droop.
Lan Wangji blinks at her, thrown by her use of this name, then glances at Wei Ying, who has gone completely still, his mouth open in a small, shocked ‘o.’ Jiang Yanli follows his gaze and freezes.
Just then, Jin Zixuan comes barreling into the room, significantly more unkempt than his wife. He has not even tied back his hair.
“A-Li,” he implores, “what’s happened? We can’t just go barging into our guests’,” he pauses, and bows awkwardly, hastily, to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying in turn, “rooms like this. Please,” he takes her arm, but she shakes him off.
She’s still staring at Wei Ying. “Sh...Shijie?”
Wei Ying startles, and looks down at himself. He holds out his arms, his hands, and looks at those too. Then he looks up at Jiang Yanli. “A-Xian?”
“Shijie,” Jiang Yanli says, and slumps over to the bed, embracing Wei Ying.
“A-Li,” hisses Jin Zixuan, scandalized.
Lan Wangji glances at Jin Zixuan’s wife embracing his own husband on the bed, and rises. He walks briskly past them all to shut the door. Then he returns.
“Wei Ying,” he says again. Jiang Yanli looks up at him.
It is obvious, now that he has realized it. Her face, animated by his personality. The soft warmth of her eyes sharpened just so. The deliberately graceless way she threw herself—himself—into Wei Ying’s—no, Jiang Yanli’s—arms.
Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. “Is this a curse?”
“Yes,” Wei Ying says with Jiang Yanli’s face, but his own certainty.
“How can we break it?” Lan Wangji asks.
“I”m not sure, not yet. I need to try a few things—or—having the original curse would be safer.” He looks at his sister in his own body. “I...don’t really want to experiment with this.”
Jiang Yanli tsks and bumps his shoulder a little too forcefully, jostling Wei Ying in her currently slight form. “Vain,” she says, teasing.
“Shijieee,” he whines. It sounds bizarre in Jiang Yanli’s voice. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
“I know,” Jiang Yanli says, soothing.
“Do you feel alright?” Wei Ying goes on, urgent.
“Perfectly alright, now that you’re both here,” she says, smiling at the newcomers in turn.
Something sharply acidic surges in Lan Wangji’s stomach at such a look on Wei Ying’s face, directed at...Jin Zixuan.
“Really, though,” Wei Ying presses, “any nausea? Dizziness? Pain? You’re not worried?”
“Not at all. Our A-Xian will figure it out.”
Lan Wangji watches as the appearance of Wei Ying’s knuckle affectionately brushes Jiang Yanli’s nose.
Strange. It is all...so strange.
“If—”
“What is happening?” Jin Zixuan interrupts.
All three of them look at him. He stares between them, wild-eyed and desperately askew. Lan Wangji has never considered him to be particularly slow on the uptake, but he supposes allowances must be made for the stress of waking up with a stranger in one’s bed.
He does not care to investigate the perverse pang of jealousy he feels at the thought.
“A-Xuan, it’s me,” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Zixuan stares at her in Wei Ying’s body, uncomprehending. She goes on slowly, but not unkindly. “A-Xian and I have been cursed into each other’s bodies. He’s in there, and I’m in here.”
Her husband blinks several times, very quickly. Lan Wangji recognizes the moment it sinks in by the deep flush that rises across his entire face, and is certain he does not wish to know what precisely inspired it.
Jin Zixuan takes an involuntary half-step back, then forward again, as he speaks with renewed urgency. “Why has this happened? Can it be undone?”
“Great questions,” Wei Ying says, falsely encouraging. Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with him, and it almost feels natural, to share such a thing with either Wei Ying or Jiang Yanli. “Someone was clearly either targeting me—that’s Wei Wuxian, that’s me, in here—or you...whom you know to be Jin Zixuan. I hope.”
Jin Zixuan turns a deeper shade of red. “Obviously,” he bites out. “But why?”
Wei Ying rolls his eyes dramatically. It is not something Lan Wangji ever imagined Jiang Yanli doing.
“We don’t know yet, but we will once we find and question the person responsible,” Wei Ying says. Jiang Yanli grips his arm suddenly. Wei Ying looks at her. “And yes, it can be undone. Of course it can. I’ll figure it out.”
“Cast a rebound,” Lan Wangji says, brisk. The more quickly they are done with this, the better.
Wei Ying’s face falls. “Ah,” he says, “well, we…”
“My cultivation is too weak for him to reliably use,” Jiang Yanli says suddenly. “And I’m not very good at the method, I’m afraid.”
Lan Wangji nods. Steps forward. Then hesitates. “If the curse was cast in such a way, one of you may end up in the caster’s body. And they in yours.”
They all look at Jiang Yanli. Her expression grows grim. “Alright,” she says, then looks to Lan Wangji. There is something steely in her expression that is familiar on Wei Ying’s face. “Thank you for the warning. Go ahead.”
Lan Wangji hesitates only a moment longer, expecting protests from the other two. But Wei Ying is wearing a small, knowing smile, and Jin Zixuan merely nods at her, reassuring. Lan Wangji senses his esteem for the Jin heir rising at such solid trust in his wife.
He steps forward and casts the rebound. They all hold their breath.
Wei Ying glances around, his wry expression entirely foreign on Jiang Yanli’s face. “Anything?”
“No,” says Jiang Yanli.
Wei Ying sighs. “More work for us, then.”
“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, taking gentle hold of his wrist. “You know what this means.”
“Ah?”
“You’ll have to be me.”
“Ah. No, I—”
“A-Xian.”
Wei Ying scratches his head, a not-at-all ladylike gesture. “Or we could just stay in here and let these two investigate?”
The smile Jiang Yanli turns on him is tender, and knowing, and indulgent. “I’d like to see you try to sit still when there’s a puzzle to solve.”
He sighs. “Alright. But you have to be me, too.”
She nods, and theatrically slouches into a sprawling, sloppy posture. Wei Ying laughs, his head thrown back, a hand on his stomach. Jin Zixuan turns around, looking almost ill.
Lan Wangji understands, and he doesn’t. It is dizzying, and distinctly wrong-looking, to see both of them this way. Yet there is also something endearing about it. About the parts of them that do overlap, and fit into each other better than one would expect.
“A-Xuan,” Jiang Yanli calls softly, noticing her husband’s distress.
Lan Wangji gets the distinct impression that that tone in Wei Ying’s voice is not helping the situation.
“Jin-gongzi,” he says. “It would be best for all of us to go about our days as normal, and not to arouse suspicion. Wei Ying sleeps late, and will not be missed for the morning. Jin-shao-furen may claim mild illness until the afternoon. But you and I must behave as normal. There are still the other sects to host.”
“Yes,” Jin Zixuan says absently. He runs a hand over his face. “Yes. You’re right. A-Li—” he turns and looks at the pair of them on the bed, and pauses. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’ll go back and dress. Join me when—or—Wei—” he stops. “I will be attending my duties. Please let me know what else I can do.”
“Remember to act natural,” Jiang Yanli says. “When A-Xian joins you later, try to look less like a roasted tomato, hmm?”
Jin Zixuan’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and he nods at the floor, then flees the room. Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying turn their eyes to Lan Wangji.
“I shall also depart,” he says. He circles his arms to bow to Jiang Yanli, but Wei Ying stands and pulls him over toward the door. Lan Wangji lets him, and tries not to pull away from the improprietous touch from a married lady.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, hushed and urgent. “I’m not...you don’t think I’m hurting her, am I? Just by being in here? Can you sense any resentment?”
Lan Wangji feels something tighten in his chest. Wei Ying has not let Lan Wangji so much as examine his pulse since he roused from his coma, but the idea that he is so constantly steeped in resentment as to cause worry that his very soul may be harmful...is distressing. He takes hold of his slender wrist carefully. It is still Jiang Yanli’s body, and he will treat it with the respect it is owed.
“I cannot,” he says. The only energy in Jiang Yanli’s body is generated by her own small but steady golden core. “I sense nothing that may be harmful.”
Wei Ying lets out a relieved breath. “Alright. But, um. What about the other way? Is her...is my body harming her?”
Lan Wangji turns to go back and perform the same examination, but Wei Ying stops him. “No, that’s alright. I’ll. We’ll just get this over with, and we can. Between the two of us, we can fix whatever...whatever damage I do.”
Lan Wangji stares at him, but Wei Ying refuses to meet his eyes. At length, he nods. “We can.”
“Alright. Ah, thanks. You should go.”
Lan Wangji goes.
#my fic#prompt fic#the untamed fanfic#lan wangji#wei wuxian#jiang yanli#jin zixuan#i don't know why i bother this is NOT gonna show up in tags#i'm not gonna go through and censor things. i'm just. not gonna#also this post is...so ugly#will anyone even read it??? who knows elksfdjns#let's have some fun
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claire!! my love!!
i was just wondering if you could write me something for din using the prompts
“H-how long have you been standing there?” &
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
maybe you could also throw in a lil bit of din the dilf’s breeding kink??
(could you uh make it extra smutty and make my ovaries explode??)
thank you!! i love you!!!!
OMG Jo, seriously, you’re KILLING me over here. This was sooooo filthy and fun to write LOL. I hope you like it!! 😘
Word count: 5860+
Outline: “Mando”/Din x “You” (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ ONLY; Din eavesdropping; female masturbation; Din physically crowding you up against a wall; a sprinkling of angst; blackout room conditions so Din can remove the helmet; breeding kink; unprotected P/V sex; Din has a filthy mind and a filthy praise-kink mouth to match; BREEDING KINK out the wazoo; a little bit of sexy anticipation, then a little bit of romance, and then just pure SMUT
You opened the door to the hallway after your shower and let the cool air wash over you as you got dressed. You knew Mando was up in the cockpit fiddling with something that was going to take a while, and the small bathroom was entirely too steamy for your liking. The vent fan never seemed to keep up with the hot water you luxuriated in after a mission like this.
You and Mando had been on a desert planet for three days, braving periodic dust storms to find the bounty, and the endless waves of dirt had seeped into your mouth and nose. It had even seemed to settle into your joints, making them ache. You finished toweling off and stepped into your underwear.
“Dammit!” Your foot caught on the waistband but you recovered your balance quickly. You started to wonder what would happen if Mando walked in on you, caught you naked. Would he even notice? He didn’t treat you like a woman while you were hunting or fighting together. If he saw you naked it would probably be nothing. He would probably treat you like you had simply taken off a cape or a glove.
But during the nine months you had spent with him, working alongside him, talking to him in the little short conversations he actually held with you, you had fallen in… maybe not love, but something like it. Lust maybe, or yearning, or something equally desperate. You didn’t want to call it love when you didn’t even know his name.
Thoughts of Mando were starting to fill your every waking moment. You fantasized constantly about ripping off his armor and his cape, licking every inch of the expanse of skin underneath, seeing his face and making genuine eye contact. You touched yourself so often in your bunk before sleep that you had forgotten to be quiet a few times. But his stoic posturing and lack of any indication to you that he saw you, or that he recognized that you were a woman at all only drove your infatuation. It was hell.
“Man probably doesn’t have a single atom of sexuality in his body.” You muttered to yourself as you looked in the mirror and applied cream to your desert-dry skin. “I could probably lay naked across his lap and he wouldn’t even notice. Fucking sexy goddamn idiot, walking around like he’s swinging the galaxy’s biggest dick. Fuck me.”
You propped one foot up on the edge of the sink and started to apply cream to your leg. “Fucking sexy moron. Probably doesn’t even notice I have boobs. Might as well be a fucking frog lady for all he notices.”
You began to wonder if talking to yourself was a sign of some kind of hyperdrive-induced madness. Not that it mattered. Your only conversation partner was so closed off, so short with his answers that you might as well talk to yourself. You shrugged and switched to your other leg.
“Maybe I should jump him, make him notice me for once. Ha, like that would do anything. He’d probably freeze me in carbonite so that he doesn’t have to hear me talking so much.” You put your foot down and slathered cream on your arms and shoulders, following your weird train of thought.
“... or maybe he’s into that. Real weird shit, like freezing women in carbonite and jerking off on them?” You held that mental image in your brain for a half-second too long and then shuddered.
“Ew. Gross. Or maybe he’s just into normal kinky shit and hasn’t been around a woman in so long he’s forgotten how it works.”
You grabbed your toothbrush and started to clean your teeth. You spit out a mouthful of foam and then pointed the toothbrush at your reflection while you continued.
“Maybe you’re it, sweetheart.” You winked and smiled at yourself. “Maybe you’re just the woman he needs to remind him what love is. Ha! Love…”
You smirked at yourself and continued brushing. You spit out the final mouthful of foam and leaned close to the mirror, looking at your eyeballs and gums up close, inspecting yourself for signs of ill health. You lowered your voice in a parody of a sexy accent.
“Or maybe you’re just the woman he needs to remind him how luxurious a warm pussy and a pair of boobs feel in the dark when you’re out in the cold reaches of space.”
You nodded once at your reflection, as if a vital consensus with mirror-you had been reached. You stepped into your sleeping pants and slippers and pulled your shirt on over your head. You grabbed your toiletries bag and stepped out the door, taking a left toward your bunk.
You ran into a wall of Beskar. Oh fuck.
Mando was standing with his shoulder propped against the wall between the ‘fresher and your bunk. The ladder to the cockpit was about six steps behind you, which meant that he hadn’t just come down the ladder, because you would have seen him in the mirror while you were talking to yourself, which meant… Oh FUCK.
“H-how long have you been standing there?” Your voice was high and squeaky.
Mando didn’t respond, just tilted his helmet an inch to the side, like he was studying you. You felt your stomach flip over and something warm and wet rushed to your crotch. You hoped you hadn’t just peed yourself a little from fear.
You were about to open your big mouth and make some excuses about dust madness or sleep deprivation when you heard him sigh… or you thought you did anyway. It was hard to discern that soft of a sound through his modulator while your heart was pounding in your ears.
“Long enough,” was all he said, and then he walked past you and climbed the ladder to the cockpit.
You stood, rooted to the spot for ages, until you shook your head clear and went to your bunk. Maybe that hadn’t happened at all. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you should get some sleep.
You tossed and turned for ages, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where Mando could have crossed the hall without you seeing him in the mirror, and trying to recall exactly what you had said and when. Either he had crossed the hall outside the ‘fresher door in the half second when you had pulled your shirt over your head, or he had been there since you got out of the shower and opened the door. If he had been there since you opened the door, that meant that he had heard everything, every crazy thought that you had voiced. But if he had somehow only crossed the hall while you were pulling on your shirt, then why would he have said ‘Long enough’?
Your panicked calculations ran over and over in your head, doing nothing to calm your distress. The more you thought about Mando, the more you wanted him. Okay, so what if he overheard everything? Did that change anything? No. Apparently he had decided to just… not react to it. He had swept past you and made for the ladder, and in that moment where he shared your space you had caught a whiff of his scent, that mix of cold metal and scruffy wool, the musk of something salty and warm that lay just underneath, which must be just him.
As you thought about that moment in the hall, your fingers moved almost automatically to the waistband of your sleeping pants, and you savored the coolness of your fingers when they met the warm mound of flesh just under your navel. You stroked yourself there, moving lower with each graze of your fingertips until you felt the first whisper of the coarse curls that dusted your pubic mound. You brushed your fingers along, moving lower and lower until they reached the valley between your outer lips, the crevice that you opened with a single sweep of your finger, where warmth and wetness lay buried.
You propped your legs open and found your clit, the little bud that made you gasp when you touched it and made you want to cry Mando’s name loud enough to echo through the whole ship. You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans while you rubbed harsh circles around your clit, dipping your fingers occasionally into the pool of slick that was growing by the minute. You dragged the wetness back up to your nub of nerves and kept going, harder, faster, almost punishing yourself for daring to even think about Mando that way.
He clearly didn’t want you, and the idea that you might end up torturing yourself like this for months or years longer produced an ache, a soul-deep longing to just stay close to him no matter what the circumstances, so that you could keep getting the little glimpses of him that fed your obsession. Once he had reached for a lever in the cockpit and you had caught a flash of skin at his wrist, a centimeter of flesh that fueled your bedtime fantasies for weeks.
And then just now in the hall, that rush of air in his wake as he passed you, the smells of him that combined to make him: his scent, his aura, his presence. That salt-metal-musk of him, and a hint of soap, the buttery-woodsy scent that perfumed the steamy bathroom after he had showered. You had gone in once right after he left the ‘fresher before the vents had cleared it, and the smell of his soap, so masculine and clean, had made your cunt clench. After that you seemed to find excuses almost every time to use the ‘fresher immediately after he had showered and vacated it.
You felt like a creep but you liked smelling his soap, liked the way the steam warmed your face and made it prickle as you sat and inhaled a part of him that was there but couldn’t be seen. It was almost a religious experience like that, ephemeral and intangible, with the undercurrent of shame and fear of being caught. What kind of weirdo sits and smells someone else’s shower steam and gets turned on?
The memory of all the times you had touched yourself like this before, in your bunk and in your shower and in the steamy bathroom inhaling the clouds of Mando’s soap-scent all crashed down on you at once, and a cry ripped from your throat.
You bit it off halfway and it ended with an “-mmmh!” You hadn’t heard any sounds from beyond your door, so you weren’t worried that Mando had heard you. He was probably still up in the cockpit, fiddling endlessly with knobs and buttons, trying to extract the best fuel efficiency possible. You rubbed yourself more gently until your climax shuddered to a stop, and then it was over.
You wrapped yourself up in your blankets and slept like a rock.
The next morning you woke up tense and nervous about seeing Mando. Despite being sure that he had decided to ignore what he had heard, you were still anxious about facing him. You got dressed and stuck your head out your door, not seeing him out in the hallway. Your shoulders relaxed a bit. You decided to try to just go up to the cockpit like normal. If he was going to ignore it, you could do the same… or at least you could try.
You closed your door behind you just in time for his heavy footsteps to descend the ladder from the cockpit. Fuck.
“Morning,” you mumbled. He hit the ground and turned to you, not moving a muscle. Oh stars, here we go, you thought to yourself.
He nodded his helmet at you once in greeting. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, yes. Yes I did, thank you… You?” You made awkward, polite conversation back, even though you were half convinced he didn’t ever sleep at all. Just one more mystery of the Mandalorian you were probably never going to solve. But at least he didn’t seem like he was interested in talking about anything he may have overheard, or that he was offended enough to kick you off the ship, so that was a relief.
“Yes.” He held his visor trained on you from just a few feet away. You found yourself fixing your gaze on his neck, not bold enough to look him directly in the region of his eyes like you normally did.
You waited for him to say more. When he didn’t you found yourself nervously trying to fill the silence.
“Um, what’s on today’s schedule? We still traveling or did you want to stop anywhere? I mean, I’m fine with either option, I don’t need to stop. But if you wanted to-”
“No.”
You were almost grateful for the way he interrupted you.
“If you still want me to repair the-”
“No.”
You were starting to feel a little bit of panic. The topics of traveling and ship repairs were pretty much all you had to rely on without resorting to an awkward silence... or worse, broaching the subject of last night. You vowed not to ever talk about that if you could help it.
You nodded once and then fixed your gaze on the toes of your boots. You put your hands behind your hips and leaned back against the closed door of your bunk in a parody of a relaxed posture. You folded your lips in between your teeth and bit down, forcing yourself to look back up at his visor. If this silence lasted any longer, you were going to break and start chattering nonsense just to fill the void.
Mando took a step toward you and you involuntarily flinched. He paused, and you were filled with regret. Had you scared him off? Had you made things that terrible and awkward? Was he going to kick you off the ship?
You forced yourself to breathe evenly, in and out through your nose. In the quiet it sounded like you were taking big shuddering gasps of air. Fuck, I can’t even breathe like a normal person.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Mando’s voice was low, and you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly.
You stuttered, “Wh- What? What do you mean?”
“Did you,” he took another step closer, “...enjoy yourself last night?”
Oh fuck, so he was going to talk about your embarrassing bathroom monologue after all. Fuck fuck fuck.
“No, I-” You forced yourself to at least maintain eye contact with his visor as you stumbled over your words. “I don’t enjoy that kind of thing. I mean, I don’t do it for fun, I was just, ummm... bored and I- It’s not fun for me or anything. I mean, I don’t- I don’t always- Look, I know it was rude and I’m sorry.”
“So,” he moved closer, nearly towering over you where you leaned against the wall, “...you didn’t enjoy that... last night?”
You gulped and stuttered more nonsense. “No, I- I mean, I was just trying to fill some time and I thought I was going a little, you know, nuts after that last mission. I’m sorry if you overheard me. I mean- I just- I-”
“Because it sounded to me like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Ummm… no- no, sir,” Oh fuck, did I just call him sir? What the fuck is wrong with me?
You tried again, “I’m sorry if you overheard me. I was- It was rude, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
Mando propped one arm against the wall near your head, boxing you in. You wouldn’t be able to untangle your own arms from behind you without pushing your body against his.
He inclined his visor lower and purred, “What you said?”
“Yes, in the ‘fresher, I’m sorry you overheard me with the door open, talking to myself about you. I’m- I won’t do it again.”
He tilted his visor just an inch lower, and you got the distinct impression he was enjoying this, enjoying watching you squirm.
“I wasn’t talking about the ‘fresher.”
Your heart stopped for what felt like a full second, and then picked back up at double speed.
“What?” Your voice was a mere squeak, barely a whistle of air forming one word.
“I wasn't talking about the ‘fresher.” Mando’s voice was low, as dangerous as you had ever heard him.
Your eyes were glued to the curved black of his visor, and you couldn’t form coherent thoughts or any words besides stuttering out another weak, “W- what?”
Mando brought his free hand up to your face. His fingers were curled just under your chin, the pad of one huge thumb pressed flat under your lower lip.
“I was talking about you touching yourself in your bunk where you think I can’t hear every moan that you make. Where you think I can’t hear you fucking your own fingers practically every night, for months.” He was holding your chin in place with his gloved fingers. Under any other circumstances you would have been drooling with lust from both your mouth and your pussy. But this was torture.
You let a small sigh out, and it felt like all of your last bit of life force went with it. For the first time in your life, you felt like you were going to faint. You managed to shudder a great heaving breath in and stay upright. You had survived worse, you could manage to get through this little embarrassment, and then you could make your break from the ship, leave the Mandalorian, and go to whichever corner of the galaxy he wasn’t going to be in. You tried to remind yourself that nobody ever died from a little embarrassment.
“I- I…” You tried to form some kind of rational thought, and then you seized on a little spark of anger. You jerked your chin sideways to get it loose from his fingers, and then you scowled up at his visor. You tried to get very angry at the idea of him listening in, when that was actually all you had wanted for months.
“That was private, Mando. Are you saying that I should be embarrassed about a biological function of the human body? Masturbation is normal.”
He practically whispered, and you had to strain to hear him over your own pounding heart.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t normal, sweetheart. I asked if you had enjoyed yourself, because it sounded to me like you did. Contrary to popular belief, I have noticed that you’re a woman, and I do have at least one atom of sexuality in my body. I’ve touched myself at night, too, thinking about you.”
Oh stars, if embarrassment couldn’t kill you, the sudden jump in arousal might. You felt your stomach flip and your pussy clenched hard around nothing. The fresh clean underwear you had put on this morning was drenched.
You couldn’t speak, but Mando seemed to be fine continuing his train of thought. “And if you wanted any help in that department, I know a certain ‘sexy moron’ who might be able to assist.”
“Oh fuck.” Your voice was back to a squeak.
“That’s not an answer.” He tilted his visor just a degree to the right. “Do you want my help with that?”
You closed your eyes and nodded vigorously, nearly headbutting his helmet. “Yeah, yes. Yes please. Yes.”
“Good.” Mando stood back from the wall and put his hands on his hips. Now that he wasn’t crowding you, you felt like you could breathe again.
He held one gloved hand out to you. “We have at least a few hours with the ship on autopilot. Your bunk or mine?”
“Yours.” You pushed yourself off the wall and nearly fell. Your legs had gone numb. Mando caught you around your waist and looked down at you.
“Ground rules first. One, you can’t see my face. We have to leave all of the lights off.”
You nodded up at him. “Yeah, okay. I’m okay with that.”
“Good. Two, you have to stop creeping into the ‘fresher after every shower I take. That’s weird, cyar'ika.”
Your eyes fluttered closed and you laughed. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
“Three, you can call me Din. It’s my name. But you only use it when we’re alone, got it? Everywhere else we go, I’m still ‘Mando’ to you.”
You looked back up at his visor with your best, most honest face. “Yeah, I can do that… Din. That’s nice.”
Mando released you and held your hand as you walked the three steps over to his bunk’s door. He opened it and motioned for you to get inside. You kicked off your boots and crawled up on the bed. Mando closed the door and started to remove his armor and his layers of underclothes. You took the hint and started to undress yourself.
You lay naked on the bed, taking in the sight of him as he disrobed in the dim light. It was odd that he could get entirely naked and let you see his cock, his broad shoulders, thick and solid muscles from fighting, scars and all… but not his face.
As if he could read your thoughts, he turned to you and said, “I can’t let you see my face unless we’re married, unless you’re my riduur, my wife.”
You blinked at that, the thought of being lucky enough to become his wife was dizzying, potent and attractive.
You had a sudden thought and sat up, dangling your legs off the side of the bed. “Are we- are we ruining that? If we do this can I still be- I mean, we’re not supposed to wait until after marriage, right?”
“We?”
“I’ve been on your ship for months, Mand- I mean, Din.” You shook your head to clear it.
“I’ve been lusting after you since the first time you said my name. I’ve been half distracted by thoughts of you every day since I got here…” You trailed off, unsure of how to say what you were trying to say without just coming right out and saying it.
Din moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed next to you. “Are you saying you want to do more than just fuck?”
“Well… yeah. I mean, if I just wanted a fuck I could’ve gone to any brothel right near the landing pads, at any of the places we’ve stopped.” You looked down at your lap, somehow more embarrassed by the admission that you hadn’t had sex in months than you had been by all of the conversation up to now.
Mando slipped one of his broad hands into yours, intertwining his fingers. The warmth and the new, strange sight of his calloused hand holding yours so gently gave you the courage to finish voicing your thoughts.
“But I… I didn’t want that. I don’t want just a fuck…” You looked back up at his visor and took a steadying breath in. “I want you, Din. I love you.”
Din let a long breath out, “Cyar'ika, I- I’m happy to hear you say that, but I don’t want you to get into anything with me that you might regret.”
Your voice was quiet. “Does that mean you don’t love me?”
He turned you to face him, broad hands holding your shoulders. “No, that’s not what it means. I- I’ve felt the same way about you since you got here. But I had to hide it because this is a hard life that I’ve chosen.”
“I know that, Din-”
He cut you off. “No. This is it. We may not be able to settle down or stay in one place. I can’t guarantee that there will be any luxury or softness in your life. It means that I love you so much that I want you to be absolutely sure of what you’re choosing, if you choose me.”
You blinked up at him. Did he really not see?
“Din, I’ve fought alongside you for months. I thought that I had proved myself capable, but if you think I’m weak or I can’t handle it-”
“Mesh’la, I know you can handle it, I know you can fight and that you’re strong. But it has to be your choice.” He took both of your hands in his. “You can’t choose this on a whim. You have to choose with your eyes open.”
He brought his hand back up to grip your chin again, thumb planted firmly to tilt your face up to his. You saw yourself reflected in his visor, and you realized instantly that your face looked just as determined as you felt inside. You brought both hands up to wrap them around his shoulders, stroking the skin on the back of his neck. He dropped his hand from your face and wrapped both arms around your waist.
“My eyes are open, Din, and I choose you. If you need more time, if you don’t want to decide right now, I’ll wait for you. I’ll stay and fight alongside you and prove my love to you a thousand times if that’s what it takes. But I choose you, and everything that goes along with that choice.”
Din bent his head to yours and touched the front of his helmet to your forehead. The gesture was strangely somehow more intimate than the fact that you were sitting naked next to one another on his bunk. You sighed and closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him under your fingertips, the contrast of the cool metal against your forehead, the warmth of his soft skin where it pressed against yours.
“I want you to have my warriors, mesh’la. Do you want that? Do you want me to father your children?”
Your arousal surged back suddenly. YES, your entire body screamed at you. You inclined your head back and leaned your face up to kiss the top of his visor.
“I’d love nothing better, Din. If you want me, I’m yours. I’ll bear twenty warriors if you want me to.”
“Mesh’la, I-” He stopped. “Not here. I can’t marry you here. You deserve to do it on some beautiful green planet, to wear flowers in your hair and say your vows with me in the sunlight.”
“Okay, Din. Whatever you say. I don’t care where we make our vows.” You stroked your hands down his broad shoulders and gripped his biceps. “I’ll do it here, I’ll do it on the farthest-flung planet if you say so. I’ll do whatever you say, whatever it takes to call myself your wife.”
He leaned his helmet to your head again, and whispered, “Cyar'ika, my beautiful girl. My girl… close your eyes.”
You sat back on the bed and closed your eyes. Din got up and you heard the soft hiss of his helmet coming off, then a thud as he laid it carefully on the floor. Then there was a soft click as he turned the lights off before he joined you on the bed. He gently pushed you onto your back, and you felt him recline next to you, your bodies and legs pressed together as he lay on his side facing you.
His voice was strange without the modulator, somehow the same velvety tone, but entirely different altogether. “You can open your eyes, cyar'ika.”
You did, and found that the entire bunk was dark, no seam or seep of light from the hallway around the door. You turned your face to Din and whispered his name, “Kiss me.”
He did, and you melted into it. You realized suddenly that although you had spent so many months fantasizing about what he looked like under his helmet, you actually didn’t care now. You just wanted to feel him and be with him. To be his.
You felt his erection grow hot and hard against your leg, and you whimpered as his tongue probed your mouth. His lips were soft, his kisses languid and deliberate. You were split in two by the desire to take your time like this, and the equally strong throbbing in your clit that urged you to hurry along to the fucking.
You decided to let him go as slow as he wanted. There would be plenty of time for that later, and you suddenly realized just how quickly things had moved to this point. This was your first time kissing the man who would be your husband. The thought of it nearly bowled you over. Last night in front of the mirror you had called him some very bad things while also somehow complimenting him, and then you had touched yourself in desperation like you had almost every night for the last nine months. And now, here you were in his bunk, naked together and engaged to be married. There was no need to rush things.
Din kissed you like he was trying to memorize you, and you gave him the best of yourself in return. You whispered and murmured sweet words to him in between kisses, licked into his mouth with the same vigor that he licked into yours, and stroked his cheek with your fingers.
“Din, I love you so much. I want to be yours forever.” You kissed him deeply and pulled his hand down to rest on your belly. “Please give me children. Please let me carry a part of you inside me. I want you to fill me up with your seed, let it grow inside my womb.”
“Mesh’la,” he nearly whined at that.
He kissed you again more aggressively as he rolled himself on top, bracing himself on his hands above you. You gripped his forearms just below his elbows and got wetter at the feel of the hard muscles under his hot skin. He was strong, you had seen that in action many times, but the corded muscles just under the skin were proof of his presence, the man under the armor.
The realization that you would be the only woman for the rest of his life to feel him this way made you moan.
“Din, take me. Please? Take me now.”
He whispered to you in the dark, “I will, mesh’la. I’m going to fuck you and fill you up. Fill you with my semen. You’re going to have my baby.”
You opened your legs wide, feeling the heat ebb from your throbbing cunt. Din shifted against you and you felt his cock press against your seam. He rolled his hips away from you, and in the next moment he was halfway inside, kissing you hard as he moaned into your mouth.
You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him into yourself, feeling ravenous and greedy, wanting every inch of him inside of you as soon as you could. You reached up to caress his neck and cup the back of his head. You were surprised to find that his hair was soft, and that it curled down to the nape of his neck. You hadn’t given a thought to his hair, other than to note that his pubic hair and body hair was dark when he undressed. You just hadn’t spared a thought to what the hair under his helmet would look like, or if he even had any at all.
You were instantly curious about the color of Din’s eyes, and whether your children would look more like him, or like you. You smiled into his kisses in the dark, savoring that sweet wonderment as your husband-to-be fucked into you, rolling his hips against yours in the dark and joining the two of you forever.
Din started huffing out words that landed somewhere between devotion and depravity, filled with more emotion than you had heard from him in all of the preceding months.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, mesh’la. I’m gonna fill you up and fuck a warrior into you, fill you with my cum and watch you grow round. You’re going to glow with my baby growing inside of you.”
You moaned and spasmed around his cock, chills of electricity running up and down your spine as he growled out more of his filthy praise.
“You’re going to look so beautiful, cyar'ika, so fucking gorgeous after I fill your hot cunt with my seed. You’re going to take it all and let it fill you- fucking fill you up until you’re bursting… my good girl.”
You felt your climax growing, and you pulled your knees up high so that he could thrust even deeper.
“More, Din-” you huffed out the words as best you could. “Tell me more. Fuck me more.”
He began thrusting harder, stuttering out his words with each plunge of his meaty cock into your wet, hot center.
“You’re- fucking- beautiful. Fucking gorgeous.” He kissed you hurriedly, eager to spill more dirty talk into you. “We’re going to take- take our vows tomorrow- take our time after that- fuck you until you’re dripping with my cum. Fuck a warrior into that ripe womb of yours.”
“Oh fuck, Din. I’m gonna come. Keep going.”
“Touch yourself for me, cyar’ika. Touch that beautiful cunt and make her swallow me whole.”
You cried out at that and then reached down to find your clit, to coax yourself over the edge as Din continued to utter his honeyed filth into your soul.
“You’re going to carry- carry my warriors, mesh’la. Grow round with my baby inside you- spill honey from your breasts for my child.” He groaned and you could tell he was close.
“I’m going to fill your hot cunt with my seed, m- make you froth with my cum, cyar’ika. Everyone will know who you belong to.”
He thrust even harder, ramming his cock into a spot deep inside of you that made your eyes water.
“I’ll protect you both, cyar’ika. Shelter and care for you while you grow our baby inside of you. Fill up this fucking hot cunt- this perfect fucking pussy- over and over again. Protect you for the rest of my life.”
“Fuck, Din, I’m coming!” You felt your whole body thrill with the force of your orgasm, your pelvic muscles squeezing him hard as you threw your head back and moaned.
Din groaned and thrust four, five, six more times until he plunged deep and held still, collapsing down on top of you to bury his face in your neck. You felt him spasm as he lay pressed against you, his hot, sticky cum spilling deep inside. You wrapped your legs back around his hips and held him in, murmuring sweet words into his ear as you stroked his hair.
“My love, I’m going to have all of your babies. I want you inside of me always, Din.” You pressed kisses to his ear as you whispered. “I love you so much. I’ll follow you to the farthest star and back, my love, always.”
Din panted as he came down. You felt him soften inside of you, but he didn’t withdraw. He pulled his head up and kissed you softly.
“Mesh’la, I can’t wait to marry you. My wife… my love.”
---
Din Djarin/Mando character masterlist
Main Masterlist
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#pedrostories#pedro stories#the mandalorian smut#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x female reader#din djarin x you#din djarin smut#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#din djarin breeding kink#you ask and JHFTM delivers!#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal characters fanfic#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal character smutfic#the mandalorian x f!reader#Din djarin x f!reader#pedro pascal character x f!reader#the mandalorian breeding kink#pedro pascal character breeding kink
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1. "You're such a dork."
2. "Get over here, you doof."
3. "Cheeky."
4. "You're so needy."
5. "Kiss me again."
6. "You're so adorable!"
7. "Look at you... goodness, you're so cute!"
8. "I'm just so happy!"
9. "I can't stop smiling."
10. "I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt."
11. "You are being extra sweet today."
12. "Oh, look at you!"
13. "Your eyes are so pretty."
14. "I'm really happy that you're here with me."
15. "Thank you for staying with me."
16. "I don't think I've ever loved someone this much before."
17. "I feel like I'm in the clouds when I'm with you."
18. "You're like my hero/heroine."
19. "I'm gonna tickle you if you don't come over here."
20. "My, oh my. You are such a beautiful creature."
@drink-it-write-it
21. "Go with me?" "As long as you hold my hand."
22. "Is there a reason you're blushing like that?"
23. "Have you seen my hoodie?" "Nooooo..." "You're wearing it, aren't you?"
24. "OH you're jealous!"
25. "Can we stay like this forever?"
26. "Please just kiss me already."
27. "I think you might be my soulmate."
28. "Sleep over? Please?"
29. "Are we on a date right now?"
30. "I think I'm in love with you."
31. "Are you flirting with me?" "You finally noticed?"
32. "Am I your lockscreen?" "You weren't supposed to see that."
33. "I wish we could live together already."
34. "They're so cute when they're asleep."
35. "I just wanted to let you know that I think you're beautiful."
36. "Quit touching me, your feet are cold!"
37. "Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"
38. "Give me attention."
39. "You met me yesterday." "Yes, and I would die for you. Next question."
40. "She's hiding behind the sofa."
41. "Did you just hiss at me?"
@wishiwasanavenger-archive
42. "Have you kissed anyone before?"
43. "Can I kiss you?"
44. "You're not hurting me, you're not heavy. I've got you, love.”
45. "I look at them and I just... it's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes."
46. "I don't... I've never... been in a relationship before and I'm going to make mistakes... I just need you to tell me. I need you to talk to me."
47. "You didn't tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?"
48. "You give me a reason to be better, to do better."
49. "God, you are so fucking cute."
50. "I love you, but I need you to go away because you're really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow."
51. "Oh no... they're cute."
52. "I can't talk to cute people, okay? I don't know how to flirt!"
53. "God, I love your face."
54. "Don't look at me, I'm a mess!" "I love it when you're a mess!"
55. "Please do your homework for me...? Just one time." ... "I said one time, y'know... you didn't have to start studying. Not that I'm not proud or anything."
56. "I'm already home."
57. "Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner."
58. "Stop moving! I'm going to have to start counting all over again!"
59. "I just thought that since you weren't feeling too good, this would help."
60. "I'm not kissing you in the rain! We'll catch our death!"
61. "Would it help if I stayed?"
62. "I apologise sincerely if my beautiful/handsome face has kept you up all night."
63. "God, you're pretty."
64. "Calm down, it's just a chocolate bar!"
65. "Please, tell me you brought a toothbrush?"
66. "You take the bed, you need it more than me."
67. "You're so warm!"
68. "You're freezing, Jesus!"
69. "You always look beautiful."
70. "Your hands are so small!"
71. "Sometimes I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?"
72. "Now I know where half my wardrobe went."
73. "Here, let me just–"
74. "You're really special to me."
75. "That tickles!"
76. "We only have one room left for the night..."
77. "Naps are life, okay?"
78. "I don't think I could love you anymore than I already do."
79. "I had the weirdest dream..."
80. "I got you a trophy, it's only plastic, but it's for being the best human I know."
81. "Someone keeps leaving love notes in my locker and I don't know if I should find it endearing or creepy..."
82. "I love your voice."
83. "Put me down! I can walk!"
84. "Can... can you come over?"
85. "You're the best."
86. "Can you please stop biting your lip, it's distracting."
87. "I thought you liked love songs!"
88. "I know you're not a fan of Valentine's day... I just thought that maybe I could change your mind..."
89. "You're my favourite know-it-all."
90. "That was the least romantic proposal in the entire history of proposals."
91. "I never knew you were a romantic at heart."
92. "I made it. For you. I know it's not the best, but..."
93. "Let me carry that."
94. "How do you know my favourite drink?" "I'm observant."
95. "We've known each other's for years and I don't think we've ever had a proper conversation."
96. "You're the clumsiest person I know, how did you survive past childhood?"
97. "It's always time for a milkshake."
98. "You know, humming the James Bond theme tune defeats the point of sneaking."
99. "I think your cat wants to kill me."
100. "Where have all my jumpers gone?"
101. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."
102. "Oh my God, I love you."
103. "I told you to bring a jacket."
@writings-of-a-hufflepuff
104. "Is that my shirt?" "You mean our shirt?"
105. "It's you, it always has been."
106. "You're everything I could've wanted and more."
107. "Kiss me."
108. "Home stopped being a place when you entered my life."
109. "You should probably go home." "But I'm already home."
110. "You're an idiot." "But you love me."
111. "I'd do anything for you."
112. "You took all the pillows so I'm using you as one."
113. "Stop moving and let me braid your hair."
114. "I'm so proud of you."
115. "You are my family."
116. "I'm right here."
117. "Can you just please hold me?"
118. "I'm pretty sure they're my soulmate."
119. "This reminded me of you."
120. "Your hair is really soft."
121. "Are you blushing?"
122. "Can I stay here tonight?"
123. "Because I love you."
124. "Make a wish!"
125. "I love seeing you smile."
126. "You're just a softie."
127. "You are crushing me right now."
128. "Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen."
129. "Take my hand. Just trust me."
130. "You're the only thing that matters."
131. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"
132. "Hey, look at me. Focus on me, alright?"
133. "Why can't I get you out of my head?"
134. "Don't let go."
135. "Stay."
@blisfvll
136. "You smell really nice."
137. "If you steal the blanket, I'm going to put my cold feet on you."
138. "You're comfy."
139. "But I want to hear you sing."
140. "Don't get up – I'll do it."
141. "Care to give me a back scratch?"
142. "Your bed head is really cute."
143. "How about a kiss?"
144. "Uh oh, I know that look. What do you want?"
145. "Are you really flirting with me right now?"
146. "I like the way your hand fits in mine."
147. "You have something in your hair, umm... do you want me to get it out?"
148. "It's nice that your voice is the first thing I heard today."
149. "This movie is really scary, but you're into it so I'm trying not to cover my face the whole time but– WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"
150. "Wait, don't pull away... not yet."
151. "Half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything."
152. "No, it's fine. I can wait until you're done talking to them."
153. "No, like... it's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."
154. "I've been trying to get ready for like an hour and an half because I know you're going to look so good and I need to try and match up."
155. "I wanted to say 'I love you' for the first time without stuttering, but that failed."
156. "We could order pizza and just stay like this all day."
157. "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling."
158. "I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror..."
@marauder-exe
159. "It's not funny!"
160. "That wasn't suppose to happen."
161. "Hurry back."
162. "I can't take you seriously."
163. "Problem solved."
164. "That was embarrassing."
165. "It's freezing in here."
@love-me-a-good-prompt
166. "I love you, baby."
167. "Hey, cutie."
168. "I promise to love you for the rest of my life."
169. "You're my world."
170. "I don't care if you're sick, catching a cold from kissing you is worth it."
171. "You are so perfect."
172. "Marry me?"
173. "You're the best part of me."
174. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives."
175. "I'm speechless, you're so beautiful!"
176. "Come here, I need to hug you."
177. "When everything's wrong, it's you that makes it right."
178. "You're the one."
@raggedy-dxctor
179. "Well, it's the thought that counts." "Wait, no, don't take my kisses away from me!"
180. "Oh, you've started stealing my socks now?"
181. "You owe me a kiss."
182. "How did you get in here?"
183. "That's not even fair."
184. "You promised me a cookie!"
185. "Ew, that is so sappy, I might vomit."
186. "You're not very intimidating."
187. "That was, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever done."
188. "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."
189. "Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?"
@whcczes
190. "I'll feel much better if you let me walk you home."
191. "Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together."
192. "You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe."
@moanlightlust
193. "It's two in the morning and you want to cuddle?"
194. "You shine so bright it's intimidating. I love it."
195. "I'm here."
196. "What's your name again? Sorry, I just got that super weird feeling that we only see in movies, you know? Like, the whole world stopped turning and all I could see was you."
197. "I was born to be yours."
198. "Isn't it a bit too cliché?"
199. "So, you're just kissing strangers for no apparent reasons?"
200. "You'll always be my favourite person."
201. "You're making it weird, stop making it weird."
202. "There's nothing I love more than running back into your arms."
203. "I'm yours. Forever."
204. "You always know how to cheer me up."
205. "I... I lost the ring."
206. "Will you be mine?"
207. "Darling, you look perfect tonight."
208. "You saved my life."
209. "Don't give me that look. No... NO! I said no puppy dog eyes! You know I can't resist them! Argh, fine!"
210. "I missed you and your bad puns and even your horrible cooking and the way you fit perfectly against my body when we cuddle. I just really missed you."
211. "We're a team, remember?"
212. "There's no place I'd rather be than by your side."
213. "Your smile brightens the whole room."
214. "I kinda adopted a puppy behind your back... don't be mad! Look at those cute fluffy paws!"
215. "You're burning up. Guess I need to activate my nurse mode."
216. "I love you. As in more than friends, more than best friends and more than super extra best friends."
217. "I love you just the way you are."
218. "We need to kick his ass, no questions asked. You in?"
219. "Hot chocolate and cuddles? Kisses?"
220. "You make me feel pretty."
221. "You'll always be my best girl."
222. "Never hide yourself from me."
223. "Babe! There's no toilet paper!"
224. "I'll never give up on you."
225. "Do you feel that shirt? That's boyfriend material."
226. "That prank went so wrong."
227. "Care to dance, my love?"
228. "AH! You're stuck with me!"
229. "You're too good to me."
230. "Is it that time of the month?"
231. "Can I braid your hair?"
232. "It's okay to have doubts, as long as you don't let them overwhelm you."
233. "Come here! I can't stand to be so far away from you!"
234. "I got you."
235. "I wanna fall asleep next to you every night and wake up every morning with you by my side."
236. "Stop, I need to finish this!"
237. "I just wanna binge watch The Office, but it's not the same without you."
238. "Because I care about you!"
239. "I just wanted to impress you."
240. "I love you even though your breath stinks right now."
241. "Did you just puke on me?"
242. "We should get drunk and do stupid things."
243. "I always know what you're thinking about, babe. You're like an open book!"
244. "Could you sing to me?"
245. "I, uh, could you... could you play with my hair, please?"
246. "Nooooo, don't leave! I'm cold!"
247. "I think you're suffering from a lack of vitamin me."
248. "A mistletoe? Really?"
249. "Will you join me, love?"
250. "I have feelings for you."
251. "You are the reason."
252. "Take my hand, I wanna show you something..."
253. "You have a lovely name."
254. "You're my everything."
255. "You do know a lot about my blushing schedule."
@voilawind
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The Love We Have
Part 1/5 - AO3 - Next
Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen... only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.
Ship: Geraskier
Rating: T
Warnings: None?? Maybe... I'll add them later if I remember any.
(Written as a prompt that got way out of hand for @dani-dandelino and beta'd by @professorjaskier)
____
The path up the mountain was steep, treacherous and fucking cold. Jaskier felt himself slipping on the loose rocks underfoot. He yelped, ready to meet his maker but Geralt’s strong arms wrapped around his waist before he could hit the floor. It was all very reminiscent of a lover’s embrace.
One could only dream.
Geralt had been particularly stoic on the trek up The Killer, barely responding to even direct questions and grunting orders when they set up camp for the night, but there was none of their usual banter. Unfortunately, Jaskier’s fingers had been too frozen to pluck at his lute, leaving a deafening silence between them. To top it off Geralt was now glaring at him from across the campfire.
Jaskier sighed, stuffing his hands under his armpits, pulling his hood closer around his ears. “Geralt?”
Geralt’s eyes widened as he seemed to finally register their surroundings, and he let out a low hum.
“Have- have I done something wrong?”
The crease between Geralt’s brows deepened, his jaws clenching. “No.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes, scoffing haughtily. “Oh sure. Sure. So that’s why you’re acting all…” Jaskier trailed off, gesturing at Geralt’s direction with a flick of his wrist.
“Hmm.”
“Oh no. No, no, no. We are not doing this!” Jaskier tried to put his hands on his hips but the motion let a biting cold breeze into the thick woollen travelling coat that Geralt had insisted he buy for the journey to Kaer Morhen. “You’ve been grumpier than usual and honestly, I wasn’t sure that was possible. What’s going on, Geralt?”
Geralt let out a long heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wore a weary expression that Jaskier thought was utterly adorable; not that he would ever tell Geralt that. He’d learnt the hard way how much a witcher’s punch to the gut could hurt. Instead, he rested his chin on his knees and pouted at his friend. “Come on, Geralt, you invited me here. No pretending that we aren’t friends anymore.”
Geralt smiled faintly at that and then sighed once more. “I haven’t been honest with you.”
“About us being friends?” Jaskier laughed “I stopped caring about that years ago. Your actions speak louder than words, my dear.”
“Jaskier!”
Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut. He was barely able to conceal his gleeful smirk. This felt like coming home after the stone-cold silences of the last few days. It almost warmed the chill in his bones; almost. It would take a veritable miracle at this stage to fend off the frost bite.
“Done?” Geralt growled and Jaskier nodded. Pressing his lips together. “We have an old tradition at Kaer Morhen, ever since…” Geralt trailed off with a growl. “It’s to protect us, our home.”
Jaskier raised his eyebrow, tongue flicking out to lick his lip, a habit he’d picked up to prevent himself from interrupting Geralt. His witcher often took longer to find the right words, and Jaskier had learnt it was better to be patient.
“Only significant others are allowed.”
Jaskier blinked and Geralt’s words hung heavy in the air.
“I’m. I’m sorry, what?” he gaped.
Significant other?
“You heard me, bard.”
Jaskier let out a nervous laugh, wringing his hands in his lap. “But. but we’re. we’re not?”
Oh, if only they were.
“I know that.”
“Then why?!” Jaskier wasn’t proud of the way his voice squeaked, jumping two octaves.
“I. I trust you.”
Jaskier scoffed. After nearly a decade of friendship he sincerely hoped that the witcher trusted him. He had been absolutely delighted when Geralt had extended the invitation to his elusive home in the mountains. He hated leaving Geralt over winter, the cold making his dorms at Oxenfurt seem even lonelier… but to pretend they were dating?
It was a little too close to the truth for comfort.
He was surprised Geralt had asked him at all. The witcher rarely admitted they were friends. Jaskier couldn’t imagine he’d be particularly thrilled about pretending to be lovers, and he had a brilliant imagination!
Unless, of course, Jaskier had gotten the wrong end of the stick. He could be jumping to conclusions. Geralt probably hadn’t meant for them to pretend to be lovers at all. It was just a pre-warning that Jaskier might not be entirely welcome until he earned the other witcher’s trust. They were breaking the rules. That was it.
“So…” he trailed off, not knowing how to voice his question. Geralt, helpfully grunted in response. Jaskier rolled his eyes and tried again. “Are you nervous about breaking the rules?”
Geralt frowned, that adorable little crease on his forehead deepening and Jaskier yearned to smooth it out with a press of his thumb, but alas the witcher remained grumpy and unobtainable. “They won’t know,” he huffed.
If Jaskier had been eating or drinking at that moment, then he certainly would have choked on it or spat it out all over the floor in his shock. As it was, he almost fell off the log he was perching on. “I’m sorry?”
“They’ll make assumptions. We won’t correct them.”
Jaskier was sure that his jaw would never leave the floor. “We. we won’t?”
“No.”
“Alrighty…”
An awkward silence fell over the camp. The crackling of the fire suddenly sounded louder than any tavern in Oxenfurt. Jaskier could hear every breath like a hurricane blowing through the camp, the howling of distant wolves clawing down his spine. What felt like hours was probably only seconds when the silence became too much to bear.
“Oh ho ho, no. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry. What the fuck, Geralt?”
Geralt sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “I should have asked sooner.”
“Do you even know what you’re asking of me?” Jaskier peered suspiciously at the witcher, wringing his hands in his lap and flexing his fingers. He desperately wanted his lute, his notebook… something, anything.
“Just don’t correct them?”
Jaskier snorted. “Just don’t correct them?” he asked incredulously “Oh sure, it’s that simple. Geralt, my dear, you’re asking me to pretend I’m in love with you.”
Jaskier barely managed to conceal his flinch.
Pretend.
Hah!
If only it were that simple. He was a pretty decent actor, most graduates of Oxenfurt were, but to act like he was only pretending to be in love with Geralt? That would be perhaps his toughest role to date.
And it would fucking hurt. Especially since Geralt hadn’t seemed to have realised he would have to do the same.
“Fuck.”
Jaskier tilted his head at the witcher, brushing his fringe from his eyes, his hand shivering from the cold. The penny had apparently dropped; finally.
He smirked, “Well, I was thinking we’d only have to kiss but if you insist?”
Geralt growled and pushed him onto the floor.
____
That night had been a particularly awkward one. The biting cold meant that Jaskier had to curl up into Geralt’s side to prevent himself from freezing to death. Geralt would normally wrap his arms around Jaskier in his sleep, making it more comfortable for both of them. But when he woke Geralt was lying rigid next to him; only staying as close as absolutely necessary and nothing more.
They ate their breakfast in silence, with even Jaskier’s normal chatter and noise absent. Jaskier was starting to get really sick of silences but he knew that Geralt needed a chance to process. The witcher would only blow up in his face if he said something now. It was a struggle for both of them. Jaskier was always desperate to fill the silence. He never enjoyed being left alone with his own thoughts and chattering about everything and nothing helped to calm the anxiety inducing void, and yet he knew that Geralt sometimes needed time. He would normally be scribbling away in his notebook, or carving patterns into the dirt with his boots, anything to keep busy, keep moving. Instead, he tapped out silent lute fingerings on his leg beneath the cloak and chewed on his lip, only stopping when he tasted the sharp tang of blood.
It was only after they had packed up camp and been walking for a few minutes that Geralt finally spoke, seemingly calmed by Roach’s reins in his hand.
“We should plan.”
Jaskier, still shivering under his cloak, snorted; a cloud swirling in front of his face like he was some kind of draconid. “Plan?”
“Hmm.”
“Pray tell me, dear witcher, what are we planning?”
Geralt grunted, gesturing between them, a trace of a blush on his cheeks which utterly delighted Jaskier. The blush meant that Geralt could only mean one thing, and Jaskier was having a ball!
His grumpy, allergic to feelings, witcher wanted to plan how they were going to convince a keep full of witchers that they were not only dating but seriously involved. Geralt wanted to talk about it. That was a first. Perhaps the witcher was treating this like just another contract to prepare for. That thought made Jaskier’s heart clench in his chest.
Just another contract.
Fuck.
He plastered a bright smile on his face before Geralt could notice his inner turmoil and clapped his friend on the back. “What’s there to plan?” he asked cheerfully, voice full of fake camaraderie. “We’re pretending to be in love, should be easy! I’m a bard, a troubadour, a graduate of the famed Oxenfurt academy!”
“Jaskier, shut up.”
Jaskier gaped and shoved Geralt in the chest. “You wanted to talk, Geralt!”
“We need boundaries.”
Jaskier’s heart sank and his smile faltered. “Right, yes, of course. I was. I was joking, last night, when I said…”
“I know.”
“We probably will have to kiss though.” he mumbled, his cheeks were a blazing fire and he probably resembled a tomato. Hopefully Geralt would just think he was cold, which he really really was. Honestly, he was starting to think that he might never be warm again. What was heat anyway? He swallowed, digging his nails into his palm. “Maybe just on the cheek. Think your family will buy that?” Geralt shook his head. “Well… bollocks.”
Geralt chuckled and Jaskier looked up at him with a sheepish smile. Geralt actually had the decency to look apologetic for the mess he’d gotten them into. “It’ll be just enough to convince them, nothing more.”
Nothing more. Of course it was nothing more. These were the boundaries that Geralt was talking about. He didn’t want Jaskier to think it was anything more than an act. Well, message received loud and clear! He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He should be ecstatic, finally a chance to kiss Geralt… but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he wanted.
It wasn’t real.
Geralt grunted, his own hands were buried in Roach’s mane as they walked side by side up the perilous mountain. He paused suddenly and began fussing with Roach’s saddlebags. Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, shuffling from one foot to another to keep moving. He had to keep moving or he might freeze to death. He could already feel his toes going numb and the perpetual stinging in his fingers. Oh he was definitely getting frostbite. He watched Geralt for a few moments. The witcher’s shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched. Jaskier sighed and placed a hand on Geralt’s arm, enjoying the soft warmth that radiated from the witcher, letting it seep into his frozen bones.
“Do. Do you want to practice?”
“What?”
“Kissing,” Jaskier said with a flick of his wrist. “You want boundaries, so let’s practice. That way we’ll know what we’re comfortable with”
“You want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed in front of his chest.
Jaskier scoffed at Geralt’s emotionally constipated antics. He was nearly at his limit with stupid witchers and he hadn’t even reached Kaer Morhen yet. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.
Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest. “You suggested it!” he pointed out “and I’m never going to refuse the opportunity to kiss such a gorgeous person. You, dear witcher, are no exception!” He hoped that Geralt would be fooled by his nonchalant flirting. He did this all the time in taverns and courts all around the Continent and Geralt had witnessed it on many occasions. This was just what Jaskier did, nothing out of the ordinary… nothing to worry about.
He swallowed, a bubble of fear rising up in his chest and he couldn’t calm his racing heart. Oh gods, this was really far too close to the truth.
Geralt just gave a hum but let go of Roach’s reins. He gripped Jaskier’s shoulder and cocked his head, giving Jaskier the fondest of smiles. “Last chance to back out, bard.”
Jaskier grinned, raising his chin. He had a stubborn streak that would serve him well here. He never could say no to a challenge. “Just kiss me, you coward.”
A lie. Geralt was no coward. If anyone were it would be Jaskier. He couldn’t even tell Geralt the true depth of his feelings. They were concealed in songs for the whole Continent to hear but he couldn’t tell the one person that really ought to know. It was pathetic, pining over his best friend for years and years instead of moving on or just… admitting the truth?
Luckily Jaskier’s joke seemed to break the tension between them. Geralt hummed and cupped his cheek with more tenderness than he’d expected. Chapped lips pressed against his, warm and gentle as Geralt’s thumb stroked his cheek, calloused fingers brushing against the stubble that was beginning to prickle up through his skin. Jaskier wasn’t sure where to put his hands. He yearned to cup the nape of Geralt’s neck, to pull his lover closer and never let go. In a more passionate affair, his hands would land on his partner’s arse, squeezing cheekily as the kiss deepened.
Jaskier wanted to cry. It was all so sweet, so perfect, and none of it was real. This was his fate. Like a character in one of his ballads, a flower doomed to wither away without the heart of his beloved.
But this was Geralt.
This was his friend.
He settled for holding onto Geralt’s waist, his fingers digging into the wool of Geralt’s cloak. The kiss was over all too soon, leaving his head spinning. He felt breathless, like all his soul had been poured into the kiss. He pulled back from Geralt’s embrace in a hopeless attempt to calm his beating heart, but it was too late. The damage was done. With a single kiss Geralt had ruined Jaskier for all other love. Before it had been pitiful yearning but now…
Gods…
He was utterly done for.
His fingers itched for his quill. Oh, the poems and ballads he could pull from just a single kiss. A buttercup crushed under the paws of a great wolf as he roamed through the forests. Okay, that one might be a tad obvious. He preferred to at least try and hide in plain sight.
A dandelion perhaps?
Geralt would never need to know that Jaskier had almost chosen a different flower as his namesake.
“Jaskier?”
Jaskier blinked and looked up at Geralt. Normally Jaskier was able to pick up the most minute changes in Geralt’s expression and his eyes were usually an open book. The witcher’s face gave away nothing and it was bloody infuriating.
“That…. that went well?” he stammered, pulling at a loose thread in his cloak.
“Hmm. We’ll be fine,” Geralt turned from him, looking more and more like the Butcher of Blaviken of old, and less like Jaskier’s darling White Wolf. “It’s not long now. We should get going.”
And get going they did.
#the witcher#geraskier#fake dating#geralt x jaskier#geralt/jaskier#kaer morhen#wolfie's witcher writing
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Hi-!! Can I get Kenma HCs? 👉👈
Okay so I wasn’t sure if you meant general ‘Kenma just being Kenma’ HCs or relationship HCs so I did both I also added a lil imagine at the end 😺 (this isn’t fully proof read but there should be small mistakes only)
Requests are open!
When you and Kenma first got together, he was genuinely surprised how little you cared about how other people felt about you guys together
He’d always feel insecure when the sly remarks like ‘Wow Y/N and Kenma? I never imagined.’ Or ‘Y/N is probably just with him out of pity.’ would be whispered around him
Just every jab someone could get out they said it loud enough for him to hear it.
But by the time he’d try to ignore what they’re saying and think about it later, your either cussing them out, ignoring them, or ignoring them and kissing him instead
And Kenma wasn’t complaining
He wasn’t a fan of PDA other then holding hands but there are acceptions (ahem^) But most of the time he’s only hugging you when he as small anxiety attacks in public
Kenma has mostly oversized hoodies and tends to pick at his sleeves when he gets nervous so just know when you steal his hoodies be careful
If you get one of the loose strings caught on something that hoodie is becoming threads in seconds.
He really likes it if you play with his hands of fingers, or when he’s gaming if you wrap your legs from behind him and just be there together he really enjoys it
But don’t lay in his lap because he will bonk you on the head on accident if he rages
Without even realizing it Kenma sometimes goes on about you to Kuroo or Hinata, but by the time he realizes it he blushes at the smug looks on their faces
One time you face planted and Kenma laughed so hard he lost his voice, but I kind of ended up good because he cuddled with you the entire healing time
When you want to go outside with him it’s either shopping, looking for new games, or talking while bumping a volleyball over to each other
Sometimes you’d catch Kenma randomly scrunching his nose up while you’re about to sleep to in class while you guys are doing your work
You didn’t know why he did it until he told you that he’d think about something he regretted and he just:
Kenma regularly FaceTimes you, Kuroo, or Hinata or all of you at once to talk about a game release he’s really excited for
When he teaches you how to play a game he will either sit next to you or have his arms wrapped around you. Softly telling what buttons to press and what to do.
And once you get the hang of a game, one day he’ll just wake up and choose violence, deciding to troll the hell out of you just to get a reaction (silent cackling Kenma intestifies)
You and Kenma made a discord server together for the Nekoma team so you guys could talk regularly or just schedule hangouts
Ok but I feel like Kenma would be with someone who radiates the same energy as Hinata or Kuroo. Or someone who has both. Orrr on the other side of the spectrum where he’s with someone that’s just like ‘Whatever happens, happens.’
I mean, of course not exactly like them but Kenma is friends with both of them for a reason-
I feel like it’s canon the Kenma just glares at Lev from time to time for Lev just being...Lev, but when he gets with you it happens more often because Lev always makes it his goal to see you laugh or talk to you constantly
In which Kenma gets jealous and silently tells Yaku he slacking off
This mans is a silent menace to society and he does not care
Ok I also feel like sometimes he’d take you to a new cafe that just opened, get the most sweetest or most bitter thing there, and let you have it just to mess with you.
His way to ask you for affection is when he’d just kind of stand there next to you like ‘🧍😺’ Or just kind of expects you to initiate it in general
But when you start to do it less and less, Kenma feels like you both are starting to feel more like friends than lovers
So when you kind of leave him alone suddenly, he thinks he did something wrong and tries to make it up himself
Your eyes we’re getting tired of the flashing screen. The vibrant colors clashing and moving quickly. You blink, getting out of the trance the TV screen pulled you in. You were starting to see why Kenma got so addicted to this game. You felt your stomach rumble. You groaned a little, not wanting to leave the warm blanket wrapped around you, but feeling your stomach rumble again, you sigh and unwinded yourself from the heat, and made your way to the kitchen. Kenma felt movement but ignored it, thinking it was just you getting comfortable. But when he didn’t hear your small cheers or nudges when he won the round he looked back to see you’re not there. Slight panic rose in him. He shrugged it off at first. Though his thoughts started to get to him. Were you getting bored of him? Did you feel ignored? Wait...did you leave?
Kenma paused the game, and was out of the room in seconds. He made his way downstairs in a hurry, but instead he breathed a sigh of relief. You were rummaging through the fridge. Probably looking for something quick, but his parents haven’t went shopping so he knew it was nothing there. An idea came to his head, covering half of his face with his hand. He pursed his lips and hoped he didn’t embarrass himself.
As you were raiding looking through the fridge, you heard a small ‘fuck it’ and felt arms wrap around your waist. You looked back in shock, essentially freezing on the spot as you looked at him dumbfounded. And to be fair Kenma almost never initiated physical contact. So you just kind of looked at him. You were kind of taking in this moment. Kenma stopped breathing, his face flushed. It turning red, going down his neck.
“I-I’m sorry, that was stupid, you probably hated that. I-“
Kenma grimanced and hid his face, rushing back up to his room. You called out to him but the door was already closed when you did. You sighed in annoyance at yourself. Quickly making your way up not that long after him. You placed a hand over your heart when the door wasn’t locked. You looked into the room lit by the bright TV screen to see a hump under the fluffy cat themed blanket on the bed. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. Instead you crawl onto the bed, stopping right by him. Rubbing his back, he jumped at your touch then seemingly sinking further into the mattress.
“Ken? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not respond, it’s just you usually don’t start a hug I got so surprised.”
A moment of silence passed, you hear a huff, he scooted away from you. You couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto your face, you took out your phone, snapping a picture. You laugh into your hand but go back to rubbing his back.
“Aww c’mon Ken don’t be like this, I’m sor-“
“I should be saying sorry, it’s not your fault. You probably didn’t like my scrawny arms around you anyway...I’ve also not been talking to you as much as I should and you probably hate me.”
You deadpanned at him, then yanked the blanket off him. You swore your heard a small squeal but decided to ignore it. “Y’know, you said a lot of ‘probables’. Stop assuming things without talking to me, you know I love you. I won’t ever judge you like that Kenma. Plus I expected you to be like this when we got into it in the first place. I wouldn’t get with someone I’m not attracted to Ken. So stop all that insecure stuff before I kiss it out of you.” Kenma face heated up at that, he looked anywhere but you, flustered that you said it with such confidence. You placed a hand onto his cheek. He looked shocked at first, but it was replaced by a small smile adorning his pretty features, he gently caressed your hand.
But you ultimately decided to ruin the moment when you flicked his forehead as you got up.
“Alright get your dorito dust headass up cause we’re gonna order takeout.”
Kenma held his forehead, giving you a playful glare, pouting afterwards. He got up off the bed, grabbing his phone and heading downstairs. “Whatever get your hungry ass down here so we can order something.”
“Kenma you- ugh”
Kenma felt a smile tug at his lips as you continued to bicker throughout the time you were ordering.
Hey 😺. Seriously, I enjoyed this request so I’d love to do more of these. The dorito dust insult came from a friend who just started Haikyuu and that’s what she said and it had me cackling so there you go. But enjoy some cute Kenma HCs. I was gonna make it angsty but I forgot to do Valentines so🤸 Also I did more HCs to make up for bad 3am imagine but 🤠
#fluff#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu#haikyu x reader#haikyuu hcs#haikyuu x female reader#haikyuu x male reader#kozume kenma#kenma hcs#kenma#kenma x reader#haikyuu x gn!reader#haikyuu x f!reader#haikyuu x m!reader#kuroo x reader#shoyo hinata x reader#kenma fluff#nekoma x reader#nekoma#haikyuu!!
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Idk if you are still doing this. But 18 and 40?
i think you're my last one !!!
(all you need to know for this is that on monday i went to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and today i went to the Smithsonian museum of natural history)
18. Someone’s birthday + 40. “It’s just hard for me to forgive you after everything that’s happened.”
"You said you'd be polite," Padmé murmurs just loud enough for Anakin to hear. "Civil. I think your actual words were, 'Yeah of course, Padmé, I won't even look in his direction!'"
"This me being polite," her friend mumbles from next to her, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the lineloium of the floor.
"You glared at him so hard the second he came in that he didn't even approach me," Padmé points out, exasperated. "I'm the birthday girl! He came to see me!"
"You see each other all the time," Anakin defends gruffly, crossing his arms. "You work in the same building. Look even your exhibits are next to each other."
He gestures with a hand to the doors on the other side of the lobby. One reads Hall of Fossils--Deep Time. The other, straight ahead, reads Ocean Hall.
"First of all, you do know we don't actually work in those exhibits, right?" Padmé checks. "And second of all, with the new funding the Deep Ocean Exploration team has just gotten--"
Anakin cuts her off with an angry huff of derision. She hides her smile behind her glass of champagne as she takes a sip.
"Don't even get me started on that, Padmé. I don't understand at all how they chose deep ocean exploration over my team's proposal! I don't think I'll ever forgive him after everything that's happened now! You know we needed that funding! Our satellite designs are flawless! NASA approved, even! We could be out there now, exploring the galaxies! But Obi-Wan Kenobi says a few words about the fucking ocean and suddenly half the nation is putting on flippers and oxygen tanks?"
Padmé has to bite her lip to control her urge to burst out laughing at the angry, petulant expression on Anakin's face.
"I bet he slept with someone," Anakin mutters mutinously as Padme watches him watch Obi-Wan Kenobi move across the room, talking with party-guests and waitstaff interchangeably. The man, in an appropriately tailored and casual suit, throws his head back when he laughs at something someone says to him, and he pats her on the arm. Anakin's jaw flexes.
"I think it's quite telling that you think he's attractive enough to sleep his way into millions of dollars," she says, taking a sip of her champagne. "I can't think of a single fuck in my entire life worth that much money."
Anakin splutters and his face turns red. "That's not what I--" he gets out.
But Padmé has had enough of both of them pretending that they don't think the sun revolves around the other. As much as Anakin hasn't taken his eyes off of Obi-Wan since the man walked in, Obi-Wan has been shooting just as many surreptitious glances at Anakin when he thinks the blond-haired man is looking somewhere else.
It's been years of this. Two years exactly, actually, of Padmé in the middle of two men who are at each other's teeth professionally but can't seem to stay away from each other in their private lives. She's lost track of the amount of times the two of them have broken into deafening arguments over lunch or dinner or drinks because "We should be spending more resources on exploring space!" "Only 5% of the ocean has been explored!" "I can tell you what's down there! Fish!" "And I can tell you what's in space! Rocks!"
Padmé is, quite frankly, sick of it now. She'd like her life much more if her two friends could decide what exactly they wanted from each other. But no, they argue and hate each other when they're together, but she'll post a photo to her Instagram of her and Obi-Wan and a new intern, and Anakin will be texting her not even five minutes later, asking who that guy is and why he's holding Obi-Wan's waist in the photo. Or Anakin will publicly and loudly declare his intention to get back into the dating scene, and Padmé will spend the next two or so weeks fielding questions from Obi-Wan about if Anakin's found any space nerds to date, how those days may be going, if anyone's come back for seconds....
"You didn't let me finish," Padmé says quickly, when she catches Obi-Wan's eye and smiles at him, certain that this will get him to come over. "I was saying that with the new funding, Obi-Wan might not be working at the museum anymore."
Anakin freezes beside her. "What?" he breathes out.
"There's an open position in a research facility in Hawai'i. He's been tapped for it. I don't know really if he plans to accept yet..." she says leadingly, but it's pretty clear pretty quickly that Anakin isn't listening anymore.
"He never told me that," he says in a very small voice.
He sounds so unsure, hurt, that Padmé almost regrets what she's about to say. "Why would he?" she asks anyway. "You were just saying how you would never forgive him for winning the funding. This just be perfect for you. He leaves, you never have to see him again."
Anakin's eyebrows furrow and he looks confused. Hurt. Angry. The perfect expression for Obi-Wan's arrival in front of the pair of them.
"Padmé!" Obi-Wan smiles as he leans in and kisses her cheek. "Happy birthday! Amazing celebration, I cannot believe they allowed you to host it in the museum itself."
"Well, you only turn 35 once," she smiles at him.
Obi-Wan nods seriously with a teasing grin on his face. "Now you're old enough to run for president and everything."
She laughs. "Me? A head for politics? I'm not sure. But," she says slyly when it's very clear Anakin isn't going to say anything himself, too busy staring at the side of Obi-Wan's face with an intense, creepy sort of glare. "If anyone I know does, I think it'd be you. Ani and I were just talking about how they granted funding to your proposal the other day. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, thank you," Obi-Wan says graciously, but his smile has become fixed and his eyes dart over to Anakin.
Anakin, who decides to take this moment to figure out how to speak again. "When do you leave?" he asks in an angry, harsh tone. Padmé sighs to herself. She should have known a surprised and hurt Anakin turns to fury before he turns to acceptance, especially where Obi-Wan Kenobi is concerned.
"Pardon?" Obi-Wan asks politely, turning his body to face only Anakin. Padmé tries not to sigh again. She should be used to this, the way their eyesight narrows to only each other.
But on her birthday, really?
Anakin's jaw flexes as he gnashes his teeth together. There's nothing Ani hates more in the world than someone acting as if his question is a silly question.
That's not what Obi-Wan's doing of course, but Obi-Wan's done it enough in the past to rile Anakin up that Padmé can understand the confusion the astrophysicist is going through.
"To Hawai'i. Padmé said all your water money is gonna get you a fancy new position on the West Coast. Just wanted to know when you're going to go."
Padmé has half a mind to tell Obi-Wan that that is not, actually what she said, but Obi-Wan looks as if he wouldn't even realize she's spoken if she tried.
"Would you miss me?" the oceanologist murmurs, stepping closer to Anakin. "Were I to leave, would you miss me, Anakin?"
Anakin looks like a deer in the headlights for a second, before his face shuts down. "I wanna write it on my calendar, celebrate the day."
Obi-Wan's face flashes with something that leaves his eyes colder than before, and he steps back. Away. Padmé winces and tries to take a sip from her champagne glass before realizing it's empty.
"Well, that certainly makes things easier," he tells Anakin shortly before turning his full attention back to Padmé. "I meant to come over and say goodbye. It's a bit of walk home, and I have an early day tomorrow."
"But you just got here," Anakin sounds confused, as if he'd expected to keep Obi-Wan's attention for much longer.
Obi-Wan summarily ignores him and leans into kiss Padmé's cheek again. "Happy birthday again, Padmé," he tells her gripping her hand in both of his for a second before dropping it and turning back into the crowd.
"What was that?" Anakin says gruffly, crossing his arms. "Why'd he kiss you? He's leaving so early! And ignoring me! What?"
Padmé shakes her head and puts her hand on his arm. It looks like she's going to have to spell a few things out to her silly astrophysicist. "That was you fucking up," she says slowly.
Anakin scoffs. "What? No. We say that shit all the time to each other."
"Anakin, listen to me," she waits until his eyes are on hers and not trying to catch Obi-Wan's receding figure. "Today at lunch, he told me he hadn't decided if he was going to take the position yet. But I think he just did."
Anakin blinks at her. Men are stupid. These men especially.
"If you want him to stay, you have to tell him."
"Tell him--I...why do I--don't be ridiculous--"
"Anakin, I've known Obi-Wan for four years. The only thing he talked about the first two was the ocean. For the last two, it's been the ocean and you."
Anakin stares at her and then stares at the people around them. Padmé knows he's trying to find Obi-Wan in the crowd. "But...he's leaving."
"But he came here wearing a coat," she points out, giving him a little push towards the unmanned coat room.
"I--right," Anakin mumbles to himself.
Feeling like the best friend in the whole world, Padmé takes his champagne flute from him and pushes him harder forward. "Go get him, Ani," she encourages, but she gets the feeling Anakin isn't even listening to her anymore as he moves across the lobby to the coat room.
She watches just long enough to see Obi-Wan emerge from the room wearing his tan coat and Anakin pushing him furiously back inside. The door closes behind them, and Padmé hopes it comes with a lock.
But if it doesn't, that's their problem. She's done enough for one night.
#asks#prompt fill#this got sooooo long#but i love it!!!#jury's out on whether or not they've been sleeping together for a while now or if their first kiss takes place in that coat room#obikin#astrophysicist anakin#oceanologist obi-wan#oh look theres even alliteration#smithsonian au
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Sats au
Marcy, after a whole day of nonstop writing: *sleepily/aimlessly walks around the studio*
Sasha, sipping her her coffee in the dark: "You know it's midnight, right?"
Marcy, going completely still: *looks around confused*
okay i wrote smth for this and ik it doesn't fit the prompt exactly i hope u enjoy it anyway!!!
There was something strangely comforting about the studio, especially when the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner and there was no one around. Well, no one but Marcy. Technically, she wasn't allowed to be there, but it's not like anyone was going to kick them out. Besides, she was certain no one knew she was still there. And if they did, no one had come for them yet, so they couldn't get mad when they found her asleep on the couch in the morning.
Besides, the studio was probably one of the only places Marcy could actually focus on what she was doing. Their house was too noisy, especially since Sprig and Polly were over for the week whilst Hop Pop was away on some important trip, and her phone and laptop were there too, all easy distractions from the music she was meant to be going over. So she stayed behind, in the dark studio that had really, really, shitty wifi and an air-con that was stuck blowing cold wind into the building.
Sure, it wasn't the best and they could afford to rent out a new one, but all three of them liked the studio enough to stay, even if the couch was starting to fall apart and it was constantly just above freezing.
On one particular night, Marcy was sitting on the cold floor, one of Sasha's guitars in her lap as she tried to figure out a chord progression. No matter how many combinations she tried, it never sounded right. Sure, they could always just ask Sasha to play something for her, but Marcy knew how tired she'd been recently, and didn't want to bother her with something as trivial as a chord progression. Plus, figuring out herself might make Sasha less stressed about having to do a whole tour after not playing for months due to an injury.
She hadn't meant to stay up so late, but then again, this stupid chord progression was meant to be easy. Luckily, the coffee machine had been fixed just the day before and restocked with just about everything Marcy needed to keep her awake for an extra ten hours and she was absolutely going to take full advantage of it.
---
Marcy wasn't sure how long she'd been sat there, staring down at those stupid lines, but the notes were starting to blur together, making it all the more harder to actually figure out what they were supposed to be doing. Their fingers hurt from playing and the song was rattling around in her head, the same three lines playing on a loop, bringing Marcy closer and closer to just tearing up the sheets surrounding her.
She hadn't realised she'd been crying until a single tear fell onto the paper, it only smudged one note, but it was enough for the frustration that had been building up for the past however long to boil over.
Biting her lip to stop herself crying even more, she stood up and made a beeline for the door, because if she stayed in this stupid recording booth for any longer, Sasha would come in finding her guitar in pieces.
Swiping up the half finished coffee, Marcy stomped out of the room, blinking quickly to get rid of the tears pooling in their eyes. God this is so stupid, she thought to herself as she slammed the door open. In the back of her mind, she knew it would mark the wall, but she didn't have it in her to care. She'd probably just let everyone down. It was a simple chord progression and she couldn't even figure it out. So much for one of the best songwriters, she huffed, practically slamming the cup onto the desk.
Only, she slammed it too hard and the handle came clean off. Marcy stared at it for a few seconds, their eyes flitting between the handle closed in their fist and the mug Anne had got for her birthday on the table. "Fuck," she mumbled, pressing the handle back onto the mug as if that would magically mend it. For a moment, it looked like it was balanced, and Marcy slowly pulled her hand away, only for the handle to clatter against the desk a second later.
For the next ten minutes, Marcy tried to reattach the handle, each with less success than the last. It was pathetic really, but she was so caught up in the fact that she broke Anne's gift to her, that she didn't really have the mental capacity to care about it. So what if everyone saw her breakdown the next time they checked the security footage? That didn't matter when she'd just ruined something Anne gave her.
It was the feeling of warm hands on her own that finally got Marcy to stop. Everything seemed to drain out of her as the mug and handle were pried away from her. Vaguely, she wondered who was in the studio so late, although there was a chance she'd just spent several hours trying to force a cup back together and everyone had arrived for their final session. Either way, they didn't object as someone wrapped their arms around her waist and picked them up.
"I'm sorry," Marcy mumbled after a few minutes. It hadn't been part of her plan when she opted to stay behind to have some sort of breakdown and then cry in someone's arms, and she couldn't help feeling like she should apologise.
"Don't worry 'bout it, you looked like you needed this," Sasha's voice was a mere whisper in her ear, but it still sent Marcy's heart racing.
"Sasha?" Marcy asked, her eyes snapping open as she stared up into her band-mate's face. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Sasha said, a small frown on her face.
"I was," they paused and looked down, resting their head against Sasha's chest. "I was trying to figure out that chord progression you were complaining about. You've been so stressed recently, and it doesn't help we're going back on tour soon and you haven't played in a while, so I thought that, maybe, if I fixed it for you, it would make you slightly less stressed," saying it out loud, she realised that maybe it wasn't her best idea, but she wanted to do something for her friends. They both did so much for her, it was high time she did something for them.
“You… you didn’t have to do that, mar-mar,” Sasha said gently, and even though she wasn’t looking, Marcy could see the smile on her face. The way Sasha’s lips twitched up and her eyes would crinkle ever so slightly, because she didn’t usually smile and when she did it was a sight to behold. “But if that’s what got you so upset…”
“No, it wasn’t that,” well, not entirely, “I just got stressed.”
“That, or you haven’t slept properly in about a week and keep sneaking off here when you think Anne and I are asleep,” Sasha said, though her voice held no anger.
Marcy felt themself go still as Sasha spoke. How did she know? Were they that obvious? No, no she couldn’t be because no one had even asked her about it before! “That’s stupid,” Marcy scoffed instead, “I’ve been sleeping perfectly fine.”
“Marce…” Sasha mumbled, her arms coming up to gently squeeze their shoulders. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t force you to tell me, but if you think it’ll help to get it off your shoulders I’m-” she swallowed, almost like it was hard to admit that she was there for Marcy. “I’m always here, whenever you need. Even if it is 1 am on the shitty studio couch,” she ended lightly. Marcy giggled and moved slightly to bring a hand up to where Sasha was drawing random shapes on their bicep.
“Thank you, Sash, seriously,” they said, threading their fingers together. “And I will tell you, both of you, just not right now.”
“It’s okay,” Sasha whispered, very obviously trying to hold back a yawn, “I’ll wait for as long as you need.”
Marcy smiled and pressed the pad of her thumb against Sasha’s. “Are you excited? For next week?”
“Hmm?” Sasha hummed, her body jerking ever so slightly as she woke up. “Yeah, but I’m also nervous, y’know?” she mumbled, slowly waving her lightly bandaged hand around. “I haven’t played in a while, so I don’t want to mess up or anything.”
“You won’t,” Marcy mumbled, her eyes growing heavy as they sat there, Sasha’s warmth creating a bubble of sorts, where nothing could get to her. “You’re really great, Sash, you’ll be amazing.”
When no response came, Marcy slowly lifted her head, only to find Sasha fast asleep against the arm of the couch. It looked uncomfortable, and they knew she would complain in the morning, but she looked so relaxed and Marcy didn’t want to ruin that for anything. So she slowly shifted so she was laying down, their head on Sasha’s lap and her arms wrapped tightly around Sasha’s waist. “Night, Sash.”
#sasharcy brainrot coming back fast <333#I JUST THINK THEY GET RLLY CLOSE OKAY!!!#and yh maybe this is slightly angsty but it ends in cuddles so <33#amphibia#amphibia fic#sasha and the sharps au#sasha waybright#marcy wu#sasharcy#anon#you ask i answer#marie.txt
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hi eli bby !! its me vio again shhshf
i loved ur vball player crush hcs w miya twins && suna and can i have that too w sakusa, semi && shirabu ? MY UNDERRATED BOYS CRIES SM <//3 thank u sm <33
hiiiii my love!!! tysm for requesting these boys i love them so much. i hope you like this lysm <3
sakusa kiyoomi
considering what i’ve seen in the anime, and some manga panels, i really don’t think omi’s a peoples person. so even in school, i doubt he was very involved with other students, and probably kept to himself
he’s also hyper-aware of his surroundings constantly, including the people around him, so the fact that he noticed you wasn’t a shock
it’s that he noticed you, and then he couldn’t stop thinking about you
probably had some dream about you that same night that cursed him with a crush on you yk the dreams i’m talking about right?
he still continues to keep to himself, and whenever he spots you from his peripheral vision he just dashes out of there. he realizes that forcing himself to act normally around you might actually improve his situation and help him get over whatever this stupid crush was but he was not taking any chances
he also knew nothing about you, just your last name!
so anyways both the boys and girls vbc’s are heading the same school, so they got one bus for the both of you and combined them.
because his general dislike for crowds, omi usually sits out in the front, especially because the door to the bus is right next to him. idk he just seems like the kind to map out an escape plan for every room/vehicle he enters i don’t have a reason why i think so
the game was happening on a weekend, really early, like way too early, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were tired. it’s an unspoken rule that those who sit in the back make a lotta noise and all that, so you opted for the front seats instead to at least try and rest a bit before the game
you don’t sit directly next to him, but there’s only an aisle separating the two of you
because, yk, manners, you give him a small smile before saying, “good morning!” and settling in your seat, your bag between your legs
omi on god freezes up lmfao
he doesn’t mean to sound so rude but it just comes out that way! he says something along the lines of “what are you doing here?” and immediately regrets it after it leaves his lips. he visibly cringes
but instead of being thrown off, you just laugh, and sakusa curses everything behind his mask because holy shit were you gorgeous and wow was his stomach just somersaulting
not a nice feeling
you explain to him briefly that you’re on the vbc and you were heading to play the girls of the same school he was gonna play against and all that, and he just hums and nods and tries to ignore the thump thump thump of his heart
you don’t really interact during the bus ride going to, it’s coming back that you do
you tell him that you managed to glimpse the last bit of his game, where he was landing a spike, and you complimented his skills and pointed out his freakish wrist move
he noted that he didn’t get to see you play and your brain went opportunity!
you go “well maybe you should come to one of my dates” like the absolute smooth talker you are
omi just hums and goes “i’ll see”
absolutely is there lol
the development into a relationship is more implicit than explicit. the two of you don’t announce to the world, but honestly, neither do you do it to yourselves. like you’d been on a coffee date with him at some point and your parent or sibling texted something you found funny and mentioned him as your boyfriend and you showed it to him and he was like
hm
am i your boyfriend
like idk am i your girlfriend
he said yeah obviously
i love this boy so fucking much pleaseeeee
but yes just as your development into a couple is subtle, so is your overall relationship. and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way
semi eita
omg pretty setter semi eeee
so yk how shiratorizawa students live in dorms? there’s no way semi hasn’t noticed you before, even if it’s separate dorms for different genders. like you two probably come across each other every once in a while at a vending machine or something, and exchange a word or two
it’s not until when semi starts to look forward to seeing you, or when he gets disappointed every time you don’t make an appearance, that he realizes, you know, he’s kinda developed a liking to you
he doesn’t really know much about you, aside your name and your favorite go-to snack from the vending machine, so he’s left a little frustrated at the lack of interactions you two have. like he’s just living off that small laugh of acknowledgment and the hi, hope you sleep well! you know? like he wants more from you. he wants to get to know you
he can’t seem to ever see you in school either, because the stars hate him that much and don’t wanna align for the two of you, not even a little to share one class with him. just one
it’s just his luck, though, when a busy weekend for all the sports teams comes along, and each sport is sectioned off to a bus. volleyball boys and girls in one bus, swimming boys and girls in one bus, etc.
he really doesn’t expect it when you get on the bus, because what the fuck you play volleyball??? and then he really doesn’t expect it when you recognize him, gasp and grin, and wave at him, and go over to sit by him
his brain’s short-circuiting
you immediately start conversation as you’re setting your bag down like “i didn’t know you played volleyball!”
and he laughs and nods like “i didn’t know you did either”
it’s honestly a really cute and satisfying moment like okay maybe the stars were just taking their time aligning thank you universe
the two of you click immediately. like annoyingly so. you have so much in common, and you spend the entire ride chatting excitedly about everything and semi’s wishing he’d just asked you to hang out way sooner, like as early as the first time you’d met at that vending machine
the girls’ games finish a lot later than the boys, so he comes and watches you play, and is enamored by you, completely. in his head he’s just ‘this girl just keeps growing more perfect.’
he walks back with you to the bus, and sits next to you as well. when you arrive back at the school, you don’t immediately go to your dorms, and he suggests grabbing a refreshing drink from somewhere nearby
it’s incredible how you still have so much to talk about
the time passes really quick with him
it’s while you’re having that drink with him, probably iced tea or boba or something, he tells you about his small passion for music, and you make him promise to play you something at some point. he loops his pinky with yours :)
he also confides in you about having been replaced on his last year, and how he tries not to let it affect him but he really can’t help him. from then on, after each of your practices, you invite him in your gym, and have him set to you, just so you both have an excuse to spend time with each other, and so that he gets to practice and play the way he really wants to, without any restrictions placed upon him and no one waiting to take his place
i think as a couple you’d probably really bring out the best in each other, and you’re constantly always, always there for each other. really, really reliant and supportive as partners, you know?
you go to all his games, and whenever he’s pitched in, you scream his name the loudest and cheer him on so much. one look at your face, and he’s reminded of who he is and why he does what he does, and he’s immediately grounded aw <3
shirabu kenjirō
omg shirabu with a crush 🥺🤲🏼 i love it when characters seem so cold and standoffish but as soon as they’re around the people they care about they do a 180. that’s shirabu 100%
he really, really, really liked you. like it was embarrassing at this point. he totally denied it every time anyone even thought it, and he really tried his hardest not to be obvious around you
i like to think he saw you around school and that’s how it developed a little, but maybe you were friends with some of the vbc boys because of your shared interest in the sport, and you come to play with them sometimes after practice, he’d just never be there
but one time you walked in and he was like guess im not leaving
he was a little starstruck at the fact that you played volleyball. he honestly wouldn’t care, but it sorta felt nice that there really was something that you two had in common
and you were good. at everything. you received semi and ushijima’s serves, and goshiki’s and ōhira’s spikes, perfectly, and reacted to tendō’s blocks so well, and hit his tosses just right. you were incredible. maybe your skills were magnified from his specific lens, but there really was no denying you were skilled
damn this. all this.
especially any time you’d spike his toss and give him a really wide smile and say, “nice toss!” like seriously the way his heart’s spasming cannot be healthy what the fuck
and then he finds out the girls are sharing a bus with them, and then you walk in
and then you walk towards him
obviously, outwardly he looks unimpressed and unfazed but trust, his palms are sweaty as fuck
before the bus moves, you stand by his seat and make small talk with him about volleyball, before you realize the bus is moving and you have to sit down, but you’re still in the middle of a conversation with him, so you just sit next to him and continue like nothing happened
he just. allows it.
the school you’d been going to had a really big court where both the girls and boys were playing in the same gymnasium on opposite sides of the court, so when you arrived and changed and all, you were like “wanna warm up together” couple goals <3
pls semi, taichi and tendō would probably tease the fuck out of him lmfao. he’d just glare at them but he has such a big blush on his cheeks as he stretches and warms up with you that the glare is completely ineffective
you go to sit next to him on the bus ride home, but the day’s exhaustion catches up to you, plus the bus’s movements are lulling you, so you end up falling asleep on his shoulder, and when shirabu first notices that you’d actually fallen asleep, he looks down at you with such a dreamy and awestruck face. goshiki took a picture and likes to torment him with it. shirabu has it as his lockscreen now lol
as your boyfriend, he’s the exact same. very standoffish to everyone outwardly but to you? it’s a different story.
nonetheless it’s not very obvious. so yes, he will have a scowl on his face as he tells you off, but his lips are slightly upturned and there’s a little pink shade on his cheeks that show just how endearing he thinks you are
really loves to practice with you because he loves seeing you in your zone like that. also you look hot
anyways yes he’s such a cutie i will not take criticism
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#hq x reader#sakusa x reader#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa headcanons#sakusa kiyoomi headcanons#semi x reader#semi eita x reader#semi headcanons#semi eita headcanons#shirabu x reader#shirabu kenjiro x reader#shirabu headcanons#shirabu kenjiro headcanons
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Sleepyhead
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: Peter will try just about anything to help out the very pretty insomniac from his math class.
Work Count: 11.2k
Warnings: Just some sweet, pure fluff with a few curse words every now and then.
A/N: Either the tags aren’t working for me or you guys just didn’t like it, but the final part of “Even If It’s a Lie” has been out for a few days now if anyone’s interested in reading it 🥺 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this super long piece I’ve been working on to help me get through finals <3
“Touch you softly
I call you up late at night
No doubt it isn't right
But you could be my one and only”
-Softly, Clairo
Peter had seen you around campus a few times, but it wasn’t until you started sitting two rows ahead of him in his linear algebra class that he really started to notice you.
He thought you were really pretty, and he liked how cozy you always looked in the puffy winter coat you kept on in the perpetually freezing lecture hall. You took a lot of notes, which told him that you cared about the class, and never showed up without a giant cup of iced coffee.
You’re being a creep, Peter told himself. He had thought about switching seats to somewhere in front of you, so he could actually listen to his professor discuss permutations instead of staring at how you chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.
It was even worse when you started sleeping in class, your soft hair falling around your shoulders as you leaned your head against your desk. It seemed like all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep you awake, and Peter wondered if he should ask if you wanted to borrow his notes or something. But that would mean him admitting to looking at you way more than he needed to, and that was weird, so he quickly dropped the idea.
Still, he was worried about you. So when he came back from patrol in the middle of the night and bumped into you outside of the dorm kitchen, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself and maybe even find out why you were so tired all the time.
The only problem was that he had accidentally knocked your pan of banana bread out of your hands, and you were currently staring at it laying on the floor with your sleepy eyes, not saying anything.
“Shit, uh, I’m so sorry,” he told you, crouching down to scoop up the remnants of your late-night snack into the pan. “Were you really up baking at 3 a.m?”
You blushed a little, starstruck that the cute guy from your math class was talking to you. “Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down to the kitchen while nobody else was here and make something. Baking always helps me calm down, and so here I am. And here we are. And there’s my bread, all covered in whatever kind of dust the custodians refuse to sweep down here.”
He offered a soft smile, and it made you feel better about the fact that you were rambling way more than you wanted to.
“I’m Y/N,” you continued, gently taking the pan from his hands. “You’re in linear algebra with Professor Meyers, right?”
“Yeah, you, um, you sit right in front of me. Well, not right in front of me. Two rows in front of me. Shit. I’m not creepy, I promise. It’s just… uh… My name is Peter and I’m going to stop talking now.”
That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse, he thought. You were probably thinking he was a serial killer or something.
“It’s okay. I know you sit behind me,” you reassured him. “You answer a lot of questions.” He was cute and smart, and you hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were to be this close to him.
“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, which made you laugh at how ironic his concerns were, considering he was also wandering around the dorm basement at this hour.
“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, sitting on one of the benches that jutted out of the walls of the corridor. “I mean, you’re here too. At least I was baking. What’s up with you?”
You had a point. “I had an emergency… with my internship. I work for Stark Industries, and Mr. Stark rang me in the middle of the night to come to the lab immediately for something, so, yeah. That’s why I’m awake right now.”
“Okay,” you said, not buying his story. “So that’s why you have a black eye and you’re lurking in the basement hallway? Did Tony Stark punch you?”
Fuck. Did he really have a black eye and not notice? He didn’t think that Doc Oc’s stupid mechanical arm had punched him that hard, but apparently, he was wrong. And now he had to come up with some reason as to where it came from, although he could already tell that you were about to call his bluff.
The only solution he could think of was to change the subject. “Why are you always asleep during class?” he blurted out, causing you to give him a funny look before frowning down at your slippers.
“Isn’t it obvious,” you yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I’m an insomniac. It’s actually kind of funny. I never really had any problems with falling asleep until I moved here. Maybe it’s the cold weather or the constant pressure to get good grades, but I just can’t sleep anymore. It sucks.”
Normally, you’d never tell this much about yourself to somebody, let alone a complete stranger. But somehow, you felt really comfortable around Peter. There was just something about him that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Peter caught himself staring at you again, your baby pink pajamas a far departure from how put together your usual outfits were. Even without your makeup or hair done, you were still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. For some reason, even the dark circles under your eyes were really cute to him.
“You never answered my question,” you reminded him, hoping that he’d say something to fill the awkward silence. “What’s with the black eye and wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you some kind of superhero?”
“What? No! That’s crazy. Me, a superhero,” he laughed awkwardly, wondering if you had somehow figured out his secret identity. Had you spotted him that one time he made sure that you and your friends got home safely from a late-night study session? Even so, you totally couldn’t have known it was him, right?
“Relax, I’m just joking,” you giggled, thinking about how cute he looked when he was flustered. “Although my friend did tell me she thought she saw Spider-Man a few weeks ago on her way back from a party.”
“Haha, yeah,” he breathed out, a wave of relief washing over him. It was times like these that he really started to appreciate how well-hidden his muscles were underneath all of his oversized sweaters.
“Does that hurt?” you asked, bringing your hand up to lightly brush his lip, which was bleeding. He flinched instinctively before settling under your touch, your eyes focused on the small cut. “I have a first aid kit in my room if you want some help cleaning it up.”
“Oh, no, it’s cool. I wouldn’t want to bother your roommate,” Peter told you, scooting further away on the bench, nearly falling off the edge of it. Ned hated it when he stumbled in at some ungodly hour after patrol and woke him up.
“Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow you. “I have a single.”
Peter looked at you in awe. Freshmen never got rooms to themselves, and yet somehow you had one. “Okay, fine. But only because I’ve never actually seen a single in this building before.”
“That’s cool with me,” you smiled, reaching for his hand so he could keep up with your pace. He noticed that you were chewing some of the banana bread, which he really hoped was from the part that didn’t fall on the floor. To be fair though, it did smell really good.
Not only did you have a single, but you lived on the first floor. Peter couldn’t believe how lucky you were, considering the building that the two of you lived in didn’t have any elevators to traverse its seven floors.
He was even more shocked when you opened your door, revealing the coziest dorm room he had ever seen. How on earth did you transform the glorified prison cell into something that felt so... comforting? From the twinkling lights that were wrapped around everything and the soft rug under his feet, Peter found it really hard to believe that you had trouble sleeping here.
“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” you apologized, piling your many throw pillows and blankets into a basket to clear up some space on your bed. “You can sit here.”
If this was messy, then Peter and Ned’s room needed some serious help. “No worries,” he said, watching as you rummaged around your drawers in search of your first aid kit.
Eventually, you found it hidden under a bunch of graph paper and colored pencils, untouched ever since your overprotective grandparents had helped you move in. “Here we go,” you mused, now looking inside it for alcohol wipes and band-aids.
He winced as you rubbed the little cloth against his lips, and you made sure to be more gentle as you cleaned up the other cuts on his face. Thankfully, nothing was bad enough to require stitches, something you were seriously under-qualified to do.
All Peter could focus on the entire time was how close you were and what it would be like to just kiss you right then and there, but he knew that was way too forward of him. Plus, he didn’t even know if you liked him like that. Surely you were just being nice.
Still, the way he caught you staring into his brown eyes after smoothing a band-aid on his forehead made him think otherwise.
“You’re going to have to tell me eventually who beat you up,” you sighed, gathering up wrappers to throw away and tucking the first aid kit back into its place in your drawers.
“It’s a long story,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your stare.
“I’ve got time,” you replied, climbing onto your lofted bed to sit next to him, innocently brushing your bare leg against his jeans, which made his breath hitch. “Tell me about it.”
“Uh, how about another time?” he stammered, hopping off the bed and running his hand through his hair. “After class tomorrow, or something. It’s getting pretty late. We should, um, go to sleep.”
“You can stay here if you want,” you offered, his eyes widening at your invitation. “On the bean bag, I mean. It’s actually really comfortable. You mentioned something about bothering your roommate and I figured that maybe you’d like to avoid the trouble tonight.”
“Oh…” Peter hesitated, looking for a reason to say no. He knew he’d never be able to sleep knowing that you were in the same room as him. “I don’t have any pajamas.”
“True,” you agreed, a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in sticking around.
“I don’t actually even wear pajamas to sleep,” he continued, making you look back up at him instead of playing with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just… I sleep in my boxers.”
“I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you sighed, your face hot with embarrassment.
“It’s not that! I mean, I do want to stay here. But, uh, you… well, you make me really nervous, Y/N,” he muttered, his glance bouncing around the room.
“Why?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “Did I do something?”
“No, no! Nothing at all. I promise, okay?”
“Okay. You can, um, get ready for bed, I guess. I promise not to look,” you assured him, turning on your side to face the wall.
“Thanks. Yeah, alright.” You heard him fumbling with his clothes, his sneakers making a soft thud on your floor. You did your best to resist the urge to glance back at him.
“Can I just use any of these?” he asked, although you had no idea what he was talking about.
“Peter, I’m not looking, remember? You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”
“The blankets. Do I just pick one, or are you particular about them?”
“Oh. You can use whichever one you want to. But the coral one’s the softest and my personal favorite.” Peter stared at the basket in confusion. To him, they were all just pink. But based on touch alone, he pulled one out that he figured was a little more orange than the others.
He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the overhead fluorescents, letting the room be illuminated by the warm glow of your fairy lights, which weren’t too bright, but still twinkly and beautiful.
“Goodnight, Peter,” you whispered, snuggling into your comforter in the hopes that your heartbeat would slow down and let you fall asleep for once.
“Goodnight, Y/N.” In a matter of minutes, you could hear his soft snoring, and you figured that it would be okay just to take a quick peek since he’d probably be bundled up in one of your blankets.
His hair was perfectly messy, and he looked so cozy wrapped up in the blanket you had recommended. Still, as much as you could stare at his adorable face all night, you were exhausted. Burying your face under the covers, you did your best to calm your nerves and get some rest before class tomorrow.
----------------
“Peter,” you whispered, jostling him lightly by the shoulders in the hopes of waking him up. “Uh, we have an hour before class. I was thinking that it would be enough time for you to go shower and change, and then we could go get coffee or something.”
He blinked back up at you, amazed at how well he slept on your bean bag. You had already gotten ready for the day, doing your makeup and picking out one of your many fluffy sweaters to keep you warm in the New York snow.
“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” he yawned, accepting the hand you held out to help him up. The blanket fell, and you stared at each other in shock, having forgotten that Peter was in nothing but his underwear.
You dropped his hand as fast as you could, covering your eyes. “Oh my god! I’m sorry. Shit, I completely forgot, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get dressed.”
Peter watched as you stumbled around the room, your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands attempted to guide you away from him.
“Y/N,” he started, catching your attention as you nearly ran into your bed frame. “You can open your eyes. Really, I don’t care if you see me like this if it means I can keep you from breaking your nose.”
You hesitantly opened your eyes, relieved that Peter had already managed to pull his pants back on. Still, he was completely shirtless, and you found yourself staring at the abs you would have never expected to be hiding underneath his clothes.
Moments later, you averted your gaze, although you knew that he probably noticed you looking at where was now covered by his plaid button-down and dark blue sweater.
“I’ll, um, be right back,” he muttered, before practically sprinting out of your room and up the stairs. You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in a pillow before attempting to take a quick twenty-minute power nap.
Peter couldn’t believe it. Sure, he had thought one time about you seeing him without clothes on, but this wasn’t how he thought it would go at all. Still, the image of you staring at him shirtless, your face flushed, made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.
“Dude! There you are,” Ned screamed, startled at his roommate’s unexpected entrance. Peter panted, having run up four flights of stairs as fast as he could. “Wait a second. Did you finally get laid? Is this a walk of shame?”
Before Ned could praise him any further, Peter was grabbing a change of clothes and sprinting towards the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he begged himself.
The memory of your leg touching his last night immediately came to mind, and Peter was so angry at himself for being this starved for physical intimacy. To be fair, though, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so he cut himself some slack.
Shit, he told himself, making sure the water was set to cold. He needed to calm down, but instead, his thoughts were stuck on how good you looked in your pajamas, but also how good you would look without them and—fuck it.
Peter liked you a lot, and if thinking about you like this in private kept him from being a complete weirdo in person, then maybe he just needed to get his feelings of desperation over with.
When he came back down to your room about thirty minutes later, you were still super tired. You trudged your way towards the door, your hair now noticeably messier than earlier, but at least that meant your nap had been a success.
His hair was still damp and this time he was wearing yet another blue sweater, which made you wonder if he ever wore any other color. He had his backpack slung over one of his shoulders and a nervous smile on his face as he locked eyes with you.
“Hey,” he said, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Are you ready to go?”
You leaned against the doorway a little bit, letting out a yawn that was literally the cutest noise Peter had ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let me get my backpack.”
“It’s so heavy,” you continued, rightfully complaining as the weight of all its contents practically pulled you downwards. “I think it’s so stupid how almost every professor bans computers from class. Like, it’s not fair that I have to lug around three textbooks every day. I don’t have time to run back to my dorm in between classes like some people!”
Peter frowned. Three textbooks were nothing to him, but he knew that you didn’t have spidey-strength and that you were also pretty tiny compared to him. It must’ve been hell on your back to be carrying all that stuff around every day.
“I can carry it for you,” he offered, holding out his hand to switch with you. “Here, you can take my backpack if it’ll make you feel better. I have a lot of programming classes today, so I’ve only got my laptop and a notebook in there.”
You gave him a look of gratitude as he traded bags with you, literally taking the weight off your shoulders. He was right. His backpack was much more manageable for you, even if the dark grey contrasted with the light colors you always wore.
In contrast, it looked kind of odd for him to be walking around with a backpack that was covered in a soft pink floral pattern, much like everything else you owned, but the sight of him carrying your books brought a smile to your face.
It was one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for you, and Peter wasn’t even your boyfriend. He probably didn’t even think of you in that way.
“Uh, where do you usually get coffee?” he asked, slowing his pace so you could keep up. He felt bad seeing how tired you were, no doubt due to the lack of sleep you got last night.
“The Starbucks next to Hendrie Hall,” you replied, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” he admitted. “I’m actually more of a tea person.”
“Oh,” you hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to walk all the way across campus just for a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino. “We could go somewhere closer then.”
“It’s okay,” Peter reassured you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to your destination. “I like walking.”
----------------
You hadn’t really talked to Peter since that morning before class, but sometimes you would peek behind you and catch him stealing glances at you. Eventually, he had started to feel brave enough to give you a little wave whenever you caught him looking at you. Well, at least the times when you were awake.
One day, not even the loud shuffling and growing chatter of your classmates exiting the lecture hall could wake you up, and Peter figured he better do something before you got chewed out by one of the TAs.
“Y/N?” he said, leaning closer so that you could hopefully hear him. “Y/N. You gotta wake up. Class ended three minutes ago.”
He shook you a little bit, nervously hoping that you wouldn’t mind him touching you. Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled softly as soon as you realized it was Peter.
“Oh. Thanks,” you said, standing up to slide your empty notebook into your backpack. Your hand brushed the side of your mouth, making sure you hadn’t drooled onto yourself.
“You can borrow my notes,” he offered, glancing at you sheepishly as you gathered up your coat and fixed your hair. “If you want to.”
“That’d be great,” you sighed, wondering whether you should skip your next class and just go take a nap. At this point, you weren’t even bothering to put on makeup and you basically wore whatever clothes you had that weren’t already sprawled across your room.
“Are you alright?” Peter asked, walking close to you to make sure you didn’t fall over. He knew you were an insomniac, but you looked seriously sleep-deprived today. “Have you been sleeping at all lately?”
“Nope,” you huffed, lugging your perpetually heavy backpack along. “But I’m skipping the rest of my classes today. I’d rather lie that I’m sick through an e-mail than have to explain to my professors why I was sleeping during their classes.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed, stopping you in your tracks to take your backpack from you. “I’ve actually got some time before my next class. I can walk you back to your room and give you my notebook if that’s okay with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, reaching to take your bag back from him, although he didn’t let you.
“Y/N. Come on, you’re exhausted. At least let me carry your stuff, alright?” He had such a kind look in his eyes, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to keep arguing for no reason.
“Okay.” You crossed your arms, the cold air slowly waking you up as the wind hit your face. Your ears were super cold, but you were glad you had pulled your hair into a quick braid to keep it from flying everywhere.
It wasn’t long before you were kicking your boots off in your dorm room, your teeth chattering as you wrapped yourself in a blanket.
“Do you want some tea?” you asked Peter, inviting him to sit down wherever.
“Sure, but I thought you drank coffee,” he reminded you, watching as you pulled an assortment of tea bags for him to choose from.
“I do,” you said, handing him the box and running to your bathroom to fill up the electric kettle. “But you drink tea.”
Peter’s ears suddenly felt hot. You had gotten tea just for him. Or maybe you were just a really good hostess and kept some around for all of your visitors. Probably the second option, he thought.
“Are you even allowed to have one of those?” he asked as the two of you waited for the water to boil.
“No,” you laughed, sitting next to him on your bed. For someone with so much space to themselves, you really needed to invest in more places to sit. “But you can’t have candles or fairy lights either, so I guess I’m just a rule breaker.”
“Guess I’ll just have to report you to the RA,” Peter teased, getting up to make himself a cup of earl grey. “Do you have any sugar?”
“Top drawer on the right,” you replied. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
“Yes.” You watched as his lips blew on the tea to cool it down before remembering that it was weird to stare.
“You should let me bake something for you. What’s your favorite dessert?” You were kicking your dangling legs, suddenly feeling a lot more awake than this morning.
“Chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting,” he said in between sips, walking back over to you. With you on the tall bed and him standing, your faces were level with each other.
“I’ll have to make you one to thank you,” you smiled, peering into his eyes. Peter felt your heartbeat quicken, and the grin on your face as you stared at each other made him weak in the knees.
“Can I get those notes?” you asked, making him remember that people don’t just look at each other and say nothing like that.
“Oh! Yeah, definitely.” He quickly set the mug down on your nightstand to rummage through his backpack, flipping one of his notebooks open before handing it to you. “There are the ones from today, but all of the ones I’ve taken this semester are in there too.”
“Wow,” you laughed, making a worried expression form on his face.
“What’s wrong? Are they not good?”
“No, it’s not that. They’re just, uh, very thorough.” He had basically transcribed your professor’s lectures onto the pages. “You must write really fast. But thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it.”
Peter nodded before nervously gulping down the rest of his tea, not even noticing how hot the liquid still was as it nearly burned his throat.
“I should go now,” he started, looking around the room for his things. “I want you to get some rest, Y/N. Please.”
He had this look in his eyes that was so genuine—so full of care and concern—that it made you want to do whatever he asked you to.
“I’ll try,” you told him, awkwardly rubbing the top of your arm in the hopes that you could actually fall asleep after he left. “Have a nice day, Peter.”
“Bye, Y/N. I’ll stop by later,” he said, already halfway out the door. “For the notes, I mean! Uh, bye. Again. Okay. I’m going to go now.”
You giggled, giving him one last wave before he left. Like magic, the more you thought about how Peter was worried about you, the easier it was for you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.
----------------
You woke up later that day to Peter knocking on your door, this time standing next to some guy in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.
“Hi, Y/N,” Peter greeted you. You looked a lot less tired than when he saw you this morning, which relieved him. “This is my roommate, Ned. He just wanted to know who I’ve been hanging out with, so I hope it’s okay that I brought him here to prove you’re real and not a figment of my imagination.”
Ned leaned closer to you, your hair still a little messy from your nap. “Blink twice if he’s paying you,” he whispered, causing you to giggle. Peter looked on nervously, unsure of what his best friend had just said to you.
“What did you say!?” he asked, lightly pushing Ned on the arm, knowing that it was probably something meant to embarrass him.
“Ow! Okay, now I’m really not telling you,” Ned replied, rubbing the spot where Peter had just hit him.
“Y/N, what did Ned say to you?” He turned to you, a worried look on his face as you and Ned held back your laughter. Peter’s face turned as red as a tomato, making you instantly feel a little bit bad.
“It was nothing, Peter. Really,” you said, pulling him into the room with you. “It was nice to meet you, Ned. I’ll make sure he’s back before curfew.”
Ned laughed, offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing “I like her” to Peter before you shut the door on him.
“I knew that was a mistake,” Peter sighed, his back against the door. You were still a bit giddy from the exchange, giggling softly as he slowed his breathing.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him. “We’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s just that…”
“What?” You could barely hear him as his voice trailed off.
“Well, uh, not all of my friends are, you know…”
“Spit it out, Peter,” you said, leaning closer so that you could hear him better.
“They’re not as pretty as you,” he muttered, making you blush at his words. Did he really think you were pretty?
“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Peter lifted his head up, relieved that you didn’t think he was a creep or something.
“Your notebook’s on my desk,” you continued, stepping back a little to give him some space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the distance between you and him grew. “I just took a bunch of pictures, so I can look at them on my computer whenever.”
“Alright, awesome,” he said, walking over to collect it before turning back to you. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty well, actually. The best I’ve slept in a while. I think you’re some kind of good luck charm.”
“Really?” he asked, a little surprised that he had been helpful.
“Really. You know, I’ve been thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out somewhere that wasn’t my room all the time,” you said, a hopeful look in your eyes. “If you want.”
Peter had never noticed it before, but the two of you really did spend most of your time together in your room. It really was a nice room, but it made sense that you’d want to get out of it every once and a while.
“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” Play it cool, Parker, he told himself. You can freak out with Ned later.
“How about ice cream on Friday?” you suggested, which came as a bit of a surprise to him.
“In the middle of winter?” As far as Peter could remember, you were always cold.
“Yeah. I really love ice cream,” you added, smiling up at him.
“Okay, then. Ice cream it is,” he agreed. There was absolutely no way he could ever say no to you when you looked at him like that.
----------------
“May! No, it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. Yeah, I got it. Open the door, pay for her, don’t be an idiot!” Peter sighed into his phone, hoping his aunt’s unwarranted crash course on first dates would be over soon. “Yes, I’m wearing the green sweater. Thanks, love you. Bye!”
“I have no idea who told her I had a date tonight,” he groaned, slumping down onto the couch next to his best friend.
“I texted her,” Ned replied nonchalantly, not even looking away from whatever video game he was playing. “Knew you’d need some kind of pointers. Y/N is way out of your league.”
“Hey!” Was he right? Yes. Did Peter need to be reminded of it right before his not-a-date date with you? Definitely not.
“Come on, you know I’m right. It’s Liz Allan all over again. I have no idea how you keep pulling all of these pretty girls, but hey, credit where credit is due.”
“You’re so mean.”
“I keep it real and you love it. Good luck, man.”
“Bye,” Peter grumbled, slipping on his coat and walking out of their room. Four flights of stairs later, he was at your door.
“Hi!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around him. This was the first time the two of you had ever hugged and Peter was not going to forget about it anytime soon. “Come in. I have a surprise for you!”
“Here,” you continued, holding out a blue and white beanie for him. “I made it for you. To match all those blue sweaters you wear all the time.” Except this time, he was wearing a forest green one, which brought out the slight hazel tinge in his eyes.
“You made this for me?” he asked, eyeing the different stitches you had used and fiddling with the pom-pom on top. It looked store-bought.
“Well, yeah, silly. I just said that,” you replied, hoping that he liked it. With all the time you didn’t sleep, you were knitting anyway, but this was a special present for him. “Try it on.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” he sighed, pulling the hat onto his head. He looked really cute, the ends of his wavy hair peeking out from underneath the brim.
“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pulling him out of your room and towards the front of the dorm building. “Getting to hang out with you is good enough for me.”
“Where’d you learn how to knit?” Peter questioned, walking alongside you on the snow-lined sidewalks. With how cold it was, and considering he didn’t have a hood on his coat, it seemed like perfect timing that you had given him a hat.
“My grandma taught me,” you shared, taking in the twinkling of the streetlamps and how they bounced against the snow. In New York, that was practically the closest you could get to stargazing. “My, uh, grandparents actually raised me.”
“Oh. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” Peter confided. It made you feel not so alone to find out that he didn’t grow up with his parents either, even though you knew firsthand just how hard it was.
“Do they live around here?” you asked, stealing glances at him and how rosy his cheeks were in the cold air.
“Yeah, my aunt lives in Queens,” he told you, staring at his feet to both avoid eye contact and make sure neither of you accidentally slipped. Not that he wouldn’t catch you, but he wanted to be safe. “My uncle actually passed away a couple of years ago.”
You stopped walking, immediately feeling a sense of regret. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay, Y/N. There was no way for you to have known that,” Peter reassured you, his warm breath coming out in clouds, and he reached for your hand to run his thumb across your knuckles. He gently pulled you along, keeping you from dying of embarrassment in the middle of campus.
“What about you? Are you from around here?” he asked, hoping to break the silence and make you feel a little bit better.
“No, I just moved up here for college. I grew up in Texas but moved to North Carolina when I was 13, so I finished school down there,” you explained, Peter suddenly noticing a slight Southern twang to your voice. “I just really wanted to go to school in a big city and not next to a farm for once in my life.”
“That makes sense,” he laughed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. “I’ve only ever lived in New York City.”
“Do you like it here?”
“I love it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, to be honest.”
“Me either,” you sighed, squeezing his hand tighter as the two of you enjoyed your walk in the snow.
It seemed like forever before you reached the ice cream shop, but you didn’t mind. That just gave you and Peter more time to get to know each other better. Turns out you both competed in academic decathlons, although you were more of a math person and he preferred science.
“Okay, you’re wrong. Night at the Museum 2 is so much better than the first one. I mean that kiss between Ben Stiller and Amy Adams? The Jonas Brothers as little cherub angels? Name one thing from the original that tops that,” you ranted in between spoonfuls of peppermint ice cream.
“I just really like when the little cowboy and gladiator are driving that toy car around,” he reasoned, subtly admitting defeat.
“Don’t even get me started on why the second Shrek movie—”
You were interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing, and you immediately recognized his ringtone as the Coconut Mall theme from Mario Kart. He peered down at his phone screen, sighing and mouthing an apology to you as he accepted the call.
“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. Did you need something?” Well, at least you knew he wasn’t lying about his internship at Stark Industries. “Toronto? Tonight? I’m kind of busy.”
There was a long pause as Peter mentally kicked himself for talking back to Tony, resulting in an earful about how being an Avenger should always be at the top of his priorities.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right over… but I need a favor. Could you send Happy to pick my friend up? Yeah, it’s the ice cream shop on 1st. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Bye.” He frowned at you, and you could tell from what you had heard that he had to go.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just, something came up last minute and Mr. Stark really needs me to go on this business trip with him,” he apologized, pulling his coat on. “But, uh, he’s sending a car for you. So don’t worry about walking back alone, alright? I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay? Bye!”
“Oh, okay. Bye!” you managed to call out before he was running out the doors and down the street. Lots of customers were staring as you awkwardly gathered your things and went to go wait on the sidewalk.
A few minutes later, a shiny black car had pulled up to the curb in front of you, a man rolling down the window.
“Miss Y/N? I’m Happy Hogan. Mr. Stark sent me to drive you home,” he called from the driver’s seat, before getting out to open your door for you. You stepped in, a little starstruck at how nice the car was. You had never been in anything this expensive before.
The two of you were sitting in silence until you finally got the courage to speak up.
“Mr. Hogan,” you started, causing him to turn down the smooth jazz that had been playing on the radio. “Do you know why Peter has to go to Toronto?”
“Yes,” he replied, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh, okay,” you accepted, shifting to look out the window at all of the places in the city that you hadn’t yet gotten the chance to explore.
Eventually, he was dropping you off in front of your dorm, and you were trudging inside to your room to sulk about how your not-a-date date with Peter had gotten interrupted. You stared at your ceiling all night, wondering when the next time you’d see each other would be, and whether or not he’d come back with the same cuts and bruises as when you had first met.
----------------
Peter had been gone for six days and counting, and you were starting to worry that he might never come back. You had already started missing him the night he left, and now it was just some agonizing waiting game for him to return.
You must have spent hours in the basement kitchen before deciding to visit the fourth floor where Peter lived. You knocked on the door and was quickly met with Ned’s shocked expression.
“Uh, hi, Y/N. Peter’s not here right now. Did you need something?”
“I know,” you acknowledged, holding up the plate in your hand. “It’s just, well, I’ve been baking a lot and I didn’t really know who to give all of these cookies to, so I was wondering if you wanted any.”
“Oh, in that case, sign me up!” You watched as his face lit up as he noticed the assortment of chocolate chip, sugar, and snickerdoodle cookies all still warm from the oven. He offered his hands out to take the plate from you, which you happily relinquished.
“These are really good,” he complimented, his mouth full of a sugar cookie. “Can I keep the rest of them?”
“Yeah, of course,” you answered, doing your best to smile despite how much you wished it had been Peter opening the door. “I’ll see you around, Ned.”
“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, making you turn around on the stairwell. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Peter’s going to be back any day now.” You nodded, offering him a wave and walking back down to your room.
Turns out Ned had been right. The strange noises outside of your window were masked by how loud you were jamming out to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel, jumping around and listing off the lyrics that had never made much sense to you. Peter knocked louder on the glass, startling you as you quickly switched off the music to investigate.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, squinting your eyes to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Spider-Man? Is that really you?”
You fumbled to push up your window, extremely confused as to why one of the Avengers was outside your bedroom this late at night.
“It’s me, Y/N,” he explained, his voice suddenly becoming extremely familiar. Your eyes widened as you realized who was behind the mask.
“Oh my god! PETER?” you screamed as he slipped through the window, pulling off his mask and clapping a hand over your mouth.
“Don’t freak out. It’s okay. It’s just me, okay?” he stammered in an attempt to get you to calm down before an RA heard. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really wanted to tell you, but we were in public when I left, and I couldn’t risk it. And I didn’t want to text it or do it over the phone because it’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I’d just come to see you as soon as I got back and Mr. Stark said that you have to promise—”
“It’s okay, Peter,” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the very weird material of his spider-suit. “I won’t tell anybody.”
He softened under your touch, resting his head on top of yours. “I like your dance moves,” he whispered, making you glare up at him, your face suddenly very red.
“How long were you watching?” you groaned, dramatically throwing yourself onto your bean bag, your face covered by your hands.
“Only for about a minute,” he answered, pulling your hands down so you could see him grinning at you. “I especially liked how you used your hairbrush as a microphone. Plus, I thought we agreed to stop being embarrassed around each other?”
“Well, that was before I knew you were freaking Spider-Man!”
“Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, nudging you to scoot over and make room for him.
“So, that’s what that whole Toronto thing was?” you asked as he sat next to you, your knee touching his.
“Yep. There was this thing about aliens and these guys that could shapeshift. It’s a lot to explain.”
“Are you going to keep that thing on all night?” you asked, gesturing at his outfit, which was very tight and very distracting from whatever alien story he had to tell.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged. “I don’t have anything on underneath it.”
“How scandalous,” you teased. “Not so family-friendly after all, huh, Spidey?”
“Oh, shut up,” he quipped, rolling his eyes as you let out a long yawn.
“Have you been sleeping much?” he continued, suddenly remembering the issue that had brought the two of you together in the first place.
“Of course not. I’ve been too busy worrying about my classes and, oh, just some idiot I know that abandoned me in the middle of an ice cream shop. Pretty sure he said he’d make that up to me, by the way.”
“Okay, okay. Message received. What would you like?” Please say a kiss. Please say a kiss. Please say a—
“Can I meet them? The Avengers, I mean. It’s not like anyone else really has a secret identity except for you.”
“Oh. I mean, I’d have to ask Mr. Stark and the rest of the team and see if they’re cool with it, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Awesome! You’re the best,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.
It was then that Peter decided he would just never be able to wash that side of his face again, his heart nearly skipping a beat.
“Peter,” you said, breaking the silence he had left the two of you in. “I’m tired.”
“Me too,” he sighed. “I should head up to my room. Gotta make sure Ned knows I’m still alive.”
“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, standing up to see him out. “Aren’t you worried somebody will see you, though?”
“Y/N, it’s 4 a.m. I’m pretty sure that you and I are the only people on campus that are awake right now.”
“Oh, right. Still, be careful, okay?” you told him, slightly worried at his secret identity being found out by some college kid that just couldn’t stay off Twitter.
“Will do,” he said, smiling and giving you a little salute before leaving.
----------------
A few days later, before you could even greet him, Peter was already walking into your room. It was 10 p.m., a little earlier than when he usually came over, but by now you were used to him showing up at your door unannounced.
He was already wearing his pajamas, a t-shirt with a science pun and some flannel pants that he had invested in to avoid any more awkward moments between the two of you. You were dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, the clothes you usually threw on after class just in case you fell asleep on accident. There had been more times where you had woken up sweaty with your jeans stuck to your legs than you were willing to admit.
“Okay, so I asked Mr. Stark about your request and he told me he doesn’t think now is a good time, but…” he grinned, holding out a giant cardboard box with some kind of minimalist home appliance on the front for you to look at.
“Am I supposed to know what that is?” you blinked back, trying to figure out what the hell you were staring at, considering that all of the text written on it was in a language you didn’t know how to read.
“It’s some fancy white noise machine from Japan. If I remember correctly, Mr. Stark said he made Pepper order it because I wouldn’t shut up about you, and it would be in everybody’s best interest if you got some sleep, so I could stop annoying him and the rest of the team.”
“Oh. That’s pretty thoughtful, I guess,” you said, gathering things off your floor to make space for it.
He set the box down on your rug and got to work opening it. Meanwhile, you were busy translating what exactly Tony Stark had so generously gifted to you.
“Peter, wait. This thing is like $300. Doesn’t he know that you can just look up whale noises on YouTube for free?”
“Yeah, but this one adjusts its volume based on the noises around it, has a light that simulates the sun rising, and has an alarm noise that’s supposed to support healthy cortisol levels.”
Peter peered up to see your arms crossed and brows furrowed, it suddenly becoming clear to him that the things he had just listed meant very little to you.
“Plus, he’s a literal billionaire, so I don’t think it was that big of a loss for him,” he added.
“Fine. Let’s just hope this thing works,” you sighed, watching as Peter leafed through the instruction manual before tossing it behind him. “It’s a little early to go to sleep, though.”
“Y/N, plenty of people go to sleep at 10. Not everybody is nocturnal like you.”
“I guess you have a point,” you agreed, kneeling down beside him as he fiddled with all the settings.
“I know,” he said with a smirk as you rested your chin on his shoulder to get a better look at what he was doing. “What time do you want to wake up? 7 a.m. would give us time to go get breakfast before class, but we could do 8 if you wanted to sleep in.”
“We?” you mused, liking the sound of that. “I guess that means you’re staying here tonight?”
“Well, yeah. I’m not letting you have all these overpriced rainforest noises to yourself.”
“Do 7. We can go get those blueberry muffins that you like,” you decided, standing up to get Peter’s makeshift bed on your bean bag ready. “Do you actually like sleeping on this thing, or were you just trying to be polite the first time I asked?”
“Dude, that thing is awesome. It’s like I’m on this little cuddly cloud, and then you add all those warm blankets and the twinkly lights and it’s the perfect recipe for me to fall asleep.”
“Wow,” you nodded, looking around your room to see all of the things that Peter was talking about. “I wish it worked that way for me.”
“Maybe it will, tonight.”
It didn’t. You were tossing and turning for nearly an hour to the agonizing sounds of birds cawing and the occasional monkey chatter, all set against the backdrop of a heavy thunderstorm. To be honest, it was something that would’ve given you nightmares when you were little.
“Y/N?” Peter whispered from the floor. “Are you sleeping?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“Could you turn that thing off? It’s really distracting me.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to switch the noise machine off. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything.”
He hesitated, not really sure if he should ask the question that he had been thinking about for a while now. “How old were you when your parents died?”
You had to think for a moment, not really sure about the answer. For as long as you could remember, you just lived with your grandparents. “Um, well my mom left when I was a baby. And I think my dad passed away when I was four.”
“Oh,” Peter mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a parent leave you, but he didn’t want to pry just in case it was a sensitive topic. “Are your grandparents from your mom or dad’s side?”
You rolled over to rest your head on the edge of your bed so that you could see him better. He looked so cute bundled up in all of your blankets, his hair already a bit messy. “They’re my mom’s parents. It’s weird. I see a lot of pictures of her from when she was growing up, and I look so much like her, but she’s basically a stranger to me.”
Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a long pause and he decided not to.
“What about you? How old were you when your parents passed away?”
“Five or six. They met while working at the C.I.A. together, but most of my memories are from the stories my aunt and uncle told me when I was growing up.”
For a moment, neither of you could find the right words to say to each other.
“Peter,” you spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“I’m really glad I met you too.”
----------------
Peter’s next plan of action involved even more advice from his fellow Avengers, and you were not looking forward to trying out any of their suggestions.
“Okay, so, Steve—I mean Captain America—said that when he was little, you know, in the 1940s, all he had to do was drink a glass of warm milk before bed.”
“I’m lactose intolerant,” you groaned, crossing your arms.
“I just saw you eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting the other day.”
“Regular milk has almost 15 times more lactose than ice cream. You’d think a science nerd like you would know that.”
“I’m a geek,” he scoffed, clearly a little bit offended. “Not a nerd.”
“Yeah, I can see that now. It’s okay, though. At least you’re pretty,” you said, pinching his cheek.
“Just try it,” he grumbled, handing you the warm glass and waiting impatiently for you to take a sip. If anything, the milk did a better job at keeping you up that night than putting you to sleep. Not even thirty minutes after you had gone to bed, you were feeling sick to your stomach.
“I hate milk,” you gagged, Peter holding your hair back as you kneeled over the toilet bowl. “My grandpa could never get me to drink it as a kid.”
“Is that why you’re so short?” he laughed, helping you up. You glared at him as you moved to the sink to wash the acidic taste out of your mouth.
“Shut up, Parker,” you quipped, tired and grumpy from how terrible you felt. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”
“Alright, munchkin,” he smiled, pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed.
Somehow, the warm milk wasn’t even the worst of Peter’s ideas, because a few days later, he was standing at your door with a bottle of some Asgardian sleep aid from the lightning god himself.
“Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?” you asked, your eyes widening as you stared at the silvery liquid that was almost shimmering.
“Uh, I’m about 87% confident you’ll live,” he said, “But I’m 100% sure that it’ll work.”
“Gee, thanks. Now I really want to drink this weird alien potion,” you sighed, looking at him nervously.
“Just drink a little bit and see if you feel anything,” Peter encouraged, leaning over your shoulder. You nodded, hesitantly bringing the drink up to your lips to take a sip.
“This stuff tastes amazing,” you mused, taking a bigger gulp this time. “Like a blue raspberry slushie.”
“Whoa, that’s enough,” he warned, taking the bottle from your hands before you could drink any more of it. “We don’t want you to go into a coma.”
“I don’t feel anything,” you shrugged, frowning back at him. “Maybe I should—”
You stopped mid-sentence to let out a loud yawn, the potion starting to take effect. Peter caught you as you slumped down in your chair, helping you into bed.
“Okay. I definitely feel it now,” you admitted, already half asleep. Peter tucked you under your blankets, placing a kiss on your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut.
“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, turning off your lights and softly closing the door behind him.
For a moment, Peter had thought he had finally found a solution to your insomnia. At least before you slept through class the next morning. And then the day after that. But it wasn’t until the third day that he really started to freak out.
“Where’s Thor!?” he panted, having run all the way from his class over to the Avengers Tower. Wanda and Vision stared back at him from the kitchen, very confused at what he was so panicked about.
“He’s in his room,” Bucky called from the couch, his mouth full of popcorn as 13 Going on 30 played on the big screen. “What’s going on, kid?”
“No time to explain. Gotta go!” Peter called, sprinting up the stairs towards Thor’s room. He knocked frantically until the door finally swung open.
“Greetings, young Spiderling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thor smiled, his long, golden hair shiny as ever.
“I think I killed my almost-girlfriend!” Peter blurted out, practically sweating from how stressed out he was. “She drank that stuff you gave me and she hasn’t woken up in three days now!”
Thor chuckled, patting Peter on the head. “Do not worry, my brother. I’m sure she will wake up given time. It was a very potent drink, after all. Calm yourself.”
“Okay,” he sighed, relieved to know that he hadn’t poisoned you to death. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”
“Farewell, Peter. May we meet again soon,” he grinned before closing the door in Peter’s face.
On the way back down the stairs, Peter figured he’d give you a call and see if you were still sleeping.
“Hello?” you groaned, your throat dry from just waking up. “Peter, what the hell happened to me?”
“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!” Peter yelled into the phone, making you recoil from the volume of his excitement. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Y/N. I thought you were dead.”
“I am very much alive,” you laughed, slowly feeling the potion wearing off. “Where are you?”
“Uh. I may have run all the way to Midtown to ask Thor if I had killed you,” he admitted, feeling you roll your eyes through the screen. “I was worried, okay?”
“Now you know how I feel whenever you leave for a mission,” you countered, glad that Peter couldn’t see how much you were blushing. “Hurry up and get your butt back over here. I have the weirdest dream to tell you about.”
----------------
Even if you still weren’t getting a full eight hours of rest at night, it was obvious that all of Peter’s efforts had vastly improved your sleep schedule. Over the past few months, you had gone from staring at your ceiling all night to actually being able to stay asleep for small periods of time.
“Your eyelashes are so long,” you mused, playing with Peter’s hair. He was sitting in between your legs and How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on your TV.
“Really?” He tilted his head back to look at you, batting his eyelashes and making you giggle.
“Yes. It’s not fair that boys get all of the pretty eyelashes,” you pouted, watching as the Grinch explained his plan to steal all of Whoville’s presents to his dog.
“I think yours are pretty,” he replied, a soft smile on his face. “But there’s a rogue one just hanging out on your face right now.”
“Can you get it?” you asked, your eyes still glued on the TV screen. Peter nodded, twisting around to gently brush the eyelash from your cheek.
“Do you want to make a wish?” he laughed, holding the little eyelash on the tip of his finger in front of you.
“Okay,” you agreed, squeezing your eyes shut and blowing it away. When you opened them, Peter’s face was only inches away from yours.
“What did you wish for?” His gaze shifted downwards to look at your lips for a split second, before returning to look into your eyes.
“I can’t tell you, dummy. Then it won’t come true.” You weren’t about to tell your best friend that you wished for him to kiss you. At least not now, while the two of you were stuck in this really weird “not dating, but more than just friends” limbo.
“Fine,” he frowned, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that you recognized had been mimicked after you.
“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your puppy dog eyes were definitely a lot more convincing than his.
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh, sure. You smell really good, by the way. Well, your hoodie does. I could just wrap myself up in it and fall asleep.”
“How come you’ve never mentioned that before? You could’ve been out cold every night months ago!”
“Guess I was just too distracted by your dreamy face,” you teased, causing Peter to blush.
“Whatever. Seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I think it took me a while to realize how sleepy I got whenever you were really close to me,” you shrugged. “You’re not mad at me, right?”
“Of course not. But if I had known sooner I would’ve just given you one,” he said, slipping the hoodie over his head and handing it to you. “Here, put it on. You better fall asleep instantly or I’m calling bullshit.”
“You caught me, Peter. This was all some elaborate plan for me to steal one of your hoodies.”
“Just put it on. The suspense is killing me.”
You rolled your eyes and pulled his hoodie on. Just from looking at Peter and how slim he was, you never would have guessed that it would be this oversized on you.
“How do I look?” you asked, striking silly poses in front of him. Peter involuntarily licked his lips and he knew he’d be replaying this image of you in his head for the next few weeks.
“You’re going to have to keep that,” he stammered, doing his best to hide how much he really liked seeing you in his clothes. “It looks a lot better on you. I, um, have to go do my homework. And call my aunt. And walk my roommate.”
Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at his wristwatch to maintain his act that he was late for something before grabbing his things and heading out the door, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him. “Let me know if the hoodie thing works. Bye!”
----------------
Brushing off Peter’s strangely abrupt departure from last night, you nuzzled into your pillow, the warm morning light spilling through your curtains. Last night had probably been your best sleep in months, and you even got to wake up late since it was Saturday. Things probably couldn’t have gone any better.
Before you knew it, you were running up to Peter’s room and banging on his door. He opened the door on your fourth knock, right after Ned had chucked a pillow at him, and you were met with his sleepy eyes and messy hair.
“It worked!” you yelped in excitement, twirling around and still wearing his hoodie. “Well, kind of. I fell asleep after about an hour, and then I slept for maybe three after that. But I had to pee in the middle of the night, and when I got back into bed I couldn’t fall back asleep until 6 a.m.”
“That’s some good progress,” he yawned, stepping out into the hallway to keep your little celebration from bothering Ned too much. “If only we could get you to sleep the entire night.”
“I know right. But I’m so happy!” you cheered, wrapping your arms around him. “We finally did something right!”
“We need to celebrate!” you continued, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him down the stairs. “Come on. We’re making you a chocolate cake!”
You stopped by your room on the way to the kitchen, piling a bunch of ingredients into Peter’s arms from your mini-fridge and various shelves.
“Okay, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate. Damn it. We’re all out of milk.” You side-eyed him, remembering the whole Captain America induced fiasco from a couple weeks ago.
“I think we might have some in our room,” Peter laughed. “Ned drinks a lot of milk mixed with Milo powder. It’s some obsession he picked up when his family took a vacation to Australia. I’ll go get it.”
He set all of the ingredients you had given him on your desk and sprinted back up the stairs to raid Ned’s stash, already thinking of ways to apologize for it later.
A few minutes later he was knocking on your door, out of breath, and dressed to brave the many inches of snow that had fallen overnight.
“We didn’t have any milk,” he panted. “But I can run to the dining hall and get a few cartons.”
“I’ll go with you.” You quickly pulled on your snow boots and layered your puffer coat on top of Peter’s hoodie, wrapping a hand-knit scarf around your neck just to be safe. “All ready.”
Getting the milk was the easy part. Making sure you didn’t die of frostbite was another story. By the time you and Peter got back to your room, your nose was super red and you couldn’t feel your toes.
“Okay,” you said, your teeth chattering. “I thought I was used to the snow by now, but that was something else.” You dropped your coat on the ground and climbed into your bed, burying yourself under your comforter.
“I thought we were making a cake,” he laughed, walking over to see you peeking out of the pile.
“Cake will have to wait,” you whined, your voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “Come here. I need some of your body heat.”
“Okay,” he stuttered, kicking off his sneakers and climbing in beside you. He had sat on your bed a lot since the two of you met, but this was the first time that he was actually laying in it. You snuggled up to him, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.
“This is nice,” you sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest. “Is this one of your superpowers? Spidey-warmth?” Peter let out a soft laugh. It was silly but true. Ever since the bite, he never really noticed how cold it was outside anymore.
“Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his grip around your waist. Your head was nestled underneath his chin, and he could smell the faint citrus scent of your shampoo. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it, Pete?” you yawned, your eyelids heavy from how comfy Peter’s cuddles were.
“I love you.” He held his breath, nervously waiting for you to respond.
“I know,” you giggled, intertwining your legs. “Sometimes, you talk in your sleep. You’ve probably professed your love for me at least eight times by now.”
“Oh.” Peter had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.
“Don’t worry. I love you, too,” you assured him, grinning and placing little kisses on his jawline. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Maybe you could make it a little more obvious,” he mumbled, his heartbeat getting quicker as you shifted up to kiss him on the lips, your hand running through his hair.
“I will,” you smiled, your forehead resting against his. “But after we take a nap, okay?”
“Okay,” Peter agreed, snuggling as close as he possibly could to you, never wanting to let go. In no time at all, he watched happily as you fell asleep in his arms, wondering how the two of you hadn’t thought of this sooner.
----------------
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A Favor: Part Fourteen
Nessian Modern AU
Masterlist
a/n: my quickest AND longest update to date?? who am i??
merry christmas for real this time. thank you sm for reading i never voice my appreciation for yall but it’s there i swear
tw: abuse mention
***
Cassian’s plan to grab his stuff and get the hell back home is intercepted by Feyre, who pulls him aside and proceeds to spill everything about her fight with Nesta to him.
His heart hurts for Feyre—he of all people knows what it’s like to feel unwanted by your biological family. But what did she really think would happen? Their entire friend group is about placing chosen bonds over blood bonds. Feyre can’t be that offended if Nesta prefers the company of her friends over her little sisters. And trying to talk to Nesta about her therapy? Jesus.
But Cassian has a feeling it’ll take both Feyre and Elain a long spelling out of things before they can begin to understand Nesta the way he does, and he doesn’t have time for that right now. He’s too distracted to even provide the comfort Feyre came to him for.
Somehow, he makes up an excuse and detaches himself from the conversation, leaving to find his coat and keys. Azriel spies him on the way to the door and gives him a look.
“Not a fucking word,” Cassian growls as he passes. Everyone else is engrossed in a game of poker and getting progressively more drunk. Feyre now sits on Rhys’s lap, once again content. Azriel only smirks but shakes his head, letting Cassian slip out of the penthouse unnoticed.
He takes the long way home, needing the night air and flashing headlights to clear his head. Once he gets off the freeway leading to town, though, he picks up his phone and calls Nesta.
She doesn’t pick up.
On the fourth call that goes unanswered, Cassian gives up. Fine. She doesn’t want to talk to him tonight. But still he finds himself driving past her neighborhood, once, twice, as if he’s listless without being able to talk to her. He has too many feelings he needs to get off his chest, and she’s the first person he always goes to for those things.
Try to consider her feelings.
It’s that thought that forces him to turn around and drive back to the cabin. They’ll both feel better in the morning, anyway. He can find her and talk as soon as the day starts.
It’s past midnight when he finally pulls up to the driveway, and still he’s disappointed to not see Nesta’s car there. Still he’s disappointed to enter an empty cabin.
The Christmas tree they decorated together sits unlit in the corner of the living room, their presents untouched under the fir leaves. Without turning the lights on, Cassian trudges upstairs and heads straight to bed.
Any sleep he finds is short and restless. His eyes shut sometime around three in the morning, and when they next open, early dawn light is streaming in through the windows. Snow flurries gently against the glass.
Giving up on the prospect of genuine rest, Cassian accepts that he’ll have to seek out Nesta with dark circles and a half-functioning brain today.
He already has a list in his mind as he heads downstairs: get coffee and breakfast for Nesta, get dressed, be at her door by the time she wakes at nine.
Then he reaches the foot of the stairs, and realizes none of that is necessary.
Straight out of his dreams, Nesta is sitting cross-legged on the ground before the coffee table, inspecting a puzzle piece in the cutest sweater he’s ever seen.
Cassian freezes with his hand on the banister, wondering if he’s still asleep. He watches her bite her lip intently, trying to fit the puzzle piece into a corner of the puzzle. It doesn’t fit.
“Fuck,” she swears softly, tossing the piece aside. Cassian clears his throat.
Nesta’s head shoots up, her focus broken. “You’re awake.”
“You’re in my house,” he says dumbly.
“That’s what the key you gave me is for, isn’t it?”
Hesitantly, like he’s approaching a wounded bear, Cassian walks farther into the living room. “Are you—I mean, are we…?”
“Use your words, baby.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn’t seem upset. There’s so much he wants to ask her: did she sleep well? Where did she get her Christmas sweater from, and does it mean she’s secretly been a fan of Christmas all along? Does she want hot chocolate or coffee with her breakfast?
“How was your night?” he settles on. He moves to sit across from her at the coffee table.
“Find where this goes,” Nesta demands, handing him a new puzzle piece and pointing to their nearly finished puzzle.
Cassian obeys, and Nesta talks while he works. “I was pretty pissed when I got home last night,” she says. “I wanted to tell you all about this stupid fight I had with my boyfriend, and how I knew he was right but I was still furious at him, until I remembered that you were my boyfriend, and I didn’t want to see you.”
Cassian pretends to focus on the puzzle, letting Nesta get her words out.
“So Gwyn called to say thank you for her present—you were right, by the way, she loves it—and then we ended up talking the whole night, and I told her everything about my sisters and,” she waves a hand, “the other shit.
“And at one point I realized that I was telling her the stuff I needed to be telling you. So I came here as soon as I hung up with Gwyn.”
Cassian looks up. “When was that?”
Nesta shrugs. “Five in the morning?”
“Nesta,” he scolds. “You’ll fuck up your sleep cycle.”
“Will you let me get to my point, damn it?”
Cassian shuts up and sits back.
Nesta is staring down at the puzzle, fiddling with her fingernails. Carefully selecting her next words like an attorney would. “I wanted to apologize for—the things I said last night. I was projecting my insecurities onto you, and I’m sure you already know it, but that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks up, face serious. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other. We always have. But I let that affect how I treated you when you had nothing to do with it.”
“But you were right.” Cassian can’t stay quiet anymore. “I mean, a lot of what you said was wrong, but at the heart of your point you were right.” It took Cassian all night to sift through what Nesta had said, to separate the truth from the meaningless words of hurt. He finally sees it now.
“I should have watched out for you last night, even if I couldn’t claim you as my girlfriend. I know how you are in new environments with new people and I left you to the wolves.” The wolves are his most trusted friends, sure, but they aren’t Nesta’s. And he was an idiot to forget it.
Nesta fixes another puzzle piece into place, and for the first time this morning, true regret passes over her face. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you. I hated every second of it while I was doing it. So as long as you know I didn’t mean any of it, I’ll be fine.”
We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world.
You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now.
Cassian nods once. “I know,” he says softly. “You could never lie to me.” Even if some of her words had struck a little truer than they should have. Cassian realizes bitterly it’s because her insecurities are the same as his.
“So are you going to tell me about what the real problem was yesterday?” He dares to broach the elephant in the room.
Nesta stiffens, refocusing on the puzzle to avoid his gaze. “I already told you,” she says. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other.”
“There’s more to it than that, though.” When Nesta doesn’t respond, he adds, “Feyre told me her side of the story. It probably wasn’t all of it, but if it makes you feel better, I agreed with you.”
Nesta snorts derisively. “She was being unreasonable, but I made it worse. You know that, don’t you?” She raises a brow. “You know how I am.”
Cassian remembers their screaming match from the time he tried to get her a doctor’s appointment, and oddly enough, smiles. “I know you hate it,” he says, “and I know it’s frustrating as hell, but people stop taking your arguments seriously when you start flinging insults. It probably isn’t fair, but you’ve been in a courtroom. You know how it works.”
Nesta grimaces. “Believe me, the future lawyer in me is not proud of how I held up in last night’s fight.”
“Right there.” Cassian slides a section of green pieces over to himself and fits them into place, completing the rolling hills of the landscape scene. There’s only a handful of pieces left, all in the sky area. He waits for Nesta to be ready to speak.
After several moments of working in silence, she says, “My sisters have never really accepted me the way I am. I used to think Elain did back when we were kids, but then I stopped prioritizing her and she stopped understanding.”
Cassian knows Elain is pissed that her once-closest sister no longer cares to talk to her. But what he wants to know is why Nesta stopped answering her calls. Why she pulled away and went into isolation, and wouldn’t come out for anyone until a few short months ago.
Nesta clears her throat. “I was not a well-adjusted kid. I’m not a well-adjusted adult, either, but—I was even worse in my youth. I had a deadbeat dad, who I hated while my sisters adored him. I hated the life we had to live because of him, and I let that hate seep everywhere. Into everything and everyone else.” She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “There was no place closer to hell than that fucking one-bedroom apartment. I hated the person I was in that place—like I had no control over my emotions, my tantrums, my entire self. I was stuck in this childlike state of rage and I couldn’t move on, couldn’t grow up.
“No one could figure out what was wrong with me, so I had to take care of my issues myself. I read more books, I went out more often, I always had headphones in—I learned how to escape. I learned how to limit the destruction. Once I did that, I could care for Elain more openly. I could have civil conversations with Feyre, too. That’s where we went wrong, I think. I gave Feyre hope that I could be a better person, and once she latched onto it, she refused to let go.” Nesta picks at the sleeves of her knit sweater. “She never understood that I was cold and removed just because I was. She always had this belief that deep down, I secretly had a heart of gold and a shit ton of love to give. I never bothered telling her she was wrong, so her expectations of me grew. And so did Elain’s. And then I graduated high school.” She shrugs.
Cassian frowns. “That’s when you left your family and moved here?”
She nods. “The distance helped. For a short time, I thought I was free. No responsibilities or people to answer to. But then I met Tomas—my ex—and Feyre and Elain followed me to Colorado not long after my dad died. And even then I stayed optimistic, because most people would be lucky to have their sisters and boyfriend all in the same place. I thought I could finally have all the relationships a normal person my age was supposed to have if I just put in the effort.” She meets Cassian’s eyes. “I never told you much about Tomas, did I?”
His stomach sinks, but he shakes his head.
“It was not a fun first love. But the only reason I didn’t tell you about it earlier was because I didn’t know how to describe it myself.” She rubs her palms down her thighs, but it isn’t enough to hide their tremble.
“I know what to call it now,” Nesta says. “It was abusive.”
Cassian says nothing. He can’t. But his hands curl into hard fists under the coffee table.
“Lana made me work up to using that word.” She rolls her eyes, like the whole thing annoys and embarrasses her. “He was abusive: physically, verbally, emotionally. I’m not going to go into the details or anything, but it’s what was happening to me during those college years that my sisters needed me to be there for them.”
Cassian would never in a thousand years ask Nesta for information she isn’t ready to give, but in that moment he’s overwhelmed with the need to know everything—every little thing that’s ever been done to her, so he can draw up a list and exact calculated revenge for all of it. His voice is rough against the lump in his throat, out of fury or despair he doesn’t know. “Nesta…”
“I promise I’m almost done.” She holds up a hand.
Take your time. Tell me everything.
“This isn’t about him,” Nesta says. “This is about my sisters. Because even if I hadn’t been stupid enough to let that man waste almost four years of my life, I would have ended up in the same place with Feyre and Elain. They’d still be disappointed when they realized I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be.” She wraps her arms around herself in a hug, and Cassian wishes he’d sat beside her so those could be his arms.
She shakes her head. “I did my best so I wouldn’t be cooped up with them, wouldn’t be lashing out at them… and it still wasn’t enough. They wanted me to be nice, friendly, talkative. So I tried doing that too, even though I hated it. But around the same time things with Tomas started to get unbearable, Feyre found Rhysand and you guys. So now I had to hang out with my sister while she had a group of strangers constantly surrounding her, and go back home to a man who hated me at the end of the day.” She looks up at Cassian then, and her blue-gray gaze hits him with the force of a truck. “As soon as Feyre moved away to Velaris, I saw my way out. I finally broke up with Tomas. I gave up on all my relationships and I let go, and I don’t care if you or anyone else thinks it’s pathetic, or the bare minimum. It’s all I had to give.”
Cassian swallows roughly, unable to find his words. “It’s not pathetic, Nesta,” he finally says. “There’s nothing pathetic about doing what doesn’t come easily to you.”
There’s a million other things he needs to say to her, to make sure that she knows she isn’t stupid, or embarrassing, or not enough. But it all floats right out of his head when she heaves a big, dramatic sigh, as if a great weight has been lifted off her chest. As if Cassian’s measly words were all she needed to hear to feel alright.
She snatches up the final remaining puzzle piece and clicks it into place. “And we’re done,” she declares.
Cassian looks down at the table between them, which is now fully lit by the beaming morning sun outside. His eyes land on an empty space near the corner of the landscape, and his face falls. “There’s a piece missing,” he says.
“No way, where?” Nesta leans closer.
Cassian is already on his hands and knees, checking under and around the table for the missing piece.
“This is all your fault,” Nesta is saying above him. “You bumped into the table that time we were making out and all those pieces went flying.”
“Well, how fucking far could it have gone? Help me find it.” He’s serious now, searching the floor with intent. They can’t leave the puzzle unfinished. It was the only thing he could find in his garage all those months ago that could distract Nesta from anticipating her MRI results. And after the diagnosis, it had been a way to lift her mood, to give the two of them an excuse to spend every evening together—
“Sweetheart, it’s just a puzzle.”
Cassian sits up straight at that. “Just a puzzle?” He narrows his eyes at her.
“Well, it’s either that or an overextended metaphor for our relationship—are you crying?”
“No.” He blinks quickly. If there’s wetness there, he doesn’t know how Nesta glimpsed it.
He’s had a hard twelve hours. Nesta even more so. “I just feel really bad, about last night and everything else.” Because even if she acts like what she just spilled to him isn’t a big deal, he’ll never forget it.
He looks up to find Nesta laughing. Hand-over-her-mouth cackling. Before he can ask what’s wrong with her, she’s climbing up onto the coffee table, breaking up the puzzle and sending pieces scattering as she crawls across it. “Nesta—” he starts to protest.
She drops into his lap, winding her arms and legs around his powerful body. And she leans in and kisses him, long and deep and sweet. His hands settle into the curve of her hips, where they’ve always fit perfectly.
She breaks the kiss to fit her palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says. She never says that. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” Her lips quirk up teasingly, but real guilt from the night before lingers in her eyes. Cassian realizes in that moment that Nesta could never hurt anybody more than she hurts herself.
“Don’t waste your apologies on me.” He nudges her nose with his. “Save them for people who’ll actually need to hear them.”
A real smile starts to bloom on her face. “I’ll try.”
Pride and love take his breath away, but he manages to say, “Thank you. For sharing so much of yourself with me.”
She makes an embarrassed noise and waves him off, but emotion shines in her eyes. Just to spare her, Cassian changes the subject. “Now what in the world are you wearing?”
She glances down at herself, frowning. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it.” The sweater looks hand knit, bright red with a green Christmas tree in the center. Balls of colorful fuzz decorate the tree as ornaments. “I want you to wear it every day,” he says.
“Over my dead body. I’d rather you help me take it off.”
Nesta’s hips feel especially snug against his as heat rushes to his crotch. She smirks like she caught him on a hook and leans in to whisper, “You look tired. Did you stay up thinking about my dress last night?”
Cassian swallows roughly. It might have crossed his mind a few times—not just the dress, but the fact that she had picked it out for him. He didn’t know that Nesta cared about things like that.
She rubs a thumb under his weary and reddened eyes. “After your anger faded, did you think about all the make-up sex we were going to have? Because I did.”
“Nesta,” he groans, dropping his head to rest against her chest. Either she plays him too well or he’s too easy to play, because Cassian is half a second away from damning everything to hell and dragging her to the living room carpet.
Until Nesta’s stomach growls loudly.
That’s when he remembers: it’s Christmas morning, he’s with the love of his life, and they’re both starving and sleep-deprived.
He looks up to find her eyes screwed shut in frustration. Before she can protest, he warns, “Don’t even think about it.” He pats her thighs. “Let’s get some food in you.”
***
Cassian makes them chocolate chip pancakes, and Nesta, feeling clingier than usual today, hangs piggyback off his body the entire time he cooks. She hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, yet she feels like she was born anew this morning.
In the middle of breakfast, Cassian’s phone vibrates. He hardly even glances at it before turning it over.
“Who was it?” Nesta asks through a mouthful of pancakes. She hasn’t asked him about how his own night went, but she expects that his friends will want to call and talk to him at some point today.
“Feyre,” he says without looking at her. “She asked where I went last night.”
“Why’re you ignoring her?” She raises a brow.
Cassian looks a little surprised. “I thought we were mad at her.”
“No.” Nesta sets her fork down. “I’m mad at her. What’s your excuse?”
He shrugs. “Solidarity. I’m mad that you had your Christmas Eve ruined. I know what it took you just to show up there.”
“You’re the only one that knows.” Nesta supposes that not everything has been cleared up with Cassian after all. “Listen,” she tries to soften her blunt tone. “Whatever is between me and my sisters… you don’t need to concern yourself with it. You’ll never have to choose sides between us.”
He watches her closely, carefully. “Even if I want to defend my girlfriend?”
Her stomach flutters at that inconsequential word, but she doesn’t show it. “Even then. Feyre looks at you like an older brother. I’m sure Elain does too, a little bit. Don’t let me get in the way of that.” He probably feels guilty every time he texts Feyre, the loyal bastard.
Cassian looks at his plate, then nods resolutely. “I can do that.” He adds a moment later, “For what it’s worth, I do get where the girls are coming from. Even if they had a shit way of going about it.” His eyes darken as he remembers.
Nesta doesn’t know what he was told about the fight, but she chuckles at his moody face anyway. “I expected you to. You’ve always loved spending time with your family, and you’ve never known anything different. But the reality is this: the closeness you have between you and your brothers isn’t something that can be forced onto every group of siblings. And the more Feyre and Elain try to force it, the more I push against it.”
“It sounds stifling.” His face is open, understanding. “To feel like you’re always too much but never enough.”
Nesta pauses, stunned. Cassian is almost too empathetic sometimes, like he carries a thousand past lives within him. Maybe he spent his time learning Nesta by heart in those lives.
Or maybe she’s getting too damn sentimental. She chokes out a dismissive laugh, going back to her pancakes. “Just text Feyre back. Then we can have the rest of the day to ourselves.”
***
Late morning brings heavy snowfall and a chill that infiltrates the walls of the cabin. The Christmas tree in the living room is lit—something Cassian didn’t notice earlier when he came downstairs to find Nesta in his house. Realizing that she’s the one who lit it up first thing in the morning does something to his chest, but he pushes the feeling down where it can’t scare Nesta away.
The weight of the past day must finally catch up to her, though, because by the time Cassian finishes lighting the fireplace, she’s knocked out asleep on the couch.
“No makeup sex then, Nes?” he says softly. Getting up from the hearth, he goes to pull the fur couch throw over her body. Cassian settles at the end of the couch near her feet, taking care so she doesn’t wake, and picks up his laptop from the coffee table. He’s been slacking with his work ever since he got with Nesta, and he might as well catch up on it now before Rhysand takes notice.
The first email that pops up in his inbox is a corporate reminder about the annual New Year’s Eve fundraiser gala, hosted in some high-class hotel in Denver this year. Cassian reads the email once, twice, three times before reaching for his phone.
Rhys answers on the first ring. “Oh, so you don’t hate us,” he drawls.
“What?” Cassian is confused.
“Because with the way you’ve been acting at family events lately, one would have reason to think you don’t want to be around your family much.”
“Oh—no, this isn’t about that.” Cassian refuses to let Rhys linger on this topic. “I called about the New Year’s party.”
“What about it?” he says. “Other than that tacky hotel.”
Cassian decides to spit it out. “I’m not coming.”
Rhys is stunned silent over the line for a moment. “What do you mean, you’re not coming?” Cassian never misses company events, no matter how much he hates dressing up and driving out to the city to schmooze with donors.
But too many of his holidays have gone to Rhys instead of Nesta this year, and he finds himself unwilling to give more.
“I’ve been stressed as hell lately,” he lies, trying to stay quiet for Nesta. “I’m always the one driving hours to see everyone else, and I can’t go all the way out to Denver for another party. I’m sorry.”
“Bullshit,” Rhys responds. “You have nothing going on at work and nothing going on outside of it. What could you be stressed about?”
Cassian makes a mental note to find a hobby that doesn’t include his brothers, if only so he can use it as an excuse to spend time with his secret girlfriend in the future. For now, he has to settle with the truth. “I can’t tell you.”
It’s a petty card to play, but it’s a valid one. No matter how nosy his family might be, they know how to back off when a line is drawn, no explanation required.
Rhys’s voice softens. “Is it serious? Is it a health issue?”
Cassian nearly laughs, even though he feels bad for making Rhys worry. “No, nothing like that. But I still can’t come.”
“What can I do to make it easier for you?” Rhys tries again. “New Year’s isn’t the same without all of my family in one place.”
Cassian snorts. “Come over to my place then.” He says it half-jokingly, but then Rhys doesn’t answer, as if he’s thinking.
“The gala guest list is too big to fit in the cabin…” he ponders. “But I guess I could have it narrowed down at the last minute. The Mayfairs certainly won’t be happy about it, though.”
Cassian’s eyes widen, and he looks over at Nesta’s sleeping form. “Uh…” He scrambles for something to get him out of this.
“New Year’s at a luxury cabin, all of us reuniting at your home for the first time in months? I love it,” Rhys declares. “Better than fucking Denver, that’s for sure.”
Cassian coughs, then covers it up with a forced chuckle. “I’ll have the place ready by next week.”
The call is over before he knows it, and all he can do is stare at the phone in his hand wondering what the hell just happened.
You didn’t entirely lose, he thinks to himself. You’re spending New Year’s with Nesta.
Yeah—New Year’s with Nesta and his entire family. He drops his head back against the couch and groans quietly.
***
Nesta wakes up late in the afternoon to Cassian presenting her with a mug of eggnog and bad news about New Year’s Eve.
The idea of another party, especially one with her sisters present, so soon after the last one makes Nesta’s very bones ache. But she supposes she’ll just have to take the next week to recover and prepare, because she isn’t missing out on a holiday with Cassian for anything.
The way she’s started romanticizing simple things like the new year should probably alarm her, but it doesn’t.
They sit down to open presents with the TV playing lowly in the background. It’s nothing serious, and Nesta isn’t expecting to get anything much until she unwraps her present.
It’s a vinyl record packaged in an elaborate sleeve with the words Nesta’s Mix etched across it. She slowly pulls the record out of the sleeve, staring at it. “What’s this?”
“It’s called a vinyl.”
She spears him with a look. “I got that. What’s on it?”
Cassian turns sheepish, sprawled out across from her on the carpet. “I stalked your Spotify to figure out what you listen to. Then I made a playlist based off what I thought you’d like and got it turned into vinyl. It’s all new music…” He trails off at the look on her face. “But if you hate it, the B-side has your favorite songs on there. You can listen to it either way.”
“I don’t hate it.” Nesta blinks her burning eyes rapidly, staring down at the gift in her hands. She’s not used to receiving thoughtful gifts—or pricey ones. “Thank you,” she says plainly, trying to let her feelings speak for themselves in those two words. “I love it.” She knows she should be saying more, damn it, but what can she say?
Cassian reaches out to put a hand on her knee, his thumb stroking circles across her leg. She looks up at him and realizes she doesn’t need words. Leaning forward, she lands a kiss on his cheek and can only hope that it’s sufficient. “Where am I going to play it?” she asks.
“I was close to getting you a record player when I remembered I already have one. I’ve never used it in my life.” He looks at her more gently now. “So it’s basically yours.”
Nesta’s chest tightens painfully. Not because he’s giving the record player to her, but because he’s suggesting they own it together.
“My present is going to look so stupid next to yours,” she says quietly.
Cassian grins. “Now I really need to see it.”
Nesta buries her head in her hands in humiliation while he tears open the wrapping paper of his gift, and only looks up when she hears him laugh aloud.
He’s holding a copy of one of Nesta’s favorite romances, and the first of many of her books that he’s ever stolen from her and read. He turns the vintage paperback around in his hands. “I remember this one. I totally had a sex dream about it.” He gazes in reminiscence at the busty blonde on the cover.
Nesta snorts, but scoots closer to him eagerly. “Look inside.”
He flips it open to find dark scribbles along the margins, in every single margin.
“I annotated it,” Nesta says hesitantly. “With my thoughts and analysis on each scene. It’s probably dumb to critically analyze a ninetie’s erotica novel, but I thought you’d find it funny.”
Cassian is flipping through the pages more slowly now, taking his time to read each one. “I don’t think it’s funny,” he says after a moment, his eyes still on the book. “I think it’s more than anything I could have asked for.”
“Well, that’s a bit dramatic for a romance book—”
“Not the book.” He looks up at her with something in his eyes. “It’s all your thoughts.” He looks back at the book in wonder. “Written out for me in detail to keep.”
He starts to smirk, searching for a specific page. “I already know how you feel about the boat scene, but now I need to read about it.”
Nesta makes a noise of protest, grabbing for the book. “Don’t spoil the good parts yet.” She can hardly believe it. He finds her joke present good. “You always spoil the good parts first and get sad about it later.”
He makes a face. “True.” He lowers the book, growing serious. “Nesta.” He clears his throat, and her heart starts pounding. She can hear the words before he says them—
“You’re a really good gift giver.”
Nesta’s breath shudders out of her, in relief or disappointment she doesn’t know. Cassian is still staring at her in amazement, and she can only respond by throwing herself at him, her arms holding him tight.
He doesn’t falter under her weight, but pulls her closer. “Thank you,” he says into her ear.
She pulls back far enough to see him. His beautiful face is outlined with too many emotions for her to read, yet somehow she knows exactly what he’s feeling.
Overwhelmed, she leans in to place a soft kiss above his upper lip, then on his mouth. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers against his lips.
“Merry Christmas, Nesta.”
***
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Of Starlight
A/N: Hey, hey, we’re nearing the end
Warnings: none that I’m aware of
Word Count: 2163
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Chapter 15: I Heard A Rumor
Five hadn’t expected to see (Y/N) asleep beside him the next morning. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he tried his best to let them focus on her peaceful face. His side ached as he reached forward and brushed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone and he thought, he’d like to be able to wake up like this everyday. Minus the shrapnel wound, of course. In fact, the stinging pain reminded him of just why he couldn’t think of fantasies like that right now. He still needed to find Harold Jenkins, and he’d be able to effectively do so now that his wound had been taken care of. Leaning forward, he kissed (Y/N) on the cheek and moved to get out of bed, but she began to stir in her sleep. Freezing, he watched as her (e/c) eyes cracked open. When they rested on him, a sleepy smile spread across her face. “Morning.” She rasped.
“Morning.” He laid back down and let her stare at him. In all forms, in all angles, she was breathtaking. He almost couldn’t believe it. The way her eyes squinted when a new thought passed through her mind, the way they blinked twice when she snapped herself back into reality, it was all her. He wanted to comment on it, but he saw the flash of pain on her face and her smile turned bittersweet. “Stop doing that.” He whispered.
“Doing what?”
“Stop looking at me like this is the last time you’ll see me.”
She went silent for a second, her fingers tracing his features. “I can’t help it…”
Not another thing was said before she got out of bed and assisted Five out of the room. From down the hall, they heard a bell ringing and Klaus’s cheerful voice. Turning, they saw him approaching the two with a smile. “Good morning, lovebirds!”
“Good morning, Klaus. What is it?” (Y/N) asked as she shifted her arm that was around Five.
“Important family business downstairs. Breakfast will be provided.” He grinned.
“You get more insufferable everyday…” Five groaned, only encouraging his brother’s antics.
“Come on, let’s go! I already got the big guy waiting on me!” He began ringing the bell as he danced down the stairs. With a sigh, the pair followed him down into the kitchen, where Luther was sitting at the table. The man clearly had one hell of a night, seemingly hungover. As they entered the kitchen, Klaus immediately began pouring cups of coffee for everyone. Five and (Y/N) sat beside Luther, the girl handing the boy one of the cups. He took a sip and grimaced.
“Jesus. Who do I gotta kill to get a decent cup of coffee?” He hissed up at Klaus as he set the cup back down. (Y/N) sighed and reached over, gently taking his hand in hers. Klaus handed her a plate of eggs and she gratefully took it, setting it down in front of Five. “No, I don’t want to eat.”
“Five, you need to eat something.”
“(Y/N), I just said no.”
“And I say eat your food. Now.” She sternly demanded, as a mother would to her child. Five exhaled through his nose before picking up the fork, grumpily eating his eggs. She proudly smiled and rubbed circles on his back. Luther groaned and drank his coffee.
“Can we get started, please?”
“Anyone seen any of the others? Diego? Allison? No?” He looked to his sister, who only glanced around the table, wordlessly asking her usual question. Klaus motioned towards the seat across from her. Good, Ben is here. “Alright, then, this is the closest thing to a quorum...,” He banged his spatula on the table, only causing Luther more irritation. “...that we’re gonna get. Now, listening up. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out. Yeah...” He trailed off and the three frowned in confusion when he didn’t continue.
“Klaus.”
“I conjured Dad last night.” This was met with silence. Five and Luther glanced at each other in disbelief as (Y/N) stared at her brother in shock.
“Wait, seriously? I thought you hadn’t been able to.” She leaned forward.
“Ah, yes, but I’m sober. Ta-da!” He gave lazy jazz hands. “I got clean, yesterday, to talk to… well… you know, and then ended up having this… conversation with dear old Daddy himself.” He explained, (Y/N) slowly sitting back with a hum. Luther dropped his hand from his face and began to stand.
“Has anyone got some aspirin?”
“Top shelf, next to the crackers.” Five answered, now finished with his eggs and drinking more of his coffee.
“Hey, hey, hey. This is serious, guys, alright?” Klaus tried to get everyone back on track, Luther sighing and sitting back down in his seat. “This really happened, I swear.”
“So, what did he say?” (Y/N) raised her brow.
“Well, he gave me the usual lecture about my appearance and my failures in life. Yada, yada, yada. No surprise there. Even the afterlife couldn’t soften a hardass like Dad, right? But he did mention something about his murder, or lack thereof, because… he killed himself.” Klaus’s voice quieted as he looked down at his spatula. His siblings only stared, Luther the least convinced.
“I don’t have time for your games, Klaus.” This time, he actually stood from his chair as if to leave, but Klaus stopped him.
“No, I’m telling you the truth, Luther. I’m telling you the truth.”
“Why’d he do it, then?” Five asked, narrowing his eyes.
“He said it was the only way to get us home again.”
“No. Dad wouldn’t just kill himself.” Luther shook his head.
“Ah, you said it yourself. He was depressed.” Five pointed out, (Y/N) nodding in agreement. “Holed up in his office and room all day and night.”
“No. There weren’t any signs. Suicidal people exhibit certain tendencies, strange behaviors.”
“Like sending someone to the moon for no reason?” Klaus tilted his head and (Y/N) frowned quizzically. Luther only stared him down.
“I swear to god, Klaus, if you’re lying-”
“I’m not. I’m not.”
“Master Klaus is correct.”
Everyone in the room turned to see Pogo enter, limping with his cane. He stopped a little ways away from the table. Placing both hands on his cane, he sighed. “Regretfully… I helped Master Hargreeves enact his plan. So did Grace. It was a difficult choice for both of us… More difficult than you could ever know…”
(Y/N) shook her head as she stared down at the floor. “But… But Mom’s programming, i-it wouldn’t have allowed her-”
“I know, Miss (Y/N). Prior to your father’s death, Grace’s programming was adjusted so that she was incapable of administering first aid on that fateful night.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“Sick bastard.” Five muttered. Luther stared down at the table with somber eyes.
“So the security tape we saw?”
“It was meant to further the murder mystery.” Pogo clarified, Luther scoffing. “Your father hoped that being back here, solving it together… would reignite your desire to be a team again.”
“And to what end?” Five questioned.
“To save the world, of course.”
“Oh, alright.” Klaus sarcastically giggled. Luther’s glare was then directed to their chimp butler.
“First the moon mission and now this. You watched me search for answers and said nothing,” As he spoke, Pogo’s head bowed in shame. “Anything else you want to share, Pogo? Any other damn secrets?” His siblings tried to calm him as his voice increased volume. “No, I won’t calm down! We’ve been lied to by the one person in this family we all trusted.”
“It was your father’s dying wish, Master Luther. I…,” Pogo sighed. “I had no choice.”
Luther stalked closer to him, eyes never leaving his form. “There’s always choice.��� He muttered before walking out of the kitchen. (Y/N) stared ahead, trying to make sense of this fucked up situation. Beside her, Five ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“I gotta think.” He sighed and grabbed the girl by the arm before blinking into his room. The two didn’t speak as they stood on opposite sides of the room, trying to make sense of everything. (Y/N), for one, was a bit pissed off. The man she had been trying to get away from for so long was the very one who had planned to bring her right back. Only it was to deal with something he clearly must have known about. Pogo said it himself, they were brought back to save the world. And while that does sound like a job for the Umbrella Academy, it’s not like any of them would have answered a call from Reginald and accepted such a mission. They had parted ways, planned on never seeing him again. So, viewed from some angles, it was the perfect plan. Jesus, he couldn’t have pretended to be deathly sick?! (Y/N)’s thoughts were put on hold when she heard Five approach her. He opened the wardrobe beside her and pulled out another uniform, wincing a bit when he raised his right arm. She wordlessly stood before him and helped him change his clothing. The entire interaction was intimate, but of course not sexual in any way. It was simply familiar. When she buttoned his dress shirt for him, it felt as if this was the right thing to do. As if being this close to him and doing something as casual as fixing his shirt was what she was meant to do, as silly as she thought it sounded. The silence between them was comfortable and they only interrupted it when (Y/N) asked if she was hurting his side and he would reply with no.
Once they were finished, Five gently grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek. When he pulled away, they stared at one another with wide eyes. Five had kissed her cheeks, her forehead and her hands before, yes, but he had never initiated affection like that out of the blue before. He almost regretted it, but (Y/N) gave him a giddy smile that instantly relaxed him. “Well, I suppose we should… go save the world, Starlight.”
“If we must.” She lightly joked and gently swung their joined hands as they walked out of the room. Klaus’s bedroom door was wide open when they reached it, so they both walked right in. He was currently shirtless, shoeless, and playing with yarn on his bed. Five uselessly knocked on the door as he passed it to get inside.
“Hey. Get up. We’re going.”
“Where?”
“To save the world, duh.” (Y/N) furrowed her brows.
“Oh, is that all? Great.” Klaus moved the yarn away and started to put his clothes back on as Five paced the room.
“So, Pogo said Dad killed himself to get us all back together, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So it got me thinking. I had to jump to the future to figure out when it happened, but Dad, he can’t time travel. So how’d the crazy bastard actually know to kill himself a week before the end of the world?”
“I was thinking the same thing.” (Y/N) nodded as Klaus tried to answer the question, but Five cut him off.
“Don’t answer. That was purely rhetorical. Truth is, our whole lives, he’s been telling us we’d save the world from an impending apocalypse.”
“Yeah, but I also thought he just said that to scare us into doing the dishes.” Klaus added as he struggled to shove his foot into his shoe. Five turned to him with raised brows.
“Me, too. But what if the old man really knew it was going to happen?”
“Exactly, but how the hell would he?” (Y/N) turned to her love, avoiding Klaus’s elbow as he raised his arms to put his shirt back on.
“No idea. But the fact remains, his fakakta plan worked. We all came home.”
“The perfect, fucked up plan for his perfectly fucked up family…”
“Well, since we’re here, we might as well save the world.”
Klaus finished dressing himself and wore a smile. “Oh, yeah? What, like, the three of us?”
“Uh, well, ideally, no, but… gotta work with what I’ve got. No offense to you, Starlight, you’ve been a wonderful help.”
“Awe, shucks.” She deadpanned. As they walked down the hall, Diego’s figure sprinted towards them, but turned into his bedroom, no longer in a sling. “Diego?”
“Where have you been?” Five stopped, the other two doing the same.
“Jail,” Diego quickly answered as he threw off his jacket. “Long story. Where’s Luther?”
“Haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
“Yeah,” Klaus stretched. “Two days until the world ends, he picks a great time to drop off the grid.” He commented as Diego walked back out, now in his leather gear. He cursed and adjusted his clothing before tilting his head up to his siblings.
“Allison is in danger.”
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#the umbrella academy#umbrella academy#umbrella academy x reader#tua#tua fanfic#tua x reader#tua five#five hargreeves#five hargreeves x reader#number five#number five x reader#five x reader#of starlight
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Mr. President
Chapter 16
TW: Rape attempt
Words Count: 1.6k
Link to Masterlist
Link to Chapter 17
You wake up feeling thirsty that night. Jimin isn’t in bed, as he’d been the past few days. You briefly wonder if he’s sleeping in some other room. You don’t glance at the clock but figured that it’s around 2 or 3AM.
You reach the teapot on your bedside to pour some water into a glass but none of it comes out. You’ve forgotten to refill it before you head to sleep. Too sleepy to curse at yourself, you stand up albeit groggily.
You make your way downstairs and only after gulping down two glasses of water do you feel sated of your thirst.
You’re about to head back upstairs when you heard some noise. You freeze in your steps, unsure of the source. Did someone break into your house? Though you don’t think the securities in this house is that amateur.
Taking another step, you hear the noise again and it takes you a moment to realize it’s your husband’s voice. Unknowingly, you walk towards the source of the noise and your husband’s voice that leads you to the house backyard.
Your husband is shouting at someone. There’s probably about 8 or 9 people including your husband, you couldn’t be sure. Someone is brought to kneel in front of him.
“Why the fuck would you bring him here?” He hisses.
“Sorry sir- I thought-“
“I don’t give a fuck about what you thought- my wife’s here-“ he runs a hand through his hair, speaking in harsh hushed tone. “Fuck it, just do it quick, give me the silencer-“
Someone thrusts a gun into your husband’s hand.
He cocks the gun and-
A piercing scream breaks out and suddenly everyone turns towards you. You realize the sound comes out from you. You’re screaming hysterically, eyes wide as soon as you see the man that was kneeling in front of your husband few seconds ago is now lying on the floor, no longer breathing.
Hands clasping your mouth, you swing around and starts running, too shell shocked to even cry.
You’re freaked out, you don’t even know your destination until you see the room at the end of hallway, the small room that had been your safe space and without thinking, you run towards it.
As soon as you lock the door, you find yourself sinking to the floor. Your body trembles and you feel hard to breath and then you start crying. You cry and simply cry for hours until your body’s too exhausted to cry anymore. You’re still trembling, lips pale from the traumatic scene that you just witnessed.
Jimin did come, knocking on the door and frantically shouts your name. But eventually he stopped. And you fall asleep, body still shivering.
When you finally find the strength to stand the next morning, Jimin has already gone out. He didn’t come home again that night.
You know your husband is a dangerous man. You’d seen it firsthand when he beats your brother half dead when you first saw him, and he’s never failed to remind you how dangerous he is.
From his cold demeanor, his reflex when someone is too close to him, how his footsteps are so silent, how he expertly handles the gun like he’s been doing it all his life, you know Jimin’s way more dangerous than he lets on to you.
He’d done a perfect job in hiding that dark part of his life, you’d give that to him.
And now that you know, you guess Jimin assumes it’s more dangerous as he levels up the security for you. Taeseok had kindly introduces you to them all, which by the way are four of them including Taeseok himself and informs you that you’re not allowed out unless there’s security with you. This is all by Jimin’s orders which he tells through Taeseok since he doesn’t come home for days now.
For someone who thinks you’re nothing, he sure is taking your security too seriously.
You’re angry with him. You really are. But when he doesn’t come home for the next whole week, you end up pacing back and forth in the foyer.
From prying and constantly pestering your poor new bodyguard, you’ve finally confirmed your suspicion that Jimin’s in a mafia gang. But that doesn’t surprise you. It is the fact that Jimin is actually the head of the mafia gang called BTS, and is the most notorious and influential as they hold most of the areas in Seoul. You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask the specifics of his underground business. Having a thug brother, you perfectly know well that there would be drugs and gamblings involved, or women.
You should be worried about that fact. The fact that your husband is a mafia leader. Your level of worry each night he doesn’t come home has increased on a significant level. You don’t really know if he’s gonna come home in one piece.
You find yourself staring blankly around the house because it feels even more empty than usual. There’s a strange hollow that follows it. And that’s how you find yourself sleeping again on the bed that the two of you share in the master bedroom. With his shirt.
You’ve always loved his smell. His vanilla scent that smells soft to your nose yet manly at the same time, his smell. So you pick one of his white shirt and sleeps hugging it.
The fact that you found out your husband’s a killer.. and yet you’re still worried about him.. what level of twisted is this?
It’s about at 3AM, you think, that you heard a sound, waking you up from slumber and you’re immediately aware of every sense, eyes shot open.
“Fuck-“ it’s Jimin’s voice that makes you sit up immediately. You can barely see him in the dark of the room with very little light illuminating.
“Y/N?”
You fumble to switch the bedside lamp on and scramble to your feet immediately and approaches him in the speed of light.
“Sorry didn’t mean to wake you-“
You’re about to throw your hands around him, to just hug him tight but stops short when you take in his disheveled appearance. He’s in his white shirt, his blazer and tie already discarded. But something feels wrong.
You reach out and almost jerks away when you feel a wet patch on his shirt. It takes you a few moments to realize it’s blood. The thick smell of copper filling your noise instantly.
Your eyes widen and you gasp aloud, “Oh God Jimin, are you okay? What’s this?” You ask frantically.
“I’m fine-“
“No Jimin, let me see-“ your hands are trembling, flashes of images of him killing the person few nights ago that still traumatises you filling your mind, you frantically unbutton his shirt, desperate to check if he’s okay and he just lets you.
Your hands are everywhere on the expanse of his chest and his chiseled abs and then you realize he’s perfectly fine and it isn’t his blood. Your whole body visibly relaxes and you let out a relieved sigh.
And then it suddenly dawns to you that you just unbuttoned him all the way down and now he’s half naked.
You fumble to take a step back but he catches your wrist immediately, startling you.
“What’s wrong, kitten?”
Kit.. kitten? “N- nothing.”
He juts his jaw towards the bed. “What’s my shirt doing on the bed?”
Your whole body goes rigid. You don’t even know how to explain everything.
“Did you miss me..?” He whispers, voice close to your ear making you shudder.
You stand frozen in his grip, shaking your head slowly. He only stares at you as you look down.
Thankfully, he releases you, perhaps taking pity after your shock. “I’m gonna shower.” He says then just leaves for the bathroom.
Flushing red, you sprint towards the bed to fetch his shirt back and chuck it into his drawer. You climb back onto bed, heart still beating fast. Where had he been? You were wondering if he would even tell you if you ask or if that’s stepping over the line or boundaries.
You’re lost in your own thought, eyes about to flutter shut when suddenly you feel a hand firmly placed on your waist.
Your hearbeat picks up again.
You turn around, lying on your back now to see Jimin, hovering above you and hands now all over you. Your stomach, your chest, your breasts-
You start to panic. “J-Jimin what are y-you doing?”
His hands are quick to hold your wrist firmly when you start to squirm, trying to escape. He leans down, lips dangerously close to your face.
“You are mine. To kiss anywhere I want.. To touch wherever I want.. and to kill.. whenever I want. Do not forget that.”
His left hand remains on your wrist, gripping it tight above your head while his other hand goes to the strap of your nightgown. You swallow thickly when he slides them down your arm. His hand brushes your half exposed breast very slightly and your entire body go still in shock.
You feel his tongue nipping at your neck as his fingers move daintily from your jaw to your neck, your shoulder and then your breast.
He moves and you gasp when you feel his hardened crotch against you and you’ve never felt so terrified.
You like him. No, you love your husband.
And what you would give for him to touch you intimately.
But you don’t want to give it to him like this, in this state. No emotions, no feelings, no love.
His head dips down to kiss you but you’re quicker to turn your head and avoids him.
“Jimin stop!” You yell.
And all his actions ceased.
Hot tears roll all over your cheeks. Clutching onto your tattered nightgown, trying hard to prevent the silk material from further slipping, you get up from the bed and leaves the room.
Link to Chapter 17
Posted on 210517 9:00PM
#serendipityjxmn#serendipityjxmnmrpresident#mrpresident#mr president#bts fic#bts au#bts smut#jimin au#park jimin#parkjimin#kpop fic#jimin smut#jimin ceo#jimin mafia#bts mafia#jimin x reader
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aah i thought of a req!!!!! could i maybe request one shots or hcs (separate) w dream, sapnap, n wilbur with a s/o (preferred he/him!!) who draws a whole lot,, n one day they catch him drawing him?? tysm :]
@ghcstbnr asked
gn i just realized i made a typo i meant cc catching reader drawing them- but ty again :)
of course! it's kind of long, sorry about that
I took a little creative liberty with the notion of "catching you drawing." also Sapnap's looks kind of long but it's also dialogue heavy. if you want me to redo it, I will. hope you like it 💗
& a note to everyone else, I don't write for Wilbur yet! I only write for the dream team at this time. sorry about that! this will probably change in the future, though, so look out 👀
CW: swearing
format: one-shot
people: dreamwastaken, Sapnap
pronouns: dreamwastaken's piece is ambiguous, Sapnap's piece uses he/him
edited 27 April 2021
—
dreamwastaken
since he doesn't use his camera, you find yourself with your boyfriend in the studio more often than not. when he's gaming casually, you play together, or one of you will cheer the other one on. when he's streaming, sometimes you interact with the viewers, or read donations for him; sometimes you just sit next to him, soaking up his energy and warmth. when he's working long days and long nights to edit videos, you're content with just relaxing together in the same space. at times you have to drag him out to the kitchen to eat, or help him to bed if he passes out, but…he's really cute when he's focused. (and you're starting to think he does it on purpose just so you can dote on him.)
today is a little different. he's recording for a manhunt that's meant to drop in a couple days. you're quiet, trying to avoid disrupting them. you're perched up on the loveseat, staring fondly at him across the room. he's so animated, the way his eyes shine when he talks to his friends, how he tears up when he laughs…
Patches mews at you from the arm of the couch, as if to say, disapprovingly, I cannot believe how sickeningly sweet your inner monologue is.
and you try to understand where she's coming from, you really do, but the sun's starting to set, and the gentle rays slotting through the blinds are shifting from white to gold.
he looks so divine, you decide. it's unfair. how could I not love him? he's seriously pretty. and before you can stop yourself, you're sketching him out on your tablet. you glance up at him fast to get the details right, and look away just as quickly. he never meets your eyes. soon your whole page is covered in little Clays, capturing the way he feels, the way he acts, the way you feel about him. Patches jumps off the chair, with all the moving. and before you know it, you've drawn up a whole page of concept art of your unfairly beautiful boyfriend. Patches was right about me, you muse to yourself.
fuck. Patches. the same Patches who's been meowing at you for the better part of an hour, now sitting patiently at the door? there's no way Clay didn't pick up on all that noise, you fret. but he's still playing, looking intense as ever. relief washes over you, replacing the guilt.
come here, girl, you think to yourself, knowing Patches wouldn't have even understood you if you spoke. sorry to keep you waiting. and you rise, slipping quietly out the door with his cat in your train.
—
you're coming back to the studio. Patches, fed and sated, is napping in another room. opening the door, you have to stop yourself, you freeze. your boyfriend's kneeling on the ground, sitting on his heels, right next to the door—you'd have hit him if it opened any further.
"baby, what are you…" the words die on your tongue.
my book. my sketchbook. my sketchbook full of drawings of him. shit, he's gonna think I'm such a simp! the embarrassment, the shame, the fear, it's overwhelming you.
you hear your voice break. "…what happened to recording…?"
"finished half an hour ago," he says simply.
and that was that. for the first time in ages, the silence hanging between you was thick and heavy with tension. you wait. and wait. and wait. you wait for the criticism, the hate, the argument that never comes.
suddenly, he seems content with what he's seen, when he looks up at you adoringly, and takes one of your hands, giving it a soft squeeze. "is that…me?"
you've lost your voice, all you can do is nod.
"you…you think I'm beautiful?" he glows.
ah, I suppose I did write that, somewhere in there. you look away. all the things I've said…
he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves kisses on your knuckles.
you sound small. "do I not tell you that enough?" you pause. "that you're beautiful? that I love you?"
and just like that, his nervousness dissolves into euphoria. you both start laughing at the same time.
"oh my god—" he wheezes. "—you're so sappy."
"only for you," you blurt out, and start laughing harder. but he quiets, he hesitates.
"only for me," he repeats.
you sink down onto the floor next to him. he's staring so fondly at you, you can't help but smile back.
"only for you," you affirm.
he rests his hands on your knees, pulling himself closer to you. he's so close to you, you can feel his blush. you let your eyes close, softly.
but the kiss never comes. instead, you're met with a "then what about all those drawings of Patches?"
laying on the floor, tangled up in each other, in hysterics, you distantly think I hope he remembered to leave the call from recording earlier.
—
over dinner, you meet his gaze, and he gives you that look. that stupid, handsome look; the one with the smile and the danger behind his eyes. he makes a point of pausing mid-bite, but it takes you a minute to notice that he's stopped eating.
"what's up, honey?" you ask, sounding a little more concerned than you should have been.
he shrugs dramatically. "oh, nothing…just figured you'd appreciate a muse." there it was. the teasing. you knew it would happen eventually. but the tone, it's kind, it's tempting; gentle, unlike a serious jab.
so all you do is roll your eyes, but you can't help the way your mouth quirks into a smile. "you're so dumb," you murmur with affection, and shake your head at nothing in particular.
Patches curls her tail around your ankle as she passes you by.
—
on the couch hours later for movie night, you're the last one up. Patches is curled up in Clay's lap, purring. Clay, in turn, sleeps soundly in your lap. (you think if he could purr, he would, but he settles for humming softly when you play with his hair.) you might think it's funny looking back on it later, but it feels so tender and vulnerable now. you like calm evenings like this one. Studio Ghibli plays quietly on the flatscreen; you don't know which one, you're not really paying attention anymore.
you're busy tracing the contours of Clay's skin, feeling more than seeing his shape in the dark room. mapping him out in your mind, learning his figure like you're seeing him for the first time again. you think you understand him a little bit better, every day you spend together. and with confidence, you make your first stroke, illuminated by the moon.
—
Sapnap
you only barely stop yourself from drawing a big "X" across your paper. exhale, and start erasing furiously. don't rip the paper—well, we didn't need that sheet anyway. ball it up and throw it at the dark, cobwebbed corner of the room. along with the rest of your mistakes.
you're trying. you're really trying. but those lips. his fucking lips. fuck.
your boyfriend smiles at the camera as he gets a donation with a sweet message on it. it should be so easy. he's right there. right here.
you check the time. it's been an hour. you've been trying, and miserably failing, to get his lips right for an entire hour. today, at least. you scoff at yourself, your misery, and pinch the bridge of your nose. it isn't fair.
his camera's on, and he's live, so you know you can't be in there with him. nobody knows you're together, and you don't want know what kind of backlash to expect if people found out. so you've been avoiding his streams…the whole room where he streams, really.
you've kept yourself busy by drawing. and you've cycled through many subjects in your life, and eventually, been able to draw whatever you put your mind to with enough time and effort. the problem is, your sights have been set on Sapnap, even for months before you got together. okay, maybe that isn't the problem. the actual problem is that you fucking suck at drawing him.
you get going, start it out, do an okay job, but midway through screw it all up somehow. to make things worse, your reference is his 2D image. he doesn't…know that you draw him. you're terrified to say. so you can't use the real life Sapnap as a reference, like you would prefer.
ugh, and this one's ruined too. you rip it up and throw it at your growing pile of paper balls, but being tiny confetti-sized pieces of paper, they don't make it very far. great, something else to clean up later, you huff at your own thoughts. it isn't fair.
—
"[name]?" he calls for you. you're one step ahead, already opening the door. you can't remember when you got here and decided to brood outside his room.
"hey, do you think you can—" he tears his eyes from his camera, his waiting audience, to look up at you expectantly. when he sees you he stops immediately, looking concerned, standing to meet you.
"what is it?" your voice is flat.
out of view of the camera, he mouths, are you okay? you only shrug and avert your eyes.
he falters, contemplates, sits back down at his desk and starts to talk to his viewers. "hey guys, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I gotta cut this stream short. my…" he glances at you for approval, only to see you motioning with your hands as if to say, no, don't.
(you yourself don't really know what for. no, don't end the stream for me? no, don't out us like this?)
he looks back. "…my friend…something came up with my friend. I have to take care of it. it's really important." you can tell he has trouble finding the right words. you can tell it throws him off, he's acting out of character for his internet personality. do you blame him? isn't this your fault? "sorry again. bye guys!"
the second he made the last click, he gets up and pulls you into a hug. it's unexpected, it knocks the wind out of you. you're certain he feels the tension.
"babe…what's wrong?" it's muffled by your neck and the sweater you're wearing. you just hold him, saying nothing.
he pulls away and holds you by the shoulders. "look at me. what's wrong?"
you feel all the more embarrassed. it's so silly to be upset about. "I…I…well, it's a lot."
he shakes his head, to say I'm not going anywhere, but his expression softens, his grip loosens. "do you want to talk about it?"
you sigh. "it started as 'I can't draw for shit', then it became 'why am I afraid of asking you for help?', and finally, worst of all, 'why the fuck can't we be seen together?' it isn't fair. it's never been fair. I'm sorry."
he thinks about it for a second. "okay, what makes you feel like we can't be seen together?"
"are you joking?" you snap. "we're two fucking boyfriends. in this society." he didn't look hurt by the outburst, but the guilt crept in anyway. "…I'm sorry."
he shakes his head, "do you really think I'd let that happen? I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt you, darling. remember that."
"I know, I know…" you don't know what to say. "it's easy to forget, I guess."
"what are you afraid to ask me for help about?"
"I…" shit, you guess you have to tell him. close your eyes, breathe, "I've been drawing you. trying to draw you. but I can't, it never turns out right."
you peek, and he's red in the face, stuttering. "me? you draw me? of all the hot people out there?"
you furrow your eyebrows at him. "don't give me that shit. you know you're cute."
he shakes his head incredulously. "are we talking about the same person here?"
"dude, your smile is literally the most radiant fucking force of nature I have ever seen."
"you're hot too! why are you coming after me?"
"I'm not 'coming after you', you're being defensive about your looks, when you shouldn't be! you're gorgeous, baby."
you're both giggling like girls at a sleepover, the anger and frustration long forgotten. now it's a war of who can be more grossly in-love with the other.
"what part of me," he manages between laughs. "are you having trouble drawing?"
"oh god," you groan, remembering yourself and your dilemma. "your lips."
"my fucking lips? you would think that—"
"no," you warn. "shut up. don't say it. don't you dare say it."
he leans in close, his hands have moved up to cup your face. you shiver.
"don't worry," he grins. "I won't."
the kiss is long and sweet, nothing like the ones you've shared in the past. he takes his time, you savor each other. you feel time stop ticking, you feel your heart stop beating, you feel the way he tilts his head. you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in. and when you part, you're breathing heavy, in tandem.
"thanks," you manage. "but I needed to see your lips, not kiss you into next saturday."
"nah," he laughs. "I think you needed that too."
you choose your words thoughtfully. "do you need me, too?"
he hums, and—
ding!
dreamwastaken donated $69!
:)
you could die. you could really, seriously die.
the response is instant. you don't even see Sapnap move from you to the PC, flushed down to his neck, apologizing, apologizing, and apologizing again. "change of plans, guys, we're doing an art stream!"
the chat is filled with "huh?"s and "what?"s.
"huh? what?" you didn't have the time to process what just happened.
karljacobs: I thought we were doing a make-out-with-our-secret-boyfriends stream :(
he smiled warmly at you. "yeah. my lovely boyfriend is going to draw me! he's been wanting to for a really long time, and his art is really good. let's go get your stuff."
you're in so much shock that he makes it past you and out of the room, while you stand there waiting. after a pause much longer than you intended, you hurry after him.
—
down the hall, in your room, he's got your sketchbook tucked under his arm, closed. you're sure you left it open when you came out.
you only barely get the words out. "um, did you…go through it? please don't laugh."
your heart sinks when he laughs heartily, but he grabs your hand, resting it on your book, about to hand it off. but he holds you there for a second. "of course not. I respect your privacy." he ponders for a moment. "I respect you."
you can feel the sigh of relief when you let it out. "I…love you."
your holding your book now, as he moves to collect the boxes containing your pens and pencils and colors. he gets them all together, but before he picks them up to head back, he turns around to face you. "is this too much?"
you absently reach for a hand, tracing over the lines on his palms. and you think about it. am I okay? is this too much?
"I don't think so. not with you. I'm okay."
he moves to open the door and grab the rest of your things. "well then, let's not keep them waiting!"
—
edited 27 April 2021
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Perceptive Blindness
Prompt: hi can i have some hurt/comfort lamp where virgil gets the others together and pines maybe? im feeling down and need to see virgil pining. ps i love all your fics (especially Is It Enough?)
Thanks to the nonny for this prompt! I hope it's what you wanted, I had fin with it. I love writing in Virgil's voice so much because I don't have to try and rein in my natural snark as much.
Read on Ao3
Pairings: LAMP babeyy
Warnings: our buddy V has a panic attack but it’s not super explicit
Word Count: 4814
It should’ve been easy, right? To see it coming?
Listen, Virgil’s job is to be observant, to pay attention to shit. Just because he’s notoriously, um, overreactive doesn’t mean he’s bad at paying attention. He sees a whole lot of shit and hey if you saw as much shit as Virgil did you’d be freaking out too, yeah? Okay, great, got that sorted.
So. Here’s the thing.
When Roman starts sitting a little closer to Patton that he used to on the couch or offering to help him cook and clean when they all know Roman would rather do anything else, Virgil notices. When Roman starts getting up earlier and earlier so he can beat Patton down to the kitchen so they can do it together, Virgil notices. (It’s not like he sleeps, he notices this shit when there’s not supposed to be people up and at ‘em for another half-hour.)
So yeah, maybe he sinks into Princey’s room one day and smirks when Roman startles terribly coming out of the bathroom.
“Hey there, Princey.”
“Don’t—goodness, Stormcloud,” Roman huffs, getting his balance back, “don’t do that. Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
“You were in the bathroom, you wouldn’t have answered.”
“How did you know I was—you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Roman shakes his head. “What do you want?”
“What, I can’t just pop my head in and say hi?”
“I’ve never in my life heard you say ‘pop my head in’ and I never want to hear it again.”
“That’s where you draw the line?”
“Everyone has a line, Dark and Stormy.”
Virgil shrugs, smiling when Roman glares at him for curling up on his bed. Which, alright fair.
“So.”
“You’ve yet to explain why you’re in my room,” Roman reminds, sounding less upset than confused.
“Just thought I’d say hi.”
“Yes, sure, that’s it.”
“What, you don’t believe me?” Roman just stares at him. “Okay, okay, I...may have an ulterior motive.”
“Aha!” Roman points at him victoriously. “I knew it! Now tell me, you fiend.”
It’s only the slight uptick of Roman’s mouth that lets him know that’s probably supposed to be a term of endearment.
“Oh, nothing much,” Virgil sighs, “just wondering about your sleeping habits.”
“Considering you’re the only one in the Mindscape who gets less sleep than me, you’re in no position to—“
“I’m not here to yell at you, Roman,” Virgil says quickly, relaxing a bit when Roman’s shoulders slump, “I just…you know, I hear you when you get up.”
“That’s…kind of creepy.”
“It’s my thing, Roman,” he sighs, “I pay attention to shit and it’s not like I’m asleep.”
“I know, I know, I didn’t mean it like that.” Roman sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you asking why I’ve been getting up earlier?”
“Yup.”
“It’s nothing bad, Virgil.”
“Never said it was.”
Roman sighs again, more dramatically this time, flouncing over to his desk, definitely not pouting. “Virgil…”
“What? If it’s not bad, why don’t you wanna tell me?” Virgil’s eyes widen. “Ooh, is it a secret? Are you keeping secrets, Roman?”
“Shut up!”
“No!” Virgil lobs a pillow at him. “Tell me!”
He ducks quickly when another one flies back at him.
“Hey!”
“You threw it first!”
“Yeah, and!”
“Gah!” Roman throws himself up out of his chair, trying to hide how red his face is. It’s not working. “What do you want?”
“I told you, Princey,” Virgil grins, “I want to know why you’re getting up earlier and why you don’t want to tell me.”
“Because I want to!”
“And why do you want to?”
“No,” Roman insists, pointing his finger at Virgil, “I told you, that’s what you wanted.”
“Giving me the vaguest answer that doesn’t actually answer the question is not an answer.”
Roman stares at him for a second. “We’ve said the word ‘answer’ too many times. It’s not a word anymore.”
“Pity.” Virgil shrugs. “Guess you’re gonna have to just tell me.”
“That’s not—how does—“ Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is not how this words. Works.”
Virgil snickers.
“Shut up.”
“You’re so flustered, Princey. I haven’t seen you like this in ages.”
“Leave me alone, Virgil.”
The note of genuine irritation in Roman’s voice is enough to give Virgil pause. He slides off the bed and walks over to Roman, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.
“You mean that, Roman?”
Roman looks at him from between his fingers, then looks away. “…no.”
“Okay.” He bumps Roman with his elbow. “Sit down, Princey.”
He winces when Roman lets his knees buckle and just collapses onto the floor.
“I didn’t—okay fine.” Listen, Virgil has no respect for ‘normal’ sitting places at the best of times. He sits next to Roman and watches the prince worry at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Roman, you gotta—you’re gonna fuck them up.”
“It’s fine,” Roman mutters absentmindedly, “I’ve done this before.”
“…not exactly reassuring me here, dude.”
“No, not—not this, I just meant the—my sleeves, they’re…they’re not…it’s fine.”
Virgil nods, frowning as Roman starts to fidget a little more.
“…Princey—“
“It’s Patton,” Roman blurts, his face flushing even brighter, “I—that’s why I’m waking up earlier.”
Something in Virgil’s chest twists.
“I figured,” he says instead, bumping Roman’s shoulder again, “you, uh, you had that look about you.”
“What look?”
Virgil tilts his head a bit. “You…you do know what you look like when you’re in love, don’t you Princey?”
If Roman’s eyes could go wider than when Virgil said he knew what was going on, well, they do.
“I—I’m—wait, what?”
“You’re romance, aren’t you?” The corner of Virgil’s mouth tugs upward. “Passion, desire, romance, all of that, right?”
“I am, but—“
“You—alright, I gotta figure out a way to say this without being sappy as shit,” Virgil grumbles, looking away for a moment. “Okay, uh—you’re—there’s no way to say this and not sound absolutely ridiculous, but um…your color’s red, right?”
Roman nods, still staring at him.
“You…your eyes turn red, Roman,” Virgil mumbles, “like…you know how cartoon people get like…hearts in their eyes?”
“I get literal heart-eyes?”
“Kind of?” Virgil waves his hand. “You just—you’re—your irises go red and like…sparkly.”
“They do?”
“Have you seriously never noticed?”
“No!” Roman looks like someone just told him Thomas got another Disney job or something. “I—oh my goodness, this is incredible! How can I see this!”
“Here’s a tip,” Virgil snickers as Roman’s cheeks start to color again, “next time you’re in the kitchen with Patton or something, look at yourself in the mirror or something reflective right after you look at him.”
“O-okay,” Roman mumbles, “okay, okay, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this—“
“Hey—“ Virgil prods him— “you’re supposed to be downstairs in ten minutes anyway, just go now.”
“Right!”
“And…he’s gone,” Virgil sighs, getting up and sinking back to his own room. He pulls on his headphones and turns up the music.
Had Roman…really never noticed his eyes did that? The dude’s had eyes for—well, as long as you have eyes for. Has he never looked at himself when he’s working before? Jeez, and here Virgil thought Roman was looking in a mirror every two seconds.
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s noticed something that none of the others did. But still, what with how…obvious Roman can be sometimes, had the others really never noticed this either?
As it turns out, the answer is yes, but also no.
They’re in the living room a few days later and Roman’s bouncing off the walls, as per usual, as Logan looks up every so often from his book, and Patton giggles. Virgil is decidedly not paying attention because of course he isn’t, curled up on the floor out of the way of Roman’s bouncing.
“Watch where you’re going,” Logan scolds when Roman almost brains himself on the banister, “you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Pfft,” Roman blusters, “I haven’t paid attention to a single thing in my entire life and I’ll be damned if I start now.”
Virgil snorts. Patton makes a vague noise of concern. Logan just sighs.
“Roman, you are clearly intelligent enough to demonstrate that you do pay attention to things.”
“I dunno,” Virgil says, “he didn’t notice his heart-eyes when he’s in love until I told him about them.”
Roman sticks his tongue out. Virgil sticks his out back. Then they notice that Logan and Patton are quiet.
“Guys?”
“Roman has what?” Logan closes his book. “I…I was also not aware of this.”
“Hah!” Roman points at Virgil. “See, it’s not just me!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Patton? Did you also know this?”
“Y-yeah,” Patton manages, his voice strangely quiet, “I mean, I knew about Roman’s eyes, but…doesn’t he have that all the time? Not just when he’s in love?”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Roman freezes, his mouth opening and closing without making sounds. Logan looks quizzically back and forth between the two of them until Virgil clambers to his feet and knocks his elbow.
“C’mon, L, let’s go somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Sure enough, after a few minutes of them walking away to give Roman and Patton some privacy, Logan makes a small ‘ah’ sound.
“Yeah,” Virgil sighs, “took them long enough.”
“I am pleased to say that this I did notice.”
“Right?”
“I mean it’s not like it isn’t obvious.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Honestly, did they believe we couldn’t see?”
“I don’t think they knew until like, ten seconds ago.”
“They truly are a bit oblivious, aren’t they?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
Hey, you know how sickeningly adorable Patton and Roman are normally? You know how much more sickeningly adorable they got after this happened?
Great.
Now double that.
Now you have like, some idea of what Virgil’s going through.
Dates. Kisses. Flowers. Baking together. Sitting on top of each other. Whispers in the corner. Curled around a phone so tight they can’t tell whose legs are whose.
All.
The.
Time.
Is Virgil happy for them? Yes. Absolutely. Great for them. Is he also about to down a bottle of soy sauce to even out the amount of pure sugar he’s being forced to consume? Pass that salt factory over here, please, pronto. That’s probably why the feeling that twisted in his chest hasn’t gone away any.
“Seriously,” Virgil huffs to Logan after the two of them vanish from the kitchen, “Thomas is gonna have so many cavities.”
“That’s not how it works, Virgil.”
“But it fucking could be.”
“I must say I think this has had a…positive impact on Thomas,” Logan says instead, “that his heart and his ego are so…compatible.”
Virgil snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I suppose it makes sense.”
“Yeah, yeah, it makes sense. Right brain boys, we get it. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I’m drowning in a gallon of vanilla syrup every time I walk into a fucking room.”
“Alright, enough,” Logan says, giving Virgil a reprimanding look that’s just this side of too smiley to be effective, “I need more coffee.”
“Ooh, get me some too?”
“I have a better idea: why don’t you come with me?”
Virgil groans. “But that requires moving. And effort.”
“You have legs.”
“But—“ Virgil wriggles down into the nice little divot in the couch cushions— “comfy.”
Logan sighs, shaking his head in what might be fond exasperation. “Very well. Hold this.”
“Okay,” Virgil mutters, taking Logan’s empty coffee mug, “what are you—hey!”
Logan, because apparently none of them have noticed that he can apparently do this, simply tucks Virgil under his arm like a sack of potatoes, conveniently ignoring the fact that Virgil is, you know, a fucking heavy-ass person, and walks off toward the kitchen like this is absolutely fucking normal.
“Do I even weigh anything to you?”
“Your weight is not insubstantial.”
Well, judging by the way Logan’s just walking, like a normal person, uh, it doesn’t seem like it.
“How—since when—what?”
“Articulate as always, Virgil,” Logan remarks, stride never faltering, “I do seek to maintain some level of physical fitness.”
“Some level of—Logan, you’re carrying me like it’s nothing!”
Logan glances down and raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Nope. Absolutely not. Not from this angle. Holy shit.
“No,” Virgil squeaks, “no, nope. I’m good. No problems.”
Logan hums and looks away, easily setting Virgil back on his feet once they get to the kitchen.
Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine right now. Everything’s so fine. Everything’s so fine and good right now in the way that it’s happening. It’s never not been fine. Virgil’s never been more fine in his fucking life.
Holy fuck.
Okay, so Virgil was not observant enough to pick that up the first time around—get it? No? Fuck you, that was funny—but he does start noticing it more often. How Logan can just sigh and pick up the couch to grab his pencil, or how he never balks at having to put away the really heavy dishes that Patton struggles with. It’s—okay. Yep, he can deal with this. Totally.
Virgil just sees a lot, okay?
Which means that he can see how Roman and Patton react when they first realize how strong Logan is.
Patton’s looking for something in the top of the cupboard, straining on his tiptoes. He sighs and starts to try and climb the counter.
“Patton!” Logan rushes into the kitchen past Virgil who sits back to watch the show. “Don’t do that, you know how dangerous it is.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t find the brown sugar, I think I pushed it back too far!”
“Just get the step stool, you know where it is.”
“But it takes so long to reorganize the closet to get it out,” Patton protests, “and I know where it is, it won’t take long.”
“We do need to fix that, don’t we?” Logan sighs. “Alright. You say you know where it is?”
“Yes! I can see it, I just can’t reach it.”
“Alright. Ready?”
“Ready for—oof!”
Patton squeals when Logan just…picks him up and holds him by the cupboard, clutching Logan’s arms like he’s going to fall.
“L-Logan!”
“Can you reach it?”
“Y-yeah, I can probably—oh my goodness, Lo, you’re strong!”
“I’m not going to drop you, Patton, just grab the sugar.”
“Okay, okay, I, um…” Patton fidgets, still clutching Logan’s hands. “Gosh!”
“Patton? The sugar?”
“R-right!” Patton pulls the bag of sugar out of the cupboard as Logan lowers him gently to the ground. “Wow, thanks, Logan!”
“Of course. Though we really must get the closet reorganized, the step stool does not good if we can’t easily access it…”
Virgil snickers as Logan goes off about the closet. He knows damn well Patton is not paying any attention to what he’s saying. He catches Virgil’s eyes and just mouths ‘wow!’
Virgil responds with a shrug of ‘what can you do?’
“Virgil?”
“What’s up, L?” He cranes his neck back to peer up at Logan.
“Patton has requested that we all come to stay in the kitchen,” Logan says, offering a hand to pull Virgil to his feet. Virgil briefly entertains the idea of making Logan pick him up again when he decides against it.
“Okay…?”
“Do you happen to know where Roman is,” Logan asks as he pulls Virgil up, “or no?”
“I think he’s in the Imagination?”
Logan rolls his eyes. “Then you may as well come with me. We’ll have a better chance of finding him.”
Virgil tips Patton a lazy two-fingered salute as they make their way up the stairs. Sure enough, the bright red door to the Imagination is ajar, and as Logan steps through, Virgil spots a castle, a briar garden, and many many cloud fortresses above.
“Well,” Logan huffs as Virgil closes the door, “he’s not running out of energy any time soon.”
“Good.”
“Quite.” Logan glances around. “Well, we’d better start looking.”
Virgil’s about to agree when he hears something whistling above him. He looks up and squints.
He takes two steps to the left.
“Virgil?” Logan turns around. “What’re you doing?”
In response, Virgil just points up.
Logan follows his finger, his expression changing from one of confusion to that familiar fond exasperation again. Virgil expects him to glance around for something soft, or squishy, or at the very least move out of the way.
Instead, Logan simply sighs, takes two steps closer, and holds out his arms…
…and catches Roman effortlessly in a princess carry.
“Hello, Roman,” Logan says like he didn’t just fucking do that, “Patton wants everyone downstairs.”
“I don’t think Roman’s got speech right now, L,” Virgil snickers.
Indeed, Roman—which, hang on, let’s preface this by saying this is a reasonable reaction, okay? Logan just fucking caught him after falling from god knows how high like he weighs less than a fucking pillow, this is not something that just happens—is staring open-mouthed at Logan, panting heavily, frozen in Logan’s arms. Logan tilts his head.
“Roman? Are you okay?”
Virgil snorts when Roman suddenly flails and tries to struggle out of Logan’s arms.
“Roman,” Logan says sternly and holy fuck, “if you want me to put you down I will, but if you do that you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Yep,” Roman squeaks, “you can—you can put me down, I can walk, you can put me down.”
“There we go.” Logan puts him down only for Roman to quickly brush himself off and dart toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“Patton! Downstairs! Forgot! Bye!”
“Well, he seems to be in a hurry,” Logan sighs, adjusting his glasses, only to frown at Virgil when Virgil just bursts out laughing. “What?”
“No, no, you gotta—holy shit!” Virgil doubles over, still cackling. “Oh my god, his face.”
“I don’t understand what’s so funny,” Logan says a moment later when Virgil’s wiping tears from his eyes, “did I do something wrong?”
The concerned question sobers Virgil, at least enough to stop dying. “No, no, L, you’re fine. Roman’s just…having a moment.”
“Because he forgot about Patton’s request,” Logan nods, “and does not wish to offend him.”
“…yeah, that’s it.”
“Well,” Logan says, dusting himself off, “let’s not be late too, hmm?”
“Sure, L.”
Logan might not know why Roman and Patton are muttering furiously to each other and spring apart the second they appear around the end of the stairs, but Virgil does. He just chuckles and winks and settles in to watch a dinner of the three of them being absolutely idiots.
It’s fine.
It’s so fine.
It’s probably because he was laughing so hard that his chest still hurts.
This lasts for like a week, and Virgil’s fucking face hurts from laughing at their fucking faces and trying to hide how hard he’s fucking laughing. And yeah okay Virgil’s in no position to judge, he’s got no idea how ridiculous he looked when he got jump scared by Logan’s freaky strength.
And it’s just not fucking fair because if it was Roman, they’d all expect it. He’d be sweeping them off their feet every two seconds and they’d be used to it by now. If it were Patton, he’d just pick them up and hug them and be the best dad ever and that would be great. But no, it’s Logan.
Logan who’s…Logan. Who can calm them all down better than anyone else but also has that sharp-as-hell tongue and quick wit that runs circles around them. Fuck. He’s just—gah.
Okay, at least Virgil’s not alone here. He’s seen Patton fumble through his words around a surprisingly patient Logan for ages now, and watched Roman stand way too close to Logan too. And yeah, okay, he’s seen the way Logan looks at them too.
So much so that he bites the bullet one day and sighs, tugging Logan out of the living room and to his room.
“Virgil? What’s going on?”
“What’s going on,” Virgil sighs, “is that if I have to look at you pining over them for one more second I am going to scream.”
Logan, to his credit, doesn’t try and deny it. Instead, he simply adjusts his tie and glasses, studiously avoiding Virgil’s gaze. “I suppose it really is that obvious.”
“To me, yeah, to those two, not so much.”
“I will get over this, I’m working on it.”
“God, no, L, that’s not what I—“ Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just talk to them, okay?”
“Are you certain? But you’d be…okay with this?”
Virgil levels a stare at him. “Dude, have you not seen how they look at you?”
“…no?”
“What is it like for you guys? It must be so boring.”
“I can assure you,” Logan says wryly, “I can see perfectly well.”
“Sure, Specs.”
“Alright, that’s enough.”
“Yeah, uh-huh. Sure.”
“Virgil!”
“No, no, I’m just saying it’s interesting that—“
“That’s enough.”
Virgil gulps. “Mhmm. Okay. Yep. Got it.”
He wisely does not go into the living room for the rest of the day.
There’s a lot Virgil sees. He sees the way Logan makes two extra mugs of coffee, sits just so on the couch, touches the small of Roman’s back or the crook of Patton’s shoulder. He sees the way Roman smiles when he looks at Patton the way he doesn’t smile any other time, wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder, keeps his door cracked a little more than usual. He sees the way Patton fusses over the cookies, making sure they’ve always got Roman’s chips and Logan’s pretzels stocked, walks in the middle of the two of them with their hands swinging.
He sees a lot.
And, uh…he realizes something.
Remember that, uh, funny feeling in his chest that he totally thought was from somewhere else?
Listen, just because he sees a lot of stuff doesn’t mean he’s the best at recognizing it.
So yeah. He’s, uh…
You know.
Don’t make him say it.
As it turns out, that can make you blind to certain things. When he’s hyper-focusing on the things he knows he’s going to see, he doesn’t really have the space to realize there’s a whole host of things he doesn’t see.
He doesn’t see the way Patton’s smile drops when Virgil declines his invitation to movie night, saying he doesn’t wanna crash or invade. He doesn’t notice the way Roman makes a point to ask permission to hug Virgil too, cradling him with a tenderness he doesn’t notice that he’s only seen for the others. He doesn’t realize how much Logan’s behavior toward him is how Logan treats Roman and Patton now.
He doesn’t notice much past the ache in his chest.
Then he has a panic attack on their date night and the pain sharpens to an unbearable whine.
They’re not coming. They’re not coming. There’s no one here to help him, he’s alone, he’s always going to be alone, in the dark, in the shadows, away from the light. They’re not worrying about him, why would they? They’ve got each other, they don’t need him, they’ve never needed him, not like he needs them, he’s—he’s all alone, he doesn’t have anyone, no one wants him, he’s going to die like this. He’s alone. It’s cold. The cold is painful. His chest burns from how cold it is. He can’t breathe, it’s so cold.
“Virgil?”
No one is here, no one is coming.
“Roman, can you—?”
Something bangs in the distance.
“Virgil!”
Strong arms wrap around him and pull him into something warm. More strong arms cover his hands and gently pry them away from his face. Something soft rubs his face and strokes over his back.
“I need you to breathe with me, kiddo, come on…”
“We’re right here, Stormcloud, you just calm down now.”
“It’s okay, Virgil, everything is okay.”
They’re…here?
No, no, no, they’re not supposed to be here, it’s their date night, they—oh, god they’re missing their date night for him and he’s ruining it and they’re going to hate him now and—and—
“Shh, shh,” comes Logan’s voice from somewhere above him, “hush now, Virgil, it’s alright. We’ve got you.”
“You’re safe, sweetheart,” Patton coos, “I promise. You just sit with Logan for a minute, okay?”
“I’m—I’m so—sor—sorr—“
“None of that, shadowling,” Roman murmurs, brushing—wait, what?—brushing his lips over the back of Virgil’s shaking hand, “it’s not your fault.”
The ache in Virgil’s chest expands and collapses in on itself again.
Logan makes a comforting noise, tugging Virgil gently this way and that until he’s square in Logan’s arms, his head pillowed in the crook of Logan’s neck. Roman’s hand cards through his hair. Patton taps the 4-7-8 rhythm gently on his arm.
“Virgil, honey?” Patton reaches up to dab at his damp cheek when he mumbles a full apology. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Virgil manages, “y-you can go now, ‘m sorry.”
Roman chuckles. “If you think we’re leaving you, little demon, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“B-but you—“
“Shh, shh,” Roman says quickly when Virgil’s breathing starts to pick up again, “take it easy, V, it’s okay, we’re not in a hurry.”
“It’s your date night,” Virgil blurts, the words clumsy and too loud in his mouth, “you—you shouldn’t have to be here. W-with—“
“…with,” Patton prompts gently, “with what, kiddo?”
“…with me.”
“Oh, kiddo…”
“If you think,” Roman says quietly, “that we’d rather be anywhere else than right here, with you, at any time, you’re sorely mistaken, V.”
Wait.
What?
“B-but we’re—you’re—I’m not—“
“Not what, kiddo?”
“…yours.”
Saying it out loud punctures his chest again. Tears well up in his eyes as he buries his face shamefully in Logan’s neck.
“…oh my god,” he hears Roman say faintly, “it happened!”
“But I thought we—we were being more obvious!”
“I know! I thought we were too! But this happened! It’s just like the stories, oh my goodness—“
“Oh, kiddo…”
Virgil can’t process any of that right now, thank you very much, because he’s currently hiding in Logan’s embrace and would rather never emerge again.
If he had, well, he may have been a little more prepared for Logan to cup his face with one hand and pull back enough to look him in the eyes.
“Virgil,” Logan whispers, “we thought you already were.”
Stop.
Wait.
Pause.
Go back.
Rewind.
“What?”
“Surely you’ve noticed, kiddo, haven’t you?” Patton squeezes his arm. “We love you, Virgil.”
“B-but—you—“
“Stormcloud,” Roman whispers, brushing his lips over Virgil’s cheek, “we do, and you’re ours as much as you’d like to be.”
“I—I—Logan—“
“Patton’s right,” Logan says, still cupping Virgil’s face as he wipes away stray tears, “to be honest, I….well, I thought you and I were in a relationship long before Patton and Roman.”
“You what?”
In response, Logan leans forward and kisses Virgil’s forehead.
“You don’t think I’d do that for just anyone,” he whispers, too quiet for the others to hear, “do you?”
Hello, yes, hi, Virgil has precisely zero idea what’s going on right now, so uh, if everyone could just hold the fuck on for two seconds it would be greatly appreciated.
“Aww, Left Brain boys!”
“Shh!”
Virgil isn’t interrupting date night.
The others care about him.
The others love him.
The others want him to be a part of their family.
Logan thought they were in a relationship already.
“Shh, shh,” Logan shushes, his thumb stroking Virgil’s shaking cheek, “you don’t have to say anything right now, darling. This is a lot, I’m sure.”
“Logan’s right.” Roman ruffles Virgil’s hair. “We’ll be here for you, Stormcloud.”
“And that’s a promise.”
Yeah, Virgil’s brain is way too fried by all of this to process any of it. But he does know that Roman’s hand in his hair is warm and soft and perfect. He knows that Patton’s murmuring something quietly that’s lulling him right to sleep. He knows that Logan is still holding him tightly, his lips pressed to his forehead, whispering how much they love him.
“Go to sleep, darling,” Logan whispers, “we’ll be here when you wake up.”
“…rude?”
“You’re not being rude, kiddo, promise.”
“Close your eyes,” Roman calls softly, his fingers scratching around Virgil’s head, “and you’ll see, Stormcloud.”
As Virgil’s eyes drift closed, maybe…maybe they’re right.
Maybe it’ll be a little easier to see that way.
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