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blinder-secrets · 3 years

Text

False Employment

tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words

warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw

ao3 link

a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3

When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?

In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.

On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.

‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’

He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’

You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.

The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.

‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’

‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’

When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.

From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.

‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.

He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’

You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.

When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’

You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.

Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’

Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.

By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.

Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.

You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’

‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’

You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.

She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’

‘He has?’

‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’

But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?

She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.

With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.

When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’

You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.

‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.

He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.

You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘[Y/n], sir.’

He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.

Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘

‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.

‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’

He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’

It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.

When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.

He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.

‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’

He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.

‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.

‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.

‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’

You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.

His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.

‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.

It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.

‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’

‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’

The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.

‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’

You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’

His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.

He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’

It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’

After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.

At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.

The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’

Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.

He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’

‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’

He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’

Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’

Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’

You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.

‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.

His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’

Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.

‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.

He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.

‘Just me then, sir?’

He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’

He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.

‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.

You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’

He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’

No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’

Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’

‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’

He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’

He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’

‘I do?’

You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.

‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’

You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.

The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’

Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.

He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.

Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.

‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.

His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.

‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’

It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’

‘If that’s what suits you.’

He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.

He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.

‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.

His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.

You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.

You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’

A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’

When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.

‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’

Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’

His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’

You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.

‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’

You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.

‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.

He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’

You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #strap in guys its hell of a ride

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jangofctts · 4 years

Text

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are.

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that?

Not much, as it so happens.

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding—

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail.

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought.

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in.

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics.

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…

So you ran.

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.

Maker—how did everything become so tangled?

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out.

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift.

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground.

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and—

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times.

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving.

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz.

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now.

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.

“No more bounties.”

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.

“No more hunts alone—“

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.”

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire.

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond.

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails.

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble.

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night.

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over.

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits.

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you.

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow.

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.”

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous.

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh.

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?”

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers.

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling.

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal.

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you.

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now.

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"

He continues without missing a beat.

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck. “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity.

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly.

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.

Maker you hate this fucking planet—

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up.

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar—

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.

You were right.

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand.

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants.

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought.

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath.

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward.

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance.

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips.

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.”

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up.

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you.

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips.

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.”

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug.

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.

Another time for that game maybe.

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you.

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.”

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works.

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.”

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind.

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things.

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim.

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss.

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue.

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?”

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent.

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches.

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been.

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst @blue-writes-a03 @max--phillips

#din is a certified bottom #ANYWAY welcome to pound town #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader x paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw #fanfiction #sw fanfiction #my writing #are you in or out?

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

Text

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first oneshot thingy (or any piece) that I’m posting here, it’s kind of dark but I think that’s the type of fic I enjoy writing. Let me know what you all think, and any suggestions or feedback is much appreciated since this is the first time I’m using Tumblr😆

Warnings: implication of non-con, manipulation, yandere themes, kidnapping

Pairing: Yandere Dabi x f reader

Smoke curled into your hiding place, invading your senses. You could hear him smashing other various household items around the house, attempting to startle you and make a sound, effectively revealing your hiding place

Which wasn’t a very clever one, mind you.

If you only had a couple more seconds, maybe, just maybe you could’ve dove into the closet and actually hidden with some blankets and clothes covering you instead of your current chosen position, which was under the creaky bed.

You cursed yourself for even starting something so stupid, and getting a rise out of him in the first place when you knew, you knew he hated it when you picked fights over the smallest of things. All he wanted you to do was make him some breakfast, now was that so much to ask for? Did you have to put rat poison in his oatmeal at 10 am in the morning?

You didn’t think you could handle playing this happy-go-lucky fake domestic scene any further; you wanted to go home. You wanted to see your family again for Thanksgiving, you wanted to meet up with your friends and get your nails done and coo over pretty boys, and most of all you wanted to go outside and gaze up at the clear blue sky and just watch the fall colors swirl around you in a halo of leaves.

Dabi let’s you go outside twice every month if you’re being good for him, and if you really please him he’ll let you touch the grass without that stupid shock collar that adorns your neck like an ornament with with him by your side, of course. Don’t think he’ll fully trust you after that stunt you pulled last week when you tried chewing the restraints off your wrists.

He had to salute your effort though, you really might’ve gotten away if he hadn’t surrounded you by his flames before you could touch the door.

Kind of like now, actually. While you’re trembling and cramped unceremoniously under the bed, he’s finished scanning the living room and kitchen for any sign of you.

Shit

That means there’s only two places left: the bathroom and his room, where you are.

Your legs are starting to cramp up and you’re wondering how long you can manage to stay still while this psycho is hounding you out.

“If you quit acting like a pussy and come out within 30 seconds, I’ll make sure to leave your face intact. Can’t say the same about the rest of you though, babe, I’m not feeling very generous or inclined to spare you too much after choking down rat poison.” He all but snarls as you can see from underneath the bed his elbows and jaw curl with smoke, blue flames licking at his shins.

The smell of rotting flesh feels like an ominous foreshadowing of your fate if you don’t think of a way out of this, fast.

You’re pulled from your musing as Dabi slams the bathroom closet door shut, and flings the shower curtain aside violently, indicating no more places are left for him to check for you except his room.

You’re out of time.

Picking up the soap dispenser on the sink counter, he weighs it in his hand, testing it’s material. You’re peeking out from underneath the mattress, unsure of what he’s doing.

You don’t need to keep wondering after he suddenly hurls the glass down on the floor, the dispenser shattering on the floor near the bed mere inches away from where your face was.

You let out a small shriek at the explosion, and immediately still and clamp your hand over your mouth with wide eyes.

But the damage has already been done, and Dabi knows this as he lets out a dark chuckle and saunters towards the bed, turning around and plopping down on the plushy material, his boots right in front of your face.

“We both already know where this is going, little mouse. I caught you, but I’ll be nice and give you one more chance to come to me willingly.”

He leans back on his elbows and tilts his head up to the chafing ceiling. He knows you’ll come, you always eventually do, that’s why he loves you, his sweet little girl who always does what she’s told.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is you making one last break for it, clambering out from the opposite side of where you both are situated and bolting to the door.

He whips his head around at the sound of you desperately fumbling with the lock on the door, when did he lock it? God this is taking too long he’s gonna catch you he’s gonna-

But you’re already out of the door and flying down the hallway as you hear him leaping off the bed and scrambling after you, the house completely silent save for the deafening sounds of both of your own objectives pounding away at the floor in the same direction.

“You fucking bitch, I grant you one last chance to come clean to me and this is the thanks I get? You’re dead little mouse.” You hear him howl behind you, and it scares you at how close he sounds.

But now you see it, you see your freedom at the entrance just an arms length away and you’re touching the door and-

The room is suddenly enveloped by blue fire, the door handle becoming so hot under your touch that you wail as you let go and cradle your bubbling flesh, tears blurring your vision as you whirl around to locate your assailant and captor.

Dabi stands in the middle of the living room, ethereal cobalt lighting up the sides of his face and illuminating the staples that stretch and threaten to rip from the shit-eating grin he sports while looking at your defenseless demeanor.

“I told you to listen while I was playing nice, right? This is what happens to little mice who want to turn into rats so bad. Is that why you wanted to feed me rat poison, huh, baby? You were warning me to get rid of what you might turn out to be, hmm?” He pouts at you, the corners of his mouth twitching when you sob in terror

“D-dabi please,” you bawl, “please let me leave. I w- wanna go h-home.” Your chest heaves at the last word, the pain in your hand paling in comparison to the ache in your chest.

“An-and I w-want you on your kn-knees worshipping the ground I walk on and making good use of that bitchy little mouth instead of whining and sniveling.” He mocked and cooed cruelly, reveling at your helplessness.

You could do nothing but wail louder as he started slowly walking towards you, his eyes narrowed, complemented with dark glint in his pupils while his ever-lasting hellish quirk enunciated his heavy steps.

Dabi finally reached you, and you pathetically pressed yourself into the wall and turned your face as he lifted his hand and stroked your cheek in faux sympathy. His bottom lip was stuck out in a fake pout, mimicking your state of panic.

“You’re not scared of me, right baby? It’s just a game, right? I mean after all I do for you-bathe, feed, and dress you- you only feel love for me, right?”

He was toying with you, in a similar fashion a cat plays with its prey before it pounces.

When you hesitated for a moment too long, his hand by your face heated up its dying embers, warning you to give him what he wanted to hear.

You whimpered and tried to evade his hand, only resulting in his gripping the back of your head and yanking back on your hair roughly so you were forced to look up and meet his amused, dark gaze.

“Ah-ah my pretty bitch. You don’t get to move away from me after all the stunts you pulled today. I’ve had enough of your bullshit so don’t test me any more, now I asked you a question: you love me right?”

At your wits end, you maintained eye contact with him as you shakily tried to nod your head, the movement being difficult to do as he had such a death-grip on your locks.

But he wasn’t satisfied by your pathetic attempt at agreeing, it seemed like he wanted to make your life hell even further and draw this out as long as he could because he clicked his tongue and shook your head like a rag doll in his hands, hair flying across your face and giving you whiplash.

“Use that sharp tongue you got on you before I melt your fucking teeth. You might be a grade-A moron, and a pathetic one at that but I know damn well you’re not mute.” He leans in further, his nose grazing yours as you almost went cross eyed trying to keep him in vision.

“Y-yes Dabi, I love you.”

His silence seemed to scream unimpressed, so you hurried to salvage the situation as best as you could so it wouldn’t escalate the knee-deep shit you were already in.

“And I’m...sorry I was being such a brat today, I just missed everyone I used to be close with. But you were right, I should be more grateful after everything you do for me. It’s not fair that I don’t treat you with the same, uh, affection that you show me. A-and I’m sorry I put... rat poison in your food.” You whispered this last part, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

He snorted, not entirely convinced at your sincerity in the apology but it was enough for him to loosen his grip on your head and take a step back from your personal space.

You sink down the wall to your knees, curling up slightly and taking shaky breaths as you attempt to calm down. The room is still engulfed in flames, but thanks to Dabi’s foresight and extensive planning, most of the furniture of fire-proof (god knows how he got it like that, it’s not like he was the son of the number one hero or anything to accumulate such wealth) so the damage was limited save for your mental state and injured hand.

Dabi crouches down in front of you, an odd smirk on his face as you peer up at him in caution.

“You know, I didn’t say I forgive you princess, or that you’re excused for your little tantrum.”

He cocks his head at you and lifts your chin up towards him with a scarred finger. You blanch at the implication of this ordeal not being over from your excruciating apology, and his disturbing Cheshire-cat grin stretches so wide over his face, you wonder distantly if his stitches are going to pop loose any second.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please don’t...please don’t burn me.” You whisper in defeat.

“Anything, you say? But why? Isn’t it more fun if I brand my name into your back? Oh wait! Maybe I’ll burn you so bad you’ll look like me! Then we’ll really be a matching couple, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I mean if you love me as much as you claim you’ll let me, right?”

He’s trapped you again. If you deny, he’ll ruthlessly berate you for lying to his face and who knows what he’ll do just for the sick, sadistic satisfaction he’ll get from making you stumble over your own lie.

If you comply, however, you’ll look like burnt bacon, just like this fucker.

“I’ll do anything to make you forgive me.” You quietly settle for.

He studies you for a moment, and the uncomfortably silence he grants you makes you shift in your place.

Dabi finally stands to his full height and stretches his arms back with a content groan.

“If that’s the case, then don’t say I didn’t let you choose how you wanted to make it up to me.”

You glance up when you hear the sound of a zipper being undone, and you mouth gapes at his innuendo. You can’t seem to look away as he frees himself from his black boxers, the sound of his belt and pants rustling as they hit the floor.

“Now then, what was that you said about redemption? I think this is a great way to put that mouth to good use, little mouse.”

#tw dubcon #dabi smut #mha x reader #yandere mha #bnha yandere #yandere #yandere dabi x reader #kidnapping #dabi #bnha oneshots #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #mha dabi

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fandom-doppelgangers · 3 years

Text

Ice Cream Chills

Your eyes lifted from the sundae which your fingertips were pressed around. “Honestly, dude, I think it’s time you stopped acting like such a- a wimp!” Kawakami hissed irritably through his fanged teeth. Frustrated heat radiated off his body, his radiant orange eyes glowering in the nicely-lit ice cream parlor. It was Wednesday- the middle of the evening - with the setting sun highlighting the sky bright red and pinks. You frowned, glancing between the group of boys sitting at your booth. Kawakami’s statement earned a few uncomfortable glances, but no one looked as awkward as the boy being addressed. Tamaki Amajiki. You easily sympathized with his awkwardness, and sometimes your empathy led you to pitying him. But never felt as bad as you did now, cushioned in the corner of the plastic dinning booth, crammed between your male classmates. Your (E/C) orbs trailed around the parlor. It wasn’t much. Sleek white tile floors, white luminescent lights dotting the ceilings; against the left wall were several red cushioned diner booths, with old-fashioned metallic tables and stiff, straight backs. Of course there was a counter where you could not only order your desired ice cream, but also eye the delicious dessert as it slowly melted away, creamy liquid dripping down the sides of the containers, oozing into the stained serving space. The entire place smelled heavily of dairy products, chocolate, and underripe cherries. You surveyed the room for two people. Maybe Togata Mirio… or Nejire Hado. A muscular blonde boy, with pretty blue eyes and a warm smile, and a tall girl with bell-blue eyes and long luscious periwinkle hair. The trio, Amajiki, Mirio, and Hado, make up the big three. The three of them were more advanced than the rest of you hero-course third years. They excel above you all. Were you another of their admirers? No. But inwardly, you had to admit, the trio could be pretty cool. Amajiki looked up from his own bowl of ice cream, avoiding Kawakami’s judgmental glare. He seemed at loss for words; not knowing how to reply and obviously feeling the pressure of Kawakami’s words on his shoulders. “I- try not to be but it just… I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Help it? Honestly Suneater, I’m kinda growing tired of hearing that same excuse over and over again. You’re supposed to be better than us, right?” You let your eyes wander again, scanning anxiously for the other two members of the Big Three. Your nerves were twisting your gut, and your stomach felt empty with anxiety. You didn’t like where this was going. Once again, Amajiki seemed to have trouble coming up with a response. He kept his mouth shut, lowering his gaze. “Cool down, Kawakami… you can quit badgering him,“ one of the older boys, Hirano piped in. He looked half-serious with his playful pink eyes and ginger hair. Much to your dismay, Kawakami ignored this interruption.

“If you’re supposed to be better, than start… acting like it! Honestly, you’re acting like a freaking four year old! Get a grip! It’s embarrassing...”

As the only girl sitting at the booth, you began to feel even more uncomfortable. You tucked a stray strand of your (H/C) hair behind your ear, sucking in a breath. All the guys sitting with you had their gazes locked on Amajiki’s rigid figure. Amajiki’s indigo eyes, a perfect reflection of the night sky, stared down hard at his lap. From what you gathered… Mirio and Hado weren’t in the parlor with you guys. You could only assume they had gone to the café next door, sitting over steaming caffeinated drinks, holding the warm cups in between their cold and rosy hands. The group lapsed in uncomfortable silence for a while. No one moved, with the exception of the occasional shake or jerk from Amajiki. You chewed the inside of your lip, your blood boiling and anger swelling.

Popping your cherry in your mouth, you pushed out of your seat, and in a not-so-lady-like fashion jumped out of your seat by climbing over your booth. No way you were sliding your arse over your classmates legs. You stood off the the side from the table, stiff as a board. There was absolutely no reason for Kawakami to start on like that, right? You furrowed your brows in an angry, frustrated downward angle. Stuffing your hands in your hoodie pockets, turning your shadowed face to your male classmates, you scowled. “Not everyone is the same, Kawakami. I’d say he has a better grip on a lot of things than you do,” you said lowly, like a deep rumble of thunder emerged from your throat. You strode past the diner, tapping Amajiki’s shoulder gently. You weren’t going to wait for him, because thinking logically it might just damage his fragile nerves even more. You walked out of the parlor, through the wired-bell door with ease and into the chilly streets of Japan. The suburbs were lit with soft yellows and blinding white lights. You cuddled further into your soft hoodie, pulling at the collar to shield your chin from the wind. You narrowed your eyes, squeezing your hand into a fist. You dug your nails onto the palm of your hand, squeezing harder and harder until it stung too much. At the sound of a “ding”, you whirled around to face the door of the ice cream shop. Amajiki was stooped over, his usual slouched posture. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be back to his normal, pessimistic self. You inwardly frowned at his behavior, but nonetheless bore a soft smile as he sluggishly approached you. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “Normally I don’t deal with that sort of thing… and when I do, Mirio always steps in.” You nodded slowly, ”I just hate that I had to ‘step in’ at all,” you replied. ”Speaking of Mirio, where is he?“

Amajiki lifted his gaze, making direct eye contact with you. It was for the first time, in that fleeting moment, that you got to appreciate the way the light shone across his dark indigo eyes. Never before had you seen such eyes… like dark pools of stars.

”He and Hado went off with the rest of the class. I have no idea where they are,” Amajiki replied. He averted his gaze to the ground, and you could visibly see the flushed expression spreading onto his teenage features. You shrugged, tentatively letting your smile broaden. “I guess we could find them together than? I might as well, uh,” your eyes scanned your foreign surroundings, “look around?” Amajiki didn’t oppose, he merely slouched ahead. You couldn’t recall a time you felt more eager to find your classmates. It was cold, and you struggled to keep up with Amajiki- surprisingly. He kept up a shockingly quick pace, which you were somewhat grateful for… you needed the exercise after that sundae. The two of you didn’t talk much. You just walked. He seemed to feel very awkward about walking alongside a female other than Nejire, so I guess you felt a bit flattered. “Manifest?” It was just a random thing you blurted out.

”Y-Yeah… it’s not the most convenient quirk.” You looked startled, instantly correcting yourself, “No, no! I think your quirk is really… cool. It’s convenient for hero work,” you stared down at your hands. “You have such great control of it, too. I just wish I could get a grip on myself and master my quirk the way you do.“

He peered over at you inquiringly. “You have a good grasp on your quirk just fine… you handle situations much better than I do. Just the thought of- speaking to someone so harshly, like you did…-“

You stopped hearing his footsteps echoing behind you, and you waited for him to finish his hanging sentence.

When you turned, he was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, grabbing at his stomach. “-It makes me nauseous.” You blinked. “Well, er, thank you?“ You smiled gently at him, striding over and patting his back awkwardly. He didn’t seem to like it, so you stopped.

”Maybe you just need someone to teach you. Like toughness lessons or something?” “Mirio and Hado have already tried. Nothing really works. The anxiety just gets to me-“

You folded your arms against the sweeping breeze. It was colder than you had anticipated. Amaniki just sat there, hunched in the middle of the sidewalk. The streets were so empty tonight, anyway, that no one seemed to care. You chewed your cheek, sneaking your way behind your classmate. He didn’t notice you, so you stopped down, bending over him with a gentle smile.

”How long are you gonna sit there?” You inquired. The dark-haired boy didn’t reply, instead lowering his gaze even more. “Mph,” he groaned. You grinned teasingly, poking at his back. “Come on, big guy! We gotta get back to the dorms whether you like it or not,“ you stated firmly, although there was a softer hint in your tone. Amajiki glanced up at you. His dark purple eyes glowed innocently in the dim light of the moon. He didn’t say a word, just gazed mutely into your eyes. “I’ll carry you if I absolutely have to, but don’t make me,” you warned, stuffing your rosy hands into your pockets. Tamaki smiled slowly at you, tentatively. But it was natural. He stood up.

#Amajiki being awkward #Amajiki x reader #MHA #BNHA #bnha amajiki #fluff #Imagine?#Angst?#Angst #mha tamaki #tamaki amakiji #amajiki tamaki #yn

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

meeting the fam

frat jj x reader

words: 1614

warnings: cursing and mentions of alcohol

synopsis: meeting the parents never seems to go as planned

a/n: so i am going out of town today for the rest of the week and won’t be able to write anything long-form. i have some requests to work on when i get back but if anyone wants to send things i could write blurbs for i wouldn’t mind doing some of those while i’m away!

The day JJ met your parents was maybe one of the best, yet most embarrassing days of your life. It was mostly your fault, you had to admit, because you totally forgot your parents were coming into town.

They rolled up on a Saturday morning, you and JJ had gone out the night before and not come back until 3 a.m. There were at least six texts from your sister and two missed calls from your mom, but you didn’t wake up until there was a knock at your door.

You sat up, disoriented, head pounding in time with the knocks, and JJ groaned, burying his face into your hip. His hair was falling into his face and you definitely hoped whoever was knocking would go away so you could cuddle with him longer.

But of course, it didn’t, so you pulled yourself away. JJ opened one eye and pouted, “Ignore them, babe.”

“I can’t, they won’t go away.”

There was a slight thought that maybe you should put on some pants to answer the door, but you figured JJ’s shirt was long enough to cover all the important bits. When the door swung open, however, you immediately regretted it.

The greetings died on your parent’s lips as they took in your disheveled appearance and your sister was outright laughing. She pushed past your parents to give you a hug, “Forgot we were coming, huh?”

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “must’ve slipped my mind.”

And that was when JJ decided to bless your whole family with his presence. He’d heard talking but wasn’t sure who it was and he was curious, so he lazily pulled on a pair of boxers and walked out of your room. You stared at him wide eyed, and he froze, mid-yawn.

Your sister burst out laughing again and your mom looked between the two of you a few times. You wanted to bury yourself and never come out again.

“So,” your dad started, “you must be JJ.”

JJ laughed awkwardly, “Yessir, that’s me.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, “Okay, why don’t you guys go wait down in the lobby and we’ll get dressed and join y’all. How did you even get in anyway?”

“A nice girl who lives on your hall scanned us in,” your mom explained with a smile and you wanted to scream.

“Right, okay, well, we’ll see you in a bit.”

When the door was shut and your family was gone, JJ started laughing with a slight hysterical edge, “Fuck, dude, what a first impression.”

You pressed your face into your hands and groaned, “I totally forgot they were coming this weekend, I’m so sorry.”

Whether it was the hangover, the lack of sleep, or the embarrassment that caused the tears, you weren’t sure, but your eyes welled up and you started sniffling. JJ’s head snapped up in alarm and he grabbed your wrists to pull your hands away, “Hey, sweetheart, I promise it’s going to be okay. I’m not mad. We’re going to get dressed and go try this again, okay?”

“I want them to like you,” you managed between sniffles.

JJ pulled you close and wrapped you into a tight hug, “Everyone likes me, I’ll win them over, I promise.”

“So cocky,” you muttered, finally pulling away. Only to look up and see the hickeys on his neck and collar bones. Your face went red immediately, “Oh, fuck, we have to cover those up.”

“I don’t think they saw,” JJ tried to soothe, but you were already reaching for your makeup bag. He grabbed your wrists again, “Why don’t we get ready and then cover what’s visible?”

You paused, “Right, that makes sense. Get ready first.”

The two of you went through the motions of getting dressed. Washing your face, brushing your teeth and hair, and pulling on clean clothes that were acceptable for lunch with your parents. You still kind of felt like shit, so you took some medicine and prayed it would kick in before the questioning started.

JJ’s shirt covered most of the damage, but you still had to carefully apply concealer to a poorly placed hickey near his Adam’s apple. He sat still until you deemed it covered enough and then smirked at you, “Damn, you really went to town last night, huh sweetheart?”

“Fuck off,” you said with a blush while sliding on some shoes.

“I kinda like it,” he admitted while putting on his own shoes.

You stared at the door, kind of wishing you didn’t have to leave, but JJ took your hand and gave it a few squeezes as encouragement. It was enough, and you grabbed your keys, pulling the door fully shut behind you.

Your hands were definitely sweating, but JJ didn’t say anything and you were thankful for it. Down in the lobby he shook hands with your dad and introductions were made officially. Much to your relief things seemed to be going well. About as well as they could considering circumstances.

JJ offered to drive the two of you separately to the restaurant your parents picked out, but they insisted on only taking one car. And that’s how you found yourself smushed in the backseat between your sister who kept elbowing you in the ribs and JJ who was still holding your hand. The contrast was startling.

“So, JJ,” your dad started at a red light, “what are you in school for?”

“I’m doing marine biology for right now; I grew up in the Outer Banks and one of my good friends there was a huge advocate of the environment. I think it could be cool to work in habitat restoration or something.”

Your dad hummed before asking, “So do you have a job right now?”

“Dad,” you interrupted, exasperated.

“I’m just trying to make sure he’s not freeloading; I know you work very hard.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled under your breath before continuing, “he’s not freeloading, he stayed over because we got in late and his dorm is a long walk away.”

“Sure,” your dad didn’t sound like he believed you very much.

JJ cut in, “I don’t have a job right now, but I pick up bouncer shifts at a bar every now and then.”

The rest of the ride was filled with aimless small talk and you felt like you were going to throw up the whole time. It got a little better when your group got seated and were waiting on the food. Of course, when you finally got comfortable, that’s when your dad decided to speak up again.

“What do you do for fun, JJ?”

JJ set his fork down carefully, “Most of my spare time is taken up by the fraternity I’m in.”

“Fraternity, huh? Any other hobbies?”

“I like to fish and surf when I can. What about you?”

You choked on a sip of coffee as your dad blinked at JJ who was sitting there, totally relaxed. He finally gathered himself, “What about me?”

“What do you like to do for fun?” JJ asked, not backing down.

“I work,” your dad responded blankly and you snorted out a laugh.

JJ finished chewing before pushing, “No golf or anything? I’d love to get to know my girlfriend’s dad better.”

Which damn, that was kind of hot. Your dad was at a loss for words and you squeezed JJ’s thigh in congratulations. The first guy who’d ever actually gotten your dad speechless. He reached down and linked your hands together, softly stroking his thumb over the back of your hand.

Your sister was looking back and forth between JJ and your dad like it was a damn tennis match and your mom elbowed your dad gently to get him to respond. Finally, he seemed to reanimate and told JJ, “I’d like that.”

In typical fashion your sister had a lot of questions and a lot of dirt on you she wanted to give JJ. He laughed at all of the stories in the right places and was really engaged, impressing your mom. You mostly sat in silence until your sister started the story about the time you accidentally hit your teacher during a presentation and then had a breakdown in front of the whole class.

“Right, that’s enough,” you said, clapping a hand over her mouth from the other side of JJ.

She licked your palm and you yanked it away in disgust so she could say, “JJ needs to know how much of a loser you are before he decides to commit.”

“He already committed; this isn’t a tryout.”

“He could definitely still break up with you, though.”

“But he isn’t, you-“ your mom cut you off before you could finish your thought.

“Ladies, that’s enough.”

You leaned back, pouting, and you could feel JJ trembling slightly trying to hold back laughter. Pinching his thigh to get him to stop didn’t work and only caused him to actually laugh. Your sister grinned triumphantly and while it was annoying, you were glad they got along.

When your parents dropped the two of you back off, your dad shook JJ’s hand and told him, “It was nice to meet you, son, I’d like to go fishing sometime.”

“Definitely,” JJ told him, huge grin on his face.

You hugged your mom and she whispered, “He’s great.”

Which you totally agreed with. The two of you stayed outside the building until your parents’ car had disappeared, and you laughed, “Well that could’ve gone better.”

JJ scoffed, “I fucking killed it, babe. Your parents love me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that one.”

“They love me,” he said again and kissed you to cut off whatever response you had for him.

***

tagging: @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @stfukie @socialwriter

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank fluff #frat!jj #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #sigma chi!jj

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker x reader #joker leto #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #joker jared leto #mister j #mr. j #dc #dcu

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dailymallek · 3 years

Text

Went with something a little different, and decided to make it a life or death situation in which Mallek’s mind powers awaken.

Thanks again for the ask anon, I had a lot of fun writing this piece!

- mod kai

“So you’ve never tried to see if you have them?!” Diemen yells, his voice suggesting he’s genuinely shocked by the other’s casual statement.

“Nope… In the almost nine sweeps of my life, I’ve never tried to see if I have them, let alone use them.” Mallek shrugs, grabbing his drink from the vending machine.

“Whoa… Never?” He looks at Mallek who just shakes his head in response to him. Diemen takes a bite from his hot dog. “Mmm… I thought all bluebloods had a different mental power?” His words are mixed with his chewing.

“Not all of us… Some blues can develop more manipulative psychic powers as opposed to your caste’s telekinesis, or a gold’s psionic powers…” Mallek explains before taking another big swig from his drink.

“But it’s still a rarity, like… 20, 22% of us can get the power.” They start walking off back to Mallek’s hive.

“Ah, okay…” Diemen takes another bite from his snack. “But you’ve never tried to see if you have them?”

“Not really, it’s never been an interest of mine to explore…” Mallek responds, his focus was always on his hacking, and information gathering, he wasn’t keen on learning about his potential psychic powers.

“Oh, well if you're sure. Still, it’d be pretty cool if you could.” Diemen finishes his hot dog, a satisfied grin, wiping some of the crumbs off his lips. “That would be a cool thing for us to have in common. We’d be psychic BROS.” Diemen makes a gesture, imagining something cool.

“Psychic BROS huh?” Mallek chuckles, he always found his friend’s energetic behavior always refreshing, overall he was just great to be around.

“In that case, how can I not wanna try it?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but he lowkey feels that he and Diemen would be a little closer if they had something they shared.

“Really?” Diemen was a little eager, he was being serious about the two of them becoming psychic bros. “You don’t have to if it's something that doesn’t interest ya.”

“It’s worth a shot, and I don’t have any plans for the next few days. Let’s give it a shot.” Mallek smiles at the look of excitement on his friend’s face.

The next couple of days the pair spend the time trying to see if Mallek has any psychic powers, Diemen suggested that they try using the methods that rustbloods use to practice their telekinesis. A few books of telekinesis for beginners, some focusing techniques, however, it was all in vain, Mallek tried everything but he couldn’t manifest them. They even found a small book documenting other bluebloods’ psychic abilities, not a lot on how to activate them. But unfortunately, they were looking at this from the technical perspective, there were many angles to look at this from.

Mallek and Diemen were sitting in the park, Mallek was sitting on the grass, while Diemen was on the bench, holding a small bag of hot dogs as if it was a bag of popcorn. The blueblood looked a little exhausted, their latest attempt to make Mallek’s powers manifest was to exercise his body, having him run laps around the park. Mallek was still in the process of catching his breath, his hoodie was on the ground next to him, pale blue sweat running down his forehead.

“Well… It was worth a shot.” Diemen toss his friend a water bottle, Mallek catches it, taking desperate gulps from the bottle, before squirting some of the cooling liquid all over his face.

“Fuck… I don’t think this is worth it dude.” Mallek lays there on the cool grass, still gasping for air.

“We tried everything, I guess you're not in the 22%...” Diemen was more bummed than Mallek probably was, all their attempts hadn’t even caused a spark of power, nothing. “Sorry about that. But hey, at least we tried.”

“This was a total bust…” Mallek sighs, slowly sitting back up.

“You wanna grub dog?” Diemen offers one of his succulent meat products to Mallek.

“No, I’m fine… Let’s just go back.” Slowly he gets to his feet, a strained feeling around his legs, back, and arms.

“Alrighty.” Diemen hops off the bench, cradling his bucket of meat.

“It’s a shame, it would've been interesting to see if I could use any, but whatever.” Mallek isn’t too disappointed, again it was a big deal for him if he had powers, he was mostly attempting this for Diemen’s interests.

“Yeah, it would’ve been cool.” Diemen inhale another hot dog, consuming it in a matter of seconds. They exit the park and are now walking down the street.

While they were speaking, far ahead of them walking towards them was a large purpleblood, he was bleeding from his forehead, his clothing was torn, and his face a mix of anger and exhaustion. It looks like he had gotten into a fight, some of the blood on him was of different colors. His eyes were half-open until he saw Mallek and Diemen ahead of him, his vision then focused more on the shorter burgundy troll, gritting his teeth.

Mallek glances up and sees the purple, immediately feeling uneasy while Diemen is focused on their conversation and his snack. When they finally reach each other, the purple deliberately shoves into Diemen rather aggressively, making him drop his hotdog bucket, his eyes open up wider, a look of shock, before a surprising look of rage fills Diemen’s face. Mallek bites his lower lip, but before he can even attempt to calm his friend down.

“Are you KIDDING ME?! What the hell!” He yells at the purple who ignores him of course still walking away. “What’s your damage you clown ASSHOLE!”

That insult makes the purple troll stop, slowly turning around, his eyes glaring at both of them.

“Shit…” Mallek firmly grabs hold of Diemen’s shoulder, gripping it a little tightly, the rustblood glances at his friend and sees the somewhat frightened expression on Mallek’s face.

“Take it easy… We’ll move on and just ignore my friend.” Mallek speaks clearly but his tone was clearly nervous. Diemen gives the purple another look, scanning him up and down, and realizes how unstable he looks.

The clown snarls back at them, bearing his claws, he begins walking over to them. Mallek and Diemen cautiously step back, but with each step they make, the closer the purpleblood moves to them. Why does it have to be like this, Mallek thinks, why couldn’t he just ignored them, why did he have bump into Diemen, why did every highblood have to be a particular asshole to the lower castes just because they felt like it or in this jerk’s case, he was having a bad day and wanted to take it out on them. His hoverboard would’ve really come in handy, but he decided not to bring it with him, and he had to park his car too far away from the park, like an idiot.

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for t-” Mallek is cut off when the larger troll connects his fist with Mallek, he stumbles back, he receives another punch this time to his stomach, a look of pain twists into his face before he hits the ground hard.

Diemen doesn’t even have time to react when the subjugglator roughly grabs him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground, this troll was more than twice his size, kicking his feet against the air, trying to pull himself out of the troll’s grip. With little effort, the clown throws Diemen into the ground, a loud groan of pain when the small troll hits the hard concrete. The enraged clown begins whaling on Diemen, each time he fist hits him, or he kicks him, a noise or grunt escapes his mouth.

Mallek sees the larger troll attacking his friend, he quickly gets back to his feet, rushing to Diemen’s aid, the purpleblood sees him coming and before Mallek can even land a hit, the other grabs hold him and throw him over his shoulder, he hits the ground once again. To add further insult he swiftly kicks Mallek in his side making, him coughs up blood, clenching his teeth in pain, the clown snarls at Mallek before turning back to Diemen, his nails extended into claws, as he advances on Diemen…

“N-no… S-stop, leave him alone…” Mallek tries to get back to his feet, reaching out to the troll. “Stop…” He manages to get to his knees.

“I said to

” Mallek raises his hand out, his voice booms, echoing throughout the area, his eyes shut tightly in anger. His other hand was balled into a fist, shaking. He was tense all over with rage, a fit of deep anger, but there was another sensation, something new. A tingling feeling that rolls over him like waves.

It’s quiet, he can no longer hear the heavy footsteps of purpleblood. Mallek slowly opens his eyes, afraid to see what was happening, if Diemen was okay. Peeking at the sight before him, his eyes immediately shoot open in shock. To Mallek’s surprise, the other was standing still like a statue, frozen in place, his eyes were now filled with a blue aura, and on his forehead was now the glowing symbol of Mallek’s sign floating there in place.

“W-what…” Mallek gets back to his feet slowly, confused by what he was seeing. He then stares at his palm that he tried to reach out with, faintly glowing like the purpleblood.

“No way.” He realizes what’s happening, what he’s done. But there wasn’t time to stop and think about this, he goes to Diemen, checking on him. “Diemen, are you okay?” He gently shakes his friend, Diemen grumbles, slowly opening his eyes.

“Mallek?” Fresh blood drips from Diemen’s forehead, holding his head in pain. “What just hap-” He stops when he looks over to see the subjugglator frozen in place, glowing blue.

“Whoa… What’s going on?” Diemen takes a cautious step forward.

“Hey, don’t go near him.” Mallek grabs hold of Diemen, who just brushes him off, moving carefully towards the clown. “Dude… You did this?”

“Nevermind that, come on, let’s go before it wears off.” Mallek was eager to leave, he doesn’t know how long this will last. “Come on.” He makes another attempt to pull his friend away, but not before Diemen delivers a hard, swift kick to the frozen purpleblood’s crotch.

“Diemen!” Mallek yanks his friend’s arm, rushing away with him, turning the corner of the street in the direction of his car, once they were far enough the psychic link was severed and the purpleblood was released from the control. It was like waking from a dream and feeling the sting from Diemen’s kick, he drops to his knees holding his pained area, confused by what just happened.

#mod kai #mallek adalov #hiveswap #homestuck #friendsim #hiveswap friendsim #writing #diemen xicali #ask #ask answered #mallek #angst #psychic powers #anonymous

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im-fairly-whitty · 4 years

Text

The Witcher Wolf

M/M. Teen and Up Audiences. Geralt/Jaskier.

It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s...

Inspired by @kayivy 's lovely art! <3

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“So tell me love, tell me love...wait...”

Jaskier adjusted his fingering on the lute, pitching it an octave higher and trying again.

“So tell me love, tell me love, how is that ju-" he shifted a finger. “how is that-" another shift. “how is that just.”

There, that was it.

Jaskier smiled dryly to himself as he slung the lute on its strap to rest against his back, leaving his hands free to dig his notebook out of his pocket as he walked down the long long empty road. He sighed as he scratched a note with his stub of a pencil and tucked the notebook back into his pocket, looking around at the looming trees and scrubby brush surrounding him.

The shadows were growing dusky and long, signaling that he probably should have found somewhere to curl up for the night an hour ago, not now when he’d be scrambling to see in the last of daylight as he made camp. But it couldn’t really be helped now could it?

He could practically hear Geralt chastising him for being thoughtless again, especially when traveling alone.

Jaskier went several steps out of his way to stomp his foot through a suitable stick with a satisfying crack. Because it didn’t really matter what Geralt probably thought, did it?

Finally being chased off by Geralt two weeks ago was plenty painful enough to try and avoid thinking about on its own. Jaskier did not need the stupid Witcher getting after him even in his own mind after he’d been cast off like a rock out of a boot.

Jaskier paused, angrily chewing his lip as he gazed into the middle distance. He fished out his notebook again, scrawled cast off like a rock from your shoe and then stashed it away again.

He might be hurting terribly and handling it badly, but he was also a professional. Waste not want not and all that. If he was going to have to pull himself back together after being utterly rejected by the best friend he’d been following for literal decades, having finally been forced to realize that said best friend truly hated him, then he was at least going to get some decent song material from it.

And yes it was out of spite. And righteous anger. Definitely not heartbreak. Not at all. His newest song was a metaphor see, not a heartbroken ballad of unrequited longing and aching, of course not. Shut up.

Jaskier crashed angrily through the brush on the side of the road as he told off his inner critic, no longer having anyone to talk to but still managing to piss off himself in their absence it seemed. Which was perfectly fine! See? He didn’t need anyone anyway, he could even make himself miserable if he had to, no need to drag any Witchers into his mess at all when he was this self sufficient.

By the time he came back to himself and looked around he couldn’t see the road anymore, but also had only a passing idea at which way he’d come from. Excellent. Might as well keep getting lost then, why not, really? Maybe the world would be lucky enough that he’d fall so far down an unseen ditch that he’d just disappear forever, or maybe he’d stumble on some cursed shrine that would vaporize him, freeing humanity of the huge burden he evidently was. Geralt would love that wouldn’t he? Or maybe-

Jaskier didn’t see the animal lying on the ground until he’d just about stepped on it, shifting his foot sideways at the last moment with a yelp. He scrambled to the side as the huge white furred creature lurched up, snarling at him.

“I was just being facetious!” Jaskier yelled to no one, automatically grabbing his lute to his chest as he stumbled backward onto the ground. “I don’t actually want to die, certainly not eaten!”

He nearly screamed for Geralt out of old habit, but paused when nothing lunged at him, when no teeth or claws latched into him.

The creature staring at him from across the clearing was a massive white wolf. It watched him silently with wide golden yellow eyes, as if it were as shocked to see Jaskier as he was to see it. The wolf was holding one front leg awkwardly up against itself, in the quickly dimming light Jaskier could make out what seemed to be the half chewed off shaft of an arrow sticking out of the poor thing’s shoulder.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, still shaking with adrenaline as he sat in the dirt, clutching his lute like a shield. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

The wolf still had its ears back at him, tail tucked between its legs as it crouched close to the ground, but it wasn’t growling. Weren’t hurt animals supposed to be more aggressive? He was pretty sure he didn’t have that the wrong way around. Either way, he wasn’t about to look a non aggressive gift wolf in the mouth.

Jaskier very very slowly pushed himself to his feet. The wolf’s piercing golden eyes watched him, but it didn’t move, other than tucking its wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not that bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, softening his voice as he edged a step closer. Still no aggressive reaction from the wolf.

As Jaskier edged closer he could see the fur on the wolf’s shoulder was all matted down with dried blood. He thought of the medical kit in his pouch, something he’d learned the hard way to keep on him over the years traveling with a Witcher.

“What if I took a look at-" Jaskier paused as the wolf growled at him, ears pinned back with a snarl. Alright, so it had personal space boundaries after all.

Jaskier dropped to a crouch, his voice going even softer and higher pitched. “Hey now, I know that shoulder probably has you miserable, but I’m not so sure you’re much of a man eater if you left me alone after nearly stepping on you.” He snapped his fingers, digging into his pouch. “You know what though, you’re probably starving, not much hunting gets done on that leg I’ll bet.”

He pulled out several long strips of dried rabbit meat, gently tossing them to land in front of the wolf, trying not to startle it.

The animal’s ears were still pinned back, but it barely sniffed at the meat before snagging it, finishing it off in barely a few bites.

Jaskier edged closer to the wolf, swinging his lute back to keep his hands free, fingers open to show he meant no harm.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently.

He very very carefully set a hand on the wolf’s back, feeling almost giddy with the adrenaline his brain was giving him for being stupid enough to pet an injured wolf. He could practically feel Geralt yanking him back by the collar of his doublet.

The wolf growled, but it was more mixed with a whine now as it pressed itself against the ground. Jaskier now suspected that it was only in pain, not fear.

“You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all.” Jaskier said, carefully stroking the thick white fur, hoping to calm it. “There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

The wolf’s growl continued, shifting neither up or down, looking somehow very judgmental as Jaskier talked.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

The wolf snarled, probably just because Jaskier’s fingers had reached the matted blood.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring the snarl. Another unconscious habit he’d developed from hanging around Geralt apparently. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

The wolf quieted at that, staring up at him with golden eyes.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in temperament. Maybe it found this tone of voice most comforting for some reason? Alright he could work with that.

“It’s quite the tragic tale really.” Jaskier said, keeping up his miserable monotone as he quickly opened his medical kit, pouring some water from his flask across the wolf’s fur to loosen the blood. “The story of a young bard who attached himself to a man so emotionally constipated that he couldn’t even tell when the bard was utterly devoted to him. I was stupid enough to hang around him for years if you’d believe it. Even though he bit far more than you do my friend. With words I mean, Witchers don’t really bite people, you can’t believe all those terrible old wives tales.”

The fur underneath the blood soon resurfaced a watery stained pink as jaskier worked. The actual injury wasn’t very big, just the imbedded shaft and some damage where it looked like the wolf had tried worrying at it unsuccessfully to get it out itself. Jaskier put a hand on the wolf’s shoulder, gripping the shaft firmly.

“So anyway he finally decided he hated me enough to- sorry this part’s the hard bit-" he yanked the shaft out before he could talk himself out of it, bracing himself for the bite that was sure to come.

The wolf yelped, a high whining noise as it jerked with pain under him. But no bite.

“That’s a very good boy.” Jaskier said, panting a little as the dizzying spike of fear left him. He inspected the arrow to make sure nothing looked like it had snapped off before setting it aside. “That’s a very very good boy for not ripping my arm off, very good boy.”

He quickly set to work, patting everything dry, dousing it with a quick splash of alcohol and healing salve for luck, (the wolf only growled slightly at that, staring away into the trees) and then wrapping it up tight in a way Jaskier hoped wouldn’t slip off fur.

“There we go.” He said in relief, wiping sweat off his forehead as he tucked his supplies back into his pack. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

The wolf, being a wolf, of course said nothing, still staring off into the trees. Jaskier checked to see if it were actually looking at something, but no.

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier decided, petting the wolf between the ears before the animal shook its head to get his hand off. “Yes you are, I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

The wolf looked at him with a long stare, and then shifted carefully to be facing away from him.

“That settles it.” Jaskier said with a smile, looking around and starting to collect firewood in the scant minutes he had before the sun’s light vanished entirely. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

The wolf looked over at him, ears pricked.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin at the wolf’s response.

The wolf’s ears flipped back for a moment, as if confused, but then it hauled itself to its feet with a whine. It took a few halting steps toward him before stumbling on its bad leg, continuing to whine urgently.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling by the wolf, carefully pushing its broad shoulders until it settled to the ground with an annoyed growl. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

There was a low percolating noise in the wolf’s throat but it stayed down, burying its nose between its paws.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, patting the wolf’s head until he was shaken off a second time. “I’m going to see if I can scrape us together a fire for the night. Feel free to stick around if you like, I wouldn’t mind the company.” He sighed as he scraped a clear patch of earth with his boot and started to pile small sticks and tinder together. “If you do head out in the night I promise no hard feelings though. I’ve been reliably informed that I’m miserable company.”

The wolf didn’t look at him but one of its ears twitched toward him.

“Well you’re already an improvement on Geralt Senior.” Jaskier said dryly, striking sparks from his flint. “At least with you I can tell if you’re really listening or not.”

The wolf huffed, flicking its ear.

Jaskier kept an eye on the white wolf as he scraped a place to lie down next to the fire, rolling out his thin sleeping mat. He really expected the wolf to wander off into the woods at any moment, but instead it stayed right where it was at the side of the campfire as Jaskier settled for the night, steadily ignoring him as he chattering away.

“Well unfortunately for you I’m too tired to work on my songs for the night.” Jaskier said, setting another hunk of firewood in the flames before tucking himself under his thin blanket. He rested on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. “I’m famous for my singing you know, one of the most beloved bards on the continent for my music, you’re missing out on a real treat I tell you.”

The wolf huffed and shifted.

“Well, goodnight Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, resting his chin on his arms. “It was nice to meet you, good luck on wherever you wander to next. Thanks again for not eating me.”

He meant to go to sleep immediately, but found himself watching the huge mound of white fur on the other side of the flames. He sighed quietly. Just like fate to send him such a clear ironic mockery like this. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the shadows of the tree branches above as they moved and whispered in the wind.

Well no matter the irony dripping from this whole situation, it had at least been a bit of amusement. Maybe he’d even start writing a song about it after the wolf was gone in the morning.

Jaskier closed his eyes, willing himself into unconsciousness before his mind could wander into its nightly routine of fretfully wondering what a different white wolf was up to.

***

Geralt Junior was not gone in the morning.

“Well hello again.” Jaskier said, his voice muzzy with sleep as he pushed himself up. The wolf was sitting, watching him from the other side of the fire, which judging from the blackened state of the wolf’s paws had already been scratched out for the day, charcoal markings scratched across the ground. “That’s a neat trick with the fire, bit rude to watch people sleep though.”

He hoisted himself to his feet with a groan, cracking his back and then stopping to roll up the sleeping mat. “I suppose you’re hanging around because you’re still hungry, well I-oh, hello.”

He startled as a cold wet nose pushed against his bare wrist. The wolf had padded silently over to him, evidently no longer limping. The bloodied binding on its shoulder was starting to slip off too.

“You weren’t biting at this during the night were you?” Jaskier scolded, pushing the wolf back a bit so it wasn’t practically standing over him and taking the bandages off. “Because if you were I’ll...”

He trailed off as the bandages slipped away, revealing a small wound that had nearly healed over already in the night. It was still angry and red looking, but the skin was already well on its way to being mended, a far cry from the gaping bleeding wound last night.

“Did Geralt slip something into my salve?” Jaskier wondered aloud, scratching the wolf’s head absently. “You’ve healed nearly as fast as he does.”

This time the wolf didn’t shake off his hand, instead whining at him, shoving its nose into Jaskier’s palm.

“Hey, it’s a good thing.” Jaskier assured the animal, “It means you can go without bandages now as long as you don’t bite at it.”

He scratched harder right behind the wolf’s ears, not missing the way its tail gave half a wag before the wolf caught itself and ducked away from his hand with a whine.

“Don’t you give me that,” Jaskier said with a grin. “I saw that tail wag, you like pats, you big grumpy thing, you can’t fool me with that act.”

The wolf shook itself hard with a huff, then trotted off into the trees without so much as a backward glance.

Jaskier felt unreasonably disappointed to see the animal go, but put on a smile as he waved. “Goodbye Geralt Junior!” He called after it. “And good luck!”

***

“Storm, tempest...” Jaskier muttered to himself as he walked, kicking stray pebbles as he came across them on the road. “Red skies in morning. Warning. Red skies in morning bringing a warning. That’s good, I’ll keep that.”

It had been another long and lonely day on the hot road, but he’d nailed down nearly all the lyrics to his new song at least. He hadn’t anticipated just how much lonelier it would feel to travel solo after having met last night’s surprise visitor, but at least it had helped keep his mind off...other things...

Jaskier looked up at the setting sun. Well, better to get a start on finding a place to sleep earlier than later tonight. Tomorrow he’d reach the next town if he wasn’t terribly mistaken. He stepped off the path, starting to make his way through the brush.

He couldn’t wait to get back to playing, being around people again would help him get his mind off things. He could start working to refill his purse, perhaps even save up for a horse. He could finally feel less alone, surrounded by an audience and whatever one night stands he could manage to scrounge up in town.

If only he hadn’t-

Jaskier froze as he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and felt himself choke as something huge rushed toward him.

He turned to look and startled again, laughing out loud in relief when he turned to see a white wolf bounding up to him, two dead rabbits clamped in its bloodstained mouth.

“You’ve got to make more noise than that if you don’t want me to die of a heart attack!” He cried, but was unable to wipe the grin off his face at the return of his new friend. “So you’re not sick of me after all, huh? I’m truly flattered you know.”

The wolf ducked its head, dropping the rabbits on the ground in front of him.

“Well if this is your way of saying thank you, then I heartily accept.” Jaskier said with a smile, reaching out and patting the wolf’s head, which the animal seemed to reluctantly endure. “Let's find a good place for a fire and I’ll get these skinned and roasted for us, alright?”

Jaskier picked the rabbits up by the hind legs and strode into the woods with a much happier spring to his step.

An hour later a fire had been made and both rabbits disposed of. Jaskier sat on a log as he plucked at his lute, watching the wolf idly gnawing on a rabbit bone.

“Normally I’d start writing a song about you right away.” Jaskier assured his companion as he tuned a lute peg. “But I’ll reach town tomorrow and I’ve got to have this new song tavern ready if I’m to have any new material.”

The wolf twitched an ear, shifting its gnawing to the other side to watch him as it chewed the tiny bone.

“That’s right, a new Dandelion tune, you’re the first one to hear it too.” Jaskier smiled, strumming a few chords.

He wasn’t really expecting the wolf to listen but as he picked out the opening chords he was intensely aware of the animal’s golden eyes fixed on him. Well, so much the better for practice, Jaskier had never shied away from an attentive audience, no matter the species.

“The fairer sex they often call it,” Jaskier sang, his smile dropping away as the song pulled him in. “But her love’s as unfair as a crook.”

The notes flowed and so did the lyrics, the newest words clicking neatly into place as he sang. The emotions of the last two weeks pulled through him one more time as he fixed them into the song, hopefully a space apart from his heart. Maybe showing them off to strangers could get them to dull a bit.

He knew it wouldn’t, but it was too good a hope to abandon entirely. Not yet.

His gaze flicked up to the wolf as he sang, and he was mildly surprised to see the animal watching intently, bone forgotten.

“I am weak my love, and I am wanting.” Jaskier sang.

He grimaced as his voice broke a little on the line, too much emotion getting through. Or maybe exactly the right amount. To his amusement he could see the wolf tip its head at that, but he pushed on through the rest of the song, finally finishing with a flourish.

“Her Sweet Kiss, by myself.” Jaskier said with a half bow, setting his lute down beside him. “You’ve been a wonderful audience Geralt Junior. I’ve been working on it for the last month or so. It’s undergone some, ah, heavy revisions in the last two weeks, but I think it’s turned out alright.”

Jaskier heaved a sigh, trying to dispel some of the heavy emotion still in his chest as he wiped at his eyes. “I’ll have to tone down to waterworks a bit when I’m performing in front of people though. Pining gets you far more coin than crying, I’ve learned that performing lesson the hard way. Perks to traveling alone you know, I don’t have to try hide any of that around you.”

Jaskier slid down off the log and propped his arms back on it. The wolf across the fire let out a long whine, still watching him.

“Oh, I’m alright.” Jaskier assured the animal, wiping at his eyes even as the tears keep coming. “It’s just been, um, a rough couple of weeks. Had someone I loved very much get rid of me in a rather terrible and unexpected fashion. I figure if I sing instead of crying about it I’ll get more coin, just more practical that way really. No use pining after a friend that hates you...”

Jaskier tipped his head back against the log with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes against the tears that still came. They’d end eventually if he waited them out, better to get them out now rather than in front of a crowd tomorrow.

He opened his eyes as he felt a heavy weight settle against the side of his leg. He looked down to see the wolf had laid down beside him, tucked up against his leg as the animal stared off into the trees, head rested on its paws.

“There we go, we can sulk together.” Jaskier said with a teary chuckle, gratefully running his fingers through the wolf’s thick white fur. “I promise I’ll be alright...someday. I don’t know.” Jaskier huffed, wiping at his eyes again. “But twenty two years, and you know he never once called me his friend? I mean he was always insulting me, but he never actually tried to make me- okay, well he did try to make me leave several times, but that was mostly at the beginning. But still, twenty two years Geralt Junior. That’s such a long time to be treated like garbage.”

The wolf let out a wine, looking up at him.

“We had good times too though. So many good times.” Jaskier said sadly, scruffing both hands through the wolf’s fur, focusing on that instead of his own words. “We traveled so many places, had so many adventures. He can lighten up you know, especially if you get him alone and well fed. He’s got such a wicked sense of humor and a smile that could melt snow, even if so few people really see it. He’s excellent at Gwent, even if he always gambles too much at it. He’s got such a good heart too, he’s always trying to do the right thing, even if it comes back to cause him more trouble later.”

Jaskier laid his head on the wolf’s broad back, watching his fingers pet the white fur in front of his face as his voice got quieter.

“Honestly it only makes it worse though. To be hated by a good person hurts so much more than being hated by a bad one...”

The wolf whimpered and shifted, making Jaskier think for a moment that he’d leaned against its bad shoulder. But instead the animal shoved its snout into Jaskier’s chest, continuing to whine.

“You’re very sweet.” Jaskier said with a smile, “Even if you don’t understand any of this, I’m very grateful that you’re listening anyway.” He took the wolf’s head in his hands, kissing its forehead. “Whoever your person was must have been very sad to lose you.”

The wolf looked away, then after a long moment settled its head back on its paws.

“Sleep isn’t a terrible idea.” Jaskier yawned, resting his head against the wolf again. He watched the fire for a few more minutes of silence before his eyes drifted shut.

His last absent thought was that he hoped the wolf didn’t mind being used as a pillow without having properly been asked.

***

It was day three and Jaskier now knew for a fact that Geralt had slipped something into his medical kit, because his wolf companion was trotting easily at his side as they neared the village, only a pale scar on its shoulder that was hidden entirely by thick fur.

Why Geralt had never thought to use such a miracle cure on him when he’d managed to get banged up was beyond him. Jaskier had narrowed it down to either further proof that Geralt really didn’t like him all this time, or else quick healing magic only properly worked on wolves, whether metaphorical or literal.

But as much as he hated it Jaskier couldn’t remember a time that Geralt had ever been rough or hateful with him while treating one of his wounds. Exasperated certainly, but always urgent and attentive, making sure Jaskier healed as quickly and cleanly as possible.

Which somehow left the more poetic answer, something that Jaskier couldn’t quit smiling about as he walked down the road. Though perhaps that was more due to the fact that the village, and thus a comfortable real bed, were now in sight in the distance.

Or maybe it was the massive white wolf padding silently by his side, not having left him once since last night.

“We’re nearly there.” Jaskier hummed happily, playing with the strap of his lute. “Then we'll have warm fires and warm food and warm audiences...”

He trailed off as he walked, looking at the enormous animal walking beside him.

“Although I’m not sure the inkeep will be thrilled to let a wolf into their establishment... or the townspeople either.” Jaskier said with a frown.

To be quite honest Jaskier himself didn’t even know how the wolf would act around people, if it would start snapping or biting if it were to be taken through a crowd or into an enclosed space. He’d known some inns to allow well trained hounds to room with their masters, but that was always with the passing over of extra coin.

For all the wolf was sticking to his side today Jaskier still wouldn’t be all that surprised if the animal peeled off once they got close enough to the town.

Well, there was only going to be one way to find out, meaning it was time for a badly thought out spur of the moment plan.

“So, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, pulling to a stop and digging through his pack. “We’re about to be around a lot of people when we get to town, and as you’ve seen humans get skittish around creatures like you and I’d rather not have another arrow in your shoulder. I understand if you leave before we get there, but if you do stick with me we’re going to have to make you seem as domesticated as possible.”

The wolf pinned its ears back as Jaskier pulled a wide turquoise belt out of his pack, the dyed leather covered in imprinted flowers.

“I know it’s going to be a hit to your wild beastly pride, but I really think turquoise might suit you.” Jaskier said with a cheeky smile. “Although if you’d rather run off wild you’d better let me know right now, because I’m not going to have you running off with this and leaving me with an incomplete outfit, these things aren’t cheap you know.”

The wolf stared at him with a look that Jaskier could only think of as disgust. But after a verrrrry long minute the wolf sat, looking away with the same disgusted look.

“There’s a good boy.” Jaskier praised, quickly leaning down to secure the makeshift collar around his wolf’s neck. “I think you look rather dashing.” He scruffed the thick fur above the collar. “And with one fell fashion statement you’ve now worn more color than your namesake has in his entire unnaturally long life, so you at least have that going for you.”

The wolf refused to look at Jaskier, instead plodding on ahead without waiting for him.

Jaskier laughed at his sulking wolf, but they both became more serious as they approached the town. The wolf kept scenting the air every few steps and Jaskier found himself smiling uneasily at the people they started passing more and more frequently. Not all of them stared openly, but all of them were definitely at least sneaking looks as they walked by.

“Just stick by me.” Jaskier said quietly, his fingertips finding the edge of the collar and staying there as they approached an inn.

He thought about trying to leave the wolf outside, but the animal pressed close against his leg as he walked into the establishment, as if nervous of being left alone in the middle of town. Well, at least it played well into the pet charade Jaskier was playing.

“That's quite a beast you’ve got yourself there bard.” The innkeeper called from behind his counter. He didn’t sound exactly wary but Jaskier could see the man relax a little when he glanced at the floral colored collar. “Afraid we won’t have no fighting dogs in here, he’ll have to keep to the yard if he’s the kind to pick fights.”

“Not to worry my good man, I’ve had Geralt Junior since he was a pup, though truth be told we had no idea he had so much wolf in him when he was still small.” Jaskier said brightly, lying through his teeth. “He’s big, but he’s a big pushover, I can promise you’ll have no trouble from him.”

He looked down at the wolf, for a moment wondering if he weren’t taking too much of a risk with this one. He didn’t know the wolf, but it had stuck by him so closely and the thought of leaving it outside now made him bite his lip.

The wolf gazed up at him with bright yellow eyes, then at the innkeeper, as if thinking. Jaskier raised an eyebrow as the wolf’s tail started to wag and it started to pant with a very doggish smile, leaning hard against him. For all the world the very picture of a lifelong pet.

Well. Unexpected, but good?

“Well he seems polite.” The innkeeper said, smiling down at the wolf. “I’ll allow it as long as you’re willing to pay extra for a room, but even a hint of trouble and you’re both out.”

“Agreed.” Jaskier said eagerly, “one room and meals for the two of us then please, and I’d like to perform tonight if you’re willing.”

“The place is yours,” the inkeep said with a smile, handing Jaskier a room key in exchange for coin. “Haven’t had a bard through here in a while, it'll do us good to have some song.”

***

Jaskier was used to audiences fawning over his singing or his playing or his good looks, but drawing attention because of a huge white wolf resting peacefully at his feet was an entirely new experience. Word of the new bard and his tame snowy white wolf traveled quickly it seemed, Jaskier spotted people ducking in and then out of the tavern all night, smiling and pointing and even tossing an extra coin to them as the night went on.

And through it all the wolf stayed out at Jaskier’s feet, calmly listening and watching the audience throughout the night, only shifting a bit whenever Jaskier got up to move along to a more rousing ballad.

There was one moment when a young girl pushed through the crowd and fell squarely onto the wolf. Jaskier actually fumbled a chord as he gasped in a breath of startled fear.

But the wolf only huffed in surprise, blinking at the little girl as she recovered herself and hugged him around his great furry neck. A moment later a woman darted forward with a hurried word of apology as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her back.

“Not to worry madam, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a tip of his hat and a brilliant smile that belied the way his heart was pounding in his chest at what could have easily been a disaster.

He finished his song and then bowed to the applauding crowd, gathering up all the coin offered to him as the people dispersed, seeing he was done for the night.

Once the coin was tucked away Jaskier dropped to one knee in front of the wolf, stroking the animal’s head and speaking in a hushed tone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so tame. Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

The wolf ducked its head away from the praise, but Jaskier saw its tail wag against the wooden tavern floor.

“Time for supper and then for bed.” Jaskier said, getting to his feet. “I think you’re going to be a great favorite with audiences my friend if you keep this up, I’d be willing to bet half our coin tonight was due to you alone. We make an excellent team.”

The wolf got to its feet, tail still wagging as it followed Jaskier to a table. While Jaskier ate several people came up to ask if they could pet the wolf, offering bits of food in trade which the wolf accepted eagerly enough.

By the time Jaskier made it to his room, wolf trailing behind, he was convinced he must have done something miraculous to have discovered such a perfect traveling companion.

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said once they were in the room, a yawn breaking through his smile.

He scratched behind the wolf’s ears and then stripping off his doublet for the first time in days. Really he should take a bath, but the bed looked far too inviting. He collapsed onto the sheets, sprawling out in the warmth of the room as he kicked his boots off.

“A room, a warm fire, coin in my pocket, and an agreeable traveling companion. If only Geralt could see me now.” Jaskier said, slinging one arm over his eyes with a chuckle that turned a bit sad at the end. “I hope that bastard’s alright, wherever he is.” He said quietly.

He felt a cold nose against the back of his hand and raised his arm, looking over to see the wolf whining at him.

“No, not you, the Witcher Geralt.” Jaskier said with a fond smile, petting the wolf’s head. “I'm sorry if I talk about him too much, I suppose I’ve thought of him too long, my brain doesn’t know what else there is to think about.”

He patted the mattress and after a moment of hesitation the wolf jumped up, lying down beside him. The wolf rested his head on Jaskier’s chest, a pleasant warm weight, better than any blanket he could have asked for. Jaskier carded his fingers through the thick white fur as he closed his eyes.

“I suppose I should try forgetting about him entirely.” Jaskier said softly. “I don’t want to though. I think there’s always going to be some mad piece of me that’s going to hope he’d come back for me someday, our paths always cross often enough.”

He petted the wolf in silence for a long minute.

“I can’t do it again though.” Jaskier said firmly, his voice even quieter. “Even if I do see him again someday I won’t go along with him, won’t even look at him, I can’t. I’ve set myself up for heartache and failure for too many years, working so hard to make him a hero of the people in all my songs. There’s never going to be a world in which he actually listens to me or cares, he always took me for granted, I have to remember that.”

Normally he would have teared up by now, but the comforting warmth of the wolf seemed to anchor and steady him as he petted it. The wolf even let out a long low whine that matched his sadness.

“You understand though, don’t you Geralt Junior?” Jaskier said with a smile, ruffling the wolf’s ears with a yawn. “I suppose if I’m going to move on I should think of a better name for you then shouldn’t I? Maybe a flower name to match mine, take our performances to a whole new level.”

The wolf sneezed violently, shaking its head.

“Alright alright, I’ll give it some more thought tomorrow.” Jaskier laughed. He sighed deeply, pulling his pillow a bit more firmly under his head.

It was much easier to get to sleep than it had been the nights before.

***

Weeks passed as Jaskier and his wolf passed through town after town, settling into a rhythm that Jaskier couldn’t have improved if he’d tried.

They spent days at a time in each town, Jaskier serenading crowds who came to see the wolf bard play, bringing in coin aplenty with new songs that seemed to write themselves. Some were thinly veiled laments of course, but Jaskier found himself falling into much happier tunes again far faster than he would have predicted. Ones about canine friends and cheerful adventures and sunny days and good company.

He still enjoyed the crowds of course, but now some of his favorite days were the ones between the towns, days like this when it was just him and his wolf together on the open road.

“Geralt if you don’t bring the stick back to me I can’t throw it for you.” Jaskier called, plucking a tune on his lute as he walked under the pleasant sunny afternoon sun.

Ahead of him the great white wolf bounded back and forth across the road in and out of the weeds, a large stick in his mouth as he dashed around, never seeming to tire of smelling everything they passed. Around his neck was a fine thick collar with colorful flower patterns woven into the design, a favorite with the ladies and small children. Jaskier had tried some other names for the wolf over the past few weeks but none of them had stuck as well as Geralt Junior had, even that of course eventually dropping to just Geralt.

Things had somehow gotten especially smoother after Jaskier had snapped one night, about a week in to their companionship when the animal was acting especially moody.

That’s it, new rule. Unless you’re in pain or I’m in danger there’s going to be absolutely no growling or snarling at me. I’ve gotten a lifetime's worth of that from your namesake thank you very much, and I refuse to take any more of it.

He of course hadn’t expected his outburst to change anything, but he almost thought it had, his wolf being more careful around him, as if it actually realized how upset he’d made Jaskier.

As they’d traveled the wolf had slowly loosened up in more ways than that too, his previous frequent growls and silence trading for eager tail wagging and barks as they performed for tavern after tavern of people eager to pet and praise him. He never really became rambunctious per se, always still a bit reserved and aloof. But Jaskier was certain his wolf was becoming far happier of an animal while traveling with him than he had been before, and feeling needed like that made him feel warm inside.

It wasn’t very often now that he thought of the old Geralt. Not forgotten certainly, but this new life was filled with plenty of happiness to focus on, instead of the pain he suspected would have devoured him had he not found his new companion.

The wolf bounded up to him, letting Jaskier wrestle the stick away from him and fling it off into the bushes again, then took off after it like a shot. Jaskier wiped the wolf slobber off his hand on his pants and picked up his strumming again with a smile. The one thing he hadn't seen yet was the animal getting tired, the beast having apparently been blessed with incredible stamina.

Up ahead he could see someone approaching from a distance. A horse merchant judging by the string of horses roped behind his own, a couple other men riding with him to keep them in line.

Jaskier politely made his way to the side of the road, halting his strumming to keep from spooking any of the merchant’s stock.

The merchant tipped his head to Jaskier in appreciation as they approached, but Jaskier jumped as he heard barking. He turned to see his wolf rush up to the horses, yelping and whining. The merchant and his boys shouted as they wrangled the spooking horses as they all tried to shy away from the canine.

“Get your animals under control!” The merchant snapped, swinging off in a rapid dismount to catch at his horse's bridle.

“I am so sorry!” Jaskier cried, dashing forward and grabbing the wolf’s collar, trying to haul him back with little success as the animal kept trying to lunge forward, whining desperately with its tail tucked between its legs. “Geralt, down! This has never happened before, he’s usually so good around horses, I-“

Jaskier’s breath caught as he saw one horse that hadn’t shied away, the animal instead yanking toward the wolf. A glossy chestnut mare with a white stripe down her face.

“...Roach?” Jaskier said, his mouth dry.

The mare tossed her head with an urgent whinny as she tugged against her rope halter. There was the old patch of white above her back left hoof, and the horse was actively fighting to try and get near him. It was really her.

“Where did you get that horse?” Jaskier demanded, a hollow icy feeling curling in his gut as he let go of the wolf, rushing up to the mare instead.

“Hey, get back, she bites!” The merchant barked, but he paused as Jaskier stroked Roach’s cheek. The horse crowded up to him, stomping her hoof and tucking her head close over his shoulder.

At their feet Jaskier’s wolf whined and yelped, dancing around in clear agitated excitement that Roach didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Where did you get this horse?” Jaskier repeated, turning to look at the merchant, who was hovering back now. “She belongs to a Witcher, she’s got no place in your stock herd.”

Some kind of uneasy look passed over the horse merchant’s face. Jaskier knew he didn’t cut a very intimidating figure, but he could feel the dangerous heat in his own glare and could hear the growling coming from his wolf beside him.

“We found her wandering a few weeks back.” One of the merchant’s boy’s spoke up, looking nervously at the wolf. “She was wandering with a half loose saddle in the middle of nowhere, the camp she was by looked like it had been abandoned for days, clothes scattered about, the place was a wreck, blood all over the place.”

The merchant shot the boy a look, but shook his head, giving up. “If she did belong to a Witcher her rider was long gone by the time we found her, I swear it. Whoever they were certainly wasn’t still alive enough to retrieve his horse when we found her. Must have taken on a contract that was too much for him.”

“You’re lying!” Jaskier snapped, his fingers curling in Roach’s mane. “You stole her, you saw her outside a tavern someplace and thought you could get away with it. Well Geralt’s probably hot on your tail by now and you’re all going to regret it!”

“I swear to you we ain’t no horse thieves.” The merchant said, his expression clouding. “Besides, she’s been nothing but trouble ever since we found her, kicking and biting anyone who gets too close. We’re just about ready to sell her for glue.”

“Give her to me.” Jaskier demanded, fingers already working at the rope tied at her bridle. “She isn’t yours, I’m taking her back to Geralt.”

“Whoa, hey,” the merchant said, advancing on him, only stopping short when the wolf snarled at him. “We’ve been keeping her fed and watered for weeks now, if her Witcher were going to “track us down” it would have happened by now, and as it is we’ve got to at least get the cost of her feed back out of her.”

“Fine, I’ll pay for her food cost.” Jaskier said angrily. “But she’s coming with me now, as well as anything else you stole from where you found her. And believe me, I’ll know if you try to keep any of it back.”

As long as he stayed angry he could keep the fear back. Because Geralt would never never leave Roach abandoned, she was the one thing in the world that Jaskier knew he loved. And if Geralt had been alive enough to walk he would have tracked the horse thieves in a matter of hours.

So where was Geralt?

The merchant must have done some quick calculating in his head of the risk of an angry bard and an angry wolf and an angry horse compared to a quick and easy payout, because he was soon nodding to his boys who scrambled back to the pack horses.

“It’s alright Roach.” Jaskier soothed quietly, taking hold of her rope bridle once he detached it from the lead rope. “It’s alright girl, you’re safe now.”

His wolf was still whining and pressing up against them both. The horse ducked her head down to nuzzle against the wolf, which struck Jaskier as odd, the old mare generally only allowing Geralt himself to touch her. Jaskier had only worked up to being allowed that particular honor after years of sugar cubes and braided manes and pretty compliments.

The boys returns with their arms full, dumping the contents at Jaskier’s feet. Roach’s saddle and tack, saddle bags and camping gear.

Jaskier’s blood ran cold when he stooped to shuffle aside a sleeping roll to uncover a set of all too familiar black studded armor, and two separate long swords. One silver. One steel.

“These were all at his camp?” Jaskier asked, his voice dangerously on edge and brittle as he searched through the pile, finding every single item Geralt regularly traveled with.

“They were, strewn about in a right mess too.” The merchant said, looking very much like he was more than ready to have this whole mess off his hands for good.

Jaskier numbly checked the saddle bags, looking up as his voice cracked.

“The medallion.” He demanded hoarsely. “Where’s the silver wolf medallion?”

The one thing the Witcher never never took off, not even to bathe or sleep. If that at least was still missing then maybe-

One of the boys blushed, quickly pulling a chain from under his shirt and handing it to Jaskier, whose fingers took it in a kind of desperate spasm. His wolf nosed desperately at the medallion, whining and whimpering.

“That’s all of it.” The merchant said hesitantly, clearly disturbed at Jaskier’s reaction.

Jaskier stood, the medallion clutched so hard in his hand that his fingers were bleaching white around it. He pulled out some coin and handed it to the merchant, who barely glanced at the sum before nodding and signaling his boys back in the saddle.

Within a minute of hurried commotion the merchant and his herd were gone, leaving Jaskier standing in the middle of the road with a horse and a wolf. Trembling as he stood over all that remained of Geralt of Rivia, his Witcher medallion clutched in his hand.

Jaskier breath was coming quickly and raggedly as his mind feverishly cast about for any explanation that didn’t end with Geralt being very much gone forever.

His armor looked roughed up and was spattered with dried blood. Had he been eaten out of his own armor? Cursed entirely out of existence? Either way, gone forever. Leaving behind everything.

Leaving behind Jaskier.

Jaskier was trembling so hard that his knees gave out, sending him to the ground on his hands and knees as his rapid shallow breathing gave way to sobs. The edges of the medallion were cutting into his hand, but he didn’t care as tears ran down his face, his mind paralyzed in a loop of denial and panic and grief.

He was gone.

Geralt was gone.

Jaskier felt a heavy warmth press against him and he reflexively wrapped his arms around the wolf as it crowded against his chest. He buried his face in the thick white fur, holding on tightly enough that it must be hurting, but the wolf only draped heavily across his lap, silent as Jaskier sobbed.

He might have cried like that for minutes or an hour before he slowly came back to himself, the wolf nosed at his ear, clearly concerned.

“He’s, he’s gone.” Jaskier hiccuped, opening his hand to look at the medallion, the silver wolf head glinting coldly back at him. Despite having seen it for years, seeing it apart from Geralt made it look unnatural and foreign. “I mean...I k-know I already lost him...b-but not like this.”

His wolf whined quietly, pressing its head against Jaskier's shoulder bracingly. Jaskier buried his face against the white fur.

“Why did that have to be the last time I saw him...” he said quietly, the hollow feeling inside enveloping him completely. “Why did it have to end like that? I really believed I would see him again. What am I going to do now?”

He felt Roach nudge his shoulder and the tears came again as he looked up at her. He unsteadily got to his feet, rubbing her cheek. “Oh Roach, I’m so sorry. You probably saw it actually happen too, you poor thing.”

He eased the rough rope bridle off her head, rubbing her face as his thoughts started to slowly become coherent again. Geralt didn’t really have next of kin, but the other Witchers would want to know what had happened.

“I know he didn’t like me much by the end, but I hope it’s alright if you stick with me.” Jaskier said to Roach. “I promise I’ll keep you brushed and well fed, no monster hunting, but I’ll take good care of you.”

The mare bumped her nose against his chest affectionately.

“I think we ought to find Yennefer.” Jaskier said quietly, sniffling and wiping his eyes as he pulled Roach’s tack from the pile of things on the road. “She’ll know how to track down the other Witchers, to tell them what happened.”

He slipped her real bridle on and saddled her, then started packing all of Geralt’s things into the saddle bags, hanging the two swords at her flanks. He worked slowly, feeling like he would begin sobbing again if he moved too quickly.

The whole time he worked his wolf kept close to his side, staring up at him as it leaned against him comfortingly. Jaskier stopped several times to pet it, reigning his breath back in each time, away from the point of breaking down again.

When everything was ready to go Jaskier had to take a minute to compose himself before he could look at Roach. He’d packed her up exactly like this so many times, but never to ride alone. This isn’t what he wanted at all. He’d perhaps wished that he had something to remember his Witcher by, but not like this.

He pulled the medallion out of his pocket and stared at it. It felt wrong somehow to tuck it away when it had been worn openly for over a century. He looked at his wolf with a sigh, dropping down to one knee.

“I need you to hold onto this for me alright?” He said quietly. “Keep it safe while we travel.”

The wolf sat very still as Jaskier slipped the silver chain over its head.

One moment Jaskier was looking at his wolf, the next moment he was blinded by a blast of white light. He cried out, falling back in shock, letting go of the medallion chain.

He blinked hard, stumbling to his feet as his vision slowly came back to him, leaving his sight hazy and spotty for a long minute as he dizzily tried to balance himself.

Large hands gripped his arms and he yelled in panic, trying to jerk away from whoever had apparently ambushed him with magic. Were they after Geralt’s things? After Roach?

But before he could react further he was pulled into what felt exactly like a tight hug. He tried to struggle as his vision came back to him.

“Unhand me! Let me-"

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Said a low voice in his ear.

The voice sounded husky, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time, but Jaskier would recognize that voice no matter what it sounded like.

“G-Geralt?” He asked, his voice cracking.

The hug loosened, only enough for Geralt to pull back and look at him, his beautiful golden eyes bright and happy.

“I promised myself that if I ever got to speak again that’s the first thing I’d say.” Geralt said.

“You’re, you’re not dead?” Jaskier asked, starting to tremble hard, out of overwhelming sudden emotion or simple shock he couldn’t tell.

“I’m not dead.” Geralt said, gently kissing Jaskier’s forehead, sending him another level deeper into staggering shock.

“I’ve gone mad.” Jaskier said weakly, his legs giving out. “I’ve lost it, I’m off my rocker, the full nine yards, hallucinating. Completely batty.”

Geralt caught him with a chuckle, holding him steady. “You’re not mad, I promise. Not about this anyway.”

Jaskier swallowed, looking up at Geralt’s face as he rested his hands on the Witcher’s bare chest, then looked down.

“If you aren’t a dream of mine, then why aren’t you wearing any clothes.” Jaskier challenged flatly.

Geralt grinned. “Haven’t worn any in nearly two months now.”

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the silver medallion around Geralt’s neck, and even more specifically the loose woven collar that Geralt was unlatching and slipping off his neck.

The last two months all slammed into Jaskier at once, blindsiding him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs completely.

“You’re Geralt!” He wheezed, eyes painfully wide. “The wolf Geralt, you were the wolf, the whole time, of course, of course! What, what happened?”

He didn’t quite know how his hands got on either side of the witcher’s face, but they were there, his face inches from his own as he scanned the familiar sight. Those golden eyes he’d had by his side for weeks now without ever seeing past them to the truth.

“Took a contract for a beast that turned out to be a sorcerer’s pet.” Geralt said, his voice starting to sound like its normal low self. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s wrist, stroking his thumb across the back of his hand. “I killed the beast but its master wasn’t too happy with me, I guess he had a sense of irony so he turned me into a white wolf. He ran me off, I met some hunters, got an arrow through the shoulder, was convinced I was going to die of either infection or hunger or more hunters, and then you nearly tripped over me.”

“It was dark, alright?” Jaskier said breathlessly, his mind skipping over nearly everything Geralt had said to focus instead on the fact that he was here and alive. “So, so you were with me these whole two months? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried, that first night I tried to scrape out a message with the ashes from the fire, but you didn’t notice. Whenever I tried to communicate you didn’t seem to catch on.” Geralt sighed. “After a week or two I gave up, it was pleasant enough traveling with you and I didn’t think there was a cure to the curse. I never would have guessed the medallion, and even if I had I wouldn't have known where to find it. Things were simpler once I gave up.”

Jaskier’s mind replayed the last weeks at super speed, trying to think of any time he’d noticed anything unusual. Perhaps the way the wolf had trusted him so quickly, how it picked up on commands so easily, how when he talked to it it really seemed like it were listening to him.

Jaskier paled, remembering exactly how much he’d talked. “You heard everything I told you? About, about you?” He asked weakly.

“Yes.” Geralt said soberly. “That’s why I decided an apology would be the first thing I’d say if I ever got back to normal.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembled, for once at a complete loss for words.

“Are you sure you’re not still cursed?” He finally managed, his hands dropping to Geralt’s chest again. “You’re being very nice to me and using ten times as many words as you usually do.”

“I’ve had two months of wishing I could talk, I have a list actually.” Geralt said, starting to speak a little faster and more earnestly, as if nervous that he’d lose his ability to speak again. “First, I felt terrible the minute you left that mountain, I was angry at so many different things and I took it out on you because you were the closest thing that I knew wouldn’t yell back. I’m sorry, Jaskier, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Jaskier agreed quietly, mind still spinning a little, but starting to settle as he listened.

“Second, I do not hate you. I’ve never hated you. I hate that you think that, I hate that I made you think that, it’s not true.” Geralt said, almost sounding angry now.

Jaskier swallowed, nodding silently.

“Third you are my friend, my best friend, I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I'll never do it again or else you can run me through with my own sword.”

Jaskier only managed to make a kind of weak noise in response as Geralt gathered him into another tight hug.

“Anything else?” Jaskier asked, trying to make it sound like a joke, but his voice broke as he buried his face against Geralt’s neck.

“Just that I saw you take those apples at the market when you thought no one was looking, and that you really ought to make sure your poor dog is out of the room before you pull someone into bed with you for the night.” Geralt said, his voice sounding amused.

“You were a wolf.” Jaskier sputtered, blushing furiously as he looked up. “How was I supposed to know you were judging me? And really it’s not like you’ve never been to a brothel Geralt, you’re hardly an innocent, don’t try to shame me with that.”

“And your singing is actually quite good.” Geralt said gently, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “Even if some of your recent songs...sting a bit. Being up there with you while you performed every night was...special. I liked it.”

Jaskier swallowed again, unable to keep the dumb grin off his face even as he thought he might start crying again. “So not like a fillingless pie?” He asked, a little facetiously. His eyes widened and he jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “What about that time you started howling in the middle of my set? You frightened the entire tavern! I thought we were going to be run out of town for sure!”

Geralt laughed at that, a lovely deep warm sound. “That was because I saw a pickpocket in the crowd, I figured spooking them with a howl would be better than lunging into the crowd growling. It worked too, which was a nice surprise.”

Jaskier laughed too, a real laugh, not the kind of tight ones other people had gotten from him over the past months, the real kind that had only come when he was alone with his traveling companion.

“I think I’m going to miss wolf Geralt.” He said, tilting his head to the side, surprised at how sad he really felt at that realization. “I mean obviously I’m thrilled you’re not dead, or cursed, but the last two months have been so lovely.”

“Well, if you don’t mind Witcher Geralt too much I’d like to keep traveling with you.” Geralt said quietly. He glanced down at the way they were holding each other, then looked back up. “And maybe start a few things over while we’re at it?”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered in his chest, but he chewed his lip. All those nights of telling himself that he’d never go back to traveling with the Witcher coming back to him. All conversations Geralt had actually heard of course, meaning the Witcher knew exactly what he was really asking.

“How do I know it won’t go back to how it was?” Jaskier asked, a bit of fear creeping into his voice. “What happens when talking has lost its novelty and you’re back to growls and grunts, when you’re mad at being slowed down by me and need someone to take it out on?”

“This time I want to follow you. If you’ll let me.” Geralt said, gently resting his forehead against Jaskier’s. “The way we’ve done these past months. You go where you want, and I’ll take whatever contracts I find along the way, that way you don’t have to give up anything anymore to be around me, you can set the pace.” He brushed a thumb across Jaskier’s cheek. “It was nice following you around as a wolf, I think it would still be nice as a Witcher.”

“You use that line on every boy you flirt with?” Jaskier teased, but his smile was real. “I think I’d like that.” His expression grew serious. “But I will take you up on your offer of running you through with your own sword if you start being an imbecile again.”

“Good.” Geralt chuckled, brushing his nose against Jaskier’s. “And I promise no more growling or snapping at you, I’ve done well with that rule these past few weeks haven’t I?”

“You have.” Jaskier nodded tearily. “Although I thought it was just because I kept bribing you with treats.”

“I won’t pretend those didn’t help some.” Geralt teased.

Jaskier’s heart skipped as Geralt took his face in his hands and closed the last inches between them, kissing him softly. He closed his eyes, leaning into it, allowing the dozens of clamoring thoughts and questions inside him to still for at least a moment. A very good, very quiet moment.

As the kiss ended he gazed at Geralt, knowing he was probably a bit starry eyed. Behind them Roach huffed and stamped the ground, breaking the moment.

“I haven’t forgotten you either, girl.” Geralt said fondly, letting go of Jaskier and walking over to her, firmly stroking her nose and kissing her forehead. “I was so worried about you, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Roach swished her tail and nickered, affectionately shoving her head against Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier gasped, his eyes lighting up. “I just realized this is all going to make a brilliant song.” He said, nearly giddy at the thought as he fished his notebook out of his pocket. “The Witcher Wolf, a rousing ballad about transformation and reconciliation.”

“Well be sure to put your apple theft in there somewhere.” Geralt snorted, pulling his clothes out of the saddle bags and starting to shrug them on. He grimaced as he pulled on his pants. “Have clothes always been this claustrophobic?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t mind if you left them off, but I can’t speak for the townspeople.” Jaskier said with a smirk, already scribbling snatches of lyric ideas in his notebook. He looked up, eyebrows raising as he watched Geralt struggle into his boots. “Hang on, that’s why you never licked people like other dogs do, because you were Real Geralt the whole time.”

“I had to keep my dignity somehow.” Geralt said, frowning as his fingers slipped a bit at his shirt buttons. “Darn fingers are going to take some getting used to.”

“Oh, dignity eh?” Jaskier smirked, coming up and doing the witcher’s shirt buttons for him. “So what about that time at the butcher’s last week when you-"

“If you ever mention that aloud I'm tossing you to the very next monster I see and walking away.” Geralt said sternly.

“Oh but now I have so many excellent stories about you!” Jaskier said gleefully. “Wouldn’t Yennifer love to hear about last month, when we were hiking through that forest and you decided to-"

Jaskier yelped as Geralt scooped him up and unceremoniously slung him over Roach’s back like a hunting trophy. Jaskier laughed as he clumsily righted himself in the saddle just as Geralt started moving, pulling Roach to walk with him down the road.

“Better get started on that wolf song, bard.” Geralt said, looking over his shoulder with a smile and handing him the notebook and pencil he’d dropped. “I think that’s a much better use of your breath.”

“Well, if you insist.” Jaskier said, primly taking back his notebook and pencil, but still grinning.

Because he got the feeling that things weren’t going to go back to the way they had been before. He got the feeling that they were going to be much, much better.

---------

Read Geralt’s POV with extra scenes!

[Geralt’s POV Chapter 1] [Geralt’s POV Chapter 2]

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #actualwolf!geralt #im finally getting smarter and going back to doing hefty oneshots instead of only sprawling multichapter fics and it feels good #wit writes #i felt all my wolf girl powers reactivating while writing this

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kirikinni · 4 years

Text

Will You Still Be Here? | krbk

Summary: High school relationships never last but sometimes there really is only one person for you.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou

Word Count: 11k

Themes: no quirks, normal world au, kiribaku break up, slight nsfw themes

Warning: depression, hinting to abusive relationships, mental health, slight nsfw but like if you squint.

Kirishima Eijirou has always given more than he gets, he has always been the one to pick up calls at three in the morning or stay overnight to make sure they’re okay. Kirishima Eijirou has always been an empath and his mother told him a long time ago that that very thing would back to bite him in the ass. High school was fun, he made friends, scored decently in his classes and got into all the trouble he possibly could have. In high school he met Bakugou Katsuki, in high school he met the love of his life. It was in high school where Kirishima felt like the world was right and the pieces finally connected, it was in high school when Kirishima Eijirou finally felt like he had everything he needed and then all of a sudden he didn’t.

It was a fight here and there at first, they would argue about where to eat or about Bakugou’s anger issues but they would always make up. The two boys would always make up before long and would be seen together soon enough. In the beginning it was a broken pencil or a word that stung a little more than necessary but they would always apologize and they would be in each others arms again. In the beginning it was a hole punched in Kirishima’s bedroom wall and refusal to get help. In the beginning it was name calling and ignoring the signs until that was all it was.

Bakugou Katsuki was damaged, Kirishima knew this when they became friends, he knew this when he started to fall for his friend, he knew this when he finally asked Bakugou out and he knew this when he said ‘I love you’ and he believed that it was nothing he couldn’t fix. Kirishima Eijirou was going to help his boyfriend, he was going to fix his problems and help him become confident and whole again. He was going to love him and support him until that happened but people have limits.

Children have limits and Kirishima found his months before graduation during after school club activities.

“Katsuki hold on.” Kirishima called out as he jogged after his boyfriend. Katsuki had lost a game of dodgeball, being struck out by none other than Izuku Midoriya and that definitely struck a nerve. Midoriya and Bakugou had never really been the best of friends, they’ve known each other forever but he never liked the other boy. Bakugou thought Midoriya was making fun of him, thought that Midoriya was weak and child like for clinging to Bakugou like he did. Kirishima knew it wasn’t any of that and instead just Bakugou projecting his emotions onto the one person who never gave up on him.

“What shitty hair?” He asked, gritting his teeth together. He could not get angry at his boyfriend, he could not angry at someone else and take it out on his boyfriend, he was not going to make Kirishima upset. Bakugou repeated those words like a mantra in his head, ever since he had accidentally blown up on Kirishima and made him cry he had been trying to get control over his anger. To try and not hurt the people he loves because he was too afraid to accept love and support. “What?” he asked again, softer this time. Making a conscious effort to not redirect his anger.

“What happened baby? It’s just a game, remember we talked about this? We talked about not getting so blown up over such small things, you don’t have to be number one at everything. You’re already acing most of the classes, you’re the captain of both the football and basketball teams, the band is due to play next week at the café. Things are going good. You are winning, at the important stuff. This doesn’t matter.” He said softly, trying to remind Bakugou of all the good in his life trying to bring him down from his explosive high.

“You don’t fucking understand.” He said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He was not going to get angry, he was not going to scream at his boyfriend.

“Katsu, I do. I get it baby, you need to win but this is silly. This isn’t something you need to win, there’s so much else you can focus on. So much else for you to be passionate about.” He said trying again, Kirishima did not in that minute realize how far he was pushing Bakugou and unbeknownst to him the end of his happy ending was nearing.

“Kiri stop.” He said, feeling the rage climb through his body like a monster taking over. As if the emotion boiled in the very pit on his stomach and it climbed all the way through his body, engulfing him in flames and covering his vision. His anger, his insecurities, his fears all of it spread like a wildfire in a forest with no regard for what it burns or who it kills.

“Katsuki listen to me. There is so much more than this competition you have, there is so much more than this silly fire you have to beat everyone at everything. You are killing yourself, you are hurting everyone around you because you refuse to understand that this is pointless. This feud with Midoriya, this need to be number one at everything, this anger that makes you who you aren’t. It’s pointless and I need you to understand that.” He said and waited. Bakugou’s eyes were downcast, they refused to meet Kirishima but when he finally did there was nothing but malice. Nothing but a fire that burned so bright Kirishima knew he was about to get burnt.

“You wouldn’t fucking understand, you’re okay with being the underdog. You’re okay with being second best, hell you’re okay not even being in the running. You have no fire or passion so you wouldn’t fucking understand. There’s more? There’s so much more? What’s there huh? You? Are you more? You’re delusional and pathetic and you’re stopping me from reaching what I need to reach.” He spat out, his words laced with poison, teeth bared but voice nothing above a whisper. The same decibel at which he would sing ‘I love you’s’.

“Apologize.” Kirishima spoke, his eyes brimming with hot tears, his fists balled up as though he was going to punch his boyfriend. As though he was going to finally throw a punch back but no, his fists were closed to stop the tears from falling. His fists where closed because he hoped the pain from his fingernails puncturing his skin would be enough to dull the knives that where tore at his heart.

He waited, he stood in silence and waited for the apology to come but nothing did. The silence was somehow worse and he did something he never thought he could, he pushed Bakugou to the ground, hands wrapped around his shirt collar. “APOLOGIZE YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” He screamed at the boy and pulled his face up close, as close as he would hold it when they kissed.

Kirishima was pulled off the other boy by his friends, he was dragged off the boy he thought loved him. He was dragged off and his friends felt the heat of his tears fall on their hands, they knew what this meant and the end had come sooner than any of them had expected.

It had been years since the incident, years since Bakugou Katsuki ripped Kirishima’s heart out and chewed it up. Five years to be exact, Kirishima had gotten his business degree and was now working at a company in Tokyo. Still young, still new to his job he lived in a one bedroom apartment with hopes that life will take off one day. He lived most of his days without sparing his past flame a thought but there would be a song on the radio or a meal made in a specific way and he would come crashing down on his kitchen floor and waves of sadness would hit him. He would lay still, bunched up with his knees pressed against his chest as the tears flowed until they eventually stopped. He would cry until they washed away the memories of his touch and his smell and his loving words and all that was left would be the day they broke.

The tears would wash away the good and remind him of the pain and the broken pencils and the constant competition. He would be left with the memory of an empty watering can, gathering rust in the corners, an empty watering can that he has since not been able to fill.

“Kiri you wanna get dinner after work?” His friend asked as he leaned over his own cubicle.

“Sure Kams, where’d you have in mind?” Kirishima asked, not turning his eyes away from the spreadsheet he was editing.

“There’s this new restaurant, opened last week and they have live music. The singers supposed to be really good.”

“Yeah okay, I’ll come down to your floor when I get off cool?”

“Cool, see you later.”

Kaminari and Kirishima joined the company around the same time, both initially thought they would have to beat out the other for the position but both got in and now they spent quite a bit of time together. Kaminari was the only other real friend Kirishima had, his fiancée Jirou was sweet and they would all hang out together sometimes but they weren’t really friends.

Kirishima was grateful for Kaminari, he didn’t ask for a lot from him only that they hung out every so often and that Kirishima played badminton with him. It was an easy type of friendship, no twists or turns, no unwanted fights or late nights discussing the future. They weren’t children anymore, there was no need to discuss the future because this was it. This was their future, Kaminari and Kirishima would work this job, get promoted and milk it until they can retire, Kaminari would marry Jirou and Kirishima would attend the wedding. Maybe years ahead Kirishima will fall in love again, get married, start a family and he will forever in the shadow of the love he lost, forever with the emptiness of that rusting watering can inside him. This was their future so there was no need to think about it or talk about it.

They simply existed and that was all they really wanted to do.

At around 7:00 pm Kirishima switched off his monitor and stretched in his chair, running his hand through his black hair and loosening his tie. Kirishima had stopped dying his hair two years ago. He had been there longer than he expected but Kaminari had not called or texted so he assumed that he was caught up as well. Kirishima gathered his things, pulled his blazer on and walked away from the only thing that gave his life purpose anymore.

“Busy?” Kirishima asked his friend as he stepped out of the elevator on Kaminari’s floor.

“Ah fuck yeah, just give me ten and I’ll wrap up.” Kaminari said and went back to furiously typing away at his laptop.

Kirishima wordlessly sat beside him in a nearby cubicle and waited for his friend to finish. As he watched Kaminari work he was struck again by the thought of how mundane their lives where. How unbelievably still and steady their lives where and while at one point that might have made him sad now it was a relief. Kirishima, at age twenty three had no energy, nothing left to give and with every passing year he felt the rust settle in deeper, take a tighter hold on his being.

Soon Kaminari was done and they could go, the boys walked together out of their office building and down the street. The cold air of the night blew against their faces but after a year in the city they had been accustomed to it. Kaminari led the way to the restaurant, singing it’s praise the whole way. Kaminari was much more animated than Kirishima, he had the glow of one in love, the glow of one who was still full and Kirishima envied him sometimes but most times he pretended not to notice.

“Hi, table for two please.” Kaminari said the lady at the front. She smiled at the boys and led them to a table a little way from the stage but close enough to see. It looked like an old American speakeasy, complete with the wooden bar and stage for a single performer. It was dull and the lights hung low as men and women bustled around serving food on silver platters. Kirishima wondered for a second what their days where like, whether they too where satisfied with the dull of everyday life but the waitress brought them their menu and the thought left him.

Kirishima had no time or interest in trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe anymore, no want to understand the reasoning behind human behavior. There was a time Kirishima wanted to study psychology, become a therapist, help people grow, give them what they needed but that was before the can dried up.

They ordered their food, Katsudon for Kirishima and a burger for Kaminari, ordered a couple of beers and settled into their seats. Kirishima followed the pattern of asking Kaminari about the wedding prep, Kaminari teased Kirishima for still not having a date. They talked about things that were neither here nor there. Things that mattered and didn’t, things that never really made a difference and then their food came.

The lights near the stage dulled as they ate and Kaminari noted that the singer must have arrived. The two boys turned their heads to the stage and watched, their interest split quite unevenly between the food and the awaited singer.

There was a complete lack of light on the stage and only sounds of scuffling that came from that area for a while as they set up. Kirishima turned his attention back to his food until the first few notes of the song floated past the various heads and silver platters straight through his ears.

“All I want is nothing more to hear you knocking at my door.”

“Kiri stop running you loser!”

“Be faster then asshole.”

“Cause if I could see your face once more I could die as a happy man I’m sure.”

“Hey, you know you’re like the only person I like here.”

“Aw I like you too dumbass.”

“When you said your last goodbye I died a little bit inside.”

“Hey, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither…. Want me to tell you a story?”

“I lay in tears in bed all night alone without you by my side.”

“Hey um, I know you said you where busy today but do you wanna go out with me? Like on a date?”

“But if you loved me why’d you leave me?”

“I love you Katsuki.”

“I love you too Eijirou.”

As the song played, as the music continued and the voice, his voice penetrated his ears, swam through his memories and broke open locks, every memory he had washed away with time and tears and alcohol drowned him.

Kirishima locked eyes with the singer, he wasn’t sure if he had recognized him but Kirishima had seen him. Kirishima knew who it was and Kirishima knew what this meant. He wanted to tear his eyes away, to get up and leave, to pretend this never happened and continue with the life he had built but he couldn’t. He was stuck in place, eyes glued to the stage, to the singer.

The song ended and Kirishima watched on in a daze as if he was watching a movie of his own memories. The song ended and the restaurant erupted in cheers for the singer who smiled and stood up to take a bow.

“Ah thank you everyone, I’m sorry it was so sad but this is one of my favorites. A personal song, after all art is always better with emotions isn’t it?” He asked the crowd and they responded with applause. Kirishima didn’t. “Hello everyone, I’ll be your entertainment for tonight and for every night until Shoto kicks me out. My name is Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Katsuki.” Kirishima whispered under his breath the same time as the singer mentioned his name.

Kirishima had walked out of there with his head hung low after dinner, he stayed and watched Bakugou sing. Watched as he smiled and laughed and interacted with the audience, Kirishima was grateful that they were seated away from the stage. Kaminari didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and even if he didn’t he didn’t acknowledge it.

Kirishima was grateful, he didn’t want to get into his history with the singer who’s blonde hair was reflecting the light stage lights. He looked good, looked better, looked happier and it stung. It pierced through Kirishima that he looked happier while he was still here breaking down from waves of nostalgia and sadness every time he smelled fresh acrylic paints.

Once they finished their meal Kaminari wanted to stay and compliment the singer and chef but Kirishima dished out the excuse he had been working on all night and squirrelled his way out of the restaurant. On the walk back home Kirishima’s heart pounded so loud he felt like there was a marching band following him all the way back to his apartment. He couldn’t stop the wave of memories that took over his mind, the feeling of Bakugou’s hands in his, his legs wrapped around his waist, the heat of his breath against his neck, the soft skin under his lips when they were alone.

It was too much, the memories they beat against him like a sudden downpour, like a storm he had not paid attention to but had grown nevertheless. The smell of Bakugou cooking snacks for them after school, the sound of his loud and thunderous laughter that ricocheted off the walls of his room, the feeling of his soft touches and hot tears after a fight. His touch, his smell, everything about him had engulfed Kirishima’s life once more and it was surrounding him.

Bakugou Katsuki was drowning him all over again.

When Kirishima woke up the next morning he woke up on the floor of his apartment, inches away from his bedroom door, his work clothes still on and his tie discarded in another corner of the room. He looked around in a daze and noticed the mess he had made, how he had trashed his own home because of someone who he knew in what seemed like a different life from now. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes where scattered on the counter and it smelt like he had burnt whatever he was trying to make. There were clothes scattered on the floor and an open suitcase like he was trying to make a run for it, a half empty bottle of scotch on the table and a glass broken against the adjacent wall.

Kirishima had drowned last night and he had made sure he tore down everything else with it. He rubbed his eyes and pressed a hand to his aching head as he looked around for his clock. It was no longer mounted stylishly on his wall but rather was tucked away underneath a bookshelf, thankfully not broken.

“10:00 am” The clock read and he sighed, he was late for work. He hadn’t called in, hadn’t submitted a request for leave but he here he was sitting on the floor not making any kind of move to get up and rush to work. Apologize, grovel, beg for his boss to forgive him. He should be up and hauling his ass to do that and all else but he did nothing. He sat still and stared at the broken glass before laying back down on his back.

Kirishima closed his eyes and when he opened them again it was noon, this time he moved but with no particular rush. He found his phone after a solid ten minutes of searching and checked the many messages he had received from Kaminari asking where he was. Apparently Kaminari had made some bullshit excuse about his getting food poisoning from the food they had and their manager had bought it but expected Kirishima to make up his missing hours by the end of the week and turn in that days reports.

He let out a dry laugh, the excuses, the hungover mornings, the thought of Katsuki Bakugou lingering on his mind, it was all too much like high school, all that was missing was his taste on the tips of his tongue and his hands curled around Bakugou’s hair. He groaned loudly and slapped himself so hard it stung and got off the ground. He stood on his own feet, using the couch near him as support and looked around at the mess he had created. He needed to clean, Kirishima knew that he had to clean but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to clean the mess he had created, the mess Bakugou had created so he did nothing.

Instead he left the house exactly how it was and went to shower instead, he scrubbed and scrubbed at his body, every inch, all the hard to reach spots, shampooed himself twice, thrice, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how many times he washed himself the scent never left, the lingering scent of a love lost, the scent of possibility, of wicked horrid hope and possibility lingered on his body and he hated every part of it.

Kirishima only got out of the shower when the water turned freezing cold, he didn’t bother changing into any sort of clothes and instead just sat in his towel for a long while staring at himself in the mirror. He stared at the man in front of him, sometimes shifting from his current self to the image of the seventeen year old who fell in love with his best friend. Kirishima felt tears well up in his eyes but rubbed them away, rough hands against soft skin, he rubbed his eyes until they were red and raw.

He got up and changed into slacks and a red t-shirt and looked at himself once again trying to find where that spark of hope was coming from. Trying to understand why suddenly he didn’t look familiar, where that gaping hole had unpatched itself. There was no denying that he couldn’t recognize who he was looking at, the child in him, the one he locked away a long time ago seemed to be clawing at his bars, begging to be released yet the black hair and sullen face remained like a never-ending prison sentence. Kirishima sighed and pulled out his laptop, typing out an apology to his boss and thanking him for being so understanding of the situation. He got up and decided that if nothing else he would clear his head today. He would remove any and all thoughts he was having about his past and about Bakugou and he would come back the same man who had his life sorted so he plugged his headphones in and went for a walk.

Kirishima was used to this neighborhood, he’s lived here for nearly two years and nothing really changed here. It was the same shopkeepers who called out the prices of their new wares to him as he walked past, the same kids who would run around and play tag or catch or whatever the game of the day was. The same people, same buildings, same lives. He liked it, he liked how much normality existed in his life. He liked the routine more than he would have cared to admit but something was different today.

Kirishima was different today, unlike most days when he would walk past without much occupying his mind today he was lost deep in thought. Thoughts of a blonde lover and the feeling of finding his other half, thoughts of dreams and promises, and adventures that were far from complete. Initially, he was resolved to not think about anything to do with Bakugou but as his steps raised in count and the cold air outside prickled at his skin all he could do was think about the blonde. So he took a deep breath and let himself feel, he let himself relax and let the thoughts consume him so he could let it run through him like water. Let it wash over him and remove whatever he couldn’t keep with him.

“Eiji can you um can you help me with this?” Kirishima smiled a little, the memory of a soft Katsuki Bakugou was something he held deep in his heart. No one believed him, the one time he mentioned how sweet and nervous Bakugou really was no one really believed him but he understood. Katsuki was something hidden, something private and Kirishima had been lucky enough to be allowed into that something. Kirishima was lucky enough to see the side Bakugou tried so hard to hide. Kirishima remembered what came after the question, he remembered turning his head to look at a nervous Bakugou Katsuki, clutching a notebook so tight Kirishima was sure it was going to tear. Bakugou hated losing, he hated not knowing and more than anything he hated asking for help so the fact that Bakugou had come to him meant more than Kirishima could put into words. Kirishima had had a crush on Bakugou since nearly the beginning of their high school careers but right now, with a fifteen year old Bakugou Katsuki standing above him, head hung low glaring holes into the ground was when he really began to fall. Of course Kirishima helped him, he stayed on the floor with his best friend explaining over and over the topic until Bakugou got it, until he smiled so wide with triumph painted across his features it made Kirishima’s heart feel warm.

He sighed at the memory, there was so much of Bakugou that Kirishima knew. So much of the blonde that only Kirishima knew and it would make him a little sad and a little happy but more than anything Kirishima was always grateful. He was so grateful for the right to be allowed inside his heart, grateful to be the one who could calm an explosion with just the touch of a finger. Bakugou was special and somehow, somewhere Kirishima became special to Bakugou.

Kirishima’s mind drifted to the first time Katsuki kissed him, he felt his eyes sting at the memory and his fists curled tight. It wasn’t a passionate taking over of his mind and body like their friends guessed but rather it was a question, something so soft almost a whisper that Kirishima almost didn’t hear “C-can I kiss you?”. It was a single question he asked, spoke as though he was afraid of what Kirishima would say, travelled through the little space that was left between them until he closed the space. Kirishima’s hands moved as though on instinct, cupping Bakugou’s face and pulling him close. It was kind and caring, the kiss was dipped in honey and smothering sweet like Kirishima knew just how much Bakugou needed it. Like he knew just how much of himself was wrapped in barbed wire and hidden away deep under layers of self doubt and insecurities.

Kirishima realised early on in their friendship how much of the child inside Katsuki Bakugou was beaten and moulded into what he is now, how much of the softness and the area to make mistakes was torn away to leave only this rough and scared boy. He realised how much Bakugou struggled with the idea of weakness, how afraid he was of failure and disappointing those around him and himself. Everytime Bakugou flinched when someone older than him raised their hands, the miniscule changes in his face when he was told he didn’t do enough. Kirishima knew the heaviness that weighed on Bakugou’s chest and he spent the better part of his high school career trying to remove it, trying to coax the sweetness back out of him.

“It’s comfortable with you, like you bring peace to my life.”

So Kirishima always kissed him soft, he always held his hands as though he was holding a new born and talked sweet. His hands would trace the lines on Bakugou’s face and the scars on his body, he would breathe into kisses and smile against the other boys lips. There was nothing fast or needy about the way the boys held each other, they took their time and learnt each other at a slow pace. They discovered pleasure and pain and became in tune to each others bodies and minds. Kirishima made it clear every time their bodies connected that he was here, he was in love and he would take care of the other.

Lost in his memories of his lover Kirishima finally found himself back at the restaurant, his feet had traced the path back to the restaurant and a single look inside the large window was enough to drop Kirishima’s heart down to his feet.

There he was, the boy he had just been day dreaming about except he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was older, taller, filled out his frame, his hair was trimmed at the back and sides and he had metal in his ears but that wasn’t what caught Kirishima. It was the way he was laughing, it was the simple fact that Bakugou was laughing. His head thrown back and his mouth open in a way that suggested loud guffaws. Kirishima felt a cold hand wrap around his neck as he watched the man he was so in love with laugh with another. The other man, hair half red and half white stood at the table opposite from Bakugou an unamused expression on his face.

Kirishima watched as Bakugou’s eyes crinkled and his expression settled into something that was comfortable, something that felt right at home, an expression he remembered fondly from when he would hold the blonde in his arms. It was an expression he wore only for Kirishima but here he was, with another sharing what Kirishima helped bring out. Maybe Kirishima would have worked up the courage to walk in there, to grab Bakugou and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe any longer. Maybe he would have slapped him, called him horrible names and blame him for giving up on them. Maybe he would have done many things if Bakugou hadn’t turned around to face him so instead Kirishima ran. He ran from the one person he had sworn to never run from, the one person he promised he would stick by. He ran until his lungs gave out and collapsed against a wall, he sat there trying to catch his breath, trying to expel the image of a laughing older Bakugou Katsuki from his mind but the harder he tried the harder it got.

He sat there, back pressed against the wall as images of Bakugou rushed past his eyes, his black tanktop and the way his skin gleamed against the dark color. The way his body fit so well into what he wore and the metal in his ears, the longer he thought about the more erotic the images in his mind became. Katsuki Bakugou was no longer a scrawny fifteen year old but he was older, he was built, he was undeniably attractive and a twenty three year old Eijirou Kirishima wanted nothing more than to be smothered by the other man.

Kirishima ran all the way back to his apartment again trying to shut out the thoughts that took over his brain but it was of no use. By the time he reached home his mind was so overcome with thoughts of Bakugou Katsuki all he could do was bee line to his washroom and fix the heat that began at the pit of his stomach with one hand in his pants and another covering his eyes.

After that day Kirishima made a promise to himself that he would never go to the restaurant again, he didn’t want to be imprisoned by Bakugou Katsuki, not again but he wasn’t so completely on board. Almost subconsciously he found himself adding to his jogging routine and going by the restaurant every morning, came out of his daze after work and realized he has once again walked past the restaurant so two weeks passed and now Kirishima was their most loyal customer and Bakugou was the most frequent visitor in his dreams. A few days after trying to deny it he gave in and decided that if nothing else he would be able to see him, watch him smile, listen to him sing. If nothing else he could at least know that the one he loved once was happy.

It was one such day, Kirishima was sitting at the back finishing off a pastry and waiting for Bakugou to take the stage when a girl a few years younger to him walked over. “He’s not coming in today by the way.” She said as she cleared the empty coffee mug. Kirishima looked up at her, his eyes stretched wide in shock and unsure whether she was talking to him but one look at her face and he knew. “Our food isn’t that good also, don’t worry i won’t tell.” she said and winked at the boy before walking away.

A string of curses were let loose in Kirishima’s mind as he went over the possibility of her knowing he was here to see Bakugou, the even worse possibility of Bakugou knowing he was here but just before his mind could explode the girl returned. “Mina, it’s nice to meet you. My cousin runs the restaurant.” she said and stuck a hand out to him. Kirishima stared at her for a minute before gingerly taking her hand and shaking it. “Kirishima.”

“Oh calm down, I won’t tell on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he replied and moved to get out of the seat and the restaurant. He had no intentions of meeting Bakugou, no intentions of him ever even knowing that Kirishima was here but here he was, cornered by this stranger.

“I’ve seen you around you know, in the morning you run across the restaurant and stop to stretch for a while and then I see you come in everyday in your suits to get food. Honestly at first I thought you just really liked our food but then I really saw you. He was singing that song, the sad one that he sings when he gets really upset and you were looking at him with such sadness in your eyes. You looked like all you wanted was right in front of you and you couldn’t bare not having it. You reached out your hand as if you were reaching for him and my heart broke Kirishima san-”

Before Mina could finish Kirishima was out of his chair and moving out of the restaurant though, his heart was thundering in his chest as he rushed back to his home. That night the dreams found him again except it was nothing and everything all at once. For the entirety of his dream all he did was watch Bakugou sing, he watched him sing the same song, eyes locked onto him but the whole time feeling invisible. It was like Katsuki was looking through Kirishima, like he didn’t even realise he was there though he was sitting right in front of him. Kirishima woke up in tears and didn’t sleep much the rest of the night.

It had been three weeks since Kirishima ran out of the restaurant, he made the most conscious effort to go nowhere near the place. Went out of his way to take a different route home, turned down any invitation to visit the restaurant again until Kaminari brought up the one thing he really couldn’t refuse.

“Hey man, so rehearsal dinner is this Saturday. It’s gonna be at that restaurant we went to and don’t worry it’s a small crowd so you won’t get smothered by people. Please come, it would mean a lot if you did.” Kaminari said to him, his eyes begging, over their lunch break. The date for Kaminari and Jirou’s wedding was approaching fast and as Kaminari’s only real friend in the city of course Kirishima was invited. He swallowed hard at the thought of going back to the restaurant but it was for his friend. He couldn’t let his friend down so he steeled his nervousness and nodded, of course he would be there.

When the day finally arrived Kirishima took as long as he could deciding how to look, even considered dying his hair back to the bright red it used to be but eventually decided against it. He wasn’t going to attract attention to himself, if anything he was going to try and blend in so he picked out a suit that was attractive enough that Jirou wouldn’t scowl at him but basic enough to not draw attention, got ready and left his house.

By the time he arrived there where quite a few people, Kaminari saw him almost immediately and dragged him over to his fiancee and their friends. “Congrats Jirou, it’s going to be amazing when he can finally stop saying ‘my to be’.” Kirishima told her and laughed alongside her. Kaminari introduced him to his other friends from university and some from his childhood before he was let go, Kirishima took a seat next to a man named Sero, a friend from Kaminari’s university. They engaged in idle conversation, mainly about their respective jobs and trading stories about Kaminari. Kirishima didn’t really have much to share but listening to their adventures and learning just how loud and energetic Kaminari used to be was a treat of it’s own. He was glad that his friend hadn’t changed much, jus’t matured a little and retained that glow he had. Their conversation didn’t last long though as soon the food was served and Kaminari stood up demanding that it was time for toast, Kirishima bit back a laugh as he raised his glass and started on his “101 reasons why Kyouka is the best” list and later forced down the rise of envy when Jirou pulled him down and kissed him to shut him up.

“I’m gonna marry you so you can never leave me.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving anyway.”

Where was his happy ending, why was he the one destined to suffer and chase after someone who probably had forgotten all about him. Why couldn’t he move on. He felt his eyes stinging as he watched his friend attack his fiancee with kisses, the loud hollering of the other twenty year olds around him thankfully drowned out the drumming of his own heart beat as he watched.

Kirishima was so engulfed in his own thoughts and trying his best to be happy for his friends that he didn’t even notice the smile that grew on a certain pink haired girl as she finally zeroed in on her prey. She slipped away from the serving staff and ran back to the little room where Katsuki was getting ready to go on stage, “He’s here.” she said, out of breath from running so fast.

Katsuki’s face broke out in a nervous smile as he gripped his guitar tight, Mina had told him about the man who came to the restaurant solely to watch him sing. She had also apologized for chasing him away but here he was again, it was Katsuki’s second chance at this and he wouldn’t screw it up. He didn’t even know what the man looked like, what his name was, Mina had refused any information and simply told him to watch for the eyes. Katsuki had no idea what any of what she said meant at any point in time and often had written her off as a nineteen year old who was too smitten with her girlfriend to notice much else but he couldn’t deny the little excitement that was building in his stomach.

He waited until his cue was called and walked out, wincing a little at the unusual bright light. The restaurant was usually dimly lit with just enough light for everyone to comfortably see each other and the food but not bright enough for a stellar selfie.

“It’s the vibe Bakubro, you need to understand these things.” Mina had told him when he asked her about the lighting situation and he had simply shook his head. He had been working at the restaurant for around three years now, he met Shoto Todoroki in university and when he took over his fathers restaurant Katsuki joined him. The two had formed a sort of unlikely friendship, Katsuki would work in the kitchen during the morning and perform at night. He enjoyed his work, it let him sing and cook and still get paid for it and he was always in the company of good people though he would never really tell Mina or Shoto how much he appreciated having them around.

He smiled at the crowd and noticed the to be weds right away, sitting together hands tangled with each other, attached as if even a second away from the other would result in catastrophe. Bakugou smiled, he remembered that kind of a love but that was a long time ago and if he thought about it too much he wouldn’t be able to perform tonight. There would be no sad songs for tonight no matter how tightly the wire wrapped around his heart was pulled.

“Hey everyone, I’m Bakugou Katsuki and I’ll be your entertainment for the night. Congratulations to the happy couple, Kaminari Denki and Jirou Kyouka I hope you have a life of peace and comfort with each other.” He said, pouring as much sincerity into his words as he could. He watched the couple kiss before clapping for the singer and felt that familiar tightness in his chest but pushed it away like he had been doing for years now. He gave the couple a minute to come back to the rest of them before settling down and starting his music.

Kirishima felt like he was going to cry, he knew where the words Katsuki spoke came from. He had at one time wanted to say the same to Katsuki dressed in a white suit of his own but life was cruel and fate was a tricky game to play. He listened to Katsuki sing as he ate his food, sneaking glances at the boy while the others talked. He looked beautiful adorned in a simple red shirt and black pants, there was nothing extravagant about his clothes but he looked like he had stepped fresh out of a fashion magazine with the way his hair fell in his eyes and his silver chains glittered against his lightly tanned skin. Kirishima would forget to breathe if he looked at Katsuki too long but then again he always had trouble breathing around the blonde.

“Okay Kyouka it’s time.” Kaminari called out and stood up. He looked down at his betrothed and stuck out a hand, Kirishima only had time to register the look of panic in Jirou’s eyes and the one of challenge in Kaminari’s before he had pulled her out of her seat and onto the dance floor. “You said you were better than me on the dance floor? Time I prove you wrong.”

Just like that the mood in the restaurant had shifted as Bakugou changed the song and the tempo and Kaminari was spinning Jirou around. Soon people where up and joining in on the fun while Kirishima remained at his table and watched them, he loved dancing but he had loved dancing with Bakugou. He had loved a great many things with Bakugou and he simply did not have the strength to do it without him when he was right there. This didn’t stop Mina though, when she saw the boy remain at his seat she huffed and stalked over to him.

“C’mon don’t be so stuffy.” She said and pulled him out of the chair before he had a chance to protest. Kirishima tried to weasel his way out of the dance but Mina had a strong grip and he didn’t want to make a scene and ruin everyone’s night so he went along with it. Kirishima fell into the rhythm soon enough as Mina took him around the dance floor, practically leading him. He only noticed the song had slowed down when she stepped away and he was left standing point blank in front of the one person he was trying to avoid.

“..i’m still into you.”

As the song finished and the rest of the audience erupted in cheers Kirishima remained frozen in spot, his eyes locked with Katsuki’s. He felt his eyes fill up with tears as realisation spread across Katsuki’s face and his eyes widened at the sight of his first love, his childhood romance, the one who promised he would never leave. It was like time had frozen for the two men as they stood in front of each other and Kirishima was afraid to move. He was afraid that if he made even a fraction of a movement it would all disappear and Kirishima would be back on the floor of his apartment crying into his hands but Katsuki had no such fear.

He moved, he got up and he moved but before he could even get off the stage Kirishima had started to run. He backed away from the crowd, who by now where all staring at the two men, and ran out of the restaurant, forgetting everything else. The only thought that occupied his mind was to get away, he had to get away, he had to leave or the dream would be shattered. The fantasy would be broken, so he ran.

Katsuki on the other hand was left standing in front of his own stage, bewildered guests and a giggling Mina watching him for his next move. He blinked once, twice, trying to understand whether what he had seen was real or not.

“Hey man you okay?” Came a voice from his side, Katsuki whipped around to see the groom himself wearing a worried expression on his face.

“I-yeah. Oh god I’m so sorry.” He started, unable to believe that he just ruined their weddings rehearsal dinner. He bowed deeply and apologised over and over, completely going against his nature but this was someone’s wedding he had wrecked an he felt the guilt eat him up from the inside.

“Chill, it’s okay. Do you know Kiri?” Kaminari asked, patting the singer on the side of his arm.

The name sent chills through Katsuki’s body, he opened his mouth to respond but it was dry. Too dry so he closed his lips, swallowed and tried again, “Y-yeah. Kirishima and I went to school together. We were, we were friends.” he said, the word sounded hoarse in his mouth. It sounded wrong and out of place. Kirishima was never just his friend, he was so much more but how was he supposed to encompass years of admiration and adoration into a single word.

“Hmm, listen why don’t we get a drink? Kyo I’ll be back in a bit okay?” Kaminari called out and his fiancee nodded at him, offering a reassuring smile.

Kaminari led the still disoriented blonde to the bar and sat down with him, mentally preparing for whatever he was going to hear. Kaminari acted aloof, he pretended he didn’t see the longing looks Kirishima had sent towards the singer the first time they came here, he pretended he didn’t see the way Kirishima’s heart cracked when Kaminari was with Jirou but what happened on the dance floor. The way the song had come to an almost abrupt end, the intensity that followed when the two men locked eyes and especially the way Kirishima raced out the door. It really wasn’t something he could ignore anymore so he ordered two glasses of whiskey and got ready to listen.

Kirishima was hunched over his toilet seat as he puked up whatever he had eaten, seeing Katsuki, having Katsuki see him was too much. He had collapsed into his own home and made a beeline to the washroom, throwing open the door and expelling anything and everything that was in his stomach. Once he was done he slumped onto the marble floor, exhausted and sweaty. Katsuki had seen him, he had seen him, he had recognised him.

Eventually Kirishima dragged himself off the floor and stripped himself bare. He sat on the floor of his bathtub for what felt like an hour until the hot water started pruning his skin. He walked out and wrapped a towel around his waist, before he could leave Kirishima caught a glance of himself in the mirror and flinched. He hadn’t realised how tired he had become or how deep his dark circles had gone, he didn’t realise how skinny he had let himself become despite running in the mornings. His mouth tasted horrible and he looked like a reanimated corpse with all the concealer from earlier washed off. Kirishima splashed water in his face again and sighed deep, his hands pressed against the counter. He took a deep breath. This couldn’t go on, he couldn’t continue being so pathetically lost, chasing after someone who had given him up. Chasing after a dream that was long dead and gone. He picked up his tooth brush and began brushing at his teeth ferociously as thought attacking the germs would somehow remove what was deeper inside. Hot fresh tears fell from his eyes as he brushed but he refused to stop. Kirishima brushed his teeth until the tears stopped falling.

The bell rang just as he was changing, he turned to his bedroom door, eyebrows perked wondering who it could possibly be. He had already texted Kaminari and informed him that he was okay, just felt a little sick and didn’t want to ruin the party for everyone else and he had responded almost immediately. Had the other man really come to check on him? It was much too early for him to leave his own wedding party and if Kaminari really had followed him back home he was going to be positively eaten alive by guilt.

Kirishima walked to the door, his shirt lay forgotten on the bed as he walked to the door to open it and he regretted it the minute he opened it. If Kirishima had been just a little faster he probably could have slammed the door, he could have slammed the door and hid in his room until the other person went away but he wasn’t fast enough.

Katsuki anticipated this so he slipped a foot in between the door the minute it was opened, he winced when the door slammed against his foot but refused to move it. He wouldn’t mess up a second time, he wouldn’t loose him again.

“Eiji please.”

Kirishima closed his eyes as his breathing got faster, he was hiding behind his door. He couldn’t see him, he wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t prepared in any manner for this confrontation but what was he to do. Bakugou was standing on the other side, refusing to let him go so what exactly was he supposed to do other than let him in. He couldn’t exactly leave the other boy stranded out in the cold and if knew Kirishima knew anything about Bakugou it was that he was stubborn. He would wait outside and make himself sick until Kirishima let him in so he steadied himself, forced his hands to stop shaking and opened the door.

Kirishima opened the door and turned around, he didn’t want to look at him, wanted to go on pretending for however long he could so he didn’t look, he didn’t even acknowledge him and went straight for the couch. He took a seat on one side, eyes still trained on the ground as if he would miss the secrets of the universe if he looked away.

“Eiji…” Katsuki started, his voice soft and reserved like he was scared of what he was saying. Like if he spoke too loud or said something wrong everything would evaporate, Kirishima would disappear and he would be alone again so he swallowed deep and steadied his own hands before speaking again. “Eiji…” he started but stopped short, “fuck I don’t know what to say.” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kirishima let out a small laugh, slapping his hands over his mouth when he realised but that seemed to be enough for some of the tension in the room to deflate. Katsuki took a seat on the other side of the couch, waiting for Kirishima to say something, waiting for him to at least look at him but nothing came so started again, “Eijirou I’m sorry.”

Kirishima nearly snapped his neck with the speed at which he turned to look at the other man, he didn’t know what exactly he was expecting. Maybe a confrontation, an angry Katsuki Bakugou demanding to know why he was being stalked, something but definitely not this. He didn’t expect an apology so when his eyes locked with the others he forgot to feel nervous.

“I know I’m about six years too late but I’m sorry for calling you the underdog, for dismissing your passions. I know I should never have let you walk away from that. Never should stopped fighting, I’m sorry I let you give up on us, walk away fro-” Katsuki couldn’t finish what he was saying though because within seconds Kirishima had tackled him to the ground.

“I GAVE UP? I WALKED AWAY?” He yelled as his grip tightened on the boys collar. Not even five minutes into seeing each other and they were back in twelfth grade, inches away from each other with Kirishima pinning Katsuki to the ground, anger and betrayal blazing in his eyes.

“I was not the one who threw everything away, I was not the one who refused to get help or listen, I was not the one who broke a lamp because someone else flirted, because someone else spread a rumour. I did not give up on us, you did. You gave up before we even had a chance to be saved.” He spat out, everything he’s been wanting to say piling to the top of his throat but the tears in his eyes had become too much.

He couldn’t see anymore, the water that had pooled in his eyes and was blocking his vision. He knew that if he opened his mouth again all that would come out would be sobs so he stayed quiet.

It was quiet for a while as the tears fell from his eyes and landed on Katsuki’s cheeks, they felt like acid burning through the years and years of denial he had built. He looked up at the other man, his eyes wide in shock as he finally, finally realised just what he had done all those years ago. Katsuki couldn’t find anything to say, he couldn’t find his voice so he did the only thing he knew how to, he pulled Kirishima in and wrapped his arms around the other man.

He tensed for a minute as Kirishima’s hands remained at his collar but within seconds his hands had slipped from Bakugou’s collar down to his chest. Kirishima tucked his head in the crook of Katsuki’s neck and let the tears come freely. He didn’t know why and he didn’t know what he was feeling all he knew was that Bakugou’s hands felt like home and he had been searching for far too long.

They stayed like that for longer than either one expected, Kirishima eventually falling asleep in Bakugou’s hold but he didn’t budge until he finally heard the little snores from the other man. Bakugou realised too late what had happened and a smile crept onto his face so he repositioned the other man so he could left him up and carried him to the bedroom. Bakugou placed him, gently on the bed and lingered for a minute. His hand ghosted the skin on Kirishima’s face, not daring to touch him, too scared that he would ruin it. He would ruin his peace again if he touched, if he even took a wrong breath everything would shatter and the sleeping man would be awake and afraid again. He stayed there and watched his chest rise and fall, watched the way his nostrils would flutter when he breathed and smiled to himself. A smiled that was so secret, tucked away only for the person who held his heart.

The snow began to fall as he watched his lover and soon enough the streets would be blanketed in white. Soon enough they would be stuck inside with the warmth of the house and the other, soon enough the universe would play it’s final card and maybe love really does find it’s way back. Katsuki slept on the couch that day, he couldn’t bare the thought of leaving, of travelling back to his own apartment, the empty bed and the cold tiles. He couldn’t leave when Kirishima was this close so he wrapped himself tighter in his coat and fell asleep on the couch.

Kirishima woke up to a cold room and a warm blanket tickling his nose, he blinked and looked around as memories flooded his brain but nothing seemed to match. He was alone in his bedroom, the door cracked just a little, he was dressed in his own clothes and there was no sign of a fiery blonde in his home. He sat up and rubbed his head wondering if he had somehow dreamt up everything that had occurred the night before. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t have dreamt up the pain that rose in his chest, he couldn’t have dreamt the feeling of Bakugou’s arms wrapped around him. He just couldn’t have fucking dreamt any of that, it had to be real.

And it was. A few steps into his living room proved that he didn’t make any of it up, that it was real because there, asleep on his couch was Bakugou Katsuki with his blonde hair flat against his forehead and winter coat wrapped tight around him. Kirishima sucked in a breath and stumbled back inside his room, not that it was real he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to talk, he could now, all the things he had wanted to say came to him at once, he could finally talk but fear gripped his heart like it always does. The iron clad fist that curled around his strength and courage anytime he thought of contacting Katsuki was back.

Kirishima clenched his fists and grunted, he pressed his forehead against the wall and slammed his fist against it, over and over until the roaring in his ears finally stopped and when he opened his eyes again Katsuki was standing there worry dripping from his eyes.

“Good morning.” Kirishima said, straightening himself to look the other man in the eye.

“I-uh good morning Eiji-” he started but was cut off but Kirishima’s hand in front of his face.

“Kirishima. You call me Kirishima.” he said and turned around to pick up a discarded t-shirt from the chair. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah… okay Kirishima, let’s eat.” he said, his nails pressed against his skin to quell the heartache at the other mans words.

Kirishima wordlessly walked out of the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen, he could feel Bakugou walking behind him. He felt the energy that followed, he knew being told to call Kirishima Kirishima had struck him close to home but it was okay. Kirishima didn’t have the strength to hear his name play on Katsuki’s tongue so lovingly, he didn’t have a strong enough resolve to hear the way he called his name and not immediately jump into his arms.

Kirishima took out a pack of sliced bread and jam from his fridge, “what do you want?”

“Anything is fine.”

He nodded and went back to what he was doing, Kirishima would not let Bakugou bulldoze the conversation. He would not fall back into problematic patterns, he would be in control. He repeated these words in his mind over and over again while he toasted the bread and spread jam on the four slices. He made coffee for both the men, regretfully remembering the way Bakugou liked it.

Bakugou noticed and bit the inside of his mouth so as not to smile.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked finally as he placed the food and drink on the kitchen counter. He leaned against it, standing opposite from Bakugou as he ate his toast and waited for a reply.

“I work here, at Shoto’s. Singing and cooking, it’s a pretty decent gig, we met in University…” he trailed off as he watched Kirishima’s expression tighten, “Not what you wanted to hear got it. Uh shit I don’t know Ei- Kirishima, I saw you at the restaurant and my first instinct was to chase you. Fuck I half thought you where a fever dream I cooked up until your friend explained that you were in fact real and well I don’t know how could I not follow.”

Kirishima watched Bakugou as he spoke, noticed the way his body tensed up and his face became unbearably sad. If Kirishima wasn’t yelling at himself to keep it together he probably would have caved and taken Bakugou in his arms again but he stood still and he listened.

“I haven’t seen you in so long Kirishima, you dipped like two days after graduation. Hell I didn’t even know you had gone until lzuku told me.”

“Izuku?” Kirishima interrupted him surprised that Bakugou had actually used Midoriya’s first name instead of the cruel nickname he had for the boy throughout their lives. He watched Bakugou’s face flush and his hand shot up to rake through his hair before he replied.

“Ah yeah, Izu and I patched things up. He helped me a lot after we um, after we ended. Our families get together a few times a year. He’s getting married next year.” Bakugou finished, embarrassment clear on his face.

“How unexpected, I suppose you have grown up Bakugou.” Kirishima said as he finished off his bread. “Why did you follow me?”

“Fuck Kiri I had to, I couldn’t let you go again. I know I fucked up back then, I know I did everything wrong and pushed you away. I know I didn’t deserve you then but I’ve worked on it every day since. I went to therapy Kiri, I found someone who specializes in adolescent anger issues and got help. I patched things up with Izuku, I made friends, real ones in University, one of them is even my boss now. I changed Kirishima I really have and I did every single thing with the hopes that I’d find you again someday. I’ll admit in the last year that hope had faded but it was still worth it, I changed because of you.” He said and took a deep shaky breath, Kirishima could see how difficult this was. Apologising, laying his emotions out in the open had always been difficult for Baugou but he was doing it. Kirishima could see the change clear as day.

“Because I never wanted to hurt you, you’re the last person in the world I wanted to hurt but all I did was hurt you and put you through so much pain while you stayed. God fucking dammit you always stayed with me. You stayed right next to me through everything and I’m so fucking sorry.” He said and moved around the counter to stand next to Kirishima. He took the boys surprisingly cold hands in his own and spoke again, voice quiet as a whisper, “I’m sorry Eijirou, please let me prove to you I deserve you now.”

Kirishima felt his defences fall as warning bells rang in his head, looking at Bakugou so close, begging to give him another chance all Kirishima wanted to do was claim him. To pull the blonde in and kiss him and ask him a thousand times over to stay this time but something held him back. The memories of all the struggle, of all the fights and difference in opinions remained like a sour taste in his mouth.

He removed his hands from Bakugou’s hold and took the dishes to the sink.

“I can’t do this again Bakugou, you hurt me. I gave you everything, my trust, my heart, I let you into all my insecurities and laid it all bare for you and then you had the nerve to throw it back in my face. You broke things, you yelled and caused a scene when anyone would even do so much as look at me. I can’t do that again Bakugou, I’m an adult man, I have a job, I have a life.” Kirishima said and stopped, he hadn’t dared to look at Bakugou yet afraid of what he would see but if he didn’t now he would never be able to so he turned around before speaking again, “I have too much self respect to be pushed around by you again.”

Kirishima locked eyes with the other man and watched as his face fell, watched as realisation washed over him and he stepped back. He stood still for a minute, eyes downcast and when he finally looked up they where filled to the brim with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry Kirishima. I’m so fucking sorry. God I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry..” he continued like that, mumbling, repeating his apologies as the tears spilled and his hands clutched at his shirt. Bakugou had realised many things, he had fixed and grown past many things but he had never even in his worst of nightmares imagined that he had hurt Kirishima so much and the knowledge was too much.

Kirishima wanted to console the other man, he wanted to tell him that he accepted the apology and it would be okay and they could start over. It was killing him to not do anything but he didn’t move for the millionth time that day. He watched for a little while longer until his heart got the better of him and he walked forward. Kirishima took Bakugou’s hands in his own, holding them so softly as if too strong a grip would break the blonde in two.

“Thank you. It’s okay. I’m not the same person I was back then and I don’t think you are either. It’s okay.” He said and ducked his head a little to look the other man in the eyes. “You’re okay.”

A few hours later and the two where seated on the couch, on opposite ends from each other as they filled each other in on their lives after high school. Katsuki had gone on to study cooking much to his parents dismay but he enjoyed it. It helped him keep calm and his therapist thought it was ideal for his explosive tendencies. He met Shoto at university and they had made plans to work together after University was over, Katsuki had never wanted to own a restaurant, he didn’t want to deal with all the politics and business that came with it so he took on the official title as chef. He had a few boyfriends after Kirishima but none had felt right, none had been able to see Bakugou the way Kirishima could. Kirishima would be lying if he said he stomach didn’t flutter hearing those words.

“Will you come to the restaurant tomorrow?” Bakugou asked as he stepped out of the apartment, ready to leave.

Kirishima pursed his lips and held the mans gaze as he thought it over and nodded, “I’ll be there.”

“Sit up front this time.” Bakugou said and smiled at him before leaving.

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