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sugurus-slxt · 3 years

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Haikyuu Boys Walking In On You Dancing (smexy edition)

Lineup: Tsukishima Kei, Azumane Asahi, Kozume Kenma, Yamamoto Taketora and Oikawa Tōru.

Warning: cursing, one mention of alcohol, and suggestive smexy content

A/Note: So yes two in a day, I was extra motivated y’all don’t question it. It’s probably because it’s been so long. The songs are just what I like to listen to, m sorry.

Tsukishima Kei

♬♩♪♩ Sean Paul – She Doesn’t Mind ♩♪♩♬

Tsukishima was looking for his bluetooth headphones everywhere because he was positive he had left them on the couch, in the living room. However, they seemed to have grown legs and walked elsewhere, he joked to himself. “Y/N! Shorty! Have you seen my headphones?” he called loudly but no response. He walked through the house shouting your name but you were nowhere to be found. Tsukishima glanced at the clock on the wall; it read 4:30PM. He considered maybe you had been outside, possibly reading a book which you often did.

He was right; there you were blanket laid on the grass with the long-forgotten book and you standing up dancing with his headphones. You hadn’t seen him yet and he had considered stopping you but he just couldn’t. Kei stood at the door admiring the way your hips rolled and body moved. He wondered what you were listening to make you dance this way, so beautifully, so erotically. Tsukishima wasn’t much of a dancer but he’d love to be body to body with you right now. He had clearly gotten a bit too excited and the tent in his pants was proof. His cheeks burned red in embarrassment, you still dancing, unaware of his presence.

He quietly crept up behind you gently clasping his hands around your waist. You jumped a bit, immediately lowering the headphones. “I was looking for those you know,” he whispered lowly in your ear. “I- I’m sorry you can have them back now,” you apolgise trying to turn around. He held your body still, pressing his closer to yours. Then you felt it, the hardness pressed against your back, “But I want something else now. Hmmmm. Care to help me with it shortcake?” he asked his hands finding his way below your shirt, caressing your chest and brushing over your nipples. “K- Kei we’re outside. S-someone could see,” you tried reasoning.

“Really… Hmm you didn’t seem to mind a few seconds ago. So unless you want the neighbors to get a perfect view of your body being wrecked which I’m sure they wouldn’t mind get your ass on the bed upstairs right now,” he said biting your ear, eliciting a whimper from you. “I- y-yes sir,” you reply, pulling yourself from his grasp to go upstairs, he followed closely behind.

Azumane Asahi

♬♩♪♩ Bailando – Enrique Iglesias ♩♪♩♬

Asahi was busy at work in his office; with a tight deadline and 3 designs to perfect every waking hour was spent working. But he’s been staring at the blank page for the past 20 minutes with no breakthrough and it’s not because he couldn’t come up with anything, he just couldn’t concentrate. Why? Because right now you were just outside his door in the living room blasting music. It’s not like you meant to disturb him or had forgotten either, he just didn’t tell you.

He knows you’d insist on staying up to ungodly hours with him as he finished his designs so he told you he’d be in bed shortly, he just had some papers to sign. He hoped you would go to sleep but nope. Asahi wanted to leave you to your music he truly did, he knew you were happiest when you’re dancing and enjoying yourself but he wanted to enjoy it with you. The faster he finished the faster he could come and be with you, so he decided to tell you.

“Hey-,” the words died in his throat as his eyes landed on you. Asahi considered retreating to his office right now but he couldn’t move. You hadn’t heard him and he was kind of glad you didn’t. Your hips swayed to the beat, moving in just the right way, his eyes didn’t leave you. Your clothes hugged your body just right even if they were just sleepwear. Was that really what you wore to sleep he thought? If he had noticed all this sooner he was sure your nights would end a much different way. Asahi’s face flushed red; he cursed himself for thinking such inappropriate thoughts.

Your hands trailed up your body that was moving to the music as you finally turned to see him. “Oh! Hey, honey. I didn’t see you there,” you paused the music and walked up to him. “I- I wanted you to turn down the music. I- mean if that’s alright,” he said scratching his neck. “Yeah yeah. I’m sorry honey. Lemme do that and you can get back to your work,” you pulled his hand to your lips placing a kiss on them, and walking back to the speaker. “W-wait could you umm maybe help me with something. It's fine if you can’t,” he waved his hands in front of him. You look down to find a very turned-on Asahi and chuckled, “Mmmm Of course honey. Maybe next time you can join me dancing. I didn’t know you liked it so much.” Asahi hid his face in his hands as he followed you to the bedroom.

Kenma Kozume

♬♩♪♩ LUV – Tory Lanez ♩♪♩♬

Kenma was busy working a TikTok Livestream because his followers and subscribers have been bombarding his inbox with messages to get one. He was currently in the process of making sure everything was in order as people started popping in and saying hi. You were in the bedroom trying to strike up some inspiration but instead, you got so caught up in the music. Meanwhile, Kenma was telling them about his day but the chat was blowing up with questions so he had skipped over to answer them.

About an hour had passed and he was getting a bit hungry so he decided to headed over to the kitchen, phone in hand to get some apple pie from the fridge. Everyone started commenting typical Kodzuken, a couple people suggested that he ask you if you wanted any. His fan base was very familiar with your presence and often asked for ideas where he would interact with you. The community loved seeing the softer side of Kenma that came out when you were around. His phone was turned to face you so everyone could see you when he entered.

Not even five seconds after he opened the door he closed it. “Hey guys, ummm I need to go. I’ll come back later. Kodzuken out,” he quickly ended the stream and turned off his phone. “Hey, baby. Are you ok?” you peeked out from the door one side of your bluetooth earbuds still in. His face was tinted pink as he pushed you into the room, “I- Kitten … umm my fan base just saw… they … well how you were dancing and I-,” you stopped him pulling him to lay his head on your lap. “I’m sorry baby, but it’s nothing special. Was I bad?” You ask while stroking his hair but he sat straight up. “No! I mean no, you weren’t bad. It was just,” he played with his fingers, “It was just really seductive and it's that’s not really for my fan base to see. “

“Oh? Then who is it for then? Hmmm,” you asked in a teasing manner. He was embarrassed but still confidently answered, “For me ok. It’s for me now stop teasing me ok,” he pouted turning away from you. You giggled, “I’m sorry but maybe you want me to continue. For you alone that is?” He thought about it but then his stomach growled, “Ok I do but maybe eat some apple pie with me first?” You nodded and you both headed to the kitchen but don’t think he forgot about your suggestion.

Yamamoto Taketora

♬♩♪♩ Fast Wine – Machel Montano ♩♪♩♬

Today had gone by pretty slow, and you spent it watching movies and just spending time with Yamamoto. But now it was a bit later and you were feeling some creative juices flowing so you decided to put that to use you grabbed your stuff and set it up at the kitchen counter. He decided to up Kenma’s offer to play some games. About two hours had gone by and your shoulder was getting pretty sore. The playlist was pretty upbeat and just as you had gotten up a dance-worthy song had begun to play. You thought maybe it’d be a good warm-up.

You were swaying your body to the beat and getting in the rhythm. Your hips moved freely as you dragged your hand over your body and fit your dancing to the nature of the song. What you didn't know, is as soon as you started to dance Taketora was coming to get some snacks and check up on you. But his plans changed when he saw you dancing, he froze. If he went back now he’d definitely have to take a cold shower and he saw no difference if he stayed. So he decided to enjoy it for a bit. His cheeks were lightly dusted pink and the situation in his pants was only getting harder.

He felt weird just standing there, kind of like he was being a creep so he decided to quickly run to the kitchen and run back as the song came to a close. “H-hey baby. Just getting a snack and heading back,” he said hurriedly. “Oh ok. Did you enjoy the view?” you quirked your eyebrow smirking at him. “W-what? I didn’t see anything just you baby always se- I mean beautiful as ever,” he turned away from you and opened the fridge. You slowly walk up behind him, and start climbing your fingers up his arms, “Really nothing? I guess that’s too bad, I wanted to know what you thought. Guess I just have to assume it was terrible.”

“Wait! Baby your dancing is really amazing and sexy! How could you say it’s bad!” he shouted covering his face in realisation of what he just said. You burst out in a fit of laughter, it was so easy to get him to admit things, “Babe I’m sorry but I’m glad you like it. I didn’t know how much you saw I only caught you down to the end. But I’m glad you like it I but I do see that your little friend down there liked it much more.” You pointed down to his crotch which he covered while flushing bright red. “I’m sorry I- umm I’ll take care of it,” he apologised turning to leave. “How about we both have a shower and I can fix it for you hmm,” you held his hand and whispered in his ear. “Y-yes p-please. Thank you,” he looked down blushing as you led him to the bathroom.

Oikawa Tōru

♬♩♪♩ Hips Don’t Lie – Shakira ♩♪♩♬

Oikawa was gone for practice and you decided it’d be fun to catch up with your friends because it had been a while. You were on a video call and you guys had started talking about music and gotten into a bit of details about dancing. So now you and all your friends were showing their wining and grinding skills. This was a rather normal occurrence because in all honestly things always got wild between you guys. Put the three of you in a club and all eyes would be on you in no time. It was always a surprise how a couple shots could go such a long way.

You were going off to this song, all the seductive movements, hands dragging over the dips of your body and your hips moving at just the right tempo. Tōru had forgotten his water bottle and came back only to find you dancing. Turned on was an understatement but his time in Brazil gave him experience in more than one way and he was going to use that. This man was not shy but he did wait for the right moment to jump in. He came up behind you resting his hands on your waist, guiding your movement with his. “Hey cutie, moving that beautiful body of yours I see,” he whispered in your ear gently biting it. “You startled me,” you smiled still dancing as you put your arms back against his chest and dragged your body down his, slowly coming back up.

He started placing kisses on your neck, “Mmmm m sorry, fuck I’m not gonna make it to practice baby.” He twirled you away from his body only to bring you back and dip you. He smiled and pulled you up for a kiss. Suddenly, whistles and claps erupted, “Shit- I forgot I was talking to them.” He chuckled as they asked where they can find themselves an Oikawa Tōru. “Well ladies there’s only one and I don’t think Y/N-chan is sharing,” giving them a wink.

“Well, I don’t know you cause a lot more problems than fix them,” you joke as he clutched his chest. “How rude Y/N-chan! Maybe I’ll take your friends up on their offer then,” he crossed his arms and pouted childishly. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re all mine mister, and now what’s that about not going to practice. What did you have in mind?” you asked ending the call with your friends. He didn’t reply, just grabbed you by the waist and placed you on his lap, earning a small squeak from you.

Tell me if you'd like to see anyone else for this? Whether it's MHA or Haikyuu, maybe even Jujutsu Kaisen.

If you liked my writing, maybe you’d like to buy me a coffee?

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tamagochiie · 3 years

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when the rumbling came; erwin smith

pairing. Erwin Smith x Fem!reader

synopsis. You were tired of work, of people, and of life treating you poorly. You quickly came to the conclusion that if you were going to end your life, now would probably be a good time as any.

word count. 3.36k

tags + warnings. TRIGGER WARNING! depression, attempted to attempt suicide, reader being completely dead inside (metaphorically), modern!au, office!au (just a pinch), angst, comfort/fluff,

notes. I don’t romanticize depression or suicide. Writing is my way of coping and dealing with everything that’s going on right now; don’t worry, I’m okay, really I am. So, this one shot is more or less self indulgent. Please, if you you’re going through some hardships don’t hesitate to reach out for help. My inbox is also free, and I’m always willing to listen.

You had alway built yourself in a firm foundation made of rocks, that nothing could ever shake you and even if it did, you’d snap back like an elastic band. But very recently, very, very recently, you��ve been living on a faultline and for a while now there’d be tremors - nothing strong enough to shake you, though.

But your foundation soon turned into sand as the weeks came by and stress came to you in waves. The little tremors eventually turned into big ones. You found yourself swaying, crumbling, and now you were barely reaching the end of the week without falling to your knees and weeping, your pleas for mercy hung in the air, right in your face as if it were mocking you.

The home you had built for yourself had fallen into rubble and nothing could protect you.

Nothing could save you from all the wind and rain, and quite frankly, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to be saved. Being saved meant continuing on, meant trudging through the fight and you had no more fight left in you.

So there you sat, on the very edge of the roof of your office building with your feet dangling. Night life in the city glimmered and glowed, completely ignorant to you suffering. But it looked nice and you found yourself thankful because at least life was kind enough to give you one last “good” view before you did the deed.

I’d just have to scoot and I’d be on my way to the pavement, you thought idly.

You weren’t even scared, and maybe that’s what scared you, that you were completely okay with ending it here. That you didn’t even bat an eye when the idea came into your head while you bought yourself a sandwich during your lunch break.

It kinda felt easy like solving 1+1.

So maybe it was your calmness that scared you. Maybe it's the fact that once you had made up your mind, you had been set as if you were picking out clothes for the next day kind of set.

You swung your feet, feeling yourself scooch closer to the edge and your heart didn’t even race - not even a flutter.

You craned your neck back to look at the sky, not a single star in sight. You heavily sighed and played with your hands while you teared up and eventually cried. All the burdens you carried, the responsibilities you shouldered, and the insecurities you kept close to your heart flooded out of you in one single, painstaking sob.

Your chest heaved and your voice cracked as you screamed into a void, knowing you’d never be heard over all the honking and clamouring from the city beneath you.

“I dunno who's listening,” You croak to the night, your throat dry from all the crying, “but if I’m not supposed to die tonight, can you give me a sign...or something? Like, send someone out here to do a handstand or something. If - If there’s like, any sliver of hope I have left or whatever...If I’m not supposed to end here, then just do that because I really dunno if I’m supposed to hang on anymore...”

You never prayed a single prayer in your life, maybe just once when you were wavering in your ability to attain such a fine job as this, or when both your parents fell ill and you were left alone to fend for yourself. But other than that, you more or less suffered silently, cried to yourself when you needed to, and pulled yourself out of trouble.

It was late into the night, so the prayer was already silly to begin with. Everyone had gone home and you made sure of it because you hid in the bathroom until the lights turned off and the floor of your office was completely silent.

And the more you thought about it, as you imagined yourself hiding in that bathroom like a dumbass, you felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Well, it wasn’t like you were going to be alive to bear it into tomorrow morning anyway.

You flinched at the sudden sound of the fire exit creaking open, the metal scratching against the pavement. You turned your head and squinted at the shadows and the little light provided by the exit sign.

“Hello?” You called out to the shadows and flinched when you saw it move, heedlessly pulling yourself away from the edge as you leaned back to take a closer look.

You gasped lowly as a familiar, rather burly figure emerged from the darkness. It was your boss, Mr. Smith, who had his eyes widen in surprise, as if he was shocked to have actually found someone on the roof.

He narrowed his gaze on you and wore a tight lip as he studied you intently. He stayed near the fire exit, hand in the pocket of his clean cut slacks while the other hung by his side.

You had sworn everyone had gone home.

Not everyone, you supposed.

“Can I help you?” You asked through your sniffling, but Mr. Smith kept quiet; the silence grew to be quite awkward the longer he stood there.

After a few beats, he stepped forward, rolling up the sleeves of his button up shirt before he ran his fingers through his hair. A tremulous breath escaped his lips as he spun on the heels of his shoes, facing the wall.

You cocked your head, blinking owlishly at him. And in one, fluid motion, with little to no effort, he bent down to lean onto his hands and kicked his feet up to the air, leaning against the wall for support.

He did a handstand.

What?

You would be laughing if you weren’t in the state you were in.

Mr. Smith was still looking directly at you as he stood on his hands, his clothes bunched up beneath his chin while his face burned red from the sudden rush of blood to his head.

All you could do was leave your mouth hanging open, blinking at him in bewilderment.

With a faint grunt, Mr. Smith brought his feet back to the ground and pushed himself off his hands. He brushed his hands together to dust away the dirt before he looked back to you as he ran his hands down the creases of his vest.

“Before you say anything,” He spoke, his voice deep and velvety, “I have absolutely no idea why I did that, but there was a little voice in my head that told me to.”

You licked your lips and stayed quiet, still taking in what had just happened.

“But my question is,” He began, “are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?” You spat, but you bit your tongue and cleared your throat when you realized who you were talking to. “Sorry,” You quietly muttered, twisting yourself back to look at the building in front of you.

You listened as the footsteps behind you drew closer, ultimately coming to a quiet halt.

“Mind if I join you?” He dipped his head down to look at you and you glanced at him in the corner of your eye, shrugging your shoulders.

Mr. Smith took the spot beside you and swung his feet over the ledge, mirroring the way you sat before digging his hand back into his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes.

“You got a lighter?” He asked, sticking a cigarette between his lips. You shook your head, amazed at his nonchalant demeanor. “That’s okay, I’ve got one.”

You watched him with a puzzled look as he lit his cigarette and blew a smoke.

It was pretty obvious what you were trying to do; your eyes were red and looked sore, your cheeks stained with tears, and not to mention you were setting on the ledge of a build without your shoes on.

How was he so calm?

“I’ve seen you around the office,” He recalled, blowing a few more smokes before he turned to you, “you look like a hard worker.”

“Depends on how you define ‘hard worker’,” You mumbled. Mr. Smith brought the cigarette in front of you as if signaling you to take it. You do. “I’m more of a half-assed worker that’s just ebbing and flowing bullshit just to get the job done so I can go home and wallow in self-pity in silence.”

He chuckled. It sounded sweet.

“So why are you sitting on the ledge?”

You drew out a smoke.

“I don’t wanna live anymore.” You deadpanned. “I hate my life and I hate that it’s fucked me in the ass -” You blew another smoke before passing it back to Mr. Smith, your body a lot more calmer and your mind unfiltered, “ - without even my consent.”

“I don’t blame you,” He said earnestly, and it shocked you. The golden boy who strolled up and down the office floors with his chest out, head held high, and a smile that made every woman’s knees go weak was agreeing with you. His eyes looked like it held all the hope and promise in the world, yet he was agreeing with you.“But are you sure you wanna do that? What if life gets better?”

You snickered though no trace of amusement on your face.

“I’ve been living on ‘what ifs’, Mr. Smith,” You pointed out plainly, “I’m not about to keep going. What’s the point of living on ‘what ifs’ when nothing happens? At the end of the day, I’m just an idiot that keeps thinking, ‘What if today’s better?’, ‘What if there’s a new flavor of ice cream that’s been released and it turns out to be my favorite?’ -- it’s stupid.”

“What if your boss gives you a raise?” He smirked at you playfully but you only rolled your eyes. “What? It was worth a try.”

“Your try was shit.”

“What about if you tried a different approach?”

“Look, Mr. Smith,” You sighed in annoyance and snatched the cigarette from his hand and propped it between your lips, “I don’t have a lot of fight left in me, okay? I’ve tried, I failed. That’s it. So, would you just leave me to do what I need to do? Please?”

“If you wanted to kill yourself, you would’ve done it by now.”

You threw him a sour look, offended that he didn’t think you could do it.

But why would you be upset about that?

“You don’t know me.” You muttered.

“I know well enough that if you wanted to call quits, you wouldn’t have sat here for nearly an hour, praying for a sign.”

“You heard?”

He nodded.

“You lied!” You raised your voice and without giving it much thought, you punched him in the arm. “You said you didn’t know why you came up here!”

“Oh, I didn’t,” He calmly argued. “Not completely, anyway. I saw you go up when I was on my way out. When I noticed you didn’t take your things, not even your phone, I had a gut feeling it was something bad.”

“I waited for a little while,” He explained, “I thought that maybe you wanted some fresh air, but the longer I waited, the more worried I got. So I went up the steps just to check on you, and your voice...did you know your voice carries well in the stairwell? I heard your voice, small and completely detached from life. Even then, you were asking for help, and how could I refuse?”

“Do you make it a point to get into other people’s business?”

“Only when they’re trying to take their life.”

“And now what?” You sounded detached and uninterested, and he didn’t blame you for it. He never spoke to you outside of meetings or work, not even once. Of course his words wouldn’t have any impact. “Are you gonna tell me not to go through with it, talk me down or something? You gonna tell me ‘If you can’t live for yourself, then live for me’? That kinda dumb shit?”

He shook his head, a faint pout on his lips. Despite your mocking tone, Mr. Smith remained calm and didn’t take it personally. Though you kinda wish he did, so he could leave you alone.

“No, nothing like that....” Mr. Smith weighed his options, choosing his next words and his next approach carefully.

He’s been here before and he falls into shallow thought, remembering all the things he didn’t do and see if he could do it now.

“I - I’ve been both on both ends of the situation, I just -” Mr. Smith sighed heavily, as he rubbed his hands together, “- I didn’t do anything last time, so - so when I saw you I thought maybe I could somehow make up for it.”

“That kinda sounds shitty,” You pointed out.

It was indeed a shitty thing that you were somehow being used to clear a conscience, but you understood where his heart was at. It was nice that he was trying - it was nice that someone had noticed.

But that’s all that it was for you: it was just nice.

“I’m just so fucking tired,” You admitted, your eyes stinging with fresh tears. You tilted your head back to keep it from spilling, but like all of your attempts at anything, you failed. “I’m so fucking tired of being tired, and nothing’s going right. I’ve tried different approaches, changing my mindset. I even did all these stupid Pinterest self-help boards, but that didn’t help either. I’m desperately grasping for straws and I’ve finally decided to just...stop.”

You rolled your head, looking at your boss with lifeless eyes and it terrified him. He didn’t know what to say - not then and most certainly not now. But what does anyone say to a person who’s given up all hope and interest in living?

You seemed to have made up your mind and Mr. Smith worried that he’d have another life in his hands. He didn’t want that and he found himself growing desperate.

He liked you, whether it be a co-worker or something else, he liked seeing you around the office. You were smart and though you looked soft spoken, you most certainly weren’t. You never ceased to amaze him with the things you submitted, so he truly wondered why you felt so inadequate.

Mr. Smith couldn’t help but blame himself for not paying attention.

“I say don’t die,” He said rather confidentiality, and you furrowed your brows at this. He was becoming persistent in his meddling. “I say wait it out another day or week, and then if you really wanna, fine. I’ll even leave the emergency exit unlocked for you.”

You widened your eyes, your mouth parted but not a single sound came out.

“Why should I wait when I can do it right now?”

“Because of the ‘what ifs’.”

You grunted.

“I already told you --”

“Yes, but what if I tried to help you?”

“I’m not going to be your charity case, Mr. Smith,” You chastised. “I’d rather die than be your charity case.”

“You won’t be,” He said rather calmly. A small smile crept across his lips and his eyes twinkled against the faint glow of the city lights. “You’ll be my friend and I, too, need a friend.”

“Mr. Smith --”

“Call me Erwin.”

You cleared your throat. You felt embarrassed to say the least. You opened your mouth and found it weird when you spoke his name. You didn’t like it, but it was something you could get used to.

“Why would you wanna be my friend?”

“Because life’s fucked me in the ass without my consent, too.” It was weird hearing something so crass coming from the poster boy of perfection and all things pure. You almost thought you’d completely lost it and had imagined he ever said it. “And I heard that suffering with someone makes the experience a little less painful and a little more bearable. So, won’t you be my friend and suffer with me?”

Mr. Smith noticed your hesitance, even more so when he held his left hand out for you to take. It felt formal like he was trying to close a business deal or something. It was a bit weird.

“You’re not gonna be my reason for living,” You said, letting his hand awkwardly hang in the air. But he didn’t bother to retract it. “I’m not looking for a savior.”

“You’re looking for your strength and so am I, so let’s just look together and see what we find, mm?”

You looked at him, studied him. Why did he care so much, and why did you want to know?

After all, you did ask for a sign, yet here you were being stubborn and pretending as if you hadn’t seen it at all. You didn’t believe in miracles or spectacular alignments of the universe, but when you took his hand, you felt a warmth of reassurance - a sense of peace.

Suddenly, with a high pitch yelp from your lips, Mr. Smith quickly moved his left hand and wrapped it over you and pulled you down with him as he threw himself back onto the pavement behind you. His right hand cushioned your blow and he winced in pain when he caught you.

You found yourself tightly gripping onto the material of his sleeve when you took a peak to check on Mr. Smith. He was looking down at you, a nervous smile plastered across his face.

You shoved him off, muttering to yourself as you patted yourself down.

“That was uncalled for.” You grumbled.

“How would I know? You would’ve changed your mind for all I know.”

“I took your hand!” You chided. “That was basically me saying, ‘Okay, I’ll be your friend’! What if you had thrown yourself forward instead!”

“But I didn’t.” He replied calmly, a smile, one that irked you completely, pulled the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, but what if you had?”

“But I didn’t.”

He stood up from the floor and patted the dust and dirt of his pants before reaching down to help you up from the ground.

“Thank you for being my friend,” Mr. Smith grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

You rolled your eyes as he kept his hold around your hand, shaking it.

“Your promises don’t mean much to me.”

It had been months since your moment on the rooftop with Erwin. Though he had been keen, inviting you out for lunch, for dinner, and spared some time for small talk in passing, you were still walking on eggshells, especially because you worried that it might’ve looked unprofessional.

But really, no one cared as much as you did. Everyone had just assumed Erwin was just being kind. But still, it gave you more stress than it did comfort you, and though you had spat a few unkind words his way, he never left.

He always came back with a bright smile and offerings, whether it were candies or actual food.

Eventually, you eased in and you were no longer agitated. You found yourself looking forward to Erwin’s occasional visits to your desk or when he’d ask you out for some coffee.

At the end of every day Erwin would never miss a beat and would ask you how you were doing, and it never felt performative or forced. He was warm and genuine, and he’d share his burdens with you, too.

And you found yourself realizing that he was right, that struggling with someone made things a little less painful and a little more bearable. That despite the struggle, knowing someone so patient and understanding, would be there to catch you.

“Hey,” You spoke over the rim of your freshly brewed tea as you sat across the little round table of the coffee shop. Erwin’s eyes flicked up at you as he took a bite of his muffin. “Thanks,”

He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side, “What for?” He asked, his words muffled by his stuffed mouth.

“Thanks for being my friend.”

He smiled, a few crumbs falling from his lips and onto his plate.

“Thank you for being mine.”

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gossamer-sky · 3 years

Note

Ahhhhhh I’m so excited that your requests are open!! I love your writing 💞 Could I please request c, j, and o for Yukimura, Luka, and Sirius?

Thank you so much my dear!! I hope you enjoy ❣️❣️🥰🥰

Yukimura

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- He knows it’s dangerous (Shingen had lectured him of how certain actions can have...consequences), but he can’t help but be obsessed with the thought of shoving his come as deep inside you as he can get it

- You love it too, it’s just so good when he grinds in deep, tip of his cock hitting you just right

- He gets the most beautiful expression on his face; mouth dropping open, two blazing streaks of red high up on his cheeks, like he’s shocked every time that you’re letting him do this

- He moans when he pulls out and sees his come start to drip out of you, that just makes him want to stuff you full all over again

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- It’s a well-known fact that he is easy for you; truly, just the bat of your eyelashes can get him going, arousal hitting him low in the gut from only a look

- So when you tell him how much you’re looking forward to him pounding you into the floor later before vanishing to attend your work, his blood rushes downward so fast that he nearly goes lightheaded

- It’ll be hours until he can get you alone and just ravage you, but until then he needs relief - stumbling to his room and hoping that no one noticed his growing problem

- He presses the heel of his palm to his bulge, picturing your smug face smirking up at him, your delicate fingers freeing him from his clothes just to stroke at him teasingly

- His hands don’t feel at all like yours but he’s too far gone for that to matter, light strokes enough for him to spurt all over himself, moaning at the thought of your pink tongue cleaning it up

- You’re in for a sleepless night that’s for sure

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- He’s a hesitant at first, a little nervous; but he absolutely loves going down on you

- He could barely ask for it when you first started sleeping together, turning into a blushing mess; the second you’d spread your legs for him he would get tongue tied, overwhelmed by how badly he wanted to taste you

- He still craves it, gets greedy for it; now though, he’s aware of how much you enjoy it too, grinning when you shiver from his hands gripping your thighs

- Won’t stop until your entire body is shaking, fingers buried in his hair, desperate cries of his name escaping your lips

- He especially adores it when your hands press him even closer, loves that he can feel you throb on his tongue; he moans as much as you do when you break, shuddering around his fingers

- Could keep going until you’re screaming, wanting to spoil you until you’re no longer coherent

Luka

C = Cum

- For as bashful as he is, there are moments when he seems to shed every inhibition, eyes sharpening with striking clarity

- It never lasts a long period of time which is probably good for you, because you swear that these moments nearly cause your heart to give out

- Gaze unwavering as he watches the push of his fingers in you, stretching

- You’re so wet around him, his own come adding to the mess inside you; knuckle-deep and gently rubbing himself into your body

- His cheeks go faintly pink as he tells you that he wants you to keep it inside for just a little longer

J = Jack off

- The first time he thought of you while jacking off is burned into his mind

- He’d been trying so hard to hold off, keeping his hands busy because he knew he’d only be able to picture you; but then you suck your spoon just so while taste-testing in the kitchens

- His resolve crumbles into dust, and he can barely wait for you to leave before hiding in the pantry and getting his hand around his cock

- He bites his lip to try and gather control it doesn’t work at all, he wants to bite your neck instead

- Can’t stop himself from gasping, knees weakening from how hard he comes, mortified at his own depravity

O = Oral

- Your mouth is his single biggest temptation in life

- He absolutely has a problem with staring at your lips in public and then flushing like mad when he realizes

- It’s not his fault; you just smile at him so sweetly, kiss him until his lips are sore and then you part that pretty mouth, sliding down onto him with a moan, like it’s easy

- Oh god, it takes all of his strength not to lose it immediately with he feels your tongue, how you swallow on him

- It’s a lot and the only time he gets rather loud, helplessly taking in the lewd sight before him

Sirius

C = Cum

- Grips your jaw, slowly pushing in and out of your slick, fucked-red mouth

- His voice is low, so low when he asks you if you want it, if you need his come down your throat

- He doesn’t give you space to answer with words, but the way your eyes close, lashes shivering against flushed cheeks as you moan around him

- That’s all the answer he needs really, keeping up his steady rhythm until he shoves in just a touch more roughly and comes

- When he pulls out he gets a hand around your jaw again, pressing just hard enough that you open up to show him the mess he made on your tongue

J = Jack off

- Uses his persuasive voice to convince you to touch yourself in front of him

- Kisses you so filthy as he tells you how he wants to watch, to see where you like to touch

- It’s a little awkward until it isn’t, the power at having this man at your mercy electrifying your veins

- He’s enraptured and it’s not hard to get yourself worked up as you watch his pupils blow, rubbing himself through his trousers, lips parting on a stuttered exhale

- When you slide your fingers inside, bringing yourself over the edge with a shout of his name, he can’t keep his hands to himself any longer

- Covers you in his body, still fully clothed while you’re naked and still moaning

- Get ready to forget your own name

O = Oral

- He watches you suck him off with such a pleased look in his eyes

- Gets a hand in your hair, taking over the speed of your movements and smiling as you moan

- Tells you how absolutely gorgeous you are while his cock slides tightly into your throat

- Sometimes will pull you off and chuckle when you stick your tongue out and whine, jaw aching but still wild for the thick weight of him in your mouth

- Getting on your knees for him feels like such a privilege, and it’s even better knowing that he always returns the favour tenfold

**Inbox CLOSED**

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 30)

Notes: Well, it's here... the chapter you have all been waiting for. I can only hope that you like it and that it tugs at your heartstrings. This is my Valentine's day gift to all my wonderful readers who have stuck with me for thirty chapters for... this, I imagine. It's a start—a beginning for these two—as they step into something new. As usual, forgive any typos and I intend to reply to every one of you who commented on the last chapter. I'm so sorry for the delay in replying, things have been a bit crazy on my end, but I appreciate every single one of you.

ACOSF in two days...! And because I am desperately trying to keep spoiler free, please don't mention any snippets you may have received beyond SJM's teasers. That includes the leaked chapters—please keep it to yourself but of course, let me know what you think of the chapter and my inbox is open for any of you wanting to speak to me spoiler-free. Thank you so much <3

Chapter Thirty Cassian

Pure, undiluted rage burned inside of Cassian. It roared, drowning everything out as he landed to a blood bath of winged males impaled with pine needles, charred ashen bodies and the evidence of killing blows. But Cassian only registered them because of the years of training that had been drummed into him to catalogue and analyse his surroundings.

His hands wielded twin swords as if they were an extension of who he was but his legs… they moved of their own accord, racing towards the opening of the cave without him asking them to. Towards that scent that Cassian had no problem detecting above the blood and shit and gore.

Behind him, Lorrian swore as they stepped over the threshold of the cave’s entrance, their siphons flashing and flaring to find rusty cages lining the walls and a pit of blood in the centre. The awful images of dirty abused girls registered as Cassian desperately scanned the cave—until his eyes fell on Nesta’s back. Her leathers were streaked in red and she was kneeling in a pool of blood before an injured girl who was wreathed in that wondrous, singing light.

Frawley appeared beside them in a swirl of smoke, moving in that way she often did that hinted she was more element than being, stopping them in their tracks a few feet away.

“What took you so long,” Frawley snapped to Cassian, one blue eye boring into him whilst the other flicked to Lorrian at his side, as if her attention could not help but be drawn to her husband. “Get Nesta out of the trance—now. Pull on that damned cord, do whatever you need to do. She channelled her energy from the fear and despair, but her body is dropping into exhaustion. She’s going to crash earlier than expected. We haven’t trained for this. Only you—”

Frawley’s voice tuned out as the crack of Cassian’s knee-caps jarred his body as he hit the rocky floor. Wet seeped through Cassian’s leathers, courtesy of the pool of fresh blood coming from the dead male to Cassian’s right, but he barely registered. He was too busy detecting the stale scent of arousal and death and cruelty. This was a male had no doubt stuck his cock where it did not belong and caused unimaginable harm to innocent, defenceless girls as they cried and struggled.

Anger soared into the snow ruffled peaks of Cassian’s fury at the thought and the cave… it quaked in response.

“Don’t bring the cave down as you do it.” Frawley’s words bit through him, her voice wholly ancient—too like Amren’s. “Put a leash on it otherwise we’ll be buried in rubble.”

It was easier said than done to reign in that snarling beast. But then time seemed to—change. From the moment Cassian pressed his back to Nesta’s and hoarsely began to chant her name, everything blurred and tumbled. As Cassian’s eyes shut of their own accord, the cave became as dark and depthless as a night sky devoid of starlight. As Cassian was pulled deep within himself, sucked inwards by a vacuum he had no control over.

The black Cassian spiralled down towards was as thick as tar, but to his right, a shadowed veil rippled in an invisible wind. It chanted in tandem with the screaming in his mind, that one word repeated over and over and over—a mate calling to its mate. A male calling to their beloved and hoping they were enough.

That beautiful healing lullaby had started to miss the right notes, the music falling into something off-kilter and gut-wrenchingly wrong. Panic rose like bile in Cassian’s throat and he reached for that twisted rope, and, without hesitating or second guessing himself, he tugged on it with all of his might.

The resounding crack and splinter in Cassian’s ears was awful. Pain threw itself down that bond and into the heart of his chest. And then, for a beat as that pain ebbed away, there was nothing… Even the healing music stopped. The quiet was so eerie Cassian could only hear his heart beating wildly in his ears. But then he felt it: fiery strength and steely determination. A light travelling down that tether to meet his, scenting of jasmine and vanilla—of Nesta.

Then Cassian was thrown outwards and his eyes opened to find the cave bleeding back into focus and that enthralling power dying at Nesta’s hands. Her magic dropped with such suddenness that she lost balance and careened backwards into his chest. The jolt had the world tilting again, but Cassian scrambled to collect himself, encasing Nesta safely in wings and arms.

By the time those smoky blue eyes snapped open and stared up at him, Cassian was already ferociously scanning Nesta’s body for injury. He catalogued every cut and scrape, every smear of blood. He turned her hands over in his to find them stained red. There was so much death on Nesta’s hands if the charred remains and bodies impaled with fiery weapons were anything to go by. This strong, sharp female fighting for what was right—to fight for those who could not defend themselves, even as it sent her spiralling into the darkest of places.

And Cassian knew it had effected her in unthinkable ways. Knew as he stared into those beautiful eyes that had held such life in the past month and found her pupils blown wide and unseeing. Felt the churning emotions that Nesta was too overwhelmed to keep in check as they hurtled down that bond between them. Frozen wrath and terror and agony. Each sensation a double-edged sword as it was plunged into the gut, over and over.

Fury clambered inside of Cassian at the injustice of Nesta’s magic. That not only was she burdened with the tireless task of keeping a check on her own heightened emotions, but others as well. Constantly monitoring them day in and day out so they did not become too much—so they did not swell and spill over the wall she had resurrected for herself. The wall that had been lowered so it was waist-high rather than a fortress—so she was not doomed to float through life numb and unfeeling and at a distance from others.

Understanding all of that—the sacrifice and burden Nesta carried—had the cave shaking again as Cassian ordered Nesta to put her walls up. Loose pebbles and dust rained down from the ceiling, and in the periphery, Cassian heard Lorrian swear and Frawley hiss, but that anger… he couldn’t control it. It was white hot and sizzling, boiling his blood and making his power itch. His siphons hadn’t stopped flaring since he’d first felt Nesta roaring down that bond and he’d known something was dreadfully, knee-tremblingly wrong. He and Lorrian had torn through the sky as he followed that invisible tie wreathed in light—emerald and ruby shooting stars tracking their way across the sky.

And now… that anger that had been pushing against his skin was morphing into something truly terrible—the monster who became consumed by blood lust. Just as he had that day when he’d slaughtered and tortured all of the males at the Spearhead camp—

A hand rested on Cassian’s cheek, cutting through that urge to massacre and ask questions later. The touch was grounding and so unquestionably right that he leant into that blood splattered palm, relishing in the cool, slim fingers which cut through that fire.

“Walls up, Nesta,” Cassian ordered, as he felt those talons hooking deep inside of her, clawing at her, tugging her down into the oily depths where he could not reach her. He watched those eyes glaze over until they were hollow, and even though that bond was open, everything went so unearthly quiet that Cassian would have thought some vital connection had been severed if it wasn’t for the faintest glimmer of her that sparked in the gloomy dark.

Everything moved too fast after that. And the entire time Nesta walked around the cave and clearing like a phantom ghost, even as she held her hands out to assist Frawley in healing any urgent injuries.

“We need a support unit or we need to get out,” Lorrian said roughly in Cassian’s ear, as together they surveyed the bastard tied to the tree. Nesta’s bindings still glowed silver and the bastard’s head hung limp against his chest from where Cassian had knocked him out.

“Frawley can cast a shield over this place so nobody can get in or out without our say so,” Lorrian continued, “but I don’t doubt that Ironcrest will have warriors out searching for us. Not after we left so abruptly without informing anybody of where we were going. I bet the first thing Rufous did was send a messenger straight to Marsh or Kallon. I suggest we leave and come back tomorrow with males we can trust to search the place.”

Kallon—the prince who none of them had seen all day. Not even in the sparring ring. And whilst Marsh hadn’t made an appearance, it was the latter that sent warning bells ringing in Cassian’s head. Something about it was off. All of them could all sense it, but right now there were bigger matters at hand. Namely what to do with the females.

“Can you host the girls at the cottage?” Cassian asked his friend. From the girls that had been able to speak, it was clear that all of them apart from Samra and Ailie had no parents to speak of. “Set up makeshift accommodation until we decide what we need to do?”

It was dangerous territory they were stepping into. A statement and the beginnings of power-play to take females from a camp, even if it was for their safety. Lesser actions had started wars between the clans, but Cassian would not stand by. Rhys wouldn’t either. Especially not when the males were wearing bands around their arms that Cassian was certain belonged to the rebellion.

“Of course we can,” Frawley announced as she came up beside them. Nesta and Sala were close behind. The manticore had stuck to Nesta like a shadow since Cassian had arrived, as if she too could sense that Nesta was far, far away. “It will be quicker if I channel us to the cottage.”

Lorrian was frowning with concern. “All at once?”

“Needs must,” Frawley clipped, but she did not meet her husband’s eye. “It will drain me after I cast a shield but I can do it. It does mean that I won’t be able to channel you and Nesta back to Windhaven. There won’t be room—”

“That’s fine,” Cassian interjected, with a quick cut of his hand through the air. “We’ll fly from the Steppes.”

“I can help.” It was the first time Nesta had spoken in a long while and it came out as a rasp. “I still have some magic left—to help heal the girls. I can heal their wings.”

Terror gripped at Cassian’s gut but he would not tell Nesta no. He wouldn’t take this from her—her ability to heal and bring life rather than take it away. Even though Cassian was tired, he could feel the whisper of Nesta’s magic churning back to life, no doubt fuelled from the sickening history that had seeped into the landscape.

Those eyes slid to Cassian as her chin tilted upwards. And although there was a fierceness to Nesta’s expression, something was missing, as if she wasn’t really there. “I can do it.”

He nodded to show he understood, just as Frawley added, “Caer has already gone on ahead to alert my sisters. They’ll come to help heal the injured. One of them can send word to Velaris for you, assuming that’s what you need to do.”

Cassian nodded. That was essential. Cassian needed to connect with his family to tell them what had happened here. He needed to let Rhys into his mind so he could showcase the horrors and get Azriel down to interrogate the bastard Nesta had thought to keep alive rather than bring about his death.

The male that Cassian knew to be called Alaksandar had struggled and thrashed against Nesta’s magical bindings when he had first spied the general—had pissed himself as he surveyed the iron rage on Cassian’s face. It had taken everything in Cassian not to murder him on the spot, but they needed him—needed the information he would bring once Azriel plucked out Truth-Teller from its shadowy sheath. Not that Cassian wasn’t tempted to wrestle the information out of the male himself.

Time sped by after that. Frawley obliterated the shattered remains of the shield hiding the cave from sight before casting an impenetrable web of her own. Then she had weaved another bubble—her magic a smoke that glittered with such gentleness that Nesta did not tense beside him. Cassian pulled her to him anyway, burying his hands in her hair at the nape of her neck. But Nesta did not look at him. Did not even seem to notice as they blended into smoke and mist—into water and earth and air—until they were channelled into the muddy paddock that served as a sparring ring at the back of the cottage.

Frawley’s sisters had kitted out the barn with inviting, spacious beds and cast their magic so it was wonderfully warm and inviting—safe. And even though Frawley’s sisters were far more intimidating than the white-haired witch, they had all dampened their glow, emitting an aura of calm that even made Cassian forget at times that they were something ancient—something other.

Cassian sought out Kalika as soon as they landed—the dark-skinned witch of the Northern Steppes and the most terrifying of Frawley’s sisters—and dared to ask her to cast a message to Rhys which disappeared on a moth-carried wind. Frawley’s other sisters—Narihara and Andraste—swished between the kitchen and the barn, remedying and administering sleeping draughts and tinctures designed to ease pain.

Frawley saw that all of them received her tea tonic and Cassian had felt energy flush into his system before it was promptly drained again as he ferried between the barn and the cottage, pressing drinks into Nesta’s hands whenever he saw her start sway.

Somehow Cassian knew when Nesta was done—when her body was close to giving out—the tea no longer enough to replenish her magic levels which had seen her hanging just barely on the precipice of her magic reserves. Nesta had not had enough power left to heal the cuts in the girls wings, but was able to knot bone and membrane back together. It had taken Madja weeks to repair the tatters of Cassian’s wings—the spell-work too intricate for even the most skilled of healers—but Nesta melded bone and membrane back together with an ease that others could not muster. Even Frawley’s sisters had eyed Nesta with cautious admiration, as if they could sense that celestial something inside of her that set her apart from everyone and everything. A queen on a much-earned pedestal.

Cassian found Nesta kneeling by another makeshift bed, her hands emitting that pure white light as they hovered over a set of bent and torn wings. The light was buttery soft rather than blinding white, and Cassian could tell from the way it sang softly that her power was a whisper of what it should be—just as his was. Despite the multiple brews he had drank, his siphons throbbing had ebbed to a flickering pulse, something which had Frawley eyeing him in that disconcerting way of hers as she brusquely waved at him to go home and come back when he was useful.

He had not protested. He wanted to get Nesta home. For her to convalesce in a place that was associated with safety and warmth. Where she could bathe and rid herself of the blood whilst he sat with an ear to the door. Where he could ensure that she ate and looked after herself. A place where she could be herself—where she could be quiet and digest and allow herself to be hollow if that was what she needed. But Nesta now—pretending to be ok when her eyes were so blank—was making it hard to breathe.

And still down that bond, Cassian felt nothing. Wide open, for once, but utterly empty—like a tunnelled-out void.

“Nesta.” Cassian touched his fingers so they rested gently against a shoulder. She did not reply or twist to look up at him, but the light faded from her palms, like a star winking out.

Cassian took a healthy step away as the girl Nesta had been healing watched him with wary, glazed eyes. He made himself smile at her, even as the girl shrank back into herself, pressing herself into the mattress as if she was willing herself to disappear.

For the first time in Cassian’s life, he wished he could vanish the wings and the tattoos—anything that marked him as Illyrian. That reminded the girl of the horrors she had suffered.

Bending over, Nesta spoke in such hushed tones to the girl that even Cassian could not hear her. But then Nesta was standing, her posture as steely and distant as she rose as if she were balancing a crown on her head. Narihara swooped in to administer the girl a sedative to help her sleep and Sala, who had been sitting on her haunches by the bed, rose to her feet.

Together, they walked in silence out of the barn. Cassian deliberately paced himself a few feet behind Nesta and the manticore who padded at her side. Dusk was well and truly descending and starlight already dusted the night sky. In the Steppes nature was its own creature and despite the cottage, it felt as if the sky was a tangible canvas, so low they could reach up and brush the starlight with their fingertips.

“Sweetheart,” Cassian rasped softly. He had intended to say something else, not that he knew what that was going to be, but as Nesta turned to him, speech left him. She looked so lost—so broken and traumatised—that Cassian felt as if he had been transported back to when she had first arrived in Illyria with him. When she was gaunt and traumatised and wholly unreachable.

Cassian’s blood-stained fingers lifted her chin so he could search her eyes. And in them—nothing. No whisper of that colossal fire or that fierce defiance that he loved. None of that at all. Only vast emptiness.

“I want to go home.”

The confession was small and almost childlike and Cassian nearly fell to his knees.

Home. She wanted to go home—with him.

Cassian pulled Nesta’s unnaturally pliant body to him. One hand fisting into the hair at the nape of her neck—into the tangled brown hair that had all but fallen from her braid. Nesta did not hug him back, but after a moment, she fisted her hands against his chest and her forehead came to rest just over his heart.

“Ok sweetheart, we’ll go,” Cassian murmured, dropping his lips to the crown of her head and pressing them there—instilling all the love and comfort into the gesture that he could muster. “I’ll take you home.”

***

Windhaven was sleeping when they finally landed outside of the bungalow with Sala close behind them. Even the skies had been quiet on the flight back: Cassian had only seen the odd Illyrian patrolling the skies, their figures a streak of darkness temporarily blotting out the starlight as they tracked the perimeter. They usually knew better than to stop Cassian mid-flight, but he had winked his siphons into the dark anyway, warning them to steer clear. The last thing they needed was to be stopped when they were so close to home.

The stone house was eerily quiet when they stepped across the threshold, and bobbing faelights gently flickered to life, illuminating the way as Cassian led Nesta by the hand down the hallway. He had been touching her at every opportunity since he had found her on her knees, covered in blood and her hands humming with that ancient healing light. Cassian had hoped the physical contact might anchor her, but Nesta had continued to slip away from him ever since, until their connection was nothing but an empty, lifeless corridor.

“Shower then bed,” Cassian told Nesta as he pushed open the door to the bathroom to reveal the large tub. “You’ll feel more fae once you have cleaned up.”

Nesta did not respond. She just stared past him, her pupils blown wide and unseeing. The sight nearly undid him. It had been a long while since he’d seen that look.

As he turned on the faucets and pulled the lever under the taps, Cassian wondered if this was how Nesta had been after the war. If whilst he and his friends had been toasting their success and trying to pretend everything was fine, she had gone up to her room, hollow and broken, already changed into someone else.

And the worst thing about it all was that Cassian had left Nesta to her own devices. He had not chased after her and reiterated what he had told her on the battlefield. Already he had been so consumed with the terror of rejection—the fear that now they weren’t on death’s door, Nesta might shatter his heart rather than allow him to kiss her.

It turned out that fear had only served to cement Nesta’s opinion of him—that he merely lusted after her, the bond tricking him into thinking he wanted something that he didn’t. That what his heart really wanted was Mor instead. Nesta had made that much clear the evening before.

He was a fucking idiot. Not just for failing to pursue Nesta, but for failing to intervene when he had known how sick she was. For not using his years of warrior training to understand what was truly going on—how it was not about him and his bruised ego, but something else entirely. Something much bigger.

Running a hand under the water, Cassian waited until it was hot and the tendrils of steam filled the room with its wispy fingers. When he turned back to Nesta, all it took was one look at her small and blood-stained body to know that if he left her to it, she’d stand in that shower long after the water ran cold.

“Usually we take our clothes off for a shower, sweetheart,” Cassian teased, hoping that his words would coax out some sort of reaction. When Nesta remained quiet, he cupped her pale, blood-streaked face with a hand. “Don’t finally give me that opportunity to undress you,” he warned.

Nesta’s fingers clasped around his arm and his leathers creaked at the impact. It was a silent plea for him to stay, so Cassian just gave her the lopsided smile he usually saved for her. “My lucky day,” he said softly.

Tugging off his stained clothing, Cassian stepped into the shower in his shorts. He bit back a groan as the hot water ran over his flared wings, soothing away the sharp cold which had bit into them as he flew them home.

After adjusting the temperature, Cassian held his hand out to Nesta. Her eyes were still devoid of expression, and although she was watching him, Cassian had a feeling that Nesta was really floating somewhere above them, detached from her body and unable to come back down.

“It’s nice and warm,” Cassian coaxed, but his voice remained a soft echo rather than playful.

There was a pause where time seemed to stretch out too thin. Where Sala looked beseechingly at Nesta with worried golden eyes. When the manticore nudged Nesta’s arm with her nose, Nesta startled, as if she had indeed been very far away.

He knew things were bad—very bad—when Nesta mutely peeled off her own leathers and joined him.

Cassian had fantasised about taking Nesta in the shower more times than he dared to count. It was usually hard and fast against the wall, her breathy moans ringing off the tiles as he made her come around him. It had never crossed Cassian’s mind that they might shower together covered in blood and still wearing their underwear.

Slim fingers curled around his as Nesta stepped into the tub and Cassian only had time to briefly note Nesta’s body had filled out—those sharp, skeletal edges softened with flesh and toned muscle built from hearty meals and rigorous training—before he realised just how cold she was. Goosebumps littered Nesta’s skin and her lips held a blueish hue that had alarm bells sounding inside of his head.

Wings and arms curved around her on instinct, coaxing Nesta under the water with him so he could cocoon her in heat. He foamed up a sponge, and when Nesta made no move to take it from him, Cassian gently began to run it over her pale skin—until dried blood smeared, running down her white skin before it swirled down the drain.

For the entire duration Nesta remained vacant and unresponsive. Yet, even though Cassian couldn’t feel the faintest flicker of emotion through their bond, he knew that she trusted him enough to care for her. So, when the water ran clear, Cassian did not ask for permission before he slowly started to unravel her braid. It was hard work—matted dark red ensnared the hair but after working shampoo into the strands, Cassian was able to run his fingers through without any snags.

Leaving Nesta to wash out the shampoo herself, Cassian started to make work on his own body. He was covered in far less blood than Nesta—by the time he’d arrived, it had been too late to massacre those bastards himself—but red coated his knees and legs from where he had dropped into the pool of blood on the floor. And his hands…they had been smeared with it from where he had held Nesta’s wrists, trying to coax her back to him as she plunged to rock bottom.

Cassian was so consumed by the memory that he was only just in time to catch Nesta tipping her head back under the faucet with her eyes wide open. A hand shot out reflexively, cupping Nesta’s hairline as shampoo started to run down her face and into the long spikes of her eyelashes. The bubbles must have stung, but Nesta didn't even blink. It was as if she hadn’t even noticed.

After that, Cassian didn't take his eyes off of her, and once Nesta’s hair was free from shampoo, he turned her in his arms so her back was flush against his chest and began to tackle her fingernails. Her body was so unusually pliant—so mouldable—that Cassian felt as if he were a puppet master with strings, her arms and hands limp as he scrubbed at the arcs of her fingernails until they were free of red.

In fact, Cassian had become so used to supporting Nesta’s body that he almost startled when he turned back from shutting off the now lukewarm water to find her facing him. Frozen in place, Cassian watched a pale arm lift so Nesta could brush her ice cold fingers over a whorl of ink curving around his left bicep.

Cassian was barely breathing—not only unsure of what to do but also of startling her, somehow—but then something broke inside of him and he reached for her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles for far longer than he should have.

It hurt to move away from her—to step out of the tub and wrap a towel around his hips—but Nesta had started to shiver uncontrollably, her skin entirely bleached of colour. He threw the largest, fluffiest towel he could find around her body, and desperate to warm her up, rubbed his palms over her arms, encasing her in wings as he lifted her onto the bath mat beside Sala. And whilst logic told Cassian that Nesta was shaking from a combination of both shock and cold, it didn’t stop the worry that took a hold of him.

“Get yourself dry,” Cassian told Nesta. “I’ll go and get you some clothes.”

Suppressing a grunt at the winter chill that clung to the air and snapped at his wings, Cassian lit the log burner in his room before he quickly tugged on some loose pants. The unconscious decision for Nesta to stay with him was already fully formed in his mind. There was no way he was leaving her to sleep alone given her current state, and whilst Cassian could sleep in the armchair by her bed, the territorial part of him needed her safe with him, in his bed, as close to him as she would allow. And after last night… it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before, anyway.

The panic that flared inside of Cassian when he arrived back at the bathroom with a clean nightgown clutched in his hand was so sharp and twisting that his breath caught. Nesta hadn’t moved—not an inch—and whilst Sala was nudging her companion’s torso with her muzzle, Nesta just continued to shiver violently as if she hadn’t felt the impact at all. Her skin was still wet and her hair hung lank against her shoulders. Droplets of water dripped steadily onto the floor tiles from where she had failed to ring it out.

Cassian swore. Stumbling towards her, he grasped at Nesta’s shoulders with his hands. She was cold to the touch. “Sweetheart, we need to get you dry,” he rasped.

He ducked his head to look at her, but Nesta just curled in on herself, her arms wrapping even further around her body as she shook. Cupping her face in his hands, Cassian hoped that his touch would bring her out of the far reaches of her mind, but she just continued to tremble, mute.

So, with gentle, efficient hands, Cassian towelled Nesta dry before pulling her nightgown over her head. He pressed her hair gently between the swaths of a towel, coaxing out as much water as possible, and when he was satisfied her hair wasn’t going to soak her nightgown, he stepped back.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he told her sternly, and not bothering to wait for the reply he knew would not come, Cassian scooped her uncharacteristically malleable body into his arms and carried her to his room.

The log burner was still blazing fiercely as he lowered Nesta onto the midnight blue sheets. He piled the duvets on top of her anyway, plus a few more thick blankets over that. Not wanting the fire to go out, he threw some more wood through the cast-iron door, working quickly in case the fire crackled or popped. With Nesta’s magic near drained, the last thing Cassian wanted was to trigger her flashbacks on top of everything else, but he was too concerned about her blue lips to forgo the fire altogether.

Only the top half of Nesta’s head was visible beneath the mountains of blankets, her pointed ears poking beneath her wet hair. She looked so small and vulnerable it was hard to believe that she had slain so many males earlier, that power of hers sizzling and burning through flesh until they were nothing but charred remains and shells of who they once were. Those males might have taken those girls freedom but Nesta had taken their lives before Cassian had even got to her.

He wondered when he would stop failing her—if he ever would.

“Come here,” Cassian murmured as he climbed into bed beside her.

Nesta surprised him when she did as he asked. Her knees knocked against his thighs as she inched closer—like a moth to a flame—and she rested her cold forehead against his chest without being prompted, right over his heart, as if the warm beat of life would thaw the frozen ice in her bones.

Tangling their legs together, Cassian tried to ignore how his skin hummed as their bodies intertwined, hating himself for reacting so strongly to her touch when she was suffering. He lifted a wing instead—an unknown apology—and wrapped it around her, using it to direct the heat from the fire towards their bodies.

The rustle of his wing made Nesta stir. Slowly, she looked up through her eyelashes and as their eyes locked, something clicked deep inside of him, turning. His heart let out a long, deep thump, the sound reverberating throughout his body. He felt it in the air at the same time that Nesta’s hands fisted in his tunic. The sensation was heavy and delicious and as intoxicating as any drug.

Their sudden intimacy felt so right. They had never touched like this—her body entangled with his—and now he knew what it was like, he never wanted it to end. He couldn’t bare the thought of sleeping without her. Even in his sleep last night he had reached for her, his wing protecting her instinctively.

He wondered if Nesta knew what that meant.

“Better?” Cassian made himself ask, rubbing a palm up and down the arm that wasn’t pressed to the mattress. It was a poor attempt to sever his thoughts, but his voice was hoarse… nervous. His heart had started to kick again, the sensation hard and slow against his ribcage, his blood thick and sluggish in his veins. Her eyes were the most blue he’d ever seen them; they were the colour of the sky after a strong bout of rain, as the clouds parted to make way for the sun.

Somehow, Cassian knew what was going to happen before it did. He couldn’t even say who initiated it, only that their heads tilted and dipped in unison, like two magnets inexplicably and undeniably drawn to one another.

If they ever kissed again, Cassian had always imagined that it would be passionate and frantic. A screaming match turned into a lusting frenzy, his mouth hot on hers as he swallowed her moans. But this… this was better. This was perfect. It was his undoing.

It was slow and scorching, the intensity of it so immediate that Cassian felt like he was suspended in time… hovering. And he knew… he knew that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for one another from the instant their open lips brushed, from the way that they moulded together like they had been kissing for centuries. Heat bloomed in his chest, a torturous burning pleasure that spread through every nerve in his body, licking its way down his limbs before settling like a weight in his groin. His body was taut and pliant at the same time and all he wanted was to be even closer to her, to feel every inch of her body fit against his own.

He wanted to taste her skin, to bury himself in her scent. He wanted—

A groan rumbled through him as their tongues met, the sound deep and almost animalistic. Desperate for more, he tangled a hand in Nesta’s wet hair, gently tilting her head back so he could be granted better access to her mouth.

Nesta made a strangled noise in the back of her throat—the first sound she had made in hours—and her knee slipped further between his thighs, her body moving to press flush against his—

The movement sobered Cassian, the hazy fog of want parting slightly for reason to stumble through, like a newborn fawn on gangly legs.

The gravity of what they were doing hit him like a punch to the gut.

If she moved any closer, she would feel just how much he wanted her.

There would be no turning back, after that.

Even though his body was screaming for him to flip her onto her back and settle between her legs, Cassian made himself pull away. The movement felt wrong… agonising.

His hand shook with restraint.

If Cassian had ever doubted their mating bond, he wasn’t now. Instinct was driving him to claim her, even though he knew in the back of his mind—the part that cared so deeply—that Nesta was too raw, too exposed to know what she wanted. Even though she was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, the territorial male in him wanted to bury himself inside of her; to solidify the very thing that had been driving him insane for the past year and a half. What kind of male did that make him, he wondered? He was ready to bet all his wealth that it didn’t make him a good one.

Panting, Cassian searched Nesta’s face. She was breathing hard, her lips pink and swollen, her hair already starting to curl in the heat from the fire. Cassian had always thought her beautiful, but now she was breathtaking. It took Cassian a few seconds to realise why and when he did, his heart contracted to the point of pain: the light was back in her eyes, as if their kiss had woken her up.

Cassian’s resolve wavered. Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe—

As if sensing his inner conflict Nesta slid a cool hand up to his neck, levering herself up to press her lips to his. Her leg rode up over his thigh… over his hip and he moaned into her mouth, his will splintering as he felt the desire thrumming through her—between them. He tightened his grasp on her, resisting the urge to slide his hand round to her ass. To tug her closer.

With a last long, lingering kiss, Cassian made himself tear his lips from hers. “Nesta, stop,” he murmured against her mouth.

She stilled then, and as the implication behind his words dawned on her, that light started to fade in her eyes; dazzling blue dulling to an unreadable grey. Cassian pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, to her nose, to her mouth. They were gentle and he hoped each one conveyed how hard this was for him, how he didn’t want to let her go, not really.

“We shouldn’t,” he rasped finally. His words sounded unconvincing even to his own ears, his voice husky and low despite everything. Sinful.

“Why?” Nesta breathed—her first word in hours coming out hoarse. Her fingers curled around his wrist where it still gripped her hip—holding him there.

“You know why. We can’t—”

“This makes me feel,” she whispered, her words breaking. And that was pleading in her voice. “You—”

“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” Cassian tried to explain, cutting her off because he had done this. He had fucked his way through enough females post-battle to know what she was doing. He understood the desperation for anything that would pierce through that pressing numbness that descended after bloodshed, but he also knew the disappointment that would chase it when she realised that pleasure didn’t last.

Cassian couldn’t sacrifice the progress they had made for a few moments of pleasure. Not now... not when they had come so far.

Nesta’s fingers slid down to his palm, the flat of her small hand pressing against his, encouraging him to slide up under her nightdress. He hissed—her thigh, her hip, her waist were sinfully smooth beneath his callouses. “I won’t regret it,” she promised. “You won’t either.”

Cassian studied her—the want in her eyes. What would happen if he denied her? Would he lose the progress they had made anyway? What if his rejection stacked that icy wall against him and she shut down the end of her bond again? He couldn’t bare the thought of it—of her barbed insults and the indifferent way she had treated him. He couldn’t do that again. Not ever. He had been slowly gaining on Nesta Archeron inch by inch, and he’d be damned if they started moving backwards.

It was a risk either way.

His greed won out.

Nesta’s mouth immediately yielded to him when he kissed her again, and this time it was her that moaned, the sound a strangled surprise in the back of her throat. Almost as if she hadn’t expected him to give in. Almost.

“Promise me,” Cassian murmured, his lips now on her neck as he propped himself over her. He allowed himself a moment to do what he’d fantasised about more times than he could count—graze his nose slowly from her collarbone to the nape of her neck—and relished in the way that she shuddered beneath him. “I don’t expect anything from you, this can just be... this. A one off. But promise you won’t freeze me out. That we won’t go back to before. That things won’t be cold between us.”

Pressing a kiss behind her ear, Nesta breathed another moan as he chased it all the way to the pulse point beneath her jaw. He sucked, feeling the flutter of life against his tongue—her body as it arched into him.

“I promise,” Nesta panted finally, her fingers curling around the strands of his damp hair. She tugged, telling him what she wanted, the words singing in the air between them; more, more, more.

As if in response, his blood surged, singing what it always sung—her name, over and over. The name he heard on the wind. Everywhere he went. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

“Good,” Cassian rasped into Nesta’s skin, his lips imprinting on the shell of her ear. He waited until goosebumps littered her skin and then he pulled back to stare into those blue, blue eyes to make his own promise. He hoped it would undo her as much as it undid him. “I’m going to make you feel good,” he told her. “I’m going to make the numbness go away, ok sweetheart?”

Something moved behind the surface of Nesta’s irises as she shivered. And this time it wasn’t from the cold or from shock; it was hot anticipation and want and… her breath caught as his palm traversed along her now warm side, along the dip of her waist, hitching the material of her nightgown up, up, up.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as his movements turned light. As his fingers trailed from the underside of her breasts all the way down her side to the top of her thigh, coaxing her to shudder—for every nerve ending to sing.

Their kiss was searing and desperate when she pulled his face back down to hers. All around him, Cassian could smell the all-consuming scent of her. It was as intoxicating as any drug and he couldn’t help but cave, rolling his hips into hers, desperate for some sort of relief. He had never been this hard in his life, had never wanted anybody like this in the long time he had been alive. He needed to feel her skin against his, the sensation suddenly as vital as breathing—

“Off,” he growled into Nesta’s mouth, tugging her nightgown over her head and tossing it away. He flared his wings, lifting the heavy blankets so he could kick them down to their ankles. and—

Cassian swore at the sight before him. Nesta was beautiful. Where his skin was golden and marred with scars, hers was cream and unblemished—untouched—and her breasts… Cassian’s mouth turned dry and his insides twisted. They were far better than the inferior image he’d conjured in his mind, even as he pyrite glittered tauntingly between them, as if to say; I was here first.

With a soft snarl, Cassian reverently dragged his fingers over the smooth plains of Nesta’s stomach, watching her abdominal muscles tense, mesmerised.

“You’re perfect,” he told her with hoarse honesty, cupping the breast closest to the mattress as he took the other dusky nipple into his mouth. He sucked and teased it with the flat of his tongue, relishing in her sharp inhalation of breath… the way her fingers desperately wound their way through his hair again and again. “These are perfect. You have no idea how perfect you are, Nesta.”

A flicker of…something sparked down that bond. It was the first he had truly felt of Nesta in hours and Cassian tried to clamp down on that emotion, to dissect it, desperate to hold on to that sensation of… surprise. It was surprise, Cassian realised. As if she did not expect him to say that, let alone think it.

So, Cassian pushed back everything—his sincerity and awe and want for her and only her. And then he stared up at her with what he knew were dark eyes and scraped the peak of her nipple with his teeth.

A shuddered moan skittered the air around them and Cassian watched Nesta’s pupils dilate with a want that had his heart kicking in his chest. It was that sensation which sparked her into action, her hands feverish as they grappled at the material of his tunic, tugging at it until it was discarded on the floor beside the bed. Then her hands were on his chest, those lithe fingers feverish as they explored the hard lines of his stomach… the silvery scar that ran from his sternum to his lower abdomen.

Burying his head in her cleavage to stifle a groan, Cassian listened to the hammering of her heart as she followed the fine train of hair that started at his naval. In a desperate plea to distract himself from her touch—to distract her—Cassian cupped and squeezed her breasts, rolling his fingers over her nipples until her breath stuttered and her hands stilled just as they grazed the waistband of his pants.

Knowing that his restraint would melt if she wrapped her hand around him, Cassian began to press a path of open-mouthed kisses down her stomach. They were both still lying on their sides and he lifted his body, coaxing her leg against the mattress into a right angle just above his hip so he was cradled between them.

When he hoisted the leg slung over his waist up into a right angle and pressed it up into the blanket with a splayed palm on her knee, Nesta realised what he intended to do. He felt her waver and stiffen, her body going rigid against him, that bond constricting. So Cassian stilled too, taking the time to brush his lips over the right wing of her hip—to savour the taste of her skin against his tongue. To soothe away her hesitancy, somehow knowing that the vulnerability of him sliding down between her legs made her uncomfortable.

The gravity of it hit him then, that Nesta had never done this sober. And Cassian had no idea whether she had even experienced this before—whether she had found pleasure in it. Did not know whether the many one-night stands had bothered to have her clenching around them before they finished themselves of.

Pain sparked as fingernails bit into his shoulders in warning, but Cassian only waited patiently, kissing and soothing away that concern until she relaxed around him. Some animalistic, masochistic part of him hoped that she’d marked him there—that tomorrow he would look in the mirror and see the proof of what they had done. He’d wear those silver half moon circles proudly, more so than any Illyrian tattoo. If only Fae bodies didn’t heal so quickly…

Placing a final kiss to her lower abdomen, Cassian grazed a downward path with the tip of nose until he was hovering just over her centre. Until his head was resting on her thigh.

He couldn’t stop the groan that tumbled out of him at the scent of her. “Gods, sweetheart, I can smell how wet you are.”

The words stretched out between them until everything was pulled taut. Nesta’s hands had moved from his shoulders back to his hair. When he spoke, her fingers slid uncertainly through the damp strands without finding purchase. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was blushing. He knew her well enough by now.

But instead of swiping his tongue through her folds, Cassian reached up to run his mouth over the top-most part of the inside of her thigh. The movement was leisurely and unhurried despite the roaring of blood in Cassian’s ears. Because he had thought about this enough since having met Nesta to know how he wanted this to go. Nesta had spent a year fucking and chasing release and Cassian would not be another notch in her bedpost. By the time he was done, he wanted her squirming and moaning beneath him. He wanted her to anticipate his touch rather than merely using him to press the right buttons. He wanted her to be consumed with it; to feel that anticipation build until she was boneless against the mattress. He wanted to be the kindle for her fire and watch her burn and burn and burn.

He would not fuck her in a whirlwind of limbs and snarled, panting breath. She had done that. He would do something different—just for her.

So, Cassian made Nesta wait. With each brush of his lips he edged closer to her centre, moving from her thigh to her lower abdomen, his tongue swiping against creamy skin after every kiss until finally—finally—she trembled.

The movement travelled between them, vibrating down the thin tie that roped around his ribcage. A soft growl rumbled from the back of Cassian’s throat at the sensation, his grip tightening on her hip as he ghosted over her centre, his breath a phantom caress on her skin.

Yet, he still took the time to pause, letting a second stretch out into a moment—until Nesta’s fingers pressed into his scalp in anticipation. The touch was light but it spoke volumes, the movement more certain. Still Cassian made her wait, trying to calm the desire thrumming through his blood which wanted to spark him into movement—to devour her whole.

Those fingers twisted through his hair and that restraint dissolved as Cassian reached forward and swiped the flat of his tongue through her folds. The action was slow and premeditated, his touch gentle. For a moment, Nesta went preternaturally still, but then her breath stuttered as he did it again and then again, her hips tilting towards him of their own accord.

It was silent plea for more and a moan tumbled out of him, his chest rumbling as he moved closer, locking his lips around that bundle of nerves. Nesta’s breath caught again and again and Cassian catalogued it all—every movement, every intake of air—using her body language to dissect what she liked and didn’t like, lazily drinking her in until that bond widened and roared at each leisurely stroke.

It was this that Cassian had imagined over anything else. He had fantasised about going down on Nesta more than burying himself inside of her—more than her wrapping her lips around him, or the way her tongue would feel when it ran along the underside of his cock. So, Cassian took his time tasting every inch of her, and only when he had her panting did he pick up the pace; drawing circles and fluttering rhythms across her flesh, licking a path from top to bottom until she was writhing beneath him, edging her closer and closer to breaking point, letting that swell build inside of her until even he could feel it in the air around them—a tangible, living thing.

And down that tether Cassian felt the truth in every whimper... every moan. That alone nearly had him unravelling. Never before had he felt her so keenly, and Cassian had to fight the urge to drop his hold on her leg to wrap his hand around himself and relieve the pressure. He was rock hard, and even though his cock twitched with each burn of pleasure that flooded between them, he didn’t dare divert his focus from her. Didn’t dare make this about him when it needed to be about her.

Cassian had never been this turned on without having been touched before. He had never been this turned on period, and he didn’t trust himself not to cave if he so much as grazed the tent in his pants. And the knowledge that earlier she had moved to slide her hand beneath his waistband… just the thought of those cool, slim fingers wrapping around the length of him made his cock throb and his heart stutter.

Growling to rid himself of the image, Cassian sucked her folds into his mouth. The distraction didn't work. Nesta cried out and the sound had his hips thrusting, pleasure robbing him of any other sensation despite the fact that he was met with nothing but air. The sound was sharp and desperate and perfect, and he knew that he could do this all day; bringing her to completion over and over until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“You taste incredible,” Cassian groaned reverently, pulling away for the first time since he’d slipped down between her legs. His lips made a gentle smack against her wet flesh and Nesta whimpered, the sound a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.

Another long lick followed by slow, wet kisses to her thighs—anywhere but her swollen clit.

He still wanted her to beg. He needed her to, and she wasn’t there yet.

Coaxing her onto her back, Cassian carefully hooked her legs over his arms so they avoided his wings. He had a feeling that if Nesta even so much as brushed them that something would snap inside of him; a beast unleashed.

Spreading her legs wider, Cassian reached up to cup her breasts, satisfaction thrumming through him as she arched into his touch.

Staring up at her with dark eyes, Cassian looked at her for the first time since he’d slipped between her legs. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her pink lips parted. He wished she’d open them; he wanted to be met with that depthless blue that latched onto his soul and made it hard to breathe.

“Fuck Nesta,” he groaned, his voice gravelly as he gathered her wetness on his tongue, drawing broad circles before sucking the bud into his mouth. “I could do this all day just to hear you moan.”

Nesta whimpered at the words, the sound wild and untamed against his ears, but her eyes remained squeezed shut. Gently, he dragged his fingers through her wet folds, purposefully running them over the sides of her clit, relishing in the way that her hips jerked at the touch. At the way that bond continued to widen, light spilling into the inky dark.

A wave of fresh pleasure coursed through him.

“That’s it,” Cassian murmured huskily, slipping a finger inside of her. He bit back a groan—wishing it was his cock easing into her. “I want you to come for me, sweetheart.”

Nesta mewled as he brought his mouth back to her. Curling a finger inside of her, Cassian focussed his attention on drawing wide circles with his mouth, coaxing strangled throaty moans as his finger and tongue worked in tandem.

Only when Nesta’s cries were a steady beat and her fingers were yanking at his hair, did he add another finger.

“Oh,” Nesta whimpered, her head rising from the pillows as he hooked his fingers inside of her at the same time that he drew her folds into his mouth. As he rolled her nipple between his fingers with his spare hand and dared another look up at her.

He groaned as those blue, blue eyes connected with his. They were glassy and swimming in the faelight, utterly mesmerising as her face contorted with pleasure. Nesta had never looked at him like that before; so open and vulnerable and soft.

It only lasted a moment and then Nesta’s head had dropped back onto the pillow in concession of the pleasure coursing through her—through him. It urged him to work faster, to continue his attention on that bundle of nerves that was hurtling her to release. As he splayed his palm on her flat stomach and relished the way it spasmed beneath his touch with every swipe and lick and suck.

When she rocked against him, Cassian’s moan was so coarse that Nesta clutched at his head with a near death grip. She held him tightly as the sound vibrated through her, but then Cassian was scraping his teeth lightly over her clit before sucking it into his mouth and Nesta cried out. Her legs attempted to yank out of his grasp to clamp around his head with a strength Cassian should have predicted for, but he managed to pin her down, holding her open.

“Cassian,” Nesta gasped—finally, finally saying his name out loud—her voice breaking and desperate as she tried to push her hips towards his mouth, begging. She was begging him now. “Cassian.”

“Yes,’ he growled, sensing how close she was. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

He felt her walls grip around his fingers like a vice. Felt something peak inside of her—

And then Cassian slowed everything down. His fingers slid in and out of her, pushing in to the hilt in long, drawn out strokes as his tongue circled her—as that preternatural stillness seized her again. Cassian heard the break in her moans as that cresting pleasure suspended above them, ready to crash down. Felt the pleasure course through him so fiercely that for a moment he mistook it for his own—

The sudden cry that unleashed itself on the room was a sound that Cassian had never dreamed would come from Nesta’s mouth. He stroked her steadily through the waves of pleasure as she shattered against his tongue, convulsing beneath him again and again until her whimpers gave way to shuddering gasps. Until she shuddered from the intensity of it, her hands pushing his head away. Cassian allowed her limp and panting body to melt into the mattress as he pressed kisses to the bare skin of her thighs. Her fingers were back in his hair again, running through the strands that had dried into curls before she tugged gently, urging him upwards.

Swiping at his wet mouth, Cassian crawled back up beside her, pulling the blankets with him.

To his satisfaction, Nesta had thrown an arm across her flushed face and her chest was heaving, as if she were at loss for air. She didn’t resist when he moved her arm to the pillow, threading his fingers through hers.

She moaned softly against his lips as he kissed her. The sound was content—another noise he’d never heard from her before—and the knowledge that he had caused her to feel that way left him dizzy. Surprise speared through him as her hand curved around the back of his neck, keeping him there, deepening the kiss as she tasted herself on his tongue.

And down that bond, beyond the sated satisfaction and pleasure was amusement, as if she sensed his surprise and delighted in it.

“Ok?” he asked hoarsely when he finally pulled away. He rolled to the side, taking her with him, his hand splayed on the underside of her thigh, his wing thrown over her body like a blanket.

Nesta’s eyes were glazed as she hummed in reply, and a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she skimmed her free hand down his bare chest to his stomach and his muscled twitched under her touch.

Locking her leg firmly around his hips, Nesta pulled him flush against her. He snarled softly against her neck when she ground into his erection. His blood was boiling again, a heat ignited in his very core, and it was an entire feat of its own that he managed to tear himself away from her, catching her hand just as those fingers dipped to slip between the hem of his pants.

He watched Nesta frown, and the expression on her face was so unchecked that something twisted inside him.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted more...

“I said I’d make you feel good,” he rasped in explanation, bringing her hand to his lips so he could press his mouth to her knuckles

When he was done, he gently ran a hand over her hair. “Sleep, Nesta. Your body needs to rest.”

“What? No,” Nesta protested, that defiance he had missed for the last few hours firing across her expression.

But he just pulled her closer to him, and unable to help himself—knowing that he might not get another chance—he kissed her again. It was slow and tender, his fingers pushing back her damp hair from her face. It was a kiss to soothe rather than to arouse, even as his cock throbbed painfully against his stomach. His thumb brushed an arc across the glowing skin of her cheek, savouring the ability to touch her like this; without fear of her pushing him away, or worse, punching him in the gut.

“Sleep,” he urged again, wrapping his wing tighter around her—cocooning them. He felt Nesta’s body start to relax into the mattress, felt the blanket of sleep settle over her in that post-climactic haze. He pressed his mouth to her forehead—now warm beneath his lips, as if he had chased away the cold. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Tags: @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav

#acosf #acotarfanfic #embersandlightfic #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron #cassian #acowar #acomaf #nessiansmut

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

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C-cowboy starker? What if cowboy starker, I mean? I think... cattle driver Tony maybe, and ranch hand Peter,,, always wanted to write about this but I’m shy 🙈

mid-writing edit: i’ve spent half an hour on this and my computer is literally lagging with how fast i’m typing. i really hope this makes sense because holy shit, i love cowboy starker. anon, i need you in my inbox every single fucking time you have an idea about starker. idk if it’s in passing, idk if it’s super fleeting and doesn’t make sense. anon, you are my muse

ohhhhh my god anon i ,, love this idea so much i’ve actually thought about this a bit ngl you don’t even know how much i like western aus

okay so hear me out:

i’m thinking brokeback type shit, right?? but just a tad different like be honest who doesn’t like the whole bbm trope yfm and twink jake gyllenhaal is my baby okay okay okay sorry babe i’m still crossfaded as fuck and i could talk about that movie for days anyway back on topic

- no okay but think of it - tony, he’s recently divorced and morgan, his baby girl, his one and only daughter, she’s 19 now and seeing this absolute gentleman of a roughneck. his house is empty, he isn’t paying child support anymore, he doesn’t have this bitchy redhead on his ass 24/7 about getting a job in the city

- because tony hates the city, hates that his father dragged them away from the mountains and prairies he remembers from his childhood. hates what the city gave him - black eyes and mean names and disappointed parents

- so tony high tailed it the fuck out of dodge the second he turned 18. abandoned school, abandoned his family, took his beat up ford out to montana and disappeared. married this nice girl, virginia pepper, worked construction to support her while she went to school. had a pretty baby girl a year or two later. moved both of his girls out to a ranch he bought with their tiny savings, got a couple’a cows and a horse and made friends with a neighbor with a bull

- but eventually, pep had bigger dreams. they were both young when they got married, didn’t look past the immediate sexual compatibility to see that their futures were well and truly not going to go well together

- so she left the ranch, took morgan with, and made her way to the city. became some big lawyer or doctor or businesswoman or something, tony didn’t know. didn’t really care because the child support invoices still came every single month like clockwork.

- so instead of focusing on his distant daughter and his ex wife that wouldn’t listen to him and his family that just... didn’t understand, he threw himself into the wildlife around him

- became closer with those neighbors that had a bull. eventually came to an agreement and let him free with his girls

- built a very solid herd of highlanders in a handful of years, slowly attracting the attention of more and more owners wanting to trade, to buy, to sell

- and maybe one year, he realizes, he’s in a bit too far over his head with this. he has 100 of these four legged fuckers, he has 50 acres to take care of by himself, he has horses to feed and shoe and groom. he has fields to plant and water and harvest if he wants to feed any of the animals mentioned above

- so he reaches out to his neighbors, puts feelers out and sees if anyone knows a farmhand who’d want to help him out, maybe live on the property full time for a bit. and when he gets a call back his heart breaks a bit, because oh my god he wasn’t prepared for this

- a kid, can’t have been more than morgan’s age, has responded to him, and he’s good with his hands mr. stark, and he knows his way around animals mr. stark, been takin’ care of ‘em for his whole life now mr. stark

- and this kid is ,, he sounds so innocent and sweet there’s no way tony’s gonna say yes before he actually meets him

- so tony gives the kid his address, tells him to come out and give things a once over before he makes his mind up

- so peter does. he comes out, introduces himself, looks around the property with tony. and tonys heart hurts, because this kid, this kid that’s standing right in front of him, is almost skin and bones and looks like he’s about to crumble into dust and blow away in his hands

- he brings peter into the house, brings him coffee, offers him food. even after peter politely declines he brings over some bread to share, maybe a slice of pie?? maybe tony can cook and bake. he has a sweet tooth after all, and he’s been on his own for the better part of two decades.

- and he really gets to know peter. they sit, they talk, until the sun dips down and the open mountain chill takes over them

- and peter tells him that he’s been on his own for a couple of years, that his parents died when he was young and that his aunt and uncle took him in on their ranch. that he grew up around animals, working, helping out

- but when they died the property was repossessed by the bank and peter’d all but ran with ben’s keys and the clothes on his back. he’s been on the road ever since, going from missouri to texas to wyoming to montana, all in search of work, never staying in one place longer than a few months.

- he doesn’t tell tony that he’s secretly so, so tired of life on the road. doesn’t say how elated he was when he heard someone was looking for a fairly long-term live in farm hand. because that’s something he knew, something he was good at.

- he also doesn’t tell tony that his heart skipped several beats in a row the second peter laid eyes on him, and that he really wants to work for the gorgeous man in front of him

- it’s finally dark, his coffee cup is long empty and abandoned and peter’s just spilled nearly every single deep dark secret he’s ever had. tony’s closing the windows, and peter makes for the door. he’s taken up enough of this beautiful kind man’s time, he should leave before he stays even further past his welcome

- but tony’s stopping him, blocking him from the door, lightly grabbing his wrist and turning peter to face him fully

- and he’s asking begging pleading telling peter he should stay, that the spare room upstairs is warm and not going to be used anytime soon. that he still needs a farmhand and, as he sees it, peter’s already here

- secretly, tony can’t stand to see him leave

- he couldn’t handle letting his man this... kid, really, leave. not when tony could provide for him. not when he could feed him until his edges soften and his cheeks round out and his tummy gets squishy. not when he could work him into a sweat outside, watch that paperwhite skin turn a rich tan under the summer sun

- not even when he realizes the sudden care for the orphan in front of him is slowly becoming less familial, less platonic, and more... instinctual. base. greedy.

- because who better to make sure this kid is looked after than tony? tony, who has work-worn hands and time-softened eyes and cooking skills any bachelor would die for

- it’s honestly not even that shocking to him when peter says yes

- not when he takes his hand off the doorknob and immediately turns, immediately breathes out a “yes, yes of course mr. stark, thank you so much mr. stark, i’ll do whatever you need me to, you’re incredible mr. stark”

- and it all immediately goes to tony’s dick head because fuck, that was not the intended reaction but it was absolutely welcome, what the fuck

- so tony takes him upstairs, gets peter settled in the guest bedroom right across from his own

- and when he goes to bed that night he absolutely does not touch himself while thinking about the barely 20something thats maybe 10 feet away. doesn’t think about what peter said earlier, with tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist

- absolutely doesn’t cum with peter’s name on his lips, biting down on his knuckles so peter doesn’t hear

- and peter absolutely doesn’t cum with three fingers in his ass, tears streaming down his face, listening to the creaking mattress springs and heavy breathing from across the hall. of course he doesn’t

- and of course they don’t get along well. of course not. of course they don’t work together like they’re telepathically connected, not even needing to speak to know what the other is thinking. it’s like peter can read his mind, knowing exactly what needs done when

- but it’s not just tony. peter can tell before anyone else when the farrier needs to be called. when one of the girls is pregnant, even before she starts showing. knows when one of the cattle dogs has a hurt paw without even seeing him. can tell when it’s going to rain, so he knows whether or not it’ll be a good day to cut the alfalfa fields

- it’s a little freaky to be honest but tony doesn’t hate it. it’s really useful with everything on the farm, and it’s... it’s nice. having someone that can so effortlessly understand him.

- it’s also like peters... totally unaware of it. like he doesn’t even know he knows things he shouldnt know. which blows tony’s mind even more.

- it kinda turns him on, and he finds himself with his hand around his cock wondering if peter knows he’s getting off thinking about him. like, more than once. maybe even more than once a week. definitely more than once a week.

- and maybe peters kind of catching on, a little. that maybe his feelings toward his employer/landlord/new friend are shared

- it also doesn’t help that he gets uncontrollably aroused every time tony goes to bed. like. every... single... time...

- peter always knew he was.. attentive. but he didn’t know it would manifest as literally feeling tony’s arousal through the fucking walls

- and it doesn’t help that peter’s filling out. he’s getting darker as the months get warmer, he’s getting significantly more meat on his bones now that he’s eating more and working more

- and it really doesn’t help that tony is getting eyefuls of the half naked ranch hand almost 24/7. it’s really not his fault that peter works better without a shirt on

- and maybe it comes to a head one day. maybe they’re picking up alfalfa bales from one of the fields and they stop to take a break and tony just ,, can’t handle sweaty, tan, barely-a-twink-anymore peter.

- and peter can feel it, with his ,, unique senses, that tony’s watching him. like, a lot. like, way more than normal even

- so he decides to play it up a bit. he takes his shirt off, he throws his gloves in the bed of the truck and balls the tee in his hands, wiping his face off with it and sighing deeply

- and he knows tony saw that because he could fucking hear tony’s breathing change and he smirks a little bit, because that’s enough confirmation for him to know for sure

- so he looks up, and he meets tony’s eyes, and they’re wild and feral and tony looks like one of the wolves that tried to take out one of their cows last winter - hungry and ready to devour what was in front of him

- and peter just looks at him, a little incredulous, and finally speaks up: ‘you gonna get over here ‘n kiss me, or what?’ - and tony fucking breaks

- he turns the truck off and slams the door when he gets out, grabbing peter by the neck and fucking dragging him against tony’s clothed body

- “do you know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

- of course peter does, tony, you fucking moron. he knows and he’s been trying to get you to rip him to shreds, dumbass. you’re just oblivious

- but tony still can’t help but see the tiny young man that walked up on his doorstep those years ago, can’t help but want to protect him and keep him safe and warm and fed

- so of course tony wanted to go slow, and wanted to be gentle with peter

- but pete was having fucking none of that, because oh my god tony i’m not 19 anymore please just fuck me already and been wanting you for way too long and please tony just-- and he grabs tony’s hand and makes him squeeze even harder

- and it’s hot, and it’s messy, and it’s not even really sex, just them rutting and grabbing and jerking each other off up against the door of tony’s truck, belt buckles undone and jeans just barely tugged down

- and tony’s basking in it, watching peter’s eyes screw shut and his pretty plush lips open and the little ‘aah, nngh fuck, tony’s that push their way from his throat

- and he knows, the second they’re done here, they’re abandoning their work for the day and he’s taking peter back to the house and he’s going to show him what this is like for real, what it means to be touched with intention and love and emotion behind it - not just a quick handjob standing in the hay field

- and he does. he worships peter’s body when they get back to the house

- he kisses every single part of him, nips at the tiny bit of excess fat on his stomach and thighs and hips, relishing in the fact that peter is his, his to take care of, his to keep safe and healthy and happy

- and eventually, the guest room opens up again. peter’s stuff slowly moves into tony’s room. he stops getting paid, but that’s okay

- because why would you get paid to work on your own farm?

#starker #anon #asked #answered #.ask #i like this idea anon #please see me for any and all future requests you may have #because holy shit #this was enjoyable #anyway im high as FUCK please excuse if this doesn't make sense #love u nonnie #word count: 2.4k

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deansmyapplepie · 4 years

Text

Jealousy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Tags: jealous!Dean, flirting, irritated!Dean, frustrated!reader, awkward!Sam

Word Count: 1,340

(Gif not mine)

Dean pushed the door open enough for you to get in behind him but didn't bother to hold it for you. You sighed agitatedly, making sure it was locked before following him down the staircase. His stiff body language told you that he didn't want to talk about it anymore, but the way he almost hesitated in his quick strides made you believe otherwise.

"Dean, I already apologized like four times!" you exclaimed. "Even though I did nothing wrong!" you added as an afterthought. Sam looked up from his laptop in the library as the two of you came in, eyebrows raised in question.

"What's going on?" he asked. Dean shook his head as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

"Nothing." You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course. Leave it to Dean to take something that's bothering him, and shove it down so deep that it never sees the light of day again.

"I was getting information for a case, and your brother didn't like my methods, so now he's mad at me," you explained. Dean plastered on a half-smile, shaking his head for emphasis as he spoke.

"It's okay! I'm not mad!" The smile would have almost been convincing, to his credit, had it not been for the slight twitch developing under his right eye. You glanced over at Sam surreptitiously before leaning over ever so slightly.

"Is it just me, or does he seem mad to you?" you asked under your breath.

"Goddammit, I just said I'm not mad!" Dean snapped, causing you to jolt in surprise. Damn. It wasn't like you had been putting all of your efforts into keeping your voice down, but damn. Sam sighed, shutting his laptop and getting to his feet.

"Run me through what happened." God bless him. He was always trying to find some even ground. Dean cast a warning glance in your direction, again, wordlessly telling you that he didn't want to talk about it, but you ignored him, crossing your arms over your chest as you blew a strand of hair out of your face

"Dean got all upset," you started to explain, "because I was flirting with some guy to get information-"

"No, no, no, he wasn't just 'some guy,' okay?" Dean cut you off. "He was a total douchebag! I mean, what the hell was he wearing, anyway? Danny Zuko called, and he wants his outfit back." You shot Sam an incredulous look, who merely shrugged weakly back at you. He was actively trying to excuse himself from the room by taking small, hesitant steps away from the two of you. Apparently, even he sensed that Dean was being unreasonably... Dean about all of this.

"Did... did you just reference Grease?" Dean went red, a stark contrast to his bright green eyes, which were filled with a bit of embarrassment.

"No!" he exclaimed before sighing heavily. "Maybe! Look, all I'm sayin' is that no girl buys into that stupid playboy leather jacket look."

"Ha!" The laugh came from your mouth before you even realized it was you that had made the sound. That was rich, especially coming from Dean Winchester himself. You had vivid memories of him wearing a "stupid playboy leather jacket" when you first met him. "You mean like the one you wore for some three years back in '05?"

"Hey, I'm an exception! And I didn't act like a playboy!" Even Sam let out a snort at that one, and he was halfway across the room.

"Oh, really?" you fired back. "Because I seem to recall you profusely hitting on me when we first met." He spluttered a bit, and you used his temporary inability to summon comprehensible words to your advantage. "I really don't get why you're so upset! I was just looking for a lead like I always do. The person I was asking just happened to be a guy, and as a woman, I know what gets guys talking! There's nothing to be mad about here!" When Dean set his jaw in his telltale way, you braced yourself for whatever he was going to say next.

"I'm not mad, Y/N, I just brought it up as a general concern, and you're the one who started blowing it all out of proportion." And there it was.

"I’m the one blowing it out of proportion?" you nearly screeched. "When he offered to buy me a drink, you threatened to, and I'm quoting you here, 'turn his face inside-out.' What the hell does that even mean?" You glanced over your shoulder to get Sam's two cents on the situation, but he was gone. He must've finally slipped out when you weren't paying attention. With an exasperated huff of air, you turned your attention back to the older Winchester, whose lips had formed something between his signature delicious pout and a frown, the skin between his eyebrows slightly creased. "It was just for a case, Dean! That's all! It didn't mean anything!" He crossed his arms over his army green cotton t-shirt, taught over his freckle-sprinkled skin.

"Oh, I get it," Dean finally said with a wry look in his eyes. "You've got a thing for me." You felt your eyes go wide as saucers as you began to reel, taking a physical step back.

"What?" Where the hell did that come from?

"No, I get it," he repeated. "That's why you've spent the last half hour explaining yourself." You felt your lip curl back involuntarily.

"I don't owe you anything," you practically snarled. Dean nodded.

"I know that," he agreed innocently, all traces of his frustration suddenly gone. "I never said you did. So, if you don't mind my askin', why have you been so hell-bent on telling me that it didn't mean anything?" Now it was your turn to be trapped in stunned silence. "I'll tell you why," he continued, "you've got a thing for me."

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it. How could you not? After years of constantly being around him, it was practically impossible not to. Hell, you had even found yourself thinking of Sam a couple of times, but that was only when you had first met him, and it was never to the extent of how you used to think of Dean. Correction: how you still thought of Dean.

Chewing on your lip to the point that you were afraid it would start to bleed, you shook your head, acutely aware of the way your face had started to heat up.

"You're an ass," you informed him. As you went to leave him in the dust, his hand was on your wrist, whirling you back around and pulling you to him, making your heart stutter wildly in your chest.

Not even the most lucid of your daydreams could have compared to how it felt to have his perfect lips on yours. Dean kissed you with a softness that you had never seen from him before, a warmth that made your entire body tingle, and with a depth that no one had ever achieved before, and you immediately began to feel dizzy with it. One of his hands served to steady you, stationed on the small of your lower back, and the other rested against your face as his thumb brushed tenderly over the apple of your cheek. When his tongue brushed against your lower lip, you gasped softly, parting your lips to allow him access. Dean gave a soft growl that made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and he pulled you closer. If it was actually possible to get drunk on a kiss, you were certainly getting there.

When you were finally forced apart by the need to breathe, you kept your eyes closed, unwilling to let the moment come to an end.

"Don't worry, gorgeous," Dean murmured into your ear. 'The feeling's mutual." Much to your disappointment, he released you, giving your hand a small squeeze before he was out of your reach. Totally frozen in place, you watched him go. He paused in the archway of the library. "And by the way," he said over his shoulder. "I used to flirt with you so much because I've wanted to do that since the day that I met you."

Thanks for reading!

As always, links to my masterlist, taglist, and inbox (requests are open!) are in my bio! <3

My Everythings:

@cole-winchester @alexwinchester23 @1-am-made-of-stardust @thorukindig @fiftyshadesoffandom6783 @hobby27 @supernaturalenchanted @organicpurplepants @odysseyofasiren @defenderrosetyler @crystal-lilac @youshrimpdickfucknugget

Dean Darlings:

@calaofnoldor @transparentfestivaltiger

#Supernatural #fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #reader #female reader #original female character #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #Dean Winchester x original female character #jealous!Dean #jealousy #irritated!Dean #frustrated!reader #awkward!Sam #comedy #(sort of)

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notnctu · 4 years

Text

to jisung, my family friend ♡

To All The J’s I’ve Loved Before Series by notnctu ♡ park jisung x fem!reader ♡ genre - fluff ♡ wc - 2.2k ♡ warnings - none ♡ synopsis - in which you guide a lost freshman to his lecture ♡ taglist - @colpen ; @cestmoncoeur ; @hyucksberry ; @lexiluness ; @lovelycharm05 ; @dearlyminhyung ; @classic-antifood ; @pikijaemin ; @whorefortaeyong ; @jaeismytamtation ♡ a/n - let us know if you want to be on the taglist for the next ones!

Jisung,

I’m already laughing at myself writing this letter, but it has to be done. You’ve grown up so well, I think it has to be a good four years since I’ve seen you in person. I can’t tell whether or not you're a stranger to me.

Our moms are literal best friends and I think we could’ve formed the same relationship if they didn’t try to force that on us. I’m reminiscing about our many play dates we had together as I write this.

We were such awkward kids, I mean, you still kind of are. Word of advice as your upperclassman, don’t wear your freshman lanyard. It’s too much of a tell that you’re a freshie, not that you don’t already look like one being lost on campus or clumsiness bumping into people on your way to class.

Jisung, I can’t help but look at you differently. When did your shy smile light up the room? You really grew into your features, because I don’t remember you having such a sharp jawline. I questioned my thoughts for you as we laughed together even after all these years. Your personality was still the same, maybe more mature now? Like someone hurt you in the past. Like your eyes grew sadder.

But honestly, you��re the most innocence I’ve experienced being in college. You showed me a type of love that could develop beyond a kiss or devious acts. I thought I’d never come across that again.

It was like an epiphany, like my cheeks felt warm whenever you acknowledged me. Your silliness never sold itself short, I could laugh for hours with you. There were no consequential thoughts between the two of us, like a refreshing love that is so pure and full of warmth from sunshine.

There’s a lot for you to learn and experience. I won’t rob that from you, given that I’ve experienced plenty after all these years. But there is such a compelling feeling within me to shield you from any negativity, to guide you in being the best version of yourself. I want to help you find yourself and maybe, grow with you since we have been absent of that during our teenage years. Maybe this is what should’ve been of our relationship a while ago.

If I had tried to notice you sooner, we could’ve saved each other from all the pain.

-from your mom’s favorite, y/n

“Honey, do you remember Jisung? You two were best friends when you were younger?” The phone call with your mom had droned on for more than you had anticipated. It was one of her I need a favor calls that could not wait until later.

The loud chatter and background music of the store caused your lack of attention to what she had been going on about. “You mean, your best friend’s son who you tried to force me to be best friends with when I was younger? What about him? I haven’t seen him for almost four years now.”

The phone receiver buzzed before she continued hesitantly, “I gave him your number.”

The box of pasta fell from your hands at her sudden statement. The strangers around you watched as your anxious hands recovered it from the ground. “Why?” The annoyance in your cadence was nothing surprising.

“He got accepted to your college, sweetie! Isn’t that great? You can guide him around campus, help him transition to college life. No one is forcing you two to be friends anymore. But it would be an amazing favor for me and your auntie. You know, she has been saying how she wants to pitch in to buy you a new car.” Coercion. Rolling your eyes, you aggressively packed your groceries in your reusable bag.

“How could I ever say no to her when I’m her favorite person?” It was a double edge sword with your mom. She never really gave you many options to work with and expected you to follow through as her very obedient daughter.

“That’s what I like to hear!” After the strenuous call, messages from an unknown number sat patiently in your inbox.

(127)-127-1271: hi (Y/N)!! idk if you remember me, we haven’t talked in awhile but it’s jisung! I’m going to be attending ur school in fall and I was wondering if you can help me with some housing stuff????

you: hey bud, congrats! Yeah, you can ask me anything you need to know, everything is very confusing when you first start out :)

The least you could do was act friendly. Jisung never did anything wrong and if anything, you two were oftentimes in the same awkward boat during your childhoods.

Talking to him again reminded you of all the holiday barbecues spent at his house and running away from the adults to play games with his cousins. The many sleepovers where his mom made him sacrifice his bed for you and he’d end up sleeping on their blow up mattress. Fond memories that were definitely lost in your present. You no longer remember how this boy even looked like.

Summer slipped from your fingers faster than you could blink. Another school year of newer experiences, yet without the aid of being a lost freshman. Everything fell back into a schedule as classes began. The floods of college students rushing to their next lecture. Students working in study rooms or at the outside commodities. The lost freshmen with their dangling lanyards who walk too slow and bumped into people.

There was one tall, shy boy that caught your eye. He wandered outside the building, checking the lecture hall number and scanning the enormous facility. The sheer panic in his expression when he looked down at his phone in his iron grip.

His features were clearly recognizable, but Jisung had grown incredibly older. His jawline was wider and he had several inches stacked above you. As you approached him, his infamous pout appeared as he rapidly scrolled on his dark screen. His cheeks weren’t entirely slimmed out.

“Jisung?”

Jisung was quick to see who could have possibly known his name at this new institution. He tilted his head when he finally laid his tired eyes on you. He knew there was no way he could have recognized you on his own. Not that you were absolutely different, but the whole aura that surrounded you embodied a college upperclassman. You were no longer the loud, weird middle school girl who wore her hair in wacky ponytails.

“(Y/N)! Wow, it’s been so long. I almost didn’t know who you were.” The deepness of his voice took you aback. His hand retreated to the back of his neck out of shyness. His high cheekbones marveled in the autumn afternoon. The boyish charm was very prominent, but his eyes seemed a bit lifeless, a bit sad. There was no gleam, loss of fairy dust that glimmered.

“I can recognize a lost freshman anywhere. Let me walk you to class.” You offered and his cheeks turned slightly pink from embarrassment.

A small side smile appeared when Jisung handed you his phone to see what building he was struggling to find. “I was trying to not be obvious, but the campus is so big. I really haven’t gotten used to where my classes are.”

A laugh escaped your lips when you gave the boy his phone. His wide eyes grew concerned, afraid you were mocking him. “It’s already the third week and I never noticed you were in my class. Let’s go, I’ll finally have someone to sit with.”

A sense of relief washed over his entire body as he followed your lead. The curious boy remained astonished as you two walked side by side on the large campus. He was barely taking in the massive structures, long roads, and the volume of people. His whole face lit up, with tiny sound effects whenever he was amazed by something.

“How could you ever get used to a place like this? I feel like there is so much to explore.” Jisung tried his best to match your strides to avoid losing you in the stream of hurried students.

“Yeah, it loses its luster after a few months.” Looking up, you noted the drop in his smile. Guilt filled your system at lowering his spirits. “But with the right experiences, you’ll fall in love with it more.”

Just like that, his rectangular smile rested well on his small face. “Thanks for answering all my texts over the summer.” His eyes averted to the ground as he held his backpack straps.

“I’m happy to help. C’mon, Jisung. We go way back, you’ve helped me escape many horrible adult encounters during your mom’s get togethers. The least I could do is return the favor.”

“Oh, we’re bringing up the past? Are you still afraid of the dark?” He raised a snarky eyebrow and you were surprised at the random attack.

You scoffed dramatically, and pretended to seem offended. “Says the one who had the night light in his room growing up.”

His hearty laugh surrounded the air around you two and you giggled lightly at how cutely he reacted. As his melody came to a descend, he analyzed your facial expression before saying, “talking to you is so natural, like we didn’t have a long pause on our barely developing friendship. I’ve been waiting to encounter a conversation like this since I got here.”

A strange, inexplicable feeling burned across your chest. Were those the butterflies that you felt so often around a boy you found the slightest potential? Long stares at Jisung’s profile had you admiring his strikingly handsome features. You shook off the unusual thought, “what about your roommate? You two haven’t hit it off yet?”

Jisung shrugged and looked around as if expecting his roommate to be wandering around him. He relaxed and stood by your side to wait for the lecture doors to open with leaving students. “Not exactly. Chenle’s a bit loud, a little weird too. He sleeps on silk pillows with his initials embroidered on them and has fancy cutlery.”

Laughter and more laughter filled the gaps with Jisung. It was the most refreshing feeling to be around, something you never knew you missed. Everyone was too busy being adults or experiencing wild, mature adventures. There was no room for innocence or child’s play. For a brief moment, you forgot about the stress of your future and wanted to bathe in the smiles that Jisung provided.

After the long boring lecture and a whole hour of Jisung performing pen tricks, he practically begged you to walk him to his next class. Given that your schedule was a bit more free today, with the spin of your heels, you were off giving him random tips about surviving his first year.

“Make sure you avoid walking to class through the center of campus on Wednesdays, unless you want to be harassed by clubs.” You cringed remembering the fateful encounter with your orientation leader from your first year, Jeno, that happened not too long ago. And how he still managed to flyer you after catching up.

Jisung did nothing, but nod aggressively to your advice to mentally note them all. He was overwhelmed, in a good way. However, knowing that he had you by his side, it made him feel all the more better. The realization that you two could actually be friends hit him like bricks. He wanted you to be guiding him, teaching him, bettering him.

“Hey homie!” A familiar, taunting voice called after you. You both perked up and watched as your best friend, Jungwoo, danced his way over to you.

You chuckled at your silly friend, “when did you ever call me homie?”

“When I noticed you standing next to a new friend and I don’t want to be too mean by calling you a loser.” Jungwoo’s happy smile bloomed as he stuck his hand out for Jisung to shake. “I’m Jungwoo, 2nd year Chemical Engineering major.”

Jisung stared at his hand, unsure how to even begin at introducing himself to other people. His only instinct was to throw scissors to Jungwoo’s extended palm, like he was playing a game of rock, paper, scissors. Jungwoo erupted with giggles and jumped at his hand being sandwiched between Jisung’s fingers. You, also, laughed at the awkward boy’s action.

“I like him.” Jungwoo patted Jisung’s stiff shoulder, causing Jisung to smile at his statement. “First year?”

“What gave it away?” You asked, eyeing Jisung with a matter of fact attitude.

“The lanyard dangling from his back pocket.” Jungwoo crossed his arms and joined you at your side. Jisung quickly stuffed the rest of his exposed lanyard into his pocket to refrain from being a first year stereotype.

The lecture doors opened with a bustling blast of people pouring out. You gave Jisung a warm touch on his arm, which he blushed unknowingly at. “Welcome to college, Jisung. We’re hanging out tomorrow because I said so.”

It was almost difficult for Jisung to stop smiling around you. He nodded and waved goodbye to both you and Jungwoo. A small thanks was all you heard before he disappeared inside.

Sighing, you and Jungwoo began heading towards any source of food. “Jisung, first year and undeclared major. He’s a family friend of mine.”

“He’s cute. You two look great together.” He winked. You pushed at Jungwoo��s arm playfully to rid any romantic thoughts. Though, it would be an absolute lie you weren’t already having some of your own. Maybe not entirely romantic, but more in a sense that you endearingly cared for him more than you had anticipated.

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mediaeval · 3 years

Note

Ink! I love your page but please note that Manny Montana is transphobic!!! he shared a story on his instagram about a trans athlete about Fallon Fox and the event happened 2014 but Manny shared it recently to stress gender segregation among athletes! If you search up Manny Montana + transphobic, it should appear but I just wanted to let you know! I was excited to see you write Rio because he is such a powerful character but unfortunately, Manny is trash.

hi angel ! first off, thank you so much for bringing this to my attention. i did a little digging & found this, & this --- absolutely terrible. & to think it's an actor on a show that, in my opinion, handled isaiah stannard's transition so well that they wrote it into his story arc ( rather than recasting the original role ) . . . ugh. i had no idea. please come off anon so i can thank you personally ! this is what i get for not having a look at instas etc, huh. seems like the rio role is pretty cursed : this is just the cherry on top of the compounded issues that basically boil down to writers & actors don't want rio on the show any more. anyway, what does that mean for me moving forward ? well i'm so glad you are / were excited to see me write rio, but now i'm in a bit of a situation ! part of rio's allure, as it were, is the depth manny himself brings to his portrayal. originally written as an absolute stereotype, i think his portrayal surprised everyone ! obviously, therefore, that's hard to, like, separate. so ! i have a few different option, & i would love people to weigh in with their opinions. i'm going hiking today so i won't be able to get to them for a bit, but please blow up my inbox, replies etc with your thoughts. happy to make an anonymous poll if preferred !

options :

• recast with a new face claim. on one hand, this is a blessing as it gives me more options now regarding young rio fcs. rio's ethnicity & age is never stated in the show, as he's the ' mysterious latino gangbanger ' ( ugh ) so there are multiple latinx faceclaims for me to choose from, & i can rewrite his ' background ' ( that he's never been given ) to accurately reflect that. if anyone has suggestions, please let me know ! i'm looking for someone who fits ' the vibe ' --- which i feel is one hard to grasp, unfortunately. basically - recast & make him completely my own, i suppose.

• go iconless. obviously this is the easier choice, but i feel like i would still probably be seeing manny in my head, & there'd be no imagery posts to reblog ( everyone knows i love my img posts :( ). also i rly like icons idk

• leave this blog to collect dust. easiest option & unfortunately one i'm very good at. like i said, manny's portrayal of rio is what makes him special, so i'm already a bit :| on , like , playing him now knowing the actor is transphobic, because he's what drew me to the character in the first place.

• i thought i had a fourth option, but my mind is blanking. let me know your thoughts, & once again i sincerely thank you for bringing this to my attention. i really would like to thank you privately ! i honestly had absolutely no idea, & i'm so disheartened, disappointed, & frankly disgusted. if the show has a fifth season i don't think i'll be watching. it was on thin ice for me anyway & rio was the only reason i continued. i still love what manny brought to the bare-bones character he was given but , i can't in good conscience use a faceclaim that has shared a post calling a trans woman ' essentially a man '. it mightn't have been his words, but he clearly stood by what they said enough to share it.

#ooc ans.#transphobia /#thank you thank you thank you thank you !! i'm so upset i had no idea

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mshermia · 3 years

Text

2020 Writer’s Year in Review

A big thank you to @lbigreyhound13 for the tag!

Total number of completed stories: 5! (I guess this stat is a little misleading for me though. I wrote all those stories between mid-October and December while procrastinating from finishing my main story, which still remains unfinished.)

Total number of words: 290.991 (257.523 of that was for “If They Knew All About You”)

Fandoms written in: The MCU, specifically for Irondad & Spiderson

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

In fics as in stories, I definitely wrote more than I expected because I was not expecting the prompt fills for whumptober to draw my attention like they did. However, I was definitely expecting to finish my long Bio!Dad story, but. No. Will still need a couple of months on that one... ;)

What’s your own favorite story of the year? My favorite has to still be my Bio!Dad fic “If They Knew All About You”. It’s not just that I spend the most time on it, but while there was a lot of set up for the story in the first half of it, this year I could put out a lot of the scenes I started the story for in the first place - scenes and chapters that I had written months ago, that just sat there in my inbox, waiting for their turn to come. (Tony and Peter both finding out about their history, Tony finding out about who’s to blame that his son was taken, Tony coming to Peter’s rescue... I could keep going :P). I’ve been waiting to publish some of those scenes for more than a year (especially Tony reacting to finding out that Peter is his son) and it’s been so great to see people’s reactions to it as well!

Did you take any writing risks this year? Erm... I had one chapter for “If They Knew All About You” where I went for a bit of a different approach. I knew what I wanted from the chapter but I wanted it to be less linear. While I do have other chapters that are structured similarly (like for example early on Tony is in the lab working on a project and then he mulls over the situations he’s in with the team and I cut back to an excerpt of their conversation so I can have the just of the situation without having to go on and on about everything happening around it.)

For Chapter 55 - Time To Take A Shot - I took it a bit to the extreme starting the chapter out with Peter holding a gun and having shot someone because I wanted it to have a shocking effect, but I’m still not sure if it was a bit too much or if it worked. Honestly, I’d might write it differently now if I had to do it again, but well, it is what it is ;)

Most popular story of the year: Easily “If They Knew All About You”. At Chapter 29 on December 31st 2019 the fic was at 34.357 hits. On December 31st 2020 the story had grown to 73 chapters and was at about 148.000 hits, (150.000 as of yesterday) which just blows my mind.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: “Nothing Left to Lose” which is part of my post-Endgame series and a (late) Whumptober prompt fill. It’s not finished yet, but compared to the other stories in that series it got *very* few hits. I really like the premise of it about the consequences of undoing the Snap and also Peter and Tony’s conflict with each other, but for some reason there are very few hits and just one comment I think, which honestly surprised me. I think maybe my summary was too vague? Who knows. Maybe it’ll get better with the second chapter :)

Most fun story to write: Probably “Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?” which was the first prompt fill I’ve ever written. With Morgan and Peter being a few years older in this one, it has such a different dynamic than every IronDad story I had written and I really enjoyed the change of pace.

Most unintentionally telling story: Chapters 56, 57 and 58 of “If They Knew All About You” where Peter (and also Tony) find themselves on the receiving end of the wrath of the NYPD police chief Clarke, who seems to be hell-bend to make their lives as miserable as possible, trying to force hospital staff to ignore procedure to get whatever he wants. I had written those chapters months before I put them up (actually inspired by a Utah nurse who was threatened and then arrested by an asshole cop who tried to force her to ignore her patient’s rights) but when it came time to publish them, they fell smack in the middle of the demonstrations and riots going on in the US in June/July against police brutality and those chapters got very strong reactions. I hadn’t planned any of that but I guess it’s a sign of how long and publically this problem had already existed before people couldn’t take it any longer.

Biggest surprise: Probably how much I enjoyed dusting off my old tumblr account. I still tread carefully trying to avoid as much Endgame stuff as I can unless it’s an unapologetic “Tony Stark lives” one, but I’ve really enjoyed finding short one-shots like @jen27ny or @superherotiger as well as just connecting with fellow fans and fellow fanfic authors, especially to bounce some ideas off. Compared to other social media sites where I focus on a lot more social issues and politics, tumblr feels like a wholesome and happy place, that’s getting rare to find online (as long as I can dodge those dreaded Endgame gifs) ;)

...

I still don’t follow enough blogs but tagging who I haven’t seen post this yet (no pressure :P) @spagbol99 @ninjazzz3 @polaroid15 @jelly-pies

#writer's year in review #2020 #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON

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shelobussy · 4 years

Text

ao3

It’s a sexy, sexy day when Beckett gets her promotion to the Cerritos.

She’s been a lower decks officer on the USS Vulker for six slutty years and it’s been the closest thing to paradise that she’s experienced since that time Marvin tried to snort Dorito dust and ended up summoning an ancient wish giving god when he sneezed it out on an alien substance Dr. L’Vertiss was analyzing as a possible cure for the parasites that were infecting the Academy.

Being a lower decks officer meant three things: contraband, causal hookups and constant disrespect of Starfleet Protocol. Everything Beckett wanted in a career. Fortunately, the Vulker was the bottom of the barrel when it came to starships, so they weren’t exactly looking too close to her record. Which was fine by Beckett, who was trying to fly under the radar ever since her mother had demoted her so hard, she’d ended up on a whole other ship, quadrants away from the Cerritos.

Thanks Mom.

So anyway, it’s a sexy, sexy day when her mother calls her, mainly because she’d just gotten out of alien jail and gotten a cool tat out of the deal, but also because she hasn’t heard for her mother in a while and, okay, maybe she misses her just a little bit. Even if she’s probably calling for Not Good Reasons.

Beckett flips her comm open and steels herself to get yelled at for whatever.

“I’m retiring,” are not the words Beckett is expecting. She squints suspiciously at her comm, vaguely concerned that a shapeshifter has replaced her mom.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

“Beckett—”

“You love being Captain and sitting in the chair and telling Ransom to stop giving himself sexy eyes in every reflective surface! Why would you retire?”

Her mom pinches the bridge of her nose, looking tired. “This is why I wanted to tell you in person—”

“Tell me what in person—”

“—Shaxs is dead.”

Beckett stops walking. Blinks down at her comm. Once. Twice. “What.”

“So is half the crew. This is less of me retiring and more of me…cutting my losses before Starfleet officially demotes my ass.”

Beckett’s day is slowly turning into an unsexy day. “And you’re just letting them!? You’ve been a Captain for what—”

“Beck—”

“Fifteen years and a Starfleet Officer for even longer! They can’t demote you—”

“They can and they will. Look,” Mom sighs. “They’re putting together a new crew as soon as the Cerritos is given the clear. There’s barely anyone left from the main crew who even wants to stay after this mess.”

“What happened?”

“That’s classified,” Mom says, which Beckett takes to mean hack my official report if you want to know. “And don’t go digging for it,” she adds.

Beckett resists pouting, only because the situation is so. Weirdly serious.

“I’m not calling you because of that, however. Ransom is being transferred to the Titan. It’s only thanks to his initiative and Officer Boimler’s quick thinking that we’re even alive right now.”

The sound of the warp core, buzzing in the background, seems too loud, all of the sudden. Beckett swallows, feeling sick.

“Officer Boimler is being promoted to Captain. I’ve recommended you as his First Officer.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s laughing until she starts choking from it. A group of ensigns, clustered at the end of the hallway she’s standing in, give her weird looks before quickly vacating the area.

“That,” she says, once she’s caught her breath, “is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

Mom gives Beckett her Captain™ face.

“I’m an ensign. Lower decks. Bottom of the barrel.” Beckett continues, grinning. “Not officer material.”

“Top of your class. Present in the Dominion War. Only gets demoted because she cares more about people than rules.” Mom gives a smug smile. “Perfect match for the Cerritos.”

There’s a weird, hot pressure in the corner of Beckett’s eyes. “Mom.”

“Boimler has a stick up his ass, he could use someone who loosens him up a little. Pays less attention to protocol,” Mom adds.

Beckett shakes her head, smiling. “I’d give him a heart attack a week in.”

“I’m counting on it. At least think about it, will you? And for god’s sake, go shower. I can see the filth on you, light years away.”

Beckett laughs, but this time it’s real. “Yeah Mom, I will.” Then, “I’m glad you like. Didn’t die or whatever.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Thank you, problem child. So am I. I’ll take to you later.”

The connection blacks out, leaving Beckett staring at her own dim reflection in the screen.

She does look like shit. Maybe a shower isn’t a bad idea after all.

_____

The letter stays in her inbox for six unslutty days before she finally clicks on it. Turns out, even though Mom is no longer a Captain, her recommendation must’ve meant something because there it is, a nice, shiny, transfer request.

It’s signed Captain Brad Boimler and that is where Beckett draws the line because she is not working for someone named Brad.

Maybe if you had been on the Cerritos, Shaxs wouldn’t have died, a snide voice sounds in her brain. Beckett immediately shuts that voice down because that’s fucked up and she didn’t go through four years of Starfleet mandated therapy to still be fucked up.

(She’s still kinda fucked up, but that’s okay.)

Dad finally starts spamming her inbox—and she really wants to know how Mom got him on her side, they’ve barely spoken since the divorce—so Beckett, with great reluctance, reviews the transfer request again.

It’s bullshit.

“This is bullshit,” she tells Dad.

“I know, but if I have to get one more message from your mother, demanding why you haven’t taken the position—”

“Okay, fine I’ll do it, but only because I want to see why Mom promoted Brad to Captain.”

_____

Mom either promoted Brad to Captain because he was that good of a suck up or because his hair is super distracting. Either way, Beckett is two seconds away from saying fuck this shit and demoting her own ass back to the Vulker.

He walked through the door like a minute ago and she’s already had him pegged. His clothes are neatly pressed, hair perfectly coiffed, and his hands nervously flutter around, as if he’s unsure what he should be doing with them. He can’t have been an officer longer than a few months before he was promoted Captain, that’s for sure. Beckett literally has no idea what Mom was thinking when she gave him the chair.

She waves him down toward her table.

Brad takes one look at her unbuttoned collar, nonregulation boots, and unkempt hair and sighs. “Captain Freeman recommended you?” his voice is disbelieving.

“That’s the word, my dude.” Beckett leans back, eyeing him over the half empty glass of whiskey she’s been nursing. “Captain Brad, take a seat,” she says, in her Serious voice.

Captain Brad sits across from her. “It’s Captain Boimler, actually.”

“Brad’s fine.”

His eye twitches. “Officer Mariner—”

“Ensign,” she interrupts, cheerfully.

Brad pauses. Blinks. She gestures to the single pin in her collar.

“Oh. Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I was lower decks on the Vulker before Captain Freeman emotionally blackmailed me into meeting with you.”

She snaps her fingers at the bartender and gestures toward Brad while she waits for the man in question to process the fact that a lower decks ensign was being offered a First Officer promotion.

It, surprisingly, takes only a few seconds before he bounces back. “I didn’t have time to look at your file,” he admits, sounding a bit frustrated. “I’m usually more on top of my work but—”

“Don’t sweat it, Bradthaniel. If you’d read my file, I seriously doubt you’d have agreed to meet with me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You kill an Admiral or something?”

“Or something,” she agrees, mind flashing back to all of the redacted and classified sections of her file. The bartender places a glass of purple liquid in front of Brad and refills Beckett’s drink. Beckett salutes him lazily with her glass. “I’m more interested in you. How’d you land a captaincy at, what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-nine,” he grits out, as if that still isn’t weirdly young to be that high in the chain of command. “How’d you get Freeman to recommend you?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she flips her ponytail obnoxiously. “She called me.”

“Sure.”

“What, am I not ‘First Officer Material?’” she mocks, wrapping finger-quotes around her words.

He rolls his eyes. “No offense—”

“Complete offense already taken—”

“But you are the least promotable person I’ve ever met.”

Beckett grins. “Now you’re getting it. We got a Bridge Crew yet?”

“I—” he blinks at her for a moment. “I’m still trying to put the rest of the Bridge Crew together, but it’s been insane lining up schedules and—”

“Leave it to me.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s my job. You manage me, I manage the crew. I’m basically a glorified secretary now.”

Brad looks like he’s seeing an error screen in front of his eyes. “So, you’re taking the job,” he concludes, voice hilariously defeated.

“Someone needs to make sure my M—uh, Captain Freeman’s ship doesn’t blow up.”

“I handled it fine the first time.” He rolls his eyes carelessly, which kind of pisses her off.

She gives him a smile. Knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Tell that to the 567 casualties.”

His face goes very pale. An incredible feat considering his already milky complexion. She can’t tell if he’s angry or about to cry. “Shut up. You weren’t even there, how would you know—"

“Yeah, you were there, so why the fuck didn’t you do something?” she hisses. All she can see is Shaxs’ scarred face in the back her head. She’d been a pain in the Bridge Crew’s asses, but most of them had been genuinely upset when she’d been transferred.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but you’ve got guts,” Shaxs had admitted once, looking impressed, which was his way of saying you’re fucking adopted go do 200 pushups.

Beckett has seen a lot of death in her 26 years, but this one hurts because this is her Mom’s family. Half of them are dead and she wasn’t there and fucking Brad was.

Fucking Brad is still staring at her, eyes unreadable, mouth set in a hard line. He snatches up the file and flips it open, fingers deftly shuffling through the printed-out paper documents she’d complied last night. “I’m overseeing ship repairs tomorrow. 0500 hours. Be there.”

“Wait what?” Beckett hears herself say, aware that she’s gaping at him.

“I’ll have to run these through background checks before I can approve them for transfer, and I’d like to meet with them in person before I make any decisions.”

“Dude.”

“What,” he snaps, eyes meeting hers defiantly.

“You’re seriously approving my transfer?”

“Do you not want me to?” his brow furrows in confusion.

“You called me the ‘least promotable person’ like ever! I just like insulted the fuck out of you!” she whisper-shrieks. “You’re supposed to get mad and tell me to fuck off back to whatever corner of the galaxy Freeman dragged my ass out of, not make me your First Fucking Officer.”

“Well I’m not. Congratulations First Officer Mariner, you’re expected to report for duty—”

“Oh fuck you—”

“On the Cerritos three weeks from now during her relaunch.”

Beckett is on the verge of stabbing this bastard in the eye with his own stylus. “But why?”

Brad pauses, halfway out of his seat, hands still clenched tightly around the file. “Why what?”

“Don’t be fucking coy, why are you approving my transfer, you absolute nugget,” she hisses.

“Captain Freeman recommended you.”

“Are you seriously that much of a suck up—”

“The Cerritos isn’t that great of a starship, but Captain Freeman is a good captain,” Brad interrupts. “We went through some real shit together. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. The least I can do is honor her last request.”

And with that, Brad stands up and sweeps out of the bar.

“Dramatic exits are my thing!” she shouts after him.

_____

She’s pissed, mostly because Brad had the actual audacity to approve her transfer, but also because how fucking dare he be an actual nice person?

Okay, maybe not a nice person, she decides, as she crawls out of bed at 4 fucking thirty am. Morning people are hell spawn, but he’s a decent person.

Whatever, it’s not as if she’s going to start liking him or trying to be his friend or whatever.

“If it doesn’t work out, I can get myself demoted in like two days,” she decides, out loud, tying her hair out of her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her, tired.

So of course, Brad is annoyingly awake.

“Of course you’re a fucking morning person,” she mutters, falling into step behind him.

“Haven’t had your coffee yet?” he snips back, eyes glued to his data padd.

She glares at his back, but makes no comment.

By the time Beckett is fully awake and functioning, she’s already dissociated three separate times and had a mini panic attack twice.

The ship is FUCKED.

The primary hull has been completely ripped apart, like something took a large bite out of the side, and both propulsion units are missing. Beckett peaks over Brad’s shoulder and gets a good look at the interior damage.

“You guys ejected the warp core?” she shrieks in his ear. “Dude that is so badass.”

Brad jumps and pushes her off him. “Wha—get off me, what are you doing—”

Beckett snatches the padd away from him and begins to rapidly scan through the damage reports. “Shit, it’s going to take weeks before we’re back in space. What’s the ETA on getting a new core in? Oooh, we should also add reflective panels, I hear the Enterprise is so bright, nothing ever gets done on there.”

Brad snatches his padd back. “Yeah, I think we can pass on that one.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Being a Starfleet Officer isn’t supposed to be fun—although I do find enjoyment in managing and organizing information—”

“Oh yawn, you’re a pencil pusher.”

“Did you just say ‘yawn’ out loud?”

“Do you need your hearing checked, Captain Brad?”

“It’s Boimler,” he hisses.

“Captain Boimler Brad,” she corrects, easily.

He stomps off, all huffy, but whatever. It’s not her fault Captain Brad doesn’t have a sense of humor.

_____

It takes about a month for the Cerritos to get back into working condition. Beckett would be impressed with how quickly Starfleet is able to get her back in commission, except for the fact that, well. It’s Starfleet. They’re great at what they do, even if what they do isn’t so great.

By then she’s already sent her Dad over seventeen furious voicemails and threatened her mother with six different kinds of legal action if she doesn’t “pick up her goddamn fucking comm.”

Mom does pick up her call and she does agree to meet with her.

“This is bullshit,” she says, after hugging the ever-living shit out of her favorite parent. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Mom rolls her eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Kiddo, I’ve never been able to make you do anything.”

This was probably true, but Beckett needs someone to blame. “He’s worse than you. Or Dad. Mom he likes paperwork. He’s a morning person. Yesterday he asked me my opinion on the Oxford comma.”

Mom makes a complicated face. Beckett suspects she’s trying not to laugh. “That does sound like Boimler,” she admits, sighing. “Please tell me you’re playing nice.”

Beckett decides not to tell her about the whole “I was a bitch to him because I have no idea how to grieve” deal. “Hey, I can be nice.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I’m giving him a hard time, but come on! You could have chosen anyone to promote. Hell, you should have picked Ransom, not transferred him!”

“Ransom doesn’t have the head to make tough calls.”

“And Brad does?”

Mom gives her a look that says she knows something Beckett doesn’t. Beckett hates that look. “I think he knows what he’s doing when he forgets he’s in charge.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means give him a chance before you decided to drop him in a wormhole,” is the dry response she’s given.

Beckett makes no promises.

_____

The Cerritos leaves Starbase 375 on an uneventful day. About eighty percent of the original crew has been completely replaced, most notably, the Bridge Crew. Senior staff is now complied of Officer’s Captain Freeman had promoted before her resignation, but there’s are a few that Beckett herself has recommended. Seems like Brad had actually taken a look at the file.

Beckett takes her seat next to Captain Brad and prepares herself for the madness that’s going to commence from being First Officer on the lamest ship in Starfleet.

The Cerritos has been in deep space for three boring, uneventful weeks.

The only fun Beckett has found in any of it is by torturing Brad. And she’s not even trying! Beckett just has one of those personalities that rubs well-organized people the wrong way. Yes, sometimes she thrives off chaos, and yeah she does things in her own time, but it’s just who she is.

Brad doesn’t seem to appreciate any of her suggestions, calling most of them illegal and dangerous and being all shouty about it.

He’s also a huge stickler for regulations and shit. It’s way, way worse than working with Mom. Beckett’s about to start climbing walls from the sheer boredom of being a First Officer. The only thing she does anymore is sleep, paperwork and fight with Brad, rinse, repeat.

And then she meets Lieutenant D’Vana Tendi.

The first thing Beckett thinks when she runs into the hyperactive Orion is that if Dr. T’Ana had retired along with the rest of the senior crew, Tendi could have easily picked up the mantle. The girl’s a fucking prodigy, mad scientist level of genius.

The second thing Beckett thinks when she meets Tendi is I am way gayer than I thought I was.

“Hey, you’re Mariner!” Tendi chirps, excitedly bouncing up to her. Dr. T’Ana, who had been discussing something medical and boring with the Orion, groans and stomps off the minute she lays eyes on Beckett. Which, rude. Beckett didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

“Oh nice, my reputation proceeds me,” Beckett grins, brushing off her hurt. “As does yours, Lieutenant Tendi.”

Tendi’s cheeks turn a little blue.

There’s an amused snort behind her. “Already flirting with the locals, Mariner?” a familiar voice dryly asks.

Beckett’s mouth drops open. “Rutherford?”

Rutherford, who was messing anxiously with a cyber implant over his eye that he definitely did not have three years ago, grins at her. “Long time, no see!”

Tendi whirls around. “You know Mariner?”

“She used to be lower decks with me,” he explains.

“Yeah, back in the day,” Beckett agrees, examining her nails. “It was pretty badass.”

Rutherford snorts and gives her a look which clearly conveys I know why you were transferred dumbass. Beckett gives him a look back and hopes it communicates to shut the fuck up.

“You driving Boimler crazy yet?” Rutherford asks, instead of spilling her dirty secrets.

Tendi does this cute snort/giggle thing behind her Padd. “Like you haven’t been present for his ‘daily complain about Marin—‘”

Rutherford lightly kicks Tendi who quite promptly shuts up.

Beckett frowns suspiciously at them.

“Anyway, it’s great to see you Mariner!” Rutherford continues. “Congrats on making First Officer by the way,” he adds in a tone of voice that implies that she will be telling him exactly how she had landed the position later.

“I guess my record speaks for itself.” Beckett smirks.

“Uh hu,” he eyes her disbelievingly. “See you at the bar after our shifts?”

Beckett sighs. “I’ll have to pass. Brad gave me so much fucking paperwork to do that I’ll never get a day off again.”

“Look at you following the rules!” Rutherford punches the air. “I knew you had it in you. I guess I’ll see you around!” He hops off the bio-bed and heads off toward Engineering.

Tendi frowns after him. “At least he still sounds like himself, right?”

That’s a weird thing to say. “Huh?”

The Orion blinks up at her, startled. “Oh, you don’t know? He was in an accident. Full year of his memory completely wiped. He remembers Brad, and you, I guess, but.” She looks down, defeated.

“Oh.” Beckett feels squeamish at the sudden emotion present in the conversation. “That, uh, that really sucks.”

“Yeah.” Tendi shakes herself. “Well, enough buffer time, I’d better get back to work. It was great meeting you, Mariner!”

“Likewise, Lieutenant Tendi,” Beckett flashes her most charming grin. “See you on the Bridge?”

Tendi glances back at Dr. T’Ana, who’s impatiently glaring at them. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

_____

The next few weeks go by in rapid succession. It’s either very very boring and leaves Mariner missing her life as a lower decks officer or it’s incredibly fast pace with weird shit that leaves her chasing the next adrenaline rush.

But of course most days it’s just Brad yelling at her.

“If you could have your report for Second Contact with the Diququeue’s by tomorrow morning, that would be great.”

“Uh huh.”

“Also, I need you to stop trying to pet J’viv, his culture finds it offensive.”

“Sure thing.”

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?!

_____

“Officer Mariner could you—what the fuck are you wearing.”

“Oh yeah, the Padroiques gave me this cool jacket.”

“I don’t even—what—Mariner, go take it off!”

“But it’s pink!”

“It’s putting hair all over my Bridge!”

“That’s not hair it’s—”

“Oh my god just get rid of it.”

_____

“What the fuck was that!”

“That was me. Doing my job. First Officer stuff.”

“That was you practically starting a war with the Gorgonvians. Again.”

“Dude, their government is super corrupt!”

“That’s their problem! Stop antagonizing alien Ambassadors!”

_____

“Why would you tell them to go fuck themselves?!”

“They pissed me off!”

“I actually can’t handle you right now. Get off my Bridge and go irritate someone else.”

“Fine!”

_____

“This isn’t working,” she tells Rutherford, snatching at his drink. He gives it up with a sigh and wearily watches her down the purple liquid.

“Maybe start listening to him for once? He is the captain.”

“And that isn’t weird to you? Dude, didn’t he start out lower decks?”

This gets an eye roll out of her usually positive friend. “We all started lower decks. That’s how Starfleet works.”

Beckett decides not to mention that it was definitely not how it worked for her, as that explanation would include revealing that she’s. Well. A Starfleet brat.

“Besides, he’s been a Lieutenant for about a year now and he really handled the Parkled crisis really well. Not that I remember,” he adds, looking a little downcast.

Beckett wrinkles her nose. “Wait, the Cerritos was taken down by Parkleds? No fucking way.” She pulls her data padd out and began tapping away.

“Please don’t hack any mission re—”

“Too late.”

“—ports. Oh shit.” Rutherford rubs at his human eye with one hand. “See this? This is why you’re driving Boimler up a wall.”

Beckett glares at him. “Brad needs to chill out.”

“You need to chill out,” he corrects and then winces. “Sorry, that came out mean. I mean, maybe just try being nice to him? Like what’s the worst that could happen?”

Beckett’s eyes narrow.

_____

“Here, Jen made coffee.”

“If you’re trying to poison me—”

“Why would I poison you?!”

Brad gives her a deadpan stare.

“With coffee!” she adds, for good measure. “I would never defile the gods’ nectar!”

“Ugh, fine,” he snatches at the mug. “Just please stop shouting.”

_____

“I don’t get it!” Beckett rants to Tendi, who’s frowning down at her data padd like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’m being like super chill for once and he’s still mad!”

Rutherford, who’s doing something cool and science-y to the transporter pad, glances up. “Your version of chill involves way more stabbing than most peoples.”

Tendi nods, eyes still glued to her padd. “Maybe try not challenging Klingons to duels and Boimler will calm down.”

“Uh, he challenged me and then was a sore loser. Not my fault. And I bought Brad a milkshake afterwards to make up for it!”

“Boimler did say that it was unfairly delicious,” Tendi says, pensively.

“I don’t think that was a milkshake,” Rutherford mumbles.

“Point is, why doesn’t he like me yet! Everyone likes me except lame people!”

“So, you don’t think Boimler is lame anymore,” Tendi inquires, grinning at her.

“Shut up, he’s the lamest.”

Rutherford and Tendi share a conspiring look. “Sure.”

_____

So, Brad almost dies. And so do Tendi and Rutherford, because it seems that even though Brad is captain now, apparently the three of them are a tight little trio who’ve been getting up to no good the whole time Beckett was on the Vulker.

That explains a lot actually.

Anyway, there’s some Away Mission nonsense and Beckett just happens to be on the Cerritos because Brad claims that she’s too high strung and that he hasn’t had enough coffee to handle her.

Whatever.

Some shit goes down—again, Beckett isn’t there and doesn’t bother to find out the exact details until much much later—that involves Rutherford and Brad getting infected by some alien disease and suddenly Tendi is dealing with an outright war between the local Camisitites and the Federation and by the time Beckett gets their asses beamed back onto the Cerritos, it’s almost too late.

Rutherford is going to be fine, thanks to his cyborg implants but Brad isn’t looking too hot which means Beckett is Acting Captain.

Fucking great.

It takes her maybe two, three days tops to settle everything out with the irate Camisitite nation and find a cure, but it all works out in the end.

“If you want a Missions Report you can have it after I’ve taken a shower,” she informs a groggy Brad. He blinks up at her from his bio-bed, taking in her disheveled hair, bloodstained shirt, and exhausted expression.

“…cool,” he mutters. “Go away.”

She scoffs at him, dragging a seat up. “I’m good here, actually.”

Brad wakes himself up enough to give her a half-hearted scowl. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

“Not really, no.” She examines her nails. “Your fault for signing my transfer.”

“So this has all been punishment? Because a good person talked you into a nice, well paying job that I signed off on. I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get you,” she retorts. “Command fucking sucks. It was way cooler when I was an ensign.”

“But you’re really good at it,” he says, surprised. “You’re smart and badass and like way better at everything than everyone else.”

“Wait what?”

“You could have everything! And you’re just wasting it? Do you want me to kick you off ship?”

“Maybe!”

“Well I’m not going to!”

“Why not?!”

He glares at her sullenly. “Figure it out yourself, if you’re so smart.”

_____

“I can’t figure it out!” she snaps, resuming her wild pacing.

Rutherford, who looks like his unending patience is finally, for once, running out, sighs.

(People seem to be doing that a lot around her recently.)

“Figure what out, Mariner?”

“Why did the bastard make me his First Officer?”

“Maybe he’s hot for you,” Tendi suggests, eyebrows wiggling up and down. Beckett shoves her face away.

“Shut up, no way.”

“Just ask him?” Rutherford suggests.

“I did! Like twice! First time he gave me stupid answer and second time he deflected.”

“He gave it to you because he likes you, dummy,” Rutherford says, giving her a friendly shove. “Not like that,” he adds, as Tendi began make kissy faces. “But like. He thinks you’re cool.”

“He thinks I’m cool,” Beckett parrots, unimpressed.

“You are pretty cool,” Tendi agrees. “You like kick everyone’s ass and are super smart and you have street cred.”

“Street cred,” Beckett repeats, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

“Point is,” Rutherford went on. “He thinks you’re cool. And you know what? I think you think he’s pretty cool.”

Beckett makes a face. “I do not, take that back.”

“You think it’s impressive that Freeman promoted him and it has you all pissy because she threw you off the ship, but you secretly think he’s smart and you think it’s funny that he gets all tied up in knots over protocol,” Rutherford summarizes.

“What are you, my therapist?” Beckett snaps.

“I’m you’re friend. And I think you could be his too if you tried?”

Beckett groans, dropping her face into Tendi’s shoulder. “Fine maybe you’re a little bit right. He hates me though.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you,” Rutherford says, grin in her voice. “You annoy the fuck out of him, sure. But he likes you plenty or he’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“So what do I do?” she mumbles into Tendi’s uniform.

“Go apologize, dumbass,” Tendi advises, shrugging her off her shoulder.

“Ugh.”

_____

She finds him laying on one of the Observation Deck floors, a half-drained bottle of blue substance beside him. Before she can change her mind, she flops down into a seated position next to him. They’re drifting through hyperspace, creating that weird blue effect as their ship speeds past distant stars.

Beckett takes a swig of his contraband, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says, staring blankly out into space.

Beckett feels surprise at his admission—yeah, this man is a bit of a wreck, but he seemed to the type of guy whose contingency plans had contingency plans—but decides not to show it.

“Congrats dumbass, neither to the rest of us.”

Brad frowns. “You always know what you’re doing.”

This actually coaxes a surprised laugh out of her. She collapses backward, laying on the cold deck beside him. “That’s where you’re definitely wrong, dude. I never know what I’m going to do until I do it. Could be committing arson today, could adopt one of those turtle-puppies we saw on Karklon III last week, the list goes on. We’re Starfleet Officers, we have to be flexible about shit,” she adds, turning her head look at him.

He continues to stare straight ahead of him. “I think you make a better Captain.”

Okay, so he’s in a brutally honest mood. She can chill with that.

“I think I’d get us killed in a week,” she counters, truthfully. “I’m way too impulsive to be in charge. For every badass rule breaker, we need pencil pushing stickler, ya know?”

“So what,” Brad turns his head to the side, squints at her skeptically. “Now you want to work together?”

She drops her chin into the palm of her hand, leaning on her elbow. “I’m just saying, maybe I could get myself demoted back to the fucking Vulkner again and maybe you resign your position and become one of those sad sad researchers that get eaten by their own plants and Starfleet discovers your remains six years later when they have to find a cure for a face-eating parasite or whatever. Or,” she continues, before he can interrupt, all pissy, “maybe you need to loosen up, and maybe I need to suck up to command a bit more.”

It’s the closest to an apology as he’s going to get from her.

(He’s been kind of a bitch too, and they both know it.)

Brad turns back to the window—if you can call the entire wall being made of glass a window—and sighs.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot,” he muses—his version of an apology as well, she notes—and then adds, “I can always demote you.”

“Ha! You couldn’t last a day in the chair without me and you know it,” she replies, smugly. “You pretend like you want constant order and everything to be perfectly organized and on schedule, but I know the truth.”

“Really now?” he dryly says. “And what’s that.”

She grins, leaning in. “You’re secretly a rebel.”

“Fuck off.”

“Pffft, I saw your eye twitching during our report to Admiral Travional. You were practically begging me to spill my coffee on him.”

“Okay, I did not tell you to do that—”

“Oh, and that sexy, sexy moment when Tendi punched Captain Lohnersen out? You never once wrote her up for—”

“He was harassing her, I wasn’t going to write her up when he clearly was disrespecting—”

Beckett dangles the bottle of ale in front of him. “Why Captain Brad. Is this. Gasp! Contraband?!”

Brad laughs, snatching the bottle away from her. “I found it in your quarters.”

“And just what were you doing in my quarters, my good sir?”

“I’ll have you know I was dropping off paperwork. That you still haven’t done. From three weeks ago.”

“And you just swiped it off my desk. Tsk, tsk.”

“Confiscated it,” he corrects, still grinning up at her. “For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” Beckett grabs the bottle again. Takes another swig. “Surprised you’re still conscious. This shit can blind you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs the bottle back. “So maybe slow down.”

She rolls her eyes because she has clearly proven numerous times that she can hold her liquor but decides not the start anything. It’s weird, getting along with Brad, but not…unpleasant.

“Hey,” she says, poking his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

His face looks pinched. “Thanks for not letting me die,” he replies, suddenly wary.

She scoffs. “Like I’d let anyone die under my watch.”

Brad sits up. “You mean like I did.”

“Oh.” Beckett blinks at him. “Oh shit. Dude, I was just being an asshole then, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you weren’t wrong. If I had been smarter or—”

“Dude, you cannot think like that,” Beckett grabs his shoulders and makes uncomfortably steady eye-contact. “Even if I had been on the Cerritos when shit went down, I don’t think I could have saved him. You guys were on a time crunch with no backup and I’m surprised Rutherford survived the explosion.”

Brad’s eyebrows furrow. “Wha—did you read Freeman’s Mission Report? I told you to stop—”

She waves him off. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, stop beating yourself up over it. And stop letting assholes like me make you feel bad,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“Only if you stop challenging people to duels in the Jefferies Tubes,” he counters.

“Deal,” she lies. “You should get in on some of those duels, though. You seem like a sword guy.”

“I can’t even tell if that’s a euphemism or not,” he mumbles. “Are we cool?”

“The coolest,” she confirms. “At least until you see my Missions Report.”

Brad sighs deeply and flops back down. “I’m not even worrying about that right now.”

“Good, because I definitely broke like every protocol ever.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I told the Camisitite’s to call me Captain Mariner, First of her Name.”

“Oh my god—”

“And I challenged their leader to a duel.”

“Mariner what the fuck.”

#reblog for the non ao3 users #tumblr reblog #my fanfiction #star trek lower decks #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #carol freeman #marinler #first officer au #star trek

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quirknojutsuzine · 4 years

Text

Camp Crossover🏕

Hello, aspiring heroes and ninjas! To thank you all for sending us over 50 headcanons, our very own Mod Kairi (@kairi-chan) wrote a hilarious and engaging fic based on a headcanon we received! Don’t hesitate to send us more because our inbox and CuriousCat are always open! We hope you enjoy reading! :D

Genre: Humor & Slice of Life

Rating: T

Headcanon: “Bakugou being obsessed with explosive tags”

The forest shook with explosions—rocks, splinters, and dirt flying everywhere. Kirishima hardened his body and raised his arms to protect himself. His friend was yelling expletives at the guy with pearl-colored eyes.

“Stop looking at me funny, you damn extra!” Bakugo yelled. He flexed his fingers, little explosives going off. “And stop with that ballerina turning shit!”

The other guy raised a brow but did not change his stance. His arms were opened wide and slightly tilted downward. “You’re more obnoxious than Naruto.”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” Bakugo screamed, the explosives around his hands getting bigger. “WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE!”

Kirishima grimaced and took a step forward. “Come on, stop it. Sensei said we were supposed to get along with these guys.” His friend was short-tempered, and it would have been fine if he only ran his mouth, but Bakugo was a man of action.

“He started it! Looking at me all funny with his creepy eyes.”

“It is the Byakugan,” Neji explained simply. “But I don’t need it to take down someone as simpleminded as you.”

“Oh shit.” Kirishima slapped his hand on his forehead. This guy was a piece of work and knew how to taunt his opponents well, he’d give him that. And here he thought he would have been able to have a nice training session today.

“I will blow you to bits, you ballerina weird-eyed extra!” Bakugo lunged forward, his arms behind him as he let out a string of explosives from his arms to thrust him forward. He jumped, and brought his arms and hands in front of him, unleashing his firepower on the ninja. “DIE!”

Kirishima tried to look away, but kept one eye open, wanting to see what would happen next. He braced himself for the explosion about to come but got blown off his feet from behind. He went flying to Bakugo and ruined his momentum. Neji fluidly evaded them and watched as the two fell flat on their face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” A worried and feminine voice called out. The bushes rustled and out came Momo, holding on to a kunai knife with an explosive tag attached on the end. “I’m sorry, I aimed wrong!”

“Is anyone hurt?” Tsuyu came jumping in and looked at her two classmates on the ground. She only blinked, and then looked back at Momo. “I think they’re okay.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Momo sighed, a hand on her chest.

“Maybe we should have started with the smaller tags…” Tenten chuckled and scratched the back of her neck as she approached Momo. “That was a good first try, though.” She then shifted her attention to her teammate. “Oh, Neji. I didn’t know you were training today.”

He only nodded. “Someone wanted to challenge me.”

“Oh? How did that go?” Tenten asked curiously.

Neji stepped aside and revealed Bakugo pushing Kirishima off of him, a scowl on his face.

“What the hell was that?” Kirishima rubbed his head. “It was a good thing I was using my quirk. It was stronger than Bakugo’s explosives…”

“Haaaa?!” Bakugo scowled again. “What could be stronger than me?!”

“This.” Tenten took the kunai from Momo’s hand and twirled it around her fingers. “Your explosive tricks aren’t so unique, here.” She giggled.

Bakugo did not find that funny. He ground his teeth together and got up on his feet, rushing towards her to look at it. “That’s just a fucking piece of paper.”

The kunoichi nodded and touched the tag with her finger before twirling it quickly and then throwing it at a far off tree. Right when the knife made contact with the trunk, a loud explosion came off. Momo, Tsuyu, and Kirishima winced. Neji looked unphased, while Tenten retained the smirk on her lips.

Bakugo, however, looked on with stars in his eyes, and a wicked grin slowly spread on his face. He turned around to face Tenten and shook her shoulders. “You gotta fucking give me some of those!”

“Shannaro!” Sakura’s voice was quickly overpowered with the sound of the earth and rocks splitting apart, dust quickly rising and covering her form.

Deku was shaking with excitement, his eyes wide with wonder and a smile on his face. “That is so cool!” He squealed, gripping his notebook. “Sakura-chan, you’re so cool!”

The girl before him looked nothing someone who could wreak so much havoc. She was lithe, cute, and had pink hair. But that really shouldn’t have surprised him. Heroes came in all shapes and sizes, after all.

The kunoichi brushed her hair away from her face and grinned at him. “Thanks! The key is concentrating all your chakra to your fist and releasing it at the right moment.”

“Concentrating all your chakra to your fist and releasing it at the right moment,” Deku repeated as he scribbled that down on his notebook. He took a step back when Sakura used the body flicker technique and ended right next to him, easily erasing the twenty-five-meter space between them. She peered at his notebook. “Are you writing that down? How studious of you.”

He tried not to act too surprised. She could teleport, too? Deku had to write that down. “Uh-umm… Yeah.” He nodded and closed his notebook. “I write all of my observations and study them later on. I’m not the most talented, so I do what I can to catch up to my classmates.”

Sakura hummed, green eyes softening. “Is that so?”

“Huh? What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Sakura laughed. “You just remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. I don’t have any special kekkei genkais, but I work and train hard under Tsunade-sama so I could catch up to my friends, too.”

“Ooh.” Deku’s eyes widened, and so did his grin. “Then we can work hard together.”

“For sure!” Sakura pumped her fist in the air. “Now, tell me about that jutsu of yours. Kaka-sensei said it sounded similar to my technique, and you could use some help with chakra control.”

“Oh, it’s-it’s a quirk.” Deku looked at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I can unleash a great amount of power and speed, but I’m still learning how to control it so I won’t hurt myself.”

“Ah, I heard about that, too.” Sakura giggled. “Don’t worry, I can heal you if you go too far.”

“Eehh? You can heal, too?!” More than two quirks?! That was amazing! “How do you do it?”

“Same way I split the ground apart.” Sakura removed her glove and held her palm up for Deku to see. Slowly, it started to glow green, reflecting in his eyes. “Chakra control.”

“Teach me, please!” Deku stood up straight and then bowed low from the waist. “Please, Sakura-chan, teach me how to control my quirk!”

Green eyes widened for a moment, and then a determined smirk grew on her lips. “You got it. I’m not going easy on you, you know?”

Deku straightened up, his eyes glinting with the challenge. “I will take any form of training you will give me!”

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine!” Ochako strained and ground her teeth. She lifted her leg from the ground and kicked the wooden dummy even harder than she had. “Thirty!”

“Good job, Ochako-san! The fire of youth burns greatly within you!” Rock Lee gave her a grin and a thumbs up.

The girl put her leg down and grinned at him, too. “This is so hard, Lee-san but I can feel myself getting stronger!”

“It is only difficult when you do not have the power of youth!” Lee clenched his fists, the fire burning in his eyes. “But you have it and it is imperative you keep going!”

“Right!” Ochako felt her whole body ignite with motivation and determination. She faced the dummy again and took her stance. “Thirty-one!” She kicked. “Thirty-two!” She kicked again.

“That’s right, you’re doing great! Do three hundred on your right and another three hundred on your left!”

“Thirty—what?!” She paled. “Th-three hundred?”

“I see you want more of a challenge, very well, five hundred! I like your spirit!” The ninja grinned, his pearly-white teeth sparkling. His attention then shifted to the fast-approaching student.

Iida was running right towards them, using his arms for momentum. A cloud of dirt was trailing behind him.

“Another youthful contender!” Rock Lee readied himself to run along with Iida. “Come, we shall run a hundred laps around the village!” He took off the moment he and Iida were side by side, and easily speeding up, leaving Iida behind.

“Don’t think this is the best I’ve got!” Iida shouted and ran even faster, shouting as he caught up with Rock Lee.

“Hey, guys!” Deku waved, a large grin on his face. He sat down on the table, in front of Kirishima. “How was your first day with the Ninja teams? Sakura-chan was kind enough to heal me when I got carried away, too.”

“Ooh.” Ochako beamed. “She has a strength and healing quirk? Maybe I should ask her if she’s free…” she slumped on the table. “I can’t feel my legs…”

“Neither can I.” Iida wobbled over to the table and set his food down. “Lee-san is formidable.” He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “His speed is amazing.”

“Ooh!” Deku was amazed. This training camp with the students in the other show was a wonderful idea. “I want to train with him next! How about you, Kirishima?”

“I didn’t get to train with Neji so much…” Kirishima sighed and picked at his food. “Bakugo picked a fight with him instead and found a new toy.”

“Oh? What did Kacchan find?”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“Aaah!” Ochako screamed and held her arms up instinctively to protect herself.

Deku did the same but quickly held on to his glass to stop it from toppling over.

Kirishima didn’t even blink. “Explosive tags.”

In the distance, Bakugo’s maniacal screaming and laughing could be heard, followed by more explosions. Tenten was screaming something indistinct, probably telling him to stop.

“Is Kacchan still training?” Deku muttered, trying to look out the window.

“No, apparently they have these paper bomb thingies.” Kirishima picked up a tissue to demonstrate. “You activate it with chakra and it detonates after a given time.”

“Ooh!” Ochako’s eyes widened. “What makes it explode?”

Kirishima shrugged his shoulder up. “Uuuhh… Ninja magic?”

“Chakra!” Deku’s eyes were also wide with wonder. He picked up his notebook and started scribbling on it, muttering to himself about the wonders of Ninja tools and their different quirks.

More explosives went off, and Kirishima sighed again when Aizawa came jumping out in his yellow bean bag. He hopped outside and started screaming at Bakugo to stop.

Kirishima sighed again. “I wasn’t able to learn anything new like you two today.”

“Why so down?” Ojiro came by, holding on to his tray.

“He’s sad he didn’t get to learn with his appointed Ninja today,” Ochako explained.

“Oh.” Ojiro smiled sympathetically at him. “If you want, you can join me and Jirou tomorrow. We got assigned to Kiba. I heard he has some sort of dog-like quirk… and an actual dog.”

Kirishima peeked at him. “Really?” That sounded interesting. “Can you ask him for me?”

“Sure.” His classmate smiled. “Just make sure you tell Aizawa-sensei.”

“That sounds fun, Kirishima-kun!” Ochako beamed. “And he has a dog! I’m sure it’s cute.”

That brought a smile on Kirishima’s face. “Yeah, I guess it sounds fun.” The camp was long from over, and he promised he would get stronger from this learning experience.

#headcanons #naruto x bnha crossover #bakugou katsuki #hyuuga neji #kirishima eijirou #midoriya izuku #haruno sakura #uraraka ochacho #rock lee #tenya iida #tenten #quirk no jutsu zine #naruto #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #my hero academy

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