We Should Just Kiss

he reaches up to pull the fabric out of his mouth and says "yeah? you gonna be good 'n cum for me? you're gonna be so so sooo good for me, baby? hm?"

"yes fuck yes yes yes," you hiss with desperation breathlessly, and he takes that as his cue to sink deeper, slowly, into your wet heat. you still for a moment. both of you do. he lets out a deep groan, his body buckling as you writhe beneath him, your eyes rolling so hard you can almost damn near see your brain. he leans up to push your knees to your chest, adjusting comfortably inside of you as you pulse and clench around his length. your hands shoot up and your nails dig into his shoulders as he begins to grind, rolling his hips painfully slow. he throws his head back, moaning and gripping onto your legs for support

you feel the pressure blooming in sporadic waves and you begin to wiggle erratically, pure little giggles escaping between breathy moans and swears. one of his hands strokes the plush of your hip as he grinds into you faster, a sloppy grin stretching across his face. "come on, angelface," he rasps, "gimme some more of those adorable sounds while i fuck the shit out of you." he peppers kisses allll over your face — not a single bit of surface left un-affectioned. "you're so pretty, baby, i'm losing my fucking mind, i can't believe i get to make you cum like this, you have no idea how long, baby, please cum please cum please pretty baby —"

his stern dirty-talk dissolves into heady whines as you tighten around him

"i can't take it 'nymore, 's toom - 's too muh —"

"fuck. fuck —" he adjusts your bodies so that you're flush up against each other, your leg hooked over his waist, arms linked around his neck, your foreheads and breaths touching and intermingling. he catches your chin between his thumb and knuckle of his pointer finger, firmly swiping away at the trail of spit. "look at me. look at me when you cum. don't stop. remember who made you fuckin' cum like this"

"dick .... nn —" you feel absolutely weightless as your body gives in, hands and feet clenching almost painfully as his thrusts become more shallow with his release that follows shortly after. you feel his fingertips delicately trailing up and down the middle of your stomach, and you can't help but giggle and shake your head

"hm?" he coos, exhaling quite laboriously from his nostrils as he tilts his head and guides a lock of hair out of your face. "no? no what, goofball?"

he doesn't quite get an answer, just your head snuggling up into the crook under his chin as you come down from your orgasm after a while. the room falls silent, and he starts to pull away to start the aftercare

"no —" you fuss, snatching him back towards you while another drunken giggle bubbles out of you

he laughs, his blissful smile pressing dimples into the brackets of his lips. "alright, alright. little while longer. just 'cause you're so fucking cute right now. then i'm gonna clean you up, wait 'til the room stops spinning like this and prepare for round two because i just gotta make you giggle like that again"

you shush him then mumble something that sounds like "not cute" or "cuddle me". something like that, he supposes

"Yeah, yeah," you murmured, pretending to rub your face with both hands to block your face from his view.

"Yeah, yeah," he mimicked quietly, fondly, coming over to smooth your hair down a bit. He placed a quick kiss on the top of your head before offering his hand out to help you out of bed. You took it, yawning. He leads you out, one strong hand on your back for support, just in case you felt a bit wobbly. You did.

"Let me just —" your body stretched suddenly, hands linked over your head, lower back popping, a small squeak escaping your slightly dry lips, "— ah, brush my teeth 'n stuff. I'll be in there in a sec, I swear."

You look up at him, noting he took a beat too long to respond. He had been looking at you. With That Look. The one that always unleashed a small army of butterflies that blindly battered around your tummy.

"I'm in the kitchen," he responded, finally, with a tone more suitable for church service. You swore his eyes twinkled as they silently considered your features. Dick had known you since high school. He was always fascinated by how you simultaneously never changed but … changed so much. The same eyes, maybe a little more wary. Tired. Same nose that scrunched up whenever he said something stupid, which was a lot. Same cheeks, same forehead, same lashes. Same lips. Same pretty legs, wearing only a pair of the tiniest shorts possible under that big tee. Hm.

He shook his head, soft black locks swaying in his face. "Don't take too long," he added with a wink before heading out of your bedroom.

♡

All freshened up, you scurried into the kitchen with a newly-found lease on life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.

Dick had been perched, criss-cross applesauce, on the island counter, back towards you, his tight black tee embossed with the dips and hills of muscles that flexed ever-so-slightly as he fiddled with the spatula in his hand. He turned his head towards the sound of you approaching, that infectious smile immediately replacing the reflective, neutral expression he donned only a moment ago.

"There she is!" He hopped down after setting the spatula behind him and made a beeline towards you, bringing you into his embrace with a satisfied, low sigh.

You giggle as he swayed the both of your bodies from side to side. "Here I am," you said, pressing your hands into his wingspan and snuggling your head into his chest. "From my years-long expedition to Mount Hygiene. 'Twas a harrowing journey, but I am ready to be rewarded with the finest of totally time-appropriate morning confectioneries."

"As you wish, my lady." He peeled away from you, squeezing your arms twice as you parted. The butterflies gnawed politely at your ribcage. "I can't find the whisk, though, to mix the batter up. I've only got the spatula."

"Strange. It's gotta be around here somewhere. It's not like it ever leaves the kitchen."

"Sorry to ask but do you think you could maybe give it a go? Looking around? I genuinely tried but I feel like our missing stuff only likes being found by you."

You smiled, rolling your eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be the detective around here, detective."

He shrugged with a clueless expression, then grabbed the spatula and waved it like a magic wand, gesturing for you to lead the way. You both rounded the counter and you got to work looking for the runaway utensil.

After a slow scan of the kitchen, you decided to start with the upper cabinets, just to get them out of the way. You climbed up on the scarce counter space, knees pressing into the cold, hard marble. The cabinet door barely opened before you felt a slight smack on your butt cheek.

"What the —" You turned your head and see one Mr. Dick Grayson, avoiding eye contact, whistling aimlessly, and smacking his open palm with the plastic weapon.

"Sorry," he said with, notably, no remorse, "bongo tax. Your butt is in my face so you have to pay bongo tax."

"You made that up."

"Such is the way of life." smack, smack. One for each cheek.

"Or—" you retorted, swatting at him, "— your face is in my butt. Have you considered that?"

A brief pause. "No comment. I plead the fifth. I refuse to speak without a lawyer present. I haven't been read my rights —"

"… Grow up, Richard."

You turned back before he could catch the flattered smirk threatening to pull at your lips. The upper cabinets only contained the things that should be contained in them. No whisk to be found yet. You made it back down to earth, smoothing your shirt down and covering your ass with your hands. You took a look behind the stack of recipe books, peeked inside the makeshift utensil holder upcycled from an old metal can, checked behind the pots and pans that hung from the wall, even the obvious pull-out drawers just had the regular mess inside. You glanced behind you at Dick, who was leaned back with his elbows resting on the island, twirling that stupid spatula around with that stupid, quiet, observant look he held every once in a while, only for you.

It is far, far too early for domestic mysteries.

You break the silence. "I guess the last place to look is these bottom cabinets. And the oven. I'll be pissed if it's in the oven. It can't be in the oven."

"Good luck, detective. If you can't find it, it's probably gone forever."

"Ugh. Don't say that."

"No pressure."

"Right."

You gathered the excess fabric of your shirt and balled it up in your fists as you squatted down. You hunted, rummaged and ransacked the lower cabinets, doors wide open so the whole world could see the organized chaos that normally lay hidden behind them. You searched back and forth, absolutely bewildered at how much stuff you had to look through before feeling five very sneaky pops on your rear end.

"Dick."

"Bongo."

"My butt's not even in your face anymore!"

"Addendum: If I sees it, I smacks it. Smacks tax." smack, smack, smack

You stood quickly, shoving your shirt back down and huffing very seriously. "You will do no such thing! I'm trying to focus, young man! Put that thing down so we can finally get to baking; I'm freakin' starving."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted, then placed the spatula down behind him once more with a small clatter.

You clapped away invisible dust on your hands, exhaling with exasperation. "I don't think I saw our suspect in there. We've only got one place left to look."

The both of you turned your attention towards the oven, which indeed housed some stray baking tins and miscellaneous other kitchen-y things that didn't have a place to go (or maybe they did but the oven was closest). They all would need to come out anyways to make room for the cookies.

You pulled at the oven handle with some effort, and its heavy door came down complaining and groaning. There was stuff on both racks and you bent over to start pulling them out.

Mistake.

As you reached in to grab something with both hands, metal and foil scraped against each other in your ears. You don't hear your dearest friend approach you — bare-handed, as you wished. Nay, commanded. He bit down on a naughty smirk and reeled his hand back, preparing for a proper tax collection fitting only for the utmost glorious mounds of flesh, such as your butt.

Dick waited patiently for your head to not be surrounded by hard metal before striking. The second you had freed yourself from the mouth of the sleeping hunk of metal, his big hand sprung forward, spanking the fleshiest, most supple part of your ass.

You moaned, your legs giving in at the sudden punishment. The sting spread like a hot, unfounded rumor in a small town while the heat of it traveled ... north. The sound of it reverberated in the small space, a full decibel louder than the shout of arousal that you had no chance to prevent from escaping.

But that didn't mean that Dick didn't hear it. He very much heard it.

Your hand clamped over your mouth all too late. He heard you stifling the extra whimpers that were pushing against your throat, begging to be set free too. He heard you inhale. And exhale.

"Oh," he purred deviously. He wasn't even trying to hide how entertained he was at his not-so-little discovery. "Didn't know you were into that shit."

"I'm gonna kill you." You began to straighten yourself up, but his hands pulled at your waist until your back was flush against him.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, Miss Detective! We might not have found our suspect, but I think I found something a little sweeter that I'm interested in."

Your breathing picked up, heat gathering behind your cheeks. The room started to blur ever so slightly as you felt his deep chuckling vibrate through your body. One of his hands traveled to your front, his fingers splayed out across your stomach.

"A little more research'd never hurt right? … Unless you like it to hurt?" His other hand slid down and administered a couple more stern spankings, pulling more delighted, airy gasps from you as your eyes fluttered with pleasure.

"What are you doing, Grayson? Are you — What is your problem?"

His hand paused, loosening his grip on the fat of your cheek. "Okay. Tell me to stop."

You did not. You weakly pulled your body forward, testing if he would let you go. He would. His grip loosened at your movement. You did not pull away any further.

"Do you like this?"

You were suddenly aware of the way your legs felt like pillars of dollar store jelly but actively chose to gloss over the erratic pulse that was suddenly live at your core. You squeezed your useless jelly legs together.

"Mm-hm," you managed, barely above a whisper. It came out cracked, unfamiliar. You didn't know you were into this shit either.

"I would like to hear you say 'yes'. Yes or no."

Oh.

"Yes," you obeyed. You felt possessed as the room spun around you. For some reason, you were compelled to press your butt back into his hand.

That was more than enough permission for him.

He massaged at your flesh for a moment before you were met with the emptiness of his hand leaving you. The wait was agonizing — but the surprise was part of the process. You almost spoke up before

SMACK.

There it is. Fuck, there it is. The cracks splitting open, the butterflies rioting against your guts, the warmth, the goo. The mess. Sweet, sweet mess.

SMACK. SMACK SMACK.

"'s so good," you babbled. He laughed behind you.

"Yeah?"

You answered by peeling away from him and offering yourself to him, supporting your upper half by leaning on the countertop and pushing your ass out. Dick could not, at any point, believe this was happening. He stared like he couldn't understand what he was looking at, but he was very, very familiar. In the past, he had a pretty interesting playboy streak, which had a shelf life a lot shorter than he ever admitted to you. Mostly to distract himself from how he felt about you. Entirely. Not mostly. Didn't work out. He really liked you. And now you were in your shared apartment, panting, looking over your shoulder at him with blown-out pupils. Not gonna acknowledge the way your flimsy shorts were clinging around your dampness.

All over him just … playing around. At first.

"Did I make it weird," you muttered. Dick hadn't realized he hadn't said anything in, like, twenty seconds.

"No, no! Just … enjoying the view."

You hummed approvingly, but still shifted under the weight regarding the updated boundaries of your platonic(???) relationship with your roommate.

"Well, um … I wouldn't mind a few more. We still have to make breakfast. Maybe we can talk about this … whatever is happening after we eat?"

"Right, right," he replied absentmindedly, backing up until his fingers once more curled around the long handle of his silly little "tax collector" from earlier.

"Ugh, maybe we should order real food. Get our energy up."

"We're definitely gonna need a lot of energy." He turned the flat tool over and over, patting it against his palm. Testing it.

"Or I can just really quickly make some eggs. We have eggs."

"Hm. I like eggs. Scrambled. Sunny-side up." He lifted the spatula with a flourish, one stern palm steady on your back. "Fertilized."

" … Dick?"

𓏵 ┊ no AI is ever used for any reason in the crafting of my works as i am fully against generative AI in creative fields

Marlene—not relaxed in the slightest—continued her needling. “Yeah, and your girl’s a cheat.”

Sirius, Remus, and James' response was simultaneous. 

“Oi!”

“Hey, now.” 

“McKinnon, I swear to God…”

“Marls, you’re not going to win this,” Dorcas offered with faux consolation, handing Marlene a drink with one hand and pulling her in with the other to place a placating kiss to her temple. 

“Just like you can’t win at Mario Kart,” James taunted. 

“You looking to take this outside, Potter?” Marlene volleyed, putting up her fists which saw the two of them dancing around each other shadow-box style with wild grins on their faces. 

“Aaaand she remains undefeated,” Lily announced as she, too, joined the bodies in the kitchen. 

At least she was a better loser than Marlene. 

Speaking of the devil, Sirius winced as she screeched your name. “The boys say you’re not allowed to play anymore!”

“We did no such thing,” James hollered quickly. 

“Marlene,” Remus sighed like the disappointed, tired old man he often claimed he was. 

You appeared in the doorway with a controller in hand and a look of bemusement on your face. “What?”

Marlene turned back to Sirius. “Would you please tell your girlfriend she’s not allowed to play Mario Kart anymore?” 

It was this moment when Sirius’ entire understanding of the world imploded. 

“I don’t know how you speak to your girlfriend, Marls. But our girlfriend is allowed to do what she pleases.”

Sirius’ haughty response was punctuated by your breathy, disbelieving “Girlfriend?” 

James lowered his fists from his defensive state to look at you, Remus’ neck cracked as he whipped his head in your direction, and Sirius’ mouth fell open. 

“Erm, yeah, doll. Girlfriend.” Sirius recovered first, letting out a nervous chuckle as you directed your attention to him.

“Since when?” 

Sirius’ hands went up in surrender as he turned to Remus and James in search of help. 

“What do you mean since when, dove?” Remus questioned cautiously. “We’ve been dating for quite a while now.”

“Quite a while?!” Your voice began to take on a panicked, shrill sound that Sirius can’t profess to liking too much. “Wha- dating? When…when was our first date?” 

“The butterfly conservatory,” James answered readily, a look of concentration on his face like he was being quizzed and planned on acing it. 

A startled breath leaves you. “Wha- I…no!”

“Yes,” the three of them replied in unison. 

“That wasn’t a date!”

Remus tilted his head at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “Sure it was.”

“I’ve been to the butterfly conservatory with Marlene! Was that a date?”

Marlene’s bemused smile turned wicked. A mischievous glint in her eyes had Sirius taking three quick steps in your direction before she could hit on his girlfriend. 

Who, apparently, didn’t even know she was his girlfriend. 

What a mess. 

“Of course not,” James denied quickly, elbowing Marlene when she began with a salacious “well…” 

“Since the butterfly conservatory?” you repeat, looking between the three guys to see their responses. “Holy shit… Holy shit! And no one told me?”

“Angel, I…we got you flowers?” 

You managed a smile—albeit an sheepish one—in James’ direction. “I thought that was an apology present.”

Remus let out a disbelieving breath. “An apology for what!?”

“For always being the fourth wheel!” 

“Oh my God,” James murmured, a look of horror on his face as he tugged at his roots.

Lily, as unhelpful as ever, chose then to pipe up. “You mean to tell me you never asked her to be your girlfriend?”

A beat of silence passed before Sirius’ waspish response. “No, red. Clearly, it never came up.” 

“You guys are, like, really bad at this,” she chuckled as she headed towards the living room, quickly followed by Marlene (eager at a chance to finally win a round without you in the room) and Dorcas (who followed her girlfriend to ensure she behaved herself).

“Oh, dove. I’m so sorry,” Remus finally announced, standing from the barstool to gather you into a hug that you—rather than accepted (or even reciprocated)—more or less fell into. “I- have we really never had this conversation.”

“I…I don’t think so? I mean…not in so many words.”

“Didn’t I ask you to be my girl?” Sirius questioned, closing the distance to press a hand to your spine as James took one of your hands in his. 

“Well, yes, but-”

“And I told you that you were my favourite,” James reminded you. “Even said it in front of these two.”

“I just thought you guys were saying I was your favourite, like, friend? Like saying I was your best friend.” 

Sirius was glad to note that your shoulders didn’t seem to be so tense now that you were in Remus’ arms and having this conversation without an audience. 

Remus made a noncommittal sound. “You’re certainly our best girl. Our favourite girl.” 

“Which is largely because…” Sirius emphasized. “You’re our girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” you echoed with a whisper, staring unseeingly at Sirius’ chest as Remus gently swayed you back and forth.

James made a pathetic tsking sound, unable to fight the urge to swipe at the hairs near your temple. 

“I-” you began, and James was already squaring up for you to say even one negative thing about yourself “-am so dum-”

“-absolutely not,” Sirius argued immediately. 

“None of that now,” Remus agreed.

“Not dumb.” James nodded like he was making a grand declaration. “We’re dumb, clearly. I honestly thought we’d had, you know, the talk.”

“Like, the birds and the bees?” you asked, blinking doe-like at him and forcing the guys into silence. It was only the twitch of your mouth that alerted them to the fact that you were taking the piss. 

“Minx,” Remus chuckled under his breath, digging his fingers into your side and making you squeal. 

“Okay so, are we all on the same page now?” Sirius asked, holding his arms out as if bracing for impact. 

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, turning a beautiful shade of bashful as Remus planted a kiss on your cheek and James leaned in to press one on the corner of your mouth. 

“And, just for clarity’s sake, exactly what page is that?” 

An impish twinkle in your eyes—which, if Sirius was being honest, was kind of sexy—had the three guys holding their breath.

“That your girlfriend is way better at Mario Kart than Dorcas’ girlfriend.” 

Remus tried and failed to suppress the grin that took over his face whilst James took off towards the living room to play interference with his childhood friend who clearly overheard your taunt.

Sirius couldn’t help himself, he grabbed your cheeks and pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, pulling back only far enough to murmur against your lips. “Truer words, my girl.” 

there was some parts he didn’t like, of course. the uncomfortable feeling when teenagers would giggle and ask for his number which he’d have to tell them to shoo and that he was way older. the drunk or idiotic men who’d stumble onto the sand and bother people who were trying to relax. blowing the whistle at someone who’d swam way past the buoys. 

and the whole part of the job, the life guarding. sprinting into the ocean to help someone who’d panicked out in the water and dragging them out into the sand, running the procedures he was trained for. his own friends always joked that in some other universe he was a superhero. he never thought so, it sounded ridiculous.

as he sat out the tower under the shade with his sunglasses on and bright red swim trunks. dick was paying attention to the surroundings, seeing no trouble but people having a good day at the beach. god, it was fucking hot. he sighed heavily, tilting his head back briefly with his arms draped on the beach chairs armrests. 

for a guy who loved working on the beach sometimes he really he hated the heat.

at the same beach, you frequently visited now during the summer finding it was the only way to cope with the unforgiving sun. you’d found a perfect spot that was away from everyone enough to give yourself some privacy. you were relaxing on your towel, sunglasses on and feeling the heat of the sun nipping at your skin. you wore the beach attire you preferred, feeling the nylon fabric hugging your chest. 

you were there to relax. under your sunglasses, your eyelids were closed and you listen to the music playing from your speaker. listening to the sounds of chattering, giggles, waves, and seagulls. 

“you again. you know, i’m just starting to believe you’re coming just to see me.” a voice breaking the peaceful ambience. you let your eyes flutter open, revealing the sight of the lifeguard standing before you. dick grayson.

since you’ve started coming to this beach back in may, you somehow formed a friendship with the lifeguard. a flirty friendship. you both only ever saw each other at the beach, not talking on the days either of you were taking a break from the sun. it sounded strange but it was thrilling, lighthearted, and fun.

“you can believe what you want but i’ll admit that this is a view i can always look forward to,” you flirt back. you place your sunglasses onto your head and sit up. his jet black hair shined under the sun, some strands moving through the beach breeze. “what are you doing over here? i’m not in any danger.” 

dick grins, the cute dimple on his cheek coming into view. “just came to see if everything was up to my favorite girl’s standards. the sand okay? temperature to your liking?” he teased before he shook his head, his hands on his hips as he took a glance around to make sure everything stayed okay before back at you.

“i came to give you a heads up that my lunch is in fifteen minutes. thought i’d invite you to go for a swim?” he asked, his eyebrow perking up. you two hadn’t really done something like that. it was usually just talking, you hanging around the tower he was always stationed at to chat and laugh. 

you hesitate but as your eyes roam over his michelangelo carved physique, you couldn’t imagine why you’d say no. you nod, “call me when you’re ready.” you tell him before putting your sunglasses back on, laying back down, and closing your eyes. 

fifteen minutes later, dick was walking in front of you towards the ocean. “you can swim, right?” he smirked, looking over his shoulder. “i mean, if you can’t that’s not problem. i can keep you afloat and safe, can’t say i won’t be thinking about giving you mouth to mouth.” he winked.

dick was smooth and that made this flirty friendship so much more enjoyable and exciting. “i can swim but maybe i’ll play damsel in distress so you can get your fill. god knows i’d have a good time.” he smiles at your response, relief you match his wit as he reaches back to take your hand as you both step into the world.

it’s freezing. your breath hitches, and your grip on his hand tightens. “shit, that’s cold,” you whisper and he chuckles. “you can do it, princess. before you know it, you’ll get used it and it’ll feel real good,” dick taunts as he carefully guides you deeper into the water. 

dick wraps his arm around your waist as your feet begin to lift off the sand floor and float into the large body of saltwater. it only gets colder from there, your arms wrapping around his neck with a light squeal of the freezing temperature against your body. the only warmth comes from him being pressed against you. 

he laughs at your reaction. his laugh was bright, filled with pure joy of being in your presence. one arm stretched out to keep you both floating and swim deeper, still staying behind the buoys because dick was strict about those rules and he wasn’t going to risk your lives just to impress you. this was good enough. under the water, he lets his hand glide lightly against the skin of your waist, not wanting to push any boundaries but wanting to know what your skin felt like under his palm. a thought dick had been having when you two first started talking.

“feels good now, hm?” dick asks, using his hand to cup some water and pour it along your neck and the top of your head. “hey! i can acclimate myself!” you shiver against him, a light shake in your shoulders where the water dripped along. 

the two of you float into each other’s arms. yeah, you could swim but for a moment you’d let this hot lifeguard keep his arm around you a little longer.  “have you gone to any of the beaches up north?” he asks suddenly. out here, you couldn’t hear the people on the beach. just the waves, occasionally ship honking in the distance, and him. you shake your head. 

“well, that water is clearer. colder. but the beach itself? stunning. a lot like the girl in my arms,” he smirks, liking when he flirted with you and seeing you roll your eyes. “anyway, it’s got big rocks. the rocks are covered in that bright green algae. some flowers even grow along the sand too. was thinking i could take you there sometime.”

“oh, on a date?” you tease. 

but he didn’t seem to be joking, nodding. “yeah, but not our first one. i think we’ve had enough beach together, i’d like to see you in a different light that isn’t the sun. maybe like in a candlelight dinner scenery?” 

you were quiet for a moment, even if he didn’t seem serious you were telling yourself there was no way he was actually being genuine. you chuckle awkwardly, trying to keep the conversation light. “uh, like.. actually?”

dick grins, amused by your subtle confusion. “like actually. after we get out of here, i’ll finally get your number and we can plan something. what do you say? you can say no, i’m good with rejection. i just thought i’d shoot my shot with you before summer’s over and i’ll never see this pretty face again.” 

taking in a deep breath and mentally weighing your choices, you found nothing holding you back from giving this a try. “alright, yeah. we can take our fun outside the beach.”

dick lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, throwing his head back in relief. “oh, thank god. i lied about being good with rejection. i don’t think i’d ever get over being turned down by you.” 

"Hello."

You turn quickly, and the frog leaps from your hands. Sirius watches as surprise, then disappointment, flit over your face like flickering light, before you tsk, offering him a smile.

"Hello," you reply. "You scared my friend."

Sirius tsks back at you. "I don't think you're supposed to be here."

"I'm not?"

His eyebrows lift. You sound genuinely bemused. "No. Sorry, lovely, but there's another wood across town where you can continue your…what are you doing?"

He's lost your attention to the creekbed, your eyes scanning intently. "I'm finding frogs," you say, and then—you do. Just like that, you reach for a leaf and a frog Sirius hadn't noticed atop it now rests in your palm. It isn't even squirming.

Sirius leans closer. "Why is it just sitting there?"

"Tree frogs are fairly trusting," you say, lifting your hand up very slowly to peer at the creature. "Once they understand you're not going to harm them, they'll keep you company for a little while."

The way you're cradling the frog so gently, Sirius can see how it'd come to that decision. The little thing looks as content to be in your care as anywhere else. Maybe it trusts you instinctively because of how you so still, or watch it so attentively. Maybe it's how comfortable you look on the bed of grass by the creekbed, and it can't properly distinguish you from the foliage surrounding it.

"Usually, these guys don't come down from the trees after the sun is up," you say, your voice dropping low to avoid disturbing it. "I probably won't see him again, but I'm hoping to meet everyone who lives here before long. He has freckles on his back, see?"

Sirius crouches with you and leans closer. His chin is almost near enough to rest on your shoulder. He can feel its warmth. "Oh, yeah," he says, spotting the nearly imperceptible speckles of brown on the frog's green backside. "He does."

"That's how we'll know it's him," you hum contentedly. "What do you think his name should be?"

"Hm. Ribbit?"

You laugh. It's a sweet, lively sound, not unlike the bubbling of the creek. You quiet it too soon, wary of frightening the creature in your hand.

"Clever," you tease him, "but I think our friend has earned something more unique. He's very brave for coming down here during the day. What do you think of Lancelot?"

Now Sirius laughs. He's careful to do it behind his hand so you don't get upset with him for scaring away your catch yet again. "Why are you asking me?"

"Well, I'm making a guess," you admit. Your gaze dips to the sword's pommel at his hip. "You look like you might be a knight, and I think that would make you the best person to decide whether he's a Lancelot or not."

Sirius blinks. Suddenly, he's unsure how he's found himself kneeling in a patch of mud deliberating with a strange girl about what to name a frog. "You'd be right." He stands, scanning the woods to ensure no one is nearby to have witnessed him. That'd be just what he needs. "He suits Lancelot fine, if you ask me, but I have rounds to finish. Go get acquainted with the frogs in the woods by town, alright? I reckon they're just as friendly over there."

"Okay," you agree placidly. "I'd like to get to know Lancelot a little better if that's okay, but I'll leave in a few minutes. I promise."

And Sirius is forced to confront the idea that he might be as dumb as the frog in your palm, because he believes you. He trusts instinctively that you're the sort of person who keeps promises.

"Okay," he says. He really does need to move on if he's going to get back to the palace in time for breakfast, and he can always check these woods again later to ensure you've truly left. "Give the frogs my best."

"Oh, I'm sure they know they have it. But I'll pass along the message anyway, thanks."

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

"I hope it was worth getting your trousers muddy," says Remus, forking a piece of fruit. "Molly's not going to be happy with you for doing that just after laundry day."

Sirius waves this off as though Molly Weasley doesn't scare him. (She very much does.) "I'll tell Molly I was saving a damsel from the creek. She could have drowned if not for my heroism."

"You did actually wait to make sure she left, right?" James looks wary.

"Of course," Sirius fibs.

"Okay, great." His friend relaxes, munching on a piece of toast contentedly. "I'm sure the trouser stains will be fine, then."

This is, of course, why James is a better knight than Sirius. They were both raised with the same education and honed the same skills, but James is disciplined. He wakes before sunrise to practice his drills, polishes his armor during his free time, and follows (most of) the rules. If James found you catching frogs by the creek, he would have gallantly escorted you off of the palace grounds. Sirius, only half awake and with a flexible attitude towards rules on his best days, had gotten down there in the muck with you.

Though Sirius' competencies have granted him good standing in the knighthood, he doesn't see himself being made Captain of the Guard or anything like that. He's not sure he'd want to be. He enjoys his position now, so long as it continues allowing him to stay here and spend his free hours with his friends.

James would likely change his tune about rules and propriety if he knew how quickly you've become a resting place for Sirius thoughts, but Sirius doesn't think he'll divulge that. Remus already gives him enough shit for running into things heart-first. A few months ago it was the cook, than the traveling harp-player, then the barmaid in town. Sirius has always been susceptible to a pretty face. It's no surprise that he was so easily captivated by you, though your mesmerism goes beyond your looks.

His mind keeps catching on flashes of your careful hand reaching for a leaf. Of how the dappled sunlight had fallen on your shoulders like kisses of warmth. Of how at home you'd looked in the rising mist of dawn, as though you might vanish with it.

He thinks he might return to that part of the woods later with the excuse of making sure you've gone, but really he'll be hoping you've stayed.

"Sirius?"

He startles at the appearance of the man at his shoulder, nearly dropping his fork. Remus raises an amused brow.

"Morning, Xeno." Sirius puts on a smile, turning. "What can I do for you?"

"Her Majesty has asked for you, when you're done with your breakfast."

He thinks his eyes possibly grow rounder than ever before. "The Queen?"

"Yes," says Xeno mildly.

"In—where, in her quarters?"

"In her sitting room, actually."

"What for?" Sirius looks to his friends instinctively. But James' eyes are as wide as Sirius', and Remus only shrugs.

"I heard the princess is coming back," Dorcas supplies from a few seats down.

Remus makes a sound of intrigue. "For a visit, or for good?"

Dorcas shrugs.

"Mate!" James grabs Sirius' shoulder, shaking him about elatedly. "She's got to be assigning you to the princess' guard. That would be massive!"

Only James could be so genuinely ecstatic for Sirius' achievement, even if they all know he deserves it more himself.

The princess, never seen or known by anyone in the kingdom, was sent away soon after her birth so that she could grow up with an ordinary life. Rumors swirled about what that might entail for a child of the crown, but the most prominent one was that she was being raised by her aunts in the countryside, her identity kept secret. There's been so little news of her for so long, some have even begun to wonder whether there ever was a royal baby. Sirius supposes she'd be all grown up by now, though. Maybe her grandmother finally decided it was time for her to come home.

"I'll, um, yeah." He tries to master his surprise, replying to Xeno, "I'll go in just a minute."

"He'll go now," says James. He stands, hauling Sirius up with him.

Remus chuckles at Sirius' helpless look. "Have fun."

"Try not to fall in love with her." Marlene winks at him. "At least not until you're sure she won't rat you out to her grandmother if it goes south."

"Ha ha," says James, sticking his tongue out at the both of them. "You're all miserly prats."

"You really shouldn't fall in love with her," he says as soon as they leave the dining hall. "I mean, if you can help it. If you can't, then that's fate, and I hope you spend many beautiful years together, but if you can help it, that's probably better. For professional reasons."

"I will do my best," Sirius replies drolly.

"That's all we ever ask." James hooks an arm around Sirius' neck, pulling him close. He plants a happy kiss on Sirius' cheek. "Are you happy? You seem sort of in shock."

"I am in shock." It's the truth, though the other half of it is that Sirius is aghast at himself for his disappointment that this new venture might prevent him going into the woods to see if he can find you again today. He gives his head a rough shake. "It's hardly ten."

James laughs. "If Her Majesty can be awake and alert at ten, I think she'll expect you to be." He gives Sirius' cheek a hearty pat. "Look alive, mate."

Soon, Sirius finds himself at the door in front of the Queen's personal sitting room while James fusses with his hair.

"You've earned this," his friend says, with the kind of unwavering certainty only James has ever been able to feel for Sirius. "You're perfect for the job. She wouldn't have asked for you if she didn't know that, too." He pauses, looking Sirius in the face. "Do you need me to knock for you?"

Sirius takes a breath, banishing you from his mind. He has a princess he has to look out for now, apparently. "I've got it." He reaches for the door and knocks twice.

James grins, squeezing his shoulder. "You'll be brilliant," he says before darting away.

"Come in," a voice calls from inside.

Sirius squares his shoulders as he enters, trying to look very knightly. It's not his first time standing in front of the Queen, though it is the first that he's been summoned specifically and not as a part of some sort of ceremony. His eyes find her quickly in the large room, perched elegantly on the end of a sofa. Sitting on the floor beside Her Majesty is another woman. Legs criss-crossed beneath a coffee table, lifting a pastry towards her mouth with the sort of hand a frog might want to rest in for a while.

Sirius remembers at the last minute not to let his mouth drop open, or to let his posture slump, or to do any of the very unknightly things his body wants to.

it’s the mention of home that gets your attention. you lift your head up off your legs and you turn to face the man who’s taking up more space than necessary in your cell.

as bakugou gasps, you snigger.

what the hell is this guy wearing? those wings by his head? are the height of those boots to compensate for something else? 

you’re definitely human looking. two sparkly eyes, a nose in the centre of your face. nobody told him the alien was beautiful. fucking stunning.

he wants to go home now, he’s not prepared to be speaking to a woman like you after a ten hour shift. fuck, he doesn’t think he ever would be.

bakugou clears his throat. he stands up straight and tightens his arms across his chest. 

“you’re very… fuck, anyway,” he’s so goddamn embarrassing.

you start laughing, these light buttery giggles that feel like they’re breathing air into bakugou’s lungs. your eyes brighten, you even lean back on the wall like you’re taking a better look at him. he feels your eyes travel from his boots to the top of his head.

thank god this man has a pretty face, or at least he would if he stopped frowning because this outfit he’s wearing looks stupid. does anyone else on this planet dress like this?

you’re laughing… and it feels like it’s at him instead of with him. he knows he didn’t say anything funny.

“do you not know english? they always say i need to speak english for this shit.” he grunts, scratching his head.

damn, he’s finding it hard to even look at you directly. the orange compliments you, makes your skin glow, makes you— stay focused.

“i doubt you’re gonna know any japanese. d’you understand me now?” he tries and he sees the frown on your face. confusion.

“ah, so you understand english. you just don’t want to talk to me.” he punctuates by jabbing his thumb into his chest and then leaning on the wall behind him.

you roll your eyes, which only gets bakugou grinning, then he calms down. he doesn’t need to be reacting like he won the lottery over a reaction from you.

“what’s your name?”

nothing. you blankly stare at his face.

“why are you here?”

nothing.

“c’mon just say somethin’ so i have somethin’ to say to them outside. then you get to go back home.”

you swallow, resting your head in your palm.

“this is an odd planet. a traveller lands and you immediately arrest them, deprive them of sunlight and dignity,” you nod your head towards the toilet in the corner of the room, “treating me like a criminal.”

you’ve got an accent. one he can’t place from anywhere specific on earth. it sounds almost melodic, easy to understand and very clear.

“so the alien talks,” dynamight, you think he introduced himself as earlier, says amused, “you fell from the sky, at a speed none of us has seen before. it was so fast, not even our meteorologists caught it. then you came out of this metal-like sphere that isn’t quite metal, they’re still workin’ that out, in a coma. not to mention you set alight the fields you landed in, causing a wildfire through acres and acres of land.”

bakugou squints at you, “you can see why we’d have a fuck load of questions, right?”

you look away from him. fuck. you were told the earth on this planet would have been able to handle your ship, not that you’d start a wildfire.

“i didn’t… i didn’t hurt anyone, did i?”

bakugou’s quick to shake his head, “no, the farmer ushered out all the animals in time. though you did destroy a families hundred year old strawberry farm.”

“shit.” you mutter, in your language. then in english, “i’ll help them as soon as i’m out of here.”

there’s a hero complex to you somewhere. hm. “and to get out of here, answer my questions. yeah?” 

you sigh, “what do you want dynamo?”

bakugou’s face scrunches like a ball of paper, “dynamight. my name is dynamight.”

“is it actually? earth names didn’t sound like that when i researched.”

“it’s my fuckin’ hero name, i said that in my introduction at the beginnin’— you know what, never mind. call me dynamight. nothin’ else.”

you blink at him.

“what’s your name?” he tries.

he really wants to know your name. not for the sake of government purposes, just for himself.

“that’s personal, isn’t it?” you laugh but dynamight raises his eyebrows.

“not at all actually,” he breathes, equally restless and intrigued, “quick or we’ll be here all goddamn day.”

“you swear a lot, don’t you? is that normal?”

that catches bakugou off guard, he leans off the wall. “hah? you’re not askin’ me questions, woman. i’m doin’ the askin’.”

you chuckle, loud and sweet. “okay, okay! my name is yn.”

“yn,” he likes the sound of it on his lips, though it’s even better from yours, “yn where are you from?”

“why are you dressed like that?”

bakugou looks down at himself. he’s always been voted highly for best dressed hero. his black body suit, black and orange chunky boots. he’s got his wings at his shoulders. he doesn’t have his gauntlets on though, he doesn’t need them for this.

“this is my hero suit. how many times do i have to tell you, i’m a professional hero—.”

“hero,” you try, “is that your version of a protector? looking after civilians? the strongest of the people?”

bakugou can’t help but let his grin slip. he likes the sound of that. it’s all true. “y-yeah i am. currently third on the charts but i jump between one and two, so technically i’m the best in the country.”

you do an upside down smile, somewhat impressed. so this man is one of the strongest and cocky about it. his grin is cute too. his lips stretch wider, only one corner rising. a gold tooth shining. okay, his smirk is sexy.

“family must be proud.”

“they expected it,” he shrugs. wow, is it easy to get off topic with you. “any quirks?”

“quirks?”

“abilities different to the average.”

you scrunch your nose, “not that i know of.”

bakugou doesn’t know if he can trust you. “so if i took those handcuffs off you, nothing about you would change?”

honestly no. your body feels fine. mentally, not so much.

you snap the handcuffs apart, the middle chain breaking with ease, now appearing as two ugly grey bracelets on your wrists as the green glow slowly dies down. bakugou jumps at the sound, jaw dropping on command.

“what the fuck?” bakugou can’t even get out of those. he’s tried before in hero training. what are you? “why the hell didn't you get out of them before?”

“i…”

you’ve never experienced grief before and to experience it on the scale you are now... your parents, your family, your people, your home. all gone. you don’t think you wanted to break out of it yet.

“had other things on my mind,” you offer, looking up at this dynamight man. “what’s your… quirk?”

something about him is comforting. with those boots on, he’s as big as the men back home. just as wide too. 

so to get information out of you, he has to give a little back. that’s okay for now.

“i sweat nitroglycerin. can create explosions from my hands,” he gives you a little show, facing his palms up to the ceiling and creating little sparks.

that gets you facing him, now cross legged on the floor. you sound like a child, brimming with curiosity. you don’t recognise the word nitroglycerin but you can assume. “how big can you make them?”

bakugou chuckles to himself, slowly sinking to sit down too. “question for question then. so it’s my turn now.”

you huff, “fine.”

have you showered in these three days? you look as if you have. a beautiful glow like those women in skincare adverts he sees.

“how old are you?” not the most important question, but he’s got to know. they couldn’t have gotten a more selfish hero to question you.

“fifty moon shines,” you say without a beat. “how old are you? wait, let me see your explosions!”

“woah, woah, hold on. fifty?” you either look good for your age or—, “how are years measured where you’re from?”

“182 days. isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

“how long are your days?”

“twenty three hours.”

bakugou relaxes. you’re the same age as him. 

“so you’re twenty five.”

“i just said i’m fifty.”

“to me that’s like you’re sayin’ you're a hundred in your time. you’re twenty five in this world, darlin’.”

“darling? what’s that?”

bakugou shakes his head. shouldn’t have said that. “nothin’. i’m twenty six.”

that pleases you for some reason. you both stare at each other for a few seconds, sizing the other up. you could take him in a fight you think. in bed too, if it came down to it.

“how big can you make your sweat explosions?”

bakugou winces. what an ugly name. “they’re not sweat explosions.” “but you said—,” “the size of buildings. could blow this whole building up. can also fly, use them as grenades, blind opponents, shoot them like a gun.”

he’s sharing too much now. you shouldn’t be telling your enemies your main attacks. it’s going to be a beautiful woman to take him down. that tarot reader kaminari took him to was right.

“that’s really cool, dynamight. i can’t do that.”

you sound honest, real. bakugou bends his knees and rests his arms on top. “it’s whatever. what can you do?”

you shrug, looking at your bare hands. there’s some dirt under your nails and they’re all chipped from your lack of basic essentials. “where i’m from, everyone is the same so i don’t know how different i am to you guys.”

bakugou gets that, “what’s the most you can lift—,”

“my turn now, hero. why’re you so pissy?” you ask, tilting your head at him.

bakugou can’t help the loud, “hah?” he sits up at that comment, hands flat on the floor.

“you came in here moaning. you swear in every sentence. you act like the world has done you wrong. what happened with you?” 

there’s a part of you that wants to find solidarity in this man. that perhaps he understands the pain you’re going through deep within your soul. after waking up from your coma three days ago, you feel sure the grief is going to eat you alive. you don’t want to hate the world, become evil and angry. you also don’t know how to not.

you get this blonde man blinking at you. a silence takes up the room quickly but you give him all the space in the world to speak.

“what d’you mean what happened to me? you think i have a sad tragic backstory like those american game show contestants?”

now you’re frowning back at him. you don’t understand that reference. “don’t you? or you’re just pissy for no reason?”

it feels like a weird competition now, that he should have something under his belt. something odd and sadistic to impress you with. bakugou bites.

“i died when i was sixteen. i fought a war and died.”

you’re not impressed. “how are you here now? i didn’t know this world has magic—,”

bakugou shakes his head, “nah not magic. another… another hero here fixed me up. brought me back.”

“oh,” you trail off, “and you’re fine now?”

he is. though it seems as if you’re looking for more. he deals with villain attacks often. fights them with his friends. he hasn’t been close to death since. he lives a wealthy luxury lifestyle now he’s professional and he’s got all his friends around him. all his greatest traumas he’s working through in therapy. yes, he goes therapy. 

you keep talking, “you’ve got both your parents? all your friends?”

“y-yeah i do? i answered your question, didn’t i?” he spits.

you roll your lips in.

“are you… are you laughin’ at me again?”

at that your dam breaks, giggles spilling out. your shoulders shake and your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to be polite. though you lost that once you had to use the toilet beside your bed being recorded by security. 

j“no, well yes! i don’t know, i thought you had a tragic backstory to explain your shitty attitude. guess it’s just you.”

bakugou’s walls go straight up. he doesn’t know who the hell you think you are to read him so easily. because yeah, maybe he is just a dick. but he owns it. he’s apologised for his mistakes in the past. he doesn’t hold all his worth to his quirk anymore and he doesn’t blame himself for anyone’s death. he’s actually quite well adjusted now.

“okay, so the fuck is your problem? why’re you on earth? where’s home? where’s your family? they just send you here and can’t be bothered to get you outta ‘earth jail’?” he snaps.

that slows your laughter down, your grin is the last thing to drop before pain shakes your heart. it’s a harsh squeeze that doesn’t let up.

“you’re not getting all of that out of me in one day. see you tomorrow, dynamight.” you’ve got nobody to come get you. 

bakugou hates how he likes the sound of that. another day, a reason to see you again. he’s got a whole load of questions to ask you but he’s got to get back to his other tasks for the day.

“fine, if that’s what you want.” he begins to rise to his feet. he’s too petty to be somewhat nice. “y’know if you cooperate we can send you home.”

you look up at bakugou, hugging your knees to your chest on the hard concrete floor. “i don’t have a home anymore.”

bakugou stands still, mouth open to speak but nothing right is about to come out. until there’s a rough knock on the door, one of the jail guards.

“you okay, dynamight? times up unless you need more?”

bakugou doesn’t take his eyes off you, now back to your original position with your forehead on your knees. he won’t be surprised if you move to fetal position once he’s gone.

“i’ll be back tomorrow, yn.”

you don’t bother replying to him but you hear his thick boots walk out. 

as soon as bakugou steps out the door, the guard pipes up.

“we saw she was speaking to you on cams! the alien’s gorgeous, isn’t she? doesn’t look like no damn alien either. what was she saying?”

the first thing bakugou does is shove the man away. “down my fuckin’ neck. i’m not sayin’ shit to you. who runs this place?”

in about an hour, you’re pulled out of your cell to a new room. one with a bedframe for your mattress, a pencil and a pad of paper. most especially, the toilet is in a separate room to your cell. you’re especially grateful when they remove your handcuff bracelets and don’t lock new ones on.

there’s no chance you’re going to thank dynamight for giving you your basic rights. you appreciate the changes to your new home though.