how ab head cannons of how good bsd men are at taking bras off like kinda ranking them ig
i have my own theories ab it so maybe we can compare them?
My magnificent friend, @amostimprobabledream, is guest-posting on this one! She's the one who got me into BSD, so this blog is entirely her fault!
Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edogawa Ranpo, Tanizaki Jun'ichiro, Kunikida Doppo, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Edgar Allan Poe
Contents: Yiddies
Dazai Osamu
The obvious winner here. The Pro. The champ.
Dazai is a slut, and when they aren't threatening him for not paying back his tab, he's perfectly able to have the ladies falling at his feet. He's definitely got plenty of experience with getting a lady out of her clothing and scoffs at pitiful men who can't figure out how to unhook simple clasps. Fools! Barbarians!
He can do it one-handed. He prefers it when you wear front-clasp bras because he takes it as a sign you're just as eager for him to get at your boobs as he is. Imagine those pretty fingers easily working the little hooks~
He does sometimes wear your bra on his head as a joke. So you know, that's a risk you run.
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Listen this man has been around, okay? He almost single-handedly toppled the Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency, he can handle a silly contraption of cotton and underwiring.
Fyodor doesn't like to tear at your clothing like a beast. He has class, okay? Instead he might as you to strip for him - just picture him lounging back in his seat, wineglass in hand while he watches you with those hungry, purple eyes of his. It's worth it just for that to put on a little show for him.
He likes to kiss you as he does it, distracting you as his nimble, pale fingers get to work. He's so skilled that he can actually unhook your bra without you even noticing and you'll find it discarded on a chair or the floor like a magic trick.
Edogawa Ranpo
Hmph, of course he can take off a bra! Don't be silly!
Ranpo is the ultimate detective, after all. A silly little hook in a piece of clothing isn't going to stump him. However, Ranpo is also lazy when he isn't motivated and while if he's focused on getting you naked, he'll probably whine for you to just take the bra off yourself - you're faster at it, he's seen the way you fling the thing off after a long day like it's a snake, so why not? He just wants to see your boobs!
Don't worry, he more than makes up for it once your bra hits the ground. He's very good with that mouth of his.
Tanizaki Juni'ichiro
Yes, he is good at taking off bras… No, I will not elaborate.
Kunikida Doppo
Yes, he does know how to take off a bra. The problem is that Kunikida rarely gets to practise on actual, living women - he's only done it on a bra just lying limp in his hand or on a mannequin. Doing it while in the throes of a heated makeout session is quite different.
You'll be there, getting all hot and heavy, and suddenly feel a tugging at your bra and a lot of frustrated huffing and puffing. He'll bark at you to hold still - not in a sexy way but in that "maths teacher" voice he still has buried deep. It's rather a mood-killer.
He's also one of those irritating people who won't let you just take the damn thing off yourself - he feels like he has to prove he's worth of touching your boobs by conquering the bra. Also, Dazai would never let him live it down if he couldn't do it.
Akutagawa Ryuunosuke
Not only does Akutagawa not know how to take off a bra, but he's too prideful to ask you to do it. Instead he has a very impractical solution of just using Rashomon to slice it off you. He's too impatient to bother with fiddling around with it - remember this is a man who doesn't even know the name of the frilly thing he wears on his neck.
Don't wear your nice bras around Akutagawa, or just go for a sports bra you can pull off over your heard. Nothing is worth your fancy, expensive new lingerie being ruined by a horny goth boy.
Nakajima Atsushi
I don't even think Atsushi has been near a bra before, let alone touched one. He has no idea how they work - he actually thought it was held together by little magnets. He'll try but he gets nervous and will tug at the material, scared of accidentally tearing it. He knows bras are expensive, he's heard Yosano and Lucy complain about it enough times.
He'll be astonished if you can do it without even looking.
Edgar Allen Poe:
Faints if you even mention the word 'bra'. You'll have to fan him awake or fetch the smelling salts.
You know something I love about Sylvain? One of his Lost Items is "A History of Sreng" - the people his family have been tasked with defending Faerghus from for years. In fact, you'd think he'd blame them for the reason why his family are so Crest-obsessed (thus ruining his life), but he never expresses any anti-Sreng sentiment like Ingrid does with Duscur. He actually seems interested in learning about the people he could very well consider his enemy. Idk I think it says a lot about him.
Yeah, he never speaks of them like Ingrid speaks of Duscur or Hilda speaks of Almyra despite the fact that his situation is somewhat similar. Maybe worse cause not only like you mentioned about the Crest thing, but he’d also remember when Sreng was waging war on his father’s territory and the subsequent battles that followed. Despite that, he never mentions any extremely negative feelings towards them. Actually, his solo, CF Byleth, Dorothea, Mercedes, and Ingrid endings all specifically mention his work to repair relations with Sreng directly. Others specify his efforts in restoring the Kingdom. Sylvain is really a complicated person, I love him so much
Aizawa, Hawks, Dabi, Bakugou and Mina having an s/o who consistently makes GODAWFUL puns? XD
As someone that makes such terrible puns I rarely dare say them out loud, this speaks to me on a spiritual level.
Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead
While Aizawa doesn't exactly revel in your wisecracking nature, he is friends with Present Mic, so he's got a level of patience for your antics. You build up a tolerance over fifteen years of friendship with someone so over the top.
Ms. Joke can tell you how hard it is to squeeze a laugh out of this guy, but occasionally, on a blue moon, you'll let slip a perfect zinger and be rewarded with a soft snort.
Especially if it's at the expense of Mic or someone he finds annoying.
Your greatest achievement was that time you got him to make a cat-themed pun.
'Shouta, do you want to go to the cat cafe?'
'...Nya-turally.'
Takami Keigo/Hawks
You and Hawks are like putting two live wires together. Immediate spark. He's almost as prone to making puns as you are. Sometimes it turns into a contest of who can come up with one first, or who can make the worst ones. Your conversations turn into those Reddit comment threads where you make one pun after another until everyone around you has walked off in disgust.
He has dozens of bird-themed puns. Ones you've never even thought of, and he won't hesitate to use them whenever he can. He gets so excited when you can give him new ones.
Hawks is that guy that uses puns to flirt.
Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight
Bakugou will staunchly maintain that he finds your punning annoying as hell. He'll scoff and roll his eyes or flat out ignore you but eventually you'll wear him down with a few good one-liners.
If you really want to rile him up, accuse him of not getting your puns. He'll blow up and snap that he does get them, and then just to prove he can, he’ll make a few of his own.
He appreciates them more if they’re aimed at people who piss him off. The sparky ones about Kaminari or rock ones about Kirishima will get a guffaw.
His favourite kinds of puns are the dirty ones, naturally.
Todoroki Touya/Dabi
Most of the time, it will seem like Dabi doesn’t even notice your puns. While you wait, breathless, for him to laugh or groan as the penny drops...he just looks at you. You know he got it, but he prefers to just unnerve you with silence.
He delivers the dirtiest puns with such deadpan that it sometimes takes you a beat to catch on to what he said, and even then he’ll only acknowledge it with a half-smirk.
Ashido Mina/Pinky
Mina loves puns! She’s not as quick off the mark to make them as you are, but she does her best to keep up, and laughs at even your worst ones.
One of her favourite things is when you make puns out of the names of her fellow Pro Heroes. “Short Fuse” for Bakugou is one of the ones that has stuck, much to his chagrin.
Dude Petra as an assassin is freaking crazy! She is one of my favorites from the black eagles. I actually recruited her in my blue lions play through since i cant go without the greatness that is Petra!
Smut scenario with my beautiful barbarian boy Bakugou, please? Maybe saving a village girl being attacked by raiders? :D
You’ve spawned a multichapter fic, so I hope you’re happy with yourself, lmao. Here you go, lovely. The smut will be in the second installment as this one needed some build-up.
In the Cave of the Mountain King - Chapter One
Bakugou Katsuki/DynaMight
‘Your father has a fever,’ your mother had said,wringing out another wet cloth to lay over your father’s forehead. Her face waspinched tight with worry. 'He needs herbs, but I can’t leave him in this state.Go quickly and fetch some Tennyo Slipper, but don’t go too far up the slope.
'But…there’s a storm coming. Elder Mikongyusaid-’
'I know, but we don’t have a choice.’ Your motherlooked more tired than you’d ever seen her, worn thin by a poor harvest and along winter. 'With the sickness in the spring, we used up all of last year’ssupply. Go quickly.’
What other choice did you have? Despite yourmisgivings, you changed into a rough smock, and pants that tied shut at theankle. You bound back your hair in a plain bit of cloth. It would keep it outof your face, absorb sweat, and shade your eyes from the sun. Last, you loopedrope over your shoulders and around your waist and secured a small gatheringbag to your hip.
Tennyo Slipper was a strange, elusive littleplant. It seemed the kind of delicate flower that should only grow in asheltered spot in the forest, or in some daimyo’s garden. Instead it grew highup the slopes of the mountains, where rain and wind and strong sun lashed atit.
Now, hours later, you clung to the mountain likean insect climbing a tree.
You huffed, gripping the trunk of a tree to pushyourself further up the sharp incline. The soil beneath your feet was thin now,compared to the thick loam at the base. The trees here dug into the shallowbed, their roots squiggling across the rocks to cling to the face of themountain. This was a place for birds and mountain goats, not village girls.
Tennyo Slipper grew between the rocks, justbeyond where the trees began to peter out. You climbed higher. Higher still.You dug your feet into nooks and crannies, wedging yourself between tree rootsand dry, spindly branches. Sweat beaded on your forehead, dried under thebeating sun, ad infinitum. Your muscles cramped and burned as you scrabbled upthe side of the mountain.
The trees gave way until you were climbing barerock. Finally, you saw it. A sprig of green jutting out between the dry brownrocks. The heads of tiny, blue, slipper-shaped flowers nodding in the breeze,almost as if in encouragement.
You let out a shaky gasp of relief and looked forthe next handhold. This was no time to go rushing ahead of yourself justbecause the end was in sight. You took care to wedge your feet securely intothe cracked face of the mountain, and stretched your hand up to claim yourprize
A hand reached down out of the mountain itself andclamped around your wrist in an iron grip. You froze, skin pickling with alarm.Only instinct made you cringe closer to the rockface instead of away.
The hand was followed by an arm, then a head, theface leering. Your mouth dried out, pulse pounding with fear and exertion.
'What do we got here, then?’ the face said. Theirvoice was rough, face smeared in dirt and red crust. It split into a wickedgrin. 'Looks like a little village sparrow. This ain’t a good place for you togo roostin’, girl.’
'What are you?’ you asked, voice as thin as themountain air. 'A rock demon?’
'Hah?’
The creature gave your arm a rough yank. You wereripped upward, into the mountain. A shriek tore out of you. You slammedonto a flat, hard, surface, knocking the wind out of you.
You turned your head. There was a cliff-edge,then endless horizon. It was some kind of plateau. The mountain above theTennyo Slipper had been nothing but an illusion.
Before you had time to confront your assailant,more ragged shapes began to emerge from between the rocks. Crouching low, theymoved toward you, their predatory intent clear. As they got closer you couldmake out the same reddish-brown, flaking paint smeared across their faces.
Your stomach heaved. Barbarians.
The streaks across their faces could only beblood.
You rolled into a crouch, hand groping for yourbelt knife. You weren’t helpless, some pampered noble girl in a merchantcaravan. You wouldn’t go down easy. Your eyes flicked across the mountainledge, looking for escape. There was a dark crack in the stone just behind theillusionist. Foolish. You’ll get lost, and there’s more of them inside.
You could try to scramble down the mountain, butthey’d know it better than you. You were still trying to decide on which way torun when something hard slammed into the side of your head. The barbarians weresideways, and then the dark closed in.
There was an ache in your head like you’d drunktoo much New Year’s wine, but that couldn’t be right. The Lunar New Year hadbeen months ago in the frosts of winter. There hadn’t been much wine, or muchof anything.
It was strangely dark. A dusty, coppery smellmade your nose itch.
You lifted a hand toward your head, only torealise you couldn’t. That ache between your shoulders wasn’t from lying onyour lumpy futon, it was from having your arms wrenched behind you and lashedtogether.
Everything was starting to make a horrible kindof sense.
The sour taste in your mouth was some kind ofsedative. A blow to the head couldn’t have kept you down for long, not withoutserious consequences. That brought back the memory of your father’s fever, theTennyo Slipper, the blood-painted barbarians.
Fear knotted your guts together. You twistedaround in the dark, squinting for any source of light. There was a warm glow onthe opposite wall. It flickered, painting long shadows on the rocky wall. Acave.
You were inside the mountain.
Panic clogged your throat, which probably savedyour life. A shadow danced across the wall, creeping closer. You closed youreyes, going limp. Your heart throbbed in your throat, your breath trembled inand out. Stay calm, stay calm.
'Still asleep, pigeon-girl?’ The same rough voicefrom earlier. Coarse fingers grabbed a handful of your hair, and pulled. Youbit your lip to keep from crying out, eyes stinging. The barbarian cackled,then raised her voice. 'Get the spit ready!’
Your eyes snapped open. Spit? Were theyplanning to roast you?
Outrage and nameless, animal terror shattered anyself-preservation you had left. You kicked out - they hadn’t thought to bindyour legs, catching the barbarian under her chin. She shrieked, clutching hermouth. You surged up onto your knees, wobbling, and staggered toward the sourceof the firelight.
You emerged into a huge central chamber, hewn outof the bowels of the mountain by crude tools. A huge fire flickered in thecentre, turning the place into a giant oven. You caught the room in brief,panicked flashes. Bloody barbarians lounging around, picking their teeth.Scrawny, hungry bodies - shadows between their ribs. A long, metal spit, rustedwith blood.
The dark mouth of a tunnel on the other side.
There was a split-second moment of confusion atthe sight of you. You dodged around the fire, gunning for the tunnel. Don’ttrip, don’t trip. If you fell, you had no way to get back to your feet.They’d be on you in seconds. Cold air washed over you. You dove toward it.Night had fallen. You got three steps out into the cool, fresh air beforesomething crashed into your back, driving you face-down onto the stone plateau.Knees dug into your back. The cold, bright line of a blade pressed against yourthroat.
'Dinner doesn’t get to run away,’ the barbariansaid. She inhaled, spittle rattling between her teeth. She was drooling. 'We ain’t eaten in weeks, girl. And now we allwant roast pigeon.’
'Too fuckin’ bad.’
A rough voice cut across the plateau, closelyfollowed by a burst of flame. Pebbles skittled down the wall of the mountain,bouncing into the night. Something huge moved through the dark. Anothergout of flame illuminated it, glittering off red scales.
A dragon, with a fur-cloaked, leeringbarbarian crouched on its back. This new barbarian jumped down, landing in acatlike crouch. Moonlight glittered off his sword.
'Where’d you find this one?’ he demanded,pointing the blade at you. 'One of the villages? Merchant caravan? Hah?’
'She crawled up the mountain,’ the otherbarbarian said, defensive. 'She’s ours!’
'I’m from…’ You forced the words past yourtightened throat. 'Kyushu village!’
The words had the intended effect. The swordswung up, pressing into the cannibal’s throat. The new barbarian was closeenough to see now. He had a shock of sandy-blonde hair, and eyes as scarlet ashis dragon’s. His face was twisted with fury.
'What did I tell you last time?’ he rasped,glaring down at the cannibal. ’Get off my mountain.’
'You have no right to order us, boy! You’re notour king,’ the cannibal spat.
Then literally spat. The bloody spittlelanded on the barbarian’s cheek. He went deathly still, then, slowly, raisedhis arm and dragged the back of his wrist against his cheek. His eyes opened.His expression was murderous.
The blade lashed out before either of you couldtrack it. The cannibal’s shriek of outrage cut off in a wet gurgle. Bloodsplattered the stone around you. The cannibal fell, her weight finally leavingyour back.
The barbarian turned his scarlet eyes to you. Hedidn’t look any friendlier. He lunged for you.
You tried to scramble away, frantic until youfelt the tug at your ropes. He was cutting through them. The tension in yourarms gave way all of a sudden. A moan of pain left you as the circulationrushed back into your abused muscles. There was a long moment of silence as youstared at each other, hearts racing with adrenaline, the cannibal dying betweenyou with quiet gasps.
A howl rose up behind you. The rest of the clanhad crept from the cave mouth.
The dragon rider grabbed you by the back of yoursmock and dragged you toward the scarlet beast. You got your feet under you andsprinted alongside him. You had no idea what his intentions were but he wasyour best option right now. You’d rather be dragon food, gone in one bite, thanslowly roasted alive and carved up for scraps.
He all but threw you up the side of the dragon.You grabbed at spikes and scales, scrambling barefoot up the legendarycreature. There was a leather saddle strapped around its middle. You hauledyourself into it.
'Hold on, idiot!’ the barbarian snapped, leapingup into the saddle.
The dragon let out another ferocious roar, thenthrew itself away from the mountain. Its great, webbed wings boomed as theycaught the air, then surged down, pistoning the three of you away from thecannibals’ plateau.
You clung to the spines running down the dragon’sneck, stomach roiling. The barbarian made no effort to smooth the ride, busyflinging the cannibal’s blood off his sword with noises of disgust.
'Where are you taking me!?’ you cried over thewind.
'How about a fucking thank you!?’ hesnarled, finally looking at you.
'I’ll thank you when I know you’re not planningto eat me!’
He gave you a look of such revulsion at thethought, you almost felt better. The dragon’s flight curved away from themountains. The sun was setting far in the west, painting the underbelly of thegrowing storm clouds with a sullen red light. The temperature was droppingfast.
The first fat drop of rain splattered your cheek.The barbarian cursed. He grabbed the back of your shirt, pulling you backacross the saddle toward him. A brawny arm secured you against him. He calledsomething out to the dragon. The world tilted and rolled as the beast dove.
Rain fell heavily, like someone had pierced awaterskin. The dragon flew toward the top of the mountain. It was the highestin the range, jutting like a fang above the rest, snow clinging to its highestreaches. Your stomach sank. You’d climbed barely a fifth of the way up it onyour quest for the Tennyo Slipper. How were you ever going to get down now?
The dragon landed on a slender ledge that wasbarely big enough to hold it. Rock crumbled away from its talons, skitteringdown into the void. There was a cave at the very end of the ledge. The edgeshad a hacked look, scratched and scraped, and the stone was blackened.
Did his dragon carve this out?
The barbarian stood up in the saddle, cursingunder his breath at the freezing rain. He took one look at you, huddled andmiserable in your soaked clothes, and cursed some more. He moved too fast foryou to get away, slinging you over his shoulder like a dead mountain goat.
Unfortunately, that meant you were staring rightinto the open air as he climbed down the dragon and along the narrow ledge.
'Quit screaming!’
He ducked inside the cave. The rain cut off alongwith your shrieking. The cave was a small, roundish room gouged out of themountain. The ceiling was low - the barbarian’s head brushed against it. Hedumped you on the floor, rolling the knots outof his shoulder. The stone wallswere blessedly silent after the hellscape of the last twenty minutes. Youweren’t ready to trust him yet, though, eyeing him warily as he flung off hissodden fur cloak.
He was illuminated by the faint moonlight, alllean firm muscle. Hardly any scars. Either he was younger than he looked, or hewas just that good.
He said something, the words too guttural for youto follow. A moment later, the dragonlaunched itself away from the ledge, disappearing into the downpour.
'Where’s it going?’ you asked.
He turned, giving you a look that implied youwere incredibly stupid. 'Does this place look like it would fit a fuckingdragon?’
Irritation surged. Did he have to be so goddamncondescending after all you’d been through? You were stuck up the side of a mountainwith no way down, with a dragon-riding barbarian who had just killed thecannibal who tried to eat you. Was a little understanding too much toask? Naturally, you gave voice to all this with pure sarcasm.
'I dunno, maybe if we scrunch up really fuckingtight and suck in our guts,’ you grumbled. 'Not my fault you didn’t make thecave big enough for him.’
The barbarian gave you a shrewd look. 'Tch, younoticed that, huh?’
'Caves don’t just happen this high up. Andthere’s claw marks on the walls.’
'If you’re so goddman smart, how’d you end updinner for those barbarians?’
To hear the barbarian calling someone else abarbarian made you pause.
'You’re not…one of them? From a differenttribe?’
'Do I fucking look like one of them?’
He pulled an oiled cloth off a bundle you hadn’tnoticed in the shadows. Wood was piled against the wall. With efficientmovements born of long practice, he started stacking wood and kindling in theashy fire pit. Then he did something odd. He rubbed his palms together vigorously,then held them out toward the wood.Sparks sputtered from his palms, then a miniature blast. The wood, and yourbreath, caught. Magic.
You’d suspected, considering the dragon, thatthis barbarian was something unusual, but the magic confirmed it. It was arare, dangerous gift.
The fire grew, sending out a halo of goldenlight. You stretched your shivering hands toward it, staring at your would-berescuer. He was right. He was nothing like the cannibals. He was muscled andstrong, with feral, handsome feature and the healthy complexion of someone whospent a lot of time outdoors. Probably flying his dragon, you thoughtwonderingly.
The thought of flying in this weather ony madeyou shiver again.
He gave you an irritable frown, then reached fora blanket from the pile in the corner and lobbed it at you. You dragged itaround yourself while he rooted around in his stores. This, you realisedbelatedly, was probably his home.
'Then…where are you from?’ Is this really yourmountain?’
'It will be when I’ve kicked those freaks offit,’ he growled. 'Every time I get rid of a few, more come crawling out of thetunnels. They’re like rats.’
'You weren’t born here.’ Not a question. Now youwere listening closely, his accent was unusual.
He looked at you, the beads around his neckrattling. 'South. The Kahei mountains.’
You stared. 'That’s across the continent!’
'Yeah, well, I’ve got a fucking dragon if youdidn’t notice.’
'Why are you here?’
His temper had reached the end of its very shortfuse. He glared at you over his shoulder. 'I could ask you the same fuckingthing! What’s some lowlands peasant like you doing up here? Shouldn’t you knowbetter?’
You bristled at being called a peasant, only torealise you’d all but called him a cannibal earlier. And you were dirty,bloody, and soaked.
'I need Tennyo Slipper. My father has a feverthat won’t break. There’s none in the village.’
'Tennyo Slipper? What does it look like?’
You described it, and he snorted. 'That shittylittle blue flower? There’s fucking tons of it further down the South face. Ithought it was a weed.’
You stared at him. 'Really? Can you take methere?’
He gave you a look of utter fucking disbelief.'No.’
Well, that was clear enough. You were hesitant topush the issue. You were stuck with him in this tiny cave until the stormcleared, after all, and you were relying on his good mood to get back down themountain when morning came.
'Do you have anything to eat?’
It should’ve sickened you to think of food sosoon after you’d been on the menu yourself, but your stomach growled like acornered badger. The barbarian pulled a handful of dried meat from hissupplies, a bundle of wild turnips, and a flask of water. To your surprise, hefollowed it up with a copper pot and a bag of loose leaves. Tea?
The meat was tough and salty. You chewed it downanyway between sips of scalding, weedy tea. You began to thaw from the insideout until you were just uncomfortable, rather than chilled to the bone.
'Why did you save me?’ you asked.
Your questions were irritating him, but he didn’tsnap at you. When was the last time he had someone to talk to? youwondered.
'You just happened to be there,’ he asserted,leaning back against a jut of rock. 'Don’t go thinking you’re special.’
'Wouldn’t dream of it,’ you retorted, grindinganother chunk of meat between your teeth. 'What’s your name?’
There was a long pause. You could feel himassessing you. Finally, he spoke.
'Bakugou Katsuki.’
It suited him - it was just as confident andaggressive. He said it like he expected it to mean something, and so, it did.He was the self-declared King of the Mountain. Sitting here in a cave with him,firelight glinting off his fang-shaped earrings and in his scarlet eyes, youcould almost see how he would become a legend. The barbarian king with hisdragon and his explosive magic. Little boys would be asking their mothers forstories about him in a generation or two. Your gaze moved to his muscled arms,his smooth, ferally-handsome features.
Maybe it won’t just be young boys listening tothe stories…
'The fuck are you staring at?’
'Uh…’
There was no decent answer to that, so youshrugged and put the last hunk of dried meat in your mouth. Your stomach wasfar from full, but it was better than nothing.
Sleep dragged at your eyelids. You cast a furtivelook at the nest of furs in the corner. It was unwise to sleep around anexploding barbarian you’d only just met, but the adrenaline had leached out ofyou, leaving you a empty and shaken.
'Tch. Go sleep. Lowlanders.’
You heard him muttering about stupid lowlandersnot being able to function unless the air was like soup, but ignored it. Thefurs were piled so deep you had to crawl into them like a mouse making its nestand drag them over you. The heavy weight of them pressed you down, squeezingout the last of your energy.
You drowsed for a while, listening to theconstant hiss and patter of rain outside and watching the light of the firedance along the craggy walls. It dimmed suddenly, and there was a faintrustling sound, followed by two muted, leathery thuds.
The furs shifted, letting a sharp chill crawlinto the warm space you’d hollowed out for yourself. You turned, staringblearily up at Bakugou.
'What are you doing?’
'This is my fucking bed,’ he said. 'I’m notsleeping on the fucking floor because you wanted to try getting your ass killed.Move over, woman.’
You moved over, wide-eyed and wide awake. Bakugoutook up most of the space under the furs and more, pressing against your backand legs. He grunted, annoyed, and shifted to make himself comfortable. The warmthturned to a pricking heat. You were all too aware of the hard lines of his bodydigging into yours, even with his back to you.
‘Fucking relax and go to sleep,’ he ordered,clearly annoyed by your sudden tension. ‘You’re not my type.’
‘What!?’ you snapped. ‘I wasn’t even thinkingthat!’
‘Sure you weren’t,’ he snickered. He shoved an elbowback into you. ‘Sleep or I’ll kick you off the mountain, wench.’
‘Barbarian,’ you muttered under your breath,forcing your eyes shut. ‘Probably too clean for you.’
