It is 2am, and while this has become a common sleep schedule for me, tonight I know why I am putting off sleep. I know that as soon as I lay my head down with no distractions, I will lay awake thinking about bad memories

bruce wayne (patman) x top!male reader

cw . sub!bruce, dom!m!reader, blowjobs, aftercare, mirror sex, the reader is taller and kinda buff? only slight mentions of that, a whole ass cafe au (i got carried away), strangers to friends to lovers, really long 😭. basically fluff with a smidge of porn at the end 🤭.

note . really just some self indulgent hcs 🫡 this might be a little ooc, but i’m trying 🥲. was not joking when i said this was long-

bruce was so adorably awkward and anxious that it was cute

you owned a small cafe in gotham. the location was a bit weird, your small and otherwise stubby cafe out of place besides such tall and striking buildings

despite the unusual outward differences between your cafe and the buildings it was smushed between, you had a steady business

people coming in an out and ordering your sweets and coffee, you prided yourself on being authentic in your craft

bruce had been curious about your cafe, finding humor in the fact that it was nearly covered by the larger buildings

he was pleasantly surprised upon his entry though

the place smelled of fresh cookies and pastries, but also of coffee yet it didn’t smell bitter

he was surprised to see you over the counter, taking orders with a small smile

if bruce were to see you anywhere else than the shop, you’d easily intimidate him with your tall stature and toned & slightly buff build

he couldn’t help but slightly oogle at your arms in the white tee you wore, but he passed it off as glancing around the place as a newcomer

“welcome to the cafe,”

i vern your voice made bruce want to talk to you on hours on end, just so he could hear it more

he hadn’t felt this way about someone in such a long time, the feeling was foreign as it weighed on his mind

he gives you a small nod and a nervous smile before taking a seat at the counter

you recognized who he was the moment you’d notice him step into your cafe though, the infamous bruce wayne

he wasn’t like the media portrayed him at all, if anything he seemed to be the opposite

timid, shy, even a little anxious but you could tell that behind his eyes that he was observant and a little withdrawn

“what may i get for you?” you ask, standing in front of the wayne from behind the counter

“what do you recommend? i haven’t been here before…” he softly says, voice barely carrying over the loud yet comfortable sound of the rest of the customers

“i’m not sure what you’d like. mr wayne, but everything on the menu comes from one of my recipes so im sure you’ll enjoy it,” you grinned, pushing a menu towards him

he returns your grin, looking over the menu quickly. “may i get a chocolate chip cookie with a. cup of coffee?” he settles, sliding the menu back to you

“of course,” you reply, and begin to make his order personally.

his order was done in no time and you even stayed a moment to watch his reaction as he tasted a cookie created from your own recipe

it tastes oddly like nostalgia to bruce, a childhood he’d never had but always wanted. warm and soft, just perfect all around.

to make this whole “crush at first sight” thing that bruce has going on worse, he could swear his heart sprouts wings and flutters in his chest at the smile that spread across your face at his reaction to the cookie

bruce knows he’s utterly fucked at that moment.

from then on, bruce becomes a regular. he frequents your cafe often, and the both of you even build a sort of bond

he tries to pass it off to alfred as if he only goes because he fell in love with the sweets and coffee

(which, wasn’t a complete lie seeing as he felt like he melted in his seat everytime he bit into a cookie of yours)

but alfred could see through him, he knew it was something more but he wouldn’t press the issue, he was only glad bruce was actually socializing - for whatever the reason may be

the more bruce came to the bar, the more the both of you interacted

your interactions consisted of mostly you flirting with bruce and the male awkwardly trying to hide his blush and sputtering slightly through a reply

it was all cute to you, the way he’d just smile and look down with a blush whenever you shamelessly flirted with him

the way he listened intently to your rambles

the slight tugging feeling in your heart whenever he had to leave

and eventually that bond grew into something more

he stayed for longer periods of time, sometimes coming in after a hard day of whatever he did in his spare time just to be in your presence.

it had been a few weeks of bruce steadily coming into the cafe, and you’d finally worked up the courage to ask him out

you’d chosen to ask him while serving him his usual, the same as his very first order

“bruce, would you like to go on a date with me? you could pick the place if you’d like..”

he seems slightly stunned for a moment, and for a split second you’re anxious about his response

until he nods his head, “yes, i’d like that a lot, i think i know a place..”

bruce picks a place quiet, somewhere you’d never seen in gotham in the short years you’d lived there

of course, the date goes smoothly, you and bruce having a good time and enjoying each other’s company

you spend more and more time together outside of the bakery

more dates occur, and the both of you grow closer romantically

you weren’t sure when you and bruce became ‘official’

but the both of you went from fleeting touches and nervous rambled conversation to soft kisses in greeting and silent conversations in mutual understanding with each other

he’d shown you his identity a few months into the relationship

he didn’t have any doubts that the both of you would last, nor did he think you’d betray his trust; it was more of a safety precaution

you’d come to make a joke out of the whole thing

“oh how the big & bad batman enjoys my pastries from a small diner…”

he doesn’t find it all that amusing but seeing the smile on your face everytime you sad a variation of the joke made his heart dance in his chest

he introduced you to alfred too, and alfred immediately took a liking to you

because wow!!! you’re the reason bruce has been going around the manor happier than usual, more compliant, even even willing to socialize????

everything with bruce was all so tender and sweet and gentle, despite how he’s depicted had batman, every single moment with him was as valuable as glass

your first time with bruce was the same as all other moments you shared together.

the softness of your kisses along his collarbone, the way his hair framed his face messily as he was on his back beneath you

even in the way his mouth parted with soft sounds whenever you did something he liked

nothing would top the face he made when he was about to cum, the way he would diene and his hands would move, sort of frantically to try and ground himself through the earth shattering feeling

the way he’d clench around you & his mouth would drop with quiet whispers and urges of your name

those moments are equally as soft as the rest of the moments you spend with bruce

there are times that aren’t as soft but tender all the same

looking up at you through wet lashes with his blue eyes, silently pleading at you to do something

cock leaking with his arousal, doing his very best to be good for you

loves watching himself in the mirror, watching as you handle him so roughly

brining him up to your chest by his hair, one hand on his hip to keep him into place while you fuck into him

your chin on his shoulder when the hand moves from his hips to his swollen cock, teasing it while it twitches in sensitivity

bruce begs, so prettily that you can’t help but to praise him and give him what he craves.

his kink for your voice only intensified during this moment, listening to you tell him how pathetic he’d look if all of gotham saw cockslut bruce wayne, the protector of gotham, getting fucked by a cafe owner

he could cum on the spot.

and then the aftercare afterwards is gentle. helping him drink water and eat a small snack, drawing a bath for him while you wash him softly

bruce wayne was everything all at once, and everything you’d ever needed and more.

okay i’m FINALLY finished, im so sorry you had to read all of that- 🫡

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft for whomever tickles your fancy?

AO3 Kiss Prompts

Nemo chuckles softly, “That one seems to really like you,”

“Yeah,” Gerry’s voice is low as he gently rubs the soft, fine fur on the ears of the black rabbit that’s taken up residence in his lap. (Snowball apparently judging from the laminated pictures stuck up just outside the pen) 

Nemo reaches out to gently stroke a brown and white particularly fluffy rabbit that seems very invested in their boot (Named Cookie… or was this one Brownie? No wait, this is Cookie they have a smudge over their nose) who then curiosity satisfied scampers off and disappears into a little wooden shelter.

“Bye then?” Nemo calls after them and Gerry chuckles. 

Claws scrabble against Nemo’s  ripped jeans and Nemo gently picks up a large white lop, “Hey there…”

“I think… that one’s named Bluebell?” Gerry offers up. 

Nemo holds the rabbit close to their chest for a little while as they gently run a hand over their head before they gently place them on their lap and Bluebell seems to accept this arrangement as they settle down and fall asleep in short order. 

They sit there for a while, quiet with nothing the sounds of rabbits running through sweet smelling hay and slightly more muffled sounds from outside the barn of the other animal residents (That apparently on this slightly grey autumn day seem to have mostly just had Gerry and Nemo as their visitors) and the sweet smell of hay and a musky earthy smell around them that’s actually weirdly pleasant. 

“This is nice,” Gerry sighs softly and he stops for a second and then Snowball nudges his hand, “Sorry mate,” And then gets back to the very important job of rubbing their ears. 

“Mhmm,” Nemo leans into his shoulder as they gently stroke Bluebell’s head.

“I…” He sighs again, “I think I’m actually happy?”

“Actually happy?” 

He continues to gently rub Snowball’s ear as he tries to get his thoughts together.

“Yeah,” He sighs, “It’s… I mean it’s not like I’ve never been happy,” He pauses, “I think… I think I’ve felt happy? I know what happy is… or what I’ve been told it’s meant to be so I’ve felt it right? Or maybe I haven’t ever actually felt it and just felt less shit and thought I was happy… Wow, that's depressing right?” He then groans and gives a bitter chuckle, “Fuck I’m not making any sense-” 

Nemo leans into him and he leans into that as he focuses on Snowball. On how the fine, soft fur on his ears feels like velvet as he gently rubs their ears and the weight of them in his lap, on that smell of sweet hay and earthy musk, of the vibrating heartbeat under the palm of his hand (He randomly remembers some fact from a childhood book about just fast rabbit hearts beat)

And then he lets out one long breath and asks “Can I start again?” 

“Actually happy?” Nemo asks again. 

“Yeah,” Gerry sighs again, “It’s… it’s fucking weird… I’m not used to it?”

“I… I know how that feels,” Nemo swallows as they continue to stroke Bluebell, “It… it feels kind of scary right?” 

“Yeah,” He swallows and feels his fingers shake and Snowball gently butts his hand and he lets out a long, shaky sigh as he gently strokes him, “I’m used to everything being kind of shit so when it’s not shit it feels… wrong?” 

“Like you don’t deserve it?” Nemo sighs as they gently stroke Bluebell and swallow down a lump in their throat

“I… Yeah I think that’s some of it,” He sighs and tips his head back to rest against the barn wall, closes his eyes and continues to ground himself with Snowball’s soft fur before his thoughts spiral again, “Also that… when I am happy, or what I think is happy is that I know it’s not going to stay around and that sometimes I’ll never feel it again?” He feels his voice getting dangerously thick, words start to crash into each other. 

Nemo reaches over to place a hand against his back and gently rubs and he takes a deep shaky breath or two (or five), “But since…. Since I’ve met you things have been less shit?”

Then Nemo snorts, “Thanks?” 

And that makes him laugh, softly and he blinks a couple of times as that seems to pull himself out of whatever weird existential doom spiral he was heading headfirst into. And then he carefully shifts to make sure Snowball stays on his lap and with shaky fingers pulls Nemo in for a kiss and Nemo gives a surprised gasp and for a second he’s worried this is a mistake eve though this isn't the first kiss, or the second, the third the fourth or the fifth (He’s lost track by this point even if it’s only been a few months since they’ve stumbled from ‘Friends with complicated feelings’ to ‘Friends with complicated feelings but we seem to like each other in likely a romantic way and well we like to kiss at least so that’s a step right?’) 

“I…” Gerry smiles softly in a way that Nemo finds makes their heart melt a little.

“Is that what you were trying to say?” Nemo chuckles. 

“Yeah and I don’t feel as.. Scared of being happy? Like when I’m around you it feels like I’m allowed it and that it has a chance of staying-” 

Nemo kisses him.

morning fog

pairing: malavai quinn x gender neutral! reader

word count: 1,322 words

ao3 link: 🥞🥞🥞

summary: after a rough battle, your captain decides to use some local kitchenware to make you what’s considered to be an important meal of the day with local ingredients.

warning(s): fluff (i guess?), no consideration for how the facilities in star wars actually work, no considerations for what characters actually eat, quinn being wife material, imagined with a sith warrior reader, strawberries, yes i am referencing my own made up stuff for star wars

notes: i just wanted to write about quinn making pancakes because i made pancakes and thought, “he would totally do this.” if this feels weird (and something doesn’t exactly make sense) it’s probably because i wrote this at 4am.

What is one to do when they cannot sleep?

Perhaps it’s to take a speeder out and explore the vast landscape of whatever planet they were on. Or to sit and contemplate while looking out into the stars and darkness of the galaxy, allowing oneself to be sucked into the serenity of endless sky.

Or, maybe, if one was like Malavai Quinn, it would be to get dressed and head out to a local market to make breakfast for his lord.

The sun had not even risen yet when he woke up. He was used to waking up before the sun came up and was familiar with the feeling of meeting darkness when he awoke from his slumber. But when he did not need to be up, he usually went back to bed. His body could only take so much after all. But sleep did not come to him easily and while he did not mind the Empire’s rations, his body was feeling for something more human, something made from scratch.

Most planets had their own local markets that sold food, if one knew where to look. Thankfully, it wasn’t his first time on this planet. So Malavai dressed in something more casual, wrapped a scarf around the lower half of his face, and set out for a local market.

The morning fog that he had woken up with gradually disappeared as he took in his surroundings. It was nice to watch the sunrise every once in a while. Truly, the endless black sky of the galaxy got a little boring. It was nice to see color every once in a while.

Being one of the first people at the market meant he had his pick of the crop. The best stuff always got taken first. But Malavai was quick. He picked out his necessities, but he had to contemplate which fruit to get. There were so many choices presented to him. But the one that caught his attention was a berry. Red with a sort of sharp glimmer to it.

“Like it?”

He looks up at the old woman. She has a kindly face but her posture told him that she most likely had experience with the military. “They’re quite eyecatching.” He says.

“Yamian Red Crystal Berries. Sweet and cooling. Hard to come by when we’re far out. But a favorite among the Imperials. Would work well for what’s in your bag.” He glances at his bag. “I was watching you. I like looking out for potential customers.”

“I have never had these Red Crystal Berries.”

“They’re rare in Imperial territories, mostly because the Republic hogs them all.” He could sense a hint of bitterness when she mentions the Republic. “But they are special and quite perfect. Here.” She picks one out and offers it to him,

Malavai looks at the berry and its icy glimmer before gently taking it. He pulls his scarf down slightly to take a bite into the berry. It’s cooling and he feels chills run across his body. It contrasts with the rather hot weather he was currently experiencing. The berry is sweet but has a subtle tart flavor and it has a bit of a crunch to it. He’s pleasantly surprised.

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

“I can see why the Republic is so adamant about having them.” He says.

“They are so adamant that they will force families of farmers to work constantly. And once they have exhausted them, they will replace them with droids.” She shakes her head.

“The Republic has a reputation of hiding their misdeeds.” He finishes the berry. “How much for a gram?”

“300 credits each.”

Malavai almost choked on the air as he thought about his checking account. He had a decent amount of money but after this? He might as well consider himself broke. (This would be the second time, but not really. He’s never actually been broke entirely but last time, he was very close). The woman laughs.

“You’re on a discount. I give them to servants of the Empire. If you were Republic, I would be charging you twice as much.”

He looks at his outfit. Nothing really made him stand out as an Imperial.

“I can identify one when I see one. How many grams do you want?”

“Ummm, I’ll take three grams.”

“750 credits. Consider it another discount since you’ve amused me.”

“I’m happy I have amused you.” His account would be grateful for this lenience.

“Good luck with whatever you’re cooking.”

Cooking was always time consuming but there was something calming about it. It gave Malavai Quinn some semblance of control compared to the rest of his life. It was a chaotic existence to say the least, but with cooking, he could control the environment around him even just for a little bit.

There were a lot of steps to creating a good breakfast, from making a drink to folding in his fluffed up whites into the batter with the right amount of pressure. But he always managed if he just trusted the process.

Even if the first few pancakes ended up a little burnt and flat.

By the mid-morning, Malavai had finished his breakfast. He was very proud with his presentation and the matching drinks to go with it. It took two hours to make and only ten minutes to eat his plate. Truly the worst part of cooking, that he could labor for so long and it would be gone in less than an eighth of that time.

The extra plate and drink had the captain contemplating. Of course, who should it go to? Certainly not Pierce. Vette was probably still asleep. Jaesa? Maybe, but he knew Jaesa would prefer to do her own cooking or get her own meal. Broonmark was...well, Broonmark and preferred to hunt his meal.

There was only one person that was deserving of his time and labor. (Albeit he had forgotten halfway through cooking that he originally went out for you)

When his dish was done, he put the other dish and cup on a tray and walked out of the kitchen to your room. He could hear the rustling of the sheets from behind the door and knocks. “My lord.”

“The door’s open.” Your voice is a little muffled.

Quinn opens the door, balancing the tray on one hand. Seeing his face makes you lift your head from your pillow and smile. “Quinn! Breakfast? I don’t remember us getting any sort of fancy rations.”

“They are not rations, my lord. I went out and bought everything.” He sets the tray down on the nightstand.

You sit up and take the tray, balancing it on your lap. “Everything looks really good.” You pick up a berry. “What is this? I’ve never seen it before.”

“A Yamian Red Crystal Berry from the planet of Yamia Carro. I presume the climate of such a planet has affected the texture, taste, and look of the fruit.”

“It’s pretty. Almost too pretty to eat.” You take a bite and shiver, feeling chills throughout your body. But it was the kind of chills that made you feel exhilarated, the kind of chills you got from eating just good food in general. “What made you decide to make me breakfast?”

“I had an extra plate.”

“I could get used to this.” You pick up the fork and cut into the pancake. “You look great in an apron.”

Malavai feels his cheeks grow warm and he clears his throat. “I will leave you to it, my lord.”

He walks out, the door closing behind him and he could feel his cheeks growing hotter and his heart quickening in pace. It was only a temporary feeling. It could only be a temporary feeling after all. Getting too attached to you may jeopardize his plans.

Alas, Malavai Quinn could not ignore the blatant truth.

He liked cooking for you and the way you made him feel.

Paldea Extraordinaire

Quick character list for my PKMN SV child!

TRAINER

Name: Inés Espinosa

Age: 16

Hometown: Cortondo

Current Location: Room 303 at the Uva Academy dorms

Hobbies: extreme couponing, bulk buying increasingly weird items (?)

Favorite Subject: History

Worst Subject: Art

A scholarship student. Vicious bidder at the marketplace while in search of those sweet, sweet deals. Has somehow garnered a reputation at school for herself not for her grades (good, if she may toot her own horn), nor for her battling prowess (slightly above average, if she may toot her own horn again), but for her Pincurchin, who is known to her classmates as a little hellspawn and a massive menace.

POKEMON

Pincurchin ♂ (Nugget - SHINY)

Poison Jab | Recover | Discharge | Zing Zap*

Sometimes a good boy, mostly a menace

Loves algae wafers. Isn’t brand loyal which means that Inés can shop around for whichever is on sale. She does, however, always keep a bag of the really good brand on hand for when he’s been on his best behavior.

Inés found him as a young child while on a family holiday to the beach. She was being chased by a Sandygast until a Pincurchin came barreling in, with apparently a bone of its own to pick with the sentient sand castle. Afterwards, Inés made the mistake of feeding him in thanks, to which she was thereafter unable to get rid of him.

Knew Throat Chop when Inés first got him, but in preparation for school she (tried to) train him out of it. Given that he now charges for the jugular with added electrical bonus, it’s arguably worse now.

Inés genuinely had no idea he was a shiny until someone tried to steal him from her. She did have half an inkling that he was a little monster though, which was only reinforced when Nugget went for the thief’s throat with absolutely no hesitation (this was when she discovered that he knew Throat Chop)

Nugget’s Pokéball is sometimes placed in a Ball Contest decorated with Contest Seals (generic brand, found at a steep discount!). The Seals spell MENACE in big bright letters, so that she can keep track of him whenever he decides to let himself out.

It has led several of her classmates to think that she is needlessly bullying her (very cute) Pincurchin, but anyone who knows Nugget knows that the Seals spell nothing but the truth.

Other hobbies include scoot-scooting, stealthily siphoning off electricity from the power outlet, and shorting out the lights in the dorms when startled.

Slowpoke ♂ (Avocado)

Yawn | Zen Headbutt | Slack Off | ???

Good boy, dopey boy

Snuggle bug. Enjoys loafing in increasingly bizarre and inconvenient locations, but thinks Inés’ lap is best.

Best quality: his little ear flicks

Was completely unbothered the first time his tail fell off during a routine snuggle session. Inés, on the other hand, was extremely bothered, which was why she ran all the way across town to the emergency Pokemon Center, in tears (Nugget scooting desperately along behind them). The Center’s canteen lady felt bad enough for them that she taught them how to make a snack out of the fallen tail, so all’s well that ends well (?).

Can sometimes be seen wearing any assortment of silly little hats as he’s loafing around (holiday clearance sale!)

Enjoys being held long-cat style

Ceruledge ♀

False Swipe | Shadow Claw | Will-o-Wisp | Bitter Blade

Expectation: stoic, badass sentient set of ancient malicious armor

Realty: tripping in the background because she’s being bullied by one (1) sea urchin. Crying in the aisle at the supermarket because she can’t hold the shopping basket with her blade-arms. Trying her best in these trying times.

To no one’s surprise, Inés acquired a strange set of malicious armor as a bonus while buying something else that was equally as baffling and perhaps just as dangerous.

Everyone is half-convinced that Bitter Blade is fueled primarily by her bitter feelings about Nugget. Forget the world, Nugget is the greater menace.

Arboliva ♀

Energy Ball | Sunny Day | Seed Bomb | Solar Beam

Was accidentally given to Inés as a starting-school present to brighten up her dorm room. The tiny succulent had a living tag-along. Thankfully it didn’t cost much extra to feed her so Inés decided to keep her in the end.

Other potential team members (because I am indecisive):

Dachsbun — it’s a dog and it’s bread, what more can I say

Spirtomb — so Inés bought an Odd Keystone during a sale once....

Klefki — Guardian of the keys but more importantly, guardian of Inés’ coinpurse

Rellor (shiny) — there can only be one Nugget on this team (in which Nugget bullies a shiny bug so badly that Inés ends up accidentally catching it. Chaos ensues).

TRIVIA

Met the next door neighbor in Room 304 when she accidentally locked Nugget in their shared bathroom and then went off to class. The neighbor thought the bathroom was haunted. It was just Nugget, going absolutely wild in there.

Inés’ Treasure Hunt dream is to make it rich, literally. That would probably account for 85% of the time in which she gets lost by running off the beaten path in pursuit of the latest shining thing she sees glistening in the grass.

Your tags on my fic were so sweet! Thanks so much, dear ❤️❤️❤️ Glad you liked it!

[Note for followers - see "L'heure bleue" on tumblr or ao3 on which I tagged " #I still actually think about this all the time #I’ve reread it like 8 times #if you’re comfortable w bkdk smut it’s. *chefs kiss* #so much to love. I could ramble for like 10 min on this"]

Aww thanks so much for writing it <3 I think this is an invitation to ramble about it for 10 minutes?

Ok so listen normally I'll copy-paste a few of my favorite clips and explain why I like them but I thought about doing it for this one and it's impossible because there's so many things that I'm in love with.

It includes lots of details that engage all five senses (the smell of smoke, the taste of bitter green tea and salty sweat, the steady drone of HVAC units, the feeling of sweat and humidity sticking to Izuku’s body, the way the early morning sky changes the colors of Kacchan/the walls/the world). It’s so engaging, it really pulls you in.

It naturally fills the reader in on post-canon events and the shift in their relationship without distracting from what is happening currently in the story.

There’s a good fight scene. Easy to follow what’s happening and who is where and Izuku makes full use of all his quirks which is always cool. And, uh. The easy-to-follow applies to the sex as well, which is not always the case in fic.

The whole sex scene is filled so full of emotion from start to finish and like, of course it’s hot, but like mostly it’s romantic and just full of so much feeling and that’s what I’m looking for in a bkdk fic.

There’s lots of internal thoughts and feelings and reflections that don’t distract from the dialogue and actions and it makes the whole fic feel really full and complete and emotional.

Izuku is so needy, he’s been so thirsty for Katsuki for so long and it shows how much he really, really, really wants this. (”He doesn’t have the words to express what it is to want so much, so badly, but he does want. He wants everything all the time, over and over again. The possibility of satiation doesn’t exist.”)

The fic isn’t from Katsuki’s point of view, so it’s impossible to say what he truly thinks, and he’s not exactly forthcoming with his emotions. But the way he reacts is so... I don’t know the right word, consistent, maybe. With his canon personality and with what you’d expect from someone who’s fallen hard for Izuku. The point is that you can tell how he feels in the actions described.

Also I said I don’t have a favorite clip but actually it might be this: 

Kacchan remains still. Except for his fingers. They’re clenching and unclenching just slightly, like a cat when it purrs and kneads at the air as it dreams. Izuku unwraps his fingers and moves them a couple centimeters up so that he’s palm to palm with Kacchan, their fingers automatically intertwining.

Also

“I like you,” he whispers. “I like you.” And he begins to come. “I like you, I like you, I like you so much, Kacchan. Please, Kacchan, please.”

That’s so him. He really would. I love it so much. And Katsuki says it’s weird but you know he likes it too. 

Anyway, once again, thanks for writing it. I hope to one day write as well as you do and I actually don’t read a lot of fic but I think I should check out your other stuff for sure.

💖 Abigail

How likely they are to enter a relationship with them:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

(So, this is both a 1 and a 10 because Hank would never have cottoned on to the fact that Abigail was into him unless she'd made it clear, but at the same time, they have incredible chemistry and compatibility. The fact that even in his war crime era, she's still giving him hugs and being there for him is just. It's so weird and I need to know more, but it's maybe the only thing in X-Force that's really rung true for me.)

Would they…

Make the first move? Yes | No (We know for a fact he did not, because Hank was self-conscious as fuck and didn't even think that Abigail wanted him precisely because he looked like a big blue furry monster. That's her beauty standard. He never, ever would have guessed.)

Say “I love you” first? Yes | No (Hank catches feelings first. It's just the way of it. He proposes marriage to her - jokingly, granted - so I feel like love came after this point, but it was definitely him that said it first, not her.)

Cheat on them? Yes | No (Simply, no. Less simply, fuck no.)

Be the jealous type? Yes | No (If there's one thing he knows, it's that Abigail wants him, and there is no-one in this world who is quite like him. Completely, utterly secure in this respect.)

Plan the dates? Yes | No (If by 'plan the dates,' you mean he's the one who drags her away from S.W.O.R.D duties to do something social and fun, absolutely!)

Initiate the first kiss? Yes | No (Let's be real here, she kissed him first, and she kissed him like she wanted to eat him.)

Remember anniversaries? Yes | No (I feel like Hank would be very fastidious in tracking these anniversaries, helped in no small part by S.W.OR.D data logs and time tracking.)

BOLD WHAT APPLIES:

Their Relationship Is:

friends to lovers | rivals to lovers | enemies to lovers | still just enemies | mutual pining | star crossed lovers | old married couple | perpetual honeymoon phase | stable and boring | stable but not boring | secret lovers | best friends hiding their feelings | and they were roommates | friends with benefits | coworkers avoiding HR | one-sided affection | weird sexual tension | it’s complicated | toxic relationship | a secret affair | an actual dumpster fire | other

(They have . . . an odd trajectory, to be sure.)

PUBLIC Displays of Affection:

hand holding | kiss on the hand | kiss on the cheek | kiss on the forehead | kiss on the lips | cuddling | hugging | affectionate messages or comments | pet names | pictures together | no displays of affection

(Hank has done literally every single one of these on panel with Abigail. He's very sweet.)

PRIVATE Displays of Affection:

hand holding | kiss on the hand | kiss on the cheek | kiss on the forehead | kiss on the lips |  cuddling | hugging | affectionate messages or comments | pet names | pictures together | no displays of affection

Do they stay together?

yes, this is endgame | yes but someone is gonna die tragically | something is keeping them apart | they part ways as friends | they part ways as enemies | they’re on-again-off-again | they have a super messy breakup | it was just a fling | other

(The writers keep trying to tell me this was an on-again off-again relationship, but I don't buy it, mostly because they never showed them being anything less than 100% on with each other. Then again, they didn't show them breaking up, either. I'm not bitter about it. 9 years later, I'm totally not bitter about it.)

BONUS

What terrible pet names would they give each other?

Hank has canonically called Abigail his verdant fruit bat, his little angel of death, sweetheart, darling, and more. He is a weirdo.

Abigail has canonically called Hank Professor and a dozen other slightly disparaging things. She also told him she wanted to break him like a pony, and I firmly believe she called him 'hoss' or something like that during sex AT LEAST once. He was flushed and slightly weirded out, but he was into it. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

46, 53, 129 for ask game! :)

Awww thank you so much for sending!! I wanted to reply before I went to bed so, here we go

46. Talk about your crush, if you have one!

So I don't really have a crush aright now, honestly. I'm not even bitter by the fact that 90% of the time it's unreciprocated because I didn't know they were involved with someone, or they like someone else already. And I think it's good for me in a way, because it kills the yearning for connection with them pretty much immediately.

53. How are you feeling right now?

I'm feeling tired...mostly? Maybe slightly sleep deprived. The last couple of days have been weird cuz I keep saying yes to work asking me to come in 4 hrs earlier than my planned schedule. So then unfortunately I went ahead and saw a movie with my siblings yesterday night (since it was already planned days ago) took a shower and kinda lingered before I fell asleep for a 4am shift. ANYWAYS. I couldn't take a nap today because car stuff, then I needed do my grocery pickup, pickup my sister and I'm just really tired. I work an early shift tomorrow too so I'm like @-@ sad cuz I was going to try to catch up with some of my tv watching. anyways sleep commence after this

129. What would you want written on your tombstone?

I was gonna say 'passed away from the sleepy tired'

but it'd be an inside joke between my family. 1) cuz my dad has spelled my name wrong a handful of times with important paperwork. 2) when I order food or coffee, there's a 60-75% chance they spell it wrong and 3) I've even got a sweet greeting card intended for me but with a completely different name

"we finally spelled her name correctly"

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea. 

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair. 

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week. 

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield. 

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him. 

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield. 

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you… 

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.      

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”   

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever. 

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality. 

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you. 

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

                          -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up. 

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.  

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting. 

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.” 

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help. 

Or maybe it’s penance. 

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting. 

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.” 

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.         

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar. 

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do. 

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in. 

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin. 

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow. 

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it. 

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter. 

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.              

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.” 

                            -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing. 

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.  

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder. 

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.” 

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more. 

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing— 

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide. 

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer. 

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.   

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat. 

What a way to go.    

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more. 

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you. 

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs. 

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject. 

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.   

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger. 

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.  

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch. 

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”   

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.  

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation. 

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious. 

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick. 

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh. 

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good. 

Cheeky bastard.  

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.    

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him. 

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears. 

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.” 

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease. 

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him. 

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking. 

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin. 

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.  

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam. 

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor. 

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear. 

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch. 

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?” 

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.” 

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 ;

pairing | rich!kuroo tetsuro x f! reader

wordcount | 1.1k

warnings | slightly suggestive

tags | rich boy x poor reader, love confession, one night stand/fwb to something ✨more✨, no beta i never have beta lmao

a/n | i dont really know if anyone is still here but this was part of a series i planned out ages ago about a rich kids au. never fully finished the series (idk i would love to pick it up again) but it’s been collecting dust in my drafts for ages. also i miss this account 🥺 love u, pls hydrate

matutine (adj): of or relating to early morning; occuring in the early morning

When your eyes blink open, the hotel room is dark and you are alone in the big big bed. For a brief, sleepy second, you think that he has already left. You feel a tired pang of happiness when you see that he hasn’t.

There’s a warm glow from the lamp in the corner that illuminates a figure standing by the window. You can smell the smoke from his cigar; a little sweet but mostly pungent, in your opinion. He doesn’t even like to smoke -- he told you that the first time you met -- but he’s always puffing away on his Cuban cigars. The logic behind that evades you, but you can always guess why. He smokes because he’s bored. He buys and hoards more tobacco than he should because he’s bored. He stays with you because he’s bored.

The last sentence wasn’t just a guess.

You crumple the sheets a little, as you move to sit up, and he turns to look at you. Cat eyes blink, backlit by the view only the top floor of a luxury penthouse can provide - neon car lights and tiny windows all blurred into a mess of light. And above it all, a starless night sky. The view is beautiful and unreal from here.

“What time is it?” your voice is a croak, swept over by tiredness. 

“It’s 3:30 am,” he replies, putting the cigar into the ashtray. “Sorry. I know you hate this kinda stuff.”

Being the only son of the president of one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, Kuroo Tetsuro was first in line to claim the company after his father stepped down. And yet here he was putting  out a $70 cigar early because a part-time waitress, whose closet was half-filled with thrift store clothes, didn’t like the smell. You’d be flattered if you didn’t know that $70 was almost nothing to him. He would pay over $100 for a smoke without batting an eyelid. You know that far too well.

“It’s only three thirty? I shouldn’t have woke up,” you sigh, brushing a hand over your face. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to sleep again.”

A sly grin appears on Tetsuro’s face - it’s familiar and annoyingly sexy. How dare he look like that? You can’t help feeling a bit bitter.

“Want me to tire you out a little?”

You roll your eyes even as you smile, as he climbs back into the bed to rest both arms on the headboard. Caging you in, under his shirtless body. He smells fresh, like he’d just step out of the shower, despite the underlying scent of his cigar smoke. “Once a night is quite enough, thanks. I’ve got a morning shift tomorrow, and I’d like to retain my ability to walk.”

When you first met Tetsuro, at a shitty hole-in-the-wall bar that you never returned to after, he’d said all the right things in the right way. You didn’t even know he was one of the richest 20-something year olds in the country when he laughed at your sarcastic jokes, when the conversation somehow turned to kissing. You thought he was just another bar fling. Watching his lips quirk up into a smile, there’s a sense of relief that washes over you; you’re glad that he’s become more than that, as loathe as you are to admit your feelings to yourself.

His laughter shakes the bed beneath you. After months of this - this strange relationship where the both of you are something more than friends, but not quite lovers - you’ve learned to tell the difference between his mirthless chuckles and his genuine, albeit ridiculous, laughter. It’s nice that he’s been carrying out the latter more frequently around you.

“That should be flattering, but it doesn’t sound as kind coming from you,” he drops his arms and roll to the side, one leg draped over yours. Only the blankets keep your skin from touching his. “Want me to send you there? I’m free all day tomorrow.”

It’s sweet of him to offer, but the mental image of his red Rolls-Royce pulling up to the tiny neighbourhood diner, and a waitress in patched up jeans stepping out was too amusing. You tell him as much, while he trails a hand up your bare arm to tap your shoulder mindlessly. “I’m pretty sure it’d end up on the news: president’s son drops off minimum wage waitress at tiny diner. Your dad would probably murder you.”

He pinches your shoulder, playfully, moving his hand to your chest. “He can try, but am I really at fault for doing a favour for my favourite person?”

“Your favourite person, huh?”

“Yeah, of course,” he laughed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm. “Hey Y/N?”

Your hands move to comb through his unruly hair. “What?”

“Don’t freak out, but I think I love you.”

Oh. Your fingers froze. There it was.

After the first night, when you woke up to find empty sheets and a neat white business card on the bedside table, you googled him. He scribbled a little message under his name and his position as Supervisor for Kuroo Group -- one of the richest conglomerates in Japan that so happened to share his last name. You’d read the message so many times, you could recite it by heart now -- ‘Thanks for last night. Call me whenever you feel like. I had fun.’. 

The Internet told you he was a notorious playboy with a personality that endless wealth always seemed to incur: confident, detailed and bored. So so bored with his flow of gold and his shiny toys and all his different suits and ties. There are accounts, from other alleged one-night stands and business partners. They all say the same thing: that he could charm the pants of anyone and that his words dripped like honey - thick and sweet, boasting the kindness of a saint and the slyness of a sinner. 

As his dark eyes bore into yours, waiting for a response to… whatever the hell that just was, you think that maybe the Internet has lied. His words aren’t honey - they spill like expensive champagne, Dom Perignon Rose, bubbly and valuable. Something you find yourself drowning in often, although you don’t know if you could ever admit that to anyone but yourself.

“Y/N? You okay? Look, I’m really sorry if that weirded you out but I just thought that it would be unfair to act like I don’t feel anything for you.”

You don’t want to admit it but fuck, he just might be worth drowning for. 

𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖐𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘

if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; you took a reckless bullet for your ever so beloved detective/partner, and shuichi isn't too happy about it. understatement ; he was fucking devastated

warnings ; hospitals, gun violence, getting shot, inaccurate depictions of police and police negotiations, cussing, major angst, male! reader uses he/him pronouns

note ; the first one-shot of this blog, everybody dance ( the imagine isn’t based on the song, but i just thought it had the same vibe ig )

words ; 4k

⊱ ────── {⋅.𝐢𝐝𝐟𝐜 - 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫.⋅} ────── ⊰

ring, ring.

...

ring, ring.

what's that noise?

ring, ring.

why won't it stop?

ring, rin-

"hello?" gratuity washed over your body, the feeling causing you to relax as the obnoxious noise had been replaced by the gentle tone of the one you love. suddenly you didn't feel as bitter as you did before; when you had first awoken from your slumber. "ah... yes, this is... detective shuichi saihara."

your head shifted towards the sound of shuichi's voice, eyes flickering to him and back to the small dot on the ceiling you had first caught sight of.

shuichi darted his eyes over to your turned back, hands cupping the phone as he tried to muffle the authoritative tone your shared boss had been emitting. "... but he's still recovering. no, i don't think that that's-" the anxious detective's voice grew a little louder out of panic, causing him to immediately lower it back down to a whisper as his mind reminded him that you were still sleeping — or so he thought. "just... at least give him one more day. please. i'll take all his work for that day."

you blinked, brain whirling as you tried to process the information that seemed to be dripping from shuichi's lips. who's he talking about? you groaned quietly, feeling as if an anvil and a hammer had been clanging obnoxiously at your head.

shuichi whipped his head towards you, sad eyes widening as he had caught your groan, however soft it was. "s/o?" nearly dropping the phone, he tightened his grip and spoke into the receiver again, quickly wanting to end the call so he could go check on you. "oh- um, th- thank you so much, yes- okay, thank you again." without hearing his boss's reply, he abruptly ended the call and kept in mind he would have to hear the scolding later — however, it wasn't like he really cared at all in that moment.

"sh-?" you paused, shuffling to sit up from your waxy, cotton hospital bedsheets as you finally decided to announce your consciousness. fuck, how did the rest of his name go? come on brain! he just said it!

shuichi had been repeating and reversing what he had wanted to say to you the moment he saw you shuffle up and groan, as well as what you needed to hear. his head was sure to detonate, each second that passed by brought him closer to his limit.

despite shuichi's selfish desire to hear your lips say his name again, he held his greedy urges back ; he needed to talk to you first. "no, you ...you don't have to talk. actually i... need to talk to you first." that's right, shuichi. stay calm, don't scare him, he's still recovering.

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling yourself slightly perspire at his serious tone ; he was usually a pretty calm, serious guy, so you weren't sure why you had been so nervous. this was quite common, however, talks like this happened a lot at his demand ; he believed communication was key — and since then you were always at his mercy with his sweet and honest sentiments.

however cringe-worthy they may have seemed, he never failed to make you flush from his honesty ; though the embarrassment he caused you had been nothing but unintentional, or at least...you believed it to be.

laughing nervously, you opened your mouth to say a stupid joke to lighten up the mood, but the throbbing feeling of your shoulder being detached, reattached, pulled, strained, and yanked stopped you from doing...well, practically anything. wincing, you gripped your wound instinctively.

"s/o! i- i said not to talk...!" the sudden, yet the revolting sound of his chair scraping against the floor hit your ears, but shuichi's hands cradling your face distracted you from the gross sound. "s- shuichi?" his touch acted as a brain restarted, as your pupils suddenly dilated ; memories of yesterday coming back to you and hitting you like that bullet you took for him.

that bullet you took for him...

"i- i did it out of love! just- just let me go! i can't go to jail! i just fucking can't!" with blurred and fuzzed vision, there stood the perp, a small pistol held improperly in his quivering hands as he spewed out excuses and nonsense.

"listen, it's going to be okay...! just put down the gun, and i promise, we'll try and work this out ; i'll talk to the judge about your prison time, just...trust me, okay?" right...you remember now. you could remember so vividly how beautiful he looked, even as he was practically sweating out of his fancy turtleneck, he still somehow was able to keep a calm attitude.

he was...he was such a nice guy. well, that was an understatement.

despite his amazingly calm and reserved speech, the perp remained unconvinced, yet also unsure of what he was supposed to do. that much was obvious when he kept darting his eyes all over the room indecisively picking one spot to focus on.

as you held your gun firmly and pointed in your hands, you flickered your eyes back onto the perp, despite wanting to stare at the detective for hours ; you had a job to do.

you sidestepped towards the detective that had kept his golden eyes glued onto the perp carefully, leaning your head into his side as you whispered something into his ear, "you know you can't actually do that, right?" you could see his adam's apple bob in response.

"i'll... i'll figure something out." shuichi adjusted his grip on the gun he held, eyebrows furrowed in such a breathtaking way. you could feel your knees buckle.

"what are you guys- what are you guys talking about, huh? talking about- how-how i'm such a pathetic piece of shit!? huh?!" you threw your head back to the shaking, wary man, gun tightening in your grip. "we weren't. just take his offer, it's the best thing you can do." your tone had been firmer than shuichi's, not as kind, but hey ; that was your whole dynamic.

"we really weren't." shuichi agreed, sincerity was written all over his face. a small part of you felt envious of his stare.

"stop-stop lying to me!" the perp's frantic switching of his gunpoint, seemed to halt to a stop as he directed it at shuichi ; causing an unwanted panic to rise up in the both of you, but mostly you.

"hey, you seem pretty nervous there. say, when was the last time you had any contact with drugs or alcohol?" you questioned in a condescending tone, a smug smile adorning your face and irking the already unstable man. looking back at it now, you should've kept your mouth shut. even so, shuichi's life was in danger, and if you had to risk your life for his ; well, you'd take any chance to do that.

the perp seemed to take the bait and aimed it back at your chest, lucky or unlucky for you two. "shut up!" an unreasonable relief washed over you as shuichi had been put out of danger.

shuichi looked over at you, communicating with his eyes as if he was pleading for you to stop and let him handle it instead. however, there seemed to be an itty bitty miscommunication. your ego seemed to betray you, as you started spewing out things you probably shouldn't have been saying ; all so you could impress the very nervous and quite frankly, unhappy detective.

"cocaine? heroin-?"

shuichi glared at you, mistakenly taking his eyes off the perp for once. "s/o, what are you doing?! i have this under control...!" he suddenly barked at you, breaking his composure as he had gotten a tidbit angered that you had been interfering with the negotiation.

"shut up! shut up, shut up, just shut the f-fuck up!" a gunshot rang out.

"watch out!" without thinking, you had shoved the frozen detective away from you, even if the gun had already been pointed at you ; you had no business risking his life.

jesus, you were probably the most idiotic man known to humankind.

next thing you know, you've been knocked onto the floor, head throbbing and wheezing from blood loss as shuichi has to determine whether he should chase after the perp or stay with you.

the decision had been more than easy ; he took barely one second to decide that your life was more important. dialing back-up in one hand, he crouched down to assist you with the other. taking in one shaky but deep inhale, shuichi nervously fiddled with his radio, shaky eyes glued to you. "officer down, i repeat officer down."

"the hell are you doing, saihara...!? he's going to get away!"

"i-i can't just leave! what if you- no, i-! just...just here," he handed to you a handkerchief he held in his shaky hands. "press it onto the wound, okay? please?" he wasn't going to take no for an answer, one more beat and he would've been doing it for you.

grunting, "shuichi, i'm happy you're worried about me but you're being hella stupid right now-" you cut yourself off, grunting at feeling the strain of talking.

"w- why did you do that? i had the situation under control...!" he sounded upset, that much was clear.

"he...he aimed the gun at you and i guess i panicked, i don't- i don't know, look- just go, alright? back-up's coming for me, and you know you can't let him get away." you could feel the adrenaline from getting shot wearing off, and with it, the pain getting worse. sweat formed on your brow ; it felt like the more you breathed, the more the searing pain worsened.

you knew deep down you didn't want him to go, that you were scared you could actually die within moments, yet you hated yourself for that feeling. it was extremely selfish. it wasn't fair. you could remember the way he looked at you.

"i'm not going, that's final. we're going to... we're going to wait for back-up together, okay?" it was weird to hear him use his asserting tone when talking to you, it was weird to hear him so confident with you too ; yet you couldn't ignore the strange sense of pride you held.

suddenly out of the blue, a wave of exhaustion hit you, causing your eyelids to flicker shut. you knew you weren't supposed to sleep ; especially not when you were bleeding out from your shoulder, but you told yourself, hey, one 10-minute nap couldn't hurt, right? back-up would come anyway.

before shuichi could even stop you, you're already out like a light, and causing sudden arrhythmia to shuichi's chest. "s/o! w-wake up!" with his words echoing throughout your dream-like state, your smile only seemed to widen ; he may have been screaming at you to not leave him — but his voice still kept that same, soothing tone to it. it was like a lullaby, to a man seconds away from death.

comparing his tone and reaction from the incident to now, it had certainly been different. you wondered what had changed... maybe he was mad? understatement of the year it seemed ; he was probably pissed the fuck off. you did ruin the negotiation after all, and for what?

"you don't seem very sad that i got shot ; i knew you were a pretty stoic guy but i didn't peg you as cold-hearted." you teased, to which shuichi held a neutral face, eyebrows creasing as he stared you dead in the eye. for a second you worried if he could tell you were joking.

"... i cried for days, s/o." his voice broke, and you could feel your heartbreak piece by piece as he frowned at you.

blinking in response, you didn't seem to believe him ; why would he cry over you? your head was probably just fucking with you. promptly ignoring the blood bag hanging beside you wondered if it had been the blood loss. "you- you what?"

it took you a few minutes to process what he had said, and for good reason. days? had you been asleep that long-? wait, he was crying? over you?

sometimes you forget he has emotions from how calm he is ; you swear you've only ever seen three sides of him ; anxious shuichi, serious shuichi, and calm shuichi. along with the occasional happy shuichi when you make him laugh with your shitty jokes, but that's a secret you keep between the two of you. or more like for yourself.

"i was- i mean, of course, i was devastated- you're sp- i mean- look, why did you- what made- that w- s/o, you- ah-" he stammered over his words frustratingly, hand rising to fiddle with his hair out of habit.

you watched him sympathetically. "hey, where'd mister assertive go?" you grinned, tone playful as you essayed soothing his anxiety. "...listen, it's okay, just take your time ; i'd prefer it if you did anyway, you're probably just gonna scold me, right?"

shuichi took strange comfort in your words, golden eyes staring straight at your hospital-gown covered chest as he tried calming himself down. "y-yeah...thanks." something was unsettling about how you seemed to be smiling in a situation where you nearly got yourself killed — even so, it was refreshing to see it.

he missed it. he missed you.

you had been sleeping for two days, so it would make sense that you were refreshed and well-rested enough to be back to your regular self.

whilst you had been peacefully sleeping and recovering in the nasty smelling hospital, shuichi had been in agony. those two whole days had been hell for him. crushing guilt and his anxiety attacked his head 24/7 ; even when he knew you probably weren't going to die in your sleep, 'probably' wasn't very assuring when you were shuichi saihara.

he would fret for hours and cry in the shower about whether it was his fault or not ; despite it being so obviously your fault, he couldn't help but wonder what he could've done differently. he shouldn't have been so weak, he'd tell himself. this was a normal thing that happened as a police officer, getting shot in the line of duty, it was normal. but it... it was completely different when he knew it was you who had been taking the bullet.

his eyes widened as he felt your hand clasp upon his. "don't look so guilty, shuichi. you're breaking my heart." you pouted, apologetic eyes staring at his kicked-puppy-like eyes. "sorry, i just- i know you said you...you said you panicked when the perp aimed the gun at me ; who, um, thankfully got captured by one of our back-up team." he could hear you sigh in relief, which frankly, irked him a little.

you were still worried about that? he, himself was a workaholic but not to the point where he would sigh in relief as there was a large bullet wound inside his shoulder.

"but uh, i don't...i don't think i understand why? i mean, he- he wasn't going to shoot, i had it under control—"

"i know you did, and i trust you but...i just couldn't take any chances, you know? i'm...honestly i don't really regret much." you smiled sheepishly, hands gently fiddling with his cold hand that rested on the very end of your hospital bed.

"i mean, i get to see you worried about me." you chuckled, "it's cute, i have to admit." you forgot all about your wound at this point.

his guilty expression didn't change a bit ; eyebrows only furrowing deeper down as he eyed you questionably. "you think it's...cute? you almost got yourself killed, s/o. you know you can't be that reckless. to get yourself nearly killed just because you didn't want to take the chance of me in danger...s/o, i was terrified. when you fell asleep, i thought my heart was collapsing — you shouldn't have done that for me—" his worries spilled out of his mouth like fluid, the words coming to mind easier, and quicker at the cause of your hands being a good distraction.

"saihara." you snapped him out of it, tugging his arm further towards you. "don't cry, okay? i'm okay. if it makes you feel better, i'll...try not to do that again. please, just..." you swiped your thumb at his face, flushing as he instinctually leaned into your hand.

shuichi sniffed in response, hands coming up to wipe his own face as soon as he realized he was, indeed crying. "...i'm sorry."

"i know i'm too reckless for my own good, but i just didn't want for you to get hurt. you're...you mean so much to me. more than you could ever know." you confessed, eyes averting as you tried to avoid his reaction.

"um, i don't know what i'm saying — maybe it's the painkillers? they put in the right blood type for me, righ-?" you took your hand away from his and to the back of your cold neck.

"i made sure they had the right one — but um, what did you mean by that? just earlier?" shuichi stared up at you, pouting as you only seemed to look away from his detecting stare.

you knew one look in your eyes would show everything you felt for him ; and you weren't sure if he even wanted to see that emotion. so you settled for a temporary solution.

"um, is- is that a bee outside? i like bees, though they are going instinct — haha, the human race is fucked-"

"s/o, why are you avoiding the question?" he dealt with many guilty perps, thus knowing when someone was guilty ; and that right now, had been you.

you grunted underneath his stare, sinking further down into your sheets as you sighed defeatedly. it's not like you could hide from a detective for long. "i- uh, i just meant like," your confidence seemed to deter ; and for a second shuichi almost felt bad. almost.

his job as a detective meant he wouldn't stop until he got answers ; and that applied to his daily life as well, his daily life that included so much of you.

damn him and his adorable crying. "i think i...since the gun thing, and i don't know if this will comfort you in anyway but this has been seriously e-eating at my brain and i finally know- i finally know what this feeling is. i feel kind of dumb for not knowing earlier ; i mean, was my career as a detective nothing?" you gazed at him from underneath the 'comfort' of your uncomfortable paper-thin sheets.

"getting off-track, i just meant that i-i think that i really really like you." your voice had been slightly muffled by the sheets, but shuichi heard you clearly nonetheless. he made sure he did.

"you- me? r- romantically?" he flushed bright red as you nodded in confirmation.

you hoped he was as embarrassed as you were because you felt like you would dissolve into the sheets from the pure humiliation if he wasn't. "youdon'thavetosayanything,ijustthoughti'dletyoukno-"

"n-no, that's not it! i- i like you too! i...haha, to be honest, i thought this would go differently." he chuckled, scratching his cheek awkwardly as he eyes your shoulder wound.

jerking up, you briefly ignored the searing pain in your shoulder as you leaned way too close to him for comfort, a look of pure devastation and worry on your face. "you already knew?"

he couldn't help but think your worried pout was nothing but adorable, unsuccessfully stifling a goofy smile. "no, i..." honestly he kind of did already know, but he never thought it was something possible ; thus clouding his judgment.

"i planned to confess, actually...i was planning to-to talk to you about it during one of our-"

you made an 'o' shape with your mouth, a thoughtful look in your eyes as you nodded understandingly. "-talks, of course."

huffing quietly, he sent you a worried look. "what, are they bad? communication is key, you know-" his informative, but light-hearted scolding had been cut off as you reached to tussle with his hair, erupting a hiccup out of him.

"they're not bad ; you're just...you're a real saint."

"a-ah, i wouldn't say that..." you laughed at his nervous reaction, retracting your hand to his dismay.

"that's what a saint would say." he pouted at your teasing tone, grabbing your arm gently with his hand as he kept in mind your disability.

you cut him off as he opened his mouth, seemingly about to defend himself. "don't worry too much about it ; i actually sometimes like our talks...though i spend most of my time staring at you as you talk, it's still pretty fun." oops.

"s-s/o..." he squeaked, looking at you pleadingly for a reason you hadn't been aware of yet.

"what? i didn't say anything wrong, did i?" blinking at him, you tilted your head.

"n-no, but- um." he wasn't sure how to tell you how much he wanted to kiss you right now. those talks proved to be nothing but useless as he couldn't find the words he desperately wanted to speak.

it was only then had you noticed he had leaned half his body over you, nearly climbing into the hospital bed with you. the sudden realization caused you to widen your eyes, as you awkwardly hovered your hands in the air. it was like your body had been telling you to touch him, cradle his head but you didn't know how, or where.

the awkwardness had caused a small, nervous chuckle to erupt from your throat ; prompting shuichi's worried glances. were you laughing at him?

you felt him shrink away, and out of panic, you let your heart act before your brain could. your hands cupped his face, a quiet clapping noise echoing throughout the white hospital room walls and only seeming to make everything more strange than it had been.

shuichi held a shocked expression on his face, as you had practically been melting from how much you were sweating. fuck, did i mess this up?

no words had been exchanged, both of you, too bewildered and too nervous to say or do anything — the situation grew so bizarre that it literally left them speechless. with both pairs of eyes glued onto the others, neither of you moved — no matter how sore shuichi's arms had been getting from holding himself up not to crush you, and how with each agonizing second, you weren't sure whether or not to tighten your grip on his jaw.

"a-are you going to kiss me? or just stand there?"

"i-i can do that? really?" shuichi watched you closely for confirmation ; and you swore you felt him lean in closer to you — not that you were complaining. in any way. whatsoever.

"um, y-yeah. i-i consent, ha— mmf-!" shuichi hadn't bothered to hide his eagerness, lips already pressing and moving against yours like it was instinct, like it was something he had been waiting for for years.

your fingers ultimately tightened around his jaw, and you made the move to bring him further down onto you — to which wasn't a very good choice.

"w-wah! s/o, w-wait a second!" he muffled through your lips, golden eyes revealing themselves as he lifted his eyelids in a panic as you started pulling him down to you. he was unreasonably afraid of accidentally putting you in more pain ; but the electrifying feeling you had felt from his lips on yours had had the same cause and feeling as 10 million painkillers — you felt like you were in cloud 9 with a million tiny shuichi angels swimming and flying around you.

you promptly ignored him, craving more as you used one of your arms to hug him close to you — the position probably looked like you were trying to strangle him, but your lips on his said otherwise.

you two probably spent 30 minutes making out in your assigned hospital bed, but hey, it's not like anyone was waiting.

...i mean, just ignore the nurse awkwardly standing at the doorway and you're fine.

⊱───── ❝ thank you for reading! ❞ ─────⊰

Favorite Human

Fandom: Teen Wolf Pairing: McCall!Pack x reader (platonic) Word count: 2.8k Summary: It’s Malia who first smells it - the bitter scent that had started to Infiltrate yours - and she, Lyida and Kira decide to find out what was wrong with you...  Warning: Nothing too much really, but it’s slightly Angsty I guess. Also the feels Requested by the amazing, patient and great anon: Hi~,Teen Wolf person again. Can i request a pack image where the reader is hiding something for the pack and the pack are all sort of catching on to it like chemosignals and behaviour. Eventually they kinda piece the bits together and figure it out. they all try to comfort you and help you get better. Something just along those lines.(They could be hiding selfharm stuff, family stuff or they like someone in the group or yeah, you can pick what your comfort writing for) Thank you have a nice day~

The California sun was beating down on Beacon Hills and its inhabitants, a feeling of peace and calm that was - by now - almost foreign in the city laid in the air and prompted the resident teenagers and young adults to enjoy a day away from school, stress and (for a very special group) life threatening situations. This particular group - the McCall pack, as they were known in the supernatural community of the city - decided to spend their free time on a very nice, but fairly unknown clearing in the beacon hill woods and for once being surrounded by these trees didn’t give them the vibe that one of them could probably die at any given moment. It was a rather nice change. “Uno,” Liam smiled as he slapped a +4 card onto the floor, making Mason groan and throw his head back. It was the third time in a row that Liam was winning and while it seemed to leave you completely cold it annoyed Mason to no end, but he couldn’t stop playing either until either you or him finally beat the wolf. While the three of you were sitting in your game circle, Malia, Lydia and Kira were lounging on a picnic blanket enjoying the sun and having their conversation. The only one who was sitting on the grass like a lost puppy was Stiles, phone in hand but seemingly not having the attention span to focus on it for more than five consecutive seconds. Originally he and Scott had been sitting there together talking about Lacrosse or girls or whatever the two of them talked about when they weren’t planning to save the city, but Scott had - after lots of pleading and begging on his betas part - disappeared into the direction of the city to buy some ice cream for everyone. “Y/N?” Liam shocked your shoulder and you had to shake your head to come back into reality and out of your thoughts. “Yes?” you looked at him with wide doe-eyes full of confusion. “It’s your turn.” “Oh, right, sorry, just lost in thoughts,” you smiled apologetically and shrugged before turning to your cards to think about your next move, not noticing how Liam and Mason exchanged a look. They had started to notice the change in your behaviour only recently. Your usual very cheery, always-seeing-the-best-in-everyone-and-everything self started to be stuck in your thoughts more often and your smile seemed just a little bit off lately. “Here you go,” you looked up again and put a +2 in front of Liam earning a quiet ‘Yessss’ from Mason at the prospect of finally beating his best friend, only to be sorely disappointed when a smirk immediately filled Liam’s face as he victoriously added his own - last - +2 card onto the pile, effectively winning the game and starting a rather useless discussion about whether the fact that the makers of Uno stated that putting a +2 on another +2 and making it a +4 wasn’t allowed counted anything. While Mason and Liam kept on blickering you pulled yourself up from the grass-floor and wandered over to the girls who welcomed you with kind smiles and made space for you on the blanket. As you sank down you were immediately pulled into Malias lap who hugged you into her and pressed her nose into your neck and y/h/l hair to smell you - a habit of hers that you had at first found more than disturbing but by now had gotten used to. In fact, the more time you spent with your not-quite-human friends and acquaintances, the more you noticed that they all had their own little versions of that, even though with Malia it was the most extreme since she was still the one running mostly on her basic instincts. At least that’s how Stiles explained it to you. He said that since you were logically seen the most vulnerable and ‘weak’ member of the pack their natural instincts where to protect and shield you from all dangers and make sure you are alright and - after your initial reaction of punching the hell out of Stiles’ shoulder in order to show him just how not-weak you were - you started registering it more and more. It was mostly very little things with Scott, Liam, Derek and in some situations (even though rarely) Peter like little hugs and giving you their clothes to scent you, pushing themselves in front of you in the face of even the most harmless of situations or the way they just sometimes randomly turned up at your house (this was mostly Scott, Liam and Malia though) to check if you’re okay even if they could just call. With Malia it was all that, but times ten in intensitivity. And the smelling. Malia herself wasn’t quite sure why, but she simply loved your natural scent. It always managed to calm her down. So you got used to her randomly smelling at you even if it did weird you out from time to time. Usually she would pull back after a few seconds, give you a happy smile and get back to what she was doing before like nothing happened, but this time when she drew back she looked at you displeased and confused. “Is something the matter?” you asked just as confused and now the other girls, who had gotten used to Malias antics and taken on the habit of just completely ignoring it in order not to get growled at, got curious as well and turned their attention towards you. “Something’s off,” Malia grumbled and scrunched her nose like she’s smelt something rotten. “Oi!” you scoffed and moved back a little, feign being offended, “Are you telling me I stink?” “No,” Malia sighed and rolled her eyes, “It’s not that, it’s just...your scent is- I don’t know how to put it really. Bitter? I think?” “What does that mean?” Lydia asked, her interest now seemingly spiked. “‘M not sure,” Malia shrugged and moved forward to take another good sniff at your hair, only for you to move your head back out of her reach and put your hands on her shoulders to keep her a distance away from you. “I think that’s quite enough,” you chuckled, but it sounded mechanical almost, “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t really think me smelling bitter means anything.” Noticing the way you held yourself defensive, something that you almost never did, all three of the girls wanted to investigate further, but you quickly moved off of Malia’s lap and stood up. “Oh look, there’s our ice cream,” you smiled as if nothing was happening and jogged over to your Alpha to help him. “This was weird, right? She’s acting weird, isn’t she?” Kira questioned and looked between the other two girls who nodded, “What’s that about?” “Not sure, but we gotta find out before the boys notice anything. Malia is bad enough already, but if the male wolfies find out we’ll have a real problem on our hands,” Lydia sighed and inspected you from afar. 

After then the three of them noticed it far more often, the way you held yourself changed and your smile seemed to lessen by the day. By the time you started to fold into yourself and Malia said that your smell was getting more bitter, to the extent that she could smell it above almost everything else surrounding you, they knew that it had gotten out of their hands. They had to involve the others as much as they dreaded their reactions. As they had predicted Scott, Liam and - surprisingly enough for a human - Stiles didn’t react kindly to it, immediately planning to confront you. But in a turn of events, their thirst for actions and the girls rational thinking evened each other out and they decided on an approach that was reluctant enough to not scare you away, while also - hopefully - pushing you to tell them what was wrong. They wanted to do it in an environment that you felt comfortable in so they decided to go to your place, but that meant that they couldn’t all come, since they didn’t want to overwhelm you either. So, after a long and exhausting discussion, they decided that Stiles would be the one who’d go in first to make sure everything was clear and then give the others a heads up to follow. The Pack was standing - as inconspicuous as it was possible for a group of five - on the other side of the street your house was in as Stiles was walking down your driveway, welcomed by a cute door plate that had obviously been made my a little child and he was pretty safe in his assumption that you had been the one who had made it when you were younger. After taking a breath of reassurance Stiles raised his hand and knocked on the door. You must have been near the door already, because not even ten second later the door was tipped open and you stared at him with tired eyes, in your alien Pajamas with messy hair. If Stiles had not known better he would have assumed you had tried to sleep. “Who is it Honey?” He heard the voice of your mother scream, but the usual sweet voice he was used to hearing from her was strained and mixed with annoyance. “Uhm...It’s Stiles! My friend from school, he was here last month to study for my english exam, you remember?” “Oh, yes,” your mother walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, “Hello Stiles.” Stiles returned the greeting, but his thoughts were more occupied by the state of your mother. Her hair looked unwashed and even more messy than yours, obviously not because of sleep, but rather because she hadn’t brushed it in a while, there were red stains under her eyes, the skin around it dry and strained, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she must have cried - a lot - and her blouse was wrinkled, which he knew from their previous meetings and what you had told him about her would usually be a no-go for her. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” she smiled, but it was tight-lipped and obviously forced, but before she disappeared into the kitchen again she looked at you, “Y/N, make it fast please.” You just nodded and turned back to Stiles. “Hey,” he said again, a little bit uncertain now, the situation having thrown him off of the plan he had made in his head on the way from the pack to the door. “Hi,” you said and he had to admit that you were definitely your mothers daughter by the way your forced smile perfectly resembled hers. “I wanted to talk to you, uhm, we - I mean me and the pack by that, well it started with Lydia, Malia and Kira, but anyways - we noticed that you’ve been...how do I put this correctly- well, I guess you’ve been off more lately and so we’ve been worried, because usually you smile a lot and you always make unfunny jokes and all that and now you don’t so-” Stiles rambled and just let everything flow out at once, probably would have continued to do so if you hadn’t held up your hand to stop him. “Not-Not here, okay? I’ll answer your questions, but not here. Let’s take this outside, please,” you shut Stiles up and took his arm to lead him out of your house and onto your porch where you sat down on the stairs leading onto your front law. For a while there was silence as Stiles found himself unsure of what to do next, but he could basically feel the piercing stares of his friends on him. After a few seconds of contemplating he sat down beside you, while still keeping a little bit of distance - just to make sure he wasn’t too overwhelming. “So…” “Yeah, so…” “Why...have you been so off?” Stiles asked but honestly couldn’t help but cringe a bit at how completely un-smooth he sounded. “I- It’s-” you tried multiple approaches, but stopped yourself every time, only to sink your face into your hands and sigh, “I’m sorry.” You raised your face again and looked at Stiles and he could see the sadness, this slight sense of despair. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t rush yourself,” Stiles tried to comfort you, “If you can’t tell me that’s okay, we’re just all very worried about you. We want to make sure that you’re okay.” “No, it’s fine, I- I think I actually wanted to tell you all for a while, but- I don’t really know, it’s just been hard for me… My parent’s have been going through some rough patches for the last few months and now my dad - he,” you stopped again and hugged your arms around you, Stiles couldn’t help but notice the glistening of tears in your eyes, “-He moved out two weeks ago. I mean, sure there were signs, it wasn’t working well by all means, but moving out? That was pretty shocking for my mom and me.” By now the tears had started rolling down your face and Stiles couldn’t hold back anymore. He moved closer to you and laid his arm around your shoulder to pull you into him. It seemed that the pack couldn’t hold back anymore either, because only a few seconds either Lydia was kneeling in front of you holding your hands, the rest also finding positions around you - hoping to give you as much comfort as possible. You gave them a wet chuckle, even though your tears didn’t stop flowing. “I could’ve guessed that you’re not far. I’m sorry for being a mess.” “No, Don’t ever be sorry for feeling. We love you and that means that we’ll be there for you through the bad times just as we are in the good times,” Scott assured you and lovingly petted your head even though he knew that you always complained about how it made you feel like a little child or a puppy. “Thank you guys for being here - it’s just a lot right now. My mom is expecting me to be on her side, while my dad keeps expecting me to decide about where I’m going to live now. He wants me to move with him to New York into the city he grew up in, but I don't want to leave Beacon Hills. I have my whole life here, my school, you guys, my mom, literally everything, but I also don’t want to lose him- It’s just, I feel so torn and it seems like every choice I could take would be the wrong one,” you were full on sobbing at that point, but it was clear enough for your friends to understand you. “Hey, It’s okay,” Lydia tried to calm you down, “I know that this seems like an impossible choice, but I can assure you we will find a way. We’ve defeated some of the greatest evils that the world has seen and we were successful. We’ll be just as successful with this, okay?” You started nodding and for the first time in a while you were actually feeling just a little bit like yourself again, a sliver of home filling your heart at all your friends who were by your side and supporting you. “Lydia’s right,” Scott agreed. “There’s one thing I gotta ask though,” Liam started and before anyone else with a little more sense of sensibility could stop him asked: “Why didn’t you tell us before? I mean we’re you’re best friends ri-” At that moment Mason basically threw himself at him and put his hand in front of his mouth to shut him up. “You don’t have to answer that,” Kira assured you, but you just shook your head. “No, it’s fine, I get why he asked. I- I guess I just thought - it’s like Lydia said, we fight evil on a weekly base, we have to worry about so much more serious things than my stupid family drama.” “Now listen to me,” Lydia spoke up in her I-will-take-no-talkbacks-voice and looked at your sternly, “This is not stupid and it is by no means less imporant than anything else we do, okay? Maybe it’s not life-threatening or supernatural, but it is still hurting you and as friends we can’t let anything hurt our favorite human, can we now?” And in that moment everything was okay again - if only for just a few seconds - with your friends by your side and Stiles yelp of protest, because he insisted that he was at least Scott’s favorite human, - earning himself a look from Scott that told him that what Lydia said also applied to him - even made you laugh your normal laugh again. And so, when Malia finally got close enough to you with all your friends surrounding you to smell your scent, she found that your normal, sweet scent was finally returning again, and even though there was still a bitter undertone to it she now was sure that it would soon be back to her favorite scent again.

Steven Stone kissing headcanons

Thank you for the request anon, I was really hoping to get this one! Boopy Lore 101 is basically how much I simp for the rock husband, he’s beautiful and I love him. Naturally, this is super long because of this fact

Kinda like Sycamore’s one, there are references to more nsfw things without being full on explicit. You have been warned!

Enjoy!

The kind of kiss he likes to give

Steven is an amazing kisser

So suave, so passionate, yet so soft

Each one makes you feel like the most precious gem he’s ever laid eyes on

Other than your lips

Which he adores

He has a fondness for placing kisses on these parts of your body

Gentle kisses to the back of your hand

Much like a prince might bestow upon their beloved

Ones that make you feel like you’re in a fairytale

Steven’s basically royalty anyways, it suits him

Light kisses to your cheek!

Ones that make your skin blossom with heat

Whether he gives them to you when you’re out and about

Or in the privacy and intimacy of home

Chaste kisses to your thighs

Especially on the softer, tender flesh on the inner thigh

Ones that make you shiver just thinking about them

As I said before

He is a thigh man, through and through

So he loves giving you kisses there

The kind of kiss he likes to receive

Yall think Steven is a fiend for rocks?

You’re wrong

Well, actually you’re right but anyways

Because this man LIVES for kisses from you

Any kind really

But he has his favourites

Soft kisses to his temple

While he’s hunched over his desk

Examining rocks

Which makes his hobby even sweeter

Or doing paperwork

Which makes the tedious task a little easier to get through

Languid kisses along his jaw

As you paw at his chest

That’s the good shit right there

Makes him feel very sexy and desirable

Coincidentally, it makes him think you’re very sexy and desirable in return!

Funny how that works, right?

Cheek kisses! Nose kisses!

They’re just so cute and wholesome and fun!

And you always seem to strike when he least expects it

He just grins so wide

Patting your head/ruffling your hair in response

Maybe sneaking a smooch in return 👀

First kiss

He’d asked you to get coffee with him

You couldn’t refuse

Hoenn’s most eligible bachelor

A stunning male specimen

The silver haired dreamboat himself

Has asked you out for coffee

You were absolutely buzzing

Despite being unsure if it was a ‘date’ or not

Up to this point, you and Steven had a weird relationship

You were friends

Acquaintances, more so

But he seemed to be fond of you

He took the time to chat with you whenever you ran into each other

Maybe even flirt with you

Though you didn’t know if it was him just being his charismatic self, or actually trying to hit on you

Thankfully, you found out it was the latter

You met up, grabbed your orders and left to walk in a local park

It was quieter than you’d thought it would be

But you relished the time to just chat with him, one-on-one

Undisturbed, except for the occasional Lotad that would wander out of the nearby pond

The weather forecast said it would be cool, but dry and sunny

Evidently, it lied

Seemingly, out of nowhere, the heavens opened up and let loose

Steven grabbed your hand and ran

Leading you to the closest shelter

A great, big tree

Laughing all the while

When you were safely under its canopy

Followed by a Lotad, of course

Only the occasional droplet falling on you

You realised that not only were you practically huddled into him

But that you were still holding his hand

You felt yourself getting warm, flustered

He ran a hand through his damp hair

And blushed as he turned to look at you

Smiling fondly, eyes shining

He squeezed your hand, you squeezed back

You were surprised, hurt even when he lets go

Those feelings faded away however

As he gently cupped your cheeks in both hands

Brushing his left thumb along the divot beneath your eye

His touch was so soft, so caring

Bliss bubbled in your chest

He cleared his throat before speaking

“(Name)… I…”

Something forbade him to finish verbally

Instead he told you exactly how he felt

With a kiss

Tender yet passionate

You leaned in for more

He tasted like his coffee order

Slightly bitter, with lots of cream and a hint of sugary-sweetness

It made you feel both alive and energised

And languid and breathless at the same time

The sun split the clouds as he pulled away

Perhaps a divine sign that he had made the right decision

You shared a knowing smile

First make-out

You had invited Steven over for a nice home-cooked meal

He had confessed to you he wasn’t much of a chef

That he mostly ate out or got food delivered

You wanted to give him something cosy and quaint to eat

A simple family recipe, nothing fancy

He still loved it

Honestly, he was honoured that you would even offer to cook for him

After dinner, and some ice cream

He offered you a seat on his lap

You practically jumped onto it at the chance

And wrapped arms around his neck

He placed his on your hips

Initially, you just chatted for a bit

With him occasionally brushing your hair away from your face

Or rubbing circles into your back, waist and hips

And then you started to kiss

Gently, lightly at first

It deepened effortlessly as he gingerly cupped your face

You found yourself gripping his, no doubt expensive, shirt

His tongue easily made its way into your mouth

And explored yours

You softly whimpered into the kiss

He mewled, gorgeously, in return

When you finally parted

He pressed his forehead to yours, panting with you

A sparkling grin at his lips

You leaned into him, and he embraced you

In a nice, warm hug

Reveal fic idea that could happen but won't;

Alya is helping Marinette through a dilemma that is Adrien vs Chat but because they want to be able to talk about in public (school/the park/in general) they're using chocolate metaphors. Adrien is Caramel, Chat Noir is Dark Chocolate. They're talking at like kitty section rehearsals about how caramel is tasty but it's a little too sweet and you can't have it all the time but also dark chocolate is a bit too bitter to have all the time and Adrien who surprisingly was able to make it and doesn't know the metaphor at all is just like, "I think salted caramel is better than normal caramel, it tastes better and you can't always tell the different layers of a flavor at a first look or taste"

Marinette slightly bluescreens, Alya's like yes, I totally agree, this debate is now salted caramel vs dark chocolate also sunshine are you ok? Nino go have good chats with ya boi after this. Alya then uses this as a lever to try and push the concept of salted caramel filled dark chocolates because she's been noticing things that make that theory make sense more again. Plagg and Tikki who have figured out the metaphor are both laughing not so silently, Adrien is not sure what's up with Plagg.

Luka chimes in with how he thinks that Marinette would be surprised with how much she'll love salted caramel filled dark chocolates. Marinette bluescreens again. Alya is now sus of Luka and what does that mean, are both my ships sinking themselves, tell me blueberry!!

Later that evening after a stressed slightly freaked out Marinette leaves, Adrien is talking to Plagg and he's like I wonder what all that was about. Plagg being a little Chaos deity is like I dunno but pigtails seemed really stressed, she's probably just not had really good dark chocolate salted caramels before, you should get her some. Adrien, sweet bean, is sus of Plagg's motivations but also food is good for friends who are stressed. To be sure he consults someone who can definitely help but won't understand the context and it won't reveal his identity; Alya. He doesn't mention the specific type of food, just that a girl who he's friends with seems stressed and afraid to try this really tasty food but he wants to get her some really good ones so she can try how great they are. Alya's like do it, definitely.

He orders them online from like this fancy fancy place, they are the best of the best salted caramels from this shop that's like 200 years old that his mom always got stuff from (like the family account is under graham de vanily, that old of a family history of ordering) For plot convenience, Luka is the bike courier for these but the delivery address is the school because Adrien doesn't want his father seeing them. He's surprised that Luka is the delivery person but it's cool, Luka is like "No trust me, Marinette will absolutely love these Dark Chocolate Salted Caramels but are you absolutely sure this is how you want to give them to her?" (He thinks that Adrien knows now what the metaphor was, he is incorrect) Adrien is like "you're right, she always panics when she talks to me, I should just leave these in her locker with a nice note! Thanks Luka!" Luka is very surprised, he's also got a bad feeling. He texts Jules to tell him if anything happens in the class, it's important.

Adrien gets Plagg to open her locker while no one's around and he sticks them in with some cute cat pun about how he heard she was stressed and hopes these help, he thinks they're delicious Purrincess! There's a short afternoon Akuma (where chat notices ladybug is also stressed like Marinette, huh, weird that) so classes get mostly cancelled but Marinette has to pop some books into her locker and Alya comes with, Juleka is with them because possibly modeling for Mari again this afternoon, possibly getting fitted for a custom jacket to match Jaggeds and Luka is getting a similar one. Nino and Adrien are chilling nearby because Adrien has some free time now (this will become quite useful, plot convenient eh)

Marinette opens the locker, notices the box of fancy af chocolates. Reads the note, reads the chocolate label. Bluescreens so hard her panicked squeal is actually only audible to animals and heightened sense miraculous users (Alya, Adrien, Juleka, Alix, Kim) Alya reads the note, laughs, like manically, can't believe this is how it happened. Alix comes running from the art room, sees this all, looks at note from her desk she woke up to saying "Kittenix, record it for their wedding, trust me you won't regret it" pulls out their phone and records. Adrien who started running as soon as he heard the noise arrives in asking what's wrong, is everyone okay?!? Nino arrives notably after him, turtles are slow right. Alya grabs the chocolates before locking Mari's locker and begins steering her as she begins to hyperventilate towards the door. This is a conversation that officially should happen at the bakery, sorry Jules can you come over a different time pls, Alix put the phone away. Alix puts the phone away, skates away, to change into parkouring shoes and put on a go-pro, she will record, this is a mission from the future. Conveniently she can get in a good position for it, fluff is looking after their kittens scheming.

Back to the broken Marinette, Alya got them to her room in the bakery before dragging Nino back downstairs to fill him in slightly on why Marinette is broken and to look for snacks. Adrien has no idea what's wrong, what did he do, do you really hate salted caramel chocolates that much, he's definitely also panicking and begins to purr without noticing it to try and self soothe, this is what breaks marinettes bluescreen. He's trying to hide the purring and panicking and she's like "no, I love dark chocolate salted Caramels definitely I'm just surprised because I knew I loved caramel but then I realized it had salt in it that I hadn't noticed but that just made it better and more real but I didn't think I loved dark chocolate because I couldn't because I had a bad experience where if salted caramels chocolates were tasty they'd turn into white chocolate and I shouldn't have said this.... continued rambling" Adrien is no longer freaking out as much because he tried to follow her cute ramblings and is now lost. He tries to get clarification on the white chocolate thing and she's like I can't say anything!! Que Alix slipping in through the skylight, fluff again making sure the timeline fits. Marinette is like wtf are you doing and why?? Fluff just flies up and pulls the note out before handing it to Marinette and asking for carrot cake. Adrien and Alix both do the spiderman meme. Marinette begins hyperventilating again, Adrien begins panicking (and purring) again. Alix starts to laugh a little tbh, this is great, she doesn't regret anything. Alya pokes her head up to see how things are going, sees things have gotten worse, glares at Alix, Alix waves back.

Adrien's driver is here, he's gotta go, leaving this mess unresolved, for now. He is distracted in fencing, Kagami hands him his ass, and is like what's wrong with you and he's like I think I like Marinette but also I don't think she likes me and I don't know what to do and it's confusing. For that Kagami hands him his ass especially fast, punctuating each sentence of this conversation with more of a solid beating. She points out that he's been in love with Marinette since before they were dating, she was honestly under the impression they were politely dating each other when she was at the try-outs for the school. Marinette has been so consumingly in love with you for basically ever it's actually worrying at times, if I had a nickle for every time she's done something because she loves you and you call her just a friend with that lovestruck look on your face, I'd be richer than your mother and father combined! Kagami is a dragon and treasures her friends and will make sure they get treated right so help her! Adrien is panicking because Kagami is vicious and also she's tearing his worldview apart and yeah, no, he's actually gonna start punning in this spar because his slid into a default chat persona while he tries to figure things out. She's like, I hope you know what you have to do now at the end of fencing and he's like yeah (he doesn't, really, he has an inkling) he goes back home and cleans up, and talks to Plagg. Plagg is semi helpful. He gets ready for patrol after taking a quick walk around the garden making a small posy using flower language that says like, I'm sorry, pls don't hate me, also you're gorgeous, maybe coffee and we can take it slowly since we clearly don't know each other.

Meanwhile at the bakery, Alya and Alix are informed about chat Blanc, while Marinette panics and rants and paces. They're v.sympathetic, but Alix then stops the train of thought that looks like it's going towards running away or stripping memories or similar because clearly I haven't shown up to say things all go bad so this is fine. Marinette has an Aha yes, moment and gives Alix the watch back so that she can check things. Alix checks things, comes back grinning but won't say anything other than it's fine. Alya points out that Adrien gave her chocolates and he's probably panicking so like Mari could give him a present to show she's more than okay with the fact he's Chat. Plus Marinette needs to stress do something so like yeah that's a good idea. She can't give him any of the presents that she's already made because they're for Adrien not Chatdrien! A chocolate gets shoved in her mouth to shut up that panic spiral again. They are the most delicious chocolates tbh, she could definitely eat a dozen of these and die happy. Inspiration! She makes him a hoodie in dark brown, almost black with gold embroidery on the back saying "Pawsitively Delicious" panics a little bit more, wraps it up and heads on to meet him at patrol.

They talk, it's stressful but also relaxing. She tells him what she knows about chat Blanc, he freaks out but she's like no, it's fine because Alix says it's fine and she didn't stop this so it's all good and no I'm not taking the ring, actually I made you a present here *shoves into hands* he likes the hoodie he does, the cat pun is a plus, but he doesn't understand the colors. In all the panicking, he hasn't actually thought about the chocolate metaphor so still hasn't figured that out. She then has to explain and he finds it funny but then she's like, wait a ducking second, Luka who's not supposed to know who we are and specifically told me he didn't know suggested the dark chocolate salted caramels, that snake! Luka, on the other side of the city feels a disturbance in the force, gulp. Adrien convinces her to deal with Luka like tomorrow maybe please, no okay. He loves one badass woman and he's gotta go stop her from committing murder or panicking so much she gets Akumatized

FIN