#three polarizers experiment

[diltonsstrangescience]

In 80-ish years of comics, I’m 100% sure that a body-swap plot has happened before. Probably several times. Here’s my take on it.

(It does occur to me that Sabrina could also be responsible for this sort of thing. Magic or science, take your pick. Science is unexplained and limitless enough in their world that it may as well be magic. Don’t tell Dilton I said that.)

[m0e-ru]

i miss friendship so bad i miss you okyakusan do you feel the same

[fawniswriting]

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

Taglist: @steph88x @athenabarnes @sugarmummystuff6 @wintercrows @jay-jaystevebuckyloki @spideysimpossiblegirl @vainillacookie @mazzaroni-cheese @killerwendigo @s-r-reads @nydubs @rafeskai @unpeellievable @thisismyacc11 @rimunagenius @buckygirls @buckyslove1917 @defn0tonyourleft @buhangini @infinitymitten @lemonhead456 @thescooponsof @buckytheloveofmylife95 @mizukiqr @littlegreenjellybean @p3nis-parker @shortlikerdj @onlyheluvsme @theschoolbasketcase @jjulesii @jvanilly @seaskysunrise @minminswag04 @dameronspector @buckybarnesfic @nameless-ken @marie-sworld @silverwolfeyes @idkitsem @waiting-so-long @redtabularasa @buckyinluv @ghostytoasty17 @moreadsfic @chlovocaine @mcira @personal-fanfic-storage @spookyreads @eternalsams @the-sunflower-room

[chongoblog]

THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN THE WAYSIDE SCHOOL BOOKS WITH NO CONTEXT

The blueprints were sideways, so now the school is 30 stories tall

They forgot to add the 19th floor, where Miss Zarves teaches.

Elevators are installed to deal with the long climb. They are only used once and can never be used again.

A dead rat tries to sneak into class by wearing multiple raincoats

School's closed due to cows

World's number one ice cream lover devastated that she can't taste ice cream named after herself.

The third book is called "Wayside School Gets A Little Stranger". They don't appear until the end.

The author's self insert eats a woman alive. He would then go on to write "Holes" 20 years later.

One of the stories is called "What?". It's written backwards.

There are three Erics. To remember which is which, they each have nicknames that reflect the polar opposite of their actual selves.

A boy and a girl trade names, which inspires the rest of the class to do the same, leading to an incredibly confusing reading experience.

Benjamin Nushmutt accidentally is called a completely different name, and Ben is too shy to correct anyone about it

After long deliberation between all of the classmates, Calvin decides that he wants a tattoo of a potato on his ankle

One character falls into the Wayside equivalent of the backrooms for three chapters

Two students accidentally resurrect their old teacher with potato salad

One student is so unpleasant that the lunch lady finds out a substitute teacher is stealing the children's voices because he says "Have a nice day" in her voice.

One of these is directly referenced in Deltarune

Pickle hypnosis

[mwahgo]

LOSER VIRGIN

— Trafalgar Law x Crewmate!Reader

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

Summary: Law is a loser virgin and this is first time seeing a woman naked.

Word count: 2,914 words

Tags: P in V, unprotected sex, virgin!Law, fingering, mentions of masturbation, breasts fondling, examination table sex, begging, gynecology check ups

Mwahgo's notes: I read this one tumblr post where i think they head cannon law is a loser virgin and I agree :33 that man is a pathetic virgin. Also, feel free to point out stuff because most of the medical terms i used here are either from google or my own experience so if it’s wrong, please point it out so i can edit it :3 requests are closed for now since I wanna work on my own fics!

Shachi stepped out of the medical bay of the Polar Tang, knees shaking and he looked like he’s about to pass out, “So, how did it go this time?” Penguin asked, grinning smugly.

“I-It was worse.. ugh, Captain didn't have to be that harsh,” His knees buckled as he fell to the floor before Penguin started laughing at him.

“I told you, man, you shouldn't have ate that bag of sweets,” Penguin snickered, putting his hands behind his head.

“Oh but it was so delicious though!” Shachi whined as he plopped on the floor, defeated while Penguin giggled at his devastated reaction.

The Heart Pirates are currently having their monthly check up performed by their own captain and doctor, Trafalgar Law. And as a strict doctor, he recommends his crew to stay in shape and be healthy to being able to fight well and not catch the sickness easily. Law is a meticulous doctor, he gets into detail on what’s wrong with you and what you should do about it, so if he spots something unusual, it’s best to tell the truth than him forcing to use his devil fruit on you.

Speaking of being meticulous, Law does every medical examination under the sun, from general check up to getting your blood samples. He just wants what’s best for his crew, even if it takes too many steps further. He does accepts refusals if the crew doesn’t feel uncomfortable doing certain check ups, he doesn’t want to lose the trust from them so he respects their privacy.

As Penguin, Shachi and Bepo talked among themselves, you stepped in the hallway—yawning heavily before spotting the crew next to the medical bay, “What’s going on?” You asked with genuine confusion.

They three of them turned to you and greeted, “Oh hey (Y/N)! You’re just in time. Captain is having us our monthly check up,” Bepo smiled.

It took you a couple of minutes to understand the situation—since you obviously looked like you just woke up from a nap, you let out a small “ah..” before sitting next to Bepo, “Well, looks like I don’t have any other choice.. I don’t want the Captain to haunt me in my sleep,” You joked, making them chuckle.

“How come you never heard about the check up? Captain usually announces that prior,” Shachi wondered.

You shrugged your shoulders, but before you answer, Law steps out the medical bay—clipboard in hand, “Penguin, you’re next,” He called as he looked up from the clipboard, “Oh (Y/N), you’re supposed to be here 30 minutes ago,” He glared, crossing his arms.

You sweatdropped from the intense glare as Shachi and Penguin snickered at you, “H-Hehe… Sorry Captain, must’ve forgotten the memo,” You scratched your head in shame.

Law just sighed, “Doesn’t matter, you’re here,” He said, “Penguin,” He called strictly before heading back inside with Penguin following behind him.

“Well, me and Shachi are going now, (Y/N). Law asked us to do something around the storage room,” Bepo stood up from the bench and Shachi rose from the floor.

You pouted, the thought of being left alone as you wait for your turn for the check up. Shachi and Bepo just looked at you with sympathy as theybid their goodbyes to you before leaving. You sighed sadly as you swing your legs in boredom, waiting for Penguin to come out and to be called for your turn.

Penguin finally got out of the medical bay with a bottle of medicine in hand as Law stood behind him, “Remember to take that every 5 hours, you can start later at lunch,” He instructed.

Penguin saluted playfully, “Aye, sir!”

Law just sighed as he turned his attention to you, “(Y/N), it’s your turn,” He ordered as Penguin left and you entered the medical bay.

The medical bay was quite large, with two examination beds in the center, machinery placed on the corner and some medical supplies placed in their own storage. You sat down on one of the examination beds as Law flips through your charts, “Have you been feeling sick lately?” Straightly, he asked.

You shook your head no, “Taking any medicines?” You shook your head no again.

“Any allergies?”

You shook your head.

“Is anyone in your family has some sort of sickness that can be passed down?”

You shook your head.

Law checks the boxes off your chart, showing that your completely healthy as he moves to some of the medical equipments on the table, “Alright, we’re gonna start your physical exam,”

Law grabs the stethoscope from the metal table and as he turns around, his eyes widened when he sees you zipping off the top part of your white overalls.

His cheeks blushed as he turned away immediately, “Y-You don't wear a shirt underneath that?” He stuttered.

You looked at him confusedly as you looked down to your sports bra covering your chest, “Oh! It’s because it’s too hot in this uniform and this is much more comfier,” You answered

The doctor just sighed as he puts in the earpieces on and placed the diaphragm on your chest. Quietly, he listens to your heartbeat—monitoring it as his golden eyes wandered downwards, ogling at your cleavage. Law wasn’t an open book to easily read, he tries to be as professional as possible but the sight of your plump breasts peaking through your sports bar, it made Law’s demeanor crumble. His cheeks blushed as he lost focus on listening your heartbeat.

“Captain, everything alright?” You asked.

He jumped slightly when you called him as he immediately pulled away the diaphragm away from your chest, “Normal heartbeat,” he said flatly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in Law’s sudden unusual behavior as the check up continues. Your captain checked your blood pressure, breathing patterns and tested your reflexes. After the exam, he busied himself checking some things of your chart—most of the test you came out either fine or negative so there’s nothing wrong with your health.

Law came back with your chart as you waited patiently for his results, “Well, all of your tests came out, no abnormalities or problems,” He flips through the clipboard, “So, obviously, you’re healthy, (Y/N),” He announced.

You smiled brightly, “That’s great to hear, Captain! Thanks,” Law dismissed you for today as you got off the examination table and left the medical bay.

The moment the door closed behind you, Law let out a sigh of relief as he glanced down at the raging boner through his jeans. Throughout the whole check up, he tried his best to hide the obvious tent between his legs, he tried his best to not stare at your at your chest but his thoughts yells at him, begging him to grab a handful of your soft breasts, how it feels in his rough palms.

Law knew to himself that he’s still a virgin—being focused on studying and travelling as a pirate, Law doesn’t have time to mingle around with women, he doesn’t reciprocate the flirting that some women give him and he gives off a very intimidating vibe. But back in his study room, he would often blush like a school girl over illustrations of breasts in an anatomy books or his cock would harden as he reads about the clitoris. Every night, after a few study sessions, he would masturbate at the images of a naked woman in those books. Law is not stupid, he knew to himself he’s a virgin who wanted to see a woman naked.

You, on the other hand, you giggled to yourself as you left the medical bay. Law may not be an open book to easily read, but his body gives hints of his sexual frustration. The obvious boner in his pants almost made you want to call him out, but you didn’t want to embarrass the captain like that. His red face almost made you smirk triumphantly, his walls crumbling just from the sight of cleavage and every bite of his lips made you want to tease him more. Law is a reserved man, but his body craves something more.

The next month, Law announced to the crew that there will be another monthly check up and ordered everyone to meet him up in the medical bay. As the others conversed to themselves about some recently changes they’ve been noticing, you have a bit of concern you want to address to Law regarding your health. After the crew had their breakfast, they split into groups—some went around the ship to do their assigned chores, some went to the control to manage navigation and the crew members who have nothing much to do, they went to the medical bay to meet up with Law for the check up. You were one of those people as you arrived to the medical bay, you saw Law talking to Jean Bart.

As the big man left, Law’s eyes met with yours as it widens and his cheeks blushed, “Come in, (Y/N),” He said, entering the medical bay with you following behind him.

Law started the check up with the usual stuff—checking your blood pressure, testing your reflexes and checking your heartbeat again. He examined your body for any abnormalities or bumps and so far you were doing good. As Law was checking your chart, you spoke up, “Uhm, Captain.. Can we do another check up?”

Law didn’t bother to glance but he was listening, “What is it?”

You fell silent for a moment, choosing the right words to ask him, “Uhm.. C-Can you do a check up for my.. private parts?” You stammered.

His breath hitched when you mentioned you wanted a check up for your reproductive organ. He never did that examination before since most of his crew members are male and they don't really mention a more detailed examination on them.

“I mean it's okay if you can't do it! It's just that I would sometimes get that check up—” Law cuts you off.

“N-No, it's fine. You’re concerned with your health so I’m here to assure you that you’re healthy,” He insisted.

Law instructed her (he tried his best) to take off her uniform and her undergarments and told her to lay down on the examination table. As Law turned around to start the check up, he saw your naked body laying on the table as his breath gasped. He felt his cock harden in his pants but he tries to hide his arousal and focus on the current task in hand. He approached your relax body and sighed, mentally preparing himself as his hands reached out and grabbed your breasts.

Suddenly, you let out a small whimper and Law jumped back, “What the hell? Are you okay?” He asked.

“O-Oh I’m sorry, you could’ve warned me that you’re going to start,” You said as Law sighed.

He continued the examination on your breasts—his hands feeling the soft flesh, looking around for some lumps or abnormalities while he lowkey enjoys being able to fondle your breasts. Then, his hands lingers downwards to your stomach, pressing it down to feel around for some lumps as well. His tattooed hands now descended between your spread legs as Law breathe shakes, his body buzzing in adrenaline and his eyes admired your cute pussy. He had only seen these on medical books and now he gets to touch them in person. He gulped nervously as his fingers grazed on your labia and your clit, inspecting if there are any signs of deformity. Every slide of his fingers on your labia makes your hips thrust up which made Law weak, thinking if this is your reaction if he fucks you hard.

His hand pulls away from your pussy as he grabs the lube and coated his two fingers, “… Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” Law asked.

You shook your head, “N-No…” You answered.

Law hit a pang of jealously, knowing that you had someone before him but he disregards that idea as he went back to your spread legs, “I’m gonna need you to breath steady here, it might feel uncomfortable,” Law assured.

You nodded as he slowly inserts his lubed fingers in your pussy. Your lips let out small whimpers as Law almost moan at the feeling of your spongey walls engulfing his fingers, his breath hitches at the sight of his fingers inside you. He blinked back to reality—almost forgetting he’s on a medical check up right now as his other hand pressed down your abdomen so that he can easily feel around inside you. You took deep breathes as Law continues to press his fingers inside your pussy, feeling your around your vagina for any thing unusual but your small moans took away his attention as he glanced up to see your expression—your eyes closed and your brows furrowed as you try to suck in your moans, but Law’s fingers feels so good.

The doctor gulped as he pulled his fingers back before sliding them back inside as you let out your moans of pleasure, “Fuck.. Feels good, yeah?” He asked as the hand on your abdomen moved to your hips, caressing the soft skin.

You nodded as Law slowly fingers your pussy, “Yeah… Feels really good,” You whimpered, “Law.. Please, I want you,”

His golden eyes widened, “Wh-What?” He stuttered.

“I want you to fuck me, p-please. I know you’ve been wanting this, baby..” You bit your lip as your hips thrusts back on his fingers.

Law paused for a moment, radically thinking about the situation. Sure, he wanted to see a woman naked but it was all a fantasy of his, he didn’t expect it to make it this far. You were already willing—begging him almost to fuck your needy pussy and Law couldn’t refuse because he didn’t want you to feel betrayed.

Law nodded as he pulled out his fingers—you whined in the emptiness before he unbuckles his pants and pulling his boxers down, revealing his hard cock. You bit your lip at his size as your foot rubbed his sensitive cock, making him groan, “You must’ve been desperate, right Law?” You smirked.

He growled in annoyance as he coated his cock with some lube before positioning it on your pussy. You gasped as his cock penetrated your pussy and Law bit his lip—sucking in his groans as he feels the sensation of your pussy wrapped around his cock. He looks down and his knees almost passed out when he sees his cock buried deep inside you, creating a slight bulge on your abdomen, “H-Holy shit… Feels so good,” He whimpered.

You let out a small giggle as your hips grinded on his cock, “Please.. F-Fuck me Law, hurryyy,” You begged.

Hearing your pleas, he nodded and retract his hips back—leaving the tip of his cock inside before plunging in back as you both moaned in pleasure. He picks up the pace wanting to reach into you deeper, fucking you hard on the examination table. His hands grabbed your legs and hooked them on his arms, making his cock go into you deeper as you moaned loudly, “Oh fuck Law! It feels so good!”

Law panted heavily, “Y-Yeah, I’ll make sure to… fuck you real good,” He whimpered as his pace quickens.

The examination table starts to shake as Law took an aggressive pace, your skins slapping against each other as the sound echoes inside the medical bay along with your moans and his deep grunts. Law glanced down at your reddened lips as he leans down and kissed your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise but time went on and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while he maintains his pace.

You pull away from the kiss, “O-Oh Law, I f-feel something!” You moaned, “I’m gonna cum!”

Law pushed himself up with his hands as he felt the tight knot in his stomach, “Fuck, (Y/N). I’m g-gonna cum too..” He groaned, “Can you cum with me, p-please?”

You almost laughed at his pleas as you nodded before you felt your orgasm hit you. You throw your head back as your moans escaped your lips and Law quickens his pace before cumming inside of you, his deep groans mixed with yours. His hips stuttered as his body plopped on top of your sweaty body as you both panted.

“Damn… I didn’t know.. you had it in you,” You teased your captain.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, too tired to argue, “Yeah well… this is the wrong time to say this but.. I kinda like you for a while,” He blushed, “… And I’ve been wanting to do this with you,”

Your eyes widened at his confession as you started giggling, “Well.. At least, we can do it all the time now,”

Law snickered as he leaned down and kissed you passionately—with you wrapping your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

[sunniskyies]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Reader forgets she has Ford’s mind reading device on… 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!shy!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Makeout, fluffy shy stuff 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k 𝐀/𝐍: This is so so so out of my league with this kind of thing, but I had a vision and had to try, so forgive me if it’s not the best !! ( you can read this as young or old Ford by the way ! )

“Are you going to tell me what exactly that is?” You ask shyly, perched neatly on a wooden stool in the deepest room of Ford’s laboratory. The man in question is bustling around the benches, plugging in wires and fiddling with dials and buttons.

“It’s a mental-strengthening device, able to encrypt one’s thoughts to prevent dream demons like Bill Cipher from entering.”

You purse your lips. “Ah. Of course.”

Ford looks briefly over at you while he tinkers. “I don’t want any chance of that creature making his way into our world. The damage he causes is… irrevocable.”

You fall silent, quietly studying the scientist’s practised hands and that little furrow in his brow you doubt he’s aware of. You see it often, in your stolen glances as you set his coffee down in the mornings, or when his eyes linger for a moment on his work when you call for his attention.

You let yourself sit in the warm feeling that spreads through your skin, toying with the fantasy of him for just a moment. Before you know it, Ford is approaching you with a gadget in his hands, and you’re pushing those silly thoughts from your mind.

“This is the receiver,” Ford explains, gesturing to the sieve-like helmet in his hands. “May I put it on you?”

All you manage is a ‘mhm’, and you hope your ears aren’t bright red when Ford places the bronze contraption over your hair. As he adjusts it here and there his fingers often brush your skin, you’re mortified as goosebumps shiver over your skin. Luckily, from what you know about Stanford Pines, he isn’t the most observant man unless you happen to have three eyes or an off-on switch.

Being Ford’s assistant has been the best opportunity of your life, but childishly you often wish for something more. To see those lips say your name not just to thank you for your helping hands. To have the confidence to show Ford the book of research you’ve been privately gathering, his eyes catching yours as he realises the potential he’d never seen in you before…

For the millionth time reality pulls you from your daydreams. Ford crouches down slightly, your faces level, your eyes on his while his are at your hairline. A six-fingered hand gently tucks loose strands back from your face.

“There,” he says, eyes catching yours. “Equipped. How does that feel?”

You swallow, voice a tad too squeaky, “All good!” 

“Perfect. I’ll begin the calibration, inform me if you experience any discomfort,” he nods, satisfied, before sweeping away again.

As you wait, you silently tap on your knees, looking around. You look over the table behind you to see a television screen with—

Your thoughts.

A string of your most embarrassing ideas visualised on a ceiling-high collection of screens, unarguably clingy and desperate desires paired with Ford’s name scrolling everywhere.

You whip your gaze over to Ford, dew already appearing over your skin. He seems to be engrossed in whatever's in his hands, but it’s only a matter of time before he sees all… that!

Fuck, fuck, fuck! The screens mirror the chant in your mind.

You try vainly to think of other things, random words and imagery slowly but surely creeping onto the televisions. Polar Bears. Adjectives. Pencils, pens, markers. Dates and historical impact of various civil wars. Charity raffles. That one catchy jingle. Discombobulation. Ambystoma mexicanum.

Ford looks up. “Finished!” He says with a quick smile.

You quietly clear your throat. “Uhm. Wow! This is very clever, Ford, although I must admit didn’t realise it displayed the user's consciousness?”

His eyebrows raise at your question, before his face softly twists with confusion as he stares at the reading. He glances back over at you with the face of someone just realising how stupid something is. Yet, you almost slump with relief. At least he only thinks you're simple, not a freak.

“Well, yes, it does. Did I not mention that?” He says slowly. “I was going to suggest you exercise your brain to ensure the program reaches every aspect of your cognition… but it seems you’re… already… doing that?” He questions hesitantly. Your smile is too-bright.

“Oh, yes, that is what I am doing. Yep.” You squeak.

“Right.”

The silence is palpable, a thick sludge that clings to your form. Sometimes both your wandering stares slide over each other, awkward blips before you both avert eye contact. You hear the hum of machinery, the soft tap of your shoe on the floor. Your fingers itch to grab your journal from your pocket to give yourself something to do with your hands, but you’re embarrassed at what Ford would see as you ponder over it. The silence stretches on and on, until you can’t bear not to break it.

“So, you, uhm, said something about exercising the mind?” You blurt sheepishly.

Ford’s eyes are immediately on you. “Yes! Yes, just try to keep your mind active, it helps the protection process.”

And the silence is back. Perhaps even worse than before.

Desperate for relief, you pull your journal from your pocket. You wave it weakly, “Mind if I do some work?”

Ford adjusts his glasses. “No, no of course not. Go ahead.” He gestures at the various desks stationed around the room. You shoot him a quick smile and spin on your stool to the table next to you, propping open the journal and continuing an essay you plan to submit as a paper in your current university course.

This works, taking your mind off your vulnerability as you focus on your work. This is what you love about science, about academia, the ability to lose yourself in something so complex, so worthwhile. You really can’t wait to get your research out there and make a name for yourself.

You write for a while, pen often times balanced between teeth. You don’t quite register Ford coming up behind you until his tilted head is in your peripheral.

“Fantastic,” he mutters absently, his face well and truly absorbed on the open page. Embarrassed, you half-heartedly cover the page with your hands.

“Oh, no, it’s really not anything special.” You mumble, eyes averted. 

“No, really, I love it. You’re studying quantum physics, right?” He insists, head tilted trying to catch his eye. When you do, he has a soft smile painted on. Your cheeks glow pink.

“Yes, I major in quantum physics and forensic science. I minor in biomedical engineering, and I’m additionally doing an online paper on parapsychology with the only university that does it, in, uh, Finland.” The sparkle in Ford’s eyes grows as you timidly recite your areas of study.

“Parapsychology? That’s brilliant!” He remarked, awed. “Why didn’t you say that, I would love to take you out on my field days. I study all sorts of paranormal and supernatural activity here. It'd be great to share it with someone.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you,” you say hushed, fending off a stammer. Internally, your heart is soaring. Yes yes yes!

“It’d be no trouble,” he says earnestly, soft features returned as if coaxing you out of your shell. “I knew you were smart, but I had no idea the extent,’ he says, almost to himself.

Your eyes lock on him immediately. “You think that?”

He seems surprised. “Of course I do. You’re an exceptional assistant, and you’ve been in study for ages. I’ve heard nothing less than great things about when I send my own work to our local university. Not many scholars live out here, you know?”

You can’t drag your eyes away from him, and you're sure Ford can see every star in the galaxy swirling in your pupils right now. This is everything, everything you’ve wanted.

You’re not sure whether it’s the surge of confidence, or the way Ford’s looking so gently at you, but you’re acutely aware of how low Ford has bent down to talk to you. It would only take a small movement to bring your faces together.

And so, heart fluttering with this moment of bravery, you rise slightly up on the balls of your feet and press a small kiss to Ford’s cheek.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the sensation in your chest borderline sickening. “It, uh, means a lot.”

Ford doesn’t say a word, eyes wide but painfully unreadable. The silence is once again, stifling.

“Not a lot of fellow scientists in this area, like you said,” You hastily ramble on after a long moment. The gap doesn’t last this time, though.

In a swift motion Ford’s hand is at your cheek. You barely have time to inhale before his lips are on yours, their warmth sinking against your mouth.

You’d never imagined them to be so firm, although his proximity doesn’t give your mind any room to think about anything. It’s all happening so fast, your mind dizzied as you reciprocate his intentful kisses.

Your pen clatters slightly on the table as your hand releases it, quickly gripping to Ford as his arms snake around you and lift you up. He spins, setting you on the table in the middle of the room. You’re sure at some point you have or will let slip an embarrassing sound, but you’re wholly focused on Ford and how you’re sitting at his level on the tall table; him standing before you with his hands at your waist. Your knees brush either side of his thighs.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, his hands in turn pull you closer. It’s eager and messy, making your pulse thud wildly. You never thought a man would want you like this, never catching an eye. Let alone the genius that is—

Abruptly, his lips leave yours, the emptiness not lasting long as they move just beneath your lip, then down to your jaw. They trail down to the side of your neck, lips brushing over the shiver on your skin. Small breaths leave your mouth when you feel a glimmer of teeth against your collarbone.

You tilt your head, resting against his where he’s kissing your shoulder in the crook of your neck. Your hands remain tangled in his hair, your eyes closed.

Your bodies are so close together, his lips are all-consuming. It’s bliss. The man you’ve loved for so long, holding you like he’s besotted. Like he’s just as infatuated as you. The thought thrills through your mind; He wants me.

“I can assure you, I most certainly do,” Ford murmurs breathlessly against your skin. You pause, the statement uncannily sounding like a response to your thought…

Oh. Oh no.

The machine. The mind reading. The television directly behind your back.

You haltingly turn your head, face pale. The screen is, in fact, still reciting your thoughts. Every thought. And Ford’s facing it.

“Oh my god,” You groan, palming your forehead. You sink into yourself, drowning in humiliation. But Ford’s hand fishes beneath your chin, tipping your glowing face to look at him. His face is one of endless kindness beneath his mussed hair.

“It’s really not a bad thing, sweetness.” He says gently. You shake your head slightly, eyes squeezing shut.

His thumb creeps up the side of your face, face dipping level to yours. “No, seriously. It’s a very encouraging thing for a man to see.” He jokes warmly. You peek an eye open. Heavens, did he have to look so irresistibly handsome all the time?

“Should I, uhm, remove…” you gesture at the contraption atop your head, teeth worrying your lip.

Ford hesitates for a moment, thinking as his thumb strokes your cheek. “No. No, it’s too important. I can’t have Bill infiltrating your mind.” 

You wilt slightly, but Ford once again brings you back to him. “It’ll only take a moment. Half an hour at most.” His eyes flicker fleetingly at your lips. “And besides, it’ll be sunset by then. I hear you can see a meteor shower tonight? If you drive up the hill a little.”

You hum a soft confirmation, smile melting onto your flushed features as Ford presses a last kiss to your cheek. “Good,” He murmurs. “I’ll go fetch the coats.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14 @2hiigh2cry @taffycandyqt @papi-machucha @muffin1304

 @space1crow @fries11 @yasuuuudere @shadowsandswords @darling-eos

@bloodspatteredprincess @snake-in-a-flower-crown @defmxl @ryanthatsgay2

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @cari-canes for this delightful commission. I'm so sorry I went so overboard... but I just could not resist the opportunity to write the bad guys in the cafe au. Cafe au has got everything!!!

---

You unlocked the glass door and stepped through, out of the bitter cold, watching to make sure the little ‘closed’ sign didn’t flip itself over as you shut and re-locked it behind you. Though some dim morning ambience made its way in through the big front window, it was still pretty gloomy with all the lights off. 

Honestly, though? You didn’t mind. 6:30am was a relatively late start for you. You used to get to your old bakery for 4 so you had all the time in the world to bake everything for the displays. A 6:30 start was a walk in the park.

First day nerves are normal. Just take a deep breath.

You put your coat on an antique wooden hanger by the door, and headed deeper into the still-closed cafe. It was a relatively quaint establishment, a medium sized room with about six tables of varying sizes. A nice oak counter, a glass case with room for sandwiches and pastries, a blackboard with coffee types lined up alongside chalked prices. A big pretty coffee machine with a shiny top. A sign on the wall behind the countertop declaring that they reserved the right to ‘remove anyone from the premises’. The only abnormal thing wasn’t even all that abnormal; most of the back wall was a continuous bookshelf, full of books of all different sizes and genres. The sort of thing that’d definitely give this spot enough charm to make it some people’s cafe of choice.

By all means, a perfectly normal, perfectly ordinary looking place.

... Nothing at all like its owners.

You moved behind the counter, floorboards ever-so-slightly creaky underfoot. The kitchen lights were on, you could see through the little round windows in the tops of the doors; someone was already in. The first day nerves kicked into high gear, butterflies making a racket in your stomach and throat... you kept telling yourself that you didn’t need to be as worried as you were, you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you made a bad impression on the staff. But nothing seemed to ease the anxiety that’d firmly lodged itself in your stomach.

You’d had other plans for the week. Nothing major - nothing that couldn’t be cancelled. But you had plans. Who wouldn’t? You lost your previous baking job with absolutely no notice, through no fault of your own. You’d been expecting to suddenly have a lot of free time you didn’t know what to do with. But here you were, plans cancelled, and little more than three days spent unemployed.

The hiring process had been.... Well. For lack of a better word, weird. Not anticipating any responses or interest but eager to reduce your chances of not being able to pay rent, you’d printed out your hastily-updated CV, taken your out-of-touch uncle’s advice and tried walking around town handing out copies to any place that let you breathlessly approached the counter. When you got to this cafe, a place you’d admittedly never even been inside, you had an experience that stuck with you for the rest of the day.

“Are you hiring?” you asked. 

The server at the counter was a skeleton monster. You’d never seen a skeleton monster before. He had his hood up, but you could see sharp red eyelights shining out from underneath - they looked bored. By this point in the day, you had just about gotten over the jitters that had followed you from shop to shop. But this guy was bringing them back.

He didn’t say anything.

“Uhm. Can I give you a copy of my resume?”

...

He clearly wasn’t interested. You’d definitely had some half-assed responses, but no one had outright IGNORED you yet. It was pretty disheartening.

“... Nevermind,” you said, small. “Sorry for bothering you - ”

A delighted voice right behind you. “we’re hiring.”

Startled, you spun around. Wait - another skeleton monster? This one was the polar opposite of the guy at the counter, he was grinning from nonexistent ear to nonexistent ear, a smile full of pearly white teeth. He had a dark serving tray tucked under one arm. Somewhat alarmingly, there were large black lines running down from his empty sockets to his jaw, but living in Ebbott city meant you’d seen more than enough strange monsters. There were far scarier looking (but completely harmless) monsters out there. 

“O-oh. You are?” you replied, flustered by his enthusiasm after a long day of little more than side-eyes. “I didn’t see a sign,”

“ain’t had time to put one up yet. your timing couldn’t be better.” He held a gloved hand out. He was so friendly - he looked so happy you were here. “i’m killer. that’s dust. ignore him, he’s a dickhead with everyone. can i have two copies? i’ll pass one on to my boss.”

“S-sure!” you said. Wow, what a positive response! You were suddenly riding a little high. You made a mental note to remember this particular place.

“we’ll be in touch,” Killer said, beaming. “promise.”

He wasn’t lying about being ‘in touch’. Literally the next morning, you had an email in your inbox, asking when you were free for an interview; when you politely responded that you were available as soon as possible the response came in asking you to be there later that day after the cafe had closed. You were pretty sure that by the time you walked into that building for the interview, most places hadn’t even read your resume yet.

And the interview itself...

You bit the inside of your cheek. That was a story for another day. You did your best to bring yourself back to the present. You took a breath, shifting your bag around on your shoulder, then stepping through into the light of the kitchen.

... Horror was the one already in the kitchen. Of course he was, he was the chef. He had his back to you, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; he was kneading dough on a heavily floured work surface. Batch making bread?

He was a huge guy. That had been clear during the interview, but he had been seated for most of that. Now, with him standing? You got to see his full size and height. He must’ve been almost seven feet tall, his back alone was twice the size of you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he got his shirts tailored specifically for him... where was a guy that big realistically going to get reasonably sized clothing, other than someone making it for him?

You were going to be spending hours in the kitchen alone with him. 

At the sound of the door, he looked over his shoulder at you. His big red eye took up most of his socket. The iris widened, just a fraction, at the sight of you.

“... you’re... early,” he said. His voice was very deep. He spoke each word like he was measuring it syllable by syllable.

“Y-yeah.” You fiddled with your bag strap. “I know I was told to come in at seven, but I thought I’d just get in a bit earlier. Get a feel for the place.”

...

“... experience?” he asked.

You tried very hard to keep you voice light. Perhaps too hard. “Lots. I’ve worked in plenty of bakeries and cafes before. What about you?”

He shook his head. His bony hands were covered in flour, up to the wrist.

You did a quick visual sweep around the room - the shelves full of perfectly organised and dated ingredients, equipment clean and sorted, shiny countertops, ovens you wouldn’t mind cooking your personal food in. The place would pass its health inspection with flying colours.

“This room looks... really good,” you said, honestly. “I’ve seen kitchens full of seasoned pros that look much worse than this. You won’t believe the state of some of the kitchens I’ve worked in. It’d make you never want to eat out again.”

Horror made a sound in the back of his throat. Then went back to kneading the bread, back to you.

... 

“Hey, I... I know Nightmare hired me to be ‘in charge’ of baking back here.” Your voice was shaky. “But this was your kitchen first. I don’t want you to think I’m coming in here to move all your things around and steal your job. I’m just baking brownies and pastries, and stuff. You’re the chef.”

... He paused, turning fractionally, red iris catching you again. 

Your employer was... well, you weren’t wrong about there being scarier monsters out there than Killer. Nightmare was a perfect example. You shuddered, remembering his cyan eye staring at you during the interview, flanked by the other three skeletons. That had felt less like an interview and more like an exercise in not displaying fear in front of predators.

“Honestly, I thought I blew the interview when I asked him if he only hired skeletons. But I guess not, since I’m here.”

Horror... 

... Chuckled. 

Phew. The sound visibly relieved you. You put your bag down. “Sorry. I know I talk too much. I’ll look around, give you some peace.”

...

“... i... like... when you talk.” He looked back to his bread. “... nice voice. fills quiet.”

You blinked.

... You got the overwhelming feeling you’d completely misjudged him. He suddenly didn’t seem quite so tall. Horror was clearly trying really hard; talking, laughing at your bad humour attempts, trying to make you feel more comfortable. 

Was he just... shy?

... The smile you gained must’ve really been something, because you could’ve sworn there was a little hint of red on the high edge of his cheekbone.

“When you’re done with the bread, do you mind showing me where things are kept?”

This time, his smile was higher, and nod was much more resolute.

Just like that, you didn’t mind being alone in the kitchen with him. Not at all.

---

You and Horror worked like a well-oiled machine. Not a word needed to be spoken - you weren’t sure what it was, but Horror just seemed completely in tune to everything you, he knew where you were going and what you were reaching for and why you needed it. His huge physique translated into incredible strength, he single-handedly managed tasks that would’ve taken your old kitchen three people. When the ingredient delivery car came, it took all your strength to carry just one box. Horror carried four. 

By the time you and Horror were done prepping, you emerged from the kitchen in a flour-dusted apron that was a little too big for you, really craving coffee. You were a tad more confident, glad to have made a friend, and you were determined to figure out how to use that lovely big machine. Maybe you could offer Horror something to drink?

... Dust was there. You hadn’t heard him come in. He was leaning against the counter, reading a book whose title you couldn’t see - sunlight was coming in through the cafe’s front windows, catching the edge of his hood and lighting up what looked like some specks of dust he hadn’t brushed off; it must’ve been late morning now, getting closer to opening time. You somewhat admired his commitment to dressing casual. He was wearing his barista apron over top a white shirt and hoodie, he was absolutely dedicated to dressing like he didn’t want to be there.

You paused just outside the kitchen door. Had you not just spent an hour with Horror, you definitely would’ve considered Dust an intimidating figure - now, though? He didn’t look like much. You hadn’t forgotten your first encounter with him, nor the dismissive way he’d treated you. But he didn’t cause the same pit in your stomach as he had when you first walked into the cafe. 

You fixed a polite smile onto your face.

“Hey,” you said softly, taking one or two steps closer but still giving him room. You awkwardly put one hand on the counter. “Morning. You know how to use the coffee machine, right?”

His dark, crimson eyelights flickered up to you from his book. You opened your mouth, about to ask him if he minded showing you how it worked. 

... Then he rolled his eyelights at you. 

You bristled, a hundred different insults sprang to mind, but your ‘years of working with assholes’ instincts kicked in and your teeth clamped together. You couldn’t help the way your brows twitched, though. What the fuck?

His expression shifted, slightly. But you didn’t really care to stay around long enough to figure out how, or why. If he wanted to be like that, you weren’t going to put up with it, you’d had more than enough experience dealing with terrible coworkers and you weren’t about to waste a moment more with him. You just turned around to head back into the kitchen. After such a pleasant time with Horror, it was whiplash to be treated so badly. You didn’t even want a coffee anymore. 

“told you he’s a dick.”

You almost jumped out of your fucking skin. It was Killer. Right behind you, in front of the kitchen door, where you had just come from. How did he get behind the counter? Flustered from being frightened, you put a hand to your chest and let out a few small shocked laughs. “H-holy crap. I didn’t hear... How did you...?”

Killer beamed at your laughter. He leant back against the inside of the counter, folding his arms over his chest. He was remarkably well-dressed, wearing a spotless dark turtleneck underneath his apron and a few silver rings on his phalanges, he stood in stark contrast to Dust. You could definitely imagine him being popular with customers.

“don’t take dust’s needlin’ personally,” he said, tone light and playful. “he’s like that with everyone. works at the coffee machine all day, an’ he point-blank refuses to ever make me or horror any coffee. we just gotta band together and ignore him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, letting out a breath through your nose, lowering the proverbial hackles that Dust had made you raise. Killer’s aura was... infectious, really, it was brightening and easygoing. You know what? Two out of three coworkers being nice was great. Better than some people had.

You turned around, glancing over your shoulder, to get a look at the guy who was being such an asshole to you.

... Dust was gone. 

“Eh?” Your back straightened in surprise, and your head swiveled back and forth. You couldn’t see him anywhere in the cafe.

“he’s on a smoke break, probably.” Killer clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Wait - did he? He made a sound that resembled the action, for sure. But he didn’t have a tongue, right? He was a skeleton. You looked back at him.

“But we haven’t even opened yet?” you said, bewildered.

“toldja. he’s just the worst. don’t ask him for anything, he’ll make you feel dumb for askin’.” He shifted his weight onto one foot, bending his knee slightly. “if you wanna know where anything is, just ask me.”

“... Ah. Okay.” You smiled again, appreciative. “Thank you, Killer.”

He grinned anew, corners of his sockets lifting. 

“you’re cute. i’m real ‘excited to be workin’ with you.”

... Your mouth opened slightly, taken aback. What? Did you hear that right? 

“Yeah, excited to be working with you too,” you blurted, absolutely no idea how to respond. Did he mean cute like adorable? Or cute like... “But I’ll be in the kitchen most of the time, right?”

“course. but it’s a quiet cafe. nice.” He tilted his skull, talking so casually and warmly, like he didn’t literally just call you cute. “we’ll get lots of chances to chat. lots of time to get to know each other better.”

“Sure.” Your head was spinning, heart starting to thud. You were glad your voice came out so much calmer than you actually felt. Was this just his personality? That had to be it. He had to just be the kind of guy that sounded flirty. Your hands twisted in your apron. “That... that sounds great,”

Killed leaned, resting his elbow on the counter and putting his chin on his hand. 

“i’d love to get to know you better,” he purred.

Okay, no, you were definitely being flirted with. A flush of heat prickled your cheeks. Oh my stars, he probably wanted you to respond. How were you supposed to respond?

Fwump! A blue cloth landed on Killer’s skull, then flopped onto the counter. It made you jump, but Killer’s only reaction was a slight annoyed downturn in his smile. You looked over your shoulder - Dust was walking away, toward the back of the cafe, probably to put his book away.

“I-I should get baking then, huh?” Taking advantage of the lull you quickly darted past Killer, turning around and using your back to push the kitchen door open. “I’ve got, uh... dough. That needs... attending to,”

You kept backing up. Killer advanced, still smiling. “mind if i come see? not much of a baker, myself.”

“I-I don’t know if...”

A massive shape moved into your field of view. Suddenly, Horror’s hand slammed into the door frame. He had moved with a startling amount of speed for such a large guy. With just that move, he body blocked the doorway entirely, sending Killer reeling back.

“kitchen staff only.” Horror didn’t sound happy.

“since when was that a rule?” Killer didn’t sound happy either. “stop getting so possessive.”

... You couldn’t see anything. Only Horror’s back. But you caught the way Killer’s face twisted, smile falling.

“fuckin’ hell. message received. don’t have to get so weird about it.”

You didn’t wait to find out what happened next. Flustered and confused and just grateful to be back in the kitchen (clearly a safe zone), you turned away from the mess happening in the doorway.

... Something on the counter caught your eye.

A fresh coffee. In a pretty stoneware mug. It was on your side of the kitchen, but you definitely hadn’t put it there. 

Just from a glance, you could tell it was your usual. And it was clearly new, made within a few minutes, there were still gentle wisps of steam rising from its surface.

... Cautiously, you picked it up. There was only one person who had been at the counter the whole time Killer was flirting and Horror was baking.

You took a sip.

...

You were getting some pretty mixed signals from Dust.

But damn. He knew how to make a good coffee.

---

When you envisioned the sort of person that ran a cute little independent cafe like this, you definitely pictured someone that matched the decorations. Someone friendly, bookish, tasteful. Perhaps an owl monster, or a plant monster with big monstera leaves, or even a human (specifically one who wore dungarees). Someone who looked like they probably had a beautiful private Instagram. 

... The person behind the counter shifted, at the sight of you entering the cafe once again. It looked like he had been cleaning the coffee machine until you walked in, a small rag in one giant clawed hand.

“ah. thank you for coming in after closing,” he said. His voice, soft and deep and satiny. His smile, ice white. 

When you envisioned this cafe’s owner, you didn’t picture Nightmare.

You shuffled over to the counter. There was a stool pulled up to it, but you didn’t sit down, too nervous to. “No problem,” you said, tiny. “I was going to come back and prep some stuff anyway.”

Horror may have been taller. Killer’s tears may have been more visually striking, Dust’s face may have been ‘spookier’. But there was no one with an aura like Nightmare’s. By all appearances, he was just a skeleton monster with pitch black and tarry bones - considering there were monsters that were ten-foot springs on fire and giant carnivorous fish with teeth the length of your forearm, a skeleton with tarred bones was nothing. He didn’t appear particularly out of the ordinary. He was wearing a well fitted black button-up shirt, and a silver watch on one skeletal wrist... a perfectly average humanoid monster.

But there was just something about him. You felt it, the moment you walked into the interview. Something about the way he held himself, something about his air, the slightest tilt of his chin. That sharp, brilliantly cyan eyelight - whoever could’ve guessed that cyan could be such a powerful colour? Something about him set off an instinctual nervousness deep inside you, a flighty feeling that told you to pay close attention to every move he made.

You swallowed. 

... It was very attractive. 

You could never, ever say it aloud. Especially since he was your boss. But everything that made Nightmare intimidating to you just made you blush. You felt it the moment you walked into the interview, and you felt it now; his overwhelming energy made your breath catch in your throat. He was handsome. Strong jaw, defined cheekbones, but not too sharp or angular. Just... nice to look at.

There were some papers, and a pen, on his side of the counter. He slid them over to you. You didn’t know why, but you expected the tips of his claws to leave black marks on the white paper - they didn’t. 

“just some documents for you to sign,” he said. His voice wasn’t as deep as Horror’s, but nevertheless, it reverberated inside your chest. “had to be in-person. then you’re all on board.”

“Oh, okay.” You picked up the pen.

“i wanted to check how your first day was, too.” He set aside the rag he’d been holding, and leant on the counter. Both elbows. There was still almost a metre between you, but it felt as if he was pressing into your personal space bubble. You could smell something; a cologne, maybe? It was really good. “how was it?”

“Good,” you replied, shakily, completely unable to concentrate on the words actually on the paper. “Everyone was nice. Horror, especially.”

“i’m glad to hear it.”

“Killer... did flirt with me, though.” 

Nightmare’s brows raised. “did it make you uncomfortable?”

“N-not really. Just confused.” Why did you blurt words out like that around him? You’d done the exact same in the interview, just saying whatever came to mind. You needed to get a hold of yourself. 

He cared whether or not you were uncomfortable... that was sweet.

Nightmare tsked. “he’s like that with everyone. but he shouldn’t be. i will have a word. tell me if it happens again, i’ll beat some sense into him.”

Not expecting that last line, you coughed out a little laugh. Nightmare was clearly pleased, grin inching up his face. 

“let me make you something to drink.” He shifted off his elbows, hands flat on the counter.  

You stood up straighter. “O-oh, it’s fine. I wouldn’t - ”

“you aren’t imposing,” he said, turning around and pushing his sleeves up his arms. “sit down.” 

Your butt was on the seat. Huh? You’d sat down before you’d even thought about whether or not you wanted to obey. You swallowed again, glad he had turned around and couldn’t see your face. He possessed an incredible gift for sounding commanding, without sounding aggressive. 

He took the kettle, bringing it over to the sink and starting to fill it with water.

“I... what’re you making?” you asked, flustered at how easily he was able to make you do as he said.

“it’s a surprise.” He pulled out a mug. “don’t look.”

Well... you had no trouble not looking at what he was making. You couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to his arms; the bones that made up his forearm were large and thick, almost as thick as your wrist. 

“You’re sure?”

“my treat,” he hummed.

You turned your eyes down, finally actually focusing on the paperwork. It was the usual... bank details, confirming you’d read the employee code of conduct, right-to-work, all of that. Honestly, you skim-read most of it. You tapped the pen gently against the edge of the paper, rather than on the wood, so you could fiddle without making too much of a noise.

As your gaze trailed up and down the pages, signing and dating whichever ones asked for it, you couldn’t help but note how nice this felt. Sitting at the counter, after closing, listening to the sound of Nightmare making something. The kettle boiling, cutlery and equipment clinking, the gentle hiss of the milk steamer. It all felt very... safe. Cosy.

“here,” he said.

You looked up. He was holding the drink out to you. It was a nice dark blue mug you hadn’t seen on the shelf yet. Was it reserved for him? 

“Thank you,” you said, softly, reaching out. It smelled incredible. It was clearly hot, and frothy, he’d sprinkled a tiny pinch of dry tea leaves on the top for effect.

As you took the drink from him... his fingertips brushed your hand. You could’ve sworn it was deliberate, like he had shifted his hand specifically to allow the tips of his claws to trace over the top of your palm as you took the drink. 

Your cheeks and neck prickled. It must’ve just been an accident. Right? You were looking into it too deeply because you liked him. You cleared your throat, a tiny sound, and sipped the drink. 

... It was sweet, hot, comforting. It was creamy and fluffy - yet somehow floral and sophisticated. It felt deep, but layered, it was an absolute treat.

“Woah,” Was all you were able to breathe out. 

He rested his forearms on the counter this time. More casual than just the elbows, perhaps. To your relief, he’d made himself one as well, you would’ve felt much too awkward drinking something on your own. 

His gaze was relaxed, socket lidded. But at the same time, there was something indecipherable about the way he looked at you. “i’ll take that as a good response...?”

“What is this?” you asked, right before taking another sip.

“lavender london fog. one of my favourites.”

“I’ve always been fond of lavender,”

His eyelight became a fraction wider, and the cyan glow a touch stronger. “... you have good taste,”

“I think I’m done with all the paperwork,” 

He tilted his head. “i intimidate you. don’t i?”

... 

You made a little surprised, confronted sound, where did that come from?! 

“I-I’m so sorry,” you squeaked. “It’s not you, I promise,”

He chuckled. What a lovely sound. “don’t be silly. of course it’s me. i have that effect on people, i always have.”

You were spluttering. You couldn’t deny you were a bit relieved that he knew the whole time, but you still didn’t like that you’d been so obvious. “I feel terrible, though! You’ve been nothing but nice to me,”

“you’ve been nothing but nice, too.” He swirled his drink. You could hear the foam sizzling against the sides of the cup. “despite how obviously unpleasant myself and my employees are, you’ve treated us all very well. don’t think it’s gone unnoticed.” 

“You’re not unpleasant,” you stressed, embarrassed and avoiding the compliments. 

“it sounds unprofessional,” Nightmare said. “but i mostly hired you for that. your pleasant aura, despite it all.”

“Aura?” you parroted.

“metaphorically speaking.” He finally drew the paperwork back across the counter to him, eyeing your signature. “my boys are... difficult. don’t tell them i called them my boys. hiring has been incredibly troublesome, because until now, they’ve never liked anyone who applied. they’ve chased off three other potential hires already. finding someone they all like has been hard work.”

“Pft.” Your cheeks could not catch a break. They were about as hot as the mug you were squeezing in both your hands. You had no idea you were so desirable, nor so easy to get along with. It was very flattering. “How did they chase them off?”

Nightmare raised his brows. “dear, i would like to keep you around. i don’t think i’ll tell you that.”

You laughed. The pet name flew over your head. Nightmare’s smile wasn’t getting any wider, but... it was getting softer. 

“I-I should get to work. I wanted to make some batters now, so they can rest overnight.”

“could i lend a hand?” Nightmare tilted his head. “my baking knowledge is not... extensive. but i’m happy to assist.”

Unlike Killer’s ‘offer’ to help, this one, you were delighted to accept. “Of course. If you don’t mind being told what to do.” 

He chuckled.

“if it’s you, i don’t mind one bit.”

[hellbornsworld]

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS(4)๑‿︵‿୨

.⋆｡⋆ ༶ ⋆˙⊹ع˖⁺ ⋆ ୭ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹༺⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹.⋆｡⋆ ༶ ⋆˙⊹ع˖⁺ ع˖⁺

✿ When She Loved Me | CEO!JK X Reader | One-Shot | @jungkookstatts

✿ Sleepaway | Yandere!JK X Reader | Series | @flowesona

✿ Mine | Jungkook x Demon! Female Reader | One-shot | @playmetheclassics

✿ Your eyes tell | Yandere!JK X Reader | Twins AU | @angellgguk

✿ Noir | Daddy!JK x Little!Reader | @bonny-kookoo

✿ Love Is a Game: For Political Enemies | JK X Reader | @lleldey

✿ petals with luv | Emporer!Jungkook x PalaceWoman!Reader | Hanahaki AU | @hisunshiine

✿ a lover’s bond | jungkook x female reader | greek mythology! AU | @latetaektalk

✿ love in the dark | Ceo!JK X Reader | One-Shot | @spideyjimin

✿ Like I’m Famous | Idol!JK X Reader | One-Shot | long distance au | @softyoongiionly

✿ I’ll Be Home for Christmas | Pilot Jungkook x female OC | One-Shot | @bluewhale52

✿ Falling | jungkook x female reader | Soulmate AU | @starshapedkookie

✿ Pick Your Fighter | gamer!jk X gamer!reader | @jikookiekosmos

✿ angels like you | Jungkook X Reader | S2L | One-Shot | @aquagustd

✿ Killing me softly with his touch | JK X Reader | One-Shot | @borathae

✿ Bad Man | Badboy!JK X Reader | @bonny-kookoo

✿ The Monster in the Dark | yandere!sleep paralysisdemon!jjk X fem!Reader | One-Shot | @themochiverse

✿ S O U L M A T E S | Crackhead!Jk X Reader | Series | @smaubts

✿ bad romance | badboy!jungkook x goodgirl!reader | One-Shot | @noteguk

✿ No Guardian Angel | The Crow!Jungkook X Reader | @jiminstonic

✿ Love Letters | Prince!Jungkook × Maid!Reader | @bonny-kookoo

✿ LESSON I | YandereTeacher!jungkook x bully student fem!reader | Three-Shot | @redsaurrce

✿ RED | demon!jk x fem!reader | Series | @armpirate

✿ Follow the White Rabbit | idol! jungkook x idol! reader | @youthguk

✿ Ｎｕｍｂ ｔｏ Ｔｈｅ Ｆｅｅｌｉｎｇ | Dark! Shitty! Yandere! Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader | One-Shot | @pynkgothicka

✿ Delivery Date | pizzadeliveryboy!jungkook x reader | One-Shot | @dntaewithluv

✿ Who is in control? | jk x reader | Drabble AU | @ctrlsht

✿ sweetest apparition | nerd!jungkook x popular!female reader | @jeonfiles

✿ m y s t r a n g e a d d i c t i o n | professor!jk X student!Reader | One-Shot | @joonberriess

✿ to err is to love | dilf!jk /ex husband!jk / ceo!jk x afab reader | Series | @jungkookschin

✿ polarity | BestFriendBF!JK X Reader | Series | @darkestcorners

✿ KILL TO KISS YOU | Yandere!Jungkook x Prostitute!Reader | One-Shot | @chummywchimmy

✿ Ode To The Nature Of Romance | Jungkook x Reader | @yeoldontknow

✿ Cabin in The Woods | Werewolf!Jungkook x Human!Reader | One-Shot | @girl8890

✿ Nothing was gonna stop me | Jeon Jungkook x Reader | One-Shot | @wildestdreamsblog

✿ Teacher’s Pet | professor/dilf!jungkook x student!reader | Series | @axigailxo

✿ prima nocta | king!jungkook, virgin!reader | royalty au | One-Shot | @yoon2k

✿ End of Time | Jungkook x Reader | Series | @deepdarkdelights

✿ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 | Yandere!JK X Reader | @euphoricfilter

✿ Paint | painter!jungkookxassistant!reader | @hongjoongscafe

✿ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 | environmentalist! jungkook x college student! reader | @miraclesatnightfall

✿ The Broken Vow | Husband!JK X Reader | One-Shot | @lleldey

✿ Euphoria | bad boy jungkook x librarian yn | @btsydtrash

✿ White Pearl | CEO Sugar daddy Jungkook x stripper sugar baby reader | @lovelyspring7

✿ just a little bit of your heart | JK X Reader | @chemicalpink

✿ imminent danger | jungkook x reader | @whatifyoulivelikethat

✿ Knockout | boxer!dad!jungkook x pregnant!reader | Drabble | @jvngkook97

✿ Please Love Me! | Frat President Jungkook x Succubus Reader | @icedmatchatae

✿ The Boyfriend Experience | Escort!Jungkook x Fem!Reader | @shina913

.⋆｡⋆ ༶ ⋆˙⊹ع˖⁺ ☁⋆ ୭ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹༺⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹.⋆｡⋆ ༶ ⋆˙⊹ع˖⁺

OTHER POSTS:

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION(1)

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATION(2)

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS(3)

ALL BTS MEMBERS WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(1)

BTS X READER WATTPAD RECOMMENDATIONS(2)

[yamujiburo]

You said you like sharing Team Rocket facts, sooo, what are some of your favourite facts that you don't get to share often or think not many people know? :D

Yam's Top 10 Team Rocket Fun Facts!

Jessie and James are both 25 years old

Jessie and James are NOT siblings (you'd be surprised how many people think they are). They have almost polar opposite backstories from each other.

James grew up rich but ran away from home at a young age because of all the pressure as well as his arranged marriage with Jessebelle (who looks exactly like Jessie funnily enough)

Jessie's mother, referred to as Miyamoto, was also a Team Rocket operative who worked directly under Giovanni's mother Madame Boss. However Miyamoto went MIA while on a mission looking for Mew and never came back, leaving Jessie to grow up in foster care

Jessie and James in English are named after the outlaw Jesse James which most people seem to know about. Buuut in Japanese, they're called Musashi and Kojiro, named after the famous swordsmen Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojiro. Musashi kills Kojiro so do with that what you will. Sub fun fact: Musashi and Kojiro's duel is referenced in Sun and Moon with Jessie battling Ash and using the sun to temporarily blind him and Pikachu before striking.

The Team Rocket trio are based off of the Time Skeletons from Time Bokan, who are probably the earliest version of the very specific trope "san-aku" (literally translated to three evil). The trope usually depicts one female leader and two bumbling men, one short and one tall. They also regularly build mechs/robots and beef with kids. In Sun in Moon, they DIRECTLY reference the Time Skeletons!

When the Johto series came to an end a decision had to be made on whether Misty or Team Rocket would leave the series. Head writer Takeshi Shudo fought really hard to keep Team Rocket (I think it's safe to say that they were his favorite characters). Seeing how Team Rocket stayed in the series till the very end, I think it's obvious to see what the end result of that decision was

The reason Jessie, in later seasons of Pokémon doesn't smack around James and Meowth as much/at all is because her voice actress, Megumi Hayashibara personally requested that the writers make her less violent. She felt it went against the "good natured villain" concept Takeshi Shudo originally had for them. On Hayashibara, Jessie's "failed nurse" backstory is based on Hayashibara's experience in trying to become a nurse.

James' love for sports and racing is often depicted in the show and is a reference to his VA, Shinichiro Miki's, love for cars and racing.

The reason Team Rocket crossdresses is literally just because the artists thought James looked better in a dress than Jessie did and ran with it

[kitysugar]

perfect ~ Dom! Choso x Chubby! Insecure! Reader

Choso is one big man. He could pick you up and throw you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing- but recently, you started to become a little distant with your boyfriend; your sex drive has gone down dramatically, you don't really let your boyfriend hug you under your arms let alone touch your stomach or thighs. Choso has always known about your insecurities regarding your weight and body figure- but he thinks that everything about you absolutely perfect in every way possible. He's absolutely crazy about you, especially your body. But recently, you don't think so.

Word count: 6000

Dom! Choso x Chubby! Insecure! Reader smut. Alternative AU. reader is a liiiiiittle bit of an ooc, whoops. Praising, sweet talk, face grabbing, heavy choking, air / wall sex (?), oral sex, breeding, manhandling, body checking, (you're all perfect no matter what, I love you ♡), choso has tattoos and piercings,,,, yummy. CHUBBY GIRLIES NEED LOVE TOO GUYS!!!

Choso and you have a love so deep for each other, that oftentimes, it feels like it was written in a story book. You guys are two halves of the same person, and one without the other was rare- uncommon. What was weird about it, is that you two are polar opposites. He prefers things a certain way, you prefer things another. Although there have been bumps in the relationship due to the differences you two face, nether of you could think of a life without the other in it. You guys were fated, that's the way things were, and will continue to be.

Choso is undeniably crazy about you. Everything you do, anything you say is perfect to him. Your mind, body, and soul were devastatingly beautiful. He would do anything you asked him to do without second thought, he even does things you don't ask him to. The first moment he laid eyes on you in his tattoo shop, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was even worked up the entire time he was tattooing you too, wandering eyes that trailed a little too far down your body for his own good. What made the experience even better was how talkative you were with him, how warm and comfortable you made the atmosphere of his tattoo studio feel. The two of you talked for hours about the most random things- he got to know you a little.

After that tattoo appointment, he wanted to know more about you. He wanted to know everything, he wanted everything. You were just so beautiful, he couldn't help himself.

and you felt the exact same way. Your eyes fixated on the tattoos that littered his arms and neck. The way his lip piercings complimented his face perfectly. His deep, raspy voice making you feel things you shouldn't about a stranger. And especially the way his fingers moved on your skin as he marks you with his art. You couldnt help yourself. Six months later, you came in for a touch up on your beautiful tattoo and things blossomed from there.

Now here you were, three blissful years later in your shared apartment. Choso was at the studio as you lay in your bed, scrolling on your phone looking through your social media. A beautiful, blonde haired, skinny girl popped up and suddenly, the salt and vinegar chips you were eating felt like glass. The girl was beautiful, you just wish you looked like her.

Getting up off the bed, you walked into the kitchen and put your chips away, grabbing a glass of water instead to wash down the glass. After finishing, you set the now empty glass on the counter and run your fingers through your hair with a sigh.

You walked into the living room, stopping in the middle of it, looking at the weights and yoga mat in the corner of the apartment.

"I really need to lose weight" you sigh again. No matter what you do, no matter what gym you go to, no matter what you eat, and no matter what workouts you try to do, you just can't seem to lose the pudge on your tummy or any weight on your thighs. Having choso help you target different areas on your body while working out has made you feel a little better- like you were trying- and you appreciate him for being so supportive, but alas, here you were.

You roll your eyes and walk into your shared bedroom. You look around the room in search of any entertainment. After a minute, your eyes fixate on the new bags of clothes that sit on your vanity. They were so cute, Choso helped you pick them. Frilly skirts, cute crop tops, a couple dresses, short skirts, and so much more. You smile and walk over to the bags, beginning to go through them.

You pull out a baby pink, spaghetti strapped top that has the cutest design ever. You're about to try it on before your insecurities cloud your mind once more.

my arms are too big for this..

You inhale deeply and clench your jaw, setting the article of clothing back in its bag before pulling out another. A white, short lace ruffle skirt. you remember choso picking it out for you.

"This would compliment your legs so well baby, put it in the pile, I'll buy it"

You smile at the recent memory, you go to slide your underwear down your legs, as you're only wearing one of choso's baggy shirts and panties, but before you can do that, another insecurity pops up, making you huff in frustration.

the stretch marks on my thighs are gonna ruin how pretty the skirt is.

You groan and throw the skirt back to the vanity and sit down on the edge of the bed. your thoughts now running wild. You promised yourself you wouldn't do this anymore, yet here you were, walking over to the mirror on your sliding closet doors and lifting up the shirt, observing your body. Your eyes pick apart every. single. fragment of your figure, and your mind degrades them.

My thighs are too big, my stretch marks are so deep, my stomach is too flabby, my arms are too fat

You pick yourself apart while looking in the mirror. just as you're about to degrade yourself again, you let choso's shirt go and it dangles down past your mid thigh.

You walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, your head in your hands as your eyes start to sting and you chew on the skin of your bottom lip until it bleeds.

Choso bubbles in excitement when he approaches the front door, excited to finally be home with his love. He's so happy to spend the rest of the day with you he impatiently opens the door and closes it behind him.

"Y/n, babydoll i'm home!" his voice echos off the walls of the apartment before its silent once more. Silent apart from the little sniffles coming from your bedroom. His smiling face falters at the sound, setting his phone, wallet, and keys down on the couch before pushing the door to the room open.

He sees you, sitting in the middle of the bed with your knees in your face and your hair a mess. His heart breaks a little at the sight. You hear the door open and instantly look up with tears running down your plump cheeks and a pout on your lips. Choso's emotions match yours, but his are a little more angry.

Its not anger directed at you, he could never be angry with his little princess, he's angry with whatever has upset you, and he's going to find the root of whatever it is, and terminate that. Even if it's a person, he doesn't give a fuck.

You instantly wipe your tears and give him a fake smile, trying to pretend you were okay. He frowns at you and walks over to the bed in front of you.

"I didn't hear you come in, how was your day cho?" you smile at him again. He can tell it's fake because your eyes scrunch up whenever your smile is genuine. He crosses his toned arms over his broad chest and looks down at you. Your smile falters just a hair as you stare back at him.

"mine was fine, how was yours." He says, his voice full of questions.

"mine was okay, I took a nap earlier" you replied, not looking away from him. He raises an eyebrow at your clear lie and tilts his head to the side.

"enough. what's wrong y/n." he demands an answer. your eyes widen as you take a sharp inhale and look around the room, anywhere but choso. you sit criss cross in the middle of the bed and your arms move slowly to hug yourself, your eyes stinging again. Choso looks around the room to find anything that could have upset you, and his eyes land on the bags of clothes that were obviously rummaged through and he puts two and two together, his attitude changing instantly as he turns to face you.

"oh honey" is all he says and your crying all over again. you bring your hands to your face and cover your eyes, crying into your palms as your loving boyfriend shuffles onto the bed to sit behind you, wrapping you in his arms and bringing you closer. You shuffle away from him uncomfortably as his arms are wrapped around your tummy.

Choso sighs at your actions and forces you to sit on his lap, your back flush against his chest. he brings his head to rest on your shoulders and gives you feather light kisses on your neck and cheeks. You guys sit like that for a while, you crying as he holds you through your breakdown.

"I just- feel like- im too heavy for you- im so big-" you hiccup out a sob before continuing

"im so ugly- my body is ugly and- and my stretch marks are so unflat- unflattering-" another hiccuped sob escapes your throat

"you're so- handsome and so strong- there are so many- other girls- skinnier and prettier girls- you could be with anybody you want and- and you chose me" you're cries got quieter as you bring your soaked hands away from your face, rubbing on choso's shirt your wearing.

Choso shakes his head in disbelief and forces your body to face him. He moves a strand of hair out of your face and cups your cheek, forcing your face to his, but your eyes avoid contact with his.

"look at me baby" his words soft and gentle. You shake your head and close your eyes, disobeying him.

"I said look at me, y/n." Choso's stern voice came back. He only does that whenever he absolutely needs you to listen to him, or when you're having sex. Right now, he needs you to hear his words. Your eyes fly open at his tone of voice, knowing he's serious. you look into his eyes that are filled with unlimited amounts of love, you could get lost in them.

"you listen to me baby, understand?" his stern voice never faltering and it makes a chill run down your spine as you nod your head. He smiles at you softly and looks at the entirety of your face.

"good girl" his tone softens and it makes you feel more at ease. he looks deeply into your eyes as he continues.

"you are so unbelievably beautiful, you just don't see yourself that way. everything about you is perfect. your face," he kisses your cheeks and eyelids, making a small giggle bubble up out of your throat and it makes choso smile hearing your soft laugh.

"your mind" he kisses your forehead.

"and even your body." he looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you in his shirt. You shift uncomfortably under his gaze and he takes notice of your action, trailing his hands up your thighs and around your waist, and to your surprise, you let him do so. He lifts you up and forces you to sit on his lap facing him.

"you are so perfect, I wish I could give you my eyes so you could see just how perfect you truly are" his breath fans your face as you look up to the freakishly big man, your hands dangle at your sides. he cups your cheeks with both of his hands, caressing the warm skin with his thumbs.

"you are not, and you never will be too big for me. I don't care what size you are, big or small, you will always be my babydoll." he kisses your forehead, your nose, and then your lips before pulling away from you.

"I don't want any of those other girls, you are the only one for me, and you're the only girl I need. you are so much more than them, everything about you is. I love you for you, your body is just a plus, and I love it." you smile at him softly, dragging your hands up and down his strong arms, feeling his muscles under your fingertips. you stare into his loving eyes, but they falter once more when a thought comes into your mind. Choso moves one of his hands down to cup the back of your neck, rubbing it, and the other settles itself on your thigh, caressing the tender skin.

"cho,, i dont.. i dont deserve you.." choso shakes his head, moving his arms down to push you further into his body, your chest almost flushed against his.

"you, my precious girl, are perfect for me. I don't want it any other way." you sniffle at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck and burry your face into his chest, getting as close to him as possible. choso wraps his arms around your frame, one hand cupping the back of your head and stroking your hair, the other rubbing small circles on your back.

"shh, its okay baby, you're okay. my pretty girl, my beautiful love, my sweet baby" his words of reassurance bring you comfort, calming you down. he brings his head to the crook of your neck, littering your skin in soft kisses. your hold on him falters as you pull away, he repeats your actions and leans back ever so slightly to look at you.

"I love you." his breath fans your face, you look into him, stare into him really. your face turns the slightest shade of pink at his words.

"im serious, y/n. I love you, with my entire existence I love you." he cups your head once more, and you can't help it. you lean in just a hair and kiss him, deeply. you kiss him so intentently, trying to show him how much you love him. he hums into your mouth, moving his hands down to your waist, and for the first time in what seems like months, you don't flinch away from his touch, nor do you feel like you're too much. his huge hands swallow your figure. no matter how big you think you are, he will always be able to make you feel so small and loved. he adjusts you even closer onto him, your bodies now pressed against one another.

his hands wonder your body, rubbing your back, waist, and thighs. he loves touching you, its his favorite thing to do. he wants to explore every crevice of your body as if its his first time. you always make him feel like he's floating on a cloud, a drunk, happy cloud. your arms around his neck push him closer into you, arching your back as if that would help you dissolve into his body in order to become one person, your tongue licks the bottom of his lip and he opens his mouth, teeth and tounges colliding in a sloppy kiss. choso pulls his head away a couple centimeters from yours and looks at you. he observes your pink cheeks and full lips, biting the inside of his cheek before he speaks.

"let me show you how much I love you y/n, let me show you how beautiful you are" he leans his forehead on yours in the middle of his plea, closing his eyes as he breathes in, slowly losing his restraint. you're already driving him crazy and all the two of you did was kiss.

"will you let me show you how crazy you make me?" you nod your head and within a fraction of a second, choso is pressing your body against his as he flips you over onto your back, hovering over you. one of his hands caressing your thighs as you pull him into kiss you, paying no mind the cold jewelry pierced into his lip. the other holds himself up above your frame, resting above your head. this kiss is far more passionate, your hands tangle in his dark hair as he spreads your legs with his hand, grinding his clothed dick against your needy center. you whine into his mouth at the contact and he takes the opportunity to sneakily push his tongue into your mouth, exploring.

his grinding is slow and sensual, making you needy and wet. he bites your bottom lip softly before detaching himself, hovering over to look at you. he stands up off the bed and takes his shirt off, throwing it on your vanity. his black shirt oddly complimenting your pink skin care and eyeshadow pallets. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed so your legs dangle off the sides. you squeal at his actions followed by a giggle. he smiles down at you as the sound of your laughter bubble out of your throat, echoing inside the chambers of his skill.

his tattoo's are on full display, and your mouth waters. he's so attractive, especially with the way he looks at you. sinful, yet so loving. he's admiring you as if you were his most prized possession, and to him you were. his hands find their way to the hem of his shirt you're wearing, and he slowly starts undressing you.

"I love it when you wear my clothes, but I love taking them off of you even more." he says looking directly into your eyes, his hands brush your sides so lightly, it makes you shriek, laughing as he pauses in confusion.

"that tickled !" if smiles could kill, he'd be a dead man. you look so precious when you're bubbly and happy. he wants nothing more than to make you smile like that every second of every day for the rest of his life. and he plans to.

Choso doesn't move, he just stares at you. a smile plastered on his lips matching yours. he looks all up and down your body, admiring all your curves. the tiger stripe-like stretch marks make his mouth water. the pudge of your tummy perfect in his eyes- but he wouldn't mention it to you because he knows how much you dislike that part of you- even though he finds it sexy. the way there is so much more of you to love.

"I love you"

this time, you can feel just how deep those words are, a pout on your lips and you feel like crying all over again. not because of your insecurities, those are pushed to the back of your mind. but because the man before you single handedly just made you feel so loved and complete in a way you've never felt before.

"I love you"

he takes in a couple more seconds of your innocent, loving look before he shakes his head with a low chuckle, continuing to lift the shirt off of you completely, throwing it in the same direction he did his own shirt.

now, you sit on the bed completely naked apart from the lacy purple panties, causing choso to suck in a breath at the sight.

his favorite color

He smiles to himself, walking up to you, standing in in-between your legs.

He looks down at you, grabbing your jaw in his hands and making you look up at him. he tounges one of his lip piercings before speaking

"you're so unbelievably gorgeous, baby. such pretty girl." he leans down, his grip on your face held in place as he whispers

"too bad i'm about to ruin you, hm?" you shiver as he stands back up, a shit eating grin on his face as you clamp your thighs together. he leans back down, his hands on either side of your body as his lips find yours in a slow, deep kiss. you sigh into him once you feel one his hands on your inner thigh, tracing its way upwards to your core. His lips detach from yours with a wet 'pop'

"spread your legs for me sweetheart" you happily oblige, spreading your thighs apart enough for his hand to make contact with your clothed pussy. he runs his long fingers down the slit of your cunt, feeling how needy you already are.

"so wet already? all for me?" he taunts, and you can feel the smirk on his face through the tone of his voice, not even needing to look at him. you whimper at his words, moving your hands to his back, holding onto him. his fingers pinpoint your clit, drawing slow circles on the bundle of nerves, making yet another deep whimper escape your mouth. his forehead is now pressed against yours, watching the moans spill from your lips as your eyes close. he pushes your underwear to the side, the pads of his fingers now massaging your bare clit.

he's slow and concentrated, making sure you feel the pleasure he brings you throughout your entire body. one particular swipe over your clit has you closing your thighs around his hand, and he doesn't like that very much.

his hand disappears and you fling your eyes open, only to see choso slowly get down on his knees in front of you. he takes his hands and places them on your knees, forcing your thighs far apart.

"if you can't keep your legs spread apart for me, looks like 'm gonna have to keep them open myself" his hands reach for your panties, pulling them down your knees and past your ankles, discarding them across the room. his hands reposition themselves back onto your knees, keeping them spread apart, barring your pussy, open and right in front of his face.

He hums at the sight, drinking in the view of your wet clit and slightly throbbing hole. he stands up, and slowly pushes you down onto your back, laying down. he mimics your actions, coming down and hovering over you, holding himself up on one of his arms, the other tracing small patterns on the inside of your thigh. he kisses your lips deeply, you hum into his mouth, your hands coming to wrap around his neck holding him closer. his lips detach from yours and he starts kissing your neck, leaving the prettiest shade of his favorite color all over your skin. his kisses trail down your collarbones, teeth scraping against your skin as tiny moans and whines drip from your lips.

choso makes his way down to your breasts, looking at your perky nipple and oh how he could spend hours upon hours sucking, biting and playing with your breasts, but now isn't the time, so he decides to kiss it once, then twice before kissing it softly, the cool metal of his lip rings pressing into your flesh. he wraps his lips around your sensitive bud and sucking directly after, pulling yet another string of moans out of your throat. he chuckles into your boob, his free hand coming to fondle with the other, picking and pulling your nipple.

"oh my god- c-cho" you whine, your hands coming up to his spikes hair and tugging on his pony tails. his sucking gets more aggressive as does his hand, but you can't help yourself from moaning into him, arching your back. after a minute of assaulting your boobs, he sits up slightly, your nipple still being bit, and it draws a small hiss of pain out of you before he detaches himself.

he chuckles at your reaction, kissing your skin once more down your sternum and to your stomach and abdomen. he kisses the plump flesh, resting his head on your tummy and looking up at you, admiring you and your body.

"you're so beautiful" he says, making a dark pink plush rise to color your cheeks you smile down at him, not needing any words in that moment.

choso proceeds with his kisses down your stomach, finishing off with a kiss directly above your clit, face to face with your heat, his breath fanning your pussy as he speaks.

"god, everything about you really is perfect, look at your pussy baby" he says, bragging to himself, thoughts of how lucky he is to have such a breathtaking woman. before you had the chance to look, the feeling his warm tongue on your clit has you yelping in surprise. he looks up at you, your face contorting into one of pleasure.

Choso licks a couple stripes up your slit before focusing on your clit, sucking harshly enough for another yelp to bounce off the walls. his teeth bite down. a sharp, pleasurable sensation that sends vibrations throughout your entire body. you lay on your back, but choso doesn't take his eyes off of you.

his mouth does wonders on your throbbing clit, his tongue fast and relentless as he eats you out. your juices drip down his chin, but he doesn't care. as a matter of fact, he can't get enough. so he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls your pussy even farther into his face, drowning himself in your pussy. you gasp at the sudden movement, but moans of pleasure follow directly after. you sit up on your forearms as you watch your boyfriend completely devour you.

you feel the coil in your stomach approaching quickly, a knot about to snap. your legs shake in his hold and your whines grow louder. Choso's sinister laugh is swallowed by your pussy, but you were still able to hear it.

his sucking becomes harsher as you approach your fast growing orgasm. you throw your head back in ecstasy and there are tears in your eyes. its been such a long time since he's eaten you out so you're much more sensitive than normal, and he can tell.

"ch-cho-so please, need- plea, need to-"

"cum for me pretty, you can do it sweet girl" he interrupts your please of release and not even a second later, your creaming all over his face, painting his nose and chin in your fluids.

"so good for me hmm" he says into your clit as the motions on your clit come to a slow hault, making sure you come down from your orgasm at a smooth pace. your body is limp, but he's nowhere close to being done with you.

his mouth leaves your heat and he gently puts your legs down as you sit up on your forearms weakly. you see him undoing his belt buckle and his pants hitting the floor, his boxers following. his dick is hard as it slaps against his abdomen. you remember how tall and muscular he is, so his dick was to be big too, you just dont remember very well its been so long. his arms move towards your body, and you feel him lift your hips up and grab your ass. you sit up fully so you're facing him completely.

"hold onto me sweetheart" he says and you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist; picking you up into the air as if you were as light as a feather. you feel his dick prodding at your entrance as he carries you over to the sliding mirror of your closet.

choso throws you into the air slightly so your legs fall from his waist with a yelp dripping from your lips. He catches you and spins your body around so the both of you are looking at your reflections. one of his arms wraps around your body under your arm, his hand coming to your throat, wrapping his fingers around your neck, a couple landing on the base of your jaw as he forces you to look into the mirror at the two of you. his other hand sneakily pushes your hips back against his front, your ass pressed against his dick as he grinds into you from behind.

"look at yourself baby, such a pretty thing you are, my angel, I can't believe how lucky I am." he kisses the back of your head. looking at yourself, you see how well the both of you fit together, how small you look when you're next to him. you actually feel pretty for once.

"god, its like you were made for me. you look so pretty like this baby. my beautiful darling" he speaks into your ear. you whine, needing him, throbbing for him.

"choso please, I need- please" you beg him and he smiles, looking up through his stray hairs in his face, making eye contact with you through the mirror

"please what, angel?" he asks, teasing you. it feels like you're going to explode with need, you can't take it any longer.

"please fuck me, please I need you, I want you please-" he cuts you off by hooking his arm under your knee, lifting your feet off the ground, your legs now dangling in the air. His other hand still wrapped around your throat. Even though what he's doing is dangerous, and you've never done something like this before, he's gentle with you. Your air supply is cut off slightly as he lifts you into the air, your back pressed against his chest so you're not completely hanging.

Choso walks forward, pressing your breasts and chest into the mirror. his hand that's hooked under your dangling leg presses against the mirror, making sure he has a good grip against the glass to make sure you don't slip from his hold. his chest still pressing up against your back, using his body as leverage to hold you up in the air.

"cho-so wait-" your worried tone reaches his ears and he kisses your cheek

"its okay pretty, I got you, I wont let you fall I promise" he reassures you, and his words ease your mind. this position is new- and scary- to you, but you trust your lover, so you let him continue. with the arm that choso has his arm wrapped under yours and gripping your throat, you move your hand to rest on his forearm, your other coming to press against the mirror for a reassuring grip.

You feel his dick at your entrance, the position lining you up perfectly. choso slowly sinks you down as he thrusts up into you, bottoming out inside you completely. choso's whine mixed with a low groan fills your ears as you whimper into the mirror, arching your back.

"oh god, you're so tight 'nd warm, fuck you drive me insane" you hiss loudly at the familiar stretch, but your pain is quickly overridden by pleasure as he continues thrusting inside of you from behind, bouncing your body up against the mirror, your boobs still jiggling and nipples hard against the glass.

Your moans grow louder as the position he's fucking you in helps him reach deeper angles inside of you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. your dangling legs start shaking, your bodies beginning to sweat against each other as choso moans and groans into your ear, his breath hitting your skin. your fingernails did into the skin of his tattooed arm and you lean your head back into his chest, looking up at his face. Moans and whimpers drip off the both of your lips, the sweetest tune coming together in harmony.

"f-fuck ch-cho pl-please to- much ag-" your hiccuped moans cause him to chuckle into your ear, a deep, sinister sound that makes you squeeze around his cock.

"you're takin' me so well, f-fuck baby, 'm gonna fill you so full, fuck my pretty angel so full of my cum, bet you'd like that yeah?" he speaks directly into your ear, your pussy fluttering around his dick, squeezing and unsqueezing him so tightly, he could come at any second- but he holds back. your guys' mixed juices spill onto the floor below you, dripping down your leg and coating his balls and abdomen. the only sound in the room is skin slapping and moans, disgusting and needy moans.

His thrusts inside you are relentless, his cock driving up into you, his tip brushing up against your sweetest spot repeatedly, causing you to draw out the sweetest of sound that are choso's most favorite song. your legs are thrashing now, his grip on your throat tightening.

"'m so- clo-se ch-o please I can't, please let me cum- please!' your broken begs for release go ungranted to choso.

"hold it." his command stern as he pulls away from the mirror, you still in his hold as curses under his breath. He walks over to the bed, throwing you onto it with ease. He crawls around you, perching himself behind you as spins you onto your knees- ass up. He gently grabs your hips with one hand, the other grabbing a fistful of your hair, making you look into the mirror, right at your guys' reflection.

"this-" he thrusts his hard dick back inside your tight cunt "is my most favorite place in the world." without letting you go, he leans down and kisses your cheek, your mouth slack open in a beautiful "oh" shape and your eyes roll back into your skull.

his thrusts pick up the pace, his hips snapping against the flesh of your ass turning it red. the hand on your hips sneaks down and around you to rub your clit. a small yelp bouncing off the walls, your hands gripping the sheets below you.

"oh fuck, oh my god, I love you, I love you so much" choso's praisely perfect whines sends electric shocks straight to your clit as it pulsates into his fingers.

"you were made for me angel, so perfect, prettiest girl ive ever laid my eyes on- shit" he's looking at your face in the mirror, and if he could, he would tattoo that shit onto him- and he's actually considering it, because you look like the most beautifully disgusting painting he's ever created, fucking you as if it was the last time.

you were such a beautiful mess, all for him, created for him. he really was crazy about you. especially when he was making you and your pussy scream in pleasure- and that's exactly what he's doing.

"you're so pretty darling, drivin' me so crazy" you can't help but mewl at his words, feeling like you were on the edge of explosion. He can tell by the look on your face and the way your pussy begins to milk his cock. his grip tightens in your hair and leans down, biting your earlobe

"look at me sweetheart, look at me when I stuff you full of my cum and breed you like the pretty little whore you are"

your eyes fly open, looking directly into his. he sits up, lets go of your hair, and both of his hands come to grip the skin of your hips, his ruthless thrusts snapping against your ass are forceful as your moans turn into the most beautiful screams.

"takin' my cock so well, gon' take my cum next, how does that sound pretty?"

with one final thrust, you cream all over his cock with a moan, squeezing and fluttering all around him as he shoots white hot ropes of him cum deep inside you, throwing his head back with a loud groan. he pushes his hips farther into you, making sure you take all of him.

your cum leaks down your thighs as well as his, your legs shaking. if it weren't for the tight grip on your hips, you would have collapsed onto the bed by now.

He loosens his grip on you, gently pulling his softening dick out of your pussy. he puts you down on the bed softly and flips you over on your back and crawls on top of you, one of his hands coming to flatten your hair down and massage your sweaty face.

He cups your cheek and kisses your lips tenderly, then your cheeks, forehead, eyelids, and then your nose. his eyes gaze into yours with admiration and love, and you can't help but reciprocate.

"I really do wish you could see yourself the way I do, sweetheart. beautiful-" he kisses your nose again

"kind-" your forehead

"and perfect" he kisses your lips, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"I love you, choso"

"I love you, angel"

[gatorbites-imagines]

Brain got to thinking about 'Viltrumites are actually aliens au' + ViltruWives. And the fact that the eggs get larger with size and/or age. (It's scratching parts of my brain I didn't know existed until I stumbled upon your delightfully captivating works. Genuinely, thank you so much for that.)

*Bites knuckles* Isn't Thragg 7'ft something and nearly 400+ pounds in the comics? With Conquest coming in at a close second? Fuckin woof.

Also, consider... Nolan at least had his time before with Debbie to get used to having his egg times with a mate around. But the other three having had thousands of years without... If the Wifeys hit an egg season all at once, would reader end up as the polar opposite of the 'shriveled up raisin in bed' guy meme? Just, belly full of eggs. Full on flipped over turtle mode. Resigned to not moving properly for a while even if they weren't rung out. Or not until they can either push some out or naturally re-absorb. At least they got four big, now very happy viltumite partners that'll cuddle with them in the meantime.

viltrumwives in the viltrumites are actually alien au

under cut cuz i wrote more than i expected

yes i used that gif on purpose, lmao

Nolan would be smart enough to tell the reader about their egg season, cuz he remembers being with Debbie and the chaos that was. Guy probably has to make a whole guide or powerpoint explaining it and the process to the reader, and being like “if you dont wanna be full of eggs... find somewhere to hide out”, at least the first couple of times until all the viltrumwives realize “hey, I can carry my clutch myself”. 

Thragg canonically fucks if I remember correctly, so he's had mates but with them it was just to reproduce. Now he actually has a partner he wants to do it with for pleasure and love? Crazy new experience for him. Hes got the largest eggs I think, because he's the strongest and biggest. For some reason I'm vizualising his eggs looking almost like those bright orange fish eggs, but they're much bigger, and solid. Like those hard rubber balls you throw around, the size of golf balls. They kinda look like amber, tbh. 

Conquest has the next biggest and his clutches are bigger, just from the fact that he hasnt had past mates. So now his body is overproducing cuz “we are old, must have as many as possible, now”. Lowkey think he would be the first to be like “I'll just carry my clutch myself, worm(affectionately) get on me now” kinda situation. His eggs are about as solid as Thragg, they're still a little squishy but you can't crush them easily. His eggs would be a deep red which turns a deeper crimson in the middle. 

Kregg has the smallest eggs, but they are still bigger than average thanks to age and strength, but I do have a feeling he would have had mates in the past, cuz of their whole culture and all that. He has most control of himself during egg season, claims it's because he wants to stay clear headed, but its cuz he gets embarrassed thinking about becoming a panting drooling begging mess like some others do. His eggs are a soft yellow with a warm center color. 

Nolan has the most experience and the latest experience, so he doesnt go as wild as the other three cuz he knows the limits of human bodies, after much experimentation with Debbie. This means his clutches aren't as big as the other three, and his eggs are squishier, but not weak or anything. Kinda like squishing an eraser between your fingers. His eggs are a lighter blue, like cornflower blue, with a deeper purple center. 

All in all, reader is getting stuffed the first couple of times unless hes really really against it, you know? And yeah, the viltrumwives are gonna be showing off too, so there are eggs on the bed, staining the sheets, on the floor, they're everywhere. After the first time yall have to set up designated “egging” areas cuz it was a nightmare to clean up. 

At least they all get extra chuffy and cuddly when their brains are like “yes, yes, clutch laid, must cuddle and comfort mate for healthy clutch”. They give great massages. 

[leth-writes]

Distance (Yandere tim drake x reader)

SUMMARY: Tim Drake is a fucking asshole, but at least you're moving.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with Tim?”

Your voice breaks the cozy silence that had fallen in Stephanie’s room. The blond looked over, face the picture of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Your other friend, Conner, asked.

“I don’t know, I just… Sometimes he’s kinda creepy, ya know? Like he knows more than he lets on. Like he’s looking through you, into your soul.” You explain.

Stephanie cocks her head to the side, pretending to think.

“I mean, he can be a lil’ weird, but I think it’s just cuz he was socially stunted growing up…” She hums. What could that possibly mean? You thought, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s cuz of his parents; they like, left him alone all the time when he was younger.” Stephanie continues, turning back to her homework. She seems satisfied with herself.

“I-��

“Hey, maybe you’ll just have to ask Tim, he won’t bite, ya know.” Conner says, not even bothering to face you.

The three of you fell back into silence.

You liked your friends. You didn’t have much experience with friendship, especially growing up moving around constantly because of your dad’s job. You’d met Conner completely by accident; you just so happened to be going to the same school, he just so happened to be walking down the hall, you tripped, he caught you. The two of you hit it off after that. That had introduced you to Steph, and later to Tim, and just like that, you were no longer alone.

Conner was kind, despite his outward appearance. He had dark, ruffled curly hair and a slight southern accent, and he always wore his stupid black leather jacket, the one with the spikes on the shoulders. Sometimes he even wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even inside, like an asshole. Despite his arrogance and his snarky attitude, he was a good friend, defending you from the schoolyard bullies that had plagued your life.

Steph was in some ways, his polar opposite. She had long, slightly wavy blond hair, down to the middle of her back, and the most bright blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, the color of a cloudless summer day’s sky. She was boisterous, constantly laughing and joking around, a sharp contrast to Conner’s cool, calm demeanor.

TIm was an entirely different story. He was… Quiet. Weirdly quiet. It was the first thing you’d noticed, the first time you met him, sitting down for lunch next to Steph and Kon. They’d happily introduced the two of you, and Tim. Shook your hand. You’d never met another person who shook hands, except for uppity businessmen who treated you like a baby.

His eyes were a cold, cruel blue, almost grey. They stared into you, never leaving your form, even as you turned to talk to Steph. You could feel him staring, like he was trying to cut your skull open for a peek inside. You felt like a bad lab experiment every time his attention fell on you.

His hair was always perfectly mussed, like he’d spent the entire morning debating about where to place each strand, and his clothes were impeccably prepped. All in all, he looked more like a doll than a person.

It was creepy, off-putting. Despite all of that, you were in desperate need for friends, especially friends your own age, not your annoying little cousins that you were forced to babysit when your Aunt was away on vacation, which she seemed to always be.

You were willing to put up with him, if it meant being Conner and Steph’s friend. You weren’t willing to give up that first taste of freedom from your overwhelming family.

Even if you hated him.

Tim was perfect, was the thing. Any time you had a problem, he had a condescendingly offered solution. Homework troubles transformed from a normal, if slightly irritating, part of your life into an embarrassing and awkward time for Tim to show off his expertise. Conner and Steph, both seemingly prodigies in their own rights, didn’t have nearly the same problem as you. Sometimes, in fact, you felt like they had some sort of telepathy, reading each other's minds and knowing the answers before you’d even begun.

Tim was also the perfect child, as your parents were constantly berating you. He helped his family, Tim cared for the company his adoptive father would one day be giving to him, Tim had perfect grades, Tim was perfectly behaved. Everywhere you turned it was Tim, Tim, Tim. You couldn’t even escape him on social media. If he wasn’t peering out at you with those icy eyes from Steph and Conner’s feeds, he was staring holes into your skull through pictures of him accepting awards and attending important events.

As you got to know him, the disparities between the two of you only became more clear. He was annoyingly flawless, and you seemed to be built of nothing but flaws, at least according to most of your teachers and your parents.

The constant comparisons were grating on your nerves, and you knew that if you never saw Tim again, it’d be too late. The damage to your fragile self-esteem was already done.

Luckily, today, Tim had to be with his father for some stupid gala, leaving you to hang out with your two normal, non-superhuman friends, who would never rub their perfections into your face. Even if they had plenty of them. You knew the two of them toned down their gloating when you were around, and they were always trying to hype you up, to get you to brag about your accomplishments. To hear about it from them, you’d think you were the most talented person in Gotham, if not all of America.

You were pretty sure that particular award could go to Tim.

Everything was perfect, all three of you working on your own individual homework. Steph and Kon weren’t in the class you were working on. Tim, of course, was, and he was top of the class, as you were constantly being reminded. God, he was pretentious.

Everything was perfect, of course, until Tim walked in. Steph and Kon lit up, smiling and welcoming him in. His hair was, once again, perfectly tousled, and he had clearly changed back into his normal clothes.

“Ditching, pretty boy?” Kon teased, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Awe, don’t tease him, you know he’s a daddy’s boy,” Steph said, laughing.

Tim just batted Conner’s hands away, before turning to face you all.

“I got out of the gala early. My presence was unneeded.” He said, face completely blank. God, he even talked like a fucking robot. You turned away, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, are you working on homework? I can help…” He began, looking over your shoulder. You turned slightly to look at him, baring your teeth in what barely counted as a smile. “I’m. Okay,” you said, teeth grinding. Tim winced at the sight. “A-alright. I’ll just…” he gestured to where Steph and Kon had migrated to Steph’s bed, now painting their nails.

You finished your homework in record time and stood up, eager to just make an excuse and get home.

“Sorry guys, my parents must be worried… I have to get home,” you said, smiling tightly.

“Oh, it’s alright, you can stay. Your parents are still at the gala.” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from where he was concentrating on painting Steph’s pinky.

Shit. He couldn’t even let you leave in dignity, could he?

You gripped the handle of your bag even tighter and turned around. “W-well, still. They don’t want me out too late.” Steph and Kon nodded, saying their goodbyes with ease. Kon waved, his newly painted black nails shining in the dim light.

Tim simply. Stared at you. It’s like he knew you were lying. What a fucking asshole.

You left without another word.

The next day, your parents dropped a bombshell on you. You were all moving. Again. No amount of protest seemed to change their mind. The date was set and your house was sold; you had until the end of the week to say goodbye to your new life.

You, of course, immediately told your new friends. You hadn’t even known them for a month. You should’ve known this would happen; your parents would never let you be happy, and neither would the universe. The mood was solemn as you all sat around your designated table. Even Tim looked upset. More upset than you’d ever seen him, in fact, you think this was the first time you’d ever seen him show an emotion.

Steph looked over, eyes pitying. She squeezed Tim’s hand. What? Geeze, you were the one who was fucking leaving, and he’s the one who was getting comforted! He didn’t even like you!

Kon leaned over the table and grasped your hand, blocking Steph and Tim from your view.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” You simply shook your head, biting on your trembling lip. Sure, you didn’t like Tim, but you’d miss your friends!

“Is there any way to change your parents’ minds?” Steph asked as Kon leaned back. All hint of emotion was gone from Tim’s face. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset for the rest of lunch?

“No, no. They already sold the house…” You sniffled.

“Oh…” She said, looking down at the floor. You could hear the defeat in her voice, even as it wavered.

“Well, maybe you can come over tomorrow? One last hurrah, you know? We can spend the night together, do each other's nails, watch a movie…” She asked, voice hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds okay…”

“You’re crying.” Tim stated, voice cold and hard. Your hands flew up to your face, shocked to find tears slowly running down your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck him for saying something. You were fucking done. You were done! He couldn’t even pretend to care for a few minutes, and now he was mocking you?! You felt your anger boil up, faster than it ever had.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for fucking expressing emotion, not like you’d know anything about that!” You said, voice cracking. You slammed your hands down on the table as you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it across your shoulder. Tim looked up, startled by your outburst, mouth agape. Steph and Kon wore similar gobsmacked expressions. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d find it almost comical.

Still, you were incandescent. You fled the room, rage boiling underneath your skin, masking the hurt you were burying deep inside.

You ignored Tim the rest of the day. As a consequence, you were unable to talk to Steph and Kon. The distance pained you, but you knew if you had to see Tim’s smarmy face, you’d punch his teeth out. Neither approached you alone, though they did shoot you guilty looks from across the classroom. 

The pain was the worst part. Tim’d been an asshole, he’d made fun of you for as long as you’d known them, and they were choosing him. Everyone always chose Tim; your parents, your teachers, the press… You were stuck in his shadow, doomed to never meet his fucking mold. You were done. You just couldn’t deal with it, not while losing your two best friends, the best friends you’d ever had.

Steph texted you that night, asking you to still come over. She’d assured you that Tim and Kon wouldn’t even be there. The knowledge that Kon was still choosing Tim was painful, but you could deal with it, just to see Steph that one last time.

So, you’d agreed.

The next day came with a fresh wave of grief, pouring off you in waves. It was exhausting, so exhausting that your parents asked you to stay home, concerned you would pass out and be injured right before the big move.

You’d agreed, and spent the day catching up on some much-needed sleep.

That evening, you waved goodbye to your parents, bag slung over your shoulder, and began the walk to Steph’s place. Her family was middle class, not as wealthy as yours, but still quite well-off. You had never seen either of her parents, but Steph assured you she had a very competent housekeeper to help her out when she needed an adult.

You were almost to her house when it hit you. What the fuck were you doing? You shouldn’t be doing this. You were being naive. You’d only known them a short while, they’d forget you in a week! It would be best to just turn right around and go home; that way, you’d be spared the pain of a slow, petering off relationship. You didn’t want to watch as they made new friends, replaced you, slowly stopped responding to your calls; you couldn’t bear the pain.

So, you turned around and walked right back home, not even bothering to text Steph. You’d call her at home, when you were safe in your bed, and you had the room to cry all you wanted and eat as much ice cream as you could handle.

As you walked home, shivering, you couldn’t help but look up. The bat-signal was up, projected against the cloudy night sky. If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss, besides Tim, it was the constant crime. The constant need to carry a gas mask or a taser, the constant preparation to be kidnapped or maimed or tortured. It was tiring, always being on edge.

You kept your eyes on the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of one of the bats. You couldn’t help your slight fascination with them, despite the way your frie- former friends constantly laughed at you. Tim had looked weirdly smug after he’d wheedled you into admitting Red Robin was your favorite, though you thought the newest superboy on the scene was your favorite hero in general. You just liked his hair (and the way he reminded you of Conner).

It was only once you were back in your neighborhood that you noticed the feeling of being watched. You whipped your head around, looking every direction and clutching your taser. You couldn’t find anyone.

Shrugging it off as needless paranoia, built up over your stay in Gotham, you continued.

The lights in your house were off. The lights in your house were off, but your parents had promised they’d leave them on for when you got home. Did the fucking forget about you?!

You grumbled and stomped up the driveway.

The door was open. A sense of unease began to build, tension keeping your stomach in knots.

You slowly pushed it open, taser in hand.

The house was dark, and empty. Even the curtains were gone. You stepped further in, anxiety beginning to build.

“Mom? Dad?” You called, walking through the living room and to the stairs. You checked each room; each was as empty as the last, both devoid of any furniture, and your parents.

You made your way up the stairs, searching each room, all empty, until you came upon your room, tucked away in the corner away from your parents’ room. The light was on, shining through the cracks in the door and barely illuminating the dark hallway. You snuck closer, taser out and ready.

Finally, you were in front of the door, and you kicked it open.

Inside, your room was perfectly preserved, the overhead light shining down.

Sitting on the bed, head buried in his laptop, was Tim fucking Drake.

“Wha- Tim?” You said, tensed shoulders drooping.

He looked up and smiled, though it didn’t reach his stony eyes.

“Hey, come in.” he gestured to the bed. Confused, you wandered over and plopped down. 

He sighed and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I never meant to upset you, but I’m afraid it’s simply inevitable.”

You stared at him. “Tim, where-where are my parents?”

He sighed again, looking out the window.

“I thought we’d be able to avoid this. I thought I’d have time. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“...”

He turned the laptop to you and clicked play on the video queued up.

On screen, your parents appeared.

“I know about the assistant.” Tim’s voice came through, tinny from the low quality of the   video.

“Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your father’s voice was shaky, shakier than you’d ever heard it.

“There was an accident, wasn’t there.” Tim.

“N-no. No!” Your mom, anger clear on her face.

“It only takes one push and the story gets out.” Tim, voice and face clear. His eyes were stony, glaring down at where your parents sat on the couch.

“We’re leaving town, it won’t matter. We’ll leave.” Your dad said, voice sure. He stood up.

“Sit down.” Tim commanded, and your father did, fear flicking across his face.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving. The Daily Planet is an internationally renowned paper.”

“Please, that would ruin us, you can’t!” Your mom begged, tears springing up.

“What do you want.” Your father said, face stormy. You knew he was picturing hitting Tim, and you knew he was calculating the risk.

“I want you to leave, right now, and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We will, we will! Just let me call my daugh-”

“No. Right now.”

“...” 

You could see the acquiescence, the relief, on your father’s face. He nodded, determination slowly creeping onto his features. Your mother just sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“And what of our things?”

“I’ll have them sent to your new address.”

“How-”

Tim just stared at your mother, face grim. She closed her jaw with a sharp ‘clack’.

The video ended.

You stared, speechless. Tim simply looked over at you, face blank.

“W-wh- I don’t… I don’t understand?” You said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, but when you said your parents were moving… I had to move quickly.”

You stood up and began walking, feeling as though you were pushing through cotton, like you were seeing yourself in 3rd person. You could barely hear Tim calling your name as you walked down the stairs, toward the door, slowly walking faster and faster. You pushed the door open hard, barely flinching as it slammed into the frame, and burst into a sprint.

You didn’t get far.

A red blur streaked through your peripherals before coming to a stop in front of you. There was superboy, staring at you with guilt in his eyes. No, not superboy. It was Conner.

Just like that, your heart fell. 

“No.” you said, voice shaky with disbelief.

“No!” you backed up, raising the taser. Conner moved closer, hands raised in placation. You flicked the taser on and let it connect with his side. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shouted, dropping the taser and whirling around to run.

Arms like steel wrapped around you and picked you up. Suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder, your vision upside down. He marched you back into the house, plopping you back on the bed where Tim still sat, the laptop on your nightstand.

Conner shot you another guilty look, standing guard by the door, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. You’d never noticed how buff he was; you guessed the jacket was there to prevent you from noticing.

You were crying in earnest now, tears running down your cheeks.

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking.

Tim looked at you, blew out a breath, and wiped your face gently, hands cool. He cradled your face, bringing it closer.

Gently, oh so gently, he kissed your forehead, then brought your head into his shoulder, as you continued to cry. He shushed you, patting your back comfortingly.

“Why?!” you cried.

He gave no answer.

Finally, your crying slowed, then stopped. You pulled away and wiped your eyes with your sleeves.

“You’re going to come with me. We’re going to go back to my place, and you’re going to meet the rest of your family.”

You looked up at Conner, pleading with your eyes. He looked away, grimacing.

“Tim, I- I don’t want to do that, I want my parents, you get that this is fucked up, right?!” You questioned, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

[fanaticsnail]

It looks... infected, Kil?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 1,900+

Synopsis: You finally think you're getting a break, conversing with fellow experts in your field. As you defend your crew's mentality and maturity, the crewmate you were sure to be the most sane out of the lot of you proves you wrong.

Warnings: surgical talk, mention of a unsanitary piercings, exhausted Doctor, grumpy doctor, gn!reader x Killer, undressing crewmates, medical administration, swearing, crying, comforting, blushing, feelings?

Notes: Okay, this was meant to be a drabble, I swear. Only a bit of fun. Are there feelings now? Is there a little bit of chemistry here, or are they just good friends?

Edit: inspired my real accounts of piercing experiences in the wild by two mutuals (@feral-artistry & @nerium-lil) being flashed by friends.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Hey Doc?” a smooth, polite voice called to you from your place sitting on the beach alongside the small medic of the straw-hat crew. You turned to look up at the large polar-bear mink, giving him a soft smile as he politely rang his hands in front of him. 

“Yeah, Bepo?” you asked him in response, patting the ground beside you and the hatted reindeer, “What’s on your mind, honey?” He eagerly sat down beside you in a large thump, his radiating body heat bringing you comfort on the sandy shore. 

“I-... uh-... I was just wondering,” he scratched the scruff of his neck with his large paw, “What is it like being the medic of the Kid Pirates?” Two forms immediately slump down beside the three of you. The red-headed orca man and his hat-wearing counterpart joining in on your conversation. 

“I was curious about that too, Doc,” Shachi confessed, giving your shoulder a playful pat and chuckling, “Your crew are really unhinged. We’ve all been placing bets that it’s mainly STDs and weird intimacy-induced injuries, weren't we Peng?” You rolled your eyes at the remark, looking to the redhead and his companion.

“Is that right?” you offered him a sarcastic response, looking over to Chopper and beckoning him closer to you. “There are children present, I hope you know. Where’s your manners?” A rosy blush immediately grew over Shachi’s cheeks and flushed his embarrassment over his features. 

“Sorry, Doc,” Penguin offered for his crewmate, shaking his head with a soft smirk, “Doesn’t make us any less curious, though. What’s it like?” You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose and rubbing your waterline with your index finger and thumb. 

You looked over at your crewmates, noticing Kid and Killer were missing from the beach-front meeting space and narrowed your eyes at where they should’ve been. 

“Honestly, Heart-Pirates, and sweet Chopper,” you cooed down at him and scrunch your nose in glee, “It has been like nothing I could’ve ever dreamed of. Sure, I get my fair share of injuries that could’ve been prevented. A couple of itches that should’ve been avoided if they wore armor into the variety of battlefields - if you catch my meaning.” You shot Shachi and Penguin a knowing look before looking down at Chopper.

“Truly,” you sighed, looking at the dance of lights in the moonlit sky, “I couldn't ask for anything more. I love those weirdos, and I am one myself.” You noted, looking at Bepo and offering him a kind glance, “And they’re not as stupid as you think they are. Give them more credit, please.”

“Ah, I see,” Bepo nodded along at your confession, looking over at his two crewmates who offered you sheepish and apologetic smiles in response. Shachi, Penguin, Bepo, Chopper and you all enjoyed sitting in a very rare silence together, the warmth radiating off the warm sand and having you breathe in a calm tuft of salty air. 

As you sat and enjoyed the serenade of sweet bugsong, that silence was interrupted by a heavy trudge of bootheels grinding in the coarse sand. You recognised that trek, looking up into the scarred chest of Massacre Soldier Killer as he inserted himself between Bepo and you, lifting his shirt and revealing his wide chest to the five of you.

“These look even to you?” He asked behind his mask, prompting all five of you to look up at him and the other four of your company immediately recoiled at what they were witnessing. Killer was freshly adorning ball barred piercings thrust through the tips of his nipples, the indents bleeding and beginning to crust over with a soft sheen of puss.

“Kil...” you groaned, shaking your head and sighing, “...I thought we learnt the last time our Captain attempted to gift the crew with piercings. Remember what happened with Quincy’s labret and Heat’s-... uh-...” you looked down at the whimsical and innocent eyes of the reindeer before turning back to Killer, “...ladder.” 

“Said he cleaned ‘em this time,” Killer shrugged, gesturing for you to take a closer look at the freshly pierced buds on his chest, “It’s been a week. Needed some fresh eyes to give an honest opinion.” You shook your head, leaning in closer and looking at his pink puckered flesh and groaned. 

“They look,” you began sighing and rolling your eyes, “Fucking infected, Kil?” Snickers from Shachi and Penguin didn’t go unnoticed, and you shot them a sneer before shooting the reindeer an apologetic glance. 

Standing from your seated position beside the other crew, you gave them a gentle nod to excuse yourself and dragged Killer by his ear towards the Victoria Punk’s infirmary. You muttered under your breath, seething with the fumes of fury with each step you took towards your office doors. 

“Here I thought I was gettin’ a fucking break,” you grumbled, shoving Killer into your office and slamming the door shut behind you. “But no,” you uttered sarcastically with a dance of your head, “No, you had to keep me in the dark about this, didn’t you?” You open the drawer and thrust your hands aggressively into the box and get two rubber gloves and angrily thrust them over your wrists. 

Your mutters and frustration never ceased, your nose beginning to sniff and your anger teetered on sorrow the longer you looked for the variety of items to clean up the infection. Saline solution, antiseptic ointment, numbing balm to remove the pus-surrounded bars, cotton balls and gauze strips. 

Shoulders shaking, you rubbed your eyes with your forearm to calm the sting of fresh tears from falling. Thoughts of what the Heart-Pirates would be saying about you behind your back, your medical degree being the laughing stock of your peers. Your eyes began to swell as you continued choking back your sobs of rage. 

“Am I a fucking joke to you all?” you whisper, biting your lip and readying your treatment tray with the items you desired. “All I do is fix stupid mistakes and coddle you lot when you’re hurt. I’m a disgrace to my training, a laughing stock to my field, and a fucking idiot for joining this crew in the first place. I just want a damn break-.” 

Before you could continue your monologue of degradation, two strong arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind and squeezed you into his broad chest. You immediately draw your hands up to Killer’s forearms and quiver your lip to stifle your sobs further. He leaned down into your cheek with his mask brushing your face.

“You are none of those things,” he whispered in his calm, soothing voice, “And I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark about Cap’n’s latest project. Thought it wouldn’t happen again, honestly.” You sniffled, leaning your head into his mask and clenching your eyes tightly shut. 

He inhaled deeply and slowly, prompting you to do the same, before you both exhaled together. His arms held so much comfort within the contours of his muscles, him being often the crewmate everyone sought out for consolation for their sorrow. After holding you for several moments, you tapped his arm twice to signal for him to release you from his embrace.

“Alright. Shirt off, Kil,” you mumbled softly, attempting to remove the softness you just encountered at the hands of the first-mate, “Let me see what’s going on up close. Can you do that for me?” He nodded, removing his shirt and placing it on the back of your office chair. You usher him over to the surgical bench and gesture for him to sit. 

As you dabbed at his skin, you ignored the flood of somber emotions in your chest and shoved them down. Removing the ball-bar piercings and immediately throwing them in a sterilizing sink, you cleaned the wounds and looked vacantly ahead of you. Dressing the wounds in antiseptic and covering them with two broad, patterned band-aids, you gave your final nod at him and pouted.

“All done,” you sniffed, dropping your shoulders and removing your gloves from your hands. “You can put your shirt back on now, Kil. Go get the Captain so I can do him the kindness of scolding him away from the Heart and Straw-Hat pirate crews.” Turning away from him and running your fingers through your hair as he placed his shirt back on, Killer’s arms rewrapped around your body and turned you in his arms immediately thereafter. 

He cradled your head into his chest, his body heat and steady heart rate causing your emotions to finally flood over. Finally airing your frustrations, you wrap your arms around as much of him as you could as he soothed you against the embroidered jolly roger of his shirt. 

“You wanna stay here for a while?” Killer asked down at you, caressing your hair and smoothing it over, “I can help you color in the patterns you doodle on the bandaids if you want? Keep you company in here until you’re ready to go back to the beach?” You shook your head in his arms, burying your face deeper into his chest and having him hold you for a few moments longer. 

Chuckling down at you, he smiled beneath his mask at how vulnerable you allowed yourself to be in the moment. Continuing to soothe over your hair and rub circles into your back, he offered you some further confessions. 

“You know we love you, right?” his voice whispered down at you, prompting you to look up at him in his arms. His mask was tilted down at you, the soft glow of his icy blue eyes peeking through the holes in his mask. “So much, Doc. We love you so much.” Your lip quivered as you looked up at him, darting your eyes between where you assumed his were. 

“Promise me,” you sniffed, gulping back your sorrow and fixing your eyes up, “If you’re thinking about getting nipple piercings, or any other type of piercing,” you broke yourself away from his grip and huffed, “You’ll come to me for them. I’ll do them properly for you so they don’t end up infected.” 

Killer chuckled, shaking his head and glancing down at his patterned gauze. He huffed a curt hum in approval at the design. 

“Only if you promise me,” he leaned forward, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, angling your face up at him, “You’ll come to me when you’re feeling shit. I’ll reassure you, give you a squeeze, and might cook you something if you want.” You flinch away from his grip, waving him out of your office with your hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” you offer him, cleaning up the cotton balls and throwing your instruments into the sterilizing tray, “When I feel like a whiny baby, I know where my nice, comforting daddy is.” You snicker at your own teasing joke, shaking your head and continuing to tidy up your office. Killer lingers in the door, his tone physically smirking in his own glee. 

“I would gladly be your nice, comforting daddy,” he whispered huskily from the doorframe, “Anytime you need me to be, baby.” You froze in place, your hands stuttering as you halted tidying up. 

Before you had the opportunity to stifle your blush, turn towards Killer, and chastise him for his words, you noticed he was already gone and heading back towards the beach. Groaning, you clapped your palm over your forehead and muffled the shriek from passing through your lips by clamping your mouth tightly shut. 

“Great,” you utter sarcastically, “This isn’t gonna be awkward at all.”

[megu-meow]

how I met your mother - Gojo Satoru

dad!Gojo x fem.reader

Summary: I recently found out that many TV series and other Manga/Anime are canon in JJK - How I Met Your Mother included - and I couldn't stop thinking about how Gojo would re-enact the thing after watching it. Moreover, all of you deserve some teeth-rotting fluff after that horrifying manga chapter. Enjoy!

"Why am I here?" Megumi asked with irritation laced through his voice as he sat down on the couch, beside the two white-haired rascals he calls his siblings.

"I'm gonna tell you guys the story of how I met your mother!" Gojo exclaims as he sits on his desk chair, in his office at Jujutsu Tech. The desk usually sits in the corner, right beside the window, but now is pushed in front of the couch, so that he can sit face to face with his children, the setup similar to the one in his recent favorite American TV show, How I Met Your Mother. The only difference is that the whole scenario is not played in his home office, but the one at his actual workplace, because you declared your home a Jujutsu-Free Zone.

"Gojo-Sensei..." Megumi sighs as he starts rubbing his forehead with annoyance "I was five when the two of you got together, I heard the story of how you two met a million times, this is not new to me." he explains as three sets of cerulean blue eyes gawk at him from all directions.

"Mama..." the two-year-old girl sitting on Megumi's left puffs with a ridiculously adorable pout on her face as soon as she hears the mention of her mother, and the five-year-old boy on the other side of the couch whiffs the air aggressively with the plush sword his father was forced to buy him on their way to the school.

"I know, Megumi, but this is a special occasion, you're gonna sit through the whole thing again so that you can experience this amazing fairytale with your beloved siblings." the tall sorcerer explains and his attention turns to his beloved daughter, Munchkin as he refers to her. The little girl slowly climbs into Megumi's lap, the boy instinctively helping her settle down as he embraces her lightly from behind, tickling her sides, and the room is filled with childish laughter. His son, or as he refers to him, Nugget, drops the toy from his tiny hands and huffs in annoyance, suddenly jealous of his sister's ability to gain the undivided attention of his favorite person, his older brother. "Now, all of you pay attention."

It was his first day at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Given his extravagant upbringing, Gojo Satoru was a self-centered douchebag with a horrible attitude. He first met Geto Suguru, the only friend he ever claimed he had, the dark-haired sorcerer with a warm smile and polite demeanor, the polar opposite of him. The two formed an unbearable duo and as soon as you walked into the classroom with the three first-year students, four months after the school year began, you knew you had to keep yourself as far away from the boys as possible. You became good friends with Shoko though, the two of you had plenty of common interests and your personalities were similar as well.

You tried avoiding Gojo at all times, you thought he was irritating based on his behavior in class and his rude comments behind your back, ones he whispered to Geto, making your dark-haired classmate laugh obnoxiously. However, Your efforts to stay as far away from him were proven to be useless when Yaga paired the two of you for a mission.

"So, why is a clan princess like you avoiding the strongest sorcerer of her time? Didn't your family tell you about the power and influence my family holds over the jujutsu society?" he asks you cockily and you chuckle dismissively at his words.

"I'm not a clan princess, Gojo! On the contrary... I come from a family of non-sorcerers and I was an outcast my whole life because I kept seeing things that others couldn't." you said as you kept hitting the curse with sharp daggers that you wielded in the air with your cursed technique "And I don't care about your power or your privilege, because I'm only here to help others." you make your point even clearer as you throw your last dagger with extra force, exorcising the curse without breaking a sweat.

"And that was the moment..." Gojo begins to explain to his overly bored children, but Megumi interrupts him.

"... when you realized you wanted to pursue the only girl that ever gave you attitude, a.k.a. Y/n. We know, it's getting boring."

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Megumi! This is an amazing story about the two people that raised you. Show some respect!" Satoru exclaims with an offended expression and Munchkin hides her face in her tiny hands, thinking that she is the one who is being scolded, trying to hide from her father's light-hearted attempt at discipline.

"Papa, can we have Splendid Sushi?" the white-haired boy asks, boredom evident from his facial expression.

"Nugget, you just ate before we came here." Satoru pouts, clearly disappointed in his kids.

"I know, I'm still hungry."

"I'm gonna wrap this story up quickly and we can go eat after." he gives in, a sad expression on his face.

After that moment you shared on your mission, Gojo changed. He was still annoying and arrogant, but he tried acting like a decent human being around you. In one instance Suguru explained that the remarks they exchanged with each other were making fun of Yaga-Sensei, not you. He felt the need to clarify that after Satoru complained to him about how much you seemed to hate his guts.

These things shed a different light on Gojo, you noticed how he was very attentive when it came to the small details you shared about yourself when the four of you first years were hanging out. He also ensured that you got home safe whenever you went out as a group and he even gave you his jacket so that you wouldn't catch a cold.

He also started complimenting you, your looks, your advancement with your technique, and he thoroughly enjoyed how you blushed every time he called you sweetheart or any other nickname he came up with on the spot. However, you were stubborn, even more challenging than some curses he fought.

"I'm gonna wife you up one day, sweet girl! Even if it's the last thing I do." he whispers into your ear as your head is resting on his shoulder while you're being driven home by an auxiliary assistant from a challenging mission. He thought you were sleeping, but you could hear his muffled words and your lips curled into a slight smile. Because Satoru was good, kind-hearted, and loving in his dorky, obnoxious way.

"Papa, where is Mama?" Munchkin asks with tears in her eyes, clearly distressed from the long period of time she had to endure without her Mama. And the only thing Satoru can do is get up from his chair, walk towards his little baby and embrace her with his strong and bulky arms, trying to comfort her, because he knows exactly how terrible it feels being away from you. He coos at her lovingly, kissing her chubby cheeks and he sits back down to continue with his story. He also puts out his hand, using blue to fetch a pink fluffy blankie he keeps in his office. Megumi rolls his eyes at this, he finds it annoying how Gojo uses his techniques so unnecessarily.

A month after Satoru's not-so-secret confession, at Nanami Kento's birthday party, it happens. Your first kiss. For the most part, the party goes terribly for both of you. He is standing in a corner, drinking seltzers orange soda furiously as he observes how a third-year is trying to hit on you with cringey pick up lines that make Gojo want to throw up. You seem uncomfortable with his advances, but Satoru doesn't intervene, because he has no right to. You two are not dating, you are just very close friends. Nothing less, certainly nothing more. However, as that idiot steps closer to you and you try to bring an end to his flirting, Satoru observes the deep discomfort in your eyes and the twirling of your hands, trying to wield some glass shards with your technique from the broken bottle spilled onto the floor. He decides to intervene, and with a single clap of his hands, he's beside you, his fingers slip into yours, stopping you from using your technique, knowing that using it without permission on school grounds could get you in trouble. The third-year leaves instantly once Gojo arrives and there you stand in front of the white-haired sorcerer with thankful eyes.

"Thank you, Satoru!" you say and from the many shots of sake cups of tea you had, you gain a newfound courage within you to get on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. Or so you think, because in the last moment, he turns his head and your lips land on his. It's a short kiss, basically a peck, but the sobering reality of the consequences of your actions hits you like a train.

"I'm sorry, that was a mistake..." you mutter and you run out of the party, leaving him there disappointed.

After that, you don't talk to each other for two weeks. Gojo tries in the beginning, but you stop all of his attempts because you are too ashamed of your actions. After a while he becomes petty himself, claiming that it's for the better and saying the two of you wouldn't have lasted in the first place. He does it in the usual Gojo fashion, making sure that you hear every word leaving his mouth. He wants you to hurt just as much as he is, but as soon as he spots the puffy, red circles under your eyes, he regrets ever being mean towards you.

"Dada, why you make Mama cry?" the toddler in his lap looks at him curiously, her lips in a pout, clearly disappointed with her father.

"Hey! That's not true, Mama made me cry first, Munchkin."

"You never cried in your life, Gojo." Megumi intervenes and if Satoru could kill with his Six Eyes, he would annihilate the Fushiguro kid right now.

"Is the story over, Papa? You said we'd go to Splendid Sushi after." Nugget whines once again and Satoru knows he has to finish up soon, otherwise, his son is going to throw a tantrum.

Satoru rushes into the medical ward upon hearing the news. You went out on a mission alone and you were brought back by Yaga himself, on a stretcher. He doesn't know any more details than that, but he's frantic. As soon as he spots you on one of the disgustingly hard hospital beds, being treated by Shoko with blood running down your beautiful face, Satoru is standing beside you, holding your hand. You are unconscious, but it doesn't matter, his six eyes tell him that your cursed energy is stable, you have been knocked out, that's all.

"Step aside for a second, loverboy, I have to heal the cut on her arm." Shoko says with a smirk and Gojo steps away hesitantly, watching carefully as your scars slowly disappear. The healer leaves the room as soon as she finishes and Satoru is quick to return to your side, his fingers laced with yours once again.

"Gojo?"

"Am I not Satoru anymore, sweet thing?" he asks disappointedly and your mouth curls up slightly. You could have died, but he's still hung up on the way you addressed him. You look down at your hands, not able to respond. You don't quite know what you two are anymore. "I was really scared, you know? I cannot lose my favorite girl this soon, otherwise I would go insane."

"It's not a big deal, Satoru..."

"But it is...Don't you get it?! I love you." he confesses, he seems furious, but his eyes glisten with the utmost adoration "It's you, it's always been you. The one who keeps me grounded, the one that makes it worthy to be the strongest, because all this power is meant to protect you, sweetheart. So please don't ever go two weeks and four days without talking to me and for the love of god, please don't go out there on reckless missions without me because I don't want to hear about you coming back on a stretcher ever again." he brings your hands up to his lips, kissing them gently and you swear you can see tears swelling in his precious eyes.

"I love you too, Satoru." you reply, your voice barely a whisper. He's shocked, for a second, the next he's leaning closer asking for permission to kiss you properly. You grant it to him and he unites your lips in a long-awaited kiss, one that seals the fate of the rest of your lives, without even knowing it.

"That day, in the hospital ward of Jujutsu Tech, I promised my classmate, the girl I fell deeply in love with, that I would protect her no matter what. That I would love and cherish her with all of my might till the end of my life. I promised her that one day I would marry her, when I went back home with you, Megumi, and told her I was planning on raising you at eighteen, while she simply agreed to help me all the way, no questions asked. Three years later I vowed to her that I would be beside her in sickness and in health. When you rascals were born, I promised I would take care of her and you guys with all the energy I have. Deep down I knew from the moment she stepped into that classroom when I was fifteen that she would be the one for me. And that kids, is how I met your mother." he finishes with a fond smile on his face, but it quickly falters as he notices that Nugget is once again preoccupied with whacking the air with the toy from earlier, Megumi is on his phone and Munchkin is sleeping soundly in his embrace.

Suddenly, he hears your footsteps from down the hall and your sing-song voice coming through the door.

"Where's my beloved family at?" you ask playfully, opening the door to his office, and peeking in. Upon spotting the sleeping toddler in his arms you keep quiet, approaching the two of them and you take your daughter into your embrace. You look around the room, observing the changes, the very bored teenager and your rascal of a son sitting on the couch and you quickly connect the pieces of the puzzle.

"You did it, didn’t you, Satoru?"

"What, sweetheart?" he asks faking innocence.

"The How I Met Your Mother Thing? The idea you were talking to me about the other night."

"Maybe."

"Oh, my poor babies, you had to sit through that cliche story. How long did your dad keep you bored, Megumi?" you ask, your tone teasing.

"Actually it wasn't that long after Nugget started whining." the raven-haired boy explained, looking fondly at his only mother figure.

"I'm so sorry, guys, let's go to Splendid Suchi, okay? That would make you all feel better." you add, leaving a loving kiss on all the kids' heads. Your son lifts his head with incredible speed upon hearing you mention his favourite restaurant, up until now he didn't even notice your presence, too preoccupied with his new toy. Suddenly everyone is up on their feet, ready to have a scrumptious meal.

You and Satoru stay behind a bit as the two boys run out of the school and Megumi summons his demon dogs so that the two of them can play with the fluffy shikigami.

"When are you gonna tell ME that fairytale of yours, angel boy? I'm really curious how you scored a clan princess like me." you ask your husband jokingly and he chuckles, raising his sunglasses up his nose. His hands quickly snake around your waist, pulling you into a loving kiss. Your daughter finally awakens lifting her head from your shoulder, interrupting the beautiful moment between the two of you.

"Mama!" she exclaims, embracing you tightly, her tired eyes fluttering as you bring her closer to your chest.

"Not only did you steal your Mama from me you get her titties as well?! This world is truly cruel."

[cokou]

❝ PATIENCE ❞

[T. Law × Reader] [ロー×リーダー]

summary* "Stop annoying me will ya'?!" "No." warnings* SMUT* Rope restraints* note ✉* ~ new writing style again lolzz, been a while since i wrote for our dear Law so here it is. // Don't translate or transfer any of my works, this is my only account (Exp. Ao3) // Will not be crossposted anywhere. // Masterlist♡

Another day to annoy your captain. You had picked up a stupid trait of yours to annoy your captain every chance you get, and there is stopping at all. You loved seeing the annoyed expression of your captain everytime he hears the doorknob clink as you enter his office, making himself mentally prepared by your stupid antics.

Today, you're thinking about making him suffer 20x more than your usual personality. Thinking of ways to make him as annoyed as possible, you maybe thought of;

—'accidentally' spilling coffee over his hard work.

—thrashing around crumpling some paperwork of his into the trash. [DENIED]

—Just disturb im so no work is absolutely done.

"Option three sounds like the best... definitely won't get too much of an argument with him maybe.." You scratch your head as you try to make decisions. Thinking about the consequences of each action you will soon make, eventually you went with option three for the most harmless one.

You skipped out of your room, heading towards the Polar Tang's corridors. You couldn't help but bite back giggles as you think of what will possibly happen afterwards,

You finally reach the door that connects to Law's office, letting out your laughter before you return to your serious look as you knock and immediately went inside the office. You could've swore you heard Law sigh under his breath just after you came rushing towards him.

"Captainnn! Guess who's back!" You snicker as you sat on the same chair he's sitting on.

"Whew..i wonder who's back." Your captain scoffs and rolls his eyes, focusing once again on the paper before him. He moves slightly to make some space for the two of you on one chair.

"Guess what!" You take the pen out of his hold.

"W— What? Give it back. " Law reaches for the pen in your hand but was immediately turned away with your sudden movement of throwing the pen onto the trash bin.

"Why you—"

"I have tons of ideas we should do together! Like helping me with these equatio—"

"I don't have time to do equations with you!" Law shuffles through his drawers and picks up a pen, he turns back to his load of papers to do and starts working once again.

You smile at your successful attempt to annoy your dear captain, so now you'd proceed to the next one. You lean your my mouth near his ear,

"We should date each other." Law chokes on his own spit, taking a moment to clear out his throat from the sudden feeling and coughing. You didn't mean the phrase at all, you were jokingly sarcastic, which Law didn't understand at all. You pat his back in order to help him stabilize himself as he finally clears the cough.

"Im sorry— What?" His eyes fixate on you, examining your facial expressions.

"I was sayingg...you should totally dock out onthe next Island!" You shrug off the phrase you once said, making Law much more annoyed that he didn't quite hear you properly or understand what you had said. His thoughts go unnoticed by himself, asking if he had really heard those words coming out of your lips.

Law and you haven't had a good relationship of some sorts, but you wouldn't say enemies or hatred towards each other. Law thinks you two are mostly frenemies on his side, whilst you think that he secretly enjoys your company when you leave him alone or so, but in reality its pretty much the opposite. Law had most bad experience with your jokes and pranks going on around him, he never failed to notice that these always happen to him and him only.

Sometimes even the others join in on the fun of pranking your captain, one had gone as far as Law having to lock you up in your room for 2 days by bringing you food in your room, not daring to let you out unless having the need to. (Which doesn't happen at all)

Law isn't a tad bit into these stupid little jokes of yours, or so you thought. Catching Law smile at those stupid little antics you perform only happens once in a blue moon, it's rare, you'd seen him do this twice only. Making him laugh is starting to feel impossible.

"Lawww..." You poke him. "Lawww..." You poke him twice. "LAWWW"

"God what?!" He pushes your fingers that was poking him away.

"Im bored" you smile and blew raspberries on him.

Law balls his fists as a fit of anger, he could've swore he had couple of beins pop out of his head as he contains his anger, looking down at his table, slightly trembling. You watched him stand up his chair, facing you then. He walks away towards a small drawer,

That's what happened, that's why you're right here, tied up on his office chair as you spread your legs apart, letting him finger you and touch your clit so many times you practically lost xount of how many times you had squirted.

"Doing good yes? This is what you wanted didn't you?" His fingers pistoned in and out of your sloppy cunt, making squelching sounds coming from you. Your head is hazy and blank, you could only focus on his fingers as you felt another pang of orgasm coming throughout your whole body.

"M'—close.." You moan as his fingers continue doing the work, he fastens his fingers in and out of you as you once again reach your climax.

"Woo, did a great job, (Name)-ya." He removes his clothes pieces by pieces until he's fully stripped off, his cock stiff and leaking pre-cum from its slit. He traces the entrance of your pussy, carefully gliding his fingers against the rope restraints that he had installed on your body.

He slowly presses his dick inside you, making you release a loud moan. It's gonna be another long night afterall.

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.

[styllwaters]

KNIGHT ETHNIC GROUPS, ORDERS AND CULTURES: A GUIDE

MAP OF ETTERA (Knight Homeplanet)

Standard map [continents shown]

Regional map [territories shown]

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

I have here a weeks worth of writing and art because I for some reason enjoy torturing myself! I've been slaving away at this for so long but it's finally done and polished. So! As promised, I'm gonna talk a bit about the different Knight cultures/ethnicities, territories and general social structure.

Knights are one of my alien sophont civilisations from my Vivere 44 headworld. Here are more links from my previous posts:

Introductory post

Knight deities

Knight languages and names

With that being said, worldbuilding textwalls below the cut!

____

First, an explanation of the maps.

CONTINENTS

There are three main continents on Ettera. The two polar landmasses are Thannoeh in the northern end and Nahrui in the southern end. Thannoeh is divided by east and west, and is home to the two major Polar Knight nations. Nahrui is not occupied by any, aside from explorers or scientists. For many Knights, it is a strange, enigmatic land and a topic of great curiosity. In the middle is Val-srat; the central continent inhabited by Mountain and Plains Knights. The landmass is named as such because it is often represented in folklore as a Knight, with Valazear (the ‘Host’) being the southern Plains territories and Srati (the ‘Helmet’) being the northern Mountain territories. The Ihmna Stretch is the section of land connecting the two countries - ‘Ihmna’ is the Ferhahti word for the Integrator organ which joins the host and helmet’s consciousness.

Plant life on Ettera takes on hues of red and orange.

____

Before I get into the different ethnicities, I should elaborate more on how Knight Orders are structured and the different titles; some of the clothing articles are specific to status.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE

Most Knights live in groups called ‘Orders’, which I talked more about in this ask.

The standard roles for an Order are as follows:

Commander - Makes decisions, protects and supports the group. Commanders lead the Order across difficult terrain, plan out hunts, and take care of their members. A Commander might be chosen based on generational succession, experience, or strength. Depending on the rules of the Order, a Commander might be challenged by a Knight who desires their position, although only an elite or lieutenant would be permitted to do this. In more traditional and conservative orders Commanders are always Pike-forts.

Lieutenant - Second in command. The Lieutenant is the Commander’s primary advisor and runs the Order when they are unable to. A Commander may train their lieutenant to one day take their place as leader, or a lieutenant might serve multiple generations of Commanders without ever challenging them.

Elites - A selection of Knight soldiers who are exceptionally experienced, strong and fast. Highly respected by the rest of the Order and carry out important duties such as organisation. They have the highest chance of being the next lieutenant or Commander. 

Soldiers - The main body of the Order, fully grown Knights who are proficient in all the skills necessary for survival. Soldiers are tasked with a variety of jobs to keep the Order healthy and running: they are also farmers, medics, entertainers, strategists, builders, etc. 

Scouts - Scouts are Knights who make reconnaissance trips for the Order. Their job is to gather information about a potential area to settle or travel through. Scouts also have a range of other responsibilities, such as acting as lookouts, messengers, and taking care of Pages.

There are two types of Scouts - temporary and permanent. Temporary scouts are Squires (16-17 years) who have completed their training and are performing Expeditions, which they are required to do before becoming a full soldier. On Expeditions two or three Scouts will travel a certain distance away from the Order, sometimes miles away, to deliver goods to other Orders or to simply evaluate an area/route. Permanent scouts are lower-ranked Knights who are unable to become Soldiers, prefer a caretaker role, or have been relegated to the position.

Squires - Knights in training. Squires learn from a Soldier assigned to teach them. They may be tutored one-on-one, or taught in a group. They learn the ways of the Order and the world around them. Squires will often be assigned small hunting trips with their tutor, or cleaning jobs. Typically aged 7-15 years.

Pages - The youth of the Order, Knights aged 0-6 years. The pages are fiercely protected by every member of the Order. A newborn Helmet or Host will stay with their birth parent/s until they have assimilated, in which care duty is passed on to a permanent Scout. The Scout raises the Pages alongside several others until they are ready to become Squires.

This structure originated from Mountain Orders and spread to Plains and Polar regions a long time ago. Of course, not every Order follows this plan exactly, and there are countless variations. Some Knights don't live in Orders at all, and may live in pairs (which is common for travelling merchants and explorers) or small groups. Very rarely, a Knight may travel alone. This is the case for exiles.

____

You may already be familiar with the Mountain, Plains and Polar Knight regional varieties, but within these subspecies are various ethnic groups.

THE ETHNICITIES

✦ MOUNTAIN ✦

✦ Ferhahti [Ferhaht]

The Ferhahti Knights are an ethnic group located in the Ferhaht territory of Srati. Their thick fur is of various shades of grey and grey-blue. Their clothing styles are typically beige and tan, often complete with rectangular tassels and red accents. The Ferhahti have a ‘New Years’ festival called Khulaam in which they call upon Etteran spirits to bless them with good harvests, hunting and rain. During these festivals there is music, food, dancing and socialising with others. Allied Orders, usually 2-5, will come together to celebrate. Celebrations last five days. Alliances may be temporary or long-lasting, but the Orders will go on a hunt on the final day to bring down a large quarry. Oftentimes there will be a ‘Herald’ dancer who bears a flag on their horn, depicting glyphs of good fortune. 

Since the Ferhahti and Kaata territories are neighbouring, and have no physical borders, Orders from both lands will often meet to trade goods and information. Many Plains-Mountain hybrids are of Ferhahti and Kaata descent due to the close proximity of the nations. 

NOTE: Plains and Mountain Knights are capable of producing hybrid offspring, although they will be infertile. Neither Plains nor Mountain Knights can produce viable hybrids with Polar Knights.

✦ Fejga [Fejg]

Fejga Knights (pronounced Fej-ya) make their home in the Fejg archipelago. They are generally of a bulkier physique than other Mountain Knights, have a coat of thick fur and are well adjusted to chillier climates. They also sport a ‘saddle’ marking on their backs and are likely to have mottled/freckled patterns and blue eyes. Their Orders are partially seafaring, with many sailing from island to island in magnificent ships. Fishing is a large part of their lifestyles as the sea provides a stable source of food. 

Their clothes are frequently made from leather and wool from domesticated animals. It is deceptively thin, as their pelts already provide natural insulation from the cold. Fejga Commanders wear three silver piercings on their Helmets.

✦ Svunacht [Svun]

Svunacht Knights live within the mountain-bordered territory of Svun and the island of Naahek. Orders have a special ceremony for choosing their Commander. The next in line, usually a chosen Host and Helmet born of the previous Commander and their partner, must journey across the Asall mountain range which borders Svun. It is a treacherous, long passage, and requires the Knight to wear a mask to block out the searing winds. They must also wear a spiked collar as a traditional accessory and safety measure to deter larger predators which roam the mountains. They are forbidden from carrying firearms, only armed with a knife, their wits, and natural defences. Ceremonial garments are required, passed down through generations, and three slips of fabric are worn on their horn for good luck: representing strength, wisdom and tenacity. The journey, called the Meha, is the final step in a long series of rigorous training for future successors. 

The painting of Helmets is also a large part of Svunacht culture. It is typically only reserved for Commanders, Lieutenants or Elites. 

★ PLAINS ★

★ Kaata [Kaat]

Kaata Knight Orders inhabit the deserts of Kaat. They are perfectly suited to desert life, their tan coats reducing heat absorbed from the sun. Kaata Knights make their clothing from woven fibres of plants that are garnished with gold pigments derived from a natural mineral found in the sands. They are especially known for their proficiency in fine crafts, and often trade jewellery to Ferhahti Orders across the Ihmna Stretch connecting Kaat and Ferhaht. Kaata clothing tends to be highly detailed and ornamental, with shiny beads adorning arm cuffs, necklaces, mandible rings and horn sleeves. The many gemstone and fossil deposits in Kaat are also incorporated into their styles. Like the Svunacht Knights, Kaata also paint their Helmets, although the practice is not restricted to any particular titles.

★ Saisala [Saisal]

Saisala Knights live in and around the deltas and rivers of Saisal, the southernmost territory of Val-srat. The area is filled with marshlands and everglades, and the weather is more wet and humid than the dry plains of Kaat. Saisala forts sport a dark reddish mane that grows right down their backs and bears some resemblance to maned wolves. Their pikes have hooked horns and sloping spines, as well as more ‘splotchy’ red stripes. Their Helmet eyes also have a pale ring around their pupils.

Saisala clothing styles are characterised by draping, ovular shapes and translucent sections of fabric. The green and gold drapes in the drawing are traditional wedding garments, complete with rounded tassels and a horn extension for pikes. The hanging ‘coins’ have engravings which tell a short but sweet poem.

★ Yaemioui [Yaemiou]

Yaemioui Orders live in a similar environment to Saisala Knights, in the wetland territories of Yaemiou. Their coats are pale like Kaata, but come in a greater combination of hues such as orange, grey and vermilion. Fun fact: all Plains Host pups are born with faint spots to help them camouflage, like lion cubs. Most lose these markings as they grow older, but Yaemioui hosts retain them even in adulthood. Their patterns are similar to painted dogs. The Yaemioui have a rich storytelling culture and have records dating back thousands of years.

Their clothing styles utilise dusky, non-bright colours that are usually two-piece. The outfit in the picture is worn by an elder Pike-fort who has carried and sired many offspring. The spine extensions are an indicator of age and experience, and a mark of high respect. The scarf around their neck depicts circles symbolising their Helmet children, and the circles on the larger cloth represent their Host progeny. 

★ Balkzaiinu [Balkzaii]

On the island of Balkzaii reside the Balkzaiinu Knights, who have dark stripes on both their Hosts and Helmets and short curly fur. Unlike other Orders, Balkzaiinu communities rarely ever hunt - they were one of the first countries to develop farming and agriculture, and import a lot of domesticated animals to Saisal and Yaemiou. They are also the only country that has no Commanders in their Orders, and decisions are made by a council of higher-ups. They live in a tropical climate which receives lots of rainfall and cyclones. They are also masters in boat making and sailing, and contacted the mainland several centuries ago. Balkzaiinu have different decency standards than other Plains Knights, and in their culture it is considered proper to cover the neck area. Their clothing is generally layered and contains colourful, square designs.

✧ POLAR ✧

✧ Aikka [Ehtte Thannoeh]

Aikka Knights have domain over the Eastern section of Thannoeh. The polar word for East is Ehtte, and West Uesse. Since the country is so close to the Fegj archipelago, the two have been in contact for a long time.

Aikka have pristine white fur and a slightly bluish tinge to their Helmets. As with all Polar Knights, they are much smaller than their Plains or Mountain relatives, but are incredibly tough and hardy as a result of surviving in one of the harshest biomes. Ehtte Thannoeh is associated with scientific prowess, discovery and knowledge, and many famous Knight explorers are from Thannoeh. There are several research stations on Nahrui that are run and managed by Aikka; they have no difficulty working in the icy environment. Aikka Knights are also experts in carving, sculpting figurines and charms from the ivory tusks of marine animals. The outfit depicted in the drawing shows an Aikka Scout wearing a pendant with a carved basilosaurus-like animal for spiritual protection. These pendants are often given by parents to children. Their coat has six pockets for navigational instruments, goggles, knives, a spyglass, medical equipment and more. 

✧ Myet [Uesse Thannoeh]

Myet Orders have less contact with other regions than Aikka. Residing in Uesse Thannoeh, Many of them live further inland. Myet Hosts have a more yellowish tinge to their fur and their Pike Helmets have a tan stripe. The Helmets also have a more rounded 'snout'. They have managed to domesticate a large predator which defends their camps and is used as a mount/companion. Like the Balkzaiinu, Myet Orders have a different structure than most, having two Commanders, usually a mated pair, and no lieutenants or elites.

Myet clothing is more minimal than Aikka styles. They usually cover the back with a ‘saddle’ and manipulators with gloves. The outfit drawn is of a Commander, distinguished by the ring of fabric around their horn and eye makeup. In their backpack they carry hunting weapons, and wear a knife sheathed at their side.

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And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, this project is truly a delight to work on. I leave you with some messy concept art I did a while ago for Mountain Knight clothing styles.