#Haphaz

[theheartbrokensystem]

Album Covers!

I FINALLY FINSHED THIS ABLUM COVER PROJECT AUGH, I had a lot of fun with these! The 3rd album has to be my favorite probably. I got inspired by art of Powerpuff Girls music album covers I saw and used them as reference!

[kursed-curtain]

Peak character design

[toadstoolwriting]

Star Crossed- Chapter One

Warnings: google translated russian, injury, anxiety but like low key, awkward reader.

Word count: 1.5 k

Series Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter Two

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The final patrons of the diner were wrapping up their dinner. An old couple sat in the back booth, smiles adored both of their faces. Wrinkles showed their age, but their eyes showed their love for one another. They were clearly made for each other. You watched them with a smile from behind the counter as you prepared silverware for the morning crew.

Mr and Mrs Peterson have been regulars at the diner for many years, even before you started working there. The pair were scented perfectly, both complimenting the other scent. It was a cliche love story, alpha and omega meeting in high school, knowing that this was their person, THE person meant for them. Something you hoped for yourself someday.

The door chimed, bringing you out of your thoughts. You smiled and waved them goodbye before looking at the clock. 9:05 P.M. They stayed a few minutes past closing, not that you mind. Seeing them made you feel so hopeful for your future. You quickly wiped down their table and gathered the plates, taking them to the back of house to wash. The doors swung behind you, greeting you with a squeak. The chef had already left for the night. You couldn't blame him. It was Friday night, after all.

Being in the diner alone made you feel on edge, and the hairs on your arms raised. You couldn't remember if you had locked the front door when the Petersons left. You peek through the entrance to the front. Eyeing the lock, you quickly move to correct the issue. Once the door is secure, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. Usually, you wouldn't feel so nervous. You had no idea why your heart was thundering in your chest. A thud in the office made your head snap in its direction. You were reasonably sure Johnathan wouldn't be in today. He had his kid's baseball tournament. Taking hesitant steps, you moved towards the office. Why John even needed an office, you had no idea.

"John?" your voice shook; clearing your throat, you tried again more confidently, "John?!" You were at the door with no answer. Putting your ear up to it, you tried to listen for movement. Nothing. At this point, you were done with this overly spooky night, and you needed to get into the office to get the keys for the entrance anyway. One more deep breath just in case before you pushed open the door.

The first thing that hit you was the scent of an alpha, an extremely panicked one at that. A sharp lemon scent pierced your nose. You were struggling to breathe. The smell made you need to comfort him and figure out what was wrong. This was so overwhelming you wondered if it was just because of how fearful he had been or if it was something else entirely. You took several more moments to calm your breathing before returning to the doorframe overlooking the office. You would be of no help if your scent was just as intense.

Your eyes went over the room, the light above you barely illuminating the space. The window was broken, the drawers of the desk and cabinets opened, and papers had fallen around the man on the floor. Almost instinctually, you moved to where he was lying. He was breathing. Thank god. Your eyes moved down his torso. He was muscular, and a skin-tight suit in all black hugged his body. Showing it off that much more. One side of the top he was wearing had no sleeve, showing off a shining metal arm with a red star on where the deltoid would be. The arm definitely looked high-tech. The plates of it blended seamlessly with the rest. You've never seen anything like it.

You tore your gaze away from the fascinating arm. Scanning the rest of the man's body for a reason as to why he might be passed out in your boss's office. Though the black clothing wasn't helping, you noticed what seemed to be a gunshot wound to his flesh arm. There was gauze haphazardly wrapped around his waist. But it certainly wasn't put on tight enough to help anything. Your hands graze over a red spot on the gauze. He was definitely still bleeding. And didn't know a thing about first aid.

Willing yourself to think, you tried to figure out what you could do. You didn't want this man to die. But you didn't know him. And he has a bullet wound on his arm and stomach. Clearly, someone was trying to kill him or, at the very least, incapacitate him. He could be a criminal. He did break into the office. That was very evident by the broken window and papers everywhere. Maybe he was looking for something. You looked around one last time, your eyes finding the red first aid kit. He couldn't have possibly broken into the office for a first aid kit.

This was so much for you to deal with. Something about this alpha didn't seem like he was, for lack of a better phrase, a bad guy. But why else would he be here? Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you weighed your options. Guilt settled in your chest, weighing you down at even the thought of leaving him alone. You decided to trust your gut, which might have been a terrible idea, but only time would tell. Getting up from his side, you walk over to the first aid kit. You placed it on the desk before getting out the gauze and turning to face him again.

His eyes were blue, and he was staring right at you. It was interesting how he didn't make a single noise when he got up. Or when he walked over to you. He was right there. If it wasn't for the mask on his face, you would probably feel his breath on you. He was taller than you by a lot. Typically, when an alpha was this close, you would feel threatened. But you didn't. All you felt was concern. He was swaying enough to need to put his hands on the desk to steady himself. Effectively caging you in. Taking a deep breath, the same lemon filled your lungs. He was scared again, but it didn't seem like the fear was of you. This was good. You could work with this.

"Hi… umm." Something about his smell drew you in. You wished it wasn't such a distraction and forced yourself to continue. "I need to treat your wounds." You raised the gauze as if proving your point.

He did nothing. He was looking at you with those blue eyes. Seriously, what was it with this guy? Everything about him made you feel like this was where you were meant to be. Considering what was happening, you began to think you were crazy. His face showed no emotion or inkling about what he was thinking. You waited a few moments to see if he would do anything, but he just stayed.

Hoping it was alright, you began moving to escape his arms. He stayed still but followed you with his head. Once you knelt and started wrapping gauze to the primary injury on his stomach, he moved to help you. Guiding your hands around his torso, taking the gauze when you couldn't reach all the way around him. Satisfied with your work, you moved to his shoulder, wrapping gauze tightly around that injury as well.

Looking up at him, you found that he was also looking at you. He has done that a lot so far. "You need to go to the hospital," you gave a small smile, trying to come off as nonthreatening as possible. It was probably a weird thing to do in this situation. However, what you said seemed to have put him out of his trance because he quickly shook his head.

He brought up his metal hand to remove the mask covering the bottom half of his face. "Нет"

"What?" You didn't think you caught on to the word he said.

"Нет, мы не поедем в больницу." He said it matter-of-factly, even though you had no idea what he was saying.

"You need to go to the hospital. You're severely injured. I found you on the floor." You stressed the words hospital and injured, hoping he would understand. But he turned around and took a step before swaying and slamming his hand on the desk to steady himself.

"Fine then, have it your way. At least let me help you." You didn't know why you couldn't leave him alone. At this point, you wished you could because no sane person would do what you were about to do. You took a step towards him, looking into his eyes. You moved to have his arm around your shoulder and yours around his torso. "Okay?" Looking up at him for confirmation.

He nodded. It was barely there, but this close to him, you could tell it had happened. With each step towards the front, you could tell that he was struggling. You also noticed that he felt very light. Considering his build, you suspected he was keeping most of his weight off you. You were grateful for that as you didn't think you could support him completely, but you hoped you were doing enough.

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A/N: Hi! I had fun writing this actually. I might mention the omegaverse dynamics more than I originally thought but it still won't be the main focus. Also I intentionally didn't re-translate the russian because the reader doesn't know it. (if you do, no you don't)

Also constructive criticism is welcome just be nice my heart can only take so much.

No beta we die like men

See you in the next one - Phrog

[theloveinc]

(kinda-divorced!kiri tag here!)

(warning: you’re in a dress + angst)

-

It’s not even a date that you’re getting gussied up for, yet almost-divorced!Kirishima finds himself more nervous than ever.

Sat on the corner of the bed you used to share, watching you hop around the room in between attempts at fixing your shirt, your hair, whatever it is that even needs fixing in the first place, he can’t tell. Your son, playing on the little gaming console he got him at the promise of no longer being ignored at the dinner table, across the room on the big blue armchair, looking up every few minutes as if chaperone to the hijinks of his falling apart family. 

You look better than he’s ever seen you, though Kiri knows that’s not really true, just some trick of whatever part of his mind wants to torture him for all the times he took you for granted looking like this before. Sure, he didn’t shy away from laying on the compliments that first hero gala he took you to all those years ago, but he remembers your last anniversary (14 months and 3 days ago, you skipped what was supposed to be your most recent) and how he left dinner at the agency’s request before he could say something about… anything.

Kiri is pretty confident you remember. Still, he tries not to let the memory get him down. He clears his throat.

“You look nice.” 

You barely spare half a glance (half a smile, really) at him from where you stand in front of the big mirror above your dresser.

“Thanks.”

“And you said...” he pauses, as if to wait for an automatic correction, give you the chance to read his mind like you always sort of have… but you don’t say anything, don’t even pause the fluffing of your hair, take the pins out of your mouth to acknowledge his presence. “You said you’re going to a club?”

“A birthday party. At a club.” 

Technically, he knew that already, though his stomach still lurches and flip flops at the thought of you at some dingy bar, alone, with no one to protect you. Even worse, almost, with other women, all of your friends, whispering that it’s okay to let loose, to have a drink, maybe even find someone new to share your slice of birthday cake with rather than taking it home.

“For who?”

You still don’t look at him. 

“A mom friend. You don’t know her.”

That’s right. He stopped making time for all the parent events you used to sign up for a long time ago. They’re probably not even events anymore, just tea while the kids all play screaming in yard. It was never your yard.

He has yet to forgive himself.

“At a club?” 

From out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice the way son rolls his. 

“Yes, Eijirou.”

Somehow, his first name hurts even worse, and he tries not to say anything. Not to let out a gush of all the bottled up tears within him, or even worse, a stream of “how could you-s” and “don’t talk to any guys, okay? Alright? Okay?” 

He knows he doesn’t have the right to say any such things to you anymore. That it’s you who’s hurting, who has the right to do what you want… not that you would do anything crazy (in fact, he knows you wouldn’t, too focused on taking care of yourself, your son, all the things he ruined, by himself, without help), but you deserve to have fun when you can. You deserve to feel beautiful and loved and wanted, by men who actually take the time to tell you that you’re pretty, and friends who actually tell you they want you around. 

He feels his heart collapsing in on itself, the damage already done and yet still causing collateral on the rest of him... and yet, he still can’t bring himself to let go. 

“Do you... need any help?”

Kiri wants to do what he can, prove he’s still there for you the way you always were for him. Even if all that means is tying the sash around your little cocktail dress, helping to wedge your feet into the pointed heels you dug up from the bottom of the closet, smoothing oil into the tips of your hair. 

But his son replies instead, nearly interrupting as he immediately hops off his seat and haphazardly throws his expensive gaming device back in his place. “I can do it, dad.” 

He reaches you before he can even (get his head out of his ass) blink, instead forced to watch as you easily turn, accept, and smile at, the warmth of your son’s hands on the back of your neck as he doesn’t even have to reach for the clasp. Kiri wonders when he got so tall, when his dark hair grew so long, when he stopped looking so much like you and started looking tons more like him.

But he nods. Mindlessly, in acceptance, at least to look a little less pathetic and heartbroken over the fact that your son is taking his place (and you’re letting him).

[imagines--galore]

||Love, A Kind of Magic|| Part One

Summary: Who would've thought you'd meet your other half while on a mission to save the world from the ruler of the Dark Dimension. It certainly gets a little trickier when that someone is the niece of Dormammu. Not to mention a powerful sorceress in her own right. But Stephen Strange and Clea are willing to make it work. Somehow.

Pairing: Dr. Strange x Clea (Kind of OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: General. Romance. None, just some nightmares and a little kissing.

A/N: So I know we’ve been introduced to Clea at the end of MoM, but this is something I wrote AGES ago. Its sort of an OC take on Clea so I hope you guys enjoy it! And I’m taking fic requests now if anyone wants to send them in!

"How many?"

Doctor Stephen Strange glanced up from where he had been reading yet another book. The woman stood there, arms folded, silvery white hair framing her soft features, cascading around her shoulders in natural waves. Her eyes were distant, he noticed, frowning slightly as he spoke.

"Sorry?"

A sigh left her lips, her arms dropped and one of her hands came up to push her hair back before she spoke again.

"How many times did you die?"

A flicker of confusion before realization dawned. He pursed his lips, shifting his attention back to the elegant Sanskrit in front of him.

"I do not wish to speak of this Clea." Was his only response, prompting the woman to emit another sigh. A step forward and she was kneeling beside him where he had been sitting in the armchair for the last half hour. One hand moved to rest atop his knee, the other to press a soft palm against his cheek, willing him to look at her. Which he avoided by keeping his gaze on the book. Though he wasn't really reading. Not anymore.

"No, but it is not good to keep it all inside either." Her voice was slightly pleading as her thumb gently stroked along his jaw, skin grazing against his facial hair every now and then. Her blue eyes, a trait so unlike her heritage, were full of trust and hope. And considering the dimension she hailed from, it was rather ironic.

Still despite his heart and thoughts feeling heavy in his chest, Stephen kept quiet. And it was after ten minutes that Clea finally relented. Sighing in slight disappointment, which had him wincing given how he hated to disappoint her, she rose. His gaze finally found hers as she smiled at him, hand still resting against his jaw.

A sad smile.

Not of pity. For she would never have pity on him no.

No, the smile was because he had come to rely on himself for so long that he found it hard to rely on others.

It had taken her months to gain his trust. And given her roots, Clea did not blame him. But saving his life twice, one of them being from the hands of her uncle did leave an impression on a man.

Still she wished he would trust her just a little more.

With a brief run of her fingers along the silver in his hair Clea left the room.

                                           ————————–

Astral projection was a favorite past time. And given she was not human, it didn't have any lasting effect on her physical body. Clea wandered through the hallways of the Sanctum. Most nights she would venture out into the great New York City and simply explore. Often she would come back at dawn. But before returning to her body she would stand atop the roof of the Sanctum and watch the sunrise.

That particular night, something compelled her to return an hour after her venture began. And as her astral-self passed by Stephen's room while floating towards her own, she picked up a restlessness from within. Clea frowned and reaching out to brush the tips of her fingers against the wooden door.

And quickly drew it back with a gasp.

The aura within, obviously Stephen's, was restless and experiencing some form of turmoil. A turmoil that made him feel emotions that would break a normal being mentally.

A ghost of a whisper and she was back in her body with a sharp gasp. Scrambling from her bed, and donning a floor length robe, she made quick, yet haphazard work of tying it at the front before racing towards Stephen's room down the hall.

Throwing the door open she was greeted with a sight that had her eyes widening in horror.

Every object in the room was either trembling as if being shaken by an earthquake, or flying about as phantom hands played with them. Chairs, books, tables, ornaments. Thank goodness nothing too precious or delicate. At least not as far as she could see. Her hair whipped about her face as it caught the wind from the floating objects. But the one sight that caused yet another sharp cry to emit from her lips was the sight of Stephen.

His hands glowed with strands of his magic, fingers trembling as he tried to form some sort of spell. He was still fast asleep. He was muttering incoherent words, she could see his lips moving.

Dodging the objects as best as she could, Clea made her way to his bedside on deft feet.

"Stephen!" She called out the second she reached his side. His brow was furrowed, face etched with fear. "Stephen!" Her plea echoed once more her hands reaching out to still his as she brought them up in front of her to try and calm him down.

"Wake up!" A command, and a spell as she projected her more wakeful thoughts to him.

With a gasp his blue eyes shot open. Clea was taken aback by the fear and horror she saw within. As well as the tears. Behind her she heard the objects clatter to the ground. Felt his magic dissipate from his scarred hands. For the next few minutes she just sat there beside him, holding his hands as he tried to calm his breath. And collect his thoughts. Throughout Clea stayed silent, allowing him as much time as he needed to recover. Her thumb would stroke across one of the scars on the back of his hand every now and then. But other then that she made no movement.

Finally, Stephen bowed his head atop their joined hands, resting his forehead against the soft skin of her hands.

"I lost count." The word was spoke so softly she could barely make out what he said. Leaning down she placed her forehead against the back of his head, inhaling the scent of his hair as she squeezed his hand, a silent indication for him to continue.

"I lost count. And I almost gave in. I almost gave in to Dorumammu." A trembling sigh, which broke her heart to hear.

But he continued. "But then I heard this voice. A voice that called out to me to stay strong. To not give in. It was barely there the first few times, and I thought it was my imagination." She felt him push against her forehead and pulled back, just as he did as well. The fear was gone from his eyes. As were the tears. He simply looked at her with a strength that made her admire him, and another emotion which made her half dark heart beat violently in her chest.

"It was you. You helped me that day." His admittance that he knew it had been her lending him strength made the half-faltine sigh and give a small shrug.

"Well I have issues with my uncle and had a desire to see him bested." His deep chuckle followed her words, and she found herself smiling as well. Grasping her hands in return he slowly brought them up to press his lips against the knuckles of her right hand.

"And you helped me today." A blush stole across her cheeks and she bit her lower lip, blue eyes gazing at anything but him.

"I just woke you up. Many people would not be so happy about being woken up." Stephen smirked that knowing smirk of his that had her debating one whether she should slap him or kiss him.

She settled for neither.

He knew exactly what kind of effect he had on her. And if he was going to be smug about it, well two could play at that game. Besides, maybe it would distract him from whatever night terror he had just experienced.

Drawing herself up, her lips pulling into just as smug of a smirk as his, Clea spoke. "Then again, I may have had other things in mind." Here she leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret, as she whispered.

"After all, most nightly activities are only enjoyable when two are involved." She purred, eyes alight with mischief and playfulness. Her sudden shift in demeanor had Stephen blinking in surprise at her for a brief second.

Before he burst out laughing.

Clea, for her part, huffed in annoyance. "Or perhaps I came to the wrong person." She said, moving to slip her fingers out from between his as she moved to get up. But was pulled back with a yank that had her loosing her balance and falling against Stephen, her face inches from his chest. Her hands pressed against it to keep herself from falling into him completely. She tilted her head up to look at him, and reward him with a sarcastic quip.

But the second their eyes met, the words were forever lost in the ever changing landscape that was her memory.

Neither remembered who moved first. But their lips were touching. Eyes sliding close. Bodies moving much closer then they had been before.

The first few kisses were soft and slow, tentative at best, testing the waters. He cupped her face, while she smiled against his lips, feeling him smile in return. But as their bodies shifted, to Clea lying on top of Stephen, hands resting on his chest, while his played with her hair, the kisses turned heated. His teeth bit down on her lower lip, making her gasp, allowing him the chance to make the kiss deeper, prompting a deep moan from the woman as she lost herself to the sensation of his mouth and his hands.

"You do remember you have to meet with the Avengers tomorrow." Clea finally spoke, her mind in a complete jumble as his mouth moved from her lips to her face. His goatee left a rough sensation that she found she liked as she smiled softly under his ministrations.

"We need to work on your timing and bedroom talk." The man mumbled against her cheek, laying a final kiss against her soft skin before pulling back. Slowly he turned to his side, allowing her to drop down on her side as well. They lay there, breathing softly, cheeks flushed and eyes saying the same thing.

More.

But not tonight. They both knew that. They would not take a step further. Complicating their relationship. A kiss was simple. Easily swept under the rug.

Though they both had a feeling not with the way the kiss felt.

"What're you up to tomorrow?" Stephen spoke after a minute or so, moving his arm to wind around the side of her waist. Clea, for her part, lifted her hand to start running her fingers gently through his hair at the side of his head.

"Teaching a few classes at the Kamar-Taj." She responded. "Wong finally allowed me to take on one of the advanced classes."

He hummed in response, already drifting off. And once his breathing evened out and she could feel his body relax into the bed, Clea allowed herself a soft kiss to his forehead and lips.

"Sleep well Stephen." She whispered the words filled with utter adoration, trust and love. His handsome face was the last vision she saw before she drifted off as well.

[peachdoesfics]

Brooklyn Baby {Bucky Barnes x Reader}

(Slight warning: This fic will have some graphic violence, mentions of stalking, and overall fuckery. I will be adding T/Ws and C/Ws to them chapters, and they will be summarised in the next chapters very lightly so that you don't miss anything. Worst of all, it has swear words in it!! Oh no!!)

Chapter Two

★

Inside the stuffy, mirrored elevator, you spent your time obsessively running your hands over your blouse in an effort to de-crinkle it- though it was actually perfectly fine, apart from the little duck's tail that had worked its way out of the back of your skirt. But you didn't notice that. Instead, you mindlessly listened to the repetitive elevator tune that blared lowly from the one speaker, the notes seeming to go from one ear and out of the other; highly forgettable.

Finally, a high pitched 'ding!' sounded out, and the elevator stuttered to a stop. You'd half expected the doors to open to reveal the inner workings of an elevator shaft, the blasted thing having not pulled you up far enough, and you'd have to sit inside the metal box until some agent or firefighter pulled you out. It was probably just your inner anxiety playing it's tricks again, but at least you wouldn't have to show up to work. Facing your new boss seemed a hell of a lot less frightening right about now. You'd rather be in a pit of snakes, or fighting off a horde of never ending zombies.

The doors however opened up to a long hallway, it's floors carpeted with a lush soft brown material, and it's opposite wall fitted with a gigantic set of windows, giving a view of possibly the whole of new York. Well, not all of it. You were only on the 15th floor. The skyline was at least another thirty floors up, or a hundred.

Taking a deep breath as you clutched your fingers tightly onto the still warm ID card, you made your way down the corridor. Thankfully, every door, every wall was at least marked with either it's room name, or number. You knew you were looking for the lab, as it had said in the informational email, which you had re-read again and again the night before, each paragraph branded into your brain cells. The only thing it didn't come with was a map or an explicit set of directions, so thank god there were these plaques everywhere.

The aforementioned lab sat at the far end of the hall, a set of transparent glass double doors guarding the room ahead. Fixed onto the wall next to them was a small keycard scanner, to which you obviously hovered your card over.

You held it there for a few seconds.

"F/N, L/N." A polite sounding male automated voice spoke out clearly.

"Clearance level 0. Access Granted."

The door clicked in its lock. Instead of standing there, marvelling at the technology that you had just witnessed first hand, you rather just pushed the door open, stepping inside the oddly small, messy lab.

C'mon. It was Stark. He could have programmed that as a baby.

The lab itself seemed like nothing special from a first glance, especially from behind those glass doors, which barely offered much of a view. Though, as soon as you took your first step inside, you stared in absolute awe. It looked nothing like you had expected. One of the first things to catch your eye was the collection of either half made, barely started or scapped machines that littered the linoleum tiled floors, ranging from giant robotic arms to the tiniest little nanobots. Of course, there were some that were finished, like a collection of S.H.I.E.L.D commissioned weaponry that sat on a separate table, all ready to be shipped out. (Though at a closer look, they just seemed like prototypes.)

The centerpieces- or at least the wall pieces, in this case, stood like action figures against the far wall. The 'figures' in question were of course the infamous Iron Man suits, lined up next to eachother, side by side. A few looked unfinished, some pieces missing, some of them pieces laying, wires exposed, on a table that stood in the centre of the room, a range of tools strewn about the place haphazardly.

It was obvious that Stark had just left. If you hadn't spent so long staring at the agents that crowded the ground floor, or woken up earlier at that, you probably would have already had your opening conversation, and would have most likely been hovering over the male, taking notes whilst he slaved over one of his seemingly endless projects. Instead, he'd probably be thinking about how useless you were, and would be looking for another intern. A punctual one.

Maybe, seeing as it was most likely going to be not only your first, but also your last day here, you figured that you'd better soak it all in. So, letting only your feet carry you, you practically glided over to the collection of suits, noticing as you got closer that they glittered in the artifical light that cast a dull, flickering glow over the room. Curiously, and without thinking, you let your fingers graze carefully over the breastplate of one of the suits, specifically a red and silver coated one, the shock of the cold metal at first causing you to flinch, but you had eventually adapted to the feel, and began to trace the curves and defined edges of the suit. From up close, you realised just how streamlined the suits actually were. They looked excellently put together, each piece of metal that made up the mechs looked expertly crafted, not a misplacement in sight- unless of course you were Tony Stark himself. Judging by the sheer collection of suits (some of which looked the same), it was apparent that each one must have something wrong with them, though it definitely wasn't visible to the naked eye. Unless of course you counted the one to the far end. That one looked janky. Even you could have done better.

It seemed hell to be living with a mind as brilliant as Tony Stark's. Despite the wealth, the fame that came along with it, and of course the even-better-than-mensa level smarts, it must have been never ending. A mind so enigmatic must have no time to rest. Still, you'd eagerly give an arm and a leg (and maybe your potential future firstborn, to boot), just to live a day in his shoes.

"What do you think you're doing?" You heard all of a sudden, causing you to almost jump out of your skin. Spinning quickly on your heel, you yelped quietly as you saw the man himself, Tony Stark.

And he looked pissed.

"..Mr Stark, I didn't see you there, I'm so sorry!" You immediately stammered out, almost shrinking into yourself. This definitely was not the way you wanted to meet your new employer, never mind one of the Avengers. You backed up, each step almost faltering as your legs had turned to jelly in those few seconds. Stark followed, taking striding steps towards you. Of course, as you weaved and stepped out of the way of the various heaps of messes that littered the floors of the lab, you just had to hit one, and you froze as a loud cacophony of clatters sounded out behind you.

One of the large piles of scrap had tumbled to the floor just behind your feet, which now lay all over the joint. As relieved as you were that it wasn't one of the large robot arms that you'd knocked over, as you'd probably have to sell more than a kidney on the black market to even pay for a quarter of what that cost, you still flashed a nervous smile to the other, who sighed deeply. He rubbed his temples in slow circles as he turned away, walking over to one of the far walls. The sound of tools rattling sounded worse in that very moment than anything you'd ever heard. You wished he'd just say something.

"Has anyone ever told you not to touch what's yours?" Stark spoke sharply after what felt like hours, dropping an armful of tools loudly onto the table infront of him, then rolling up his sleeves. You quickly flashed your ID card to him, to which he barely looked at for a second.

"I'm so sorry for the terrible introduction." You started, following him for barely a few steps, though Stark had already begun tinkering with one of his toys. Swallowing thickly, you halted in a momentary loss of confidence, but continued after a few seconds. "I'm F/N, your new intern.. if you want to write me up, then-"

"Yeah. I know who you are. You're late." Was all Tony said before he pulled down a welding mask over his face. You stepped back almost instantly, covering your eyes with an arm, protecting yourself from the sun-like sparks that begun to fly from the table. You waited until he had stopped welding, having to take it from noise only, seeing as there was no way you going to uncover your eyes and potentionally become blind. Eventually, he did stop welding whatever it is he was working on, and pulled up his mask, his soldering iron now placed on the table next to him. Again, he didn't look at you, instead picking up a pair of tweezers this time, to which he began poking around with.

"Get me a cup of coffee, strong, and black- oh, and a glass of Scotch. Bar is through the glass double doors and to the first left." Within seconds he had pulled down the welding mask again, and you had no choice but to once again cover your eyes, mutter out a quick "Yes, Mr Stark.", and hurriedly leave the room before he said anything else. Just as you were about to pull open the door, however, Stark spoke up again, his voice muffled this time due to the large mask.

"Oh, ice with that whiskey, and go down to that Shawarma place on East 47th." Stark rattled off rapidly. "Not sure what it's called. You should know the one, says 'SHAWARMA' in big letters on the front. Pretty obvious." He then resumed what he was doing for a few moments, tossing his tool onto the table and and rummaging around for another. It wasn't until you had actually left that he yelled out after you.

"Don't come back empty handed. If you do, well.." he clicked his tongue against his teeth. You let out a slight sigh, the door shutting behind you and once again letting out a soft 'click' for the lock. Your heart was wrenching as, five minutes later, you'd walked out of the Tower into the brisk air- albeit dejectedly. On the way out, you'd tried to ignore the nameless receptionist's laser beams for eyes that burned holes into your back, but you couldn't help but turn around, giving her that oh so dirty look you'd been wishing for. She, of course, shot one back without hesitation, but afterwards had looked like she'd been shot. You'd be the talk of the ground floor for weeks now.

Slipping the ID card into your back pocket, you started your long walk down the chewing-gum saturated sidewalk, figuring that you'd pick up the Scotch after securing the Shawarma- even though you had no clue what the fuck you were supposed to order.

The world seemed a little darker now that your dreams had been crushed infront of you by the cruel hand of fate. Maybe if you hadn't have been late, or hadn't have touched the suits, things might have turned out better. You knew you had no one else to blame. Stark's feelings were absolutely valid.

"What a way to get acquainted." You thought. "Imagine having fucked up that bad! Why did you have to touch the suit?"

★

The Shawarma place stood stoically infront of you. It wasn't all that fancy, the sign outside just being a rearrangement of the last owner's attempt at a name- evident because of the ghostly outlines left behind by the previous letters that had been taken off the sign. The plastered walls were showing their bricks in some places, and inside the concrete glue of them bricks grew weeds, which stuck out from between the foundations like thorns. Otherwise, the place looked relatively fine. A menu had been stuck onto the inside of the glass, but you didn't really bother reading it as you walked inside.

The inside looked a lot better. The walls looked freshly painted, as they reflected the light from across the room. A collection of booths stood against the wall, a deep red in colour, along with stools that faced the large, glass window pane, accompanied by a table, equal in height. Above the transparent salad bar (which also doubled as a counter) hung three LED menus, which flickered and stuttered. Everything seemed a bit difficult to read due to the sheer amount of items on the menu.

It took you a good few minutes of just staring to even begin to decide what to get, only more difficult seeing as you weren't ordering for yourself. You knew what you'd get in an instant, hell, in the time it had taken you to order this, you'd have already been out of the door, your food already eaten. Your stomach grumbled at the thought.

"Uh.. I'll take the.." you muttered, letting your finger absentmindedly trace the words on the menu in mid air. The man at the counter only stared at you, huffing under his large moustache, tapping his foot on the kitchen floor.

"What do you want? I haven't got all day." He spoke with an air of urgency, but also annoyance. You weren't sure what he was going on about, the place had just opened, and it wasn't like there was a line forming behind you- you looked behind you to check, just in case. The elderly, olive skinned male drummed his gloved fingers on the glass top as he waited for your order, each second making him more restless, so eventually he just ended up sorting some stuff out in the back. A few barked orders later in a language you didn't understand, a similar looking man, though at least twenty years younger, replaced the other, and rather stood there politely, gloving up his hands whilst he waited.

"I'm sorry, I'll just have the.. uh.." you flushed red, rather embarrassed that you had taken so long that you'd caused a literal staff change, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. "I'll just get the largest thing you've got."

You figured that by going for something that had a range of flavours and ingredients, it would greatly raise the probability that Stark would at least try it. After all, you were going in blind here. Stark hadn't really told you what to get, though you had begun to think that he seriously thought you were a mind reader or something. You'd literally just met the man.

The younger male simply nodded, turning away as he began to make up a large tray of food. You stuck your hands in your pockets, looking around the place as you waited, yet were distracted by the wonderful smells that wafted out from the kitchen. Your stomach grumbled again, but you coughed into your arm to cover it up the best you could. Now you wished that you'd eaten something.

After a good ten minutes or so, you were passed a paper bag, a huge paper wrapped parcel laying within. Just by lifting it off the counter, you didn't have to look inside to tell that it was a hell of a lot of food. Judging by the strong, yet mouth-wateringly delicious aromatic smell, it seemed to be something along the lines of a mixed kebab.

"Fifteen dollars, please." The young chef spoke as he held out a hand over the counter. You looked at him a little confused until it finally clicked, and you placed the bag down on one of the little booth tables, apologising profusely and rummaging inside your pockets for any lose notes, until you realised.

Stark hadn't given you any. You were expected to pay for it yourself. The multi-billionaire wouldn't even give you the time of day, nevermind a measly fifteen dollars to pay for his own food.

Nevertheless, you knew you had to cough up, so you begrudgingly whipped out your wallet and placed a crisp five and a wrinkly ten into his hand. Your last fifteen dollars. You swear you heard your wallet begin to cry. You sure as hell almost did. That was supposed to be your lunch, and your bus ride home. As the other gave you a polite exit from the store and resumed with his work (which now consisted of re-stocking the salad bar), you grabbed the bag and walked out, blood boiling.

"Bastard." You huffed lowly under your breath, speed walking once again down the streets of New York, and all the way to the Tower, the whole time being unable to stop your mouth from watering as the divine smell of the kebab wafted in the air. Paying abolsolutely no attention to the receptionist as you walked in, even though she was whispering and pointing like a witch casting a curse, you stomped your way back into the elevator, and jabbed the elevator button that corresponded to your floor. Your knuckles were white due to just how tightly you were clasping the bag.

Your teeth were gritted as you made your way to the bar- only to realise it was completely unmanned. Normally, you would have waited around for a bartender (if there even was one), but instead you carelessly dropped the bag onto the top of one of the stools and grabbed a glass, shoving a few cubes of ice into it. You barely skimmed over the vast, somewhat alarming collection of alcoholic drinks before you just grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, not bothering about the taste, or the type, or how it was 'the pride of the country' or whatever. As long as it resembled a dark nectar, you were good.

On your way back to the lab, the paper bag now situated carefully under your arm, you scanned your keycard and practically slammed open the door as you entered.

"Your whiskey and food, Mr. Stark." You spoke curtly as you placed down the glass and then the wrapped kebab, taking silent, calming breaths, just so that you wouldn't say anything that could potentially get you fired. Or better yet, not cause yourself the pleasure of having to spend the rest of your life in prison. Sure, that was an overreaction, but it seemed like a perfect way to sum up your feelings right now- even though you weren't so sure as to why you were getting so worked up. Surely, after barely knowing eachother for thirty minutes, he couldn't get any more insufferable?

This whole, overly stressful ordeal reminded you of a movie you'd watched a few years ago. The name didn't come to you immediately, and rather danced tauntingly on the end of your tongue. It was the one with the fashion magazine, and the terrible, villanelle boss that would order her poor army of interns around all day.

The name of the film didn't come to mind in the end, but you did come to one conclusion: Tony Stark sure reminded you of Miranda Priestley.

Tony was actually no longer working, and instead stood talking to a slender, well built woman with her back to you, a red head. Stark, after a few minutes (which you had spent standing still, far away from the two incase you accidentally listened in), took a break from the conversation, giving you an intent look as he strode over, picking up the glass of whiskey first. He studied it closely, dark irises staring into the glass before he swilled it around and gave it a short sip.

"Irish." He muttered. "I wanted Scotch." Yet he still downed it in one, leaving the ice at the bottom of the glass to melt. He then turned away, not even giving a second glance to the food, and you felt your jaw clench tightly in return. The redhead had since taken to looking around the room, poking the tumbled pile of scrap pointedly with her foot.

"This place is a pigsty, Tony." She tutted, to which the other responded with a roll of his eyes. You meekly scratched your cheek, letting out an almost chuckle. It wasn't until you had made a single noise that the redhead turned on her heel sharply, a wide smile immediately infecting her features, already striding over to you with a sway in her hips.

"Oh, you must be the poor new intern." She grinned, walking over to you, and, instead of offering a hand to shake, she had already taken yours in hers, which took you off guard, especially once you had noticed just how strong her handshake was. "I'm Natasha- but everyone just calls me Nat. Only use Natasha if I'm being told off, or someone's dead."

You wouldn't have expected such a strong handshake from someone so..

"Don't worry about Tony." She spoke, her accent sounding odd. It was American, but not like it was her first. There were twangs of another language hidden within some words, making her accent a little strange to hear for the first time. You squinted slightly as you looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly that twang was. The woman just continued talking, almost as if she didn't notice, but the glint in her irises spoke otherwise.

"He can be a little ratty in the mornings- after all, its not like he sleeps much, but that's his fault."

"Might have been because she was late, Romanov." Tony cut in, and you looked away for a moment. Natasha shook her head, looking off in to the distance with an annoyed sigh. Instead of agreeing with the other and his rather menstrual rantings, she instead nudged you with her elbow again, bringing you back into the room.

"Come on, lighten up! First day, right?" She rattled on playfully, also picking up the glass of whiskey that Tony had seemed to just discard. She sipped on the last dregs of the amber liquid, barely making a face as it slipped down her throat, leaving a slow burn in its wake. Oddly, she then picked up one of the least melted ice cubes, held it between her fingers as if she were testing it for the right temperature, then popped it into her mouth, tapping the glass absentmindedly afterwards, as if she hadn't just started to eat ice cubes. She chewed it seconds later.

"Don't worry yourself. I was his intern too, once upon a time. He was the same to me.. but that never changes!" The Russian jeered with a subtle wink, pleasantly accompanied by a hearty laugh. You could only nod politely, not exactly sure what to say, as the only things you could respond with were either a rant about the current events of the morning, which would most likely get you sacked, or just laugh along like a weirdo. You chose to ultimately stay silent. Of course, Nat just carried on talking, so it wasn't like you even had to say much.

"I'll have to tell you the story sometime. Believe me, its a hell of a tale." She spoke, though afterwards raised a hand, offering a slight wave to Stark. "Anyway. I've gotta get going, Tony. Rogers has been bothering me for weeks about those 5 AM runs he keeps on going on about. I agreed one time. One!"

In response, Tony only snorted as he finally descended upon the paper bag that had been sitting on the counter for the last five minutes, the grease speckling the bottom and lower sides of the bag. He didn't care though, and barely looked at the food for a second before he began shoveling strips of the meat into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days. Knowing him, he probably hadn't. Unsure of what to really do, besides watch with a subdued digusted expression, you just stood there, at least a little grateful that he had begun to eat the food that you had paid for.

"Does he not realise.." Stark spoke between mouthfuls. "...That you have much better things to do besides hanging around with 'Boy Wonder' and 'The Robert Smith Tribute Act'?"

Natasha suppressed a laugh, unlike yourself, who couldn't help but release a little chortle, which you stifled behind you hand. The other's lips just curled upwards into a bemused smile. "Yeah, well. You know what he's like. Always wants us to be prepared." She turned away, shaking her head to herself as if in mid thought, slipping her pass out of her pack pocket. She flipped the card effortlessly between her fingers.

"Incase of fucking what?"

"Just incase Hydra shows up again. Hope this time it's in a nice little gift wrapped box. Saves us some time."

Tony rolled his eyes with a grunt, pushing the food away after demolishing at least a quarter of it already. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, to which he rubbed immediately afterwards his graphic shirt, which was now left with a somewhat visible grease stain. The dark colour of the fabric hid most of it, but as Stark moved around the lab like he normally would, it glinted in the light. Natasha crinkled her nose, eyes flickering over to you to pull a face of disgust when Stark wasn't looking. You let out a quiet giggle, which resulted in Stark raising a brow as he looked between you both. You coughed to hide your laughter, hiding your face.

"If only, Romanov." He continued on after a few seconds as if nothing had happened. "Rogers could then have a day off."

"Steve? A day off? Pepper will learn to tolerate you before that happens."

"Hey-" Tony threateningly pointed a wrench at her, but it was obvious he was just messing around, plainly obvious when Nat extended her hand, flipping him the bird. In response, Stark's brows met in a downwards arch disapprovingly, as he then began to use the wrench to tighten up a nut on a random creation that lay half finished.

"Alright, Alright, you know I'm joking, Tony." Natasha flung her hands up in the air in mock surrender, then quickly flicked her card down onto the scanner. The familiar automated voice once again rung out into the air.

"Natasha Romanov, Clearance Level 7, Access Granted."

Leaving with a dismissive wave, you turned away just as you heard her footsteps echo down the hall. Tony didn't really react, though not like you expected him to, and just kept on working in silence. The most you could do was stand there, and after a while you had begun to rock back and forth on one foot, your arm wrapping around your stomach as it grumbled loudly again, annoyingly persistent. Stark either once again didn't seem to care, or just didn't hear, as he instead shuffled around the room, preoccupied, though to be honest it wasn't as if you could expect him to let you go for lunch. It was barely eleven o'clock.

★

Thankfully, the awkward silence was broken by the sound of returning footsteps, and almost as quickly as she had left, Natasha had returned, striding back into the lab. This time she had a folder in hand, and slapped it down onto the table harshly. "Fury sent this through. Funny how we were just talking about something like this, and then it goes and happens."

As Natasha crossed her arms and impatiently tapped her foot, seeming bothered, Stark furrowed his brows, and after having resumed eating in the last few minutes, wiped his hands one again on his shirt before he opened the file, eyes scanning over the short but sweet collection of sentences that littered the page. Nat, having already read it on her way down, scanned the page as he did, looking at him after every sentence as if she expected a reaction. As he turned each page, you could see that they were accompanied by what looked like blurry surveillance photographs containing a manner of things, ranging all the way from petty vandalism, to literal missing people ads.

"You think this is..?" Tony uttered, lips setting into a grim line. Nat could only emit a long exhale and nothing more, nibbling on the pad of her thumb that rested between her teeth anxiously.

"I don't know. Fury seems sure it is, but this could be anyone-"

"Anyone? That is literally their symbol, right there! And the missing people, come on.."

Romanov stood silent for a few seconds, looking deep in thought. Her eyes swept over the file repeatedly, flicking between the pages. "...This doesn't seem like them." Tony started to object, but her face twisted and her nose wrinkled as she shook her head, almost as if she were fighting a thought. "No. Something seems.. off."

"For fuck's sake, the evidence is literally in front of you-"

"Either way, Tony-" She argued, though seemingly unheard, as Tony just talked over her.

"The missing people-"

"Either. Way." Nat enunciated sharply as she swept up the file. "Fury has called us in. I suggest you go, now." She then slapped the file to his chest, giving the other a swift up and down look. "Get changed."

She then turned away, meeting your eye for a few moments, though said nothing, and instead bowed her head. As she swept past you and towards the door, ignoring the male's cries of "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?!" She instead turned to you once again, catching the door with her foot before she left.

"It's Russian." The redhead pointed at you with a very slight, almost hard to muster smirk, then turned again, leaving almost as quickly as she had just re-entered. Her smirk seemed to leave with her, instead just leaving an odd chill. Whatever happened had left an impression on the room, and even Stark was now milling around, mumbling to himself as he too poured over the pages over and over again.

Eventually he did walk over to you, file tucked under his arm, and his hands resting in his jean pockets. "Have the day off." He spoke, rushed. "Come back in tomorrow, around twelve. Don't be late, and don't touch any of my stuff. Got it?"

"Um.. yes, Mr Stark. Sorry."

"Whatever. Anyway, go." He wafted you out of the doors, scanning his own pass for you. Whether it was a nice thing to do, or simply his own way of telling you politely to 'hurry up', you weren't sure, but as you left, he held the door open for you too, though standing in the way. You ended up being forced to shimmy past him, bodies pressing roughly together as you attempted to squeeze past him. Countless words of apology escaped your lips as each second you both spent pressed against eachother passed, though Stark spent that time looking in the other direction, eyes trained towards the lab awkwardly. Eventually you reached the hallway, cheeks flushing a wine stained rouge.

Stark didn't look at you, and edged away, muttering to himself. You bashfully bared your teeth in a half grimace, half smile, swallowing thickly. "..Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mhm."

As you walked down the hallway, in an effort to wipe your brain of the highly embarrassing situation you had just experienced, you thought about all the things you'd rattle off to Alicia when you got home. She'd be dying to hear about your first.. well you wouldn't call it a day, rather morning at work, and you envisioned her gushing over your words as you both shared a tray of food that you'd have picked up from the food truck on the way there. She'd always wanted to go to The Avengers Tower.

Caught up in your thoughts, you were viciously yanked out of them by the voice of Stark, who yelled out after you. Expecting to finally be told off for the 'too close for comfort' encounter you'd both shared, you turned to him, bracing yourself for the worst.

"You forgot the coffee."

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 & @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom (I combined two!)

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. the notes on this post contain the request from @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

content warnings: angry sex (spanking, doggy & creampies); prompts will be bolded.

synopsis: Ivar wants to help you, and you just want to forget.

✎

You couldn’t say you had better coping mechanisms, dark humor and caffeine fueled mock-heart attacks were usually how you dealt with what horrors came from work. Bottling things up, shoving them under the rug that simply could not hold much more. But you never called Ivar a name out of anger. Or out of any emotion other than petty annoyance because there were times you couldn’t believe “Jack Ass” wasn’t his legal name. 

Bitch. 

You’d been called that before, by patients, by your ex, by Hvitserk if there was a loving application to the wording and there always was. But with how the name dropped off of Ivar’s tongue over the phone, there wasn’t an ounce of love in sight. And when the line went dead after his small outburst Ivar knew something had nipped at you. He just wanted you to consider the problem from his perspective—Ivar wasn’t one to talk about his own mentality and although he wasn’t the best example, he still saw someone professionally. You lacked that luxury and he thought you should do it. And you thought you should not.

“Why do you have to be a bitch about this?”

Sigurd even sucked in a quick hiss when the words left Ivar’s mouth, and then when his brother pulled the phone away from his ears quickly, damage was done. Ivar mumbled something about a smoke, anger on his face as he stomped through the shop, but Sigurd couldn’t tell if it was anger for you or anger for himself.

You were no happier when you went home after an unplanned extension to your shift. Taking a patient to the medical center almost an hour away on their own wish was your least favorite thing to hear when your shift ended five minutes prior. Anger might as well spill from your pores as you walked in to see Ivar at the dining table, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and eyes on you. And he looked pissed.

“Sit down.” He demands.

“Fuck you, Ivar,” You spit back.

“No, you don’t get to do that if you’re going to be a bitch about this,” Ivar says and he stands. You can only laugh, spoiled and rotten as the joke rings through you and annoys you even farther.

“Like you’re someone who talks about their emotions,” You say, stepping in through the threshold.

“I never said I was,” Ivar starts. “But there’s someone who gets to hear them once a week and all I want is for you to fucking think about that. That’s all I asked. Because I only know half of what you see on a daily basis, and what I know ain't great, and I can’t imagine what else there is.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a medic,” Your words come to be blunt as you walk past him.

“Oh my fucking god,” Ivar groans and pushes the chair back to thunk his weight across. “Why aren’t you letting me help you?” His words come next and you hear the bottle being opened, and you hear the sloshing of the liquid across the lowball glass and then your hear him toss it back. “I just want to fucking help you,” And Ivar is speaking to the table top now, eyes pinching shut as he scrubs his hands to cover his face. There’s another pour into the vessel and he tosses it back again. “Call me when you want to talk.” He says as he stands, feeling far too unwelcome, pulling his leather jacket back on and fishing through his pockets for his lighter and final cigarette. You hear the stomp from his boots and the deadbolt unlatch and you turn stalk out from your room. Now with bare feet that waltz you back over to where he is, slamming the door into its home and Ivar turns. There’s a look of confusion on his face, unlit cigarette ready to fall from his lips as your eyes bore back up to him.

“I’ve had a shit day—one where nothing goes right no matter what because some people can’t be pleased. Even when I drive them to the medical center, an hour away, and they have to wait in line to get checked in. Do not come over here to be a dick because I don’t want to talk to a shirk about the stupid shit like that. Have you ever seen a burnt body, Ivar? I’ll talk to a shirk about that—but not petty shit that comes with my certificate because it’s called petty shit for a reason.” You say lowly.

“Then what do you want me to do?” Ivar replies.

“Take the fucking cigarette out of your mouth.” And as soon as he complies you’re tugging his face down to yours. His hands move clumsily for a brief second, shocked in a sense with your change of emotions, and they finally latch on to your face. Your feet take you backwards, Ivar with you and you’re all but dragging him. There’s a wait for him to take control, and when you stand back alongside your bed simply looking at him, he catches his cue. 

You’re spun quickly, pushed to bend across the sheets and his hand is over your pajama pants. Slapping a palm across your ass and the sting sends your mind back to the present and it makes you moan. It makes the sharp thoughts dull and you ask him for another one. And another one. A balancing act starts between both of his hands, swatting your back side again because with each time you moan louder, you get wetter and Ivar is still trying to quickly get his own jeans off with his free fingers. He watches you climb up the bed, leaving the shorts in your wake and your wiggling from your shirt, on all fours before him. His jacket lands somewhere behind him, climbing up after you and you’re covered by that man, his hand back along your ass as he slaps it to darken a brilliant shade of red.

“Hang on,” He says lowly by your ear and he can’t help but dip his fingers between your folds, parting you to see how wet you’ve grown for him. A moan slips through your mouth as he does, pulling his fingers back and sliding your juices across his shaft, lubricating his journey and there’s a final slap before Ivar pulls your hips back. As you arch your back in response he grabs a hold of himself, nudging your thighs to part with his knee cap and there’s no slow pace as he pushes himself into you. Spreading your walls roughly and the tip of his cock pushes against your sweet spot instantly, melting into the sheets and your hair is yanked forcefully from his grasp. “I just want to fucking help,” He grumbles from behind you, gritting his teeth and he wants to stay mad at you but the ways your body conforms for him makes it a battle he’s willing to lose.

“Harder,” You beg and he hasn’t even moved yet. “Ivar, harder,” And he watches your fingers dig into the sheets as his free hand grips your hip bone. “Please—I need you so badly,” You whimper and that catches him. “Just make me forget,” The first thrust he offers you snaps you up the bed, rutting the headboard to bounce back off of the wall and you moan. “Harder,” Comes your plea and he drops your hair, free hand taking home to your other hip for leverage and he pulls back to slam into you even harder. The wetness radiating from your cunt echoes to meet the noise of the headboard as Ivar fucks you, your mouth dropping open and the angered thoughts from the prior hours are all gone. Taken up by the pleasure as his body meets yours, torso coming to cover you and Ivar reaches forwards, bending your body so your back meets his chest, and his lips can rest on your ear.

“I want you to forget everything and everyone else, but me—and this,” Ivar whispers in your ear, craning your chin as his hand slithers to grab your throat, sending his point home as his cock pierces you, causing you to whimper as your only way to respond. “And I want you to come all over me,” He grumbles, his voice faltering as his hips stutter, trying to starve off his own end to make you meet yours first. You can only nod in response, not even sure that he sees it as your climax creeps across your skin. Taunting you just out past your grip and the frustration makes you whine.

“Harder—‘m so close,” You whimper and one of Ivar’s hands drop suddenly, pushing against your clit and that sends you to cry out, dropping forwards as his hips moves as fast as his tired body will let them. Snapping up as his wrist moves to try to match it and he feels your walls grab him like a vice, a scream of his name rolling off of your mouth as you lurch in his grasp, soaking him and the whole complex surely hears you come. Crushing aftershocks of your orgasm ripple against Ivar’s shaft and there’s a few final slower thrusts, stuttering as he halts when he comes, the sound of his long groan heavenly on your ears while his arms all but crush you. Panting soon echos between the two of you and Ivar’s quite certain his back popped out of place with the force of his orgasm. As he trails his lips to your temple, gone slick with sweat that lingers from his own hair line, you finally apologize.

“Don’t need to be sorry—I get it,” He says quietly and the grimace from his earlier words are lightyears away. “Just tell me what you need so I can do it,”

“This,” is all you can reply.

“This might have to wait like an hour,” Ivar mumbles, his lips moving to your shoulder blade. “I can’t feel my back,” His confession sends laughter to ring from your lips, his echoing not too far behind and its the first sliver of decency you’ve actually felt since you left for work that morning.

“Bring the whiskey back,” You say, turning your head to seek out his lips and when they plant along yours you can’t help but hum. 

“Don’t like it when you’re upset,” Ivar adds, slowly creeping away from you, slipping back out and you climb through the sheets. In the plush oasis you curl around with the duvet, watching Ivar pull back as his eyes scan to find the path where his clothes were haphazardly flung. Red boxers are back on and he’s looming back over you, grabbing your cheeks to push them together with his fingers as he places his mouth on yours. “You’re not a bitch,” He tells you as his lips move only millimeters from yours.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I am,” You say, cheeks still squished together and Ivar can’t help but smile. He’s back a few seconds later with the bottle, tossing it to roll along the sheets and you’re quick to take a hearty swig. “Is he taking new clients?” You ask as he climbs in beside you.

“She is,” Ivar says back, palm out reached and you hand him the bottle.

“You have a lady therapist?” You say and he nods, setting the bottle back on the night stand. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Ivar tells you and you turn, moving to rest back along the sheets and his head comes down on your chest, slinging an arm loosely over your waist as he gets comfortable. And then he’s squeezing you closer as your hand take to his hair. “Wait—hold on,” Ivar says after a minute, laying back next to you and you’re suddenly pulled, laid across his chest as your naked body moves limply and he snickers at how easily your limbs are oozing. His arms are around you then, pushing hair from your face as he curls the ends around his fingertips, sliding those same digits down your spine, the swell of your bare ass, and then back up again. The warmth of his hand presses against you as you rest over him and he pulls the covers back over the two of you. “That’s better.” Ivar whispers and he presses his lips against your hair.

“Thank you Ivar,” You say from your spot.

“You’re welcome baby, get some rest,”

“I love you,” and Ivar squeezes his arms around you once more as you say that, the words always sounding better each time you speak them.

“I love you too Y/N,”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley  @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing  @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint 

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[wilsont21]

Pony Tales [MLP Fanfic] 'An Article on Unconventional Romance' by HapHaz...

[hellomisterriddle]

OC Questions Meme Pt.2

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

Basil, again! (He’s with his crush and bff, Chad, here~) He’s one of the friendliest OCs i think i have

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

CANON!!! Canon the Librarian!! My sweet summer child ;o; Canon belongs to my gf, @captainha-ha​ and her story, Canon the Librarian. #LetCanonBeHappyForLongerThan5Minutes2k18

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

First that comes to mind is Galfar from The End. He’s a demon whose purpose is to basically be a troublemaker lol

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory

oof which doesn’t lmao uhhhh okay let’s do Quinn Haphaz from Murders. 

So Quinn is a detective with the Dent City PD who basically got his job as a legacy--his dad was DCPD’s greatest detective. His dying wish was to the chief of the PD, and it was for Quinn to also be a detective. So the chief keeps him on the squad.

That being said...Quinn is the worst dectective on the force. He goes through partners like candy. All of them quit. Not bc Quinn is a dick or anything, he’s actually really sweet and caring, its cause he’s just...not the smartest guy. A magnet for trouble. He gets bullied by the rest of the department so much, he honestly doesn’t even realize its serious. He just thinks everyone is messing around. 

To top it off, his childhood wasn’t so great either. His dad who basically got him that job? He died when Quinn was 14. He made that promise to the Chief years before Quinn was even old enough to get the job. It was just him and his mother until she got cancer and died when he was 18. Not to mention the discrimination he’d face because he was mulitracial, his father was black and his mother korean. Quinn’s had it tough. But even though all that, he’s probably one of my most optimistic OCs. 

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?

Probably too much tbh lol cx

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?

Sage Hawkins, she’s like a straight A student

17. Any OC OTPs?

They alll have someone, but OTPs?? Angel/Edward from It’s Complicated, Paragon/HotSpot from Neoapolis, and Basil/Chad from Notice Me

18. Any OC crackships?

LMAO oh yea. Its honestly an OTP of mine...Galfar/Canon, or GalCan Its only possible in AUs but oooooo i crave them LOL They came to be through an OC kiss meme I did that I was taken with once I drew it

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

I should have said this earlier, but Hester/HotSpot is gonna be coming up a lot lmao

That said, he’s definitely probably the OC that means a lot to me--like a lot a lot. In a way, he and I are basically the same person lmao I shoved a lot of what I hated about myself onto him, totally unconsciously at the time might i add!! So it shouldn’t have come to a surprise that I hated his fucking guts for the longest time lol like i legit hated him. I had plans of actually killing him off in the Neoapolis RP until my gf basically begged me to let him live. Reluctantly I did. But I also went a step forward and gave him a redemption arc.

Long story short, it took forever for me to realize that Hester was an extension of myself--of what I hated and eventually, of who I am and who I want to be as a person.

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

I have several who can sing! DJ and Edward from It’s Complicated, Quinn from Murders, Sage from Notice Me, and Hester from Neo

Of all of them only a few are developed. Like--DJ, Edwards, and Sage have nice singing voices, but don’t really do anything beyond like… humming to themselves or singing along to the radio. Well actually, Sage just doesn’t have time to do anything with her voice since she already does so much.

As for Quinn and Hester, Quinn has a sorta Rat Pack-esque voice and likes to sing those kinda songs too. He sings and hums during his free time both on and off the job. Friday nights he’ll go to this hole in the wall bar and sing for the patrons.

Hester, on the other hand, never gets to sing as much as he’d like. To keep up appearances, he doesn’t sing in public. He only sings at home and even then sometimes he only sings in his shower because he’s paranoid newsies have bugged his apartment. My HC voice for him is Matt Terry.

[theheartbrokensystem]

Villains body reference

Wanted to draw the villains again, no though Vhoutho because he doesn't wear any clothes.

[kursed-curtain]

...tall

[gearcoupon]

Scientists have found a way to dramatically improve the reception of Wi-Fi connectivity in electronics

Scientists have found a way to dramatically improve the reception of Wi-Fi connectivity in electronics

The vast majority of modern devices allow you to connect to Wi-Fi and take full advantage of the technology's potential. The biggest problem that has still not been effectively solved, however, is with a signal that “haphazes” in places and does not reach as far as we might ever need. Fortunately, students and academics from MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, have come to the light…

[dailysunnewspk-blog]

Indian government city plans for Srinagar puts residents at risk of floods

Indian government city plans for Srinagar puts residents at risk of floods

Large-scale destru­ction wrough­t by floods widely attrib­uted to haphaz­ard develo­pment in Srinag­ar

People transport a sick woman in an empty water tank on a flooded street. PHOTO: REUTERS

SRINAGAR: A plan for the development of Srinagar to 2035, put together by the government of Indian-occupied Kashmir (IoK), ignores lessons from the 2014 floods that hit Srinagar and southern IoK,…

[examinationresult]

Students to protest VTU's exam system, results delay - Times of India

Times of India Students to protest VTU's exam system, results delay Times of India BENGALURU: Students of Visvesvaraya Technological University (VTU) continue to deal with haphaz ard examinations and announcement of results. As a result, hundreds of students were forced to write two exams a day and 16 in 50 days. They have now ... ..... Read More

[shwa-e]

Title: Facts don't back claim of 'haphazard' refugee vetting

[kursed-curtain]

I'm not totally satisfied with the design yet but hey! I finally got something out! And something is better than nothing!

Say hi to Haphaz!