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lady-literature · 4 years ago

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Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet…

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion.

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time). She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day.

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years ago

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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mochegato · 3 years ago

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 8

Marinette stopped a few feet from the corner of the restaurant at which M. Wayne had made their reservation in order to collect herself. She checked her reflection in the restaurant’s darkened windows to make sure nothing had changed in the past few minutes. It wasn’t that she wanted to impress M. Wayne, but she didn’t want to make him think less of her either. She wanted to be perfect for him and yeah, maybe, she wanted to impress him, make him want to stay… this time.

She brushed her bangs out of her face a little rougher than she intended to, trying to force those thoughts out of her head and punish herself for thinking them in the first place. This wasn’t about making him like her. She lived this long without him. She didn’t need him. She’d be just fine without him. She had been so far. It didn’t matter if he didn’t love her. It didn’t matter if he didn’t like her. It didn’t mean she was unloveable.

She watched as her reflection deflated. It just meant that one of the two people who were biologically programmed to love her no matter what, didn’t. That he fought through biology to brush her off. She shook her head and stood straight up again. But! But, that didn’t make her unloveable. Jagged did the same to Luka and Juleka and they were two of the most amazing people she knew. They weren’t unloveable, and neither was she. They repaired their relationship and so could she.

This was about adding to her family, not filling a hole in her life. There was no Bruce Wayne shaped hole in her life. His opinion of her didn’t matter. His opinion of her didn’t change who she was. She was going to be who she was around him and if he didn’t like it, she lost nothing. She would still have an amazing family. She would still have amazing friends. She would still be loved.

This was about him fitting into her life. Not the other way around. This was about her deciding if there was a place for him. If she wanted him there, to give him a chance or not. This was about getting answers so she could make those decisions. She took a breath. This was about giving him a chance to speak and for her to listen to what he said.

She nodded to her reflection resolutely and pushed through the doors to the restaurant’s waiting area. Her eyes widened incrementally seeing the lobby. It screamed luxury and exclusivity. Only certain people were allowed here and Marinette was confident if she hadn’t been meeting Bruce Wayne, she wouldn’t be considered one of those people. The maître d’ eyed her with a sneer that looked so at home on his face it must have been his normal expression.

She gave him a nervous smile. “I’m here for a reservation under the name Wayne.” The maître d’ looked her up and down and gave a curt nod. He walked toward the doors to the dining room without saying anything to her.

Marinette smoothed down her hair one last time as the maître d’ led her through the doors to the dining area. She clutched her purse so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She really hoped Tikki had found a different spot to hide in, because otherwise it had to be incredibly uncomfortable for her. Marinette was focusing all of her tension into her hand and forcing the rest of her body to relax so she wouldn’t appear as terrified as she actually was. Now if she could just get her heart to start beating in a regular rhythm, she’d be all set.

She gave a nervous smile to Bruce as he stood to greet her and struggled to remember any part of the pep talk she had just given herself a few minutes ago. Because as soon as she saw his relieved and excited face, she started forgetting. It was not about wanting to see that expression on his face and knowing she was the cause. This was about her. She should not be filled with anxiety about making him lose that expression and wanting to walk away. He was proving himself, she wasn’t proving herself.

“Marinette!” He gave her a warm smile and held his hand out to shake hers while she went in for a cheek kiss greeting at the same time. He chuckled awkwardly and quickly shifted his hand to her arm as he kissed her cheek as well. He nodded to the maître d’ and pulled her chair out for her. As soon as they were alone, he sat down anxiously. “Thank you again for agreeing to meet me. You look nice.”

Marinette smiled and nodded to him. “So do you. And thank you for agreeing at such short notice.”

He chuckled nervously. His eyes darted between her, his glass of wine, the menu, really anything as he searched for his next words. It shouldn’t be this hard. He spoke to boardrooms of hostile and dangerous businesspeople. Speaking to his daughter shouldn’t be harder. She wasn’t going to destroy a city. She wasn’t going to undermine entire groups of people just so she could make a few more dollars. She wasn’t dangerous… well, not to anyone but him. With him, she had the power to destroy his heart with just one word.

“I ordered a merlot if you would like some. If not, I can call someone in…”

He started to get up to call someone over, but Marinette lunged at him to get him to sit down and not draw attention to them, knocking over his glass of merlot. Marinette’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, no, no, no,” she whimpered helplessly. She grabbed a few napkins to clean it up. Why? Why did her clumsiness have to act up now? In front of M. Wayne. Why did she have to be such a klutz? She could feel the tears stinging her eyes as they tried to escape.

“Marinette,” Bruce cooed gently. He gently gripped her wrists and pulled them away from the table. “Marinette, it’s okay. It happens. You should see a normal dinner at the manor. If there isn’t at least one spill or something isn’t broken, we start thinking someone is sick.” She finally looked up at him apprehensively and he could feel the breath leaving his chest. His eyes softened and he tried to give her an encouraging smile. “It’s fine. We can just move to another table and I’ll leave a big tip.”

Her eyes widened even larger and she looked around. “We can’t just…” She stopped when she noticed the empty restaurant. It was prime dinnertime, or at least it was in France. Maybe a bit early, but not uncommon. But this restaurant was completely empty. Not even families with kids. And there was no way M. Wayne would choose a restaurant that nobody liked. “Do Gothamites eat dinner really early? Or really late?” she whispered, not wanting to break the silence that engulfed them.

“Hmm?” Bruce hummed in confusion.

“There aren’t any… It just isn’t as crowded as I would expect,” she explained. “Not that that doesn’t work in my favor in this case.”

“Oh,” he nodded his head in realization and gave her a soft smile. “No, not as crowded as the place usually is. I rented it out.”

“You rented out the entire restaurant?” she whispered incredulously. “At the last minute?”

Bruce’s smile widened at the astonished look on her face. “I didn’t want people gawking at us all night or taking pictures and the manor is rather hectic.” He grimaced slightly at the thought. “Not to mention, we’d have just as many gawkers there. And I wanted this first meeting to be just between us. So I made sure we had some privacy.”

Marinette shook her head. “Right. Forgot. Rich.”

Bruce chuckled too. “Yeah, I forget sometimes too.” He sat at a table next to the one they had been sitting at.

Marinette scoffed lightly and joined him at the new table. “I doubt that.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide as she stared at him. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was… so rude,” she stuttered. She dropped her eyes quickly. She mentally berated herself for sabotaging this so efficiently. She doubted she could do it more effectively if she were trying.

Bruce shook his head. “No, not at all. You’re not wrong. And a lot more polite about it than Jason would have been. Or Stephanie.”

Marinette looked back up at him through her bangs. “Oh… um… okay.”

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut behind his menu. He was screwing this up so badly. Instead of making her feel more comfortable, he was making her increasingly nervous and doubtful. He pursed his lips as he searched for anything to talk about to lighten the mood. “I hope you like it here. The food is really good.” He had to stop himself from physically slapping himself for that terrible non-sequitur. His entire job was to say things in an engaging, elegant way. It was a skill he’d started honing decades ago. Where was that training now?

Marinette opened her menu as well with an anxious smile. “Great. I’m starving.”

“Hi Starving, I’m your father.”

Marinette blinked a few times at him, trying to catch his eye but he was staring blankly at his menu. “Did you just…”

“I admit to nothing,” he answered flatly, still staring at his menu.

Marinette continued to stare for a few seconds before breaking down into giggles, the tension that had been building since she entered the restaurant breaking with his joke. “I… I can’t… believe you sai… said that,” she gasped out between laughs.

He watched her with an amused glint in his eyes and a relieved smile. “Do not tell your siblings. Dick will pout for a week that he wasn’t here to hear it.”

Marinette let her giggles die down and nodded. She looked up at him with a much more relaxed smile. “Not known for your sense of humor?”

“No, definitely not,” Bruce shook his head with a grin. He set down his menu to focus on Marinette. “Jason used to tease me mercilessly about it.”

Marinette quirked her head to the side, an amused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “And was Jason a comedian or he just liked to tease you?”

“A little of both. Dick is more of our comedian. He’s usually the first to make a joke… to lighten the mood. Stephanie will make a fool out of herself to get you to smile, or herself. She likes being over the top. But Jason, when he was a kid, was excited about everything. Everything in life was new and exciting. He was constantly smiling and bouncing from thing to thing. So optimistic.” Bruce’s eyes unfocused as he remembered the first year after Jason came to the manor.

Marinette furrowed her brow in doubt. Not a single one of those words were ones she would use to describe Jason from the time she’d spent with him. Maybe her translation of the words was wrong? “Jason? Jason Todd. Your son Jason.”

Bruce chuckled wryly. “Yes, that Jason. “ A pained expression flashed across his face morphing into a sad frown he didn’t even try to hide. “A lot changed over the years. Some… things happened about eight years ago. It changed all of us.”

Marinette let out a dry laugh as images of Hawaiian shirts and rock giants flashed through her head. She turned back to her menu to avoid his eyes. “I can understand that.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, a guilty frown settling on his lips for a few seconds before he plastered on a smile. “Now he’s more likely to make a sarcastic remark than a joke. But, he’s fiercely protective of his family, maybe more than any of the rest of us.”

Marinette thought back over their interactions and slowly started nodding. “He seems like it.” She paused when the waitress came in to take their orders. She smiled politely while the waitress was in the room, acting the part of a dutiful, happy daughter rather than a temperamental stranger who took her frustrations and insecurities out on him without letting him explain. And that’s what this was about, letting him explain. But before he could do that, she needed to make sure he knew she wasn’t mad. Well… that she wasn’t going to attack him anyway.

As soon as the waitress left, her shield was gone. She could no longer hide behind the façade. Now she had to face him. She looked down and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a beat before she looked back up at Bruce. “I wanted to say sorry for how I behaved when you came to my hotel room. I wasn’t being fair to you. I only found out about you a few days ago and then the world found out and then you were at my door. It was a lot all at once and I did not handle it well, so I’m sorry.”

Even with half her face hidden from looking down as she spoke, Bruce could see the shame radiating from her expression. When she finally looked up to make eye contact he had to force himself not to gasp at the guilt and pain in her eyes. His heart clenched at the sight. He hated seeing her look like that. He’d do anything to keep that look off her face. That was his job. That was the entire point of what he’d done. But he failed. He might have failed at it so far, but he was going to make up for it now… if she would let him.

His hand shot out almost too quickly to see and gently squeezed hers, hoping that at least that level of intimacy was allowed. “No, I invaded your space. I forced a confrontation before you were ready. I knew I shouldn’t do that. Sabine… your mother warned me not to do that and I did it anyway. I’m sorry for that. I didn’t… I didn’t want to lose my chance to…” He looked down at the table and frowned trying to get his words in order.

“I didn’t want you to leave before I could talk to you, to try to connect and explain.” He looked at her almost desperately. “You were here, right here. So close. I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers again, not when I knew you knew. Not when I didn’t have to keep it a secret anymore.” He frowned and looked down at his glass, pulling his hand back into his lap. He suddenly chuckled wryly. “If there was ever a good reason to begin with.”

Marinette sucked in a breath not ready for this conversation yet. She thought they’d ease into it. Get comfortable, then get into it. But apparently M. Wayne’s approach was to rip the Band-Aid off. Dealing with uncomfortable situations was definitely not an inherited trait because her method of avoiding any uncomfortable conversations in increasingly unlikely and embarrassing manors until the entire thing festered into a debilitating, unnecessarily explosive fiasco, was not a technique she picked up from her maman either.

Bruce looked back up at her with a determined look. “Marinette, you had a right to react. You had… have a right to be upset or hurt or both. I deserved it. Believe me, I understand that. I’ve gotten worse from your siblings for less. Don’t feel like you have to apologize to me. However you react, I can take it and I’m not going to walk away again. But I am hoping that you being here means you want to move forward, you want to try.” He looked up at her questioningly, an edge of fear in his eyes. “Do you?”

Marinette let out the breath she’d taken in. She looked down and pushed a strand of hair that was still in place behind her ear, letting her fingers linger so she had something else to focus on for a moment. When she looked back up, there was a more determined look in her eyes. “Yes. I… I want to listen. I want to understand.”

Bruce nodded with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I know this is a lot and it hasn’t been fair to you and I’m sorry for… everything.”

Marinette nodded. “Thank you.” They both sat and looked in the vicinity of each other uneasily, both waiting for the other to say something first. Marinette tapped her fingers together while she waited for him to continue speaking, to give the explanation he’d promised.

Bruce was waiting for… he wasn’t sure. Inspiration maybe. He’d thought through what he wanted to say. He’d gone over it all, but somehow seeing her in front of him, looking in her eyes and seeing her vulnerability laid bare, none of his excuses seemed like enough. None of them seemed valid, but then again, they never were.

After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke up. “When you were born, I was younger than you are now and I didn’t think I’d be able to be a good father.” He frowned at the table. “And in my head it was better for you to not be with me at all. I thought I’d bring you down. But your mother…” he gave her a wan smile, “she was always strong and good. I knew she would be an amazing mother… without my interference. I thought you had a better chance away from me and Gotham and in my idiot mind that meant cutting off all contact.”

“But you took in other kids,” she pointed out timidly.

Bruce nodded and flicked his eyes up to hers before looking back down in guilt. “I didn’t intend to. I came across Dick about awhile after your mother took you to France. He lost his parents. They died, were killed in front of his eyes, like mine had been. He was angry and violent. He needed someone and I thought I could help. I might not be a good parent, but I could help him… keep him from becoming… me.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed sympathetically. “Would that be bad?”

Bruce cringed slightly, remembering how he was at the time. “Yes, it would have. Anger and desperation? They can do bad things to a person.” He looked at her pointedly. “Makes you make terrible decisions.”

Marinette nodded in understanding. She understood how far desperation could drive a person. She understood how dark some people could go. She understood how bad things could get if they continued unchecked. She’d fought those people. She’d helped defeat one of them. And no matter how bad the battle was, it was always harder handling them after they were defeated, when all they had was their grief.

“Jason… he came a few years later. He was alone and on the streets. He was tough and smart and so excited about life, but he was never going to get the opportunity to do anything on the streets.”

“And you wanted to help him too,” Marinette finished his unfinished thought.

“Yeah. He needed someone to let him be a kid, let him be passionate, to love him like a parent should. And I couldn’t leave him there. And Tim… he kind of snuck in and declared himself family. He wasn’t wrong. He is. He came along after Jason… was gone. He filled a void I didn’t even know I had until he stepped in. And I hope I’ve done the same for him. He didn’t have the best childhood either. And now… I can’t imagine the family without him.”

Marinette gave him a small smile. “Sounds like he adopted you.”

Bruce nodded absently, his eyes taking on a far-off focus as he remembered the past. “Sometimes children are smarter than their parent. In the case of my kids,” he looked up at her meaningfully, “all of them, it’s true.

“They didn’t have a better choice… you did. And in my idiotic self-destructive mind, I was helping you. I was convinced for more than a decade that the best thing I’d done in my life, the most selfless, was walk away from you, not force you to have to suffer with dealing with me. But I was just afraid and selfish. I made a stupid choice. By the time I realized how monumentally I’d screwed up, Jason was gone and by the time I got my head back on right, Damian was here and Damian needed all my attention.”

“You didn’t have Damian since he was a baby?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. I didn’t even know about him until he was ten. Then his mother just dropped him off with me. His childhood…” Bruce let out a long breath. “His grandfather taught him since birth that he needed to earn love, or as close as he’s capable to love. Damian’s mother told him he was better than everyone else… so you can imagine the kinds of issues we had for quite a while.”

He gave a proud smile. “He’s made such a big change since he came. He’s grown so much.”

“You sound proud,” she observed poignantly.

Bruce’s smile turned bittersweet. “I’m proud of all of my kids. You’re all amazing people. I don’t know how I ended up with so many amazing kids.”

She smiled and hoped it didn’t come off as awkward as it felt. “So what about Duke? And I think Jason mentioned sisters.”

Bruce nodded. “Cass is the only one I adopted. Stephanie is just around enough that she’s essentially a child. Same with Barbara. I ran into Cass while I was travelling. Her parents were mentally and physically abusive to the point that she didn’t speak until she was a teenager.” Marinette gasped. “She’s a lot better. She communicates with us a lot, mostly through sign language. And Duke… Joker tortured his parents because they saved me once.”

Marinette gasped and grasped his hand, squeezing it. When he met her eyes she gave him another encouraging squeeze and a warm smile. “They’ve all come such a long way. I’m sure a better parent could have done more but somehow we’ve all become a slightly dysfunctional family. Watching them… It’s amazing to see how far they’ve all come. They’ve all had to fight so hard, go against so many obstacles.”

“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of work with all of them. And they’ve grown amazingly with you watching over them. They were incredibly lucky to have you,” Marinette said quietly a strained smile on her face, no longer making eye contact with Bruce. She took back her hand to take a drink of her wine.

Those were valid reasons. She could admit that and she didn’t begrudge them the better life being with M. Wayne afforded them, but still… She fought frowning at her lap. It all made sense. Every step made sense. They needed someone and he could provide, so he did. From an objective perspective. It made sense. Did it make her a bad person if that didn’t make her feel better? What did it say about her that she was still hurt? That she still was angry, felt betrayed? That it wasn’t enough?

Bruce’s face fell as he watched her change in demeanor. His chest clenched. “I never stopped thinking about you and how you were doing. I never stopped loving you.” He reached out for her hand but let his hand dropped when she didn’t offer it readily. “I know you don’t feel that way about me, you just met me, but I’ve loved you from the moment you were born. And I know it’s hard to see and I don’t show it well… at all… but I’ve always tried to make sure you were taken care of, that you never wanted for anything. I’ve kept up on your life to make sure.

“And I need you to know it was never because I didn’t want you. It was never that I thought my other kids were better than you in any way. It was never because I didn’t think you were good enough. I didn’t think I was. I thought you deserved better than I could ever give you, better than you could get in Gotham. But running away wasn’t the way to do that, and I realize that.” He was unsure how to interpret the wide eyed look Marinette was giving him, but he plowed on, needing to say it anyway.

“I really did intend to try to connect. That’s why I went to your final showing. I showed pictures of your work to someone on the fabric project and said I happened to see you there.” He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “I thought I’d have to do a bunch of conniving behind the scenes to get Lucius to use you. But as it turns out, he’s just as excited to get you on the project as I was. He mentioned you to me after you spoke with him.”

Marinette smiled. It was small and self-conscious, but significantly better for Bruce to see than the strained smile she’d had earlier. “M. Fox is a very nice man. I liked speaking with him a lot.”

“And he is quite fond of you.” Bruce smiled fondly at her but his smile quickly turned conspiratorial. “I think he likes you better than he likes me, actually.”

Marinette straightened up in her seat. “I plan on accepting his offer to consult on the project.” She looked up to make eye contact with Bruce. Her body tensed slightly in preparation for her next words. “If… if that’s okay with you.”

Marinette gave a small, uncertain smile when she saw Bruce’s brilliant smile. “Yes! That’s great to hear.” His face turned serious. “What does that mean for… do you want to…”

“I was hoping to take you up on the apartment offer as well… if that’s still an option.” Marinette looked down again, her anxiety back. “It will help Max while he settles in and I thought I could use it while I figure out how the project is going to work and what the requirements on my time will be.” She tapped her fingers together, unable to control her fidgeting. She looked up nervously. “I thought it would also give us a chance to see each other more and your other kids.”

“Absolutely. It is absolutely still available. If you want your own apartment, I can get a penthouse for you. Or you’re welcome to stay at the manor,” he rambled excitedly.

“M. Wayne,” Marinette interrupted. Bruce immediately sobered at her serious expression. “I don’t need special treatment. I don’t need you to buy me things. And I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. Adrien and I are trying to figure out where we want to set up and I’ll need to start taking commissions again.”

Bruce nodded. “I understand. Sorry. I got excited and got carried away. Rich, you know… it’s how we show love.”

Marinette’s face immediately soured as she thought of Adrien’s and Chloe’s childhoods. “That’s not love you’re showing. I’m staying to get to know you and your family, not get things.”

Bruce blinked at her a few times. “Right. I know that. I never thought it was,” he assured her awkwardly. He took a sip of his wine and glanced around the room. He suddenly perked up. “Speaking of commissions, I was hoping we could finally commission you… if that’s okay!” he added quickly. “I don’t want to put pressure on you. I’ve just been waiting to get something made by you for years.”

Marinette blinked a few times and looked down. Her brow furrowed. She fought letting out a sigh. “No, you’re right. I should.”

“We’ll pay you, of course,” he insisted.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to charge you to make something for you.”

Bruce shook his head. “You run a business. I’m commissioning the business. I can cover our commission.”

Marinette huffed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Compromise. You pay for materials. Nothing more.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes back at her. “Materials and time.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh. “Okay fine.”

Bruce grinned. “I’m excited to work with you. I wasn’t kidding. I’ve wanted to commission you for years. I’m a fan of your style and art.”

Marinette opened her mouth but closed it quickly when the waitress came back in with their food. Bruce leaned back so she could set the plates down. “Speaking of, how would you feel about going to the art museum tomorrow and then maybe get some lunch after?”

Marinette nodded. “Oh yeah, there was an exhibit that looked interesting.” She nodded to the waitress and thanked her. The waitress lingered for just a moment before leaving the room.

“Would 9 work for you? Oh, no wait.” He scrunched his face in annoyance. “I have a meeting at 10. It should be done by noon though.” He looked up and gave her an earnest look. “I’ll make sure it is done by noon. How about lunch then art museum?”

Marinette smiled and nodded. “That sounds good.”

“Great. I can bring the keys for the new apartment. Now, I’ve done all the talking. Tell me more about you. Tell me about your friends.” He took a bite giving Marinette his full attention while Marinette talked about her friends and how they had all met and some stories about their time together.

She started out slowly, building up more confidence as she spoke. The more she spoke the more comfortable she was with what she wanted to say. The quicker she was able to filter out what information she didn’t want to share. She wasn’t ready to give him much yet, not enough to do anything with, not more than he could probably get from searching Instagram or Tik Tok, but it was a start. A start to what exactly, she wasn’t sure. But it was a start to something.

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8 @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone@ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #prompt - dad jokes

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pxnk-velvet · 4 years ago

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Hello! Hope you're doing well! So. Ok. So I'm on my pms. I'm in pain and I'm horny af at the same time so fml 🤦‍♀️ . I need some Kakashi smut x fem!reader. I'm sucker for this cold-blooded bastard, who thinks he never finds love and then he is melting in her embrace 🥲

Luv ya 💗

ALL YOURS [NSFW!]

Kakashi Hatake x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n L/n. The women that everyone wanted, until Kakashi got his hands on her. To this day, he still couldn’t fathom the things she made him feel.

Warnings: nsfw!, overstimulation, squirting, intended for mature readers only

shawty! this? THIS??? 🖐🏼🥵🥵🥵 this is probably some of the hottest stuff i have ever written lmao 😭 for reallllll. as always feedback and reblogs are appreciated 😊

He was completely enamored with her. It was like he couldn’t get enough of her being. Everything about her was just so hypnotizing. From the way she spoke, plump lips morphing around each syllable, to the way she walked, frame held beautifully as her hips swayed with a natural rhythm. Her skin, delicate and smooth under the touch of his own calloused hands. Her eyes holding so much emotion and so many secrets, drawing in people with just one glance.

Typically Kakashi Hatake wasn’t a man to brag about the things he had or skills he owned. However, with her by his side, he couldn’t help but smirk under his mask knowing that so many other people had pinned after his beloved.

Y/n L/n.

A notorious name known to the hidden leaf and beyond. One of the best kunoichi to ever come from Konoha. Praised and loved by all. Often set as example for many of the young ninja in training. Sought out by both men and women for friendship, love, sex, and other things.

Yet after years and years, she never gave in to the countless offers of love and devotion. Only resorting to giving the lucky person a single night of ecstasy. Leaving them in the morning, only to return home with a stronger yearning for one man. For years she had eyes for him. Growing up and honing a sturdy friendship that lasted decades. Along with their growing bond, grew their feelings for one another.

Quick glances turned into lingering stares. Stories being told whenever they locked eyes, not a single word spoken. Simple touches seemed to last longer than they usually did. A deep desire and passion behind each one. Only up until recently had they come to terms with one another, finally being able to confess after all this time.

Now, Kakashi sat in the hot spring’s warm waters, his gaze trained on his girlfriend relaxing beside him. The mission they had been sent on, now completed early and taken care of. They figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay for one more night and enjoy the hot springs.

His eyes ate up the sight of her. The way her skin held a thin sheen of sweat and condensation, shining in the moonlight. A few strands of hair sticking to her forehead, cheeks, and neck. Lips parted slightly, head tilted back, chest rising and falling gently.

It was ludicrous, really. The way he was looking at her with no shame at all. Eyes raking over ever dip and curve of exposed skin. Focusing particularly on her breasts, the water moving around them, bobbing to become accustomed to their shape. His lustful stare was intense as his eyes continuously absorbed the sight in front of him, yet the whole time she could feel it. With his eyes trained on her, she peeked open one of her own as a shudder ran up her spine, catching a glimpse him.

His hair dampened by the steam, chest glistening in a way that drove Y/n to new heights. The defined muscles accentuated in the moonlight. Nothing but a single, small towel was covering his face, replacing his usual mask. Y/n had insisted that it was alright for him to take it off, yet he still felt obligated just in case some lone stranger decided to stroll in at the dead of night.

“My eyes are up here, you know.” Y/n teased, lifting her head to look straight at Kakashi. The eye contact sending a strike of arousal through both of them. The ache between their legs only getting worse.

“Yeah,” Kakashi mused, eyes flickering down for a second before coming back up with a smirk, “You just look so good like this. I seriously don’t know what I did to deserve a woman like you.” His voice hung in the air like a song, Y/n melting at his words with an adorable giggle.

The water rippled around them as Y/n shifted to settle herself over his lap. Her thighs sat snuggly over his, chest to chest as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed her breasts against him teasingly, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, a tall tell sign that she wanted him.

“I think....” She began, shifting slightly in Kakashi’s lap, “That we should head back to the room for a little while.” Her words coated in desire as she spoke, looking deeply into his eyes, telling him exactly what she wanted.

Kakashi hummed in agreement as his hands moved to rest on her bare hips, squeezing instinctively as she lightly swiveled her pelvis. All the while the water swayed around them in rhythmic movements.

Without a single word, Kakashi removed the towel covering the lower half of his face, slowly pulling her in for a kiss. Lips slotting together comfortably like so many times before. In a way that if anyone saw, their jealousy was guaranteed. Kakashi really was a lucky man, and he knew it.

The kiss was hot, full of lust and passion as their hands roamed over wet, warm skin. With parted lips, their tongues danced sinfully. All senses heightened, being stimulated simultaneously.

He was like putty in her hands, shivering whenever her fingertips danced over certain spots on his body, blood rushing to his length by the second. Never did Y/n think Kakashi’s body would be so reactive to her touch. Soon she felt his length press against her lower abdomen, chuckling lightly.

“Come on,” She pulled away reluctantly, feeling him resist slightly, “You’re the one who insisted on wearing a mask even though there’s not a single soul here besides us.” A smile teased on her lips as he held her impossibly closer.

A playful sigh left his lips, groaning, “I suppose you’re right....” A flirty tone laying underneath his words, “But we’re already here. To go back to the room we would need to get up, put our clothes back on, only for us to take them off again seconds later.”

The moment he spoke those words, a mischievous smirk etched onto Y/n’s plump lips, an idea blossoming in her head.

Not even a minute later, two of the most respectable ninja of the Hidden Leaf were dashing down the hallway of a lone motel, completely naked, clothes slung over their shoulders as they tried their hardest not to burst out into loud laughter.

The door swung open as the couple rushed in, the air becoming thick with tension as they caught their breath. A small thud could be heard as they threw their clothes elsewhere. Now standing in the middle of the room, eyes locked in an intense gaze, chests raising and falling as they reciprocate from the antics they just partook in.

This feeling of lightness as well as lust swirled around in Kakashi’s chest, something he lived for. The way she made him feel like he was on top of the world with every passing moment was something he craved. The high he gets whenever he was with her was addictive. Something he never thought he’d get to experience in his lifetime. He didn’t ever plan on stopping either.

Within seconds, they has stumbled their way onto the bed in a tangled mess of limbs. Kakashi situated over her frame as his hands moved to wrap her legs around his waist while they were captured in a heated kiss. With this proximity, their skin was warm to the touch as arousal pooled between Y/n’s legs. Now his lips ghosted over her jaw and continued further on to her neck and collarbones.

A delighted sigh fell from her lips as Kakashi ran his tongue over the area he just marked, lips soft as he sucked on the spot that he knew made her go weak in the knees. All the while she managed to snake a hand between their bodies, taking hold of his member, grazing her thumb over the tip and pumping it a few times. His cock felt heavy in her hands as the veins throbbed under her touch. Kakashi wanted nothing more than for her to cast her magic spell and drive him wild.

“Kakashi...” She whispered, bucking her hips up, “I need you.” Her hand trailed up his abdomen, the muscles going taunt under her fingertips as they continued up and into his hair.

“Anything for you.” He mused, his chest inflating, knowing what he was getting himself into. He ran his length through her folds, a pretty moan falling from her lips as he did so, collecting her wetness.

Kakashi hissed at how tight she was, squeezing around his tip mercilessly, almost enticing him in. Y/n’s mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as her walls stretched to accommodate to his size.

It was euphoric, the way she felt. Velvety walls clamping up whenever he withdrew to thrust forward again. One hand gripping the bed sheets beside her while the other was clasped onto her hip.

As his pelvis continued to snap into hers at a steady pace, her breasts bobbed with each thrust. A sight Kakashi would never get tired of seeing.

“Fuck....” He sighed, hand releasing the sheets to take hold of one of her breasts, “You feel so good.” His lips brushed against her with each word, colliding soon after in a messy kiss, consisting of teeth and tongue.

He could feel her orgasam starting to build. The muscles in her lower abdomen contracting as the coil in her core tightened, Kakashi hitting just the right spot. That spongy little spot that held the key to a mind shattering orgasam.

“Kakashi, please!” Y/n whined, teeth grinding as her eyes were squeezed shut, “Fuck, I wanna cum! Make me yours.” With those words, something snapped inside of him, completely gone and focused on only one thing.

Kakashi made quick movements, shifting so he could grab the back of her thighs and press them to her chest. At the new feeling the position change brought, they nearly lost their minds. Y/n’s walls growing impossibly tighter as Kakashi thrusted into her even deeper.

Y/n’s legs dangled in the air as Kakashi held her thighs, pistoning his hips into hers with incredible speed. The squelching of her wetness echoed in the room as she creamed around his cock. Hot tears running down her cheeks as the intense orgasam rushing over her. Incoherent babbles and words leaving her mouth as he worked her through the high.

“Come on, baby,” Kakashi praised, “Just hold on for me for a little bit longer, ok?” He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek, licking the tears his lips picked up when he pulled away.

With that he worked quick, taking deep and strong strokes as he paced for his own climax. While doing so, Y/n felt another one quickly creeping up on her.

“Fuck, Kakashi! I’m cumming again.” She cried out, the ballon in her core bursting. Her tight cunt spraying all over his thighs and stomach, squeezing him so tight it was almost painful, triggering his own release. He pressed her thighs down, closer to her chest, holding his hips as close as he could to her hot skin. His tip kissing her cervix, painting it with pretty white strands of his cum.

He gently let down her legs, hissing as he pulled out. Y/n whining quietly at the empty feeling, the mixture of their cum leaking out of her cunt and onto the sheets below.

“You did so good, babe,” Kakashi sang, a tired smile etched on his face, arms moving to wrap around her midsection, “You’re the only woman in the world that could make me feel this good.” His words sweet, sounding like music in her ears as she chuckled softly, pulling him in for a gentle kiss.

“I love you, Kakashi Hatake.” She mused against his lips. Running her fingers through his messy hair, eyes now blown with love and admiration.

His smile grew even wider, hand coming up to caress her face, “I love you too, Y/n L/n. More than you know.”

#kakashi smut #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi sensei #kakashi

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tuiccim · 4 years ago

Text

Terrigenisis (Part 19)

Pairing: Stucky x Inhuman!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: After undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to life as a civilian. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild. As you hone your powers and skills, you must also decide if you can find home and love again. Or is your curse to be a lonely wanderer forever?

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (NSFW 18+)

Dividers by @fireflygraphics

Terrigenisis Series Masterlist

It’s the night of Tony’s party and you are in your room getting ready. You exit the bathroom after a shower to see a gift box on your bed. It’s wrapped in a blue bow and you know it can only be from two certain men. The note reads “To the most beautiful woman in any galaxy, please wear this tonight. We love you.” Inside you find a beautiful dress. It’s blue and has a style reminiscent of the 40s. You do yourself up and put on the dress. A knock on the door has you grinning as you answer it.

“Wow. You look beautiful.” Steve says, returning your grin.

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Bucky charms.

“It’s a good start,” you kiss each of them. “I love the dress. Thank you.”

“It looks great on you, doll.”

The party tonight was one of Tony’s penthouse parties at the tower. Only family, partners, and close friends were invited. After arriving, the three of you made rounds greeting everyone. You’re excited when you finally make it to Sam.

“Hey Sam! Wanna introduce the beauty on your arm?” you grin widely.

“Of course,” Sam puffs out his chest as he motions to her, “This is my girlfriend, Kaziah.” He gives her each of your names and you spend twenty minutes or so chatting with all of them. Kaziah is sweet and you enjoy meeting her immensely. You are distracted a few minutes later when Loki strolls in wearing an all black suit.

“Well, don’t you look like a million bucks!” you hug his neck as he chuckles.

“You like it?” Loki preens.

“Very much. You look great. Are you still planning to go back to Asgard tomorrow?”

“Yes. And before you ask, yes, I’m going to tell her.”

“Yay. I look forward to your return and hearing how it went. Can I introduce you around a bit?”

“Lead the way.” Loki offers his arm.

You guide him to different groups introducing him, smoothing any ruffled feathers, and making him feel comfortable in the setting. Loki relaxed as the evening passed. You enjoyed yourself, spending most of your time with Steve and Bucky, dancing, eating, drinking, and having fun with your friends and people you know and trust. It was fun.

A couple of hours in, you notice Kaziah sitting by herself on one of the couches. Sam is in a group nearby with Rhodey and a few others cutting up. You grab an extra glass of champagne and sit beside her, holding out the drink to her, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, there is always that little bit of awkwardness when you don’t know many people.” Kaziah flashes a nervous smile.

“I understand,” you laugh, “I was basically dropped on the team with no warning, having never met any of them.”

“Wow. But it worked out? You’re dating Bucky and Steve?” She asks.

“It worked out better than I ever hoped. And, yes, we are in a relationship together. We know it’s not conventional, but we’re very happy.”

“I saw you with Loki earlier. Are you with him also?” Kaziah asks carefully.

“No. Loki is a good friend and we train together. He’s a really good guy once you get to know him.” You happen to catch his eye across the room and he smiles at you. That’s when you feel the ice pick to your head and immediately open your mind to him.

“You’re needed in the rooftop garden, darling.” Loki’s voice drifts into your mind.

“What? Why?” You asked confused.

“I don’t know. I was just asked to relay the message quietly.” Loki’s chuckle echoes through your head and you grin.

“What was that? It looked like you were having a conversation.” Kaziah asks curiously.

“Oh, nothing,” you answer evasively, “Will you excuse me?”

“Uh, of course.” Kaziah looks confused.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too.”

You head to the elevator while looking for Steve and Bucky but, not finding them, you shrug and hit the button for the rooftop. Suspicion and curiosity curl in your stomach as the elevator goes up. When the doors open, you notice a trail of petals leading into the garden. You smile as you follow it.

Steve and Bucky had spent most of the day of Tony’s party shopping for you. They found the perfect dress to give you fairly quickly but finding the perfect engagement ring had proven nearly impossible. They didn’t know what they were looking for exactly but everything they were shown just wasn’t the one. It had to be perfect. As they visited the sixth jewelry store, they knew time was running out. The proprietor showed them several options but then, recognizing both men, he smiled and kindly suggested they check the antique store next door. He told them his brother was the owner and he kept a beautiful selection of estate jewelry.

Steve and Bucky weren’t sure what he meant by estate jewelry but since they weren’t having any luck at traditional jewelry stores they decided to give it a try. The owner greeted them immediately and guided them to the jewelry case while offering to show them anything they’d like to see.

“Buck.” Steve’s eyes go wide as a ring catches his attention.

“That one? It’s not very traditional.” Bucky asks.

“Neither are we.” Steve chuckles.

“You’re right about that. And the ring. It’s perfect,” he turns to the owner, “Can we see that one?”

“Of course. It’s one of a kind. I’ve never seen another like it. It came from a family in upstate New York. I thought it was a lovely piece.” He hands over the ring nestled in a small heart shaped box.

“This is it.” Steve says.

“It’s perfect,” Bucky agrees.

They paid for the ring and exit wearing grins. Tony had agreed to help them with the proposal and was having the rooftop garden turned into a paradise. Now they just had to get you to the roof and the rest would fall into place.

The trail of petals leads you into the center of the rooftop garden where your men stand with smiles. Bucky and Steve are both handsome in their suits. A small table of desserts and champagne are off to one side. The garden is filled with lights and candles. There are blooming flowers everywhere and you have no idea what is happening.

“What is all this?” you ask, all smiles.

“We wanted tonight to be special.” Bucky says.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile but tremble as nerves set in. What could this be about?

“Doll, we love you. You’re the love of our lives and this relationship is everything we ever wanted. So, we have something we want to ask you.” Steve says. He and Bucky take a knee in tandem and each take one of your hands.

“Will you marry us?” Bucky asks, looking up at you with a grin but you see the fear behind his eyes. You look at Steve and recognize the same expression on him.

“M-marry? You want to, to ,to get married? To me?” you stammer.

“Yes.” They say in perfect unison.

They hold up a ring and you stare at it mouth agape. A star sapphire set in a halo of diamonds. The ring was obviously a vintage piece and it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’d ever seen.

“You’re serious?” you breathe as tears flood your eyes.

“Yes.” Bucky says.

“Absolutely. Please marry us. We love you so much.” Steve says.

“Yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you! Yes! I love you both. So much.” You exclaim as the men surge to their feet and swing you around. When your feet touch the ground again, Bucky takes the ring out of the box and places it on your finger.

“It’s a star sapphire since both mine and Bucky’s symbol is a star.” Steve explains.

“Blue because honesty always comes first in our relationship.” Bucky says.

“Surrounded by diamonds because our love will always surround you.” Steve continues.

“And antique because you’re marrying two old men.” Bucky chuckles.

You laugh but stare at the ring that they chose with admiration, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Let’s toast to our engagement.” Bucky goes to open the bottle of champagne. The three of you share champagne, strawberries, and cake as they tell you about how they decided to ask you and their day of shopping to find the perfect ring.

You stare at it saying, “I never thought I’d get married again. I just assumed in this relationship we’d just be together.”

“You are okay with getting married, right?” Steve asks.

“Yes! I want to marry both of you. I guess it will be more of a commitment ceremony since we can’t legally get married,” you explain.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it and I think you and Steve should get married legally and we can have a commitment ceremony for the three of us. There would be a lot of protection for you in being Mrs. Rogers.” Bucky states.

“I’m… I won’t be changing my name. I never did with Charlie.”

“You don’t have to. Bucky, you hadn’t said anything about this before. Are you sure?” Steve asks.

“Yes. It just makes sense. If you’re okay with it, doll.” Bucky says.

“I get it from a legal standpoint but no matter what the THREE of us will be married,” you smile.

Steve nods, “While we’re on our honeymoon, Tony is going to renovate our rooms into an apartment. We just have to pick a date. We-”

“We can go over all the details later,” you interrupt Steve. “Right now, I’d like to go to our room and celebrate with less clothing on.”

“I love the way you think,” Bucky says as he helps you to stand and kisses you.

Steve grabs the bottle of champagne and bowl of strawberries, “I’m sure we’ll work up an appetite.” He winks and kisses you.

You can’t keep your hands off each other in the elevator and find yourself sandwiched between the two men with their lips wandering over every expanse of exposed skin. You stumble into the guest room the three of you are staying in and gasp. The room is full of flowers, a small table covered in candles and food, another bottle of champagne, three fluffy robes with your names embroidered on them and matching slippers, a wedding planning book, and a note of congratulations from Tony and Pepper.

“This is so sweet! They are so thoughtful.” you exclaim.

“They definitely know we plan to work up an appetite.” Bucky chuckles.

“We should get to it. Unzip me?” you whisper.

“My pleasure.” Bucky complies and gently guides the dress down for you to step out of it. You’re wearing a beautiful lingerie set complete with garter and heels and both men devour you with their eyes. You sit on the end of the bed, lean back on your arms and cross your legs while eyeing the two.

“Naked. Now,” you say playfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky grins as they shuck their clothing quickly. When both stand before you gloriously naked you look them up and down, licking your lips. You go to them and put a hand on each of their chests before lowering yourself to your knees. You stroke both of their cocks and take turns swirling your tongue around each of their heads.

“You’re both so good to me. I love you so much. I love fucking both of you.” You make comments each time you switch between them and they’re both looking at you with a feral expression as you praise and tease them.

“Fuck, doll.” Bucky says as he grabs you and pulls you to your feet, “Get up here.” His mouth claims yours and Steve is behind you in an instant, removing your bra, cupping your breasts and kissing your shoulders. You feel his hard length pressed to your ass and Bucky’s pressed to your mound. You moan loudly as their hands and mouths wander over you, divesting you of your lingerie..

“I… I want to try something,” you moan.

“Anything, sweetheart. What do you want?” Steve asks with his lips against your neck.

“I want you both inside me. Both inside me at the same time.” You say breathlessly.

“You mean, both of us inside your pussy, doll?” Bucky clarifies.

“Please. Want to feel all of us together.” You whimper.

“If it’s too much, you have to tell us, doll. Don’t let us hurt you.” Steve says as he picks you up and carries you to the bed. “Promise?”

“I promise.” you agree as he lays you in the middle of the bed.

“Fuck, that’s hot. I want inside you so bad.” Bucky groans from behind you, both men are flush against your front and back. He pulls your leg up and runs his fingers through your slick folds. He dips two fingers inside to ensure that you’re ready. A third finger is added and you moan loudly.

“Bucky, please. I need you. Please!” You beg.

Bucky’s head finds your entrance and slowly presses in. You stare into Steve’s eyes as you grab Bucky and encourage him on. Bucky thrusts into you a few times languidly, working your pleasure and coating himself in your slick. “Come on, Stevie. Our girl’s ready for you.”

Steve slides his cock against you to coat himself before slowly pressing his head in. You gasp at the sensation.

“Okay?” Steve groans.

“Yes, it’s good. Don’t stop.” you moan and then cry out as Bucky gives a gentle thrust.

“Fuck, baby, feeling both of you is so hot.” Steve groans.

“Then don’t stop. Keep going, please.” You whisper.

“Move, Stevie. We need it.” Bucky groans.

Steve presses in by millimeters and keeps checking in. You feel so incredibly full and the pleasure is immense. When Steve stops again, you begin to roll your hips, loving the friction of feeling both of them in you.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky moans as he takes a gentle bite out of your shoulder.

“I can feel both of you. Fuck, it’s so hot.” Steve says as he begins to move with you.

Your moans mingle as you cling to each other and writhe in pleasure.

“Oh, God. I’m…” the words fail you as your body shakes with the orgasm. The intensity nearly takes your breath and once it subsides you feel it immediately begin to build again.

“You’re trembling and clenching so tight, doll. You’re so fucking perfect for us. So perfect. Fuck, can’t believe we found you. Love you so much.” Bucky groans as he begins to move a little more quickly.

“Buck! Can feel you. Feels so good. You both feel so good. Want it to be like this forever.” Steve moans.

You’re trembling uncontrollably. The words, the men, the intense pleasure are enveloping you, body, mind, and soul. You cry out as you fall over the precipice again. Your body shudders and your hips move of their own volition.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” Bucky groans as he releases inside of you.

Steve’s hands cup your face and he kisses you intensely before his own orgasm overtakes him and he presses his forehead to yours. As he comes down from the high, he whispers to you, “Bucky’s always been right about you. You’re perfect for us.”

“You are. You’re perfect for us.” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around both of you.

You lift your hand and look at the ring that sparkles on it, “We’re perfect together.”

Part 20

Tuiccim’s Masterlist

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series are made twice a week. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

#Stucky #Stucky x you #Stucky x reader #Stucky series #Stucky fanfic #Stucky fanfiction #Stucky x Inhuman Reader #Bucky #Steve #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Captain America #The Winter Soldier #Terrigenisis

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albatris · 3 years ago

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Hi hello it’s Sunday now but I wanted to place another ask into your backlog again, what got Nat interested in cooking. What made him go “oh actually this is dope“ and excel at it. Also what is his favourite food. Hope you’re doing well 👍

hi hello good morning! which I can technically say because it is 1:49am c: thank you for the ask!! I hope you are doing well also, that work is good and birds are good~

Nat's favourite food is apple and strawberry crumble!! his comfort food however is a specific halloumi, veg and lentil curry :3

so, Nat initially got interested in cooking for, like........ the help it can offer in terms of bonding and friendship :3

it's not too complicated of an explanation! simply put, growing up, very small Nat and his older sister Lyra didn't really have all that many hobbies or interests in common and she was often super busy with study, n he was just really keen for any opportunity to spend time with her and bond with her :P so, since Lyra enjoyed cooking and creating and experimenting with new recipes, Nat decided he would be too

Of Course, I Am Going To Elaborate, Because I Am Me <3

like, he never DISLIKED cooking of course, but it wasn't something he was particularly interested in as a hobby, it was mostly just that he wanted to spend time with his sister and impress her hahaha. so, when they lived together at home, they spent a lot of time in the kitchen together, making different dishes and learning stuff and experimenting, which both of them enjoyed because it was a nice excuse to take a break from other stuff in their lives :P

Lyra is a much better cook than Nat, but Nat is still extremely good compared to a lot of other folks. he did eventually come to find it a genuinely fun and relaxing thing to do, rather than just "I wanna hang out with Lyra 'cause she's cool so I guess I will let her help me make a weird risotto"

I'm not sure anything in particular made him click over from "this is just whatever" to "oh actually this is dope" :P I do think Nat is a far more creative and inventive person than he gives himself credit for, and creativity and inventiveness aren't really aspects of his personality he expresses in most other areas of his life. so he probably enjoys cooking because it hits that particular sweet spot, to some extent. he does get a lot of enjoyment out of it!

BUT mostly, it's for the bonding opportunities I think, both in the creation process and in terms of, like..... I mean, in general, sharing a homecooked meal with someone is a bonding experience, it's an act of connection and community, which Nat really really really likes. in fact, cooking for people or sharing a meal he's cooked is one of the most common ways he shows affection and often how he expresses to someone that he'd like to be friends :3

Nat has long since become estranged from his family, but he still adores Lyra and continues to hone his skills for her hahaha. plus I think the act of cooking is probably a comfort for him, reminds him of nice times...!

at the start of the story, he mostly just cooks for himself and occasionally brings homecooked food to his elderly neighbours as a gift. like, he never used to talk to ANY of his neighbours, but one day they knocked on his door and asked for his help to move some furniture and referred to him as a "sweet young man" and after that he was just kind of like?? friends??? is this how friends happen???? should I start talking to them now?? they were so nice??? idk how to express myself interpersonally so I am going to bake them a pie???

so now he just occasionally awkwardly taps on their door and is like, eyes down, mumbling in a panic, words piling on top of each other, "hello how are you here is a pasta bake I am going back home now" bc..... lmao. it's Nat

when he gets sort of. forcibly absorbed into a number of Quinn's social circles, he jumps at the chance to cook for people :3 it's wins all round for him, since he's often really anxious around people and a bit socially clumsy. he gets to hang out in the kitchen and still be vaguely Present but not in the midst of all the social chatter, he gets to cook something tasty and fun, he gets to share this with people, he gets to feel useful, AND he gets to bask in the inevitable compliments and people going "oh this is delicious how did you make it? :D"

like. if he cooks you something and you say something nice about it or that you really enjoyed it, he will bask in that for hours. he is like a golden retriever that's just been told it's a good boy. this lad is addicted to compliments I think

but yeah as you're probably aware, his self-esteem is not fantastic lol. so as much as he genuinely does love cooking, he also tends to latch onto anything that makes him feel useful and wins other people's approval! whenever he bumps into something that makes him feel capable and appreciated and nice he just sort of. refuses to ever ever ever let go. n cooking has become that for Nat, I think

but yes. friendship! bonding! compliments! feeling useful! and it's a means of expressing affection that actually feels comfortable for him. one of the first questions he will ask anyone he identified as "potential friend" is "what's your favourite food" so he can make sure he knows how to cook it

I think it's just something he's come to associate with friendship and closeness, as well as like.....

A Way To Get People To Want To Be Around You, however warped that perspective is

anyway, apparently I had more Thoughts on that than I thought I did, but I am fresh out of thoughts now! all of the thoughts have left me.

thank you for reading and I hope you're having a cool day!!

#a rental car takes a left down rake street and disappears

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kingliam2019 · 3 years ago

Text

I Know You’re Out There Somewhere 5

Gabrielle has been gone 6 months and now at 8 months pregnant Clara has made her slow down and lessened her workload, to 2 days a week. Sitting in her office and just doing minimal computer file work. At her last Dr. appointment, she was told that the baby was fine and progressing well, which made her happy. And was told to expect back aches and rest as much as possible. Her back has been hurting more and more and no amount of heating pads and soft pillows would ease the pain, the only thing would help was a nice warm bath, which she took nightly. Sometimes while relaxing her mind would wonder to Cordonia and Liam and her friends and how she just left, but she was pissed after Madeline showed up to her door the next day and said Liam proposed, she should have confronted him right then and there after Madeline left her room but she knew that’s what King Father and Godfrey wanted, they didn’t want an outsider, someone living from paycheck to paycheck to rule their country, hell maybe they thought she was a Crown chaser who wanted the rich life knowing that she would never want again and run the Country to the ground and go spend crazy and be a modern day Mary Queen of Scots, but she wasn’t like that, growing up not poor, but worked to get by she knew what it was like to go without, so she would have never been like that. She wanted to help and turn around the Country, Help the poor, and homeless and make sure all children had a warm home and adopted parents who loved them as their own, hell if it came to it, she would have talked to Liam about having them work at the palace, even if it were to clean the dungeons. But that’s all water under the bridge, she has a great job, a great place to live and is surrounded by beautiful co-workers.

The day after Bas left Leo’s Quarter’s with the information on Tariq being in the Sonoma Valley, Madeleine did some investigating into the area. Bas was nice but he did things old school, not relying on computer’s, he called in favor’s making other people do the work while he came out reaping the benefits, hell just about the only thing he was good for was his fighting skills. After some computer digging, she made a few calls to get her plan in motion.

Drake, Olivia and Maxwell were with Liam trying to help keep his mind from wandering to Riley, they convinced him to start eating more and drinking less, that his country was falling apart and needed their King back, Leo could do so much as King Regent, so with their help, meetings were made, charities were back to being cared for and the people were starting to rally around their King. He and Drake were in the gym more. Every time Liam wanted to drown himself in booze to rid his pain of Riley not being there, they were in the gym, either exercising or honing up on their fighting skills. “How ya holding up there Liam feeling better? I don’t want to wear ya out.” “Na man I’m good, I feel really good actually, thanks for this Drake it does really take my mind off things.” Sitting in the Sauna relaxing after a workout, Liam stretched out on the bench, Drake sitting with his head thrown back stretching his back, Liam turned to Drake with a look of guilt, he sighed softly.” Drake, I wanted to thank you for helping me get out of my funk, I know that you and Max and Liv and Leo and Bas have been helping in finding Riley, I know I should be helping too but I was just so caught up in my own self at her leaving and the stupid thing I did by kissing Madeline, but we were all so drunk, I’m not mad at her for kissing you,” “ Li I’m sorry man I didn’t know she was going to do that…” Liam held up his hand stopping Drake from going on. “I know man, I know but like I said I’m not mad at either of you, I was going to her room the next day to apologize after I woke up, but when I got there, she was gone. I found out what Madeline did that morning telling Riley that I proposed, I went to confront her, I went to her room and knocked on her door wanting to give her a real good tongue lashing for what she did, but when she opened the door, she crumbled at my feet with her head in her hands sobbing and telling me how sorry she was. I took in her disheveled appearance; I saw the honesty in her eyes.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. Looking back at Drake before adding more water to the stones. Drake raked his fingers through his hair. “Do you believe her Li? I mean come on its Madeline, we all know she’s as calculating and as cunning as they come, could have been another act? I mean …”

“ No Drake she was sincere, she never wanted the crown, she just joined the season because Regina and my father, (and I use that name loosely,) didn’t want her to get hurt like my mother did, which is bullshit to me but anyway yea I do believe her, she told me while we were on the tour she found someone with whom had his eye on her for some time, and they have been seeing each other when they could.” Drake’s eyes were wide while his jaw hit the floor… “Wait What? Are you serious?” “Yea she told me that the night we all went out to the beer garden, she was leaving Cordonia to go live with him and wanted to see where it could go.” “Wow Li just…. WOW. okay, care to share who?” “Um yea ya ready for this? Franchesco.

@ao719 @bebepac @the-soot-sprite @angryschnauzer @bobasheebaby @txemrn @dcbbw @queenrileyrose @kingliamandriley @hertzwritings @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @fictionloveevie @kat-tia801 @sirbeepsalot @twinkleallnight @busywoman

#trr liam #Liam and Riley #the gang

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itcameuponamidnightqueer · 4 years ago

Note

fake dating 10, any pairing you want

damie + “please just hold my hand, that person’s basically undressing me with their eyes.”

trope prompts

It’s not that Jamie doesn’t want to be at this school function, it’s just that—

No, that’s a lie. She definitely doesn’t want to be here, and wouldn’t if she weren’t part of the staff. Wouldn’t be here if Dani hadn’t tricked her, really, because Jamie’s usually pretty good about saying no even at work.

“Rebecca’s back from traveling,” Dani had tried, and Jamie said no because who knows how long that’ll last.

“Owen said he’s gonna ask Hannah out,” she’d tried next, and Jamie had actually laughed in her face.

“Someone is actually going to have to physically force those two together,” she’d replied, and Dani’s eyes lit up, prompting her with a quirk of an eyebrow.

In no world does Jamie want to be that person.

Dani had sighed. “Free booze,” she’d grumbled, desperate. Jamie had rolled her eyes and opened the door to her well-stocked liquor cabinet.

Dani had pursed her lips together and turned her face away, almost quick enough for Jamie to miss the grin she was failing to suppress.

If Jamie weren’t constantly on the lookout for that smile, she might have succeeded.

Dani had sighed again, raked a hand through her fluffy, perfect hair, and flopped back on the couch.

“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “You win, don’t come, we’ll hang out over the weekend and I’ll just tell you all about how lonely I was at the party—my first party without Eddie, which everyone will probably be asking me about and I’ll have to field awkward questions all night—”

Jamie scoffed. “And you think I’m going to magically make them not be awkward?”

“No,” Dani answered, a little too quickly. “I think you’d glare at them so hard they wouldn’t even ask me in the first place.”

“I think I’ve just been insulted!”

“No,” Dani laughed, “you just have that whole—” She scrunched her eyebrows together and set her shoulders, curled her lip upwards into an unmistakable hint of a sneer. Her voice, when she spoke, was half an octave lower and at least six countries away from Jamie’s accent. “—’Don’t fuck wiv’ me’ vibe going on,” she finished.

Jamie had taken a few long moments to blink away the urge to kiss her.

“You’ve gotten worse,” she’d finally said. “Almost a year and a half working together and you’ve gotten worse.”

“Come to the party and you can spend the whole time teaching me.”

“Dani.”

“Jamie.”

Her eyes weren’t wide anymore; they’d shrunk back to being shy and vulnerable, the stormy kind of blue that Jamie didn’t ever see unless they were alone. Jamie had spent the better part of a year not acknowledging her feelings for Dani, and she was good at it. Not always good enough to escape Hannah’s shrewd gaze, but enough to where it was a genuine friendship, and she only felt the roar of devotion flare up in the quietest, most private of moments.

Jamie was excellent at controlling her emotions. She’d spent an entire lifetime honing that skill, protecting herself from the surprisingly large amount of people who seemed destined to hurt her.

Jamie had nothing on Dani Clayton.

Dani could suppress any negative feeling until it almost ceased to exist; she had an incredible way of just...willing things not to happen. It had taken months for her to reveal the cracks in her relationship with Eddie, and even then Jamie sat by and watched, completely blown away, by how quickly and how sincerely Dani put the mask back up around people who only wanted to see silk and porcelain. The crazy thing about it was that Dani meant it; Dani gave all of her attention to everyone who asked for it. She didn’t have an insincere bone in her body.

But, god—Jamie’s life had been shit before, and still nothing made her sadder than watching Dani perform.

If all it took for her not to do that was one party, well, she could table the rest of it for later.

She’d picked up her phone and opened up the group chat they had with Hannah, Owen, and Rebecca.

“Right,” she’d groaned, “guess we’ve gotta coordinate who’s driving because the only way I’m getting through this is if I’m very, very drunk.”

And so Jamie finds herself at the not-yet-Christmas, ambiguously-winter end-of-semester party, sticking to Rebecca like a leech while she regales groups of coworkers with the same six stories of her very impulsive, wildly successful trip around the world. Dani, meanwhile, hasn’t been answering any awkward questions, from what Jamie’s heard, and is instead relaxed and popular as she chats with all of their friends.

Jamie almost turned around ten minutes in, once it became clear what the tone of the night would be. But there was no sense in bailing when she was already there and hadn’t driven herself, and—

Who would be there for Dani to look at, every twenty minutes or so, just for reassurance or to check in or whatever kind of comfort she might be seeking. (Jamie doesn’t know for sure what it is. She knows what she hopes it is. But that’s something else for the ‘later’ bag.)

She stays. Jamie stays and drinks and laughs and eventually gets sucked into the party of it all, which is why she’s five minutes into her best story of youthful shenanigans that didn’t end in a visit from the cops, and absolutely doesn’t notice the anxious blonde rushing at her from across the room.

“Hold my hand, hold my hand, hold my hand,” Dani urges, arm outstretched as she speeds closer. She hits Jamie’s elbow when she gets close enough and finally manages to wrestle Jamie’s hand into an iron grip.

Jamie, sufficiently interrupted, stops talking and looks down. “What’s going on here, then?”

Dani takes a deep breath and plasters on the worst attempt at a smile Jamie’s ever seen, which is still pretty good by most peoples’ standards. “Remember all those awkward questions I thought I’d get about Eddie?” she says through clenched teeth.

“Yep.”

“Thought they’d be full of pity, not flirting.”

Jamie’s head shoots up, trying to pick out the offenders, but Dani slaps her elbow again.

“Don’t look!” she hisses. “We have to make this convincing.”

“Make what convincing?” Jamie narrows her eyes and takes a long sip of her drink. “You’re pulling me into some kind of scheme, Poppins, and I know I’ve told you what happened the last time somebody did that…”

Dani laughs, high and fluttery and nervous in the back of her throat. “Please just hold my hand,” she implores. “Nathan is basically undressing me with his eyes but I think you can scare him off if he sees us together.”

“Nathan?” Jamie starts to scan the room again, a little less obviously this time. “Nathan Ford, the school’s sluttiest social studies teacher?”

“Mhm.”

“The same Nathan Ford who’s walking over right now?”

“What!” Dani straightens up, rigid and spooked like a deer in the road. “I can’t believe—I was so careful; is he stalking me?”

The anxiety is short-lived and replaced very quickly with anger once Jamie can no longer hold in her laughter.

“You,” Dani says, prying Jamie’s drink from her other hand, “tricked me.”

“You tricked me first,” Jamie winks.

“I don’t even think he’s in here anymore.”

Jamie shrugs. “Probably not.”

“You made me think I was in so much trouble…”

“You’re always safe with me, Poppins.”

Dani finishes the drink.

The funny thing is, neither of them lets go.

Nathan Ford isn’t the only slutty teacher and it doesn’t take Jamie long to get a glimpse of what Dani’s been dealing with, the men—single and married—who look at her just a little too long, a little too presumptuously. Dani, of course, handles it with grace and charm, and Jamie thinks that maybe she didn’t need her grumpy buffer after all.

She holds tight anyway, just in case.

It’s a dangerous thing to do, parade a fake relationship in front of all of their coworkers, but it doesn’t feel wrong or forced. They’re going on a break soon, Jamie rationalizes. School is going on a two-week break and everyone is drunk and no one is going to remember the scandal of the fourth grade teacher clinging all night to the newest member of the art department. If they do...well, everything can be laughed off or pushed down or forgotten eventually.

So they cling and they talk and Jamie expertly lets every too-interested man know, with absolute certainty, that their efforts should be directed elsewhere. She tickles her fingers against Dani’s, throws in a few isn’t that right, love’s every once in a while, rubs a hand on her back when the moment feels right. And Dani—

Dani invades her space—presses their shoulders together, scratches at the inside of Jamie’s wrist, wipes a stray bit of liquor from the side of her mouth after an untidy sip. Jamie feels all of this and lets it wash over her, lets it sink under her skin and warm her body until she feels like she could start a fire with her hands.

The night winds down and people filter out and eventually there isn’t anyone left to fool. But Dani’s hand is still in hers and Jamie is more than happy to be slow and soft with her. She stays, for the tenth and fifteenth and hundredth time.

It’s just the five of them left, eventually, and they migrate to the bar when the party room in the back seems too large for such a small group. They situate themselves on stools in the corner, and the conversation flows without a hitch. It always has with this group—Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca first, then Dani, then Jamie. She’d tell them all how much it really means to know them if anyone got enough drink in her.

Until then, she’ll scoff at group texts and drag her feet to parties and settle into the fact that they all know it’s for show anyway.

She props her head on her hand and listens, quickly approaching the sleepy part of drinking. She tries not to watch Dani too much while they all talk but it’s difficult—Dani is noticeable at a distance and absolutely striking up close. The curl of her lips as she smiles, the way they overtake her entire face if she means it enough (and she usually does); the laughter that pours out of her and directly into the hearts of anyone lucky enough to be listening; the way her ears look bigger when she hooks her hair behind them, how she only does that when she’s in very comfortable company.

After about thirty minutes, Jamie gets up to retrieve their coats before she does something stupid, like playfully tug at Dani’s earlobe or reach in to straighten the collar on her shirt.

She returns shortly, holding her leather jacket and Dani’s very puffy winter coat, and sits down without a word, content to wait for a natural break in the conversation. She folds the coats over her lap and fiddles with a coaster on the counter.

Dani absently reaches back to still her fingers after about a minute. A simple gesture—resting her hand atop Jamie’s, perhaps swiping her thumb across the back of her hand. Nothing like the displays they’d been putting on earlier. So unlike them, in fact, that Jamie doesn’t notice it at all.

Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca can’t take their eyes off it.

“So, what, were you waiting to tell me until I got back?”

Jamie nurses the dregs of her beer. “Tell you what?”

“This, what is this!” Rebecca exclaims, fluttering her fingers in the direction of Jamie and Dani’s still-clasped hands. “I go gallivanting around the world for an entire year and neither of you mention that you’ve shacked up?”

Jamie and Dani look at their hands, look at each other, and start speaking at the same time.

“We’re not dating, it was just a stupid thing for tonight—”

“Jamie’s doing me a favor since Eddie’s gone and men are creepy—”

“Right, sure.” Rebecca squints and fixes both of them with a sly glance. “It’s just for tonight, to ward off creepy men, which is why you’re still doing it since there are so many of them around now.”

“Must have just gotten used to it,” Dani offers weakly.

“Of course, which is why you still haven’t let go.”

Jamie lets go and tries not to telegraph how much she misses the weight of Dani’s hand.

“You’re definitely not dating,” Rebecca continues, “which is why Jamie got up and got her coat and Dani’s, and left the rest of us hanging.”

Dani looks down and finally notices the coat in Jamie’s lap. “You got my coat?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” Jamie shrugs. “Seemed like you were ready to go.”

“Yeah, but I was—I was still talking.”

Jamie waves a hand. “You were telling the piano lesson story; you always tell that when you want the night to wind down.”

“No, I—” Dani frowns and retrieves her purse from where it’s hooked around the stool; she rummages through it frantically, her movements loose and messy. “How did you get my coat check ticket?”

“Took that from ya ages ago, Poppins,” Jamie answers. “You were so nervous you were gonna rub the number right off it, and then we’d both be shit outta luck.”

Jamie watches as the expression on Dani’s face morphs, unfurls from stern, puzzled ridges and relaxes into fondness, into twinkling eyes and soft cheeks, a mischievous affection that floors Jamie every time she sees it. Every time, she wonders how many people have been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of this look, and hopes that the answer is ‘very few’.

“We should, um, probably go,” Dani whispers.

Jamie smiles. “We all drove here together,” she reminds Dani, just as quietly.

Dani slumps back. She reaches for her coat but instead of grabbing it, simply rests her hand on top, like she’s waiting.

Jamie breathes deeply and avoids looking at Rebecca.

“Owen, mate,” she says, daring him to tease her, “maybe you could drop off Dani and me first.”

#the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani x jamie #dani clayton #jamie taylor #can't believe it's taken me this long to jump on the bly manor bandwagon but #here i am boys here i am world!!#as usual: this got out of hand!!!#tumblr fic #long post #anonymous #carments

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prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

Cordy the vampire slayer

Cordy and Buffy Bodyswap au

Request: Hi, if you have time could you write a Buffy and Cordelia Body Swap fanfic? Set in the early episodes of Season 2? Giles tells Buffy about a special holiday for slayers, where the slayer can temporarily switch bodies with anyone she chooses and after an argument with Cordy, Buffy accidentally makes her choice. The only problem was that Giles never got to finish telling Buffy how long the switch would last — three months!

Requested by: Anon + @archiefan23

A/N: Just a little warning that Cordy kisses Angel as Buffy at one point. I really enjoyed this one !! Sorry it took so long to post love 💖

It was late morning. But the heat was rising by the minute. It was the kind of sunny day that held a multitude of possibilities. The temperature in the high school library was warmer still, but not uncomfortably so. It surrounded them in a glow that marked the beginning of summer. The kind of summer they hoped would spell demons and the like taking the same long break to sunbathe as they wished to.

Giles was in his usual suit, he wore his old faithful no matter the weather. The others figured there must be some kind of magic, breathable material tailored to him as otherwise he would be sweating buckets.

Xander, Buffy and Cordelia were waiting for Willow to arrive as Giles paced, figuring out how exactly to begin his speech without boring the teenagers to death. Unfortunately, this particular battle was one that would never be won.

Willow arrived, apologising and rushing to sit beside Xander giving him a bright smile. Giles nodded at her before turning to reveal

Giles sets the green, jagged stone in the centre of the table. Everyone just stared. It had begun to glow. The first time in a few decades.

“In every generation-”

“Oh I know this one!”

“-Yeah, there is a chosen one, yada yada-”

“No, well – yes. But, that was not what I was explaining. It is good, however, that you do actually heed what I tell you”

“God, Giles, nobody can forget it”

“I have dreams of that speech” Willow agreed.

“Nightmares” Xander added, shuddering.

“Yes, well, moving on from that enthused rally of support – in every generation there is a moment in the Slayer’s life where her consciousness may switch with that of a human. It is tradition that this would allow her to hone her skill and-”

“Well, I’m sold” Buffy shrugged, thinking of all of the free time she could have.

“-It was, ah, a vacation in some way and in others it was a sentence upon the woman that she swapped forms with”

“A sentence? Like, she had to write a paper on being a Slayer for the day? That’s horrible” Cordy said as Willow and Xander rolled their eyes at each other.

“Well, no – no nothing like this. The woman would endure being the slayer and survive unscathed would walk on the path of the righteous. She could be mythologised depending on how well she adapts to the gift”

“Yeah, like it could even be that hard!” Cordelia immediately scoffed whilst filing her nails.

“You wouldn’t last a minute, Cor”

“Oh yeah? Try me. I could slay twice as good as you!” she insisted indignantly, her hands on her hips.

“Yeah but Buffy would still get all the credit – you would be operating her body like some kind of whacky sci-fi feature” Xander added which made Cordy consider it. But, nonetheless she snatched up the stone and gestured for Buffy to do the same.

“Well, like, we would all know”

Buffy was pleased, mostly she wanted to have the day off. She thought Cordy had a pretty sweet gig. She was popular, athletic and people seemed to respect her. Plus she had seen the barista in the local coffee shop always gave her free Frappuccino’s.

So, they agreed. Giles asked several times if they were sure and they both raised an eyebrow and tried to get him to hurry up. Cordy decided she could track Devon down and show him exactly what he deserved for ignoring her for so long.

Giles put his hands over theirs who were clasped around the stone, palms glowing green as he recited the ancient rites. They stared at each other, their own bodies and facial expressions looked almost alien. It was really strange and Buffy couldn’t stop staring down at Cordy’s hands that were now hers.

The bell went and everyone went their separate ways. This could be fun, both thought at the exact same time. Cordy and Buffy couldn’t stop beaming for the entire day. They were really enjoying the swap. Cordelia would even write a paper on her day she was in such a good mood.

Cordy immediately skipped her morning classes and went to the beauty salon, to try and do something about Buffy’s hair and nightmare she called nailbeds. She was doing the girl a favour and it relaxed her anyway.

She found Devon and flipped him over her head with ease, warning him to call Cordelia back which he insisted he would and scrambled away. She dusted her hands off and put her hands on her hips proudly.

Buffy on the other hand went to all of Cordelia’s classes with little to think about other than whether that hot guy at the back was staring at her. She could just sit there with little expectation of her and enjoy it. She didn’t have to think about anything and it was really fun. She didn’t even mind sitting for Harmony for half an hour discussing the merits of a new hair serum.

It was going well. That first day was the easiest one and they were both convinced the other had it easy still. That was, until the revelation Giles was about to bestow on them. It was the end of the day and both met at the Library at the end of the day.

They returned to Giles in order to switch back. They just presumed this holiday was for a day before they were allowed to turn back. When they said this, Giles had to break it to them. Giles squinted, realising he hadn’t explained properly. They would be doing this for three months. At this revelation both of them began speaking over each other in their horror.

“That’s not a vacation, that’s squatting! This is a human rights violation, she should be paying rent to be living in there” Cordelia, from inside Buffy’s body, screeched.

“You should call your lawyer. Oh, wait – is he my lawyer now?” Buffy asked, deep in thought.

“Perhaps, uh, this will prove a pivotal part of understanding the other’s-”

“Oh my God! This is so not happening!” Cordelia spoke over Giles’ probably very profound explanation and instead stormed away.

She got in her car and started to drive towards her house, realising that she couldn’t go home. She scowled and reversed, driving to Revello Drive and tried to figure out which of the tiny box rooms was hers.

Buffy stayed with Giles and tried to see if there was a quick fix, but there was honestly nothing that he could do. He offered to drive her to Cordelia’s house and insisted that he would be there for her and Cordelia for the next few months.

The first month:

It had been a struggle. Neither of them were communicating much and Gies had insisted that the slayer still had to

It was ruining Cordy’s social life (not that she was convinced that Buffy had one anyway). She turned up to school after being driven by Joyce which she found kind of embarrassing but again, didn’t really mind seeing as nobody would know it was her.

Buffy’s arm was in a sling as she walked through the corridors. Cordelia had been trying to slay the night before and had fallen awkwardly onto her arm. No thanks to the real Buffy, who hadn’t come to help her.

As she was passed by herself, she reached and clasped her good hand around her wrist and pulled her with her. She tried to struggle but her new superstrength gave her the upper hand.

“Bathroom. Now!” Cordy squinted at herself and pulled Buffy with her again when she didn’t move of her own accord. Cordelia checked that the bathroom was empty before rounding on her.

“You know… if that happened last night your arm should be healed. Benefit of the slayer deal” Buffy offered before she could open her mouth, still trying to get used to navigating Cordelia’s body.

“Oh, yeah, I know - it’s fine. I just wanted a little sympathy but everyone kinda ignores you in the halls, huh?” she muttered, taking the sling from her shoulder and trashing it.

“Well-”

“Not the point! Where were you last night?! There was a vampire and it was like he knew every punch I was gonna throw!”

“How rude of him”

“I know!” Cordy agreed before stopping, realising Buffy wasn’t actually as invested as she was.

It was weird to Buffy how easily she had slid into being the popular girl again but it was a complete breath of relief. As if the entire world had been removed from her shoulders. She felt so much lighter.

“Ugh, just ‘cause you’re so boring and take slaying so seriously and vampires are like obsessed with you doesn’t mean that you have to be such a bitch!”

“I’m a bitch? You’re the queen of b-”

“You’re so gonna regret this, Buffy, I could make your high school career a living hell! Worse than any Hellmouth-!”

“Do you know what? I’m Cordelia Chase – I don’t take crap from anyone! Have a nice slay, oh, I mean day!” Buffy smiled overly sweetly before walking away. Cordy screamed in frustration, slamming her hand against a bathroom stall and ending up punching her entire fist through it in her frustration. Leaving her screaming again, but this time the door took the brunt of her annoyance.

After their exchange in the bathroom, both women decided they were going to make the most of the swap. By messing with the other and their lives. They were set on annoying the other just like they annoyed them.

Both ended up bickering more than usual if they ever saw passed each other. They started to say things or do things slightly out of character to annoy the person whose real life it was. This carried on for a few weeks. Cordelia started to show her strength more obviously, making more and more people question Buffy. Buffy started to pretend she couldn’t pick up even the easiest part of choreography for cheerleading.

Then, one day something happened that Cordelia saw as the final straw. Buffy walked in, as Cordelia, with her hair in a complete mess. She didn’t style Cordy’s hair and walked around all day with a birds nest. Cordy grabs her and tries to style it out, attacking her with a hair brush.

“Does my face really do that when I’m annoyed?”

“All the time” She replied, rolling her eyes. She tried to brush her hair again, but it was no use.

“No, I think the style’s really gonna catch on” Cordelia’s own face was smiling infuriatingly back at her. She was horrified. She was sure that she would never live this down. Her hair looked horrific.

“Fine. Then- then I’ll let everyone know I’m a slayer. I’m sure your Mom-”

“Cordelia! You can’t!”

“Then someone will have to discover that a tangle teaser is our friend”

Buffy soon realises that Cordelia means it and eventually gives in, which allows them a tenuous truce from there on in.

Cordelia and Buffy walked back home in the dark together, mostly in silence. They walk side by side until Buffy says goodnight and walks towards Cordelia’s house which would probably be empty when she got there. Cordelia warned her she wasn’t allowed to drive her car, she didn’t trust her.

It suddenly begins to hit each of them though, as they walked their separate ways. That their lives aren’t quite as easy as they expected.

Cordy realised she’s suddenly making all the tough decisions. The responsibility on her shoulders. Everyone automatically looked at her for guidance, to make the decisions – just because she had Buffy’s face. It was actually really hard.

Not to mention, Joyce’s parenting style was almost suffocating to her and Cordelia barely held back her snapping. She wasn’t used to someone asking after her every movement.

Plus, it was absolutely exhausting juggling slaying, sneaking out and pretending to be normal. She didn’t know why Buffy bothered. Because some gross men said so, like years ago? Cordy insisted if she was Buffy she would have quit. But, again, here she was still playing along even for the next few months without refusing to slay.

Meanwhile, Buffy was feeling how acutely Cordelia’s loneliness appeared to bleed into every aspect of her life. At home, she wasn’t really listened to no matter how rude or loud that she was. Her parents were rarely ever present and when they were it was to give her gifts to make up for all the time they were about to spend away again.

Buffy didn’t enjoy hanging out with Harmony and the rest of Cordy’s friends. None of them seemed to genuinely care about the other. Or share any meaningful bond. In fact, it didn’t seem that they cared for anyone except themselves and as soon as one walked away, they appeared to immediately begin to be rude about the others.

These new realities they have been planted in, these new perspectives gave them both something to think on. But it didn’t take from the fact that they were still so very annoyed with the other.

Month Two:

They had a lot of time to think, while living the other’s life. There was chance to reflect on themselves and the life of the other. In some sense, they were jealous and completely relieved there was an end to this.

The pair had began to bond a little more since the previous month where they were at each other’s throats. There was something about literally living another’s life that made them suddenly bonded together. Even if they didn’t really want to be.

Buffy just tried to avoid Cordy’s friends as much as possible rather than being rude to them. She didn’t want to upset Cordelia’s chance at popularity too much – she was starting to get it now, it was the way that Cordy could feel better about herself.

Towards the end of the second month, Cordelia had got into the swing of slaying by herself since those first rocky weeks. She found herself enjoying the daily exercise routine (she decided she would totally be bringing that back with her when they swapped back).

Cordelia and Buffy had been spending a lot more time together. Cordelia was in her own room – finally. Buffy’s home was a lot smaller, something she called ‘cute’ to her face but Buffy knew what she meant by it.

“When you said have a walk in your shoes, I wasn’t expecting to have to run the vampire-mile in last season’s boots” Cordy huffed, combing through the blonde hair she was still trying to get accustomed to while she looked in the mirror. She was getting angry at it, it was near-impossible to maintain in the way she was used to. Buffy always made it look so pretty. She missed her own brunette hair. She missed the way people would cower as she walked through the halls. She missed not having to

But, she liked that she could relax around the Scoobies and not have to worry about her image, not that she would admit it of course.

“Well, I always wear a heel that has a supportive ankle - y’know, for maximum slayage” Buffy shrugged and smiled, filing her nails in the way that Cordelia usually would. The change was a lot easier for Buffy seeing as this was the life she lived in Emery. It was sort of nostalgic to relive her more carefree years.

“It’s not even that hard, Cordelia. I mean, I don’t know how you hang out with Harmony and those other girls. They’re so shallow and kinda cruel” Buffy held herself back from including Cordy in the kind of girl that was cruel too.

Buffy, despite noticing the drawbacks of Cordy’s life really needed the holiday. She didn’t have any responsibility. She didn’t have to lift a finger at home and she could basically do whatever she liked whenever she liked. Cordelia’s parents barely even saw her.

“But, it never stops! Ever!”

“You’re doing this for what? Another month. You’re doing such a great job – really. Just let me have this last month and then everything goes back to normal”

“That’s easy for you to say! I mean, I have to be the Slayer and what? No soul-having hunk of goodness on my arm!?” Cordelia continued to whine as she got the comb caught in her blonde hair again. She tugged too hard and snapped the object clean in half. She groaned in annoyance. That was the last straw. She huffed and threw the pieces of the comb to the vanity table.

Buffy bit back a smile at Cordy’s overreaction. It was the opposite for her, an inconvenience not to have her strength. She felt weak and had a newfound appreciation for how her friends managed to fight vampires without any powers at their disposal.

However, Cordelia was sick of superstrength and vampire dust that seemed to get everywhere. This gave her an idea that would stay in the back of her mind. Cordy remembered that Angel had been out of town and would be returning for Buffy’s birthday. Interesting.

Buffy looked up, feeling sorry for Cordy. She knew how it felt to be out of your depth and she didn’t have the same kind of support system that Buffy did. Despite Buffy enjoying the freedom she had, she knew that this meant Cordelia wasn’t close with her parents. And her friends were shallow and wholly unsupportive. This realisation is why she offered what she did.

“Cordy? I can help, you know. With the slaying” Buffy offered softly. She was starting to realise she had just left Cordelia to it. Had begun by making her actual life harder too. It made the other woman look over, raising an eyebrow.

“Why would you want to help me?” Cordelia squinted as if she was suspicious, but Buffy just shrugged.

It made each woman think about why they had agreed to swap and what it would mean to work together rather than struggle alone. They nodded at each other, not really sure where they stood with the other.

Month three:

By the third month, both women knew the drill. Buffy would help train Cordelia and provide her with the most knowledge she could about slaying and how to improve. Which, the girl was surprisingly taking in her stride. She had slain three vampires by herself and with a very artistic flourish the night previous.

Cordelia used Buffy’s strength to her advantage spinning into a kick that would have made her overbalance before. She landed a few blows this time before she was thrown into a gravestone. She got up immediately, not allowing herself to stay down. She then charged at the vampire, plunging the stake into his chest leaving him dust in the wind.

She grinned in excitement. It truly was getting easier that slaying gig. She knew she was right – she could totally do it.

“Yeah! Take that, creep!” Cordy shouted at the pile of dust before jumping up and down over how easily she had taken that vamp down.

“Now we just need to work on your puns” Buffy added, her arms crossed as she watched.

“Only people with nothing interesting to say uses puns… oh, and you, obviously” Cordy added with a little shrug. They decided to call it a night and both were only hoping that no apocalypses threatened whilst they were still swapped. She was getting good but still.

During this time, Cordelia had also given Buffy pointers about how to enhance her popularity. To follow the age-old saying ‘Be more Cordy’. She helped her make up with Harmony by buying her something expensive and definitely not apologising to her.

It was still hard and Cordelia was always complaining whilst simultaneously gushing about the work-out routine she was picking up from this swap. She insisted she was going to do a slayer-inspired exercise video and make, like, millions from it which always made Buffy roll her eyes.

Buffy was sitting with her now usual gang of Cordettes hanging around her. She was counting to one hundred mentally in her mind until she would make an excuse and leave them to go to the library. She just hoped that she wouldn’t get seen entering again or face another war of passive-aggression with Harmony. This was one daily battle that she would rather take on an apocalypse over.

“So, what about you and Devon? He’s totally hot” Harmony afforded, “Not as much as my guy, obviously, but some people just have to lower their expectations right?” She smiled sweetly in that way Buffy had now become accustomed to.

“Yeah, Mr invisible sounds totally hot” Buffy quipped, knowing she could at least get away with that. It made the others giggle. Harmony always talking about this mystery guy but nobody had ever seen him.

Buffy sighed as she thought about all of the men she had encountered since she had swapped bodies with Cordy, and what they had propositioned to her at the Bronze. Buffy realised that men tended to try to use Cordelia and then just as quickly begin to ignore her. She does use her looks but she never ends up getting what she wants. She wants a committed relationship, companionship. It made Buffy really sad for her, she finally understood what Cordelia meant about being lonely despite having so many people around her.

She then turns to Harmony and insists, scarily exactly like Cordy would, that he was a total burnout loser with no prospects and even less in his pockets. Total no-go. The way gossip worked at Sunnydale, Devon would be blacklisted by anyone who was anyone by the final bell.

Which, is something she probably wouldn’t have done if she had known what Cordelia was planning to do that evening.

Cordy greeted Angel that evening and he smiled. It was Buffy walking towards him, how could he not smile? Angel opened his mouth to say something but she immediately crashed her lips to his. She kissed urgently, a hint of desperation and need that he would have found nice if it had actually been Buffy kissing him.

He frowned, somehow he could just sense that something wasn’t right. He stilled her, his hands on her upper arm. He pulls back, scanning her face. He squints, not sure if he should say something.

“You’re not…”

“Oh, come on… baby, I’m the slayer and you’re the soulfully good vampire. Let’s- do it” Cordy used her best seductive face, which admittedly worked better with her own features but she worked with what she had.

“Buffy, maybe we should… patrol” angel said, his voice wavered as his forehead furrowed. Something just wasn’t right.

Buffy sighed deeply and rolled her eyes and it reminded him of someone. She turned to leave but he called to her before she did, “Cordelia?” Angel tried and Buffy’s eyes met his immediately.

“How…?”

“You’re not her…” Angel admitted, looking at the floor.

“But I look like her, I’m stuck here with her entire wardrobe! What’s the big?” She sighed, her loneliness bubbling back to the surface. Ashe didn’t know whether to lash out or just cry at the rejection. She was a strong person and yet she was crumbling at the way that even as Buffy who appeared to have everything she couldn’t replicate it the same.

“Love isn’t about looks. Or, how nice your outfits are, which, um – they are pretty” He assured her, trying to soften the blow, “It-it’s something you feel deep inside. Something you know without having to question or second-guess yourself. It’s… her”

Cordy sat on the side of her bed and Angel sat beside her, comforting her. She was upset at this. Nobody had ever felt so deeply for her, she was sure of it. And it stung.

“Why does nobody like me for me? Why do I do everything and still have nobody?”

“You’re a great girl-” Angel started awkwardly, not really sure how to comfort the girl. But at these words, Cordelia suddenly stood up and left, running to Buffy’s house and hiding in her room. Just hiding her tears until she closed Buffy’s bedroom door behind her. She wanted a love story. Why did she feel like a secondary character in her own life?

The next day at school, it was finally the day. The day that Cordelia and Buffy were supposed to swap back.

Angel had explained to Buffy what had happened (although his eye contact was anywhere but her face as he found it weird to be so comfortable talking to Cordy this way). But rather than Buffy flipping out, as she might have done say three months earlier, she realised exactly why Cordy would have tried it on with Angel. Especially so after realising just how lonely it can be living Cordy’s life.

“Cor, I know what happened last night”

“Oh, yeah? What is loser just stamped on my forehead?” Cordy sighed and when she saw the look her own face was giving her she understood. Buffy wasn’t trying to be cruel or laugh at her rejection. She softened slightly, “I’m sorry okay? I am”

“Look, I know we’re not close-”

“And our hair is a very different style and texture” Cordy added without thinking.

“Our slaying abilities are different too” Buffy muttered under her breath and then shook her head at herself. She really was easily sucked into being the popular girl, “We’re not close but we’re a lot more similar than I ever thought. I get it, okay?”

Buffy took Cordelia’s hand in her own and offered her a comforting gesture. So much was left unsaid and yet both felt understood by the other in a way that had never really happened before.

“It’s tough at the top and we’re just both at the top of our worlds” Cordelia nodded along. Buffy’s the slayer of slayers and she slays the rest of the student body to be the most popular. It can be so lonely at the top and both understood the other in a much different way than they ever had before.

Cordy’s words made Buffy smile but she nodded. It was easier for Cordelia to express herself this way. Both of them were glad that they were changing back but they would miss the way that their weird friendship had blossomed through the last three months.

They understood completely now the pressure the other was under. Their points of view. Their lives. They were both hard in their own way. Maintaining Cordelia’s popularity alone was exhausting.

Giles returned to the library, nodding at the pair of them. Telling them that he was proud of the pair of them. Cordelia really had proved herself and Buffy had shown herself as someone who can support others and allow them to learn under her guidance. This admittance made both women gasp, both of them longed for a father figure and Giles saying this made both of them remember this moment for a long time after.

He recited the words, safe in the knowledge that both girls had learnt to work together in the way he had hoped upon his suggestion. Buffy needed to take a step back to have a break to appreciate her gift whilst understanding she had allies she could equally turn to for support.

A green hue lit up the room as their bodies swapped back. There was a final rush of cold air, making them both shiver and instinctually step back from each other.

This was right. Their own body, lives, returned to them. They shared a smile, a small nod of understanding before Buffy launched herself at Cordy. Pulling her into a hug. Both of their eyes were watering, it had been a long past three months.

The girls had never felt close, mostly because they hadn’t really understood the other. Not like this. But now they were sure that they would keep this bond for the rest of their lives.

#Cordelia Chase #Buffy Summers #Buffy #Cordy #btvs #btvs imagine #btvs fic #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #bodyswap au #bodyswap #buffyverse #buffy x cordelia #Buffy Summers x Cordelia Chase

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husbandograveyard · 4 years ago

Note

Hello!! Congratulations on 300!! Love your writing could I request Ace and #47? Hope you a nice day!!

Hiya! Thank you!!! Some freckly boi goodness for the final scenario of this event! Thank you for participating (and please check your PM for your giveaway prize) I hope you like this scenario!! Enjoy!

4th time is the charm - Ace x Reader

Cliche with bae prompt #47: “I have loved you for years” Character: Ace - Word count: 2k

The first time you were children. A marine ship had come into town, and curiosity had taken over: the vice-admiral leading the ship had brought with him two young boys, his grandsons, who seemed less than impressed with the trip their grandfather took them on. You loudly heard them declare something about pirates and trying to sneak away from their grandpa. And you, a child on the island often running away and hiding, knew just the places to get the boys to! Only the eldest saw your motions and ditched his younger brother without a trace of doubt.

You learned his name was Ace, the younger brother’s name was Luffy. Ace cared about Luffy, but like many brothers, he didn’t always show. “Besides, he’s got grandpa looking after him.” The two of you (and sometimes the three of you) always ended up playing together on the island for hours on end, oftentimes either their grandpa or your parents looking for you around dinnertime. When they eventually left the island, you hugged him tightly, telling him to visit again if his grandpa would come to the island again. You even cried a little after the ship disappeared from the horizon.

The second time was when Ace had just become a pirate. You were both just teenagers, just starting to figure out what you wanted in life, but he was already so strong, so determined. He was traveling island to island, trying to recruit people for his crew. When you recognized him, you spent multiple days catching up. But at the end of his visit, he wouldn’t take you along on his travels. “You’re too weak y/n, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt because of the pirate life”.

You were incredibly hurt, more than you thought you’d be. You asked him if he’d by come again if he would take you along when you were stronger. “You’ll have to prove your strength y/n”, he said, “but if you are strong enough, I’ll take you along.” That was enough to set your heart ablaze, and you wished that the hug goodbye would never end. It did, unfortunately, but you did not cry as he left the island this time. You were determined to get stronger.

And thus you trained every single day, no matter how sore you were from the day before. And you did get stronger. Became skilled with many weapons, started learning Haki. You were contemplating leaving the island to go look for a devil fruit. But you couldn’t really leave now, not when Ace might come by again and take you along on his travels.

Years went by and you kept an eye on the newspapers and saw how he became more and more notorious. He and his Spade pirates were making a name for themselves. He’d eaten a devil fruit and had even refused a position as a shichibukai, and even though it made your heart swell with pride and even maybe even a little love, it also made you worried. You were strong, but not that strong, and it had been years now. Maybe he’d never return at all.

The third time you met was after he’d already joined the Whitebeard pirates and you had started traveling on your own. Tired of waiting for him, and half-convinced he was not going to show up anymore, you were now going from island to island, combining low-level bounty hunting with each and every little job you could find in order to keep in shape and earn money to support your travels and upgrade your weapons. You were not sure what your long-term goals were exactly, maybe you wanted to join a pirate crew eventually, but for now, you settled for exploring the world. You had seen amazing things already and you were sure there were plenty of adventures still to come.

When you heard a ruckus outside, you were pretty sure another pirate crew was on its way to the bar where you were working at the moment. It was one of the biggest in town, and you had seen your fair share of pirates. You just hoped they weren’t the angry types of drunks. Not that you couldn’t handle them, they were just a way bigger pain to deal with.

When the door opened, you looked up smiling, ready to greet the new guests, but fell immediately speechless when the first thing you saw was the freckled face of the man you had been waiting for at home. He was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him, and long, firm hugs were exchanged, with plenty of unnecessary comments from his crew. You provided him and his friends with drinks and spent the entire night almost neglecting other customers in order to catch up with Ace.

He apologized for not coming to get you and explained how he had found this crew, or family, as he’d like to call them. He told you of his adventures so far, and you told him about yours. Yours weren’t nearly as impressive as his were, but he still listened to you intently, asking questions and praising your strength and skilled that you had honed over the years. You didn’t dare tell him it was all for him, in hopes he’d take you along after that. You didn’t get to explain too much, somewhere halfway through one of your stories his head suddenly drooped and he fell asleep right then and there. The crew laughed and explained to you that it was quite a common occurrence and to just wait it out.

By the time he woke up, it was nearing the morning, everyone leaving so you could close the bar for the night. Ace apologized profusely, and you told him he could make it up to you by meeting you again the next day. His ears were turning red and he looked positively embarrassed, but he did say yes, avoiding any and all eye contact before he waved you goodbye and followed the rest of the crew back to the ship.

The next day he met you at the back of the bar, and you took him to one of the more quiet places on the island, enjoying the view together. There were no awkward silences, conversation flowed so easily and it had been as if you were talking for years on end, not these random faithful encounters that made your heart flutter every single time. You were wondering if you should tell him how you feel, but now that you were on your own adventure, it would not be as easy to keep up a relationship as it would have been all those years ago. Besides, he had his own family now, no use in trying to work your way into his world, which was always so different from yours.

You were sitting together for a while when he suddenly stopped talking, his head falling onto your shoulder, and because you weren’t prepared and flinched when it happened, slipped onto your lap. He was fast asleep again, in a position that didn't really seem comfortable. You tried to gently shake him awake but to no avail. You tried to move his body as much as you could to make him at least a little bit more comfortable and made sure his neck wasn’t bent in a funny way that could potentially hurt him when he woke up. Not wanting to move now that he seemed relaxed, and softly snoring, you settled for raking your hands through his hair. Although he was sleeping soundly, Ace seemed to lean into your touch a little.

When you grew tired of curling his locks around your fingers -you didn’t want to mess his hair up too badly-, you settled for counting his freckles, softly tracing those on his shoulders. You felt him shift a little and pulled your hand back when you looked down and saw his eyes were open, something in between a gentle smile and a full-on grin on his face, mixed in with some embarrassment, out of all times to fall asleep, this wasn’t the best possible moment.

A few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence and some insanely intense eye contact later, Ace sat up straight again and was on his feet. You followed suit, walking back, it had become quite late and he didn’t want to worry his crewmates. You understood but felt the pang in your heart as he said goodbye. You pulled him in for a hug, which he returned. When you let go, he still held onto your arms, as if he wanted to say something more, the words ready to roll off his tongue. And yet he seemed to swallow them. You couldn’t get yourself to spill your feelings either, so heartfelt goodbyes were all that was exchanged that night.

You regretted not saying or doing anything from that moment on. The next morning the big ship was nowhere to be seen, and you had no idea when you’d ever see him again. With both of you actively traveling, the possibility of you running into each other again was insanely small. But you moved on nonetheless.

The fourth and final time was when Ace was solo traveling as well, and you did not recognize him as you were sprinting to get the final spot in an overcrowded bar. You jumped onto the barstool only to bump right into a muscular chest who’d been just a little faster to claim that final spot for some drinks and dinner. You cursed loudly and were surprised when you heard someone call out your name. Ace.

He quickly offered you the spot, and another evening of catching up ensued, and he told you all about how he was going after someone from his division that had killed another of his family. You listened intently as you saw the pain and guilt on his face when he blamed himself for not being able to catch this man. Your heart made all sorts of jumps when he placed his hand on yours and told you not to worry. You made up your mind right then and there.

“I want to come along with you” “y/n… I don’t think..” “I won’t get in your way, I won’t fight if you tell me not to, and even if you say no, I’ll just be happening to travel in the same direction as you are.” You shrugged and he couldn’t help but laugh at that statement. “Don’t you have your own adventures to live?” “Oh Ace, I initially traveled to seek you out.” His smile faded as he looked at you confused. “I have been in love with you for years now. Please take me along, I cannot take another goodbye.” His mouth opened and closed a few times to say something, his brain obviously not catching up with what you had just said, and you made the bold move of leaning forward and softly pressing your lips to his in order to put some action behind your words. You were careful though, so he could still reject them in case you had completely misread the situation.

You had not: once he got over the initial shock of the situation, he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other sneaking to the back of your head so he could deepen the kiss. You only pulled back when the bartender made a clicking noise, not the best place to share an intense kiss while other people were just trying to enjoy their meal. You both were blushing as you looked in each other’s eyes.

“I thought I’d never get you to travel along with me. I love you y/n. Always have, for all these y-” His head slumped forward and you managed to catch it right in time before it landed in his plate. You giggled. Maybe it would be a good idea that someone came along on his travels.

#ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace #portgas d ace #One piece #one piece writing #one piece headcanon #one piece imagine #imagine #one piece x reader #headcanon #reader insert #one piece HC #request #HC request #300 followers event #cliche with bae #dam-snackbar

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 5 years ago

Text

who made you smile again

For @dls-ao3, who wanted Geralt to realise that punching your bard is never okay.

This story can also be found here on my AO3.

- - -

• it doesn't matter who hurt you, or broke you down, what matters is who made you smile again •

Jaskier’s sitting at the biggest table in the tavern when Geralt returns, surrounded by what seems to be half the village. He’s talking animatedly, hands gesturing and pointing wildly, and he’s temptingly flushed down to what Geralt can see of his chest, hair tousled and eyes sparkling with mirth.

He's in his element, nearly as much so as when he’s playing; Jaskier lives to perform, in one way or another.

Geralt allows himself a small, fond quirk of his lips before he schools his face into neutrality, and starts making his way across the crowded room. Jaskier spots him as he approaches, and his own smile somehow, impossibly, grows even wider, making Geralt’s chest feel all warm and tingly.

“Ah, the man of the hour!” Jaskier crows as he pats the empty seat next to himself, then tugs at Geralt’s sleeve impatiently until Geralt settles down with a grunt. “Ale and food, for the brave Witcher who, oh so heroically, slew the swarms of nekkers that have been terrorising your humble town!”

Geralt doesn’t roll his eyes, but the urge is definitely there. Instead, he accepts the tankard someone passes him, and mouths, “Six nekkers,” behind Jaskier’s back, much to the amusement of the gathered people.

When Jaskier turns to scowl at him suspiciously, Geralt looks at him blankly, and takes an innocent sip of his ale.

The innkeeper brings him a heaping plate of meats and cheeses soon after—on the house, as a thank you for getting rid of the nekkers—and Geralt eats in silence, letting the rumbling sound of Jaskier’s voice wash away the last traces of adrenaline from the fight. One of Jaskier’s hands lands on Geralt’s knee, a comforting and familiar weight, and when he focuses on it, Geralt can make out the soft buttercups-teak-amber scent that is Jaskier under the more prominent tavern smells.

The conversations going on around him are mere background noise, right up until a barked, “That's gotta be utter horseshit, bard!” has all his senses hone in on a man across the table.

His voice is full of annoyed disbelief aimed at Jaskier, and could easily turn into genuine anger under the wrong circumstances; it happens often enough, with inebriated people spoiling for a good fight. Geralt sits up a little taller, and fixes his gaze on the man, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

But Jaskier merely chuckles, light and disarming, and pours a goblet of wine. He slides it over to the man with a cheeky wink, and a teasing, “Oh, my friend, you greatly underestimate the force of nature that is a Witcher.”

Turning to address the whole table again, he continues grandly, “Armwrestling a half-giant? Not even a challenge! Taking down a troll? Like stealing sweets from a babe!”

Geralt has, in fact, had the misfortune of landing in a brawl or two with trolls. He’s not overly keen on repeating the experience, although he’s not going to point that out right now. The man who’d questioned Jaskier’s words is looking increasingly enraptured, nodding along eagerly now, and everyone else is listening with interest and awe as Jaskier keeps relating some of their more outlandish and peculiar adventures.

“But a Witcher is not only a most formidable creature in battle, oh no,” Jaskier says conspiratorially, quieter, and the people lean in closer, like moths caught by a flame. “Their skills can prove incredibly useful in other, more private endeavours, if you get my meaning.”

A young woman lets out a scandalised giggle, while one man chokes on his ale hard enough that his laughing friend has to clap him on the back.

Under the table, Geralt pinches the inside of Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier yelps through his own laughter, slanting Geralt a mischievous look.

A little nervously, another woman asks, “So much strength, though, is it not dangerous?”

“A Witcher’s strength is evenly matched by his control,” Jaskier explains, somewhat testily, and leans most of his weight against Geralt, as if to prove a point. “None of us have anything to fear. Well, none of you, I’d wager, unless one amongst you reveals themselves to be even more incessantly talkative than dear old me.”

There are chuckles all around the table, followed by a few more questions, and Jaskier himself is loose and relaxed where he’s pressed to Geralt’s side, but Geralt himself stiffens at the carelessly thrown out words.

A memory niggles at him, old and half-forgotten, though once he manages to pull it to the front of his mind, Geralt suddenly feels sick. Years ago, shortly after they’d met, on the trek up Filavandrel’s mountain; Jaskier’s constant chattering, a passing mention of Geralt’s old, hated moniker, Geralt’s fist in Jaskier’s stomach, Jaskier’s pained coughing and wheezing.

As if burnt, Geralt snatches his hand away from Jaskier’s leg, staring down at his leather-covered fingers in disgust. Geralt would never use his full strength on an innocent human, that much is true, but he’d hurt Jaskier nonetheless. Back then, just now most likely, and how many other times, without even realising?

And why?

Geralt’s had abuse hurled at him for decades, from both strangers and people he’d foolishly allowed himself to trust. Folk have spat at him, thrown rocks and rotten food after him, refused him pay, and chased him out of town with pitchforks and torches. He’s been tricked, betrayed, hated, yet none of that ever made him lash out with violence.

“Geralt,” Jaskier's voice is laced with concern, quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. He peers at Geralt with furrowed brows, but Geralt can't hold his gaze, ducking his head to escape it after a moment.

He keeps his eyes lowered while Jaskier makes their excuses to his disappointed audience, shame and guilt swirling together in his stomach. Even now, when he least deserves it, Jaskier's priority is to take care of Geralt, even when it goes against what he must have planned for the rest of his night.

Jaskier exchanges a few quick words and a handful of coins with the innkeeper, ordering them a bath and some more ale. They climb the stairs to their room in silence, and even while he helps Geralt out of his armour, Jaskier only hums a slow melody under his breath. It's for his comfort, Geralt knows, and it makes the guilt clump and rise, settling as an aching lump in his throat.

When there's a knock at the door, he's almost relieved that Jaskier has to move away to go open it.

Geralt keeps undressing as the buckets of hot water are carried in, and snatches up one of the tankards as soon as they're put down on the table in the corner, downing it in three big gulps. It does nothing to calm his ugly thoughts, but it does provide a distraction, even if a disappointingly temporary one.

Jaskier appears at his side to take it out of his unresisting hand, fingers whispering a caress across Geralt's wrist. “Come on, then, before the water grows cold.”

The heat of the bath does soothe away some of Geralt's tension. But then Jaskier goes to fetch a stool, goes to sit down at Geralt's back, and Geralt finds himself blurting, “Join me.”

Sharing baths is nothing unusual, hasn't been for some time, although it doesn't feel like something Geralt should be allowed to indulge in, right now. The thought of letting Jaskier take care of him, however, makes Geralt feel much worse, all the more as if he's taking advantage.

If Jaskier's surprised, he doesn't let on. He sheds his clothes unselfconsciously, right where he stands, and steps into the tub with an appreciative sigh. Geralt maneuvers him until his back is flush against Geralt's chest, his head tipped back to rest on Geralt's shoulder.

Reaching out over the edge of the tub, Geralt fetches one of the washcloths Jaskier had laid out, lathering it up before he starts to gently run it down Jaskier's arm. He falters briefly, feeling horribly selfish for enjoying the contact, but then Jaskier murmurs, “That's lovely, sweetheart, don’t stop,” and Geralt couldn't refuse even if he wanted to.

His mind drifts while he washes Jaskier, back to that very first day they’d met.

He remembers how irritated he’d been by the aimlessly yapping bard, to begin with, but also how strangely intriguing he’d found him. Coming across a human brave, or foolish, enough not to fear his kind had been rare, back then, and even with Jaskier’s tireless work, even after the countless ballads singing praise to the Witchers and their good deeds, most people are still at least wary of them.

Jaskier had been an anomaly, and Geralt had been curious, otherwise he would have ditched his pesky shadow before they’d ever set foot outside Posada.

For hours of their journey up the mountain, Jaskier had talked with barely enough breaks for breathing, doing his very best to sell himself as a worthy travelling companion. And, to his own astonishment, Geralt had found himself growing amused by Jaskier’s continuously more ridiculous suggestions—”A horse groomer! My flower crowns are things of legendary beauty, Roach would look marvelous in one!”—and actually considering his offer.

And then Jaskier had mentioned Blaviken, and Geralt had come back to himself, wondering what the fuck it was he was doing.

Allowing a human bard to travel with him, smiling to himself at Jaskier’s antics, horsing about with a bard when he should be focused on his task, on his work, on the Path.

And Jaskier’d still been talking, always talking, and suddenly Geralt had been furious, and—

And he’d punched Jaskier.

For daring to make him feel something beside completely fucking miserable for the first time in what had seemed like forever. For not being afraid of him, for trying to befriend him, for being good.

Too good for Geralt.

Hand shaking, Geralt drops the washcloth next to the tub so he can pull at Jaskier’s leg, exposing the inside of his thigh. And there, high up, it is; a small red mark on otherwise unblemished skin, standing out like a stark reminder of all of Geralt’s faults.

A wounded noise tears itself out of Geralt’s throat before he can stop it, and he stands quickly, turning away from Jaskier and his confused, “Geralt?” to climb out of the tub. He’s dripping everywhere, trembling all over as he stalks into the bedroom proper, then stops in the middle of it with no idea what to do.

A tentative hand lands on his back, between his shoulders, and Geralt twitches, but can’t find it in himself to shake it off. Seemingly emboldened, Jaskier pushes him towards the bed, then onto it, following after Geralt to straddle his lap.

Geralt realises his mistake when gentle hands cup his face, and intent blue eyes bore into his, Jaskier murmuring, quiet but determined, “Talk to me, Geralt.”

There’s nowhere for Geralt to look but directly at Jaskier. He clenches his jaw, grits his teeth, but Jaskier doesn’t back off. Instead, he starts rubbing his thumbs over Geralt’s cheeks, slow and soft, eyes firmly locked on Geralt’s.

Barely audible, hoarsely, Geralt grits out, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier frowns at that, moving one hand from Geralt’s face to poke at the bruise on his thigh. “This?” he asks with a disbelieving little chuckle. “Geralt, darling, I’ve hurt myself worse by walking into doors. Or roughhousing with my brothers, as a child. Or tripping over my own clumsy feet. It was in jest, I don’t mind. I like you teasing me, you know I do. And marking me, though I usually prefer your mouth to be doing the actual marking.”

Which Geralt knows, he really does, but it does little to reassure him right now. “Not this,” he forces out, then amends, “Not only this.”

“If this is about the dragon mountain again,” Jaskier begins, tenderly tucking a few strands of damp hair behind Geralt’s ears, “you have to know, by now, that I’ve accepted your apology. And forgiven you, sweetheart.”

Which Geralt also knows, though a reminder of that particular conversation is never a pleasant one. “You always do. Forgive me. And I—I keep hurting you.”

“Geralt, what—”

“When we met,” the words feel like rough gravel in Geralt’s mouth, “the day with the sylvan. I hurt you.”

Understanding flashes across Jaskier’s face. “You punched me. And I reminded you, tonight, didn’t I?”

At Geralt’s terse nod, Jaskier laughs softly. “It was a long time ago—”

“That’s no excuse!” Geralt snaps, then immediately clenches his mouth shut again.

Instead of rearing back, or getting angry, however, Jaskier turns thoughtful. “It isn’t, I suppose,” he allows after a moment. Rubbing at the tense muscles in Geralt’s jaw, he wants to know, “What happened? That day, I mean? Because, Melitele knows, I’ve made you furious since.”

Geralt has to close his eyes. “You showed no fear. You were annoying. You made me feel—” he cuts himself off, gives a helpless shrug. “You made me feel.”

“Oh, you old fool,” Jaskier says, nothing but fondness in his voice and face when Geralt dares to glance at him. He leans in to brush a brief, featherlight kiss over Geralt’s lips, then leans their foreheads together. He huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling in humour. “That would do it, wouldn’t it?”

“Jaskier—” Geralt tries to protest, but is promptly shushed with another kiss.

“Do you regret it?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“Of course you do. Would you do it again?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“No, you wouldn’t. Because you’re a good man, Geralt. You have faults, you misstep, as does everyone else. But you learn, from every single mistake, and that is such a precious gift, one that not nearly enough people possess. You try so, so hard to overcome all the prejudice, the disadvantages, the adversities that have been put in your way, and I am so, so incredibly proud of you, my love.”

Geralt genuinely does not know what his face does at that proclamation, but whatever it is, it has Jaskier snort inelegantly. “Yes, yes, I know. We’re done talking, I promise.”

Relieved, in more ways than he can count, Geralt cranes his neck to kiss Jaskier properly.

And when Jaskier demands, murmured hotly against Geralt’s lips, “Show me what that Witcher strength of yours is good for, darling,” Geralt doesn’t hesitate.

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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

Text

Pizza Night

A/N since 1am is an appropriate time to post. Here have some smut

You kick your heels off the second you get in the door, setting down your work laptop and keys onto the entry table with an angry sigh.

As you make your way further into your house you shed of your stuffy suit jacket before taking off your bra without taking off your shirt with a grace only a woman knows.

"Much better." You hum, tossing it onto the back of the couch. Turning on some soothing music before opening the fridge, spying the chicken quickly. You had promised to make dinner tonight before your man got home.

See cooking wasn't your best skill BUT you always kept your word.

Plus you'd been practicing, trying so hard to hone your skill because your boyfriend always cooked depsite his 12 hour shifts. Even making you meals ahead of time durning his 24 hour shifts. Paired with a sticky note of his angry writing telling you EXACTLY how to heat it best.

Guilt ate you alive although he told you countless times he *enjoyed* cooking for you, *loved* it really. So you took to your phone, scrolled through endless recipes on pinterest before you found the perfect one.

You had only made it once before using Kirishima as a Guinea pig. He had enjoyed it, although it was burnt. He walked you through how to cook it another two times before you finally could make it on your own.

It all started out normally but of course since you were making it for your favorite hot head things were starting to go astray.

Your pan was hot, butter melted like Kirishima had showed you but for whatever reason today some of the meat was not sitting in the pan correctly, charring the middle as the ends became neglected.

You lunged for your phone in a panic, video calling the only man who could help your right now. He picks up on the third ring with a yawn

"Eji! Help!" You cry, "Bakugou will be home soon!"

Time is lost to you as Kirishima instructs you to start over, music still softly playing in the living room but loud enough you do not hear the front door open and close.

Bakugou enters with a grunt, pushing off his combat boots toe to heel. Eager to get out of his hero suit, shower, feed you and maybe fuck.

His eyes spy your work jacket before they roll heavily. He takes the black garment with angry hands as he hangs it onto the coat rack behind the door.

He goes to shout at you for always leaving your jacket on the damned couch before he hears the low tones of a man's voice coming from the kitchen. The ash blonde freezes in place, rigid as he strains to listen.

He steps closer to the kitchen, not daring to turn down the mood music that floats out of the speaker.

"Kirishima I'm so nervous. Nnnngggnnn." He hears your whining better now that he's closer. Whining that sounds too close to when you're over stimulated, cheeks flushed with arousal. He narrows his eyes, telling himself that maybe it's a phone call. Maybe it's a mistake, until he spies one of his favorite work bras you have. A lacy nude thing that he's gotten in plenty of break time bathroom selfies via text just to tease him.

"Ah Kirishima it won't fit!" Another whine.

"Calm down, it'll fit. Just relax and readjust." Kirishima's voice soothes, causing Bakugou to see red as another sinful whine floats down the hall. He rushes into the kitchen, not even bothering to take off his gauntlets as he is hoping to catch you two in the act.

Or at least the act he thinks the two of you are in.

Deep down he is hurt, heartbroken over the fact that you've been sleeping around.

And with his best friend worst yet.

Or at least now his ex best friend.

"IMMA FUCKING KILL YOU KIRISHIMA EIJIROU!" He rounds the corner with popping hands, thinking better than to fill his gauntlets to unleash. Eyes looking for that damned red head.

But instead they fall on you, as you're the only body standing in the kitchen, hand clutched to your heart. It is then that scarlet eyes discover your phone. Propped up facing towards you and the now half burning half raw meal as Kirishima blinks on the glass with wide eyes.

"Baby...?" You ask softly as he huffs, eyes darting around the room before he lunges towards the phone.

"She'll call you back later." He snarls, tapping the glass trying his hardest not to break the screen. He drops his bulky gauntlets, tossing them onto the dining room table.

"Bakugou what are you....?" But he doesn't let you finish, pushing you into the counter, slamming both hands down to trap you.

Silence settles over the two of you as he stares angrily into your eyes.

"Bakugou?" You prompt softly for his hands to find your hips and squeeze until it hurts. You half wonder if there will be bruises by the time he is done.

"I seriously fucking thought I was going to walk in here and see you in a compromising position, *whining* like a brat to another man." He growls darkly leaning closer to your face.

"Suki...." You see the anger smolder in his eyes but you cannot help yourself, "What kind of compromising position?"

His eyes flash a dangerous warning that quickly becomes a promising threat as he turns you around, pushing you harshly onto the counter. One hand is holding you down by the nape of your neck while the other grips tightly onto your hips. He bucks into you causing the edge of the counter to bite into your belly as you try to keep the moan from your mouth.

"Like that little brat." He snarls harshly in your ear, when he sees your cheeks heat he nibbles on your ear, "I see you like it when I'm jealous huh?"

You don't answer although the truth is yes, just a little.

"Do you think Kirishima would pin you like this brat?" He grips tightly on the column of your neck, you feel him harden against your ass as he dominates you.

But often times one does not realize that it is the sub who controls the dom through strategic reactions. A devilsih smirk dances across your lips as you answer faster than you can talk yourself out of it.

"Yes, sir I think he would." Bakugou stills behind you, he knows bait when its presented.

What he should do is press his cock against you a final time and deny you both cumming and the ability to give him pleasure as his little fucking brat.

He decides in a fraction of a second that he is going to make you regret those words. His strong hand pins yours behind your back pressing you harshly into the counter as his toned arm comes into your vision grabbing a utensil from the marble holder.

Your eyes widen as he snatches the wooden spatula with three little slats that will be sure to leave odd welts. He places the handle of the spatula in his mouth as you wiggle to break free while his free hand rips away your skirt to reveal a nude laced thong that matches that abandoned bra so well.

"Oh and who did you wear these for?" He asks holding the utensil just above your ass, "Were you expecting your boss to explore?"

You don't answer, still squirming beneath his steely grip.

"Ah the cat has your tongue now huh kitten?" He brings the spatula up high just for it to kiss your ass with a ringing sound, "See I don't think Kirishima would be rough enough for you."

You let out a moany yelp before he brings the spatula back down again, your core heats as does your cheeks as you enjoy the punishment he brings.

"That's for calling another man with no bra on where he could clearly see the outline of your nipple ring." He growls, striking again and then again, "This is for using your damn breathy whine with him that you know drives me wild brat."

Then he brings it down a final time as you soak through the thin fabric, juices beginning to collect along your thick thighs.

"This is for is for the innuendos that made me think to find you like this little kitten."

You moan again, wondering how big the welts will be or if your cheeks are bruised as he tosses the improtu instrument onto the counter where you can see. The handle is charged and splintered from his grip, the sight of it makes your core clench as you think of him holding back. He smooths his heated hand over his new markings before he gives it a final smack with his bare palm.

Face leaning down low to give it the smallest kiss, his eyes catching onto your overly noticeable arousal.

"Tch. You really are a slut huh? So wet and from being *punished* too." He growls, fingers slipping past the fabric to find your swollen bud, he runs his fingers up your length before settling in on a brutal pace. Your hips buck against him, legs quivering as he begins to bring you up to the best high, your moans come out loud and breathy as he pushes you impossibly further onto the counter top, the edge pressing deeper into your solar plexus.

"So close to cumming already? We can't have that can we? Only good kittens get to cum." He slows just a tad before hearing you up again. Your moans climb higher as the coil in your stomach tightens. Just as it is about to spring he removes his hand completely as you whine in response.

"Bakugou that's..." You don't get to finish before his hand is gripping onto your hair, pulling you up quickly.

"That's not how a good kitten would address me." He growls, before his mouth finds the tender flesh on your throat. Kissing, sucking and biting every moan from you he can as you continue to grow slicker.

"Aaahh. I'm....I'm sorry, Bakugou-sama." He bites back his groan when you answer. His mind flashing back to you in a similar outfit you wore today the first time he met you.

A tight skirt and blouse, a tailored jacket but you must have worn only a bralette that day because all he could see was the outline of your right nipple ring. Winking at him, teasing him from the beginning hinting at the brat that you are. He thought of many dirty things he wanted to do to you.

He never thought they would actually happen, let alone you actually love him.

He slips his hand to give that nipple ring a tug to which you moan before he steps back, removing his hands from your wrists.

"Hands on the counter." He snarls as he takes you in, purplish welts bloom on your ass, making you that much more alluring. Instead of listening what do you do?

You try to pretend that you are in charge, getting up and turning to face him. The glare he serves you is hotter than any fire as he looks down at you, lip pulled slightly away from teeth. You look away as you speak.

"I don't think you're being fair denying me my..." Is all you get out before you catch his eyes again. You gulp as his gaze is now too intense, too heated and dominate to oppose. Suddenly the floor is much more interesting than your boyfriend. A deadly hand grabs onto your chin, he tilts you this way and that trying to catch your eye. Finally you glance at his face before looking away once more.

"I thought you were braver than that little kitten. But you can't even look me in the eye." He moves his hand to your throat as your knees weaken, "Pathetic."

All you can see is his smile as he squeezes, careful to avoid your larynx before he sends you into dizzying sub space. It washes over your body slowly, as if dipping yourself underwater. Your eyes flutter, body relaxes into his touch as many emotions flood your system at once while you engage fight or flight.

Your breathing is short and ragged before he let's go tilting your chin upwards to face him. He looks you over, assessing to make sure he does not need to stop this sudden session he has initiated. When you blink slowly up at him he continues his ravishing. Grip tightening as he leans in, lips hovering over yours before they are devoured.

Harsh kisses, tongues fighting as you gasp for air during it all. Happily giving in to his will before his mouth is at your ear.

"Now be a good kitten and do what you are told. Turn around and place your hands on the counter." You do as you're told, even wiggling your ass as some of your brat swims to the surface. Only to be swatted down by a sharp slap to your ass.

You hear the glorious sound of his belt coming undone before his hardened member is resting on your clit. Try to move for friction only for your hips to be crushed by strong hands. After a moment too long he runs himself up and down you. Before resting at your entrance.

"Please Bakugou-sama. Please." You whine, aching need driving you wild as you wait for him to plunge hilt deep. He slams himself into you and you whimper more than eager for the fucking that is to come.

But he hardly moves, smiling down at you as you look over his shoulder expectant. Bakugou knows he can wait you out. He knows in no time you'll be a needy mess, asking for pleasure. Telling him who owns you all without his asking.

Moments pass as he remains unmoving depsite your whining, clenching and even sad attempts at bucking. His smile becomes deadly as he pulls his final trick to send you buck wild. He twitches his dick and watches you unfold.

Trying so hard to fuck yourself on his dick as he holds your hips, only allowing you to get maybe a half an inch's movement before you slam your hands onto the counter in a huff.

"Sama. I'm going to get real bratty soon!" You voice raises an octive only for him to twitch again, "Please Kirishima wouldn't do this."

He slams your face down into the counter as he leans over you.

"What exactly wouldn't he do kitten?" His voice is dark and deadly, you need to be careful with your answer. You've pissed him off and pushed him too much to where he's left a session before. Leaving you high and dry.

Sure you could make yourself cum fast and hard but there was nothing compared to the edging Bakugou could do.

Plus it's always a harder cum with him.

"He would never be able to fuck me this good. Sama. Or have me beg like you can Sama." You cry out, still aching for the friction. He must not be satisfied with your answer as he keeps his hand on your neck.

"Maybe you should call him right now since the two of you are such good friends."

"But...you're..."

"I'm what? I'm using you to warm my cock. Call him, if you can manage to keep a normal conversation for three minutes while I'm in you then I'll forgive your disobedience and allow you to cum." He passes you your phone, unlocking it to dial Kirishima's number. He waits for you to hit the little green reciever.

"Better hit it before I do or I'll make you tell him who you belong too." He snarls as you fumble with your phone. You go to place it to your ear only for Bakugou to grab onto it. Placing the call on speaker while setting the phone close to you.

"Y/N? Are you and Bakugou okay?" His voice is laced with worry, you go to open your mouth only for Bakugou to pull all the way out just to slam into you again. You scrape the wood on the counter top to keep from crying out.

"Y..yes Kirishima. It was just a misunderstanding." Your respond as Bakugou slams into you again. Causing your eyes to flutter and making you miss everything Kirishima said.

Bakugou cocks his eyebrow awaiting your rebutle before you croak out.

"I'm sorry Eji-san. Can you repeat that my reception kinda sucks."

"I was just asking how dinner turned out but now I'm wondering if there is even a kitchen still standing." He laughs as you look over the burnt meal.

Bakugou ruts into you now with a steady pace. Sure to keep it slow enough that skin would not slap too loudly. You're beginning to lose the ability to think rationally as his fingers tease your needy bud.

"Ah well I'm.." You pause, swallowing a moan whole, "I'm surprised it's still standing too."

The conversation bounces back and forth as you struggle to keep quiet. You watch the timer as it steadily climbs closer to that beloved three minute mark before Bakugou finally gives you some mercy.

"Y/N, get off the phone. We still have to figure out dinner no thanks to you Shitty hair."

"Hey man I was just trying to help." He laughs, "Pizza is always a good alternative! Bye Y/N and Bakugou it was just a miss understanding. Bye friends!"

You barely have time to end the call before Bakugou is now mercilessly pounding into you, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the small kitchen melding in nicely with the sounds of your moans and his groans.

He pulls on your hair as he hits into you just right, the coil in your stomach returns as you think of him fucking you during your phone call, of his hands around your throat and the thought of him filling you up has you starting to see stars.

"S...sa...sama." You can barely speak with how nicely he is pounding into you, "I was good right?"

"Are you asking to cum?" He snarls, thrusts beginning to turn sloppy as he pulls on your hair. You nod slightly to which he delights, "You may come but you better scream who you belong to."

He increases the intensity and pace to help send you over the edge. You're screaming as he fucks into you, clenching around him as he sends you into yet another back to back.

All the while your voice goes horse with his name stumbling from your lips.

After your third crescendo he finally allows himself release, more sloppy thrusts as you mewl and moan beneath him. His eyes linger to your perfectly bruised ass, all the way up to your flushed cheeks before he begins to spill his seed within you, burying himself deep within you as he does.

The two of you pant for a moment before he flips you over to plant a searing kiss onto your lips.

"You're okay my kitten?" He asks tenderly as you nod. He notices the abandoned monstrosity that you called dinner, "You tried cooking for me?"

You want to burst into tears over your failure but instead you cling to him for comfort as you again nod softly. He laughs before planting a kiss onto your forehead.

"Thank you baby. It's the thought that counts. But if you have to rely on someone else to help rely on me since I'm the best damn cook there is." He teases wrapping strong arms around you, "Now let's order pizza like shitty hair said. Maybe if you're good I'll make you dessert after."

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