#These small fragile gentle moments are what makes it so good tbh

[eluxcastar]

Hello Riri! :]

I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!

Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.

And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.

(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)

Fatui harbingers with a child god

── ୨୧：fatui harbingers & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER

I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh

There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.

Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.

It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.

You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.

She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.

It is as you are.

Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.

His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.

"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"

"May I?"

And with that, you take his offering.

Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.

Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat. 

"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."

"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"

Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.

Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.

Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.

"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."

"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."

Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.

She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.

"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"

"Isn't that what was offered to you?"

"Well...yes, thank you."

Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.

He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.

"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."

"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."

Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.

Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.

"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."

"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."

"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."

Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.

Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.

Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.

Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.

"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."

"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."

Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.

Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.

"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"

"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."

Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it. 

You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.

Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.

It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.

You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.

[testingthewatersss]

Yes, YES, imagine...

Modern problems Usual Winter Solider context warnings but this is pretty tame tbh Bucky Barnes x F Reader Imagine 2977 words Fluff, mild angst. 18+ MDNI

Requests open for a while via messages check masterpost for updated availability.

"It wasn't even a real gun, Buck" you insist, leaning against the door frame.

"that's not the point" he replies, face set in annoyance.

"You can't push someone through a locked door because he has a paintball gun in a gas-station!"

"He's lucky I wasn't aiming for the wall" he mutters petulently. Luckily, he's gotten quite good at not being overheard by now, even by you. 

"Sweetheart," you say, softening your tone in response to his body language, which is the total opposite of his attitude. He's making himself small on the edge of the couch you share, and despite the boldness of his actions and his adamant denials of doing anything wrong, his eyes seem full. 

"He wasn't anywhere near us..."

That makes him scoff, you take the opportunity to pace over to him, taking his face in your hands. His jaw is set under your fingers but still, he lets out a gentle breath as he looks up at you, yet another layer of well-practised bravado falling away. 

"He was heading straight for you, doll" he says quietly, "he was headin' straight for you, and your back was turned and you didn't even know he was armed-"

"-He wasn't armed though, was he love?"

Guilt flashes across his features then, and he quickly averts his gaze. So, in return, you lower your palms to his. Tangling your fingers together to stop him fussing with his hands in his lap.

"He could've been" he counters, "You don't understand how dangerous the world is, Y/N. When I- before, back in the forties things were different-"

"Oh, yeah..." you chuckle, letting him pull you onto his lap, "with rationing, and dancing and bombshelters and the second world war, I'm sure things were just overflowin' with safety"

That manages to make him crack a smile. It's short-lived, it vanishes with a subtle shake of his head, but still. It's so lovely that you can't help but lean down and kiss him. 

Bucky feels his whole posture start to soften the moment your lips meet his. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins for hours starting to drain away, replaced by the loud thrumming of his pulse. He relishes in it. Happy to drown in the warmth of your embrace instead of panic for once. 

You trace his temples with your thumbs, rubbing your nose against his as you feel his arms close around you, holding you tight to his chest. 

"I don't mind you keepin' me close" you allow calmly, "I don't even mind you actin' like a security gaurd in public- but you've gotta ease up a little. I can't keep callin' Nat to clean up after us whenever I run an errand, she's gonna start cashing in favours one of these days and I don't even want to know what that might mean."

"I can keep her away too" he mumbles into your shoulder, the words hot on his breath, "I can keep you right here, Sugar. The whole world can go to hell"

As if to prove a point, his metal arm locks in place. You laugh gently, stroking his hair as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. 

"Stop acting like everythin' is out to get me, Barnes" You instruct, tone failing to hold any genuine authority when his pouting face comes into view.

"It is" he counters, deadly serious, "You just don't see it"

"Or..." you allow, "maybe you see it too much"

He shakes his head, staring at you now, blue eyes imploring you to understand;

"You're so delicate" he murmurs, flesh fingers tracing across your arm adoringly, "you're always gettin' hurt, darlin'- last week you couldn't walk right for three days-"

"Because I tripped on the stairs" you insert calmly, "Not because the stairs attacked me, and not because I'm fragile"

"-The stairs to the subway" he agrees, "The Subway, which is a whole other death trap-"

You snort, but all humour leaves you when you see the seriousness of his expression. 

"It's a packed can of compressed metal filled with strangers and trapped underground" Bucky continues, "It could catch fire, it could crash- anyone on it could-"

"-Hey.." you whisper, stopping him before he can get too carried away, "statistically speaking, this is the safest time to be alive y'know? Sure, flying cars would be a nice change, but the-"

"Cars" he sneers, "Don't get me started"

That makes you laugh, the pure, untempered grouchiness of his complaints and his real disdain for cars paired with the look of stubbornness on his face is funny. Even if you not taking his concerns seriously only adds to the gristle in his tone.

"Y/N/N" He says, "I mean it, you- you are so, so precious to me, darlin'- I couldn't stand it if anythin happened to you, and I know you don't see it but you're human, and the world is-"

"Made for humans, by other humans" you remind him, kissing his brow. "And you shouldn't call me human and imply that you're not"

He rolls his eyes at your scolding and flexes his arm, making the metal plates groan, as if to prove a point. 

"You're still human" you argue, not willing to waiver on that point at least, "A bionic arm and some Stark Industry vitamins doesn't change that, and when it comes to life outside of this tower I am just as safe as you are."

"That's worse" he sighs, head dropping back to rest defeatedly on the couch, "You bein' as safe as me is so much worse than just you bein' on your own, doll- Don't you see that?"

"Not really," You tell him honestly, "but even if it were true, it wouldn't matter. Safety isn't owed to anyone, except maybe you-"

"And if HYDRA decide to pick you up as a hostage?" he says, voice stern now, "or if they just decide to kill you on the spot, just to mess with me, and Tony, and Natasha, and Steve and all the other targets that you've gotten yourself tangled up with?"

"Then I'd think that you, and Tony, and Natasha, and Steve would do your jobs, that you'd keep yourselfs and each other safe while you got to the whole Avenging part of your job."

"I'm not messin' around', Y/N" He sighs, peering up at you defiantly, "I'm serious-"

"So am I," you say with a shrug, "Gettin' old is a privilege, not a right- And, thanks to every one of those targets you mentioned, I am one of the most overly protected people on the planet. Tony has my cell phone and my Apple watch synced up with FRIDAY. My location and my vitals are monitored by SHEILD, all day- everyday- I live in the super-hero equivalent of an armoured tank and I am going to marry the most protective man that has ever lived. I am fine, and if one day I'm not, then I'm real sorry, Buck but I'll have died happy and it'll be more your problem than mine."

"Exactly" he grumbles, deliberately ignoring the humour at the end of your statement "It'll be all my problem, because I love you and I-"

"I hate to break to it you, Buck," you say, "but that is part of bein' in love. Supersolider or not, the hardest part of loving anyone is knowing that you could lose them. That you will lose them someday, if you wait long enough, but that doesn't mean you both just hide away until you die of old age, it means you live the best life you can together so that when one of you is left behind you have it all to look back on."

"You've been spending too much time with Steve" He relents, "You're gettin' a little too good at motivational speeches"

"You're the one who got into the habit of bringin' him to date night- to every date night"

"80 years ago, darlin', I thought he'd grow out of it eventually"

"He still might," You say softly, bringing your palm up to his cheek. 

He huffs out a sigh before closing his eyes and nestling into the warmth of your skin on his, pressing a soft kiss against your wrist before nodding. 

"I'm sorry" he murmurs, "I'll try and give you s'more space, whatever you need..."

And then his face is falling, his arms loosening just enough for you to notice, and the way his lips quirk downward makes you want to just build a bunker deeper than any subway and let him move you in there instead.

"I don't need space" You're quick to assure him, "I need you to use some of those under pressure thinkin' skills and check before you decide someone is a threat" 

There is a genuine look of remorse on his face now, it makes your heart ache in your chest. It's so sad that you feel your own conscience sting in response, knowing that your conversation has fuelled it, 

"I love you" you tell him, unable to not- "I love you a whole lot, Barnes and I refuse to be the reason you have another regret. You hear me? Not a single new regret- not a small one, because you call me three times in a row and Sam gets you thinkin' it's too much and definitely not one that involves some jerk at a bar that gets a little close or some red-neck getting snacks for his road trip, so you better make sure that the next threat you neutralise is a threat, okay? That's all I want."

"I thought he was," he says lamely, "I really thought he was, doll- I saw the gun and I saw you, and I just wanted him gone"

"Well..." You sigh, smiling softly, "He went- With a slightly broken arm, and a huge compensation cheque from Tony, so, as long as you promise to not feel too bad about it, then it looks like we might both get what we want."

He hums softly, not giving much away regarding his opinion on the matter. 

"Why are you still sulkin', handsome?" you wonder, looking at his face again. There's an unhappy crease in his brow, and even though he's trying his best to seem like he's fine, there's something about the way he's watching you that doesn't seem quite right.

"'s nothin'" he mumbles, forcing a smile, "I'm just sorry for puttin' you through this every few weeks, I am tryin, darlin' to get better about it."

You shake your head, quickly deciding not to scold him for feeling guilty, knowing that any playfulness the teasing might hold will be lost in favour of more misplaced guilt. You settle on kissing him, on running your fingers through the tangles of his hair as they slip back behind his ears. On tracing his cheeks as he pulls you ever closer towards him. He doesn't let up until he's verging on breathless. Until his desperate, frantic urge to protect you is satisfied that you're real and solid and exactly where you belong. He knows logically that you're right. That you're safe, as safe as you can be anyway- but the world is so full now. The Brooklyn streets he'd grown up on are more like concrete jungles, infested with noise and lights and cars, and people. He used to love that. The living, breathing soul of the city that never sleeps. The crowds in the daytime and the scattered laughter that would drift in through a cracked fire escape at night. He'd sit up on the roof for hours smoking cheap cigarettes and just watching, and he never once felt scared.  Even when the war first stirred, even then, the people were the one thing that he wasn't afraid of, they were his home away from home. Men he'd never known suddenly felt like family, as soon as they were packed in the back of a transit car. Crowded dance halls meant freedom and packed underground shelters meant protection. But somewhere along the way, they all became threats. Dark, faceless shadows that move around in swarms, making noises that he's never expecting and getting too close to the one thing that he could never bear to lose. Operating machines that they shouldn't be touching, huge metal busses that sound like they might collapse, or elevators that could break, or ski lifts- of all things to exist, huge wires with weak seats that carry people up too high, and you are so breakable. Your ankle a week ago was just the latest injury, before that you hurt your shoulder at the gym, lifting a huge metal barbell that he can't comprehend you touching, and before that tripped in a pothole. The road itself hurt you, because a person didn't do their job and get it filled and he can't trust anything, or anyone other than a handful of people, and all of them just parrot the same thing about you being fine. 

You stay still, resting your head on his chest, letting him settle himself by holding you in place. You had been tempted to start speaking again, until you'd noticed the way his fingers were moving, ever so gently tapping a rhythm against your side. A slow, steady pulse. Your pulse. An exact mirror of your heartbeat, which is a complete contrast to the thrashing of his own. 

As long as he can feel that, then he knows you're alright. That you're not scared, or hurt, or in danger, and that is the only way that he stands a chance of calming down himself. 

"Can you give me five minutes?" You purr, reluctant, but suddenly overwhelmed with an idea, "You can come" you offer, sweetening it with a peck on his cheek, "I just want to go and see Tony about somethin'-"

To your surprise, he chuckles at that, releasing his grip on your waist to paw at his eyes. 

"Should I be worried, doll?" he asks dryly, "I'm here lovin' on my girl and she suddenly wants to go see another man-"

The way you snort makes him smile wider. He kisses you again, on your knuckles this time, before letting go of your hand, feeling a pang of curiosity as you half skip from the room, a grin splitting your face.

It doesn't take long. Ten minutes instead of five, maybe- but not long.

And when you are done, feeling awfully pleased with yourself, you find him in the kitchen, cutting carrots by the sink with the radio playing at such a low volume you can't help but wonder why he bothered turning it on at all.

He looks over at you without missing a beat with his knife and grins wide and genuine when you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing a kiss against the back of his shoulder. 

"I got you something" You announce proudly, beaming as brightly as him when he turns, leaning back against the marble counter to face you, "Somethin' that might make it easier for you to relax"

"I told Tony" he scoffs, "I'm not taking anything he cooks up in that lab- I don't care if he thinks I need a Xanax, whatever that is-"

You laugh at that, small and tempered as you reach into your back pocket, pulling out a small, plain dog tag. 

At least that's what it looks like. An unengraved dog tag, complete with the small hole, waiting for a chain. 

"Thank you?" he says, aiming for pleased, trying not to let his confusion show, especially since you seem so happy to be giving it to him, "It's-"

"You're too polite for your own good- you don't even know what it is yet"

"I've seen more of them than you" he counters, opening his palm to receive it, "but I think you're meant to write somethin' on them, doll-"

The second he touches it, he stops. Words dying in his throat. He doesn't realise yet, not completely, but he's instantly captivated by the warmth humming through the metal. 

Your smile turns smug as you reach out, curling his hand around the tag, putting his flesh thumb flat across the surface-

There it is. It's your pulse, thrumming as calmly as ever.

He's stunned. He blinks at you dumbly for a moment, and then he kisses you. He grabs you and pulls you in and his metal hand is on your cheek and you're breathless and-

The thrumming in the tag speeds up, increasing as he makes your heart flutter in your chest. He pulls back to stare at his hand again. 

"It's a live feed" you explain, "I figured Tony would be able to knock something up- As long as I've got my watch on, or, I'm somewhere that FRIDAY can get a read on me, then it's a direct, real time echo, okay? No delay, no glitches, no dead batteries."

He blinks at you, expression adoring now.

"-and if I need you- If a threat does pop up when you're not there, then-" you reach down, pressing and holding three fingers against the centre of your watch for a second

The tag vibrates in response. A constant unignorable tremor that makes it dance in his palm.

You take it upon yourself to stop it, exaggerating your action of squeezing it in demonstration.

"FRIDAY will be able to give you my location down to the inch."

Bucky knows he's gawking. His jaw is slack and he must be the picture of comedic surprise, but he doesn't care one bit. All he cares about right now is you.

"How did you think of that?" he murmurs, already moving to add it to his chain, the chain he never takes off, the one that has his other dog tag hanging from it, keeping it in its place against his heart.

"I just figured," you say, helping him refasten the clasp, "A modern problem would probably have a modern solution"

(I usually write imagine requests from the you POV, if thats not what you want then just lmk in the message)

[stellar-skyy]

MECHANICAL HEART - Platonic Ei & reader

i. SUMMARY: After she discarded her first prototype, Ei created a second. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: Dehumanization (is it dehumanization if they aren't technically human?), mentions of abandonment, implied emotional neglect. Ei isn't the best parent in this one tbh. iii. NOTES: Platonic, angst, puppet!reader, gn!reader, 0.8k words. iv. A/N: ok i said i wasn't gonna write this week cause i'm busy but in my defense i've been procrastinating a lot and this is the result.

When Ei sought to create a body to withstand eternity, she didn’t plan to create two prototypes. She only needed one vessel, and any excess was unwelcomed. What she didn’t account for was failing miserably at her first attempt, and having to redesign her plan entirely.

You were the stronger one, if only by a small fraction. You had stared up at her, wide and unblinking, and something changed behind her eyes. She brought you close into her arms—gently, for any more pressure and you might have cracked into two.

It wasn’t quite love. She cared for you the way an inventor cared for their creations, all out of a sense of duty and a desire to preserve what has been so carefully built. There wasn’t a single ounce of maternal affection behind it.

She looked after you of course, like any good inventor would. She’d repair the cracks across your arms and legs, and test each one of your joints to make sure they were in working order. Her hands would trace around your wrists, feeling exactly where the ball-and-socket connected with an unabashed sort of curiosity. You were a source of fascination for her, a wonder of her own invention. How could it be that she created something like you from parts of her inhuman self: eyes glistening with tears that felt real, staring at her with such childish innocence.  

You were so human—perhaps even more so than herself—and yet you were completely synthetic.

She didn’t love you. But she held you in her arms and pressed gentle kisses to your forehead when you cried, and was that not close enough? You could forget how cold her lips were on your skin, and try to ignore how limp her hold was, if it allowed you another moment of believing she cared for you.

It was a sort of care, you reasoned. An emotion so raw and tender, one might mistake it for love if they were desperate enough. Deep down, you knew better. You knew that all the love Ei had to share died with her sister. If there was any left, she would have taken pity on the other prototype—your brother.

He was a soft one. Round face, long lashes, hair falling down his back in waves of indigo. His sobs spilled freely from the moment he was created, covering his cheeks in tears. An emotional creature, Ei had called him. Too fragile to rule a nation, too weak to be used as a reference for her final vessel like you had become. Almost as quickly as he’d been created, he was whisked away and out of sight.

“Safekeeping.” She said. She didn’t tell you what that meant, or which corner your brother had been tucked away into.

But even gone, his presence never truly left you; he was always there as a cautionary tale for what could happen if you failed to live up to Ei’s expectations. He was the example, the proof that if you weren’t enough, you would be discarded like the simple puppet you were.

There wasn’t any love in her eyes when she looked at you, but she still spent time at your side. She’d sit with you for hours in the Plane of Euthymia—whether it be out of some misplaced sort of parental instinct, or a deeply rooted guilt at creating you in the first place, you wouldn’t know—not saying much, but content for you to exist within the same space as her.

The entire occurrence felt a touch too normal to feel natural. You were just two inhuman creatures, masquerading as mortals for each other’s sake. She kept the visits brief, and always dismissed you first.

(And if she embraced you as you left, a suspicious glossiness over her eyes, you didn’t comment on it.)

It was observing the humans themselves that made you realize how unlike them you truly were.

They lived so carelessly, talking loudly amongst themselves and living blissfully without the crushing weight of the world on their shoulders. Women would walk with children balanced on their hip or clinging to their hands. They’d ruffle their hair and laugh at their antics, and there was a distinct feeling that you couldn’t quite place. No heart lay in your chest, but there was a phantom heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Wouldn’t it be nice to be treated with such… what was it, love? You had never experienced such a thing, not from the person who acted as your ‘mother’. She could do the exact same things they did, but you would be able to tell there was no emotion behind it.

You were her puppet, her creation. You were born from parts of herself, cobbled together into something resembling a person. And no matter how tightly she held you, no matter how many times she looked at you with an unreadable look across her face, you wouldn’t truly be her child.

It wasn’t love. She made sure you didn’t get it mixed up, telling you bluntly that there wasn’t room for love in eternity.

That didn’t matter. As long as she still took care of you, you could pretend.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[flashbic]

ok gimme II. 14 and III. 2 for You Know Who

Ok so this is all from the Big Fanfic Setting

II. 14) Songs that apply to their relationship:

i guess most of the ones i have apply more to the beginning of their relationship or riiight before? But finding stuff that matches the vibe has been a giant pain in general asdjgk

Pierre Lapointe’s 27-100 rue des partances is a Big Fave for le Lorrain in general, but the instrumental version specifically i listened to a lot while thinking about these two learning to get along and appreciate each other! i do like some soft piano, what can i say. The lyrics being tinted with regret is also a good vibe, even if it’s not a perfect fit!

Another Pierre Lapointe one: Plaisirs dénudés, which matches Falconi’s vibe a bit more! While le Lorrain is at peace pretty quick with his feelings and decides to keep them to himself because he thinks the timing is Not Good (he’s right!), Falconi is a whole lot less confident about, well, everything.The Cartouchiens offered him friendship, and the happiness he gets from that weird situation feels extremely temporary and fragile. Those feelings he develops for le Lorrain a bit later, he develops in spite of himself… He can’t help but have the tiniest bit of hope here, but at the same time keeps trying to convince himself that none of the happiness he finds in his current situation is something that will last.

….........ngl Moi, je t’aimerai has something desperately intense (and also intensely desperate) about it that would match the first time they fuck yeah they’re all Pierre Lapointe songs what of it

(for songs about their canon vibes please refer to uhhhhhh most of The Mountain Goats' Bleed Out)

III 2) What’s their love languages

i only have vague knowlege of the whole love languages thing and didnt really dig to get the proper lingo, so hopefulyl this still anwers the question properly adfkgkh

Le Lorrain expresses love with words and via gift-giving, two things he’s annoyingly talented at. He adores spending time figuring out the perfect gift that will make someone happy, and Falconi is a particularly fun target here because for awhile figuring out what he likes is a bit of a struggle? He likes a challenge! In the end, the perfect gift at the right moment is the very first thing that helps Falconi let his guard down, so le Lorrain is particularly proud of that one :p Compliments and little “I love yous” are also big faves with Falconi in particular because he somehow never seems to expect them and gets a bit flustered every. single. time. Even when he pretends to roll his eyes about it.

In return, he craves physical touch so, so much. He wants to feel warmth and closeness!! And wants gentle little touches!! The fact that Falconi in general doesn’t touch people a lot if he can avoid it makes those gestures even more significant, it makes him feel special and important in a way that makes him deeply happy. Sharing time just the two of them is also very much something that ends up helping them get closer at first; they get to, like, actually talk, and suddenly find they actually don’t hate everything about each other? It’s a habit they keep; a quiet evening together, spent just talking and reading and just finding comfort in each other’s company is something they both love. 

Falconi doesn’t like people touching him most of the time, but he will reach out to people he particularly trusts and loves. With le Lorrain, that means a whole lot of small touches; always standing close (a bit too close tbh!) when they’re together, reaching out and touching his hand to get his attention, touching his face when they’re alone. He’ll take off his gloves just to feel le Lorrain’s skin against his hands, and while that probably doesn’t seem like much, le Lorrain knows perfectly how much love and trust that gesture implies. Falconi loves seeing these small touches reciprocated; it takes him awhile to get really comfortable with it, but it’s something he wants… Otherwise, he really tries to show affection through his actions; so often he feels like words fail him, so he figures he might as well try to show he cares in other ways. Sometimes it’s gifts, other times it’s arranging things so they can spend time alone. He’s thoughtful!

[waitingforminjae]

RC (re)watches The Originals: From A Cradle To A Grave(1x22)

You’ve been bitten.

[corruptedconfessions]

last weekend I caved and read everything you ever uploaded here once more agskshkdd this is who i am as a person. but im love your writing so much!!! i have an especially soft spot for the naga stories, are those the ones that are about half-snake people? i always mess up the names but how do you think bakugou (and or kiri) would be as a yandere one, when he falls for the reader? i can't remember you ever writing a snake-version of him and idk if you'd be up for it but i'm super curious! xoxoxo

Aww!! Thank you so much :) 

And yes! Naga’s are the snake people, semi human from the torso up and giant ass snakes from the hips down!

Bakugou: 

If there is one word to describe yandere Naga Bakugou its possessive. It takes a lot for him to chose a mate, he is incredibly picky, picking his mate much past the typical age but once he picks?? Possessive protective to the extreme. You are his mate to do with what he pleases, and absolutely no one is going to take you away from him. Hell, he gets pissy the second another creature, intelligent or not even looks at you. You won’t be leaving his nest any time soon after he snatches you up, even trying to peek over the edges of the flattened down bowl in the ground leads to you being dragged right back to the middle and getting angrily chewed out and huffed at as you get tucked right back into the nest.

I think he’d most likely fall for a darling who hikes or walks frequently in his forest for whatever reason. A hunter, camper, or just any kind of nature enthusiast will quickly catch his eye. You’re so small…and your body is so different than his and yet you constantly come back here, carelessly leaving your scent everywhere, as if inviting him to have a taste. He isn’t one to turn down the offer. He doesn’t have any form of patience, somewhere during a mid afternoon doze and lunch he’ll come to the conclusion that he wants you, all while still ripping the meaty remains of his prey off the bone. Right then and there he decides to have you, still picking meat from his teeth with the jagged edge of a bone. The next time he sees you you’ll be snatched up into his arms and dragged back to his nest, kicking and screaming left ignored as he unceremoniously dumps you in his nest and refuses to let you leave.  

I picture him most likely picking a human mate tbh, He enjoys being bigger and stronger than his mate, justifying the overbearing desire to hide away and protect what's his, something other Nagas wouldn’t tolerate. Even if you don’t tolerate it it doesn’t really matter, he is bigger and stronger than you, and can easily just pick you right up and carry you back to where he wants you to be. Biting, kicking, punching, anything just bounces off his hard scales. Honestly fighting like that is more likely to turn him on than anything else~ If you have this much energy you clearly can put it towards incubating some of his eggs right? Hopefully that fiery spirit will pass on to his eggs once they hatch~

He’ll also be curious, painfully so, eagerly twisting and pulling you in his hold like a doll, poking and prodding as he inspects you. Its not often he sees a human so close without eating them. He’s cruel in the sense that he likes to poke your squishy spots just to listen to your cute noises and watch you try and wiggle away from him. Its hardly ever malicious, though, the claws in your mouth, feeling up your teeth. Or large hands encompassing your entire calf as he feels up your leg is pure curiosity. He’ll look almost childish, eyes wide with wonder as he watches you twist and bend, so small and fragile yet so resilient.

He’ll hiss and throw up a fit if you call him out on this but he is also incredibly cuddly. Maybe it’s just because of that protective nature of his but he loves wrapping around you, snuggling his face into your stomach, tongue darting out to smell your skin. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are a breathing furnace compared to the cooler blooded beast. He’s so soft in those moments, eagerly nuzzling you and lapping up any attention you’ll give him, even if he huffs and insists its for your protection and warmth if you say anything. Human skin is so thin and you are so needy for warmth! How did you ever survive without him curling around you to keep you warm and chase off the chill of the night air. You’d be wise to keep your mouth shut about the fact that he is actually sapping your heat with his cold skin. Best not take those rare tender moments for granted, yeah?

 Kirishima on the other hand leans more on the protective side of things. He’s younger than Bakugou, more on the naïve side of things and much more at the whims of his instincts. I think he’d honestly mate with the first little thing he comes across, unable to hold back and be patient at all. He’s a bit of a romantic at heart, in a terrifying, he’ll eat and swallow whoever you’re with whole when he sees you way. He wants nothing more than a happy loving mate, round and heavy with his eggs waiting for him when he comes back to his nest. He wants to protect and provide and snuggle with his cute little mate!

He’s brutal, eating and killing anything that comes close to you, and then immediately turning around and crooning and loving on you, rubbing up against you like a dog, his face still coated with any remains of what, or rather who, he just ate. (Lucky for you he prefers to swallow his prey whole…watching him gag up and spit out the bones that he cant digest isn’t a pleasant sight though.) Endlessly doting and so…incredibly suffocating. There will always be a hand, or head, or tail, or something pressed, wrapped, or snuggling against you. Half the time you feel like a living teddy bear as he cuddles and nuzzles you non stop, curling up in his nest and holding you close to his chest, face buried in your hair. The only time he tears himself from your side is to go hunting, and even then when he comes back you are scooped up and squished in his arms until he calms down again, extremely distressed from being separated from you.

 He is obsessed with being a good mate for you, protecting, providing, and spoiling his partner. He’ll be traditional, hunting down larger pray than necessary just to impress you. Happily puffing his chest out when he dumps a bunch of hay and leaves into the nest, telling you that he knows humans cant sleep on hard rock comfortably, and so this will be more comfy! (Not that it does much, with how close he insists on being when cuddling, you practically sleep on him instead. Trapped against his firm chest as arms wrap tightly around you). Now this isn’t common behavior for nagas, but he’ll also bring you pretty little trinkets that he finds, gems or geodes he finds in his cave, pretty jewelry he steals from humans, rocks that he really likes and wants to share with you. Reacting positively to these gifts, maybe even making a small little pile for them in the nest will put him over the moon. He becomes so gushy and loving towards you for it you can get away with nearly anything after that.  

Unlike Bakugou’s nest which is out in the open, daring any threat to even try and come close to his mate, Kiri hides you away. His nest will be hidden away in a maze like cave (He carved it out himself by hand! Something he very proudly tells you when the two of you can finally converse without you screaming or him fucking you silly). He never leaves your side, determined to protect and love you, but even in the moments he does, escape is hopeless. Even after crawling up the sides of the deep pit carved out of solid rock (you really don’t want to think how strong his claws are to carve out solid stone and made such deep grooves in the sides) you’ll be left wondering and aimless maze, impossible to not get lost or even get near the exit before Kirishima is back, rushing your side and picking you up into his arms in a panic. Naturally, being the innocent thing he is he assumes you missed him and went searching for him instead of trying to escape, but now you’re trapped in an even tighter hold under an even tighter watch as he tries “to make it up to you”.

With Kirishima you have a small chance, though. If you are loving and gentle enough to him, and you ask him so sweetly if you can get out of the cave just for a little bit! Promise! He may take you to a nearby river to play in the water, or a hotspring to soak together. Once you really have him wrapped around your finger you might be able to convince him to go on daily walks (slithers?) with him, only if you look sad and pout up at him enough, insisting that the cave is too dark and scary and you miss the sun. He’ll feel so bad he just might sunbathe with you outside for awhile too.

[ophelia-writes]

fragile - xiao x reader

warnings: mild language

being one of the most prominent young designers in teyvat meant that you were on the road constantly. by now, you were used to it, of course— you had found a temporary “home” in every region that you visited. that way, if you ever had to come back, you would at least have some sort of familiarity. it just so happened that one of those homes was wangshu inn.

due to liyue being the city of commerce, you found yourself having to travel there a lot, be it for business meetings, selling your works at festivals, or even the occasional commission from some of liyue’s most affluent families. at this point you were on a first-name basis with the inn’s owner, verr goldet, and you stayed in the same room every time. you liked it there. it was quiet and peaceful, and the golden light of dihua marsh made for a surprisingly inspiring atmosphere, so you usually ended up getting some extra work done. however, tonight was one of those nights when inspiration just refused to strike.

you quietly climbed the stairs to the upper balcony, the wood floors sending a cold shock to your bare feet. you hoped that a bit of cool night air would get your ideas flowing. but when you got there, it seemed the balcony was already occupied.

leaning with his back facing you stood a slender man— a boy, even— the wind gently tussling his turquoise hair. you froze, unsure of whether you should leave and look for another spot. however, before you could turn around and make a graceful exit, the man turned around, his intense amber eyes locking with yours.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quiet and disinterested. you stood there, gaping. there was no need to be rude! you were a guest of the inn, after all, and you just as much of a right to be there as he did.

“if you must know,” you began, folding your arms, “i needed a little fresh air. but i don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

the man scoffed. “you mortals have no respect for the adepti.”

wait, the adepti?? as in, the protectors of liyue? you thought those were only a legend. surely this asshole couldn’t be…

whatever, it didn’t matter anyway. you weren’t from liyue in the first place, so you didn’t really owe this guy anything, adeptus or not. “hm, is that so,” you replied sarcastically, setting your materials down on the balcony floor. “maybe we ‘mortals’ just have bigger problems to deal with than appeasing the egos of some hypothetical wannabe archons.” you heard the man make an indignant sound, clearly offended by your words. but you never look up from your work.

the so-called adeptus cast you a glance, watching your delicate artisan’s fingers sweep over the fabric with an elegance that he would never expect. how could someone with such a sharp tongue be so gentle with their work?

when you caught him staring, he quickly looked away, a tint of rose dusting his cheeks. “what is it, mr. adeptus? want me to make you a pretty dress too?” you teased, although you were only half joking. he would actually look pretty good in a dress.

“of course not, i—” he cut himself off, an annoyed look in his eyes. “i was simply surprised by how fragile you are.”

you dropped your needle and thread, leveling him with a deadly glare. “how what i am?” you asked incredulously, rising to your feet. “you’re the fragile one, what with your delicate ego and all.”

the adeptus crossed his arms, staring stubbornly out at the marsh below. “i don’t know why i’m even entertaining this conversation,” he said after a moment of silence. this time, his words weren’t laced with malice— honestly, he sounded rather defeated. you wondered if perhaps you had gone too far with the adepti slander. you were a bit of a diva these days, as your friends were prone to telling you. maybe coming to liyue and insulting their beloved guardians wasn’t such a great idea.

“hey, i’m sorry.” you leaned against the railing beside him, your height nearly level with his. you weren’t a particularly tall person, but for so reason you just never expected someone of his demeanor to be so… small.

so fragile, as he so kindly put it.

he let out a grunt of some kind, and you assumed that meant that he wasn’t really interested in saying anything else. “you know, if you really are an adeptus, then i guess meeting you was kind of lucky, right?” you said, almost more to yourself than to him. “i mean, some people spend their whole lives trying to seek audiences with the adepti, and here i just happened to stumble upon one during my midnight stroll. it’s kinda funny.”

you stood there in an awkward silence, not sure if he would ever respond. he did say that he was done entertaining the conversation, but still… you sighed, letting the breeze rustle your hair as you watched the peak of the sun start to rise over dihua marsh. it seemed that the two of you had been out there all night.

“look, i don’t expect us to be besties or anything, but could you at least tell me your name? it feels weird, having nothing to call you but ‘’mr. adeptus.’” you turned to look at him and saw the fresh sunlight glinting in his eyes, giving them a sparkle that they didn’t have before. he looked down, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“xiao,” he said quietly.

you can’t help but smile, somewhat pleased with yourself for getting him to give you any sort of personal information. “hmm… xiao,” you repeated, turning your gaze back to the mottled sky.

so the two of you watched the sunrise in silence, both so unbelievable fragile, yet so deceptively strong.

thank you for reading! if i’m being honest, i don’t usually plan things out before i write them, i just kinda have a general vibe or idea and then just kinda see what happens?? and this was one of those fics where idk where any of the ideas came from and tbh i don’t even know if it’s coherent lmao. but uh xiao is my absolute favorite character in genshin impact (ive been saving for his rerun for months) and i’ve been wanting to write for him but i just feel like he always ends up kinda ooc when i do. idk. anyways, that definitely won’t stop me from trying to write more for him in the future <3

[seostudios]

yuta sfw a-z

alrighty lets gettittt

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

yuta is naturally a very affectionate person so id say on a slace from 1-10 itd be 14. whenever your around he has to touch you whether he was playing with your hair, hand around your waist or hugging you

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

the friendship would most likely start off with common interests in people, games and music. its such a relaxing friendship— you could try your hardest at getting the boy mad and he’ll smile at you. to describe it in three words; pure, free, thrilling

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

TBH yuta does strike me as a cuddler but when you two are finally asleep he’d separate himself to a side of the bed cuddling into himself or sprawled out

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

um i think the tenth floor stories can give you this answer but overall he knows how to keep himself fresh

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

over the phone. he couldn’t bare doing it in person, itd be a brief paragraph explaining why and answering your questions before you even ask. youd be blocked on all social media playforms before you have a chance to fight back

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

mmmm im pretty sure commitment isnt an issue becyase he looks like a guy who can hold a serious relationship but when it comes to marriage he wants to be sure ...so 2-3 years of dating before marriage seems realistic

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

depending on your moods; if you guys are being playful he knows his limits and will hesitate every now and then but it is simple roughhousing. but in a more softer mood he’d treat you like fragile mess

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

yes yes yes ANY form of hug yuta loves he adores backhugs especially though always wanting one and taking the chance when its open

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

8 months. eight months is the time where most relationships are like shit this is actually real so hed come to that realization that yiur both looking for something serious and plop it

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

very veryy often, he’s heavily possessive over you snd gets hella jealous when he sees someones close to you that hes not familiar with and if you two get alone and hes THAT jealous then maybe some calming down and cuddles would do the trick or angry sex

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

either soft and delicate or rough and sloppy. kissing you under your ear, it can be used in every situation if you know what i mean, he could use it to tease you or to show you how much he cherishes you. but he loves neck kisses... when you nibble on the right spot you swore you coule hear hus groan turn into a soft moan

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

the best. i don’t even think i need to tell you but hes such a good dad, uncle, friend like its his persona which makes him amazing to be around children he’s the perfect mix of fun and strict

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

on these rare occasions you’ll be awoken by his head in your neck kissing your shoulder blade and drawing shapes on your hip

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

o_o i mean.....other than that he’s probably gonna be in the living room with you watching a movie or a show you two decided to start together

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

he’d throw himself at you all at once when he’s comfortable with you and if you can’t handle it- its’ on you

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

he’s very calm, always one step ahead never too relaxed though always takjng in your words, thoughts, wishes wondering what he could do to make it better without putting himself ina place to feel defeat because it annoys him too

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he remembers everything, from the number pf freckles to your favourite movie

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

yuta loves celebrating halloween with you, dressing up and having the night to yourselves mmmmm

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i wouldnt say protect 24/7 but if he sees you i a position where he had to then he would and i dont think he’ll need protection just reassurance

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

dtaes r lazy with zero effort but anniversaries are special like he works his ass off on them snd random gifts r thoughtful but sloppy b everyday tasks r just yoyoyoyoto

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

a bad habit would be jealousy at small things

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

not rly he’s hot

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

yes

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

mafia

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

a partner who is lazy n boring

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

playing with your hair or having you rub his stomach

[curiosity-killed]

Hi....If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite MXTX characters (top 5 from each novel)? And why? I'm sorry if you've answered this question before.

Aw of course I don’t mind! Though I feel like my answer is going to be a disaster bc I love these casts so so much aha let’s see:

✨ SPOILERS AHEAD ✨

MDZS/CQL

1. Wei Wuxian

Ah so I feel like this is obvious based on the sheer quantity of things I produce and the effort I put into hurting him 😅 but yeah! I love how much of a classical tragic hero he is and I love how much love he has and how that gets twisted around and shaped into a collar of spikes around his own neck. I saw gif sets of wwx before I ever knew about CQL and my reaction was “fuck. I’m going to love him” and I do! And I love that he does learn from his past and I love most of all that he learns to accept the love he is given and is able to make a happy ending in a place of being loved and held in respect and appreciation

2. Wen Qing

On the other hand, I did not expect to be like “mine now” with Wen Qing. Don’t get me wrong, the sexy immortal look got me but it wasn’t really till I started writing fic that I was like ohhhhh Oh Boy. Wen Qing is brilliant and ruthless, fiercely loving and aloof and cold. I love that she gets the lose-lose challenge of balancing what is right for her family vs what is right in the world, what she owes to her sect and what she owes to individuals. The golden core transfer is my favorite dubious science experiment in p much all media I’ve consumed. She gets to be so human—prickly and tough and also achingly gentle and afraid and putting on a tough face and sometimes still crying. “I’m sorry and thank you” ! Im!!

3. Jiang Yanli

The first fic I wrote for this fandom was literally “Jiang Yanli died no she didn’t” lmao I do feel like I underserve Jiang Yanli in that I often fall prey to using her to further the complexity that the male characters are permitted while denying her the chance to be given the same space for development and breath — something to work on! But in that, I really genuinely love how tightly she binds herself to her family and how she tries so hard to be what others need her to be—and then she does make a choice for herself and for a single moment at least, she gets to be loved and to be happy and to have this, a husband and a son and a place, for herself. And terribly I love how much she permeates the story still after death. She is the unspoken voice, the face turned from the camera but always still present, carried in the hearts and names and memories of the ones left behind

She deserved better but—I am weak for the tragedy of it all

4. Jiang Cheng

Another surprise (tho hardly surprising in hindsight): Jiang Cheng is just...horribly understandable. He makes terrible choices and his greatest heroism is undone by a choice made for him or, in the case of “killing the Yiling Laozu” is a lie. He is such a youngest sibling who doesn’t want to be the youngest until all at once, he’s the one in charge and he doesn’t want it at all. He is full of anger and hurt and so much love he doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t want it anymore, has no place to put all of its terrible, overwhelming flood.

5. Lan Wangji

I almost didn’t put Lan Wangji or Jiang Cheng on here and then I realized that this is sort of a list of characters I’m pickiest about in fic and...yeah. I think what I love best about Lan Wangji is his journey of grief and healing and through that, his decision to step into world. Where Wei Wuxian’s decision to travel and be removed from the cultivation world (in varying degrees depending on your headcanon preference lol) is really, really important to me, Lan Wangji’s decision to go from being an isolated lone agent working apart from the systems of the world to being involved and invested in changing those systems and working to make them better is also really important to me. I’ve talked before about how relatable Lan Wangji is to me (esp with regards to our interaction with the outer world) and there is something deeply hopeful and comforting about post-timeskip Lan Wangji being in his like mid-/late-30s and still making decisions and growing and changing and choosing to invest himself in the world and the future

yeah. i have thoughts here that I don’t really have the maturity, life experience, or articulation to put into words but Lan Zhan Good basically

TGCF

1. Xie Lian

suuuurpriiiiise!! Yeah honestly mxtx’s mains in TGCF and MDZS really just hit all my buttons basically. What appeals to me most of all about Xie Lian is, fittingly, how he is humanity taken to extremes. His capacity for incredible kindness and compassion is equaled with his capacity for cruelness and ruthlessness. His heaven-shaking highs are matched with calamitous lows. He is the hyperbolic of what it is to be human—and he is also the small moments, the wildflowers and the maple leaves and the mundane chores and the comfort of whispered conversations late into the night. I could quite literally go on for pages about what I love about Xie Lian but I am not Hua Cheng and can restrain myself LMAO

2. Hua Cheng

of all the characters on these lists, Hua Cheng is the one I’m pickiest about tbh! When I say I love him for similar reasons as Xie Lian I don’t actually mean this as being similarities between the two but the fact that both of them so richly convey mxtx’s points about the nature of humanity and what it is to be human. Hua Cheng is both the boldest and most arrogant of all and also the most vulnerable, the one who shies away from the truth because he’s braced for it to hurt and isn’t sure he can take it. He is gory blood rain and an umbrella to shelter a fragile bloom; he is a blade whose wounds only heal if he permits it and he is a sacrifice that he brushes aside as a fit of madness. *pats his head* this boy can fit SO MUCH inside him that he refuses to acknowledge

3. Jun Wu

Definitely my favorite antagonist in recent reading. I was doubtful of him from the start (something something issues with authority something something probably should talk to my theoretical future therapist shhh) but the unfolding of his reveal was so delightfully painful and exquisite that I was like “YES!!!” reading all of it. About the epitome of a satisfying plot twist imo. But about the character himself, I love how he parallels so many — Xie Lian in his rise and fall, his glory and disgrace; Hua Cheng in his fixation and ruthlessness; He Xuan in losing himself to the plot and not knowing how to move forward. I love that he feels beyond human in a way the others don’t��he’s so old and has gone through so much and he doesn’t feel things the way humans do anymore, doesn’t remember right how love squeezes the heart or how hate can exist without acting on it. I love that he thinks he knows how to control everyone and that it’s such mundane things that fool him: Xie Lian’s absurd stubbornness, Hua Cheng’s foolish faith, Yin Yu’s...emotional maturity??? Not Sure how to verbalize that one. But in the end, he is defeated by both the humanity of others and by his own—he’s so tired. He’s exhausted in a way that gods and ghosts aren’t meant to be. He is, under the armor and the masks, the curses and the power, human—benevolent and cruel, evil and good.

4. He Xuan

I love my fish man! No but really I love how He Xuan is so fixed on his one goal that he refuses to acknowledge anything else in his (after)life—which doesn’t make it go away. I love that he is left unmoored, purposeless through the very act of completing that which gives him purpose. I love his long con and the ways he clings to himself but loses himself not in the act but in the telling himself it’s an act. I love that he tries to be a moral man and then becomes a ghost king, a calamity. His reveal is also terribly badass and I do love his bone fish wholly unironically. Like I’m not going to get a He Xuan tattoo (for one thing I’ve been meaning to get a tattoo for 5 years and still haven’t gotten around to it) but also. B o n e f i s h

5. Mu Qing

Of course! The Jiang Cheng of tgcf lol Mu Qing (which my phone desperately wants to autocorrect to my Qing) is so...gah he’s such a mess! And he so fully commits to the belief that no one will ever see and understand him as he is but will always view them through their own convictions about him and his actions — which is simultaneously heartbreakingly lonely and also. Sir You Are a Clown. I genuinely think he’s owed apologies from both Feng Xin and Xie Lian for their treatment and assumptions of him and think that he would be HORRIBLY offended at the thought (while secretly touched? But like secretly even to himself). He will never explain himself and will just clam up tighter the more people accuse him and it’s such a self-sabotaging behavior and also so horribly relatable. I love u sir, you’re a disaster

SVSS I have not read but I do really like the moshang art 😂

[theaspers]

let me count the ways

pairing: lucifer/thea (yes, this is an official lucea fic, alice)

a/n: yknow when you’ve been working on something for so long you just get kinda sick and tired of it? yeah, that’s me with this fic but pls accept this very sappy, very cheesy, very messy fic anw. i wrote this with thea in mind but tbh, i feel like you could probably pop your own ocs in there if they go by she/her.

she’s all too dangerous like this, lucifer thinks. eyes that twinkle with mischief, the slow flutter of heavy eyelashes, and fingers that are entirely too curious for their own good. she’s all too dangerous and there is work to do - piles and piles of them, scattered haphazardly across his desk and tucked away in his bag and more to come, he’s certain - and he knows if he gives in, it will be the start of the end.

and yet, knowing all of this, he still does very little in the way of stopping her from sliding into his lap and straddling him. his fingers instinctively come up to rest on the curve of her hips, steadying her as she makes herself comfortable. he's getting soft, unbelievably so, and his cheeks warm uncomfortably at the thought. still, there’s no part of him that wishes to be anything but indulgent. if only for this moment, he tells himself, just this once.

(but it’s far from the first time and he doubts it will be the last.)

“have you finished your work?” he asks but it's nothing more than a courtesy, something like a lousy deflection from his part, something to fill the increasingly charged air with. he continues with a reminder that there is still work for him to do - important work - and a long list of chores to see to and countless responsibilities to attend to, but it’s hard to rationalise much of anything when she’s settled herself on his lap.

it’s all for naught, however, because his words do little in deterring her. truthfully, he has long stopped expecting for her to answer in moments like these - there’s no changing her mind at all once she has it set on something. to put up a semblance of self-restraint would do him well still, if only to comfort himself.  

her eyes locked with his, warm and golden, she cups his face with the lightest of touches and asks, “more important than me?”

no, lucifer wants to say, never. but he’s sent mum at the gravity of his own thoughts, the heaviness of the truth behind them, the weight of his world and her world and the one that separates the both of them in the gaps between his words. at his silence, a smile curls on her face, a pleased hum rumbling in her chest. he doesn’t need to say them, it seems, rarely ever has to with her. in a way that very few people have, she understands him.

“oh, lucifer,” she croons, voice laced with a quiet wonder. as misplaced as the sentiment might be, his name has never fitted anywhere more perfectly than it does on her lips. it’s getting increasingly difficult to deny her much of anything and this instance is no different. now nothing else is more important than this, not his work or his chores or his other responsibilities. his mind races instead with all the things he would like to do to her in this moment - and perhaps, briefly, all the things he would like to be done to him - but all of it revolves around her, her, her.

he tilts his head slightly, heart lurching at the amount of affection that rolls off of her in overwhelming waves. there is an unspeakable amount of trust that lies in her every action, and that he lets her is a testament of his own. it’s well-deserved, he thinks, they’ve come quite far to have moments like this and he’s well within his rights to enjoy it.

warmth settles in the pit of his stomach like heavy rocks at the thought, foreign and familiar at the same time, and it only intensifies when she leans down to press a kiss on his temple, movement slow and tender. she places one on the tip of his nose next, and then another on the corner of his lips.

“lucifer.” she whispers again, and it’s something like a quiet plea this time around, a silent question, like she’s asking for his permission to continue. with a nod, he lets her. indulgent as ever, he chides himself, but that is where that line of thought ends.

pleased, she continues her ministrations, nuzzling a small spot under his ear before leaving a quick little kiss behind. one kiss turns into two into three, quick and light, and in their wake, tiny little nips down his jaw, further down his neck. each one sends a sharp jolt down his spine, has him sucking in a sharp intake of air, has him digging his fingers harder into her side. but it’s not hard to miss the way she spends a beat longer over his pulse point, her heavy exhale, the way she nuzzles into his shoulder - tiny little actions that squeezes at his heart.

when she pulls away, there is fondness on her face, heavy around her eyes and especially in her smile. and it’s good, makes him feel softer and softer, because the moments where she wears it are far and few in between but it’s always when he’s around and it makes him feel special, somehow. reassured and settled in the skin that he’d taken so long to get used to. he gives her side a light squeeze, musters up a small little smile in return that she receives with another pleased hum.

“you love me,” she says, matter-of-factly. there’s delight in her voice, as gentle and as subtle as it is, and a part of him preens at it. good. if there’s anyone that should deserve to feel that way, it should be her.

heat creeps back up his cheeks not a second later at her words but there are no lies within them. he’s said it before, and just like all those times, there is no amount of uncertainty in his voice when he tells her, “i do love you.”

“good.” she answers, nodding resolutely. if he had been anything other than attuned to her, he would have missed the tiny contortions of her face, the tiny changes in her expression, how incredibly pleased she is at the fact.

despite common belief, he’s never had the best of restraints. certainly not when it comes to her so there is little surprise between the two of them when he cups the back of her head and pulls her close, pulls her into a kiss that is as soft and fragile as he feels at the moment. everything inside him churns and rolls like tumultuous waves when she melts into it, into him.

her lips are a breath away from his own, brushing against him when she speaks next, “pretty. my pretty lucifer.”

and oh, does his heart sing. there are untold tales and history unwritten in him, peace and war, stories of strength and power and pride - he is a kingdom of his own measure, and yet he is easily brought down by just a few earnest words from a human. unbelievable. she shakes with quiet laughter when he turns to avoid her gaze, his cheeks no doubt flushed considering how warm they felt.

and somehow, this is what it always comes to: she presses praises into his skin, makes him feel so good and it’s as if he is simultaneously deserving and undeserving of it all. he’s overcome with emotions and every time a complaint rises at the back of his throat, as if she knows where his thoughts often go, she swallows it all down with another kiss.

“look at me,” she says when she’s finally satisfied with her doting, just the slightest hints of an order behind them and it makes him burn pleasantly, “please.”

and lucifer’s long past the point of denying her anything. when he does, his breath catches in his throat and it takes so much out of him to just stay still, to keep in place and to be good for her. slowly, deliberately, she brings his gloved hand to her lips. slowly, deliberately, she tugs on each tip with her teeth. slowly, deliberately, like she’s not the cause of the raging inferno inside of him.

all the while, she keeps her eyes locked with his, keeps all his attention and all his breaths with her. her fingertips dip into the cuff of his gloves, blunt fingernails scraping against the inner side of his wrist. she does not break eye-contact and he does not dare to look away. not that he could. he could never look away for some reason, does not wish to look away.

his glove disappears behind her quickly enough, and he spends about a second worrying over where it lands before the thought dissipates completely by an overwhelming curiosity of where this moment will go and a pressing need to see it play out completely.

her fingers curl around his wrist firmly as she turns her attention to his digits. her lips brush against the tops of his knuckles first, gentle but steady. the next few are quick to follow, the pads of each of his fingers, the inner side of his wrist and one on his open palm. she kisses the scars that mar his hand, raised skin and ugly bumps, laves even the smallest ones with rapt attention.

he releases a breath that he didn’t even realise he had been holding in, a minor tremble, a tiny hitch that he hopes escapes her notice. it’s an undeniably tender moment, and despite the heat rolling in his abdomen, it feels as if he’s gone ahead and cut himself in half and bared his soul to her. each kiss is petal-soft, and it’s like she’s kissing away all the grief and heartbreak and pain that his hands have ever felt, all that he’s ever been the root of. each touch replaces all the bitterness and cold of his hands, of his heart, with spring warmth, gentle rays of the sun and soft winds that brings forth this quiet happiness with it.

she meets his eyes again, and he feels the curl of her smile against the skin of his hand as she nuzzles into his palm. the fire in his stomach returns with the eager force of an untameable blaze. he wants to wipe the smugness away but pride has always looked riveting in the corners of her lips. still, it has no business being there, no business making him feel the way it does - desperate, and so incredibly depraved, always constantly on the brink of wanting to spoil her with his love and affection but also corrupt her in the most sinful of ways.

she’s too much, he thinks, in moments like these ones especially. too indulgent. indulges him as much as he indulges her, and that’s way too often. he drinks in how she looks right now, eyes dark as they searched his face, lips curled in a wicked smile, flushed and flustered as if this hadn’t been her plan all along. it’s a quiet but fierce challenge - she’s daring him to make the next move. nothing but trouble, she was. but he’s nothing if not audacious.

[breathinginthevapor]

James

Summary: Bucky has one sunset and one sunrise left in Brooklyn, and he’s so happy to spend them with you. 40′s Bucky

A/N: Here it is! The Monday update! Hope you guys are happy to get a lot more writing from me than usually, and that you enjoy my second Bucky piece. I think it’ll be the first part of a mini Tom Holland series next time, so stay tuned! And as for 40′s Bucky, you’ll get lots of him because damn I just love him. 

Word count: 1400+

T/W: sex is implied, but it’s pretty sfw tbh, sadness, mentions of death

You’re sitting on the roof of one of the factories down by the harbour, sharing one of Bucky’s cigarettes even though your mother doesn’t want you to smoke. 

Bucky takes it all in, tries to savour it in his heart, and for a brief moment, he wishes he could draw like Steve so he could pen down everything on paper and keep it in his pocket and take it with him. However, Bucky realises that no matter how great an artist he was, he probably wouldn’t be able to quite catch the way your nicotine coated fingertips hold the cigarette or the way the sunset reflects in your eyes. 

You’re a sight to behold as you sit there, tired eyes and loose hair in your pretty emerald dress, and Bucky wonders if you’re wearing it for him. A special dress for a special occasion. 

“Should have married you, doll. Let you make an honest man out of me,” he chuckles, but there’s a stiffness in his voice and no trace of the cockiness that has become his trademark. Just sentimental vulnerability, poorly masked behind humour. 

“An honest man? You? No one could do that, Bucky,” you say, only half joking as you nudge his shoulder with your own. 

Bucky wonders if you mean it. He hopes you don’t. 

“Would you have married me if I’d asked you, pretty girl?” 

You look at him, and there’s a wetness in your eyes that makes Bucky hate himself. And the war. And maybe even you a little bit. 

“Are you serious?”

He shrugs, “I think we could’ve been good. The two of us and some kids. Sounds good to me.”

“I would have done everything for you, Bucky. Run away with you if you’d asked me to. So yes, I would have married you.” you pause, gaze fixated on some point in the horizon and Bucky would kill to know what you are thinking. “But you wouldn’t have married me.”

“What do you mean doll? I’d be stupid not to.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “I’m not like all the pretty dames you go out with, Buck. I’m just your best friend.”

Bucky wants to tell you that you’re wrong, but maybe he’d be lying. Not that you aren’t pretty, because for heaven’s sake you are so darn lovely, but he also doubts he would have realised just how much he cares for you if he hadn’t been going off to war. 

The prospect of dying truly puts everything in perspective. 

Bucky doesn’t know if it is the right thing to say, it probably isn’t, but he still asks you, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, a small, insecure smile dawning on your lips, and he can feel it when he kisses you, the taste of your lipstick on his tongue. His hands work on their own, cupping the side of your face, caressing your eyebrow with his thumb, tangling into your hair just as he has easily carved his way into your heart. 

He wonders why he has never done this before. Why he never stopped to think about how sweet your lipstick would taste or how wonderful your hand would feel on his chest, even through his clothes. 

When he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, he pleads breathlessly, “Wait for me, doll.”

He thinks you’ll be happy. You’ve just admitted that you love him and now he is finally giving you what you’ve wanted. 

But you begin to cry, big doe eyes welling up with tears, and Bucky knows because he knows you so well, that it is not happy tears. 

“I will always be your friend, Bucky.” His heart dies a little at that. How terrible it feels to hear those words. “And I will write to you and I will love you, but I will not let you stand in the way of my happiness. Not anymore.”

He feels so selfish when he begs, but he still does it, “Please, doll. You don’t have to answer me now, but just think about it. I’ll come home a war hero and I’ll marry you.”

You shake your head, still crying, “No, Bucky, I’m sorry.”

And then he hugs you because he hates to see you cry and as you sob into his shirt, he knows there’s no hope for him. Tonight was his last shot with you. And he blew it. 

“You signed up. How could you?” you cry, voice slightly muffled by the fabric but he hears you loud and clear. 

He cups your face and pulls you up to face him, pressing little kisses to your temple, cheek, nose. 

“I hate you, Bucky Barnes,” you whisper, softly, and he knows how fragile the line between love and hate is. And right now, he doesn’t think there even is a line. 

“I’m so sorry, doll.”

You shake your head and dry your eyes, looking out on the water. It’s dark now, he hasn’t even noticed the last sunset in Brooklyn because he got his own little world right in front of him, eyes red from crying but still beautiful all the same. And he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind that this might be his last night in Brooklyn, ever, because as he watches you, he sees all of his life pass before his eyes and it’s been a good one. His family, Steve, you, good people. And there’s so much he didn’t do, never got a family, never got a wife to kiss goodnight, but he’s had so much else and he’s had this. This heartbreaking, amazing twilight with you.

You look at him with hunger in your eyes, and Bucky has never seen that look in your eyes before. Seen it in other girls, and he knows what it means, but he can’t let himself believe that you want what his mind is telling him you want. He gets goosebumps just at the thought.

“I want it to be now,” you state, and Bucky has never heard such arousing words. 

Biting your lip, you continue “I have never done it before. I probably won’t be good, maybe even terrible so it’s okay if you don’t want-“

He kisses you, and you let out a hiss of surprise before you return the gesture. When he pulls away for air, you press your lips against the stubble on chin, and Bucky goddamn moans. 

“Doll, are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. 

“Yes.”

And then you pull at his shirt eagerly, and Bucky stops holding back. He kisses bare skin and helps you out of your dress with trembling hands, and he enjoys getting to know your body as he has gotten to know your mind through the years. 

Afterwards, you lay together on the roof, your head on his heart, and Bucky is stupidly happy and sad at the same time. 

The two of you watch the sun rise above the Brooklyn you grew up in, and Bucky knows just as well as you do that nothing will ever be the same again. 

When you put on your clothes again, you take a photograph from your purse and put it in his pocket, hands on his chest, and he can feel your warmth through the uniform. 

“Something to remember me by.”

He chuckles, tears prickling in his eyes, “Like I could ever forget you, doll.”

You follow him to the train and kiss the soft skin right beside his lips, a gentle reminder of the love that never blossomed. 

He doesn’t look at the photograph before the train is out of New York, a pretty picture of you in that green dress he took off you in what feels like a different life. On the back of it, you have written in cursive, “I love you.” And it’s the first thing he writes in the letter that will be sent home if he dies. But in the other ones, the ones he sends you at least once a week, he avoids the declaration because it would be selfish of him to write it. 

Only half a year passes before you send him a picture of you and Hank from the bakery, all wide smiles in a lovely dress. 

“He’s a good man,” you write, “the most unselfish one I’ve met,” and it only hurts a little. 

Four months later, there’s a picture of a baby boy. His name is James. 

But Bucky never gets to meet him.

//

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[cakepopple]

For the prompt thing—how about a kissy klance? A rare moment of downtime for the busy boys. Thanks so much!!❤️💙

I'm like!! 90% sure!! This isn't quite how you wanted this fic to go ahaha... but it's soft and mostly smooching and I'm fairly satisfied with it :) also tbh... if you want good kush kiss fics, check out @nisekoi !! Nothing I write could ever live up to those tbh :P Anywho, here’s my best go at it!

Stay, Don’t be Busy (Klance Request - 2)

— (word count: 2247) —

Lance finishes his class at noon. He’s been teaching fighter pilot courses at the Garrison since the war ended, and while he loves it, he’s happy when his lunch break finally arrives. More so today than usual, since after his students have all filed out to the hallway and mumbled their tired goodbyes, there’s still someone leaning against the doorframe. There are enough stripes on his uniform to tell Lance he’s not a student. Not that he’d need the help anyway; he knows who’s standing there, even when he’s only seen him in his peripheral. His legs cross at his ankles, his elbow bends and presses against the door to hold it open, and his fist knots so he can hold it against his cheek in an exaggerated show of false nonchalance. The genuine and smooth lines at the ends of his smile show he’s not as indifferent as his body language would suggest, though.

“Hey,” he says, and Lance realizes he’s missed Keith’s voice than he’d previously thought. Hearing it now is like the first bite of a food you haven’t had in months, the one that brings all the flavors and cravings back so fast you get a chest ache. Lance had known Keith would be back from his Blade mission today, but part of him had thought the man wouldn’t come to visit. They’re not dating, as much as Lance wishes they are, so there was never any obligation for Keith to stop by. 

Every ounce of blood in his veins had been coursing with the hopes that Keith would come visit him anyway. 

And here he is. 

Keith’s got his Garrison uniform on, the one with the red sleeves and gold stripes, and Lance’s eyes snag on the way the colors broaden his shoulders. Or maybe it’s the way he’s standing, tall and confident, with that smug, little smile on his lips. But he looks so genuinely happy to see Lance, and that ties the whole image together. It’s something Lance will stare up at his ceiling thinking about until the next time Keith comes home. The next time Keith gives him something he can’t sleep over. Keith licks his lips, and the taunting image scrawled through Lance’s mind shifts. A shudder passes through Lance’s spine. He knows exactly what triggered it.

He nods at Keith, hands fumbling for the papers on his desk as a source of distraction. Quietly, he clears his throat, “Hey, Keith.” And there’s a smile in his voice, warm and fizzing, as he flashes a smitten look at his shuffling hands. Too stubborn, too apprehensive to let Keith know how profoundly giddy he is, but too pleased to keep a smile away. The pages click twice against the desk as he straightens them. Calculated. Nervous. “Didn’t think I’d see you during my lunch break today.” Lance flickers his eyes up and away from his work, and Keith’s grin in response is irrepressible. As if Lance just looking at him is enough to satisfy everything he’d ever wanted. Doesn’t he know how much Lance looks at him? It isn’t that special. But the way Keith smiles at him definitely is, and Lance feels his stomach roll in gratification, so he hides himself in his work again. His ears are hot.

Keith strolls in from the entrance and the door clicks back into place behind him. “Where else would I go?” He sounds so sincere. Lance smiles, the bunches of his cheeks burning from how wholly he feels the emotion behind his grin. His body sways, only slightly, with a drunken buzz of delight, and he presses a hand to his desk to keep himself steady. The papers he’d stacked so neatly only a second ago wrinkle under his hold, retaining the creases because of the sweat on his palms. God, was he always this blatantly skittish around Keith? The flush of his cheeks is so irredeemably nervous. He hears Keith flop onto the swivel chair behind him. His heart pools and bubbles in his stomach when Keith laughs at the way the seat skids back and squeaks. “You’re my favorite person to spend time with, Lance.” 

“Is that so?” Lance wheezes as he asks that, playing it off by laughing in short spurts after the fact. He turns around slowly, squatting on his desk where his papers aren’t. “Never would have guessed.” And he means it. Him? Keith’s favorite? He bites back the urge to sigh at the weight such an assurance takes off his shoulders. Pleasure burns at his nape; he lifts his hands there, as though to swat it back down. 

As he slides himself farther up his desk, so the crooks of his knees hook on the edge, he watches Keith make up for the distance. Hands close around the desk, one on either side of Lance’s thighs. “Absolutely.” Lance loses his voice at the certainty in Keith’s tone. The glint in Keith’s eyes turns wicked as he stands up and leans closer, shrinking the distance between them to something so small, Lance knows he’s not imagining Keith’s body heat swarming his own. “I heard something interesting from Pidge and Hunk when I came in this morning,” he says, bringing his hands closer to Lance’s legs, an inch away from touching. Lance dizzies at the thought, wonders what his hands feel like when they linger for more than a fleeting touch. 

“What did you hear?” Lance has to restart the sentence a few times, emotions too thick in his throat to allow words passage. Keith smiles something tender at the jolts in Lance’s voice. One of his hands releases the desk and instead, it drifts to Lance’s cheek. Though he puts infinite effort into an attempt, Lance can’t seem to keep his eyes open. He can’t see it when Keith swoops in to smother their lips together, but he feels it so perfectly, so completely, he swears the image is right there, on the backs of his eyelids. Surely on his ceiling tonight, too, as he’ll be kept up again. One of Lance’s hands grips to ground himself on the desk, while the other reaches for the hand Keith kept beside his thigh.

When Keith straightens his spine and thus places distance between them once more, it becomes painfully clear the sort of thing he’d heard. “Pidge said she was tired of watching you ‘stare at’ and ‘pine’ over me. Hunk begged me to make the first move.” Twitching his nose, he pauses, and the hand along Lance’s cheeks trails downward to his neck. Keith looks concerned. “How long?” It’s fragile, the way his face seems to fold in the middle, where his eyebrows wrench together, as though trying to meet. A welt of sadness taints Lance’s throat.

“Do you mean how long I was going to wait to kiss you? Or how long I’ve already been waiting?” Lance’s fingers begin to slip away from where they’re nestled over Keith’s, but they’re stopped when Keith desperately draws them back, pinning the hand under his own. Shyly, Lance admits, “Either way, the answer is pretty close to forever.” A sour note wrenches from Keith’s throat.

Pressing closer, touch hot enough on Lance’s neck to scar, Keith weakly ponders, “Why?” 

“I’ve been busy, and you’ve been busy, out with the Blades—”

“You’re not busy right now,” Keith says, tone sharp with urgency, but countenance a heartstopping mild. His eyes are scalding, a swirling grey like thick, stifling smoke, and Lance is suffocating in them, how they lock onto him. Stern, gentle, intoxicating. Those eyes dip to Lance’s mouth. A tongue darts over Keith’s lips when he brings his eyes upward again. “I’m not busy with the blades, either. What’s stopping you now?” Lance feels Keith’s hand on his neck crawl around to his scalp. He lets it happen, leans into the cup of gentle touches. 

Lance whimpers, “But you will be busy. When you leave again in a few days.” After hearing that, Keith tugs Lance closer by his hair, so he can kiss him again. Longer, deeper, and this time, Lance kisses back. He doesn’t care that the discussion has been paused, doesn’t mind postponing it, if it means he gets to taste more of Keith’s lips, circling and pushing along his own. Keith’s leaving, he tells himself. It isn’t a good idea to indulge in something that’s doomed to crash and burn, he reminds himself. But, ultimately, he admits that it feels too right to ignore. Lance curls into Keith, so indescribably satisfied he feels he might fall down onto his desk. His back shudders at the thought, like it’s about to give out under the affectionate assault, as though to confirm such a thing would be fitting. He wraps his arms around Keith’s neck to hold himself together.

The hold Keith has on Lance’s scalp falls away. He’s at the bottom of Lance’s shirt, now, and searing fingers swipe a patch of skin on the small of Lance’s back. It makes Lance arch closer. Keith eagerly takes the invitation, sliding his whole hand up under Lance’s shirt, just to cradle his shoulder blades. All his actions, all his motions whisper, caress, sing, I’ve waited too long, over soft skin. The drag of his tongue along the roof of Lance’s mouth says the same. So do the scribbled circles that loop around to Lance’s stomach, because Lance finally leans his spine down against his desk. He’s taking Keith’s cheeks, his addictive lips, with him. Keith swirls the nails of that one hand over Lance’s middle, and his other hand hastily moves from the edge of the desk to the space beside Lance’s head, where his fingers curl into the wood. 

Meanwhile, Lance grapples Keith’s cheeks like he’ll fall right into oblivion without Keith and his lips holding him in the present. His fingers wind through, and undo, Keith’s ponytail, so the hair tie clicks against the classroom floor. He doesn’t spare a thought in its direction; he’s waited too long to have Keith pushing, prodding, brushing teeth against his lips. Waited too long to kiss and be kissed by someone he feels so strongly for. To kiss and be kissed by Keith. When Lance whines, low and pleading in his throat, Keith lifts from Lance like he’s out of breath. Like he’s been drowning in something, and Lance feels the same. He can’t pry his eyes open, his lungs heave, and he feels Keith’s pulse from where he’s holding him by his cheeks, telling him Keith’s as antsy, as excited, as he is.

As Lance’s eyes squint open, he sees Keith’s cheeks are flushed. And Keith looks self conscious. Worried. He pulls his lips apart, huffs a few airless breaths, and then he suggests, “What if I don’t leave again? What if I stay here, not busy, with you?” He thumbs Lance’s bottom lip, he watches himself do it, as if he’s about to dive back in. If he went for it, Lance would let him. Lance would let him do anything. There’s no one he trusts more. In fact, he indulges the selfish look in Keith’s eyes, lifting his torso up to Keith’s so they can kiss again. Keith sighs against him, and Lance can feel the relief as his tense shoulders relax. 

They kiss until Lance is too overwhelmed by the heat behind it to breathe, and he pats Keith’s cheek. Instantly, Keith unlatches from Lance. They lock eyes for a moment, before Keith tickles his nose against Lance’s jawline experimentally. When Lance opens the spot to him, humming, Keith pecks a couple kisses down his neck. Fingers clutching into fists, Lance knots them together at the wrists, behind Keith’s head. His mind is fuzzy, his words slur as he quietly questions what Keith had proposed. “You’d do that for me?”

Keith chuckles against his pulse. Every exposed patch of Lance’s skin smolders, every one of his brain cells is stolen to play the sound and the feeling on repeat. God. God. He could keep Keith there forever, ask him to say every little thought he has there, and Lance still wouldn’t tire of it. He’s certain. It feels too good. Too perfect. So much so, he almost wants to ask Keith to stop, before he’s too drunk to teach later. Worst of all is how he knows, if he were to ask Keith to keep kissing and whispering along his neck, the man wouldn’t hesitate to do it. He’d probably smile and rumble with laughter and—

“Would I? Oh, Lance,” he breathes, then he’s leaving a kiss that’s longer than the rest, one that lingers after he’s pulled away again. “As if there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Then stay,” Lance says hastily. Now that Keith’s suggested it, Lance can’t get the thought out of his head. How badly he wants Keith to stay with him. To kiss him every day, to laugh with him, to visit him during his lunch breaks. His heart revs up at the thought, his eyes swell with tears. Lance begs, “Please stay. Go on a date with me, keep kissing me, do whatever you want. Just please do it here, on Earth. Stay.” His breath is shaking. Now he’s crying. “Please, Keith. Stay with me.”

One last time, Keith kisses him on his mouth. Sweet and brief. Lance’s whole body shivers.

“For you, Lance…” Their eyes meet again, and Lance notices Keith is crying, too. “Anything.”

[knocklast]

Pregnancy HCs w/ Bokuto!

Warnings: Daddy Bokuto,,,,

Pairings: Bokuto x Reader, and Akaashi makes three

Summary: Basically headcanons of your pregnancy with Bokuto! I’ll post a follow up HC of him as a father soon!

Father Bokuto HCs ➺ He doesn’t know the first thing about parenthood

➺ But damn if he doesn’t try his best to learn about it!

➺ When you broke the news to him, he went over to Akaashi’s place at 2 in the morning sobbing over it.

➺ He was so so happy to create a new life and welcome the new addition to the family but… so scared at the same time

➺ “What if they hate me? What if I’m not a good dad? What if I mess up the baby and give it trauma? HELP ME AKAASHI!!”

➺ Akaashi’s like,,,,, dude its 2:45 am and all my doors are locked how did you get in

➺ He comforts Bo and assures that with all this worrying and care he’s showing right now, there’s no way he would fuck up the kid y’know?

➺ Goes to cooking classes with him because Bokuto insists that he wants to cook more when you’re pregnant so you can rest and follows him to the library to get books on fatherhood

➺ More than once, you’ve woken to an empty bed and crept out in the living room, only to see Bo passed out on the couch with “ What to expect when you’re expecting: For Fathers”

➺ Fusses over you like a Mama owl

➺ “Do you want some juice? I heard orange juice is great for pregnancies!! Do you need a pillow? Want me to rub your back?”

➺ His heart breaks when he sees you cry or be in pain, you’re suffering so much to carry his baby and the least he could do for you is to help you as much as possible.

➺ He has the hospital bag packed like 2 months in advance so he doesn’t fluster

➺ Drags Akaashi along whenever he needs to do “Father Duties” and you aren’t feeling your best

➺ “ I thought I told ya’ll to get groceries,,,, what are you guys holding?”➺ “ LOOK LOOK It’s a collapsible bathtub!! And this produces foamy bubbles!! And this is a whale cup to pour water over Baby’s head!!” 

➺ “.... And what are you holding Akaashi?”➺ “.... An owl….. play mat….” 

➺ When your water broke it took him a while to realise what’s happening

➺ “ BOKUTO My water broke!!” 

➺ “Ah do you want me to fix it?”

➺ “..........”

➺ “?,,, OH WAIT WHAT?”

➺ He’s panicking even though you’ve rehearsed this multiple times before

➺ Accidentally brings the hospital and like an orange that he was peeling halfway before you broke the news to him

➺ Calls Akaashi asap and the dude is already speeding his way to the hospital

➺ Not for you, for Bokuto’s mental health

➺ Came to the hospital to see Bo like clenching on to an orange so tightly

➺ “ Bokuto, please , deep breaths okay? After me, breathe in….. And out….”

➺ “Isn’t she the one who’s in labour right now?”

➺ So, so scared but wants to also be big brave hubby carrying for you right now 

➺ He’s shaking and on the brim of tears but holding your hand and muttering “ It’s okay, It’s gonna be okay, breathe okay? Breath in and out with me.”

➺ The advice is more for his own self but it’s all good

➺ Heart breaks every time you cry from your contractions and he can feel himself close to tears

➺ Only starts sobbing when he’s outside with Akaashi, waiting for you in the surgery room

➺ Wanted to be inside with you but Akaashi knows he’ll pass out or be sobbing so fucking loudly so holds him back

➺ After hours of labour, he finally saw the baby in your arms

➺ He was filled with so much love once he saw her, he didn’t even realise he was crying but he knows, at that moment, that no matter what he will put in all his energy into being the best dad he could ever be.

➺ Was so gentle carrying her in his arms, she looks so small and fragile, he can barely believe this

➺ Even when your daughter cried, it was like music to his ears

➺ Akaashi started crying when it came to his turn because at this point, he was almost always with you guys and this journey was a big thing for him too y’know? And she was so beautiful in his arms.

➺ There’s pictures of Bo lying in the hospital bed holding the baby as if HE was the one who gave birth 

➺ Bo would honestly be the best dad tbh he would just try his best no matter what for you!

[mycupoffanfiction]

His Second Chance Part 1

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Language, anxiety, angst (maybe closer to just sadness rather than angst tbh), sliiightly smutty thoughts, fluff.

I suggest checking the HSC Masterlist for a full list of warnings for the series. 

Word count: Approx 1900

Masterlist

Hi! Here’s the new series! The next part of A Real Sweet Guy is coming up within the next few days, maaaybe tonight if I can get on with the finishing touches this evening! I reeeaaaally hope you all like this one, I had the idea a while ago and I’ve had the concept floating about for ages!

Please let me know what you think since this is a new series! Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LIST IS OPEN!

_____________________________

Small footsteps padding down the hallway, a soft hum to a rock song that blasted in your ears, occasionally mouthing the words as you walked along. Your mug from earlier was clutched in your hands, now empty and ready to get an evening hot chocolate. You’d had to borrow Sam’s mug because someone had stolen yours. Definitely not Sam…

Soft black leggings, your butt shaped beautifully with the garment, a little crop top on your top half. A large oversized Captain America hoodie over your shoulders, the sleeves shoved up to your elbows. It had been a secret Santa present, but you’d be lying if you said you hated it. You fucking loved it. So cosy and warm and it had the shield of your favourite and only super soldier printed on the front.

 You walked out into the living space of the floor you shared with Steve and Sam, your two best friends. You looked down, threading some of your hair behind your ear as you walked across the wooden flooring to the kitchen. You looked up, two hulking figures in the shadows of the unlit room and you paused, mug tumbling to the ground, smashing at your sock clad feet. The light flicks on and not one, but two super soldiers stand in the living room.

Bucky.

Steve and Bucky were finally home. “Steve?” You asked, voice small and quiet as you pulled an earbud out of your ear. “Sorry we scared you sweetie.” He chuckled walking towards you. You glanced down to see the mug in pieces at your feet and back up at the two soldiers. Shit, Sam’s gonna hate you. “Sergeant Barnes.” You greeted him, small smile on your lips. “Bucky.” He corrected, voice gruff and low, almost too quiet to hear. “Right, Bucky.” You nodded, awkwardly looking away from his intense stare. His bright blue eyes bore into you, it made you feel like you were exposed to him, naked, like he could see everything about you just by staring at you like that. You swallowed thickly as you studied his messy long brown hair tucked behind his ears, the way his shirt hugged his muscles, the glint of that beautiful metal arm in the artificial light.

 “Bucky is staying on our floor.” Steve announced, smiling softly. “Oh, okay.” You nodded before kneeling down to pick up the remains of Sam’s mug. Serves him right for stealing yours. “Next to your room.” Steve added, pointing in the general direction of the spare room that was situated right next to yours. “I hope you like your room, Bucky.” You smiled up at him as you collected the mug pieces into your hands, careful not to hurt yourself before you turned away to bin the pieces. You had no response from the soldier and you stood in the kitchen doorway as you watched the two men leave the room, that icy cold stare lingering on you for a moment until Bucky had to catch up with Steve.

 Damn she was cute. Bucky trailed after Steve. You stared too much, you idiot, she probably thinks you’re weird. He huffed, causing Steve to look over his shoulder at him. “You alright, bud?” He asked as they passed your bedroom door and approached his. “Yeah.” He mumbled a reply. No, you just made a fool out of yourself in front of a cute girl. What was she wearing? Right, a Captain America Hoodie. God how he wished it was the only thing you wer- Stop! Stop it Barnes! Jesus, get your head out of the gutter. “Here we are!” Steve announced, pushing the door to his room open. The room was simple and clean but decorated nicely. Bucky took a tentative step in, eyes instantly flicking to window, the bathroom door to the right, his intense stare scanning the room for possible entries and exit ways. “Remember to ask FRIDAY if you need anything.” Steve patted his shoulder, taking a few steps back. “I’ll let you settle in, I’m opposite you, (Y/n) is next door. I really suggest you get to know her, she’s quiet, sweet, very fun shy girl.” Steve grinned as he talked about you, looking down the hall at you. Bucky peaked around the doorframe to see what Steve was looking at.

 You. He didn’t recognise the song you were half humming, half singing along to, but you were really getting into it, your butt swaying a little as you moved to lean against the back of the sofa, the grind and whir of the hot drinks machine in the background could be heard as you waited for your drink to pour. Pretty little butt. No, stop it Barnes. Before Bucky realised, he’d made a little grunt and Steve was looking at him expectantly. “Just be gentle with her.” Steve went on. “She’s really shy sometimes, get’s very anxious, she sometimes gets panic attacks and is quite sensitive to confrontation and loud voices, just be careful, alright?” Steve smiled, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “Night Buck.” He said over his shoulder as he returned to his room, Bucky’s stare lingering on you for a moment.

 “Morning!” You beamed at the long haired super soldier as you sat at the island in the kitchen, hugging Steve tightly. You had missed your best friend so much that now you just wanted to catch up on the attention you’d missed, not to mention the slightly panicky feeling you’d woken up with, so this was a good way of helping you to calm down. “Uh.” Bucky stared at you both, Steve chuckling at Bucky’s confusion. “We usually cuddle in the morning.” Steve smiled at his best friend as Sam entered the kitchen. “Right.” Bucky nodded. He just wanted you on his lap hugging him the way you were hugging Steve, your sweet little giggles and smiles as you enjoyed the attention. Maybe if he got closer to you, he could have that too. No. You’d just hurt her, Barnes. Look at her and look at yourself, she wouldn’t want to be like that with you. Bucky growled at his thoughts, startling you. He hadn’t realised you’d sidled up beside him to get a mug from the cupboard and now you were backing away, eyes wide. You thought he was growling at you. Great. Fucking. Job.

 “Anyone seen my mug?” Sam asked, walking around the kitchen as he peered in all of the cupboards. You blushed a little, glancing over at Steve and Sam, trying to hide the guilt on your face. You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice didn’t come out, someone else spoke for you. “I broke your dumb mug.” Bucky said gruffly, slamming his bowl down onto the counter top. You looked over at him, surprised he��d taken the blame for you and you mouthed ‘thank you’ to him, a little nod of his head said that it was alright. “You’ve been here one night and you’re already breaking my stuff?” Sam scoffed. “Half my stuff breaks because miss clumsy over here can’t not break things to save her life.” Sam said sarcastically and over dramatically, throwing his arms up. You looked straight ahead at the counter, Bucky’s heart aching a little when you started to react like you were actually being told off. “Sam.” Steve’s voice was stern as he noticed your behaviour. “She’s always so clumsy-.” Sam went on, playful tone in his voice as he teased, thinking you knew he wasn’t actually mad. You couldn’t help that you were clumsy. “Sam.” Steve raised his voice, head nodding in your direction. You stood silently, bright red cheeks, breathing slightly uneven, lips parted. “I broke your mug, Sam. I’m sorry.” Was the only thing you said, just above a whisper before you reached into your pocket and pulled out your earbuds, popping them both in and blasting music to drown out the people around you. You weren’t exactly tipping over the edge of anxiety, but had it not been for your panicky feeling that morning, perhaps you wouldn’t have reacted so badly. You hated the idea of disappointing people, of making them mad at you and while you knew Sam was joking, it still got to you.

 “I didn’t mean to…” Sam trailed off, gesturing loosely at you. “I know, she knows that.” Steve reassured him. “You know she’s a little fragile about that sorta thing.” Steve went on, knowing you couldn’t hear him judging by the muffled sound of Red Hot Chili Peppers from your earbuds. Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave your figure. You slumped over yourself. Steve hadn’t been lying when he said your anxiety was bad.

 Bucky sat at the island, you opposite at Steve’s side, shoulders touching as you were almost leaning up against him. You seemed a lot calmer now, sipping on your coffee, your pink lips pursed around the rim of the mug, your large, fluttery eyelashes, the way your hair fell so beautifully. Bucky just wanted to reach out and touch it, it looked so soft, so smooth, but he knew he shouldn’t. It had taken everything in him to not pull you into a crushing hug earlier when your anxiety reared its ugly head.

 “(Y/n).” Sam put his hand on your shoulder, but you just turned in your seat and wrapped your arms around him. “We’re all good.” You whispered. “I’m still sorry that I broke your mug.” You said quietly. “That’s okay, I kinda stole yours, so I guess we’re even.” He chuckled, hugging you back. Bucky loved how touchy you were, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, but he really wanted to be. He really, really wanted to have you greet him with warm hugs, cuddle with him the way you do with the other two boys, hold his hand like he’d seen you do with Steve earlier when you were trying to calm yourself down.

 “Did you have enough to eat?” You asked, voice still small as you looked up at Bucky. He hesitated for a moment. “Bucky, you can eat however much you want, when you want, promise no one will get mad. Well I might get a little annoyed if you don’t tell me when you finish something because I’m the poor gal who’s gotta go grocery shopping for three soldiers.” You giggled, pushing items of breakfast food towards him. “I know how much a super soldier eats and I know from your tiny bowl of cereal that it wasn’t enough.” You pointed out. You were right, Bucky knew it. But he appreicated your efforts with him. A scowl rested on his face. He wanted to say thank you, but all that came out was a gruff grunt and you looked up at him confused. “Right, I- I’ll just go.” You backed away, leaving Bucky alone in the kitchen. Bucky sighed as he poured more cereal into his bowl. Well done Barnes, she probably thinks you hate her.

 “Hey, you alright?” Steve asked, poking you in the side as you sat curled up on the sofa. “I think Bucky doesn’t like me too much.” You spoke quietly. “Oh.” Was all Steve could say. Yep, she definitely thinks you hate her. Bucky overheard from around the corner. “I know I shouldn’t, but I really just wanna give him a hug and tell him it’ll be okay.” You sigh, Bucky’s heart swelling as he listened from the hallway. How is she so goddamn sweet? Can’t get too close to her, you’ll hurt her Barnes. She’s too sweet and fragile for you. Bucky thought to himself, moving away to his bedroom before he could overhear more.

He wished he could be close to you. But he couldn’t.

______________________

Permanent Tags:

@shygirl-00 @swanlakemikey@scuzmunkie @paintballkid711@lovelylilia @mapreza1 @love-bucky-3000 @cals-cigarette

[williamvapespeare]

tbh i don’t know what whumptober is, but i feel like it’s my calling. canon era exr angst, cuddles, the usual. also on ao3

-

There are few things more miserable than crying with broken ribs, Grantaire has learned.

At first, it makes him see stars. Then, it makes him think in the kind of abstractions that always unsettle him to his core without the comforting blankness of wine to mask their shadows.

He’s surprised he was able to get himself to his own doorstep, but he supposes that years of drunken practice and a vague fear of the eviction that he knows would follow if he were discovered in this state has somehow held him together long enough to drag himself over the threshold and close the door.

He hasn’t moved since.

He’s leaned over the table with one hand braced against it – knuckles bloody and swollen, but right now it’s the least of his problems – the other wrapped around himself in some failed attempt to hold his insides together where he feels like a part of his chest has shattered irreparably inside of him.

It’s his ribs, he knows the feeling, maybe two of them. But it’s something else entirely that’s left him shivering with a sense of cold that shouldn’t be this late in the spring, that’s caught his breath in his throat and choked him with a harsh sob that makes his chest feel like it’s about to split open.

It’s not just the ribs, he knows.

It’s something like a one-sided oration that’s always half-forming in the back of his mind, something that would make Cicero roll his eyes in disgust. It’s full of words he knows will never come together fluently enough to change anyone’s mind. Enjolras has always been the gifted one. Even when it seems that Grantaire speaks twice as much and tries twice as hard to convey any small subsection of his thoughts, they come out wrong, jumbled up with the fear and the guilt and the hatred that sit always at the ready in the back of his throat.

He couldn’t have told Enjolras the truth, even if he’d tried. Like everything that happens between them, Grantaire is more than willing to take the fall for it. It’s the least he can do, in the face of everything that Enjolras is, and what’s a little more hatred on top of it all.

If there’s a knock on the door, he doesn’t hear it.

“Grantaire, what have you done?”

The voice is angry, quiet with that kind of barely contained fury that Gratnaire is no stranger to, and the only thought that crosses his sluggish mind is just how tired he is of fighting. He’s done enough tonight already, ruined enough. He’s not sure there’s much left for him to fight for.

He doesn’t bother turning around; he simply curls into himself and bites his lip, braces himself for a hit that never comes.

“I –” The voice falters. “Are you alright?”

And Grantaire already knows who it is without needing to turn around, even through the uncharacteristic confusion gentling the edges of his tone. He always knows.

He tries once more to catch his breath, at least enough to speak.

“It was my understanding that you weren’t concerning yourself with my wellbeing,” he says, his voice rough and weak even to his own ears. “If you’ve come to throw me out for good you needn’t have bothered.” He feels tears sting the edges of his eyes again, one of them already half-swollen shut. “You made that perfectly clear before, Enjolras.”

Enjolras, for his part, stays silent and for a few strained moments the only sound in the room is Grantaire’s uneven breathing. Then there are footsteps, covering the short space between the door and the table Grantaire has propped himself up against and before his scrambled brain has a chance to process any further, Enjolras is beside him.

“Are you injured?” Enjolras asks, his tone serious and Grantaire doesn’t think he’s ever been able to handle this level of scrutiny, never from Enjolras, who always manages to see through to the very worst parts of him. And never like this, when he can hardly think through pressure around his thoughts, lost in a sea of  things he’s sure he’d forgotten: long-ago memorized translations, all the wrong ways to hold a paintbrush, and all the times Enjolras has ever looked at him, all the times Grantaire has wished to slice himself open on the sharpness of Enjolras’s jaw and pour himself out like a libation.

“It’s nothing,” Grantaire says, forcing the words out before they catch in his throat for good.

It’s not until Enjolras reaches for him – hesitant, Grantaire can’t help but notice from the corner of his eye – that he tries to move again.

The thought of Enjolras touching him, of his hands shoving Grantaire farther away than his words already have, hurts far more than anything his body has endured that night. It’s an instinct, when he lets go of the table and pushes his hand against Enjolras’s chest in an attempt to get him out of his space first, before Enjolras forces him away forever.

His broken body, however, has other ideas. He can’t hold back a curse of pain at his sudden attempt at movement and then he’s doubled over again.

“You’re injured!”

Enjolras’s hands are on him despite his protests, supporting him gently as he lowers him down into Grantaire’s one chair. Once he’s seated, Enjolras lets go immediately. Grantaire doesn’t blame him.

Instead, Enjolras crouches down in front of him, his hands braced against his own knees and a part of Grantaire is keenly aware of every piece of distance between them. He feels every moment after Enjolras lets go of him like the throbbing in his chest.

It takes him a moment to register that Enjolras is speaking again.

“-going to fetch Joly. Try not to move while I’m gone.”

“No!” Grantaire looks up at him for the first time. “No, Joly has set my ribs three times before. I can’t go to him again; he worries.”

“Combeferre, then,” Enjolras says.

“Combeferre resets my nose far too often. And he’s done a good job of it. If it weren’t for his good graces, I would be far uglier than I already am.”

“How many fights do you get into?” Enjolras asks, exasperation coloring his tone.

“I can’t help myself,” Grantaire says, somehow unable to look away from Enjolras’s eyes now that he’s met them. “Any time I hear people talk ill of you I –“

Enjolras’s expression darkens into a frown.

“What?” There’s a sudden harshness to his tone and Grantaire realizes that he’s said too much.

“It’s nothing, Enjolras,” He tries hastily to recover, tries to think past the pain in his ribs and the pounding in his head. “It’s like you said, I’m a brute and a drunk. I always did take after my father, you know –“

“Stop,” Enjolras says: it’s a command as much as it’s a plea and Grantaire swallows back his words along with the bitter taste of copper. He must have split his lip, either in the fight or in his own failed attempts to stay quiet. He hasn’t realized. “People talk ill of me,” Enjolras says. “Do you mean that happened tonight?” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s picking out each of his words with careful precision.

“I was there, of course, and I always speak ill of you.” It’s a poor attempt to rile him up, to joke his way out of the realities he’s brought upon himself.

“Answer the question, Grantaire.” Enjolras cuts him off and again, Grantaire feels the compulsion to obey that only Enjolras can get from him. He shifts slightly in the chair in an attempt to find a position that puts less pressure on his ribs, fails, and starts to tell the truth.

“There was a man at the table next to mine,” he says. “I overheard him.”

Enjolras reaches out. For a moment his hand hovers above Grantaire’s, his fingers not quite touching the slowly drying blood on his knuckles, but he seems to think better of it and pulls his hand back.

Grantaire continues, “He was laughing at you, saying you were doomed to fail, calling you, well, things less polite than a Ganymede. He said, in no uncertain terms, that he would turn you in the moment the deal was made.”

Grantaire feels inexplicably calmer now that he’s said it out loud, but not in a way that brings comfort. He can’t imagine ever feeling fully comfortable around Enjolras.

And speaking of Enjolras, the hand still resting on his knee has formed into a fist so tight that his knuckles look white against his already pale skin and Grantaire doesn’t think he can handle Enjolras’s anger again after all this, but there’s nothing more he can do to stop it – he’s brought it on himself, as always – so he merely sits, waiting.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Enjolras asks, and there’s a note of concern in his tone that surprises Grantaire enough to look up at him. “I blamed you. I said things that – why didn’t you tell me this then?”

He’s so painfully sincere that Grantaire is afraid he might cry again.

“Because I’m me,” Grantaire says, stripped down to bare truth. “Because you’ve always hated me, and I didn’t see a reason to give you any more doubt than I already do. It seemed easier for you to simply blame me.”

Enjolras does take his hand then, gently, far more gently than Grantaire deserves, holding it like its something fragile to take care of.

Grantaire wants a drink, wants anything to wash the taste of blood from his mouth, wants anything to distract himself from the way he craves Enjolras’ touch like a man dying of thirst.

“I don’t blame you,” Enjolras says. “And I don’t hate you. You confuse me, frustrate me, yes, but it’s never been hate. Grantaire, you must know this.”

Grantaire tries to shrug in response, an echo of the kind of carelessness he always wraps around himself as a barrier, but it pulls against his chest and he lets out a strangled gasp.

“You need a doctor,” Enjolras says again, urgency undermining his gentleness. His other hand comes up to cover Grantaire’s where he holds it, hiding its injured knuckles from view.

“No!” Grantaire tries to protest once more. He can feel himself slipping back into an oblivion that should feel like relief, but with Enjolras in front of him, holding onto a small piece of Grantaire like it’s something precious, he fights against it. He’s afraid, more than anything, of the loneliness he knows will meet him when he wakes.  

“Combeferre is closest. We’ll go to him.”

“Will you – “ Grantaire starts to ask for something but finds himself suddenly unable to do anything but tighten his grip on Enjolras’s hand, holding on hard enough that it hurts. And he thinks he might be delirious already when Enjolras moves again to cup Grantaire’s cheek, his thumb ghosting just beneath Grantaire’s injured eye.

“I will stay with you,” Enjolras says with a kind of reverence, wrapped up in the promise of something that Grantiare knows for a fact he doesn’t deserve, like it’s a certainty.

And despite the pain and the tears drying sticky with the blood on his face, Grantaire thinks that he could stay here forever. Enjolras’s palm is warm against his cheek and his pale eyebrows are drawn together in a frown and he’s close enough that Grantaire imagines he can feel Enjolras’s breaths stirring his hair. It’s an oblivion so sweet he’d never dare to dream of it. 

But Enjolras is moving all too soon, his hands tight against Grantaire’s forearms as he lifts him up, wraps a supporting arm around his back and makes soft, barely audible hushing sounds at Grantaire’ involuntary grunt of pain when he stands again.

Grantaire doesn’t quite make it all the way to Combeferre’s before he loses consciousness, but he feels Enjolras’s arm warm and steady around his back and for the first time in a long time, he feels protected. 

[dboliklover]

Subaru Easter Smut

Subaru - Pregnant, vanilla(?), overstimulation

Warning: Pregnancy. I know some people have a fear of it (Tbh, so do I, but I’m only afraid of getting knocked up in real life, so I like it in fiction) but just so everyone is aware, this does follow the pregnancy of the reader from conception to the second trimester, so be wary. 

Finally got around to continuing this series. Kanato and Azusa are both gonna be left for last, sorry Kanato/Azusa-fuckers. And this is as vanilla as I get, but I needed some soft-core Subaru in my life. 

Also,,,,I needed some soft Subaru in my life, so I apologise this isn’t a rough-fuckin’ but I fucking love Subaru so much and he deserves love and happiness in his life-

Please give feedback. I worked SO hard on this and appreciate comments and reblogs and debates/conversations based on my writing! It encourages me to write more.

also: 

You have been married to Subaru for two whole years now. It was something which was still difficult for him to believe, every night he fell asleep beside you he expected to wake up the next morning in an empty bed only to find out his life with you had been nothing but a beautiful, hopeless dream. 

You knew your husband’s worries and sorrows, and it pained you to know that he carried such immense emotional loads by himself, and so you tried to soothe and assure him to the best of your abilities. 

You had some wonderful news for your husband, which you were certain would bring him immense joy, and yet...you also feared his reaction. You’d recently found out about your pregnancy. It was something that caused you the utmost joy when you first discovered your sickness was actually caused by the life growing inside of you. 

You knew Subaru would make the ideal father, how could he not? He was...perfect, really - even if he didn’t believe he was. 

But you also knew he had a deep-rooted fear of being like his father. You knew, of course, that there was no way in hell he’d ever become such a monstrous man. You knew who you married, and you were more than certain that he would be the best father to ever grace this earth. Nonetheless, this was still a huge step in your marriage - babies were a lot of responsibility, and this would be a whole person that you would both have to care for and love - but it was also a symbol of the deep love between you and Subaru; you literally created life from the love you had for one another. 

So, anxiously, you tried to find a way of telling him. It was immensely stressful for you, the worry only piling on with every minute away from him. Should you try and be sly about it? Find a ‘cute’ way of telling him? Just be blunt? So many possibilities and you simply did not know how to tell him. 

Thankfully for you, your husband walked into your shared bedroom, the moon slowly rising in the night sky. Like usually, you rose from your position on the bed and rushed over to him to greet him, wrapping your hands around his neck and feeling safe and protected as he pulled you closer, kissing you with sensual gentleness. He was a rough man, but would often treat you like a delicate rose that could be torn at the slightest of harsh touches. Sometimes, he did hurt you - accidentally, of course, and then it would take a lot of convincing from your end to assure him that it wasn’t any major harm. He feared so deeply that he’d harm you and that you’d leave him for it, that if he even as much as caused a small bruise on your perfect skin he would freak out and feel obligated to spend months atoning for something that he did not need to atone for.

In truth, you loved how gentle he could be with you. The only times he ever got rough, sexually, was when he was jealous. You loved those moments too, because gentle or rough, Subaru always managed to bring you the pleasure that you were sure you would never find elsewhere. 

“Good evening, darling.” You whispered sweetly to him, your voice soft as your senses were overwhelmed with the scent of your beloved. It took a long time to get him used to the concept of pet names, but eventually, he got used to them. “Good evening…” Subaru sighed, you could tell, without even looking at him, that he was blushing, “...My love.” he said the words with hesitance, and you knew it was because he still couldn’t quite get over the idea of calling you pet names. He was really trying to do so, though, because he knew you enjoyed it. 

You felt your levels of anxiety rising, knowing you’d have to confess your pregnancy tonight; you couldn’t keep this from him any longer. 

Hesitantly, you pulled away from him, which cause Subaru to worry almost immediately when he saw the anxiety within your eyes. 

“Subaru…” You spoke gently, with hesitant uncertainty, before you took his hand in yours and pulled him over to sit on the bed, as you went to get something, telling him to sit and wait. 

“I...I have something I have to show you.” 

 When you came back, you were carrying a little box with you that was tied loosely with a white ribbon. Nervously, you practically shoved it in his face. 

Surprised by your sudden, confusing behaviour and the fact you shoved a box in his face, he took it from you and untied the ribbon, letting it fall onto the ground. 

You stood, trying to soothe your body from shaking in anxiety. This was a huge step for your marriage, and you just hoped he’d react positively - or even neutrally, just...as long as it wouldn’t be...negative.

His body stiffened and froze as his beautiful eyes widened at the sight of what this little box held within it. 

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

Subaru swallowed thickly, and you braced yourself for the worst. 

“Is it...is it true?” He asked, looking up at you, his expression fragile and delicate. Unable to speak, you merely nodded your head, trying to smile through your nervousness. 

Subaru was silent for several moments, visibly processing the information. 

“This is...this is amazing.” He choked up, something he rarely did. You’ve only seen Subaru cry three times before; Once when he broke down in front of you, once on your wedding day, and now. 

“S-Subaru?” Your voice was shaky as well, not sure if this was a good or bad sign, but your doubts were soon put to rest as he moved the box out of the way, stood in front of you and pulled you tightly into his chest, you could feel his body shake with suppressed sobs. 

Your heart felt so warm as you realised that he was crying from what seemed to be pure happiness. So you hoped, at least. Your own eyes soon filled with tears, and the two of you hold one another in a tight embrace. 

You stayed like that for a while, just crying and holding one another until Subaru finally pulled away, and placed his forehead on yours. “...Thank you” Subaru muttered softly, smiling. You have given him the perfect life, and for this, he would be eternally grateful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next several weeks, Subaru was truly the perfect husband, albeit a bit too overprotective. You were hardly even showing, and he was already acting as though you were nine-months-pregnant; refusing to let you do anything remotely physically difficult. This was sweet to begin with, but after a while, the cuteness of it wore off and began to annoy you.

“I’m pregnant! Not dying!” You argued with him, pouting as you laid in bed. Subaru sighed, shaking his head at your (admittedly adorable) complaining. “You need to rest, (Y/N).” He stood his ground as he got dressed, getting ready to go downstairs and get you something to eat. For the first few days having your loving husband bring you breakfast in bed was a novelty and wonderfully exciting. Soon, though, that novelty wore off. You were a bit over a month pregnant, and you weren’t even really showing just yet - you were perfectly capable of making your own meals, cleaning and taking care of yourself. Unfortunately, Subaru did not seem to share that way of thinking and believed that even the slightest straining would cause harm to you and the baby. 

“Urgh...Subaru…!” You whined softly, pouting harder, hoping he’d look at you and give in to your request of doing nothing more than just making your own meal. 

You could tell your husband was trying with all his might to not give in to your pleas, but his naturally protective instincts demanded he keeps you in bed, safe and sound. 

However...he was also always so weak when it came to you, and as such he sighed and gave in. 

“...Fine, but only if I’m around. And only until you start showing-” before Subaru could continue, you cut him off with a joyful squeal, thankful that he’d finally allow you to actually do things for yourself again. You crawled out of bed, bad rushed to get dressed as Subaru had to hold himself back from attempting to ‘help’ you. 

The idea of you, being pregnant was still something so...beautifully strange and difficult for him to properly wrap his head around. You were pregnant….with a baby. His baby. 

Subaru had never really considered having an actual family of his own; he always believed himself to be too fucked up to ever be loved, and he always believed it would be cruel to bring life into such an unforgiving world. But then...he met you, and all that just changed. 

He owed so much to you, and he knew that he did not deserve you in the slightest, but yet here you were, so devoted and loving and caring that every single day with you felt like a dream.

Hell, he still couldn’t believe how patient you had been with him, especially when you first met. He was so...violent and aggressive. He supposed he still could be, at times. His hidden inner trauma coming back up every so often, but every time he felt he was falling into the dark, you would be there to hold him up and lead him back into the light. If there was one thing Subaru was grateful for in his whole entire life, it was you. 

And now...you’re going to give him the one thing he never thought he’d have. A family. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Throughout the rest of your first trimester, Subaru (hesitantly) kept to his promise of allowing you to do things for yourself, much to your joy. Though, by the time your second trimester came along, he quickly became twice as protective as he was before. 

You were beginning to show now, your stomach full of growing life. Not to mention; you were absolutely glowing. 

It was the point in the pregnancy where you were still happy and the life within you was still an exciting prospect, but before the immense mood swings, swollen feet and sore backs. You’d have some...negative symptoms of course, such as a mood swing here and there (you felt kind of bad with how panicked Subaru looked every time you had one of them and went from laughing to crying to demanding the strangest foods) but Subaru was truly the perfect husband who always helped you past any struggles thus far. 

Though….one thing that bothered you immensely was that he seemed afraid to touch you. He’d hold you close and cuddle with you, but it wasn’t the same. He’d always been afraid fo being too rough with you, but now that you were pregnant he suddenly became convinced that the tiniest harsh movement would shatter you like a porcelain doll. 

Unfortunately for you, pregnancy was making you rather….well, needy. Specifically, a sexual kind of needy. Your hormones were wild and you were craving your husband to relief you from this sexual struggle. 

He’d gotten it into his mind, though, that if he sleeps with you whilst pregnant it’ll somehow cause a tragedy to occur, which truly pissed your hormonal, pregnant self off. 

You were not above begging him to fuck you if that’s what it’d take. 

So, when he went out to get some of the strange food supplies that you craved, you ‘freshened’ yourself up, making sure to wear some sexy lingerie, that thankfully still fit, but your bra was a tad….tight around your swollen breasts, which would surely begin to lactate any day now. Your panties were low-cut, which was perfect since it outlined your growing stomach full of life. Brushing your hair in a way that made you look like a cute little forest nymph, you climbed on your shared bed after laying it out in a ‘romantic’ way, waiting for him to get back to your bedroom.

When Subaru opened the door to your shared room, he was not prepared to see you, his beloved pregnant wife, laying on the bed in the most arousing position he’s ever seen, hand on your swollen belly. He froze, but then quickly shut and locked your bedroom door, the possessive vampiric instincts raging at the mere thought of any of his brothers seeing you like this. He was really fighting with himself, because, damn, you looked so desirable and he wanted nothing more than to absolutely ravish you at that moment, the carnal need within him to fill you over and over again. But he was also far too afraid of harming you and, as such, he was fighting a self-imposed war. 

You noticed this and put your finger to your glossy lips, eyes drooped in a sensual way that was screaming for him to come and fuck you. “Subaru~” You softly moaned out his name, trying to seduce your husband into letting go of whatever fear of harming you he has, trying to appeal to his animalistic side. 

“(Y-Y/N)...” He audibly gulped, with every moment it was getting harder for him to resist his internal desires. 

“W-What if I hurt you?” He questioned, his voice shaky at the mere idea of such a thing, “-You won’t.” Your tone was sincere, your smile assuring as you opened your arms and moved them to where he was standing. “Please come to me...I need you so much, my love…” 

Subaru was hesitant, but yet he also could no longer fight his instincts. Besides, you were looking so sweet and arousing, practically begging him to make love to you. 

He walked over to you, and you smiled brightly, your smile only pulling him further in. His unbeating heart seemed to be pounding - no matter how impossible that may be. 

You put your hand on his shirt and pulled him down to you, softly crashing your lips against his as you lip-locked. Subaru kissed you gently, with notable delicacy as he did not wish to bring any pain to you. Soon, though, your husband melted into the kiss and you scooted up the bed, so he could climb on top of you.

Your skin was so hot, every touch felt more intense than you remembered. Perhaps it was the fact you hadn’t made love in several months now, or maybe the pregnancy hormones increasing your sensitivity and pleasure, but the way his cold hands felt on your hot skin was mindblowing. 

The kisses also became more heated, as you wrapped your hands in Subaru’s snow-white hair, as your arousal rose with every kiss and every sensation. 

“S-Subaru..” You moaned out in carnal pleasure, finally getting what you’ve been craving for these past few months. You swore you were beginning to go into withdrawal from not making love to Subaru for so long! 

This man had you addicted to him, you loved and adored everything about him. 

As he pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connected the two of you together, your mind hazy and eyes lustful, as you began to undress his shirt, whilst he started to kiss your jaw and neck. Feeling his wet lips on your weak spots brought you to the most euphoric paradise, it was something you never wanted to end. 

In the moment of sensuality, Subaru’s possessive instincts demanded him to leave his marks on you, and that was exactly what he did. Love bites covered your neck from top to bottom, you would surely be unable to conceal them after tonight, and that fact only increased his arousal. 

How he managed to get such a wonderful, beautiful wife, he had no idea. But you were his wife and he wanted everyone to know that.

Once you finally got his shirt off, you placed your hands all over his chiselled chest, moaning at the feeling of his skin on yours. While your hands were exploring his naked chest, his were moving down the valley of your breasts, to your swollen stomach as he ran his hands over and over your baby bump, feeling nothing but the highest amount of pure happiness as he did so. 

Inside you was the life you created together. 

“...Our baby.” He growled possessively, as he moved his face down, kissing your breasts, ribcage and then your stomach, leaving hot kisses all over your skin. 

By now your core was burning like a deadly fire, demanding your husband’s seed to fill your insides. 

“S-Subaru..!” a whine escaped you as he lowered himself from the bed and between your legs, your cunt was now blazing hot and dripping your slick juices. His cold breath contrasted with the flame inside you and was enough to almost make you cum. Your breath hitched and you could feel yourself whining even more for him. 

Subaru smirked to himself as he started to eat you out, his tongue thrusting inside and out of you, his speed picking up and eventually he started to not only shove his long, wet tongue in and out but also used his entire mouth to kiss your whole core, sending shivers from your spine down to your entire body. 

You chanted his name like a mantra, constantly moaning it out. Hearing your aroused voice only served to increase his libido, as he continued to mercilessly lick you out. You could feel the pressure in your abdomen increase and you came in no time, your high lasting longer than usual. And yet, Subaru did not cease his assault on your core, continuing to suck you dry of your juices, you had long since last track of any sense of time but you were sure he must have been eating you out for at least fifteen minutes, or at the very least it sure felt like it. By the end of it, you had lost track of the times you’ve had an orgasm, but you estimated you must’ve cum at least eight times. Your core was immensely sensitive and raw, but your libido still not nearly satisfied. No, you needed to feel your husbands heat inside you

“Subaru, please! Please just...just make love to me, properly!” Your voice filled with need and longing, and he could no longer hold back. His member was painfully erect and the need to fill you to the brim was overwhelming. Kissing you once more, He hurriedly took off his pants and boxers, and lined himself up with your core.

You pulled him down to kiss you as he thrust into you, both of you loudly moaning into the kiss at the feeling of him inside of you. Your walls were clamped around him so tightly and he had to stop himself from cumming right there and then. You always fit around him so perfectly that he was convinced you were destined for him and just for him. 

Slowly thrusting in and out of you causing lewd sighs to escape both your lips in unison as you moved together in impeccable rhythm.

Everything about this was so fucking amazing; from the friction between his cock and your core, from the heat of your body mixed with his, from the constant kisses of love and desire you kept sharing….you always knew you had the perfect marriage, and this proved it. 

Eventually, he picked up speed, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him into you deeper. Your swollen breasts bounced roughly as he pounded into you, it was slightly rough but also controlled and not too rough - he was holding himself back because of the baby. 

Your shared moans filled your bedroom, and you were so loud you were sure that your moan could be heard throughout the whole manor but neither of you cared about that at this moment. 

Subaru placed his head close to your shoulder, biting down and nibbling on your exposed skin as his cock made harmonically animalistic love to you. 

Hearing his name escape your red, puffy lips was bringing him so close to his edge. 

Your husband always had great endurance, however, you did not. As such, you kept endlessly cumming on his cock, scratching his back roughly out of sheer ecstasy as he relentlessly bruised your walls. 

After what must have been almost a full hour, he finally felt himself coming close to his final edge, and he increased his speed, causing one final orgasm from you as he buried himself into you as deep as he could go, his thick, hot seed overflowing inside you. 

You were both panting and smiling, as he kissed you again and again after, still not pulling out even as he softened inside you. 

“I love you...so fucking much…” The emotion inside him was overwhelming, and you could see the softest tears of love gathering in his eyes. Your hand touched his cheek as you soothed him, and placed his hand on your stomach. “We love you too.”

- Mod Rozalia 

ps: this is only been proof-read once, so if you see mistakes hmu! I’ll edit it.

Please give feedback. I worked SO hard on this and appreciate comments and reblogs and debates/conversations based on my writing! It encourages me to write more.