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brunchable · 1 month ago

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The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × ×

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking.

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music.

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky.

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs.

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression.

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

2K notes · View notes

yanderambling · 1 year ago

Text

omg i’m thrilled that y’all like him so much!!! and these ideas were soso tasty ugh your minds~ i had a lot of fun with this, maybe too much if you look at the wc lol, so i hope y’all enjoy <3 ALSO continuity note: since Adrian is so popular, i won't carry major events through different stories unless requested, that way everyone can have their own version of his story! but i'll be keeping general facts about Adrian the same unless otherwise specified, like his parents being rich because i find it funny~ thank you and goodnight <3 (and yes i switched this gif with the last part shhhh it’s okay)

pairing: Masochist Puppyboy!Yandere(m) x Bully!Reader(gn)

words: ~ 4.6k

you can read the previous part here!

CW: 18+, NSFW, yandere behavior, stalking, bullying, physical/verbal abuse, BDSM themes, poor BDSM etiquette but neither party minds

Adrian nearly choked when he heard his name read next to yours for the school project.

It took you a second to recognize his; you mostly just call him mutt. Once you realized, you loudly groaned at the prospect of spending the week with that pest.

Adrian couldn’t hear it over his racing heart.

As soon as class lets out, he's right at your side, yammering on about project materials and meeting arrangements and times and "we should really meet at one of our houses so we don't have to worry about distractions, I'm fine with coming to yours! It's closer to school anyway, right? It'll be more private- I just think it makes sense-"

You finally shut him up by making the executive decision that you’ll work at his house (you don’t need him shedding on your furniture, or potentially getting any personal ammunition against you; he is way too interested in being inside your home, and how does he know it’s closer to school?).

Adrian was crestfallen that he wouldn’t get to go in your house (and smell the pure you imbued in your furniture, and pretend he’s really your dog while you sit together- maybe in your bedroom!-, and snoop through your underwear drawer when you go to the bathroom, and snoop through your bathroom when he goes in right after you...), but he was still over the moon at the idea of having you in his space.

(He’ll just visit your window later tonight like usual, anyway- he'll still get high off that closeness alone. Win/win!)

Adrian doesn't think about anything else for the rest of the day, zoning through his classes and plastered to your side whenever he gets the chance, just alight with energy and anticipation and not shutting up about it- he's lucky there's too many witnesses for you to knock him quiet (oh, but he would feel so much luckier if you did).

You would totally bail on this project if you weren’t already failing this class, which is mostly on account of you bailing. You’re wondering if all those cut classes were worth having to work with this, but you’re not feeling hopeful.

The day seems to drag on forever for both of you, for vastly different reasons. By the time school lets out, Adrian is buzzing out of his skin and you're seconds away from ripping it off him.

As you two start the trek to his place, Adrian can't get over how surreal it feels to walk beside you. It's like you two are a couple, and you're walking him home for an after school study date!

He gets lost in the daydream easily, giving you a brief reprieve from his energy, and allowing you to absently notice his rapidly wagging tail almost propelling him down the sidewalk. You can't help but smirk a little at the image that conjures in your mind.

He's truly ridiculous, you can't really believe him sometimes. Doesn't that thing ever get tired? What does he think is gonna happen that's got him so damn excited? That he's gonna get in good with you somehow (hopefully) and you'll leave him alone? (never in his wildest dreams.)

Yeah, fat chance.

When Adrian stops at his house, you think he's joking. But then he walks right up the driveway of this random McMansion, motioning you along eagerly, and enters a security code before holding the door open for you with a clearly anticipatory smile.

...The fuck.

You did not count on Adrian’s family being loaded. He certainly doesn't dress or groom like it.

You consider berating him for not mentioning it, but decide against it for the risk of seeming stupid- to Adrian of all people. You do make a mental note for your future errand requests, though.

Adrian’s parents aren’t home, he tells you his mom is always traveling and his dad basically lives at his office. You’re relieved that you won’t have to put on a nice face for the folks, but there’s apparently still a live-in housekeeper that floats around (are you fucking kidding?) so you stay diligent.

Adrian suggests you two work in his room; you figure the further from watchful eyes, the better.

Despite it being his idea, Adrian can't help his giddy nervousness as you enter his room (he’d texted the housekeeper to make sure it was clean as soon as you decided to come over, lucky he keeps his souvenirs hidden away whenever he’s not admiring them).

The room is frankly ridiculous, easily twice the size of yours, a king bed in the corner, a desk and coffee table and two dressers, and yet adorned with piles of clothes and clutter and more genres of nerdy shit than you even knew existed.

"Yeah, okay, parts of this make sense."

Adrian cocks his head, opening his mouth to ask what you mean, when he suddenly chokes on air.

You've made a bee-line right to his desk, covered in books and papers for hobbies and school alike, but also holding a locked drawer at the very bottom in which he keeps his "school collection" (just discarded pencils with bitten erasers, torn up notebook paper he can still smell your hands on, old gym shorts you were probably gonna replace soon anyway, a bandaid here, a plastic fork there; nothing crazy).

He watches with bated breath as you sift through the contents of his desk, occasionally scoffing or chuckling at what you find. He lets out a sigh when you seem to grow bored, just for you to move on to his dresser and have his stomach doing somersaults all over again.

Maybe he should've asked the housekeeper to hide his stuff better and just braved the questions later...

You move throughout the room like you own it (you do, as far as the both of you are concerned), making little jabs at his various posters and figurines which make his whole body flush hot with pleasure because you're noticing things about him, but every other move you make sends his heart jumping into his throat in a completely different way.

It only takes a minute or two for the stress to get to him.

“Ah- hey! Uh, maybe we should- maybe we should start on the project, right?”

You bark a laugh and spin on your heel to face him, an incredulous half-grin pulling your lips and revealing a gut-twisting flash of teeth.

"We?"

Oh, yeah, he much prefers those intense eyes boring into him.

He starts spluttering placations immediately. "No! Well, uhm, I didn't mean- you, you don't- have to- obviously, I mean, I don't- I wouldn't-"

You roll your eyes and shove past him, effectively cutting him off as you flop down onto his abominably soft mattress. "Right, yeah, whatever. Let's get one thing straight here, okay?"

Adrian nods, his whole being drawn to focus at your entrancingly commanding tone. Although, it's incredibly hard to focus on anything with the sight of you on his bed right in front of him; he's already planning how to avoid that area so it'll retain your scent longer, he wonders if he could cut that part of the duvet out and keep it in an airtight container, maybe the sheets under it too just to be safe...

"This is not a "we" situation, got it? I'm not lifting a damn finger for this bullshit, that's what you're there for." Adrian has a purpose to you! "I am only here to make sure you're actually doing it, which shouldn't be a problem because if we get anything less than an A, it's gonna be your ass."

As tempting as it is to see what punishment you would inflict upon him, Adrian really really really wants to please you- and he's pretty good at this subject anyway!

You then cross your arms and lean back just enough to look down your nose at him. "Got it?"

Adrian can't answer fast enough.

"Yes! Yes, that's perfect! Awesome, good- great!"

But then he doesn’t make a move. Ha.

He looks a little lost, standing in the middle of his own room, barely biting down a grin and wringing his hands as he seems to wait for another command.

Apparently, you’ve trained him well.

You scoff and let yourself fall onto your back as you pull out your phone (Adrian's gonna need a bigger airtight container).

"Well, go on then, we don't have all day."

Adrian scrambles to get to work. He quickly positions himself on the floor by the foot of the bed and pulls the coffee table closer, emptying his school bag carelessly onto the carpet.

You huff a laugh at the sight, all this money and the kid's parents couldn't buy him any class. Maybe sloppiness is an inherent trait, like his apparent passion for service- nobody with this much money should be such a pushover. And yet...

Adrian couldn’t be happier, sitting on the floor while you lounge across his bed and periodically weigh in with (mostly incorrect) corrections or snide remarks, an almost alarmingly wide grin settled on his face as his tail taps a steady rhythm against his carpet.

It’s not an unpleasant picture, you muse absently as you look up from your phone, it’s almost comforting to have your little puppy on the floor, cheerily working away for you while you laze about. It certainly beats doing the work yourself, or having to threaten a student with an actual spine to do it for you.

Still, it doesn't take long for you to get bored. Bored enough to notice your empty stomach, at least.

"I'm hungry."

Adrian's head shoots up from the book he was hunched over, ears raised at attention and eyes glittering with something you're not sure you care to identify.

He's on his feet in the next second, knocking his knees on the way up loud enough to startle you yet showing no signs of even noticing.

"I-I'll ask Len to make something!"

He darts out of the room before you can tell him what you want, but you trust he knows your moods and tastes well enough by this point to predict. (Oh, he does, and Len's not going to be making anything- they don't know all the special ingredients!)

The second he leaves, you decide to really cure your boredom by snooping around in earnest. Certainly this creep has something actually weird hidden in here, you just have to look in the right places.

You waste no time in sifting through his bookshelf (nerd shit), closet (nerd clothes, some dirty), a dresser (nerd clothes, mostly clean), under his bed (dirty clothes, nerd shit in boxes)- the door opens behind you.

“Wha-? Oh! Ah- Wh-what- what are you doing?”

You don’t even bother moving from your crouch, most of your upper body shoved under the bedstand while the rest of you... is not.

Adrian’s mouth is completely dry for several reasons.

“What’re you, blind? I’m snooping.”

Adrian slowly comes further into the room, hesitantly setting the serving tray on the low table. He can’t stop his voice from cracking as he stutters out,

“Uh- yeah, okay, yeah, but- um, would you maybe mind- um, not?”

You snicker, at least he has some manners. “Yeah, I do mind, actually. What’s the matter, mutt? Got something to hide?”

“N-no!”

The answer is so immediate, so fervent, that it has you pulling up just to give him an unimpressed look. He stares back at you, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Jesus you’re a bad liar.”

Looking at him now, you can see sweat glistening on his face and his hands clenching by his side. His eyes dart toward the dresser you haven't checked yet.

Bingo.

You jump up from your position and stride across the room with purpose. You only make it a few steps before Adrian seems to materialize in front of you, making you stop short and almost yelp from shock.

“S-sorry! I’m sorry, I just-" he's waving his hands wildly, head ducked as his gaze rapidly flicks between your face and the floor, "You-you can’t- please, please don’t-”

“Okay, creep, I get the gist.”

You shove past him, and he wishes he could relish the firm pressure of your hands on him.

He whirls around and watches in horror as you approach the dresser. He needs to do something, he needs to stop you, but what can he do? You’ve clearly made up your mind, it’s not like it's his place to try and change it...

All he can do is watch, a high ringing in his ears and his body filling with static, while you meticulously sift through every drawer until his clothes are strewn about the floor and you're panting with frustration.

He's about to let himself take a breath when you suddenly squat down and stick your arm into the shallow space underneath. He nearly swallows his tongue when you let out a disbelieving huff and awkwardly slide out a long lockbox.

You look up at him triumphantly, eyes sparkling with glee, and he almost mirrors your smile just for how captivating it is.

"Open it."

"N-no-"

You lean up toward him and cock your head, he has to stop himself from being drawn in by the magnetism of your narrowed eyes. “The fuck did you just say to me?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't- just, I can't-"

"Oh, I think you can. Or you're not gonna like what happens next."

That's where you're wrong, and it only really strengthens Adrian's extremely shaky resolve. He tries to keep the grin off his face as he habitually starts to picture the punishment you might give him; a cuff on the ears, a knee to the stomach, a punch in the face-

But you just roll your eyes and groan, no longer in the mood now that something more interesting has presented itself.

Instead, your gaze floats down to the flimsy looking combination lock on the box, then it fixes on some heavy-standed figurine you'd knocked off his bookshelf earlier.

Yeah, good enough.

Adrian barely has time to flinch before you're snatching it up and breaking the lock with a sound crack.

Then you're lifting the lid.

"No!"

He starts to lunge forward, but your sharply raised hand halts him dead in his tracks.

Fuck.

It's too late anyway, judging by your wide eyes and slightly slack jaw (god how he wishes he could focus on the glorious curve of your open lips, or the way your perfect teeth peek over them, or how it might feel to have those teeth sunk into his skin-)

"What. The. Fuck."

"I-I can explain- It's not-!"

"I literally do not believe that you can."

Adrian's throat goes dry, he feels tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry! I never meant- it's not like-"

You tune Adrian out as you focus on the stacks and stacks of photos arranged in the box before you. There even seem to be books underneath those, thick ones despite the shallowness of the container. You’d say there’s easily hundreds of pictures in here.

But, more concerning than the amount of photos… is their content.

They’re all you.

Undeniable, from every angle and range and setting you could imagine, it’s all you. There’s you at your spot with your friends, sitting in class, in the cafeteria, running errands in town, sneaking off to that private spot nobody else is supposed to know about, asleep in your bed- in dozens and dozens of iterations, like you could probably make a flip book of every scene.

It’s offensively redundant, honestly, a gross waste of paper. Maybe equally as concerning.

(Adrian needs to keep physical copies, and hard drives, and backup hard drives, and another box further under the dresser... What if something happens to his phone? What if he lost all his treasured photos forever? He doesn’t know what he’d do.)

"You're a bigger creep than I gave you credit for." You murmur, mostly to yourself.

Adrian never thought he'd feel anything but sheer joy from hearing that word leave your mouth. "N-no! It's not- it's not like that! I'm not- I don't-"

While Adrian's still blustering and working himself into a tizzy, you're just... processing.

It's oddly unsurprising, once you consider all the other factors together. Looking at it now, of course Adrian had more perverted reasons for complying to your cruelty, what else could he have been getting out of it? You guess you kinda always knew, on some level, but you never thought it would be like this.

But, since it is, you can't help but wonder just how far this perversion has gone, how far it will go...

This night has been boring enough that you're entitled to a little fun, right?

And besides, looking at him now- all wide eyed and droopy eared, his tail pulled between his legs and clutched in his trembling hands- Adrian actually looks a little bit... cute? In a pathetic, dirty stray caught in the rain type of way, of course.

The only real difference is that you'd be much kinder to the stray.

"Alright, shut it, stalker."

Adrian's mouth snaps closed, his tail trying to tuck further at your dangerously low voice.

"Obviously, this severe-" you flap a stack of photos at him, causing him to duck his head and whimper, "-invasion of my privacy can't go unpunished."

Adrian's eyes become impossibly bigger as they flash up to watch you stand. His ears suddenly perk, his tail tugs against his grip as it tries to hesitantly wag.

Jesus, he's shameless.

This is gonna be fun.

But first, a plan. You don't want Adrian getting too bold, so what better way to keep him in his place than by tying him there? Looking around his room, you don't have much to work with, but you're resourceful; a lace from his sneakers should do just fine (who keeps shoes in their room? what a creep).

"Alright. Sit."

Adrian is falling to his knees before his brain can process the words. When it does, he isn't quick enough to bite down on the high keen that builds in his throat.

You scoff, mentally scorning yourself for ignoring his shit for so long, then go to pull a lace. Adrian watches in rapt attention as you test its strength, your hands flexing so tantalizingly as you pull the string harshly several times over.

He holds his breath on instinct when your scrutinizing glare scans the room again.

"Okay, bed. Back to the headboard. Now."

Adrian scrambles up immediately, pulling some of the sheets off in his hurry, eager to obey before you change your mind.

You follow right after, kneeling up and leaning over him to tie his hands to the headboard above him. His dry throat click as he gulps.

You're so close, your heavenly scent filling his lungs like a sweet paralyzing vapor, he can feel the heat radiating from your skin despite the clothes between you, he could probably taste you if he just stuck out his tongue...

He whines as you yank the shoelace tight with a grunt before tying it off. You tug on his hands once more, forcing the string deeper into his skin, and your hum of satisfaction is drowned out by Adrian's low groan.

What a wonderful feeling, the sharp sting of the lace grounding him down like he needs to be; he can't help twisting and pulling until the burn intensifies, imagining it's your firm hands holding him so tightly...

"Jesus, freak, you're already getting into it?"

Adrian just whimpers, barely registering the question past your condescending tone as he continues to squirm.

You suddenly grab the front of his shirt and pull him forward until he's partially hovering off the mattress, the combined pressure of your knuckles under his chin and the shoestring grating his tender wrists pulls a breathy moan along with.

You lean in close, practically growling as you say, "Don't do my job for me, mutt."

You press a relatively fresh bruise on his arm just to see him twitch and bite his lip (it’s actually from a week ago, that’s how good he is at maintaining your marks for you!). It is pretty gratifying.

Almost as gratifying as the bulge you spot between his wantonly spread legs.

A breathless laugh punches out of you. It's oddly jarring to see, and you would later deny that it's slightly impressive, but it's not an entirely unpleasant sight.

"God, you're fucking pathetic. But you know that, don't you, you little creep?"

If your words weren't enough to have Adrian shaking out of his skin, you lean closer and nip his ear; he jerks back instinctively at the pain, which only makes its sting so much sweeter when you sink your teeth in and pull back.

He doesn’t bother trying to keep himself quiet.

“This isn’t even a punishment for you, is it? Is it, you fucking perv?”

Adrian is so far beyond saving face, he’s mostly beyond communication of any kind, so he just shakes his head fervently and grunts and hopes it’s good enough.

“Use your words, mutt.”

He gasps as you yank his throbbing ear, pulling his face closer to yours- oh dear god he can feel your hot breath against his cheeks, every detail of your perfect face so confident and dangerous and ethereal, your sparkling eyes look positively deadly and Adrian is ready to submit himself to their perils-

“Answer me," your sharp words make his lashes flutter, but he keeps his eyes wide open to stare at your taunting smile hanging just inches from his face, "are you getting off on this?”

He nods, he’s starting to get dizzy with all this nodding but he doesn't feel capable of much else, then you tug his hair back with the most glorious burn-

“Ah-Yes! Yes, I love- I love it, please- give me- more- please, I need- I need-“

He cuts off with a choked sound as your fingers slide up his throat and tighten, all too happy to oblige.

"That what you want? You happy now?" You taunt, your breath against the shell of his ear raising goosebumps all over his body.

He tries to nod against your grip, causing you to smirk and push further.

Oh god yes please-

Garbled moans fight their way from his throat as his eyes roll back in ecstasy, his straddled legs pressing tightly together as he thrashes desperately against the headboard, his whole body trembling and pushing up and up in search of contact- but you keep pulling away, putting more pressure on his neck to support yourself, bringing out the most pitiful little whimpers.

"Use your words, puppy."

Puppy.

Adrian chokes for reasons entirely unrelated to your hand on his neck. His tail, which had been beating a rapid tempo since you sat him down, starts flailing into overdrive.

It takes considerably more effort, but Adrian needs to please you- maybe you’ll even reward him!- so he coughs and gasps until he can force out,

"Y-Yes,” a strained cough, “Tha-agh-thank- you-"

A smile curls your lips unbidden. Such initiative! You let your fingers stroke over his throat as your hand presses in harder.

"There, that's a good boy."

Adrian's vision whites out.

He’s not even aware of the stream of whines and moans that force their way from beneath your fingers, he doesn't notice how his body squirms against the pressure of you on top of him, he couldn't tell the frantic thumping of his tail from that of his heart- all he can focus on is the red hot ecstasy filling every inch of him to bursting, the transcendent bliss of being so thoroughly claimed, so completely controlled, so wholly owned by you.

He's still hiccupping moans and thumping his tail when you withdraw your hand for fear of suffocating him, these needy little noises escaping his already bruising throat.

His head lolls back and his mouth falls open as you remain suspended above him, taking in your handiwork.

He’s so vulnerable, his entire body open and happily exposed to you, every muscle trembling in the aftershocks. His chest heaves as sweat and tears drip down onto his shirt, but he seems to pay no mind as his vacant eyes flutter up at you. He struggles to keep them open as a dopey grin spreads across his bitten lips, and you have to bite your own to stop from returning it.

Then, your eyes travel down to the steadily shrinking tent of his pants, now adorned with a dark wet stain- just like you expected.

Hot.

"Pathetic."

You sit back on you heels, seemingly alerting Adrian to your absence as his hand flies up to grab his throat with a high whine- but you cut that shit off right away.

"Yeah, no, I'm not trying to catch a murder charge tonight, thanks. Besides," your eyes pointedly flick down between his spread legs, causing his face to heat up though he makes no move to close them, "it looks like you got more than your share- frankly, you should be grateful for anything I'm willing to give you."

Adrian's voice is hoarse when he tries to insist, "I am! I-" he cuts off with a heavy cough, which only has you wincing with guilt a little. "I'm- I'm grateful. I am!"

You don't doubt it, especially looking into those watery, red-rimmed puppydog eyes of his. However, you do like to be cruel, and you did just get a bunch of texts from some of your friends about this 'super crazy thing you don't wanna miss and you gotta get down here right now!', (and you're maybe feeling a little uncharacteristically giddy as you fully process your situation) so...

"Doesn't matter, I can't reward this insolence."

You untie the shoelace with a deft tug and slide off the bed without another word.

Adrian just barely stops himself from whining again, the sudden loss of the pressure around his wrists leaving him feeling untethered. He has to dig his nails into his hands as he watches you collect your things (the covered platter lay forgotten on the table, insult to injury), just to keep from reaching out for you.

He wants desperately to follow you, but he can't make his body move for how relaxed and heavy it feels, and he knows it would probably just upset you more anyway- and not in the good way.

“Oh, and Adrian?” You slap the doorframe as you hang off of it, and your use of his name has Adrian's groggy head springing up to face you instantly, ears high and eyes hopeful.

“Next time you want a picture of me, just ask. That way I can knock some sense into you right away.” You tap the frame again, a crooked grin fixing your lips before you push off.

“See ya tomorrow!”

Still too fuzzy to move, and in fresh shock from that almost-genuine smile, he can only listen forlornly as your steps grow fainter and fainter until the door shuts downstairs. Then, he's helpless to do anything beyond replay the events of the past ten minutes in obsessive detail in attempts to permanently document every single sensation you gave to him.

He only manages to move about a half hour later, when his phone buzzes with a text.

He slowly leans over the bed and lifts his phone from the floor, blinking blearily as he reads... your name. Attached to a ludicrously extravagant lunch order for tomorrow.

The phone drops from his fingers like lead.

How?

His heart starts racing as he wracks his brain to recall when you put his number in your phone- then, his tail starts up again as he wonders if he'll be punished for already having yours in his (not for anything weird! he just likes to type out walls of text complimenting every part of you and telling you exactly the ways he wants you to destroy him and then deleting them- but maybe he'll send the next one).

It must mean something good if you want to keep in close contact with him, right? That must mean you aren't really mad at him, right? That must mean you like him, right? You still think he’s a good boy, right?

Another text lights up his phone. He scrambles to grab it back, hands shaking as he holds the screen close to his face.

[ur gnna b my bitch 4evr now]

A shaky giggle escapes him.

Those are easily the most beautiful words he’s ever read.

thanks so much for reading! feel free to send a request <3

check my pinned post~

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #soft yandere #sub yandere #hybrid yandere #puppy yandere #male yandere #bully reader #gn reader #dom reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere requests

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piningforstan · 3 months ago

Text

Memories

Summary: You’re relieved to see your husband alive, but you have yet to learn at what cost.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: it’s angsty, the Pines are sad and not okay, memory loss, brief mention of a miscarriage

A/N: If I was a better person and had more time I would totally write a fic about this. This oneshot initially had a happy ending but it seemed right to end it where I did. Let me know if you’d want to read a happy ending, though! (Also I apologize for any inaccuracies)

Couldn’t the apocalypse have happened when your joints didn’t protest at every movement? You thought disdainfully back to your youth, when every step wasn’t hindered by bursts of shooting pain. The rumination was cut short, however, when the front door of the shack swung open.

In your time with Stan, with the shack, it had taken many forms. Becoming a giant fighting robot hadn’t been in your plans but it formed a shelter of sorts for survivors, somewhere mostly untainted with bad memories.

Dipper burst into the used-to-be foyer, followed by Mabel.

You called out their names. You’d been left behind to preside over the Shack-bot and cater to the injured — there hadn’t been time to worry about your loved ones but now that you’re watching the twins run across the room to you, you realize that there had been a significant knot in your stomach that was now loosening with relief.

“You’re alive! You’re okay!” You swept them into an embrace, pressing their bodies to you. God, they were just children.

“Grauntie —” Dipper started.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You studied their round faces, the streaks of tears cutting through the dirt on their cheeks. Using a thumb, you did your best to wipe away Mabel’s but Dipper slipped away.

“Grauntie, we have to tell you something—”

“Where’s Stan? And Ford? Are they okay?”

“Yes, well,” Dipper started to stammer. Mabel erupted into tears, holding the oversized sleeves of her sweater to her eyes to absorb them.

You glanced between the two twins, heart hammering in your chest. The moment wad broken by the sound of footsteps. Stan stepped into the remnants of the Mystery Shack, steered with a gentle hand by Ford. An unimaginable amount of relief flooded you. Stan, of course, was always in the forefront of your mind, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to think of anything devastating happening.

You wouldn’t — couldn’t — live without him. You refused. So you simply believed that he was safe.

And now here he was, suit torn and battered but still as devastatingly handsome as the day you met him. The protests from Dipper and Mabel faded away much like those of your joints; Stan made you feel young, breathed life into an otherwise greying existence. You untangled yourself from the twins and shot for the front door where he stood.

Ford inserted himself between you, mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear a thing. You just needed to get to Stan. Needed to feel his arms around you, the smell of his cologne (he mostly just rubbed on magazine samples, but you didn’t care). You sidestepped Ford and launched yourself at Stan, tears already overspilling onto your cheeks.

He staggered back a bit, catching himself on the doorframe as you tightly embraced him. Unable to contain your joy you grabbed him by either side of his stubbled face and kissed him.

Only a few seconds passed before Stan’s large hands were entrapping your wrists, pulling you from him. His eyes darted back and forth, and he wore an uneasy smile.

“Well, uh, that’s one way to introduce yourself,” he said.

Later, in hindsight, you recognized the signal going off in the back of your mind that something was wrong. But in that moment you’re completely consumed with happiness and relief and that must just be one of his jokes you don’t understand. “I can think of others but they probably wouldn’t be socially acceptable.”

The uneasy smile faltered. He laughed but it’s brittle and not fully committed. “You’re bold, I like that.”

Stan’s gaze flickered to Ford, as if for assurance.

Ford’s expression was grim, jaw clenched. “I need to speak with you privately —”

“Come on, let’s get you patched up and grab a drink.” You linked your arm through Stan’s and marched him towards the kitchen. He obliged but seemed reluctant, which you chalked up to fatigue. “Here. I’ll get everything. You sit.”

You stopped at Stan’s hideous yellow chair that you were secretly fond of. He stared at it. Then you.

“Here?” He asked. You don’t miss the way that he examined the room like he’s seeing it for the first time, lingering over the empty fish tank and the giant fossilized skull.

“I promise I didn’t let anyone get their blood on it or anything,” you said. You’re yapping now. Why were you yapping? It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, aware of the danger but not wanting to yield to the warnings. “I knew you were coming back. I couldn’t get rid of you that easily, right?”

You waited for him to reply. Stan’s face spasmed, uncomfortable, his arms stiff at his sides. You couldn’t remember a time you had ever seen him like this, unsure and quiet and reserved. You opened your mouth to prompt him to sit once again — what are you doing, silly? — when Dipper, Mabel, and Ford slid into view. Their eyes were wide, panicked, bouncing from you to Stan.

Hysteria crept into your tone. “What’s with this guy? Where’s the man I married?”

“Married?” Stan echoed. This is the first thing you’ve said to actually get a reaction from him.

Ford said your name. “Why don’t you come with me and let Stan rest?”

“Is this a joke? What’s going on?”

Mabel, cheeks blotchy, blurted, “Stan lost his memory! He doesn’t remember us. Any of us.” She dissolved into tears again.

A wave of numbness crashed over you. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you —” Ford stopped, recollected himself. He looks older than you remember him, like whatever happened had aged him faster than natural. “Stan sacrificed himself. To defeat Bill. He gave up all of his memories for…us.”

Stan looked entirely uncomfortable with this situation and all of the weeping.

“What?” You said again. You suddenly felt like a cassette tape that’d been unspooled, and now you’re trying desperately to collect the film, gathering it in your arms to shove back inside the shell.

“It was his idea. It was…the only way,” Ford said. Even his voice was strained with emotion.

You blinked. And blinked again.

“Stan is that true?” You wheeled to face him, still clinging to the hope that this is some elaborate prank. Your grasp on any sanity slipped as you looked at your husband of over thirty years and saw nothing reflected in his face.

There was none of his child-like exuberance. His impish smile, always teetering on the edge of saying something absurd or inappropriate. The softness in his eyes whenever you’re speaking to him. It was as if you were staring into a shallow puddle, no ripples at the surface, no amount of recognition to be stirred upon from the bottom.

Something inside you cracked.

“Stan?” You reached a hand out to touch him. He let you, but it was almost worse that way. It was a gesture of kindness and nothing more; he knew you were upset and he didn’t know why but he knew that he was partly the reason.

A glimpse of the kindness that he hid beneath his hardened exterior.

You recoiled. Someone might as well have wrenched your ribcage open. Snapped your sternum in half in order to access your muscle and viscera and, finally, your heart. It hurt so badly you feared that it might break too.

“He doesn’t remember any of it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ford said.

Dipper and Mabel, so achingly identical in their heartbreak, stood on either side of Ford. There’s enough devastation in the room to suffocate you.

“Stanley,” you say then, softly, pleadingly. “We’re your family. Surely you remember your family.”

Surely you remember how we met. Falling in love. Getting married. The adventures that ensued. Rebuilding the portal. Losing your baby, your only baby, and reconciling that you never would have children. The excitement you shared upon the news of Dipper and Mabel staying with you, how much you had fallen in love with them in such a short time period. Surely you remember that.

“Well, uh, looks don’t lie,” he replied, gesturing towards Ford and the twins bookending him.

“Let him rest.” Ford wad by your side now. How did he get there?

Everything was blurred at the edges, distorted.

The next thing you knew you’re sitting outside, in one of the ancient lawn chairs you convinced Stan to buy secondhand. You wanted to be able to watch Dipper and Mabel play when they were outside. But the small clearing had been wrecked — hell, the town that you loved had been wrecked, half of it on fire, smoke funneling into the sky.

None of that mattered, though.

Stan didn’t remember you.

But he’s alive, a small voice in you pointed out. He was alive and physically well. He might not remember you but he was going to live another day. Even if that day did not involve you or your shared jokes or brief touches, the comfort of loving the same person for half your life.

You could handle that, you thought. It was enough just to know that he was alive and in the world.

Strangely, you didn’t cry. You sat and watched ashes fall, covering the ground and the picnic bench where Mabel had performed improvised soliloquies to your delight, on the bike that Dipper bought himself — smile nearly splitting his cheeks — in order to investigate his many conspiracies. Ash coated everything. It was comforting, somehow, restorative, replacing the disconcerting scenes of Weirdmagaddeon with a blank state.

You couldn’t face going into the Mystery Shack so you slept outside in the lawn chair. No one came to shuttle you inside, but when you woke up in the morning there was a blanket folded over you.

#fanfic #gravity falls #stanley pines #writers on tumblr #writing #weirdmageddon #angst #stanley pines oneshot #stanley pines x reader

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1d1195 · 4 months ago

Text

Protection Extra IV

Read Protection here | ~1.8k words

From me: I really got to thinking about this idea from 🎶-ask. It is short, but hopefully it's enough. I've missed them loads. This is back within the first year of their official dating. I mentioned I would be jumping time frames a bit with these extras, so here it is.

Warnings: a little angsty. But fluffy overtones. Harry's just a protective guy. Also, the tiniest bit of smut but you have to squint and read between the lines. Mostly heavy making out and a little bit of touching.

Summary: Harry might not work for DSS anymore in the same way he used to. He doesn't guard her life because it's his job. He guards it because it's his life; her entire being is his and he would lose his mind (worse) if something happened to her.

She does not care to the same capacity as him. (But she does feel bad about it at least.)

“You said I could,” he frowned. The little scrunch between his eyebrows appeared when he concentrated. She loved it endlessly. Even if what he was asking was ridiculous. So as much as she loved that little furrow between his eyebrows, she was not going to cave. Instead, she smoothed her fingers on the bunch of skin and cupped his cheek with her hand. He turned into her hand and kissed her palm.

“Like as a joke, Harry,” she rolled her eyes she dropped her hand and returned to her previous position. She couldn’t see his face. But it didn’t matter. She already knew what faces he made any time she annoyed him anyway.

It was insane they were even having this conversation. Harry broached it so casually too. They were snuggled on the sofa, her body resting in his embrace. His knees bent around either side of her body and she laid across his torso. She fit so warmly against him it was hard to believe he was even asking her such a thing because the idea she would ever leave the circle of his arms was ridiculous.

“Okay,” he sighed. It was obvious he was frustrated by the decision. Her head was close enough to his mouth that he could kiss the top of her hair, so he did. He ran one hand up and down her arm sitting in the quiet while he held her safely in his arms. It was his favorite part of the day, holding her close to him where he knew nothing bad was going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

Obviously, she took his silence as plotting to convince her. Which he could never. He knew that. He knew he would have an easier time convincing a fish to walk than telling her what to do. “I literally have my phone on me all the time and now you know about my shoe trick.”

He sighed. “But y’didn't have y'phone,” he reminded her. “No shoes either.”

There was that; she would allow him that much. “Well, there's no more threat, so I don't need—”

"Kitten," he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He was exasperated. “I don’t want t’talk ‘bout this anymore,” he mumbled.

She frowned feeling bad she upset him. But he was thinking way too far over the top. “No one is even going to remember me anymore,” she whispered quietly. “He’s in jail for a really long time,” she reminded him. He didn’t answer her. “Harry,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

“I already said I don’t want t’talk ‘bout it anymore.”

Her frown deepened and she sighed; feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world because she wouldn’t put a tracking device in her arm. “I have the scrunchie, too; for when you’re away,” she reminded him. He nodded, still silent. “Harry,” she sat up on her knees, so she could look at him. He was so pretty, all soft skin and angular. He was so handsome it made her swoon on a regular basis, and he was all hers. But she had to stand her ground.

His eyes looked sad, tired. Too sad. “M’not trying t’be controlling.”

“Of course not, Harry. I know—”

“Honey,” he interrupted.

Her heart skipped a beat because for whatever reason, when he called her honey, it made her lose all rational thought. It seemed like the conversation was far more serious than when he called her kitten, love, or even Miss Wildflower. She felt like she was nothing more than a container of the very sweet goop he called her. “I talked ‘bout this with m’therapist and we... I know m’being... crazy,” he frowned. He cupped the side of her face as he spoke so softly. Like all of this was a secret. “But... I was insanely lucky,” he reminded her. “Y’were brilliant,” he complimented. “I told you ‘bout a fail safe in passing and y’had been planning all along. I was completely blindsided by y’departure. Every step you had planned was perfect. But if y’didn’t have an AirTag, I wouldn’t have found you,” he admitted. She didn’t speak because his compliment was too nice. She didn’t think about it all that much. Mainly because she didn’t like thinking about betraying Harry the way she did. It was nearly a year ago and he was still worried. It probably killed him to admit that out loud. Because it was his job at the time, and he wouldn’t have been able to find her. But it wasn’t just his job. He loved her so completely.

If something happened to her, she really believed Harry wouldn’t survive the guilt. He barely forgave himself for her injured leg and she wasn’t convinced he fully forgave himself for that either.

She turned toward his palm in the same way he had and kissed his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You don’t need t’apologize, kitten. Y’didn’t do anything wrong.”

She took a deep breath. She had her own therapist and they had also discussed a lot about her hyper-independence. Even with someone like Harry to rely on because she could, and he wouldn’t ever judge her. “I’m not...” she swallowed. “I had people follow me around for years, Harry,” she reminded him.

“I know—”

She pressed a finger to his lips gently. “I couldn’t do what I wanted ninety percent of my life, Harry,” she reminded him. “Do you know what it’s like to want to go to the mall to get new jeans because yours ripped and someone tells you that you can’t? Or that you want to go to a new frozen yogurt place with friends, but you’re not allowed to? If I forgot a vegetable for dinner, I couldn’t run to the store and back without it being a production,” he didn’t know what any of that felt like; not really. He only knew it from the end of production. The part of it all she didn’t like. So, he stayed quiet. “If you texted me every five minutes for the rest of our lives, asking where I was, I would tell you every. Single. Time,” she assured him locking her gaze with his. He felt it in his stomach, the way she looked at him. She meant every word she spoke. “If you put a tracking device in me it’ll... it’ll just feel like the rest of my life. Unable to make decisions on my own. Unable to live freely,” she told him. “You have my location through my phone. I am more than willing to have that scrunchie on my wrist and in my hair when you’re not within a couple hours of me,” she promised thinking about the weekend he spent with his mom. She wondered how long he stared at the little blipping dot that told him she was safe and in her house for most of the time he was gone. “Those AirTags saved my life because you told me I needed a failsafe, Harry. You saved me.”

His gaze dropped from hers and they were quiet. Harry didn’t like the compliment. He felt like he didn’t do a good job because she nearly drowned and had a scar on her thigh that made him want to smack his head on the wall for letting those things happen to her. Silently, she settled back into his arms, her ear resting so she had the perfect sound of his heart thudding against her.

“Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too,” his head dropped back against the arm of the sofa and he squeezed her. He thought of all those days she studied on the ground and how they were always this close to snuggling this way. “M’sorry m’so nervous,” he mumbled. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he pressed his nose just behind her ear, like he was tracing the outline of her hair behind it.

“I think if I had a tracking device, you wouldn’t enjoy your life. Wouldn’t take your eyes off it.”

He thought of visiting his mother back in March and how the anxiety built and fell over and over as he looked at the little blip telling him where her scrunchie was. She was right. He would have it on every screen he owned if he knew her exact location. “You’re right.”

“Oh, that had to have hurt,” she giggled and kissed his throat.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a genius, kitten. M’happy t’say you’re right.” It was embarrassing how those words turned her on. A shiver rippled through her. No one loved her as much as Harry. No one trusted her instinct, her intelligence, or judgement as much as he did. But it was more than that. Because Harry knew people didn’t believe her for years. People misjudged her abilities because of her father and circumstance. They didn’t believe in her. So it was like he had complimented how pretty she looked (which she did) when he said she was right. It wasn’t an ego thing. “Did y’like that, honey?” He hummed his lips nipping at her earlobe as he spoke.

Harry knew exactly how much she liked that.

“Off,” she ordered shoving his shirt up his torso. It didn’t matter than she had seen him without a shirt hundreds of times since the day they warmed up in his car after the icy dip in the water when he saved her life a second time in one week. She liked to feel the hard ripples of his stomach and he had promised she could look as much as she wanted once she was warm.

Well now she was warm. “Yes, ma’am,” he pulled it off the rest of the way and pulled her in to kiss her as deeply as he could before he pushed her back to the opposite end of the couch and settled between her legs. “Say it,” he whispered, not quite begging. But he wanted to hear it. Because it made him feel better. It made him worry less about all the thoughts they had discussed in the last hour. He carefully shifted her leg as if he was worried it was the very same day she nearly bled out. He slipped his hand between their bodies feeling her through her leggings.

She moaned softly while he kissed the length of her throat and brushed his lips against the swell of her chest as she tried to maintain enough air to speak before she was lost in Harry and all his perfection.

She had no problem saying it. Because it was true. Truer than most anything she believed in her life. Harry was hers and he was going to protect her in any way he could even if she wasn't willing to put a tracking device in her body. “I’m all yours,” she promised breathlessly.

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year ago

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𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕒 ℕ𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙

Ft. Luffy, Sanji, Zoro,

Black Fem Reader

CW: Suggestive, Nudity

Luffy

When you tell him you both were going to a “special” beach today Luffy didn’t really care.

“Nude beach? For what sex? Everybody has sex on the beach?”

“NO!”

Cackling the entire time

Not at the naked women and men around him no.

He’s seen plenty of naked people and been naked in front plenty of people himself so him having to take off his clothes was nothing to him.

It was the damn joke he made entering:

“I thought this would be a beach where I eat meat not see other men’s meat.”

He’s just laughing at himself with his dingdong out for 30 minutes

Also Luffy greets everybody at the beach.

Remember how he stood so proud and tall in Amazon Lily showing his family jewels?

Same thing.

Either than that he has no issues with a nude beach. He didn’t fawn over anybody and he kept his eyes on only you and his food.

However he did flick your nipple a few times while your were sun bathing to get your attention.

It got worse when you slapped his hand and ignored him, so he sat beside you on the towel, and reached over to place your nipple in his mouth.

“LU—-!?”

“‘M hungry and i ate all the food.”

“BUT WHY SUCK—“

“It’s the only way you payed attention to me….plus we’re naked.”

Why would you take him there.

Zoro

He accidentally stumbled upon it trying to take you to a beach ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND.

The moment you both enter you’re welcome by an old man with his (hard) dick greeting you both.

Mortified isn’t the word he felt.

He immediately covers your face by smooshing you in his tiddies

“HEY PUT SOME DAMN PANTS ON SIR!”

Face is red the entire time.

Stuttering mess too especially when you already begin to get naked.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS ISNT—“

“C’mmonnn let’s just try it.”

He tries to cover his face and leave but you insist to try it out.

After the promise of being in a secluded area behind a big rock he gives in

but he keeps his Sash on that holds his swords.

“Baby we are not ganna get attacked—“

“We don’t know these people!”

“So you’re ganna fight with ya dick out?”

Eventually Zoro does relax jusssttt a little because you brought a drink for him he does admire the view of your body while sunbathing.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.”

“Nobody is looking at you woman.”

It is kind of weird for him only because you both are naked when having sex or taking a bath so it took him a bit to adjust if not expecting either.

He’ll never tell you but laying under the sun with you in the nude did feel great. Cuddled up, with you laying on his chest. Up until he heard Usopp’s voice calling for you both and you had to rush into your clothes.

Sanji

*sigh* …his idea.

He swore up and down he wouldn’t look at any woman besides you if y’all went.

That wasn’t a huge concern but the fact that he may try to get freaky on the beach was what you were worried about.

He only found out because of Franky too.

“PLEASPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE—“

It’s not like you were opposed. But…It’s Sanji.

He has seen you naked plenty of times and he swears he’ll behave so you guys head out.

Luckily it’s not very crowded and it was mostly couples.

It was such a big sigh of relief.

Sanji finds a nice out of the way area under a palm tree and is already tugging your dress.

“Okay calm down cowboy!”

He’s blushing already seeing you,

As well as yourself seeing his well taken care of body beside you.

He surprisingly behaves. Sure a few glances were snucked but that was mostly because you stared first

He even brings a little picnic and of course..

“Want me to put some sunscreen on you, baby?”

Such a perv.

But you allow him, his eyes marvel at your supple body, brown skin glistening as his soft hands glide the lotion all over your body.

Especially your thighs and breast.

He does have a few slip ups with you, maybe a kiss lingering for too long, causing him to hover over you and trail his lips down your neck. You swore you both forgot you were in public so you had to stop him before his hovering hand over your tiddy was ganna lead to something less appropriate.

“S-sorry.”

You did feel like a queen though. He fed you fruit, took PLENTY of pictures, and massaged your body

Appropriately.

But just like all good things it must come to an end

Because Sanji began to poke you from a specific area and insisted you both go home for the day.

Either than that you’d take him again.

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adragonprinceswhore · 5 months ago

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The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter II: Magic Between You and I Prev I Next I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Aemond stays true to his promise, and hates himself for it. Our dance instructor does the best with what she's given, even if that is Westeros' most off-putting and pretentious Valyrian.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, Aemond is a condescending a-hole (but you already knew that), Aegon slander, sexual tension, dry humping, thigh riding, blue balls but make it AFAB

A/N: Chapter one and two are basically a deep-dive into the psyche of Aemond in this modern setting, but I promise some dirty dancing at the end of this chapter 🕺🏼 and just imagine how much better the smutty, sexy stuff will hit when we’ve built their dynamic 😙 bear with me! Enjoy!

Aemond would never admit to his brother that his goading got to him.

He wouldn’t even fully admit it to himself. How different would his life be if he hadn’t allowed his temper to be dependent on Aegon? If he didn’t feel like being berated by his older brother sent him back to when they were kids and he’d do anything to impress him? To make him see him as a brother, an equal, and not a plaything?

He shakes his head to kick the thought away.

His head’s still pounding, just as it had an hour ago when he woke. Noticing how strange his tongue feels in his mouth, he realises that he’s thirstier than he’d been in a long time.

Fucking Aegon.

He’d never be here, walking towards the boathouse, if not for his brother dragging him to that party yesterday and force-feeding him alcohol.

Pushing him out of his comfort zone.

Making him feel less than.

As always.

There were several reasons Aemond didn’t like to get drunk.

One was the gradual loss of control he felt as the alcohol made his usually sharp mind slow down.

Another was his temper; something he’d disciplined himself to control after years of practice.

As a child, he’d been the kind to cry when his brother and nephews ‘jokes’ got to him, or when he scored low on a dressage test.

Wearing his frustrations on the outside only taught him how awful being looked at with pity can be. That specific type of vulnerability and shame you feel when someone looks at you and thinks: “poor thing”.

Therefore, he’s grown used to being in control of himself; of his moods and urges.

Until he’s drunk.

He spots her where she said she’d be, right next to the boathouse, stretching her legs. She’s definitely in better shape than him; hardly appearing different from yesterday evening.

Locking eyes with her, she seems surprised to see him.

Did she expect me not to come?

To Aemond’s recollection, she’d practically begged for a dance partner. He had said yes, mostly due to his intoxicated state, but also because of Aegon’s insults.

She smiles as he comes closer, “How we feeling today?”

“Fine”

“Okay”, her smile falters at his short, unfriendly answer,

“Let’s get started then”

Her routine is simple; an original piece she’d put together to showcase her greatest strengths as a dancer,

“Despite only making the reserve list”, she jokes, but the forced smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

She gives him a quick run-through of it; going into detail about the meaning behind her dance, how she got started, why she chose the movements she did.

Aemond barely listens.

His head is throbbing, pain elevated by the sharp sting erratically stabbing the nerves behind his left eye. His features don’t change as he half-heartedly listens to what she says, occasionally nodding.

Whatever, can’t be that hard.

“You’re posture is great”, she compliments him, eyes scanning him critically, “try to relax your shoulders a bit more”

He does as he’s told, yet the tension in his back doesn’t fully ease. He can’t truly shake his internal stiffness; he’s always on alert.

She continues to guide him, freely grabbing his hands to place them on her body, causing him to briefly recoil at the sudden heat of her skin.

How long has it been since someone touched me like this?

“I think we can finish here for today. Great work!”

Her hand is still holding onto his as she gives him an approving smile. There’s something different about how she looks at him now; she seems more relaxed, like they’re familiar with each other.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me”

Aemond feels his cheeks heat up. His mouth is drier and palm, still in her grip, damper.

He jerks away from her, causing her hand to slip out of his. His head is still pounding furiously, and without a word, he turns around to go back to the Targaryen villa.

Every corner of Red Lake Resort is carefully curated.

It may not seem like it; in the way the vibrant flowers appear to grow widely on the sides of the houses, stretching all the way up to the pillar-enclosed balconies reminiscent of a time when the castle ruins, now hosting the elite of Westeros each summer, used to host House Crane of the Reach. Still, every flower, every branch, every leaf, was there for a reason; for the ‘Monet-esque’ beauty created by the slight chaos of stoney ruins, colourful greenery, and sporadic ponds scattered between the large buildings.

There is an understanding that, at Red Lake, residents can forget the stressors of their everyday lives. For the esteemed guests 'comfortable’ enough to afford a stay there, such stressors might include running an enterprise, hosting a charity gala, or berating an underpaid maid for not polishing the silver thoroughly enough.

It was a place where ‘the customer is always right’ got hammered into the staff with such ferocity that they could almost feel the nails of submission penetrate their skulls.

The perfect place for those who did not wish for the hierarchy they sat at the top of in their everyday lives to sway even in the slightest.

A comfortable place for the current head of Targaryen Holdings to spend sparse time with his family.

Ever a man of comfort, Viserys Targaryen’s distaste for change means that the Targaryen-Hightowers always stay in the same villa, big enough to host not only the family but any guests they may invite.

Aemond always stays in the same room, located at the end of the hallway of the second floor, tucked in a corner. He had chosen that exact one since it was the only room dark enough for him to comfortably hide in when his head hurt from an old eye injury he had since childhood, and one of the privileges of being the ‘broken’ child was that he got first pick of trivial things such as room assignment.

Aegon and Daeron share the room next to his, and Helaena’s is next to theirs.

As an anxious child, the only downside of his secluded corner had been the nights he woke up in cold sweat, mind plagued with night terrors and head pounding. Then, the short distance walking past his siblings' rooms to his mother’s felt colossal.

Now he revelled in the privacy, preferring to stay in and get lost in his thoughts as often as possible. Spending time with his family was just too draining.

Yet for some reason, today he craves distraction from his pounding head and strange inner sensation. And if there’s something that can pull him out of his thoughts, often by force, it’s his family.

Most times when he sought a distraction, he’d bury his head in work, preferring to stay ever productive.

He knows that there’s always something that needs to be done; some nearly disastrous hypothetical fire threatening to burn the Targaryen empire down to ashes.

That’s one of the reasons why Viserys insists on staying in the same villa each year; the large office on the first floor is the perfect place for him and Otto Hightower, Aemond’s grandfather, to spend the entire holiday working.

It has always been Otto that’s been keen on having Aemond join the company, proudly laying a hand on his shoulder as he showcases the skills he’s acquired to please his father. Viserys, on the other hand, is not as easily impressed, nor does he seem to think much of Aemond’s diligent work.

In his current state, however, Aemond knows that he won’t produce the results he’d want, and that kind of embarrassment and potential spiralling into an afternoon filled with dwelling in self-hatred was better avoided.

Entering the large open-plan kitchen and living room of the villa, he spots the family menace snoring with an open mouth on the sofa, TV turned on to some brain-dead reality show and an open bag of crisps resting on his stomach.

His older brother is somewhat of an enigma to Aemond. How could someone with so many opportunities, so much handed to him on a silver platter, fumble everything given to him so badly?

Aegon’s always been volatile, and prone to getting into trouble, but his destructive tendencies have mellowed out somewhat since he promised to not do drugs anymore, a lifestyle change prompted by his mother telling him she’d revoke his access to his trust fund. Aemond knew better than to smile at his brother's misery in front of his mum, but seeing her scold him for his pathetic life choices felt so gratifying he’d had to hide the grin breaking out across his face behind his hand.

Something about seeing Aegon miserable made Aemond feel a sick sense of satisfaction, like the one you have after indulging in too many sweets and consequently left feeling like you’ll be sick.

Overindulging in self-righteousness.

He spots Helaena in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water and placing it in the crocheted bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You alright, Aemond?”, her gentle voice asks, smiling faintly as she observes him.

“Yeah”, he says, too exhausted to even begin to explain the whirlwind of occurrences happening in the last 12 hours, “Where are you off to?”

Her eyes light up in an instant, “Oh, I heard from Grandfather that the large oak tree we saw by the restaurant yesterday is positively teeming with bugs”

Aemond spots the art supplies in her bag; acrylic pastel colours, brushes of varying sizes and a block of thick, white paper.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, I need some time alone. You understand”, she replies in her usual sweet tone, leaving her younger brother alone once again. Helaena had always been blunt, maybe even a bit too much so for most people’s liking. Aemond knows that she means no harm by it, she just prefers to communicate her needs frankly with him.

Still, he wishes she’d had entertained him by allowing him to join her, if even just for an hour.

His search for distraction continues, leading him to wander around the large villa in hopes of running into his younger brother.

When Aemond left his room at 6.45, looking more similar to a ghost than his usual carefully curated image, the only other family member awake had been Daeron, always cheery and on his way to meet up with some guys he’d acquainted days prior for an early morning rock climbing session.

He’s probably not even back yet.

Aemond curses himself for the second time today. His usual instinct would be to go with his younger brother; to do sometimes productive and fulfilling rather than attending a party filled with senseless idiots looking for no more stimulation than that of an easy fuck.

Fucking Aegon!

His footsteps grow harsher as he heads up to his secluded room to grab his pack of Marlboros, half-running down the stairs again to quickly get out of the villa and onto the gratuitous patio.

His mother hates when he smokes too close to the inside living space, but seeing as she’s not here, he doesn’t bother to walk the extra metres he usually grants her.

Instead, he slouches against the facade of the extravagant holiday home, gazes out over the resort and inhales the strange mixture of cigarette smoke and roses. The entire front of the building is covered in heirloom rose bushes, causing not only the patio, but the kitchen and living room as well, to bathe in the familiar scent.

To Aemond, roses mean summer homework, family dinners, swimming in Red Lake, looking for bugs with Helaena, playing tennis with Daeron, listening to Aegon chat his ear off,

And her.

There she is again. Surrounded by a group of elderly guests dressed in flower-printed dresses, linen suits, and trilby hats.

She’s in the arms of some melting, old skinbag, with a belly so round it prevents the geezer from truly pressing her body against his.

The smile on his face causes Aemond’s hungover stomach to flip, and the hand he’s placed on her waist seems to want to squeeze her flesh a bit more than necessary.

She laughs at something he says, giving the old man a friendly pat on the shoulder.

To Aemond, it looks like she enjoys the attention.

Revels in it.

He crushes the bud of the cigarette against the white, stone wall, exhaling a low scoff before turning around.

Figures.

“So, yesterday I noticed you were a bit stiff”

She has to stretch her neck to meet his eyes; one lilac and one deep blue.

Does he have heterochromia?

They’re in the same place, at the same time. This morning, however, Aemond has pulled his long, Valyrian hair back into a low bun, causing her gaze to shamefully flicker down to his sharp jaw and strong, masculine neck. There’s one delicate, blue-green vein running down the side of it; from his ear to his shoulder, and for some reason the sight of it makes her flustered.

His eyes stay trained on hers, waiting for her to continue.

She already feels like she has a good grasp of who he is.

He is a man of few words, preferring to answer in grunts and hums.

He is intense, evident from his stare never leaving her; evident in how it emits from him like smoke; latent vehemence.

It excites and frightens her in equal measure, a strange cocktail of sensations and impressions swirling in her stomach after only knowing him for less than 72 hours.

She’d initially gone with her regular approach to new dance partners; flattery in the form of exaggerated praise, so that the inevitable criticism doesn’t sting as badly.

It had not worked on Aemond Targaryen, however, who’s stoic face and nonchalant attitude did not waver or crack down even after the 20th “Great work!”

Might as well enjoy the straightforwardness of going right into the critique.

“When you dance you need to be precise”, she explains,

“You need to have good posture, and be aware of your entire body, but it still needs to seem like you are just naturally moving this way out of coincidence”, her voice falters somewhat as she sees his eyebrows raise ever so slightly in question,

“It's not supposed to look as calculated as it is”, she clarifies.

Aemond hums. The non-verbal standard reply almost irks her, but she bites her lip and forces it into a smile.

If she had any other option; any other person who could help her with the audition, she’d probably thank Mr Targaryen for his time and ask him to go back to being sulky and rude at parties. Regrettably, he happens to be one of the few men at Red Lake who’s under 60 and has the physique and the durability to actually do her routine. He doesn’t need to be perfect, he just needs to be her sturdy backdrop.

Besides, she’s more than used to demanding dance partners.

He’ll budge too.

He has to.

“You know at the party… Did you see how we were dancing?”

“Hm”

“It’s a great way to get you to loosen up and really use those hips, you’ll need to learn how to move like that for the routine to work”

His gaze almost makes her cower; incredibly stern and thoroughly unimpressed.

Still, she stands her ground, moving closer to him to place her legs on either side of one of his.

“Like this”, she says, voice coming out far lower than she’d planned for.

Don’t let him intimidate you!

“A-, and then you place your hands on my hips”, she continues, grabbing his hands and placing them on herself.

His hands are soft and hard at the same time; roughened with strength yet his skin is soft. And warm. Her fingers linger on his for a second too long before she places her own hands on his shoulders.

His eyes never leave her face.

Is he studying me?

Waiting for a mistake?

“Since you’ve done horseback riding, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly”, she says with a anxious smile.

Fuck, why does he make me so nervous!?

“When you gallop, you move together with the horse in a steady movement, right?”

One of her hands slip down the side of his arm, travelling from his shoulder to his hip.

Roughened with strength yet his skin is soft.

She moves her body slightly in a slow rhythm, pushing on his hip to guide him with her, “Like this”

His persistent eye contact burns; surely leaving a hole in her head. His features don’t change, but she knows he’s paying attention to her instructions from the way his hips start to move in tandem with hers.

She has danced with so many people, in so many settings, yet this makes her cheeks heat up.

Her tongue comes out to wet her drying lips, eyes still locked with his.

“Good, you’re getting the hang of it”, she praises, hoping he’ll relax a bit at the compliment.

In truth he’s still quite stiff, but not in the uncomfortable way she cannot help but be. He’s still on alert, refusing to let his guard down, even as he stands with her between his legs and grinds.

One of his eyes, the lilac one, appears to darken, narrowing in challenge at her.

She feels his hands on her hips tighten as he picks up the pace, dancing with more vigour than before; than her. Suddenly he’s leading them as he rolls his hips at her and moves her body to match his pace with his firm grip.

His demanding hold on her forces her closer to him, and with each movement a spark of pleasure runs up her core.

Panic washes over her like a cold shower at the realisation, still she can’t abruptly stop.

Do I want to stop?

With every push of his leg against her hidden, swollen clit, she feels hot; on edge.

She’s no longer on the grass field by the boathouse. She’s somewhere else, somewhere he’s taken her.

All she senses is him.

His lean arms on each side of her, flexing as he moves her body. His eyes, looking down at her with that same intensity that has her head spinning.

They’re locked together. It’s all too fast, too slow, too long, too short.

Aemond, after what feels like an eternity, breaks eye contact to duck his head down, body still dancing with hers.

His lips ghost over the shell of her ear. She feels his breath fan over the delicate skin there. Another bolt of want shoots through her.

Fuck!

In a low, borderline mocking voice, he softly asks, “You think I don’t know how to do this?”

He delivers one final, harsh and precise thrust between her legs before withdrawing completely, turning around to grab his bag and hastily walk away from her panting silhouette.

Left is the smell of cigarettes, sandalwood and.. roses?

A/N: This is your sign to put on Hungry Eyes and lose your shit at the fantastic saxophone solo! Thank you for reading, kisses!

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond x oc #modern!aemond #aemond fic #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #Spotify

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behindthesoul · 11 months ago

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Hello!

Getting back into MK I was wondering how would Kenshi, Johnny and Raiden react if they were told that S/O had gone missing on Mission possible dead, and after a few days their s/o shows up bruised and snapped up but live?

Missing Mission

Masterlist

Warnings: bad injuries, hospitalization, alcohol mentions, not proofread, not my highest quality work

Kenshi

Silent and brooding.

One could practically feel the anger that seeped out his bones. If looks could kill, everyone in Kenshi’s vicinity would be dead; not many would risk their lives by making direct eye contact with him, even though they’re covered in red cloth.

Saying he was pissed off would be a complete understatement. The two of you had been together for about three years now. Kenshi thought of your future together daily - what do you mean it’s being taken away?

In quiet moments alone, Kenshi thinks about where you could be. You must be so scared, so alone, so injured…that is, if you were even alive. He chokes back tears at the pain of not having the closure of knowing what happened to you.

Weeks later, Kenshi’s semi-adjusted to his normal routine. He grieves you daily, but it’s mostly kept inside. He arrives home one day to feel that something’s off; something isn’t right. Sento in hand, he walks through his house, trying to figure out what was happening.

He eventually makes his way to the kitchen where you sat. You nurse a glass of whiskey and smirk.

“Took you long enough to get here. I’ve been waiting all day.”

Kenshi freezes, he doesn’t know if it’s truly you or if this is just some sick joke. You get off the chair you’re in, grunting in pain as your feet hit the ground, and walk over to him. Kenshi knows everything is real when your hand reaches over to caress his face.

He frowns as he feels a bandage wrapped around your hand. His frown morphs into a scowl after he leans over to plant a kiss on your lips, noting how you slightly wince from a small bruise that was planted in the area.

He pulls back and doesn’t know what to say. His breath is a bit shaky and his mind is racing. Words couldn’t explain the anguish of your disappearance, and the joy of your return. Kenshi wishes he could see you again, to be able to get a proper look at your injuries.

Your pain is temporarily ignored when you kiss him again.

Johnny

Uncharacteristically silent. Panic sets in almost immediately. I feel like Johnny would blame himself just a little bit. He already fucked up one relationship, why did he let another slip out his hand? What’s wrong with him?

Days turned into weeks, and Johnny spent each moment wallowing in pity. The pity soon becomes bitterness; no one could recognize who he was becoming.

It’s not long before Johnny forces himself to at least try to return to his normal self. He goes back to being the life of the party, cracking jokes left and right. Though, many notice that his jokes become more dry and lifeless.

He spends a lot of time outside. Home just isn’t the same anymore; it’s devoid of any love and laughter. Johnny only arrives home to sleep, only to feel his heart break once again as he crawls into an empty bed.

A month or two passes before Johnny gets a sudden call. It’s from the hospital, telling him that you’ve been found and-

Nothing else was heard. Johnny immediately raced to the hospital, possibly breaking several traffic laws in the process. Whoops.

He rushes into the hospital and finds your room in record time. Johnny feels his body getting heavier at the sight of you laying in the hospital bed, beaten and bruised. He couldn’t even begin counting the amount of injuries you had. Walking over to your bed and taking your hand in his, Johnny allows a few tears to fall.

You’re home, but you’re not okay.

Raiden

Quan Chi and Shang Tsung had escaped from their prison cells in Sun Do. Liu Kang sent you to Outworld to track them both down. You went alone, as Liu Kang had full faith and your abilities. He also wanted this mission to be completed as quietly as possible; the sorcerers would no doubt flee if they heard many Earthrealm champions were after them.

Your boyfriend didn’t hear about your mission until you already left. Raiden, just coming back from a mission of his own, was a bit upset that he didn’t get the chance to at least say goodbye.

He kept himself busy while waiting for your arrival. He hung out with Kung Lao, ate at Madam Bo’s, and spent time at the Wu Shi Academy. One week, you’d be back in one week. He could handle that.

But a week quickly became a month. Raiden definitely panicked but did his best to ease his own nerves. Lots of deep breathing and redirecting any negative thoughts that try to plague his mind.

Jumps into hero mode when Liu Kang confirms that you’ve truly gone missing. Helps plan an entire rescue mission and plans to find you alone. Liu Kang has to reel Raiden back to make sure he isn’t getting himself into trouble.

Along with a few other allies, Raiden travels to Outworld. He is met by Mileena and Kitana who assist with the search. Millions of thoughts of you being dead run through his mind and he, once again, forces those thoughts away.

The search only lasts for a few days before you’re found near a swamp behind Shang Tsung’s old laboratory. You set up a temporary shelter there so you could nurse your injuries; broken ribs, deep bruises and gashes, and a sprained ankle.

Raiden lets out a huge sigh of relief and rushes over to you. He hugs you as firmly as he can without hurting you more. Raiden looks into your eyes and shows a small smile.

“Just when I thought you were lost forever.”

Mileena and Kitana have you escorted to the palace infirmary where you stay until you’re fully healed. Raiden stays with you the entire time, making sure you never lift a finger.

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #kenshi x reader #johnny cage x reader #raiden mk x reader

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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago

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𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 | gojo x f!reader

| pt 10 (fluff ending) |— [SERIES MASTERLIST]

a/n: WOHOOO FLUFF ENDING IS HERE! so technically this series is done, but I am working on angst for my angst lovers >:)) thank you all so much for all your support; this series wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without you guys and you all made it much more fun to write! once again, thank you all so much and I hope you enjoyed the series <333

shoko sends him back home that night, telling him that she needs to be alone so she can take proper care of you and ensure that you’re fully healed.

the moment he steps into his house, he heads to the bathroom. he hurriedly opens the faucet and starts washing his hands, time after time, each time getting more aggressive. he still sees the blood; he feels it.

after what feels like forever, he closes the faucet and rests his forehead on the cold mirror.

the fabric of the blindfold is suffocating to him.

he is torn between taking it off or keeping it on to stop his brain from intensifying what he still sees: your bloodied form.

you were smiling and so relaxed too. he never wants you to pass on with regrets, but what about him? you fade away and what happens to him now?

his fist collides with the mirror, but he couldn’t get himself to care. it could be replaced anytime; his wealth allows that.

you, on the other hand, can’t be replaced, and no amount of money will do. and so he slips into his bed, but sleep does near him for the night.

with the first ray of sunlight, gojo teleports to the infirmary. he sees shoko there, but now, she is merely doing some paperwork.

your figure is no longer covered in blood, but your eyes are closed. she finally looks up at him, “yo.”

“why isn’t she awake?”

she takes a deep breath, “satoru—“

“shoko, why isn’t she awake?”

she knows he is scared, worried, and all of that jumble of suffocating feels. you’re right there but still so far way.

she gets it, “she is okay, but I don’t how long will this state of unconsciousness last. considering the damage she sustained, it will take a while. her body needs rest.”

he is sitting right beside you, hand holding onto your own.

“…what happened?” she asks. She only knew the brief: something happened to yuuji and the moment you shifted your attention to the boy, the curse attacked viciously.

“sukuna did something to yuuji; I am guessing he wanted to take control, but I don’t know why,” satoru says, voice monotone or rather calm, eerily so.

shoko nods and shifts her attention to the door, “yuuji, you come in.”

the boy opens the door slowly, guilt painting his usually bright and smiley face, “is she okay?”

shoko nods with a small smile, “she just needs some rest. don’t worry, y/n is strong,” she says while discreetly patting gojo’s back. he nods at her, but he can’t find the energy to smile, at least not right now.

shoko walks to the door with a silent wave and yuuji follows suit, knowing his teacher would want some time alone with you. he was always empathetic that way.

gojo sighs softly and brings your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses over your knuckles. he also finally takes his blindfold off; he wants to take you all in.

you’re alive and he can feel your cursed energy, albeit light, but it is still there. you’re alive and it’s enough, for now.

after that, he is able to go back to being all smiles and jokes with no problem. though, his students notice how he looks off to a distance and they know why.

and from then, weeks pass by like a blur. every day goes the same way: exorcise, teach, visit, and repeat. he does not let a day go by without visiting you, sometimes with his students, others with his friends, but mostly alone.

as the days go by, he also finds himself admiring you more and more. somehow, his yearning grows even more and he wants nothing but to hold you close and tell you how he feels, over and over again so you don’t forget.

truthfully, he doesn’t know how will things play out when you wake up, will you ignore him? give him a chance? he is not sure, but he would be damned if he doesn’t do his best to make you like him again.

an today was like any other day, he had just finished the classes and is planning to stay with you till dawn breaks. his hand is holding yours and his thumb slowly rubs your hand.

he sighs, “you know, in the beginning, I did start talking to you because of your technique. it excited me that someone could finally be on par with me to the point of being able to break my infinity,” he chuckles lightly.

he continues, “but as we started spending time together, I saw parts of you that I was blind to. it caught me off guard and next thing I knew, I fell for you. I don’t think I have the right to, especially with how shit I treated you back then.”

“also thinking back about it now, it was so hot of you to beat up the higher-ups,” he laughs, and it’s genuine, “who am I kidding though? I always thought you were attractive, but I just didn’t want to accept nor admit in the beginning. loser behaviour on my part, sorry.”

his hand leaves yours and his knuckles brush your cheek lightly, “so I want to lay it out now: I, the one only gojo satoru, am in love with you, and I don’t think that will change—ever to be honest.”

his chest feels lighter, much lighter. turns out that talking about everything that bothers you and letting it all out does help, who would’ve thought?

he feels something pinch his arm, “HEY! THE HELL?—“

“fucking coward, you were waiting for me to be unconscious to say that?”

satoru gives you no time to say anything else as he latches onto you. he buries his face in your hair and lets out a shaky breath.

he doesn’t cry right now, but he does feel his heart bursting in his chest.

“ow, ow, ow, ow,” you hurriedly say and he quickly softens his hold on you with a small mumble of a ‘sorry’.

he pulls back with a pout, “you were awake all of that time and didn’t even say anything? that is so mean!”

“I gotta make you suffer for everything you made me go through,” you cheekily reply and he whines. you flick his forehead, “you still have things to make up for so don’t think I let you off the hook, completely.”

he laughs it off and grins, “so do you at least feel the same way?”

you smile and shrug, “who knows?”

“hey now, i laid my heart out here—“

panda smashes through the door, “I HEARD Y/N SPEAK!” he gasps when he sees you waving, “Y/N IS AWAKEEEE!”

“Y/N-SENSEI!” you hear nobara and yuuji wail before they tackle you in a hug, knocking their teacher out of their way, “WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH! GOJO-SENSEI IS SUCH A LOSER TO BE AROUND!”

“at least wait until I get out or something,” he grumbles but quickly smiles when he hears you chuckle.

“ooo, down bad,” panda teases and gojo nods, proudly.

maki, toge, and megumi finally enter. maki grins, “welcome back!”

megumi walks towards you, ignoring everyone else and hugging you, “I was…worried you wouldn’t make it.”

you knock on his head lightly, “hey, don’t underestimate me and I missed you too.”

megumi pulls back, cool as ever then looks at his friends who are all still shocked from what they just saw.

gojo just chuckles, “didn’t you guys know that y/n and megumi are pretty close? it makes me jealous sometimes.”

you ruffle megumi’s hair, giggling, “my little boy.”

he sighs, pink coating his cheeks, and looking away.

gojo pulls him back by the scruff—they’re like cats you note. then gojo gets close to you and with a snap teleports you somewhere.

you look around, cherry blossoms and flowers.

you’re in kyoto.

you raise an eyebrow, “really now?”

he is wearing a hat-sized flower on his head, “I have to go all out; plus, I was never one for mundane, things!”

he is quiet for a moment, “I am sorry for everything.”

“it will be okay,” you softly say.

it’s a start so he will take it.

he looks at you intently, a smile plastered on his silly (pretty) face.

you deadpan, “I am not kissing you with that flower thing on your head.”

he pouts, “y/nnnnn!”

“no!”

he pulls you closer and starts tickling you, “always so mean! won’t even give me a chance!”

you squeal with laughter and try to push him away, “let me go!”

he smirks, evil man, “never!”

you both calm down after a moment. you look at him with a smile.

you press a quick peck to his lips and look away, a little embarrassed, “that’s all you’re getting.”

he chuckles and the grin never leaves his face.

“so you did kiss me with the ‘flower thing’ on my head.”

“oh shut up.”

“shut me up yourself,” he smirks and you roll your eyes.

in the end, he was the one who had to wait; if it was up to him, the wait was really worth it.

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m1ssunderstanding · 10 months ago

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Nine

Here’s the thing. Like, on one hand, Paul loves teaching. But on the other hand, I honestly think he’d be a terrible teacher. He’s genuinely trying to explain songwriting to this kid, and all I’m getting is that I should be able to just look at a piano and it’ll give me whatever I want. “So it’s really just . . .” *plays Martha My Dear* “. . . and from there, you know, like, um, there’s no – unless you stop yourself – there’s no stopping yourself.” Yes, thank you, Professor McCartney. Very informative. Good thing you’re a gorgeous genius because not a word of that lecture made any sense.

Seriously I am BEGging someone to write Paul and Ringo in the 20s as a cabaret duo! With Paul’s talents being songwriting, slutting it up, piano, and vocals and Ringo’s talents being tap-dancing, ventriloquist dummy impersonation, with the occasional piano, vocals, and sly winks. Maybe they meet George and John through organized crime, idk.

“They don’t just sort of come in your head, kind of thing?” “Yeah, sure. Fact, I had one this morning.” You know. As one does.

See, even Ringo’s on board with my plan. “Let’s make a silent movie.” And Paul. “In a club. That’s it. We’re in a band. We’re in a band, but we sell drugs.” And now they're stringing Paul up just for kicks. Maybe they could join the circus!

Literally the minute John starts being silly, Paul gets this fond look on his face and you can see the wheels turning like “quick, think of a way to get close to him.” And John’s into it. But they keep doing this seesaw thing and I can’t help but think how reminiscent it is of their dynamic as a whole.

“I see you’ve given up smoking, Richie.” “Yes, I have.” Reminds me of that classic, “I don’t even smoke,” thing. Seems like five-hundred years ago.

PLEASE tell me Peter Sellers and Ringo had a torrid love affair during the filming of The Magic Christian. The way Peter touches Ringo’s hair and his face! Ringo being a gentleman and getting Peter a chair! And I mean there’s plenty of queer coding between them in the film.

But also laughing my ass off at Peter’s reaction to their song-titles/lyrics/gibberish/other references code.

Yoko, you’re stone-cold and hilarious. “Or what we haven’t.” I honestly have mad respect for her complete disregard/disdain for the Beatles and their art only because that’s how they treat hers for the most part. But girl. You’re married to one of them. He genuinely does love them and what he does with them and you’ve got to respect that or go find someone else, you know?

Also, Paul does Not appreciate the attitude. “Or we’ll just sort of sit here and allow ourselves to be embarrassed. ‘Number nine . . .”

Aaand, just like that, Peter Sellers “must be off.” He lasted all of 1 minute 26 seconds. Weak. George and Ringo lasted fifteen years.

MLH is literally that annoying person that asks you a serious question about yourself just so he can use you as a segue to talk about his problems.

John: just recovering from the day, you know. Yoko: from the night. John: embarrassed (you have no right, dude, you literally played your sex tape for everyone like two weeks ago) Paul: Did not want that image, thanks very much.

It actually KILLS me though that we’ll never understand their code. Paul and Ringo will take it to their graves and no one else knows it and any footage like this we’ve got, and any code songs, will just be mostly uninterpretable for all time.

Okay these few minutes here are soooo special to me. It’s John at his peak lovely, sweet, gentle, kind self. He makes a joke at which Paul can only nod darkly which makes John realize just how bad of a place Paul’s in.

Paul wants them to get to work “achieve something every day.” But John knows he’s not in a good headspace to work and it’ll be shit and then Paul will spiral even more. So, he turns up the humor until Paul is sufficiently cheered.

And then, he says. “Guitars? I thought that’s what they do.” And Paul’s stammering. “Oh, that is what they do, but–” John stands up, does a little head-tilt toward the instruments. “Come on, I’ll even show you about half a song I was writing. Come on.” That last in the tenderest, most coaxing voice. It’s just soooo. Like. We talk a lot about Paul ‘handling’ John, and he did. But John sure knows how to handle Paul.

I SO wish they’d have done something with “Madman”. It’s so fun!! Every single song in this era I will go to bat for, no question.

Ringo’s little hug for Paul!!!! I can’t.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #get back

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suzukiblu · 1 year ago

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Day seventeen of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“I think it's pretty normal to give someone a phone when you want to talk to them,” Tim lies. Bruce gives the other Bats burners sometimes, though. And also communicators. And Robin’s loaned plenty of allies communicators before, including Superboy. So it's normal in their circles, whether Kon actually knows they're both in said circles or not.

“. . . I like the green one,” Kon says after a moment, which is a little bit of a surprise. It's a nice sort of deep, leafy color, Tim guesses, but he would've expected Kon to go for black or red or blue; maybe yellow.

He wonders how green Hawaii is, come to think of it.

And how much green Kon regularly sees these days, living underground in a lab.

“Okay,” he says, then gestures towards the phone case display with his smoothie. “Let's get you a screen protector and a case too, just in case.”

“You don’t have to,” Kon says. “I mean, I am gonna have my TTK on it.”

“Yeah, but that only works if nobody knocks it off the table or something when you’re not holding it,” Tim says. “Besides, better safe than sorry, right?”

“Um, okay,” Kon says. Tim leads him over to the phone cases, and Kon glances them over indecisively, clearly paying more attention to the price tags than personal preference. Tim decides distraction is the better part of valor, in this case.

“I don’t recommend anything superhero-themed, for the record,” he jokes. Kon snorts.

“That’s called a feint, thank you very much,” he informs him mock-primly. “Nobody’d think a superhero would actually have the balls to go around with a superhero-themed phone case.”

“They’d think Superboy would,” Tim says in amusement.

“. . . okay, fair,” Kon allows, making a face at himself. Tim laughs.

“How about that one?” he suggests, pointing towards the second-most expensive one on the rack–so Kon will know money isn’t a concern, but also so Kon won’t realize he’s specifically doing it to make sure he knows money isn’t a concern.

“It looks like a tire tread,” Kon says wryly, which is a fair assessment. It’s one of the heavy-duty cases, so it’s pretty bulky as it is, and the pattern on it is a little tire-like.

“The ones down here have glitter, if that’s more your thing,” Tim replies in amusement, pointing again.

“Glitter is more my thing,” Kon says, leaning over to peer down at the indicated row. Tim probably should’ve expected that response, considering, except also he would absolutely never have expected Kon to willingly admit to liking glitter. At least not without being concussed first. “Hmmmmm.”

“That's a nice one,” Tim says. Kon’s looking at a green and blue case with bright gold glitter swirled all over it in abstract designs; it looks a bit like ocean water, if you look at it the right way. It’s definitely not going to be anywhere near as durable as the tire tread one would, but Tim isn’t particularly concerned about that anyway. He was gonna get accident insurance no matter what. Statistically speaking, Kon will probably go through more than a few of these. He hasn't had the same phone for longer than three months since starting up as Robin. Something always seems to happen to them. Usually a supervillain.

“Too bad they don’t have anything with a cute little goat on it,” Kon jokes as he straightens back up, regrettably letting go of Tim's hand to take the green and blue glitter-case off the wall. “You know, commemorate our first date and all.”

“That was not our first date,” Tim says, mildly disgruntled but mostly flustered by the idea. “I'd have planned a date a lot better than those morons planned their dumb heist. And bought you something from the gift shop, if nothing else.”

“Could've just kept the goat, I guess, but Superman would've made me give it back anyway,” Kon muses idly as he looks over the case in his hand and takes another sip of his smoothie. “This is for the right model, right?”

“Should be,” Tim says, though he double-checks anyway. “Yeah, no, you're good. Lemme go grab a clerk so we can get the plan set up. We'll just go through my name, I can probably set up autopay for the bill easier that way.”

“Um, sure,” Kon says, biting his lip for a moment and then glancing sidelong at him. “So is this our first date, then?”

“No,” Tim says, though technically it probably is. But given how Kon’s been acting about the idea that Tim would actually be interested in dedicating actual time and attention to him–“I'll take you somewhere nice for that.”

“Somewhere nice?” Kon says, hiding a very unsubtle grin behind the phone case. It'd work better if his stupid pretty eyes weren't sparkling for it, Tim thinks in resigned accusation. Kon doesn’t ask what “somewhere nice” means, but Tim is already trying to figure out what restaurants he knows that might appeal to Kon’s palate. If he likes Hawaiian flavors . . . there’s some Asian influence in that, right? He thinks, anyway. Japanese, at least. Maybe Filipino? Polynesian? Any other influences or parallel cuisines he’d have to look up to figure out, though.

Tim knows absolutely no Filipino or Polynesian restaurants, much less actually authentic Hawaiian ones. He could definitely do Japanese, though. Japanese would be easy. Just going to a restaurant isn’t much of a date, probably, and he can’t take Kon on patrol or anything like he and Steph used to do, but they could maybe go shopping in a nicer boutique or something? Or go to a museum for actual entertainment instead of just business, if Kon would be interested in something like that. Admittedly, it’s hard to picture him being particularly into museums as a concept, but it might be worth a try.

Maybe he’d like the aquarium or planetarium more than something involving art or history or science, though. Those are a little cooler than just wandering through a bunch of random exhibits, Tim thinks. Or at least, they might appeal more to Kon. The ocean, or stars and planets, or . . . like, whatever, he guesses.

He’ll have to do some recon, probably. Light interrogation. Figure out what Kon would be the most interested in.

Or they could just go to the beach. It’d require a little bit of travel on his part, but likely wouldn’t be a big deal for Kon; he could just fly. Though in retrospect Kon’s probably spent about half his life on a beach, so maybe that’s not interesting enough. And the Jersey Shore probably wouldn’t measure up to Hawaii in his eyes, either.

Hm. Yeah, Tim's definitely going to have to do some recon.

Tim is possibly putting in too much effort here, considering Kon is going to lose interest in actually flirting with him in about five minutes. Kon never seems to really properly date anyone, as far as Tim's seen; just flirt around a lot. So he should be prioritizing shopping and apartment hunting, really, before Kon gets bored of the flavor of the week and wanders off.

Tim Drake is not exactly an exciting date, so . . . yeah, Tim’s not expecting Kon to stay interested for long. He’s just got to take advantage of it for as long as it lasts to leverage Kon into letting him buy him that cul-de-sac and go from there, that’s all. Kon seems to stay friendly with the girls he flirts with even after things fizzle out or fail to go anywhere, so he assumes it won’t be any different with Tim Drake. As long as Kon’ll let him keep paying his way, that’s all that’s going to matter.

Tim is really going to need to frontload that, though. Establish him paying for Kon as the new status quo very quickly and get Kon used to it before he loses interest in him, so he won’t feel awkward about accepting it by then. Or so Tim will already have signed all the paperwork and it’ll be too late for Kon to protest; whichever.

He’s definitely going to have to frontload it.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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mandos-mind-trick · 1 year ago

Text

The Video - Part 2

Summary: You and Cody race to do damage control after his mistake.

Pairing: Commander Cody x reader

Warnings: Lots of mentions of a sex tape, excessive use of the word ass, men being gross (not clones though they're gentlemen...well...most of them), may give you secondhand embarrassment, fluff, a tiny bit of angst, feelings, okay it's mostly a crackfic more than anything else

A/N: Whatever aligned in the universe that allowed me to pump out 4k words today after a week of nothing, bless you. The long awaited sequel. I decided not to add in smut since it didn't really feel right. It's kinda serious with lots of jokes thrown in to lighten it up. Also a few hints at some...things, so...if you can figure those out then cookies for you!!

< Previous | MASTERLIST

You hit him with surprising strength. Maybe it was the anger burning through you, or perhaps it was the shock he had to be feeling that left him so vulnerable and allowed for you to force him into the supply closet rather easily.

“What the fuck did you do?” You hiss at him under your breath as soon as the door closes.

He’s standing there, wide eyed and lips parted as he tries to process what he had just seen. You’re angry. Beyond angry. It burns through you red hot, heating your entire body so much you feel like you’re standing next to an open fire. Shame also burns through you, fueling the fire. The entire GAR has seen parts of you that were meant to be kept private. Though it would be impossible for anyone to figure out it was you, the knowledge that likely even GAR command and the Generals have seen you naked by this point is enough to send you spiraling.

“How the fuck did this happen, Cody?” You breathe, trying to calm yourself enough that you don’t punch the Marshal Commander standing in front of you.

“I-I don’t know.” He says, running a hand through his hair, brows furrowing in stress. “I swear I dropped it into my private files.”

“Well, you obviously didn’t!” You snap, not even feeling guilty when he flinches. “Now my bare ass is all over the GAR network.”

“It’s a nice ass.” He shrugs.

He nearly folds under your glare. You could probably scare the General with a look like that.

“Fix this.” You grit out from between your teeth.

He nods slowly, brain trying to get over the shock of what had happened and formulate a plan at the same time. “Right. I can access the GAR servers and delete the video. That will prevent anyone from accessing it and downloading it. Of course, if it’s already been downloaded, then that’s going to pose an issue.”

“Yeah? Figure that out too.” You take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before you let it out. “I’m going to go do my job and when I’m done, that video better be history.” You command.

He has half a mind to salute you, but you might actually hit him.

***

You hate it. Every person you pass, clone or civilian, on the way from the barracks to the hangar is a reminder of what happened. They’ve likely all seen the video. You wouldn’t be surprised if it made it past the confines of the GAR and onto the holoweb for anyone in the galaxy to see.

You can just imagine the title it’s been bestowed with.

“Hot chick bangs clone trooper.”

“Human girl takes huge clone dick.”

“Barrack bunny commands clone trooper in bed.”

“Sexy civilian fucks the brain right out of a Marshal Commander causing him to accidentally upload their sex tape onto the GAR server.”

You want to scream. You had screamed into your pillow before exiting the barracks. You could scream again. You could scream until you have no voice left.

You curse hyperspace as you make your way into the hangar. If the ship had still been docked on Coruscant, you might have just packed your bag and deserted the army. Hidden out in the underworld until it was safe for you to emerge. If you emerged at all. Instead you’re stuck on this floating prison hurtling at light speed through hyperspace to its next battle with all of its inhabitants replaying your sex tape over and over.

You really want to scream as you spot your fellow civilian mechanics all huddled around a datapad. You don’t have to approach to know what they’re watching. Everyone was watching it.

“Hey, have you seen the video?” One of your coworkers asks as you grab a different datapad.

You fight the inner panic rising. You have to play this cool. Any strange behavior or answer might make them suspicious. “Yeah.” You answer, not looking up. “Who hasn’t?”

“Kriff, I wish that were me.” Another one says. “She’s so hot!”

Your hands tighten just a little around the datapad. Being forced into a room of people watching the video was hard enough. The commentary is going to make you snap.

“Who do you think it is?” Your coworker asks as he leans his arm on your shoulder.

“Don’t know.” You duck out from under him, nearly making him fall over. “All I’ve heard is it’s probably some barrack bunny.” Saying it nearly has your cheeks burning again.

“Whoever she is, I’d like to know so I can hit her up, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows, the others all laughing.

“We have work to do.” You snap, holding up the datapad in your hand. “We have inspections to do and not a lot of time to do them.”

They all grumble, but they know you’re right. If you can’t get the inspection report to the Admiral in time, you’ll all have hell to pay.

“You’re awful tense this morning.” Your coworker says as he follows you to the nearest gunship.

“We have a lot to do before the boys can ship out.” You say. “And you’re sitting around watching porn.”

“We’re just having fun.” He shrugs.

“Have fun on shore leave.” You push the datapad into his chest a little too hard. “You’re on duty as soon as you step on this ship.”

“Obviously not everyone agrees with that.” Another coworker says as he passes by, making everyone laugh.

You’re fuming. You had thought you could play it cool, but you should have known better. You’re one of the few women on this ship, the others all being medics. Of course they wouldn’t care about some poor girl being broadcast across the GAR for anyone to see, regardless of who it was.

You should have gone to medical school.

“Aww man. It’s gone.” Someone complains.

You step around a gunship out of sight, leaning against the side. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, the tenseness of your shoulders easing. At least Cody had managed that bit.

“Don’t worry, I downloaded it.”

The relief is gone.

***

“I know the food’s bad, but I don’t think glaring at it is going to change anything.”

You nearly jump as a tray is placed next to yours. You look stressed, you know you do. You had barely managed to get through half of the day between your coworkers comments and the video constantly being replayed around you despite it being removed from the server.

Waxer and Boil seat themselves on either side of you. Two clone troopers you were hoping to avoid. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. You love Waxer and Boil. They never cease to make you laugh and you consider them your friends. But you know they’re going to want to talk about the video. The last thing you want to do right now is talk about the video. You’re at your limit, and you might do something stupid.

“The General is calling a meeting later.” Waxer says. “I bet it’s about the video.”

“I overheard Cody saying all the Legions are holding meetings to talk about it.” Boil says. “Probably gonna come up with some kind of punishment for watching it on duty.”

Good. You think. At least that way you could avoid it during the work day. Of course, you’ll have to avoid common areas for a while.

“We’ve got a plan, though.” Boil continues.

Your breath catches in your lungs. Your hand tightens around your fork, the lumps of “food” on your tray looking even less appetizing than they had moments ago.

“We’re going to figure out who it is.” Waxer says, leaning in close. “We’ve already got some headway in our quest.”

You take a sip of your drink, wishing it was something much stronger. “Like what?” You ask, cursing the way your voice shakes.

Boil pulls out a datapad, setting it up right in front of you so all three of you can see. You wish you could be anywhere but here right now he pulls up screenshots of the video. Thankfully they’re zoomed in, any shots of your body, or Cody’s are unrecognizable and blurry.

Boil flips through screenshot after screenshot. “It’s definitely a commander, whoever it was.” He says. “These are commander's quarters on a starship. And it’s definitely a clone.” He says, flipping through very zoomed in shots of Cody’s lower body.

“Too bad she’s human. Would have been really easy to figure out who it was if she wasn’t.” Waxer says, wiggling his brows.

You know what they’re implying. They probably deserve a reprimand for even suggesting it, for speaking about a General and a commander in that way, but you don’t have it in you to scold them. Besides, it’s not exactly a secret that rumors float around about the 327th.

You can’t say much, you’re fucking a Marshal Commander of the GAR. Well, you were.

Cody will be lucky if you let him within breathing distance of you ever again.

“We’re looking at any possible identifying marks on either of them.” Waxer says. “We may be clones, but we do have subtle differences.”

“Besides, I’m not likely to forget a body like that.” Boil says, whistling lowly as he flips to a screenshot of you on your stomach, the curves of your body very visible from the angle.

You wore your loosest fitting uniform today for that very reason. One less chance of someone staring at you just a little too hard, in the video and in person.

You just hope Waxer and Boil don’t have that kind of intimate knowledge of Cody’s anatomy.

“So, what do you say?” Boil asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You in?”

You blink at him for a moment. “Oh, uh, I’m kind of busy right now. Inspections and stuff, you know.” You stand, not having touched your food but you haven’t had much of an appetite all day. “But, uh, let me know if you do figure it out?”

You’d know if they did really figure it out regardless.

***

You want to cry. You feel like you might as you enter your barracks. The medics are on break, their last moment to get some rest before the guys ship out tomorrow and they begin a long stretch of treating injuries.

Naturally, they’re all discussing the video.

Sitting through the meeting with the entirety of the population on The Negotiator had almost been unbearable. You had been squished between Waxer and Boil and their quiet discussion of their investigation hadn’t helped any. They weren’t much closer to figuring out who it was in the video, but they were determined.

You’re not sure you’ve seen them so determined about anything since the last prank they pulled on Cody.

You had been able to see Cody from where you were sitting. He had been cool and collected as always, nothing to give any hint at his involvement in the situation. Nothing to hint he was the reason they were having it in the first place.

You wished you could have that much composure.

Listening to the General and the Admiral discuss the situation and the video had felt almost demeaning. The shame that had coursed through you was enough to send your head spinning. You had feigned exhaustion, glad it was Boil next to you as you leaned against him for support.

At least they had banned it from being played on duty or in any common areas.

The GAR was calling for all datapads to be wiped as well, to remove any downloads or copies of the video that might slip through the cracks. That would have to wait until after the campaign, though.

You silently thank Cody. As mad as you were at him, he was at least trying to rectify this. You’re not sure you’ll be able to forgive him, or trust him with something like this again, but he was trying.

“It’s demeaning, just standing around watching things like that.” One of the medics says as you sink down on your thin mattress. It’s far from comfortable, but right now, you’d take anything.

You’re exhausted from the stress of the day. It feels like it’s been a week, not a few hours since Cody’s mistake. It almost feels surreal now that your homemade sex tape found its way onto the GAR server for anyone to see. For all of the GAR to see. They had seen, even the higher ups. Even the Jedi.

You lay yourself out, covering your face with the pillow. You wish you could disappear, that some portal might open under your bed and swallow you whole.

“I can only imagine how your day went.” Your bunk mate says, squeezing your leg. “Alone with all those men in the hangar.”

“It was nonstop.” You say, lifting the pillow just enough that your words are audible. “All day. Playing it, talking about it.”

“At least they’re banning it from work spaces.” She says, climbing onto the bunk. “If I have to hear it one more time I’m going to smash all the datapads on this ship.”

“Whoever she is, she’s one lucky girl.” Someone else says.

Calls of agreement ring out around the barracks.

“What I wouldn’t give to bag just one of them, and there’s some lucky lady out there with a commander totally in love with her.” She sighs, dropping dramatically on her bed.

“How do you know they’re in love?” You ask, removing the pillow from your face.

“Just by the way they interact.” The girl on the bunk beside yours says. “The way he touches her, the way he moves. He’s down bad for her.”

You try to keep your cheeks from warming once again. Is Cody in love with you? You had never teased the idea. What you two had was purely physical, good fun and stress release. Nothing more. Or...was it? Even in your roughest, most desperate moments there was a tenderness to Cody when it came to you. You should feel at least a little proud that you made the pinnacle of control that was Marshal Commander Cody so pussy drunk he messed up in the worst way possible, but was there more to it?

Is Cody in love with you?

***

You’re half asleep at breakfast. The campaign will begin in a matter of hours. It will be quiet for a while for you at the start before the calls start coming in. Ships coming back for emergency servicing, requests for more ammo, more supplies, more ships, more troops. You’d be in the heat of it in the hangar, and the chances you’d get to rest over the next few weeks were going to be few and far between.

So were your chances to see Cody.

You jump as trays hit the table next to you, blinking away the bleariness as you glance between Waxer and Boil. They’re both grinning, mischievous glints in your eyes. You’ve gone the whole two hours you’ve been up without thinking about the video, too tired to put much thought into it, but now...now you’re worried.

Had they figured it out somehow?

Waxer sets a datapad in a familiar spot in front of you at the table. He pulls up a screenshot from the video, obviously not deterred by the new rules about having the video in common areas.

“Look.” Waxer says, pointing to a very blurry, zoomed in screenshot of the side of Cody’s ass. “There’s a mark right there.”

You squint at the blurry dark spot. You wipe the screen to make sure it’s not something stuck, but it’s not. There is, in fact, a small dark spot on Cody’s ass. You’ve never noticed it before.

“Okay?” You say, staring at the screen still.

“I don’t have one of those.” Waxer says.

“Neither do I. We checked.” Boil continues. “We checked with a few others too. So whoever this is, has a unique spot right on his ass.”

“And...what do you plan to do with this information?” You ask, looking between them. “Ask every clone commander in the GAR to pull down his pants so you can check for a spot on his ass cheek?”

Waxer rests his chin on his hand, brows furrowing. “That is going to be a complication.”

“Besides, how can you be sure it was a commander?” You continue, desperate to get them off the case before either they figured it out, or got in trouble for still having the video and many, many screenshots of it. “How do you know it’s not someone else using the commander’s quarters for more privacy. I wouldn’t want to film in the barracks if it were me.”

They share a look over your head. “You’re right. This is going to be harder than we thought.”

You pat their shoulders as you stand, an idea beginning to form in your mind. “Worry about the battle right now. You can do this when you get back.”

You give them both a smile before you head towards the hangar, your stomach fluttering nervously. You hadn't slept much last night, your thoughts racing, replaying and analyzing every interaction you’ve had with Cody, both private and public. Things you might have overlooked, hidden signs that he harbors more for you than just lust.

You had also come up with a plan, a plan you were determined to enact before he shipped off to the planet where he’d spend what was going to likely be weeks in the heat of battle. He’d be planetside the entire fight, doing his job as commander.

You nervously rock on your toes as you wait for Cody. You hadn’t warned him you were waiting, hadn’t told him you were going to confront him. He probably had so much to think about, so much to worry about the last thing he needs is an ambush by you, but you have to know. You have to know before you’re stuck worrying for weeks whether or not you’ll ever get to know.

You all but ram into him, sending him stumbling into a closet as he walks by. It’s nothing but fate that you were alone in the hallway, that no one was walking by or walking with him to prevent this from happening.

He rights himself as the closet door closes, staring at you with wide eyes. His gaze softens, an almost guilty look crossing his face as he recognizes you. He says your name quietly, the guilt prevalent in his tone.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, avoiding looking at you. “I should have been more careful. I put us both at risk and then everyone was talking about it all day and I can’t imagine how horrible it was for you to have to listen to that nonstop.”

“Yeah, it was pretty awful.” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you if you said you never wanted to see me again. You didn’t deserve this and it’s not fair to you. I know my apologies don’t mean anything, and it can never totally be undone, but I’ve been trying hard to rectify this and-”

“Shut up.” You cut him off. You kind of liked him groveling a bit and it was reassuring he at least feels bad for it. You knew it wasn’t intentional. You knew he didn’t mean to do it. You know he feels bad, he’ll likely always feel bad about it. He can save the apologies for later. You need to ask him before you lose your nerve. “Shut up and listen.”

He blinks at you in surprise, but he stays quiet. You’d get one hell of a reprimanding if you ever spoke like that to him outside private spaces.

You take a breath, staring into those dark eyes. “Do you love me?”

His eyes widen just a bit, lips parting as he takes in your words. It’s bold, asking so directly, but you don’t have a lot of time. He’s shipping out in less than an hour. You could save the fluffy words for when he comes back.

“Some of the girls in the barracks last night were talking about the video and they said they could tell they love each other just by the way they move. The way you touch me.” You step up closer to him, close enough to touch. “I never noticed it, I never really bothered to. I didn’t think...it was just supposed to be for pleasure, right? But...someone who’s supposed to be just a casual fling isn’t supposed to look at me like that.”

He gulps, his hand slowly lifting to your arm. His gloved fingers are warm, even through the thick material of your uniform. You know what they feel like against your bare skin. You know how dangerous those hands can be, but you also know how soft they can be. How gentle.

How loving.

“It’s a risk.” He finally says, breaking eye contact. “Fraternization of any kind could lead to decommission, even a court-martial. If anyone found out...both of us would get in trouble. It would be an abuse of authority, we could both face consequences...”

Your stomach starts to sink. He’d never voiced his concerns to you. You knew it was a risk getting involved with him, you knew what would happen if anyone found out. He had never shown any concern for the rules. Perhaps, though, with his mistake, his mind had changed.

“I never cared.” He continues, his fingers trailing up to your shoulder. “It was worth the risk, you were worth the risk. It was supposed to be casual. Nothing more than some stress release. Plenty of others do it.” His hand continues to your neck, cupping the back of it. “It wasn’t supposed to become love.”

His words take a moment to process in your mind. He loves you. He loves you. It is true. It wasn’t just your mind playing tricks on you, hoping for something more in those glances, in those touches.

Cody loves you.

“Cody,” You whisper as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how. I wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.” His breath is warm across your face. You’ve been this close before, you’ve been closer before, but none of it had felt like this. “I would happily suffer in silence if it meant I got to keep you forever.”

You laugh, lifting your hands to cup his face. “You idiot.” Your thumbs rub his cheeks. “I love you too.”

He closes the distance between you two, kissing you softly. It’s different from the other kisses you’ve shared. The passionate ones, the heated ones in the throes of lust. This one is soft, emotional, full of the unspoken love you both share.

You hate having to pull away from him as his comm beeps. You hate that you’ve waited this long to notice, this long to say anything. He’s going away to war where the chances of him dying are high, and you’ll be stuck here, helpless to listen to the comms and hope his name doesn’t come up, or his body isn’t delivered on a gunship.

“Say it.” You whisper, holding him close to you just for a moment longer.

“I love you.” He says it with such conviction it almost knocks you off your feet.

A smile tugs at your lips as you release him, letting him adjust himself before you sneak out of the closet. The halls are thankfully empty as everyone is gathering to prepare for shipping out. You wish you could hold his hand as you walk, but it’s too risky. Even if you managed to brush it off as nothing but emotional support for the rapidly approaching campaign, there’s too much going on right now.

The last thing you need is someone else investigating you two and finding out Cody does, in fact, have a mark on his ass cheek that matches the one in the video.

“Commander Cody.”

A voice at the other end of the hall has you both freezing. Your heart drops into your stomach, and your stomach drops through the floors under you and out the bottom of the ship. You both turn, your face probably a painting of guilt and terror as you face General Kenobi.

“Sir.” Cody salutes him.

You manage a stiff salute as well.

“We’re deploying in ten minutes.” General Kenobi says. “It’s time for a final gear check.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody nods, gripping his helmet just a little tighter.

“Also,” Your hope for a quick retreat is squashed as the General eyes you both. “I would suggest a little more care is used when saving your...personal files.”

You think you might die on the spot, a nervous sweat breaking out across your entire body. He knows. He knows and you’re about to get fired, or worse, court-martialed. It’s over. It’s over before it even got a chance to start.

“I will see you in the hangar in eight minutes.” He says before walking past you to the lifts.

You stare after him in shock. The General knew. He knew it was at least Cody in the video. He hadn’t seemed like he was going to report you, in fact he hadn’t seemed bothered at all.

You turn to look at Cody wide eyed. “He knows.”

Cody nods. “Yes. He does.”

Your gaze moves back to the lifts, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. You’re not sure you’re going to last with all the stress, and there’s still an entire campaign to get through.

“Wait-” You hold your hand out before Cody can walk away. “How exactly did he know it was you?”

Cody’s lips lift in a smirk, his shoulder lifting in a shrug. “No idea. Must be a Jedi thing.”

You squint your eyes at his back as he makes his way to the lifts. “Yeah, a ‘Jedi thing.’”

***

Everyone is exhausted. You can feel it in the air without even having to look at anyone. Even those of you that hadn’t seen any combat were feeling it, your own feet dragging as you move through the mess line. You need a long sleep and a few stiff drinks before you’ll even begin to feel back to normal. Everyone is moving slowly, bodies slumped over trays at tables, some having even fallen asleep sitting up.

You drag yourself to the table Cody is sitting at, taking the seat across from him. You stare down at the “food” on your tray, none of it appetizing but you are hungry.

You also haven’t heard mention of the video in weeks.

It’s been a nice break, everyone too focused on staying alive and keeping others alive to make any mention of it. Things have settled and before long some other controversy will start and most of them will forget it ever happened.

Two trays hit the table on either side of you, making you jump. You glance to both sides as Waxer and Boil take their seats next to you. They both look tired, but they also look disappointed.

“What happened to you two?” You ask, looking between the two pouting clones.

“Someone deleted all our research.” Boil says. “Every last screenshot and file is gone.”

You pout in sympathy, patting his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you put a lot of work into that.”

He nods. “We were so close. Now it was all for nothing.”

You glance across at Cody’s raised eyebrow, giving him a sly wink before you go back to comforting the two dejected clones.

Taglist:

@kaminocasey, @rosechi @mxkyrie @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @padawancat97 @bamfahsoka @rain-on-kamino @thrawnspetgoose @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @freesia-writes @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @madameminor @eris-k @clio3kantarella @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @originalcollectionartistry @maddiedrmr @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @523rdrebel @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @sinfulsalutations

#star wars #star wars fic #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #commander cody x reader #x reader #the dark side fic

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luckycharms1701 · 9 months ago

Note

Rereading ur writing and something caught my attention in one of my asks- u clarified a difference between what they'd *need* and what they'd *want*, so now I'm really curious, what would they *need* in a partner?

haha i was kinda hoping someone would notice that! 😜 this is a reference to this ask.

honestly i don’t think what they need is particularly different to what they’re looking for. The same person could definitely be both what they are looking for and what (I think) they need. but there are some key differences.

Leo: I think that what Leo needs is understanding. Not the kind you’re thinking though. Well maybe a bit but mostly he needs someone who understands that they can’t always be at the top of his priority list. He’s the leader, he’s responsible for so much, and as much as he would love to be there for them always, he can’t. He needs someone who not only understands that, but wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s part of what makes Leo who he is, if they can’t handle it they’re not the one for him.

Raph: Raph needs someone he can open up to. (This fucking turtle…… okay I’m normal now. Anyway.) He needs someone he can talk to about his feelings. Someone he can be soft with. He needs a safe haven in the storm. His lighthouse guiding him to safety. You understand. He doesn’t have a proper outlet for all his feelings, and he can’t go to his brothers because he needs to be the edge to hone them. A partner could do that for him, be what he needs when he has to let go.

Donnie: I think that what Donnie is looking for is what he needs. Curiosity. The question becomes then is he looking for it for the right reasons. I think what Donnie’s looking for is someone he can bounce ideas off of and who is willing to listen to him talk about what he’s doing. I think what he needs is someone who can expand his horizons. I feel like Donnie can get into a rut where he creates for a purpose rather than because he loves it. He gets bogged down in the day-to-day, and while it’s rewarding and helps his brothers, it doesn’t necessarily bring him joy. He needs someone who can remind him of the joy of creation, who reminds him that he’s allowed to create for fun.

Mikey: Mikey? He just needs someone who loves him openly and unconditionally. He needs a hype man. It is clear that his brothers love him, but they’re not affectionate with him generally. To them he is someone to protect, the precious little brother. He is also their annoying little brother whom they love to rag on. With the right love and support, I think he could really blossom. With someone who is unabashedly and without reservation in his corner? Someone who doesn’t hide their love behind jokes? Someone who can match his energy, who he doesn’t need to impress because they’re already impressed with him? Well, he could reach his potential.

~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic @writinandcrying @xnorthstar3x @morenovix218

#tmnt #bayverse leo #bayverse raph #bayverse donnie #bayverse mikey #theory tag #s;dklfjsada please you were re-reading???#so glad you enjoyed it!!!!#that's so embarrassing tho 🙈#that mention still isn't working...#fuck

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heartkaji · 2 months ago

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[ ★ ⸻ @meowkages ]

★ OVERVIEW

HI AMY !! your ask had me giggling you’re hilarious 😭anyways with you and reo, you’re definitely his hyperactive gf while he’s the calm one. i feel like when reo got with you he 100% didn’t even worry about you being a gold digger. in fact you guys would be so funny tg, he’d buy you something nice but not that impressive or take you to a restaurant he feels is low key just decent but you’d be hysterical because you think it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen 😭 yk what you guys remind me of ? sasha and niccolo in a way. i’m not sure why but it was the first thing that popped in my head honestly 🚶‍♀️

Q1 — HOW DID YOU FIRST MEET ?

at a cybercafe. he’s there to meet with nagi (who’s running late unsurprisingly) and you’re seated at the desk beside him. he’s struggling with the mechanics of the game he’s playing and after cringing and pitying his attempts, you decide to help out. after you give him a step by step tutorial (while humbly bragging about your high score) he hands you a wad of cash for your time. your brows furrow. “hey, do i look like some charity case to you ?” you question as you tuck the cash into your pocket 🧍‍♂️. reo blinks. he frantically denies your accusation and you let him off the hook right as nagi arrives. reo introduces you two and he’s surprised to find that you and nagi already know each other, gaming buddies who had met at that cafe. reo is looking to get more into games so you two exachange numbers, and from that day on you all become some sort of trio

Q2– WHAT DO OTHERS THINK OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP ?

nagi likes you. well, that’s mostly because you two play video games with each other. he doesn’t particularly care about your relationship all that much, but he also doesn’t mind having you around. he DOES mind the fact that reo can’t seem to stop talking about you. it’s always “do you wanna hear this funny joke amy told me ?” or “oh! that reminds me of what amy said..” he’s low key sick of it but he can’t bring himself to tell reo to shut up, so he nods and gives an occasional “uh huh” as he plays games on his phone while reo goes on about you

reo’s parents aren’t too involved in his personal life, but they do hope your relationship is just a phase. they want reo to marry some rich heiress and expand the mikage empire, not some normal civilian girl. they’re really sweet to you though. you’ve only met them once when reo introduced you, but they were pretty chill. you couldn’t help but feel on edge the entire time, but you’d think anyone would feel that way when standing next to the mikage billionaires.

your friends are more invested in your relationship than you are 🤦‍♀️ your close friends are pretty normal about your relationship, but they’re always teasing you about your ‘billionaire boyfriend’. also keep in mind that once you’re dating reo you are no longer allowed to be broke. if you miss a dinner party because it’s out of budget, your friends will immediately get on your case : “what about your boyfriend?” “just ask your sugar daddy for money.” you try to avoid to because you don’t want reo feeling like you’re only with him for money, but trust me it’s okay. he’d never think that, and honestly normally you wouldn’t have to ask. at the beginning of your relationship he offered to have monthly deposits paid to your account but since that was early in the relationship you refused to be polite. now you’ve been looking for ways to bring his offer back up to him without seeming like a gold digger 🤦‍♀️

Q3 — WHO FELL FIRST ; WHO FELL HARDER ?

reo fell first, and i can imagine you being kinda oblivious to his intentions. i imagine that when he realized he liked you, he’d try to win you over with lots of gifts and expensive items. you’d take it greatfully but you always thought nothing of it; nagi seemed to be spoiled by reo as well so you simply saw it as a benefit of being friends with a mikage. in fact, i can totally see you sibbling zoning him at some point 😭 like maybe he notices your shoes are worn out so he buys you a new, more expensive pair, and when you ask him if he got it because he noticed your shoes were pretty unwearable, he says yes and you tell him he’s like a brother, constantly looking out for you. this sends reo over the edge and triggers him to be more direct. soon he’s buying you flowers, and eventually he straight up asks you on a date. you agree immediately and it catches him by surprise because all this time a part of him believed you didn’t share his affections, but you admit that all along you thought he didn’t like you and you didn’t want to be egotistical and assume he did 🤦‍♀️ yeah both of yall share a brain cell but that’s okay 🤞

i can’t say exactly who fell harder, but i believe you often have your relationship with reo on your mind more than he does. i can imagine you always kind of overthinking your relationship: what his parents think of you, if you’re good enough for him, how long till you break up, etc. it’s the pressure of dating the heir to some gigantic company. although you love reo for who he is outside his last name, as his partner you’re very immersed in his life as a corporate heir. you’ve had to attend all sorts of dinners and events and each time you can’t help but feel out of place. reo plays the role of calming you down and reassuring you that you’re more than enough, fuck what anyone else has to say. i’d say you’re both equally spretty smitten with each other, but you take the cake in terms of being more invested—because of the circumstances, your relationship often spends a lot more time in your head than reo’s.

>> 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 <<

#୨ৎ ─ [ 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 ]#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #reo mikage #reo mikage x reader #bllk headcanons #blue lock headcanons #reo x reader #bllk reo

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babygorewhore · 1 year ago

Text

The Type of text messages The Evan’s would send you. Flirting edition.

Okay last fic of the day lol. Anyway this is a fun little concept I came up with and lemme know what more text messages you want in this series!!! WARNINGS! Kai being sexual and some flirting. But mostly fluff!

Evan Peters.

- “Hi baby. You look so sexy. Can wait to kiss you…maybe more 😏”

- Also send you little paragraphs about how much he loves you.

Kit Walker.

- “Wow, Mrs. Walka. Are you free tonight? Can I take you out for some midnight dancing?”

- Includes a lot of dick jokes.

Kyle Spencer.

- “You’re so pretty. Come kiss me, Angel.”

- If he’s undead. I feel like Kyle would use a lot of emojis. Like ❤️😍😛

Tate Langdon.

- “Holy shit, you’re so gorgeous. Hey mamas.”

- “Thank you, baby.”

- “Can you send me another picture, mommy? 🥺”

Jimmy darling.

- Honestly he’s a little bit of a fuck boy lol

- “Aw, sugar. Only one picture? Come on…lemme see those pretty legs of yours. I imagine them wrapped around me.”

Kai Anderson.

- Hella sexual. Very inappropriate.

- “Open your mouth, spit a little and send me a video of you sucking your thumb.”

- “Kai, it’s just a picture of my new haircut.”

- “Did I stutter, princess?”

James Patrick March.

- Let’s imagine he’s figured out how to text.

- “My little bird, you look absolutely as beautiful as the midnight sky my pet. You must meet me in my quarters at once. Allow me to kiss you until we cannot breathe, yes? JPM.”

- “James. I know it’s you. You don’t have to sign your name.”

- “But what if someone were to impersonate me?”

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

Text

Keith doesn’t leave his apartment a lot.

Despite all of Shiro’s urging, Keith tends to stay home. His apartment is really nice, once he gets over the occasional mouse and entirely broken heating. Plus, the water is mostly potable, so it’s all good.

Look. It’s $500 a month.

But, y’know. Every once in a while Keith actually can’t study over the sounds of his neighbours having extremely loud and largely disturbing sex — why on Earth would cheetos ever be mentioned in regards to anyone’s hole is something Keith wish remained a mystery to him — so he makes his way down to the campus library. It’s admittedly kind of nice down there. He’s currently sitting at a table that’s decently clean, and the wifi connection is certainly better than it is at home. He’s actually able to get some stuff done —

“Motherfucker!”

Keith jumps out of his skin as the hottie a couple seats in front of him slams his hands on the table. Hottie whips his head up, catching Keith’s eye. His hair is wildly curly, sticking up off his head so intensely that it almost defies gravity. His eyes are big and brown and a little crazed. His expression can only be described as ‘intense’, or perhaps ‘unstable’.

“You,” he snarls.

Keith points at himself with wide eyes.

“Have you ever heard of a mountain chicken,” Hottie says, still staring at Keith with the same crazed intensity.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Keith squeaks. Hottie may be one of the most attractive people he has ever seen, but Keith has learned his lesson about pretty people. They tend to be the most dangerous and likely to maim (looking at you, Allura).

Hottie stalks towards Keith’s table, deliberately placing his hands on the surface and leaning very, very close.

“Have you ever heard,” he says again, voice very low, “of a mountain chicken.”

“No,” Keith says, because he hasn’t and he’s a little (a lot) intimidated.

And attracted.

There’s admittedly a lot of attraction there.

Suddenly the crazed air shifts from Hottie’s face, but the intensity remains.

“Whaddaya think it looks like?”

He sounds almost curious. Almost.

Keith blinks. “Like a really big chicken?”

The crazed looks is back as soon as it left.

“That’s what I thought, but it’s this mother fucker!” Hottie yells, reaching over to grab his laptop and slam it in front of Keith. It’s open to a picture of a strange little frog.

Keith squints at the picture.

“…Huh,” he says, because that is strange, and he can kind of understand why Hottie is going a little nutty about it.

“Exactly,” Hottie says emphatically. “Fuckin’ taxonomists.”

Keith raises an amused eyebrow. “You sound like you have beef with taxonomists. I’ve never known anyone who has a personally problem with them before.”

“Okay, listen,” Hottie says, pulling out a chair and sitting down properly. “They’re really bad at their jobs. All of ‘em. Why are watermelons berries? No. That’s bullshit. And you know who’s fault it is? Taxonomists.”

Keith bursts out laughing. “I see,” he manages between wheezes.

Hottie sniffs. “I’m allowing your laughter because you’re stupid hot.”

“Are you.”

“Mhm. Also, because I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. I’m about three seconds away from passing out.”

Hottie says it pleasantly, but not in the way that sounds like he’s joking, which sobers Keith up quickly.

“Wait, what —”

The words don’t even leave his mouth before Hottie’s eyes roll back into his head and his forehead smacks the table.

———

“Thank you, again,” the man says.

Keith shoots him a small smile. “It’s really not a problem.”

The man — who Keith has learnt is named Hunk, and is the best friend of the aforementioned Hottie, who’s name is apparently Lance — sighs. “It kind of is. He’s — I would like to say that this is not a regular occurrence. But he’s fuckin’ allergic to a proper sleep schedule. And peanuts. But the sleeping thing is a bigger issue. He’s given himself four concussions because he’s passed out mid-sentence and brained himself on a random surface hard enough to make an impact on his thick fucking skull.”

Hunk is clearly exasperated, and annoyed, but his words are so fond that Keith can’t help the smile that pulls across his face. He sounds just like Shiro, after Keith has managed to land himself squarely into one of his many Shenanigans. Loving and also five seconds away from throttling you.

It’s nice.

“You his brother?”

Hunk snorts, readjusting Lance’s floppy arm over his shoulder. Keith does the same, hefting him up — he’s surprisingly heavy for someone who’s about as thick as a toothbrush, but what does Keith know — and keeping on in the direction of the off-campus apartments. (The decently nice ones, that you can only afford with at least two roommates and a part-time job. Keith knows. He checked.)

“Nah, not really. I mean, I’m basically his brother in that he’s the annoyance who’s been latched on to my person for the last several years and who I love too much to murder, but you know. He has enough siblings without me thrown into the mix. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Keith says. “You remind me of me and my brother, is all. He’s also the one who’s usually dragging my dumb ass to safety.”

Laughing, Hunk digs his key out of his pocket, opening up the door.

“I see.”

He struggles for a moment, trying to both keep Lance from falling — who is firmly unconscious, although Hunk has assured him that he’s not injured and it’s just been six days since he last slept and he’s just kind of Like This — and get the door open.

Keith isn’t sure how to help, so he just kind of stands there awkwardly, still holding half of Lance’s weight.

“Thank you,” Hunk says, once Lance has been transferred to his arms and he’s standing just inside the doors to their apartment complex. “I appreciate your help.”

“No problem.”

Keith forces himself to take a step back, shoving the random wistfulness deep down in his gut.

He’s not lonely. He’s not.

(He does kind of miss his brother, though. Ugh.)

“I’ll see you around, Keith.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

Keith stands there for a full ten seconds after Hunk turns around and heads down the hallway, and then he shakes himself, blushing, before speedwalking back to his own shitty apartment.

God, he needs a fucking hobby.

———

“What do you mean, I can’t get eight shots of espresso? It’s not like it’ll kill me. You need 76 shots to kill you. I checked.”

“Sir…it’s company policy. I’m not allowed to put more than eight shots in one cup. Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. Hm.” The man — who is he kidding, Keith recognised Lance as soon as he saw that poofy hair in the Starbucks line, as embarrassing as it is — rocks back on his heels, tapping a finger to his chin. “Can I order two drinks, with eight shots each?”

Jesus Christ.

The barista blinks at him. “I mean, I guess so. I think you’re going to die, but that’s not my problem, I guess.”

Lance laughs, and the sound is so bright and musical that it actually makes Keith sigh.

Like, out loud.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“That works! Let’s do that.”

“…If you’re sure. That’ll be $7.29.”

Lance pays, then heads over to the other end of the counter, humming as he waits. As soon as his eyes land on Keith, they narrow.

“Hey, wait a minute. I know you. Obviously. I would never forget a face so flawlessly beautiful. Why do I know you?”

Keith goes so red he can actually feel his heart pounding through the capillaries under his skin, which is humiliating.

“Um.”

Lance giggles, which makes the blush worse.

Oh, God, Keith is losing any and all game he possesses by the minute. Fuck, isn’t he usually good at this? He usually is! He’s usually a pretty decent flirt! What the fuck!

“Oh!” Lance says, snapping his fingers. “You’re the hot guy from the library! The one who called Hunk when I passed out! Keith, right?”

Keith can only nod. Holy shit, the force of those brown doe eyes at full intensity on his face is going to fry his brain.

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m Keith. You — obviously, you knew that.” Keith resists the urge to slam his head through the nearest wall.

Lance giggles again. Keith wonders if the fuckin’ sweat is actually dripping from his palms, or it just feels like it is.

Gross.

“You’re cute. You should take me on a date. I have class until five, room A112 in the biology building. Pick me up, and we’ll go to dinner?”

Keith can only nod. Frantically. So quickly his hair escapes from his ponytail and smacks him in the face.

“Great,” Lance says, grinning. He grabs Keith hand — Keith offers absolutely no resistance and only prays that his palms aren’t actually as disgusting as he thinks they are — and takes out a pen, scrawling down a number and then drawing a big heart around it.

Lord above, Lance is the cutest boy Keith has ever seen in his entire life. He’s going to explode.

“That’s my number,” Lance says, and he’s still holding onto Keith’s forearm.

His fingers are freezing, and that’s the only rational thought Keith’s brain manages to form.

“2 coffees with more caffeine than I’ve ever seen one person consume?” the barista calls. She looks at them warily.

“Coming!” Lance chirps, and Keith mourns the loss of those cold fingers on his skin as Lance steps over to grab his coffee.

(Well. ‘Coffee’.)

Lance skips to the doors, pausing to smile and wiggle his fingers in a wave. “I’ll see you after class, okay, Keith?”

“See you,” Keith says, and his voice cracks so many times that the barista winces on his behalf.

Lance grins wider, then disappears out the door.

“That was the most romcom shit I’ve ever seen,” the barista informs him bluntly, and Keith can only nod.

———

Keith is buzzing out of his skin, he thinks.

So he does what he always does when he’s feeling Big Boy Feelings™️.

He bothers his brother.

to: takashit

shiro oh my god it’s almost five his class is almost done what do i do.

to: takashit

what if he was joking? it didn’t seem like a joke. but what if?

to: takashit

fuck, what if i screw it up? what if i’m a lame loser who says lame loser things? oh my god i’m so nervous

to: takashit

OH MY GOD SHIRO WHAT IF I YARF

to: keith kardashian

KEITH MOTHERFUCKING YORAK KOGANE. SHUT THE FUCK UP. I AM BUSY.

to: takashit

🥺🥺🥺 worst brother ever

to: takashit

🥺🥺 you don’t love me. you don’t care about me or my anxiety 💔

Keith can actually hear his brother’s guilt complex acting up through the phone.

It’s hilarious.

to: keith kardashian

the worst part about that is i know you’re manipulating me.

to: takashit

😔 😔

to: takashit

⬆️ my face rn as i realise my brother whom i look up to and adore wishes he left me on the street corner where i was standing 😔😔😔

to: keith kardashian

i should have, you little motherfucker.

There’s a solid minute of angry typing before Shiro continues.

to: keith kardashian

fuck you. call me.

Keith does. Shiro picks up immediately.

“You are a rat bastard,” he growls.

Keith pretends to sniffle, fully fighting back a laugh.

“I just thought you promised to always be there for me,” he says, as pitifully as he can manage.

Shiro makes a vague screaming noise.

“Fuck! Fine. Fuck. Tell me why you’re nervous.”

“It’s a cute boy with a lot of confidence and social grace, Shiro! Fucking obviously I’m nervous!”

“Didn’t y’all meet because he yelled at you about taxonomists and then brained himself on a library table when he passed out from sleep deprivation?”

“…Yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound very socially graceful to me.”

“Okay, fair, but he asked me out this morning like it was the smoothest thing ever. I blushed so hard I thought my heart was going to explode. I swear to God my voice cracked at least twelve times.”

Shiro sniggers. “It does that all the time, so no big thing there.”

“Fuck off,” Keith says, scowling, because hey. Being the shithead is Keith’s job.

“Anyway, you big nerd,” Shiro continues, “you’re going to be fine. In five minutes this ridiculously confident cute boy is going to waltz out of class and then you two are going to go on what’s probably the cringiest date of all time, but he will be charmed by your earnest nature and geek tendencies, and then you’ll get married and adopt every dog in the world. Okay?”

Honestly, yeah. Okay. That did make him feel better.

But Keith is the younger brother, and as such is contractually obligated to be a pain in the ass, so.

“Yeah, yeah. At least I didn’t trip and, in a desperate attempt to not land face-first on the pavement, pants my future husband.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shiro says venomously, as is par for the course when Keith brings up his and Adam’s disastrous first meeting.

Keith smirks to himself.

“My bad.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying. Do you feel better now, you stupid dweeb?”

Keith started feeling better the second he started pestering Shiro, but he supposes he can be grateful for a change.

“Yeah. I guess your dorky pep talk helped. I can’t do any worse than you did, anyway.”

“I’m hanging up and blocking your number. Goodbye.”

Keith snickers as the call drops. It’s 4:59, and Lance still has another minute of class.

to: takashit

you didn’t say u love me :(((

to: takashit

u just hung up without any care in the world :((

to: takashit

i’m telling adam he’s my new favourite brother now

to: takashit

adam would never hang up without saying i love you

to: keith kardashian

oh my GOD

to: takashit

:(((((((((

to: keith kardashian

fine. fuck.

to: keith kardashian

i love you, you booger. tell me how your stupid date goes.

to: takashit

Keith puts his phone away, grinning, and the second he does, the door to room A112 pushes open and students start spilling out. He waits, scanning everyone as they pass, but there’s no sign of Lance until the very last person walks out.

He beams when he sees Keith leaning on the wall.

“Keith! Hi!”

Keith grins back.

“Hi, Lance.”

“Ready to go on a date?” Lance says, strolling up and tangling his free hand in Keith’s, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

It might be.

“Yeah. I’m excited, really.”

“Awesome! Did you pick a place?”

Keith was a little stressed about that, to be real, because he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pick somewhere or if Lance already had something picked.

The he remembered he had Hunk’s number “in case my dumbass best friend passed out in your vicinity again, because neither of us can afford an ambulance in this economy”, so he texted him in what could not be technically called a panic.

Maybe a light anxiety.

Hunk had sent back several laughing emojis, and then told him to take Lance for an ice cream dinner and then to the park on campus for him to get very excited about beetles.

“I figured I’d take you to Coran’s ice cream parlour,” Keith says. “You seem like an ice cream guy.”

Lance lights up, and then narrows his eyes in playful suspicion. “You asked Hunk, huh?”

Keith shrugs, cheeks warming. “I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the library incident, and you’re so pretty you kind of make my brain go mushy. I panicked.”

Shockingly, that makes Lance’s jaw drop. He’s quiet for several moments, before his ears go read and he looks away.

Holy shit. Did Keith make Lance all blushy?

“Point to Keith,” Lance says eventually.

Keith laughs, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. The other is still firmly clamped in Lance’s. “Didn’t know it was a competition.”

Lance winks. “Everything’s a competition with me.”

———

Ice cream is fun. Keith shouldn’t be eating it, not really, and there will be Consequences with his digestive system later, but he’s not afraid of hell and mint chip is delicious.

“You are eating frozen toothpaste.”

“I can only assume that you’ve never tried mint chip or you’ve never brushed your teeth, Lance, because mint chip does not taste like toothpaste. It’s delicious. Besides, you are having cotton candy. That’s essentially frozen blue food colouring! Besides, what flavour is cotton candy even supposed to be? Like, what does cotton candy taste like?”

Turns out that Keith had no reason to be nervous. He and Lance just… click. And, besides, Lance thinks Keith is funny when he’s not trying, which is excellent.

They go to the park, just as Hunk suggested, after they finish their ice cream. They spend the whole time just chatting, talking about nothing and everything, interspersed with Lance’s regular mini-lectures whenever he spots something particularly cool. Which is a lot of things, because Lance seems to be endlessly fascinated with the world at large.

It’s adorable. And also enlightening. Did you know one tree can be home to over 2.3 million life forms at one time? Keith didn’t. That’s dope as hell.

“…and oh, hey, an incipient hornet nest! Cool! Did you know wasp larvae can spin silk?”

Keith did not know that. He is also not fond of wasps, nor has he ever felt any sort of inclination to be near them. But he is becoming increasingly fond of Lance. Also, Lance seems to be some sort of animal whisperer. They’d been swarmed by yellowjackets outside of the ice cream parlour, but before Keith could even panic Lance had stood very still and said “no” in a firm, calm voice, and they all flew away immediately.

It did make Lance hotter, truly.

“I did not,” Keith says magnanimously, peering over Lance’s shoulder to look at the nest. Luckily, it’s empty. “That is pretty cool, though.”

Lance turns back to him and grins; a big, beaming smile that makes him glow.

God, he’s beautiful.

Keith can’t stop staring at him.

“You should kiss me,” Lance says bluntly, after a moment of them just softly looking at each other.

Keith blinks. “Okay.”

He lets go of Lance’s hand, reaching over to cup his face. He stays there for a moment, gently cradling Lance’s face in his arms, stroking his thumbs over sharp cheekbones, cataloguing the splash of freckles on his nose and the curve of his cupid’s bow.

Lance reaches up, after a few seconds, sliding careful fingers across the skin of Keith’s neck to tangle in his hair. He doesn’t pull, just — holds it, carefully.

“You going to kiss me now?”

Keith swallows. “I’m nervous. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lance’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs. “You don’t need to be. I want — I really want you to kiss me. I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“Okay.”

And that’s all it takes. The ‘okay’, breathy and quick and soft and maybe a little nervous, too, like for all his straightforward brazenness Lance is a little scared of messing this up as well.

He leans forward, faster than he thought he would, and presses his lips to Lance’s. The air is warm but Lance’s lips are still chilly from the ice cream, and his cheeks are hot beneath Keith’s hands, blushing. His lips curve into a smile that’s pressed firmly to Keith’s mirroring grin and he sighs again, a little, a happy sound, and tilts his head so their mouths fit together even better. And then his fingers are tracing little circles at the back of Keith’s neck and he makes a little humming noise on the back of his throat and Keith leans the tiniest little bit closer.

It’s good. It’s great.

It’s everything, really, and Keith doesn’t want it to end.

“You’re a good kisser,” Lance mumbles, not moving away even an inch.

“I like kissing you,” Keith says, pressing just as close.

Keith doesn’t remember why he was nervous.

———

to: keith kardashian

how did it go????

to: takashit

i beat your mess by a mile

to: keith kardashian

low bar, boogerbrain. also, shut up.

to: takashit

no :)

to: takashit

but it went REALLY well. we went for ice cream and then walked around the park for hours and then we kissed and he is so fucking cute, shiro. oh my god. seriously.

to: keith kardashian

good, kiddo. really. are y’all gonna go out again?

to: takashit

yeah

to: takashit

tomorrow night actually

to: keith kardashian

that’s awesome! i have a really good feeling about you guys.

to: takashit

…

to: takashit

me too :)

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