#there is a reason lean was not invented here

[unfavorableinstigation]

The child safety lock on the Buckley's bottle is the single most redundant thing I have ever encountered. I just had to hark back to my dad's beautiful cocktail invention Dragon Sperm, in which Buckley's is a major ingredient, in order to muster the bravery needed to choke the stuff back.

... but it works

[orellazalonia]

Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Sequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

-

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” You said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

-

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

-

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”

[aspenmissing]

Hi! I love your work and I was wondering if you could do a sunshine reader with the usual suspects (arcane) but like they all think she’s this sweet innocent person until someone tries to mess with the characters and she just gets lethal. And they’re like “holy shit, where’s this side been?” X

ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢʀɪᴘ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴠɪ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4932 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ(ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ - ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ! ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ. ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ! ꜱᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ!! <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴠɪ

JAYCE

The golden light of the sun streamed through the grand windows of Piltover’s Council Hall, illuminating the intricate designs that adorned the chamber. The city thrived under the watchful eyes of its leaders, and among them, Jayce Talis stood as its brightest innovator.

And at his side, always gentle and unwavering, was Y/N.

She was the embodiment of warmth, the kind of person who could soothe even the most furious storms within him. Jayce had always been a force of will, a hammer striking against the anvil of progress, but Y/N? She was the soft breeze, the quiet melody that reminded him there was still beauty in the world beyond politics and inventions.

Everyone in Piltover adored her—she was kind to the children, patient with the Council, and impossibly sweet to Jayce. She would wake up early to make him tea before his meetings, place gentle kisses on his tired face, and remind him to eat when he became too absorbed in his work. She was his safe haven.

But Piltover was a city built on ambition. And ambition always bred danger.

=

It started as a normal evening. The two of them were walking along the illuminated streets of Piltover, Jayce’s arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders as she giggled at his latest failed attempt at cooking.

"Okay, but you have to admit, the bread wasn’t that burnt," he defended, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Jayce, I could have used it as a weapon," she teased, her bright eyes full of mischief.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. "I’ll get better, I promise."

Before she could reply, a loud voice cut through the air.

"Jayce Talis!"

The playful atmosphere dissipated in an instant. Jayce tensed as a group of enforcers turned thugs approached. He recognized them—disgruntled ex-guards who had lost their positions when Jayce had cracked down on corruption. Their leader, a burly man with a cruel smirk, cracked his knuckles.

"You cost us everything," the man sneered. "It’s only fair we take something from you."

Jayce instinctively stepped in front of Y/N, his protective instincts flaring. "Walk away. Now."

The man laughed. "Or what? You’ll hit me with your hammer in the middle of Piltover’s streets?"

Jayce clenched his fists, knowing that using his weapon here would only cause more problems. He was about to reason with them when—

"Jayce, sweetheart?"

Her voice was soft. Innocent. A whisper of something familiar. But when Jayce turned to look at Y/N, something in the air shifted.

Gone was the warmth in her eyes. In its place was something chillingly calm, something sharp and lethal. The leader barely had time to register the shift before Y/N moved.

Fast.

Too fast for someone who had spent her life being delicate, gentle.

Her hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist before he could even swing. With an effortless grace, she twisted it until a sickening snap echoed through the street. He screamed, stumbling back, cradling his broken wrist.

Jayce blinked. What—?

But Y/N wasn’t finished. She turned, grabbing another thug by the collar and slamming his face into her knee, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestone. The third man tried to grab her, but she dodged with a feline-like precision before delivering a devastating kick to his ribs.

Within seconds, the men were writhing on the ground, groaning in pain.

Y/N, sweet, kind Y/N, looked down at them with an eerie stillness.

Her voice, usually honeyed and warm, dropped into something cold. "You think you can try and hurt Jayce and walk away?" She knelt beside their leader, tilting her head. "That was your first mistake. And your last."

The man’s breath hitched in fear.

Jayce... had never seen her like this before. He had always known she was strong in her own way, but this? This was something else entirely.

She turned back to him, her expression softening in an instant. "Jayce, love, are you okay?" Jayce stared at her. Then at the men groaning on the ground. Then back at her. Finally, a slow, incredulous smile stretched across his lips.

"Remind me never to make you angry."

She giggled—actually giggled—as if she hadn’t just taken down three fully grown men. "Oh, sweetheart, you’d never give me a reason to."

And then, like nothing had happened, she took his arm again, leading him down the street as if it were just another ordinary evening.

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head in pure amazement. He had always known Y/N was his safe place.

He just hadn’t realized she was his most dangerous weapon, too.

And god, did he love her even more for it.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of the workshop’s lamplight bathed the room in gold as Viktor sat hunched over his desk, his cane resting against the table’s edge. You stood nearby, watching him with that gentle, adoring gaze you always wore when he was lost in his work. There was something about the way he poured himself into his inventions that made your heart ache in the best way possible.

You, his sweet, doting lover, were a stark contrast to the grim reality of Zaun. You were the kind of person who hummed while you cooked, who always remembered to bring him tea before he even asked, and who whispered words of encouragement when he doubted himself. There was a softness to you that Viktor found intoxicating—like sunlight breaking through a storm.

But he knew better than anyone that even the sun could burn.

It wasn’t often that people underestimated you, but when they did, it was a grave mistake. Especially when it concerned Viktor.

“Did you think you could just steal from him?” Your voice was light, almost amused, as you tilted your head at the trembling thief before you. The man had snuck into the lab, no doubt underestimating how fiercely you protected what was yours.

Viktor had barely managed to rise from his chair before he saw the glint in your eyes, the sharpness in your stance. He knew that look.

“Y/N…” he murmured, gripping his cane tightly as he watched you, torn between fascination and concern.

The man before you held a stolen blueprint in one hand, but his other was shaking as you took a slow step forward. You had been all sweetness and warmth before this moment, but now? Now, you were something entirely different.

“You must be quite foolish,” you continued, voice still eerily sweet. “Or perhaps you simply don’t understand what happens to those who threaten what’s mine.”

Your hand moved too fast for Viktor’s eyes to track, and within seconds, the thief was on his knees, gasping for breath as you pressed a small, hidden blade against his throat.

Viktor exhaled sharply, but he didn’t stop you. He knew better.

“I—I was just following orders,” the man stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

You smiled, but there was no warmth in it now. “Then go back and tell whoever sent you that if they touch Viktor, if they so much as think about taking from him again… I’ll make sure they regret it.”

A beat passed, thick with silence, and then you stepped back, letting the man scramble to his feet before he bolted out the door like a frightened animal.

Viktor let out a breath, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know, můj drahý, there are times when you terrify me.” (My Dear)

You turned to him then, and just like that, the shift was instant. The sharp edge in your expression melted, replaced by the soft, affectionate woman he knew so well.

“I’d never hurt you,” you said, stepping closer to cup his face with delicate hands. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of anyone trying to take advantage of you.”

His golden eyes searched yours before he chuckled, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his waist, careful of the cane as you nestled against him. “You’d never have to worry about that. You’re my heart, Viktor.”

He sighed, allowing himself to lean into you, allowing himself to bask in the warmth only you could give.

“And you,” he murmured against your hair, “are the most terrifyingly wonderful thing to ever happen to me.”

JAYVIK

The sun was high over Piltover, casting a warm golden glow over the city. It was a rare day of peace for the three of you—Viktor, Jayce, and yourself—where work and responsibilities had been set aside in favor of a quiet afternoon stroll. You walked between them, one hand laced with Jayce’s, the other resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. The gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, and for once, everything felt perfect.

But, as always, perfection never lasted.

It started as a murmur. A few sneered words just loud enough to be heard. At first, you ignored it. Viktor was used to the occasional stare, the whispered remarks about his limp and the cane he relied on. He usually brushed them off with that sharp wit of his, never letting them wound too deep.

But today, it was different.

=

"Surprised they let a cripple like him work at the Academy," one man sneered from a bench nearby, laughing to his friend. "Must be Jayce doing all the work."

You felt Viktor stiffen slightly beside you. You saw Jayce’s grip tighten on his hammer-shaped pendant, his jaw clenching. You knew he was seconds away from stepping forward, from throwing his weight around in defence of Viktor like he always did.

But you moved first.

Before either of them could react, your fingers slipped from Viktor’s arm, smoothly wrapping around his cane. With one swift motion, you yanked it from his grasp and strode forward, your footsteps light and unassuming.

Until you swung.

The wood struck the man’s shoulder with a satisfying crack, sending him sprawling against the bench. His laughter turned to a yelp, his friend scrambling back in shock.

"What the hell—?!"

"How dare you." Your voice was soft, honeyed even, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. The kind of edge that could draw blood if provoked further. You adjusted your grip on the cane, twirling it in your hands as if you had every intention of using it again. "I don’t care if you’re the richest man in Piltover or a rat crawling through the gutters. You don’t speak about Viktor that way. Ever."

The man scrambled to his feet, hands raised defensively. "I was just—"

You swung again. This time, you stopped just short of hitting him, the tip of the cane hovering mere inches from his gut. The threat was clear.

"Apologize." Your eyes bore into his, your sweet demeanor never faltering. "Now."

"I—I'm sorry!"

You held his gaze a moment longer, ensuring the sincerity of his words, before lowering the cane and stepping back. Then, as if nothing had happened, you turned on your heel and returned to Viktor’s side, handing him back his cane with a soft smile.

"Here you go, love."

Viktor blinked at you, his golden eyes wide with shock, before an amused chuckle escaped him. "Well, that was... unexpected."

Jayce, who had been caught between stepping in and just standing there in dumbstruck admiration, let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

You giggled, slipping your arms through theirs once more. "You never will, as long as you treat Viktor with the love and respect he deserves."

Viktor shook his head, laughing softly as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you."

Jayce grinned, draping his arm around both of you as you resumed your walk. "Yeah, I second that."

As the three of you strolled onward, Viktor gave your hand a small squeeze. "You are full of surprises, moje láska." (My Love)

You hummed in response, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Only when necessary."

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. "I should’ve expected that. You act all sweet, but the moment someone crosses the line, you’re a force of nature."

You smirked. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Viktor exhaled a laugh, shifting his cane slightly. "It is both endearing and terrifying. I will never look at my cane the same way again."

"Well," you mused, tilting your head, "it’s a very sturdy cane."

Jayce shook his head fondly before pulling you both in closer. "I'll say it again, remind me to never, ever make you mad."

You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before whispering in his ear. "Oh, you could never make me mad, Jayce. But protect Viktor with your life, always."

Jayce turned to you, his expression softening as he nodded. "Always."

And just like that, the day felt perfect once more.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint clink of glasses. Vander leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily along the back of yours. The amber glow of the lanterns cast warm shadows over his face, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you.

“Enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

You hummed in response, fingers curled around your own glass. “Of course,” you said, giving him that soft, gentle smile that always managed to unravel him. “A quiet night, a good drink, and my favourite person. What more could I ask for?”

Vander chuckled, shifting slightly so his knee brushed against yours. “Can’t argue with that.”

Then the door slammed open.

Both of you turned at the sound, brows furrowing as Vi stormed in, Mylo and Claggor trailing behind her. Powder was hovering near the entrance, her big eyes darting anxiously between her sister and Vander.

Vander pushed his chair back immediately, his gaze hardening. “What happened?”

You were already reaching for Vi before she could speak, your hands cupping her face as you examined the fresh bruise forming along her cheekbone. Her lip was split, and there was a faint tremble in her jaw—anger, frustration, and maybe a little bit of pain.

“Vi…” you murmured, your voice as soft as ever, but there was an edge underneath. A quiet storm.

Vi huffed, rolling her shoulders. “Some bastard started somethin’ with me outside. Called me a ‘Zaun rat’ or whatever. I ignored him, but he—” she clenched her fists, jaw tightening. “He got a little more hands-on. Didn’t like that I pushed back.”

Vander’s expression darkened, but before he could say anything, you turned to Mylo and Claggor.

“Who?”

They hesitated.

Vi shrugged. “It’s not a big—”

“Who?”

Something about your voice sent a shiver down Vi’s spine. Mylo coughed, shifting uncomfortably before muttering a name. A name you recognized. Some lowlife thug who thought he could throw his weight around Zaun unchecked.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright.” Then, without another word, you stood up and walked toward the door.

“Sweetheart.” Vander’s voice was even, but there was a warning in it. “Don’t.”

You paused, looking back at him with that same gentle expression you always had, but there was something beneath it. Something dangerous.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised. And then you were gone.

=

You found him easily enough. Sitting outside a run-down shop, laughing with a few of his friends, completely unaware of the storm heading his way.

He noticed you too late.

The first hit cracked against his jaw, sending him sprawling off his chair. His friends barely had time to react before you were on him, hands lethal despite their softness, your movements precise.

He tried to scramble back, hands coming up in some weak attempt at defence. “W-What the hell?!”

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop.

Your fist connected with his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. When he tried to crawl away, you grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up just to slam him back down. His nose cracked under your knuckles. Blood splattered across the ground.

One of his friends flinched, stepping forward like they might try to help—until they got a good look at your eyes.

Cold. Unyielding. Lethal. No one dared to stop you. Then the door to The Last Drop swung open. Heavy boots. A sharp inhale.

“Y/N?” Vander’s voice. Low. Dangerous. You didn’t pause. Didn’t even look up.

Your knuckles slammed into the man’s already swollen jaw, sending him crashing back to the ground with a thud. His groan barely registered over the sound of footsteps approaching fast.

Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder all froze at the sight.

They had never seen you like this.

Vander had.

And yet, it still made his chest tighten.

“Shit,” Mylo whispered under his breath.

Vi’s bruised face twisted into something unreadable as she watched you crouch down beside the man, your fingers gentle as you tilted his bloodied face toward you.

“She’s just a kid,” you murmured, voice as sweet as honey. “You ever put your hands on her or anyone ever again, and I promise…” Your grip tightened, nails biting into his already bruised skin. “I won’t stop at this.”

The man whimpered, barely able to nod.

Then, just like that, you let go, standing up and brushing the blood from your hands like it was dust. Like it was nothing.

That’s when you finally looked up.

Vi stood frozen, fists still clenched at her sides, her bruised face set in something between shock and awe. Mylo’s mouth hung open slightly, as if he wanted to crack a joke but couldn’t quite find the words. Claggor raised his eyebrows, shifting slightly like he was trying to wrap his head around what he’d just seen. Powder just blinked at you, trying to piece together how the same woman who always kissed their foreheads goodnight had just beaten the hell out of someone without hesitation.

And Vander—

Vander’s jaw was tight, his eyes dark, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Not out of anger. Not at you.

But at what this city had done to you.

To the sweetest person he had ever known.

A long silence stretched between you all. Then you smiled—soft, warm, the same way you always did when you kissed Vander’s bruises and brought the kids home-cooked meals.

“I took care of it,” you said simply.

Vander exhaled, slow and deep. “Yeah,” he muttered, stepping toward you. His rough hands reached for yours, thumb brushing over your bruised knuckles. So small in his hands. So deceptively dangerous. “You alright?”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Of course.”

Vander sighed, shaking his head with something between love and resignation. He pulled you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice gruff but fond. “Let’s go home.”

Vi smirked, nudging Mylo as they turned back toward the bar. “Remind me to never piss her off.”

And with Vander’s arm wrapped around you, leading you away from the carnage, he realized something.

You were still his peace.

You were just lethal about it.

SILCO

The shimmer of Zaun's neon lights cast a haunting glow through the old warehouse windows, dancing off dust motes in the air. Silco sat at his desk, swirling a glass of whiskey, deep in thought. The weight of the undercity rested heavily on his shoulders, yet tonight, something softer occupied his mind.

You.

His delicate flower, his innocent girl who somehow found beauty in the darkest corners of the world. You never seemed to flinch at the blood on his hands, never recoiled from the violence that followed him like a shadow. No, you only looked at him with warmth, as if he were just a man, not a villain.

“Silco,” your voice lilted through the room like a melody, drawing him from his thoughts.

He glanced up, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile as you approached. You carried a tray with a fresh pot of tea—because you always insisted he drink something other than whiskey before bed.

“You’ll ruin your stomach,” you’d scold sweetly.

He chuckled, setting his glass aside. “And you’ll be the one to save it, hm?”

“Always,” you promised, setting the tray down and settling beside him. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles, warm and soft, so gentle it was hard to believe you belonged in Zaun at all.

His sweet girl.

If only the rest of the world knew.

=

Silco rarely slept deeply. Years of war and bloodshed had ensured that. But tonight, with you curled against his chest, your warmth melting into him, he allowed himself the smallest indulgence of rest.

Your breath was soft, even, the rise and fall of your chest lulling him into something dangerously close to peace. Your fingers, absentminded and delicate, traced over the rough, jagged scars that marred his skin.

He hummed, low and pleased, his hand slipping through your hair, anchoring himself to the moment. It was rare—these quiet nights where the weight of the undercity didn’t press so heavily on his shoulders. Where you were all he could feel, all he could breathe.

Then—

A creak.

It was subtle, nearly imperceptible. But to a man like Silco, trained by years of paranoia and survival, it was as loud as a gunshot. His body tensed. His hand instinctively reached for the dagger beneath his pillow.

A breath too heavy. A misstep too loud.

Intruder.

His mind sharpened, adrenaline cutting through his drowsiness like a blade. He prepared to sit up, to reach for his gun, to—

But you were faster.

One second, you were nestled against him, warm and soft. The next, you were gone—a blur of motion in the dimly lit room.

A sharp gasp. A wet gurgle.

Silco sat up fully now, his dagger gripped tightly in his hand. But he didn’t use it. He didn’t need to.

Because the fight was already over.

The assassin, a shadowed figure clad in dark leathers, barely had time to react before you were on him. The moonlight from the window illuminated the scene in eerie clarity—your form straddling the man as he collapsed to the floor beneath you, your knife buried deep in his throat.

His body jerked, fingers twitching, a desperate attempt to claw at the wound, to fight for breath he would never take again. Blood bubbled from his lips, spilling over his chin in thick rivulets.

And your expression?

Cold. Unwavering. Lethal.

Silco didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He simply watched.

Watched as you twisted the blade with precision, ensuring the kill was swift, absolute. Watched as the life drained from the assassin’s eyes, as the body beneath you stilled, as the pool of crimson widened across the floor.

It had taken mere seconds.

His sweet, gentle girl had just slaughtered a man without hesitation. Without mercy.

And Silco found himself utterly fascinated.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled, your posture relaxing now that the threat had been neutralized. Your bloodstained fingers flexed once before you pulled the blade free, wiping it carelessly on the dead man's shirt.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you turned back to him.

Silco took you in—disheveled hair, bare feet against the floor, soft nightclothes now streaked with red. Your eyes, still holding that sharp, lethal edge, flickered briefly to his face, assessing him, ensuring he was unharmed.

And just like that—your expression softened.

The cold calculation bled away, replaced by something warm, something achingly familiar.

You padded silently back to bed, climbing onto the mattress, into his lap, slipping into his space with ease. Blood stained your hands, but your touch was gentle as your fingers brushed against his jaw.

He blinked.

“Darling…”

“He was going to kill you,” you murmured, voice soft, unbothered, as if this were nothing more than an inconvenience. As if you hadn’t just ended a life. Your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, featherlight. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Silco chuckled, low and dark, amusement curling through his chest. He let his dagger fall from his grasp, instead bringing his hands to your waist, feeling the warmth of you against him.

“No,” he mused, fingers sliding up your spine. “I don’t suppose you were.”

Your head dipped, resting against his shoulder, heartbeat calm. Steady. Peaceful.

As if you hadn’t just gutted a man in cold blood.

Silco exhaled through his nose, lips quirking as he traced slow, lazy patterns along your back.

Lethal, yet loving.

His sweet girl.

His ruthless girl.

And Gods, did he love you for it.

VI

he streets of Zaun were never safe, but Vi had always managed. It was different now, though—she had something worth protecting, someone worth fighting for beyond herself. Y/N. Sweet, innocent Y/N, who somehow managed to bring light into the darkest corners of her world. The one person who could make her laugh even on the worst days, who held her hand without hesitation, who looked at her like she wasn’t just a fighter, but someone worth loving.

Vi had never thought she deserved someone like Y/N, but the universe had given her this small miracle anyway. And Vi was never going to let anything happen to her. That’s why she always kept an eye out, always made sure no one even looked at Y/N the wrong way. She was the protector, the fighter. That was her job.

Or at least, that’s what she thought.

Until tonight.

=

The evening had been calm—Vi and Y/N had been sitting together in a quiet little bar, enjoying each other’s presence. Y/N had been telling some ridiculous story, giggling as she traced small patterns on Vi’s hand, when a group of thugs decided to ruin everything.

Vi had recognized them immediately. Piltie enforcers who thought they could do whatever they wanted just because they had the law behind them. She felt her muscles tense, her hands clench into fists. But before she could react, one of them grabbed her shoulder and yanked her up from her seat.

“You think you can just walk around like you own the place, gutter trash?” one of them sneered, shoving her back against the table. “You should know your place.”

Vi bared her teeth, ready to swing, when suddenly—

A hand shot out. Small. Delicate. But when Y/N’s fingers wrapped around the enforcer’s wrist, her grip was iron.

The room shifted. It was subtle, but Vi felt it. The air grew heavier, the warmth in Y/N’s eyes flickering out like a candle in the wind. The sweet, gentle girl Vi loved was gone, replaced by something cold. Something dangerous.

Y/N’s voice was quiet, steady. “Take your hand off of her.”

The enforcer scoffed. “Or what, sweetheart? You gonna—”

A sickening crunch filled the air as Y/N twisted his wrist so fast that Vi barely saw the movement. The enforcer howled in pain, stumbling back as his friends rushed forward.

And that’s when it happened.

Y/N moved like a ghost, like a shadow that had suddenly learned how to kill. Her fingers curled into precise, practiced blows, her body shifting with deadly grace. One by one, the enforcers fell—wrists snapped, knees buckled, throats struck with just the right amount of force to send them gasping for air but not quite killing them.

Vi could only watch, stunned, as Y/N took down men twice her size without breaking a sweat. She had never seen anything like it. This wasn’t wild, uncontrolled violence—this was calculated, merciless efficiency.

And it was all for her.

By the time Y/N was done, the last enforcer was whimpering on the floor, cradling his broken arm. She crouched beside him, her voice a low whisper, but full of something that sent shivers down Vi’s spine.

“If you ever touch her again,” Y/N said softly, “I won’t let you crawl away next time.”

The enforcer nodded frantically, and with that, Y/N stood, dusting herself off as if she hadn’t just dismantled an entire group of trained officers in mere moments.

She turned back to Vi, and just like that, the switch flipped again. The warmth returned, the sweetness settling back into her features like the violence had never existed. Y/N reached out, brushing a hand over Vi’s cheek with the softest touch.

“You okay, baby?” she asked, as gentle as ever.

Vi blinked. Her heart was still pounding, but not from shock. No, this was something entirely different. Something dark and hungry curling in the pit of her stomach, making her breath hitch.

She grabbed Y/N’s face and kissed her hard, pouring every ounce of heat and adrenaline into it. The taste of danger, of raw power, was intoxicating, and Vi wanted more.

When she pulled away, her smirk was laced with something primal. “Holy shit,” she breathed. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tilting her head. “Only when someone messes with you.”

Vi let out a low whistle, running a hand through her hair, trying to cool herself down. “Damn, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Y/N giggled, linking her arm with Vi’s. “Don’t worry, Vi. I could never hurt you.”

And Vi knew, without a doubt, that was the truth. For everyone else, though? Well…

They should pray they never made the same mistake those enforcers just had.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

How about “nope no nada, no using sex to get me to do things you want, it’s not going to work anymore” + using sex to get our favorite insomniac Mr. Stank to take a break from work and come to bed?

Old tricks

A/N: I was waiting for this prompt, can’t believe it was in my inbox the whole time and I missed it. Leave a comment, heart or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: 18+ sex themes, fluff

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“How long has it been since he last took a nap, FRI?” You sighed, closing the book you were currently reading before stifling a yawn.

Thirty eight hours and counting, Mrs. Stark.

He was at it again. After promising that he would join you in bed early today, Tony Stark was still in the basement, nose deep in inventing yet another device that would potentially save the universe.

Rolling your eyes you threw the sheets off of your legs, rummaging through your closet to find the oldest trick in the book of ‘Getting your husband to obey’.

A set of lingerie was usually your go to but tonight, you decided on going down to his lab wearing nothing but a silky robe that you planned on discarding the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Overriding his protocol with FRIDAY’S help, you entered his lab and were met with an immediate blast of cold air; it fortunately worked in your favour, pebbling your nipples and making them evident against the flimsy piece of fabric.

Your husband stood hunched over his table that displayed varied diagrams and models with a blue glowing light that made his features appear exhausted. He probably was. Not that he would ever admit.

“Hello husband.”

You murmured, hugging the man from behind and wrapping your arms around his middle, feeling his tight muscles against your soft flesh, the contrast making you frown.

Tony sighed, melting against your touch immediately, as his hands stopped working to cover yours in a reassuring way.

“Are you planning on warming your side of the bed any time soon? Perhaps your wife would like some company too..”

Turning in your arms, he leaned in to kiss your lips in a wordless apology before stopping, his strained eyes grazing down your form, taking you in.

“What are you doing, Y/N?”

“What?” You feigned innocence, grabbing his hands and bringing them to the front of your robe, beginning to unfasten the ties.

Letting out a defeated grunt, Tony’s head planted itself against your shoulder, stopping your movements at once.

“Nope. No. Nada. No using sex to get me to do things you want, it’s not going to work anymore.” You grinned because his voice lacked conviction, and the fact that he hadn’t pushed you away meant you had already won.

“Isn’t it?”

You smirked, undoing the belt completely now to reveal what the robe barely covered. Opening an eye, Tony drank your glorious self in, not finding enough reason to resist. With your nipples turned into buds and the glistening between your thighs, he was powerless.

Tony Stark simply wasn’t built to resist your persuasion.

Taking the robe off completely, you stepped back and turned to head out of his lab, throwing the robe over the shoulder with a knowledge that it had probably landed on his head.

“You’re just gonna wander around the house naked now?” He called after you, cock stirring in his pants at the sight of your curves sashaying their way out, just for him as you shrugged in response.

“Maybe I’ll try another good old trick. Perhaps that toy you designed for our anniversary?”

There was a curse word uttered under his breath before Tony Stark shut off his lab for the night and made a beeline in your direction, refusing to let his wife pleasure herself with anything that wasn’t his cock or tongue.

Find Part 2 here!

[woodland-gremlin]

Fruitloops

“We’re home!” Conner bellows, posing like he just won the Super Bowl, with Tim behind him looking exasperated.

“Welcome home,” Danny says from the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up the Fudge.”

Hearing the word Fudge Conner cheers before running to the kitchen door. “I call licking the spoon!”

Tim freezes before rushing to catch up with Conner. Danny’s Phantom Fudge was legendary and there was no way he was going to give up the right to lick the spoon without a fight. Conner may have super powers and a head start but he didn’t free Bruce from being stuck in the time stream with his boyfriends by just his good looks, though they certainly helped.

He looks around to see what can give him an advantage in his quest for legendary Fudge when he sees something that causes his heart to drop. League of Assassins garb peeking out through the hallways closet.

His mind began to work in overtime trying to figure out what this could mean. While it seems like one of the League’s assassins is for some reason hiding in his closet, that also makes very little sense. If one were here they would never make such a mistake. It could be one of Danny or Conner’s souvenirs that they liberated from the League when the three of them blew up a bunch of their bases. But that doesn’t explain why they would be in one of their apartment closets, they keep that stuff in the Nest with the rest of the stuff connected to their alter-egos. Though Danny does like to bring some of his inventions here to fiddle with sometimes, he usually phases them into things to hide them when he isn’t working on them.

As Tim prepares for a fight while trying to figure out the assassin grab Danny phases his head through the kitchen wall. “Tim want some Fudge?” he asks before looking at what caught Tim’s interest. “Why are you looking at where I tied up the Cultist Fruitloop?”

Tim’s eyes widen before turning to where Danny’s head was poking through the wall. “Ras?!” Tim squeaks. This catches attention from where he was gorging himself with Fudge. “Ra’s here?!” he asks while rushing towards them, getting ready to fight.

Danny phases through the rest of the wall before shrugging like he didn’t just say there was an immortal leader of a cult of assassins tied up in their closet.

“Well, he kind of just showed up and started ranting about how he would make you,” Danny says while gesturing towards Tim, “his, so I knocked him out with the anti-creep stick and tied him up before shoving him in the closet.”

Tim wanted to bang his head against the wall and from the look of it Conner wasn’t that far behind him in that thought. This was Ras for Ancients sake and here Danny was acting like he was some common thug.

“You don’t seem very concerned,” Conner said, stating the obvious.

Danny shrugs again, “Well yeah, I phased his weapons into me and tied him up. Plus the Original Fruitloop does stuff like this all the time. Doesn’t yours do it too?”

And that, that made sense. It wasn’t that Danny wasn’t taking it seriously, it was that he was used to it. They all were. Each of them had some older Creep that was obsessed with them. He had Ras to deal with, Conner had Luthor, and Danny had been dealing with Masters for years. Honestly, if Masters or Luthor showed up and acted like Ras did he would have tied them up and stuffed them in the closet too.

“Just tell us sooner next time,” Tim sighs.

Danny chuckles nervously while rubbing the back of his head., “Yeah, will do. I just kind of forgot since he showed up in the middle of me making the Fudge.”

Conner gasps, leaning against the wall like he had just heard the most sacrilegious of news. “He interrupted the sacred ritual that is the making of Fudge?!?!” Conner then continues with his hand on his heart, “The audacity.”

Danny snorts while Tim facepalms. It’s moments like this that made him wonder why he loves these two idiots.

“Why is he tied up like a pig?” Conner asks after opening the closet, looking at Ras.

“Because he is one,” Danny absentmindedly replied.

And then it was moments like this that he remembers why.

[luveline]

Hii! I'm in love with your Hotch adult daughter fics. Could we get one where she is getting bullied in college or where she works and then Hotch finds out somehow and helps her? Please please :)

thanks so much for requesting! fem, 1.2k

He decides to surprise you. He’s at risk of embarrassing himself greatly, and he’s okay with that risk. 

Hotch stands outside of the George Washington University and winces in the hot weather. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. He’s more aware of how little sun protection he uses as the time stretches on, waiting for you, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s worn full suits in the Nevada desert. 

You emerge from the main building where your last class for the day takes place. He dropped you off here last week, got to watch you walk in and say hi to the custodian. It was a nice insight of who you are, someone he’s proud to be the father of though he had little hand in what you’ve become. 

Behind you are two female classmates. 

Hotch pauses under the tree he’d taken refuge by. 

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see the rigidity of your shoulders, your hackles rising as they talk. The brunette gets a nasty look on her face, to which you respond, and the blonde’s volume begins to rise. 

The brunette looks like she might reach for you. “Don’t touch me,” you warn. 

Hotch steps in. 

“Hey, excuse me,” he says, loudly and firmly, the Unit Chief tone in play. He’s gotten very good at raising his voice without shouting. “What’s going on here?”

The two women who were talking to you falter, but the brunette stays fiery. “We’re just talking.” 

“About what?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“If you’re going to lay your hands on her, it becomes my business,” he says. 

There’s a guilt to the blonde’s expression that proves you’d been thinking correctly and that she was going to touch you, even if it were only to grab your wrist, but she bristles and denies. “We weren’t.” 

“Then you have no reason to stay.” 

You frown deeply. “No, they can finish. Clearly they think it’s important–”

“But do you think it’s important?” Hotch asks you. 

Your frown, your anger beginning to ebb. You take a breath. “I suppose not.” 

Hotch levels the women with a look. Just a look, not interrogative or heated, but prompting —it’s the kind of look he gives people when he wants them to realise they’ve missed their cue to leave. 

“See you next week, then,” the brunette says, a threat he abhors. 

“I’m sure she will,” he says, hoping anything unsaid is felt. He has no idea who they are or what you’ve apparently done to make them angry, but you won’t be intimidated. 

“Do I need to talk with Dean Langley?” he asks, turning to you as the women walk out of hearing range. 

“Aaron.” You look at him, look like him, not in appearance but the pinch to your brow as you rub the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

“What?” 

“They do it to me every time I’m here.” 

“They do?” 

You sound like it’s a chore. “They think I’m sleeping with our professor.” 

“Why would they think that?” 

“Because ever since I stopped working, my grades are much better, n’ they think I cheated my way there.” 

Oh, of course. Hotch tries to do something good by you —he’s started giving you a little chunk of money every week so you don’t have to work anymore, nothing obsequious but enough to cover everything you need, rent and food and transportation, clothes, textbooks, and he made it clear you can ask for more— and it makes things worse for you instead. Still, “Your grades are improving?” 

“I’m doing pretty well,” you confess shyly. 

He holds your shoulder. “I’m sorry they’re jealous, and I’m sorry they’re inventing a narrative to cope. I really can speak with Dean Langley if you need me to.” 

You smile and let yourself lean into his touch. “Inventing a narrative to cope,” you repeat. “That’s a good one. I’ll use that one.” 

You have more fight in you, it seems. “If it gets too much, just let me know. You don’t have to entertain their delusion.” 

“I’ll use that one, too.” 

He laughs, hand sliding behind your back to hug you from the side, his nose briefly pressing to your temple before he gives you space again. “I was hoping I’d catch you on your way out, are you busy? Let me take you to dinner, celebrate your performance.” 

“You realise I wouldn’t have improved without your help?” you ask. 

“I think any parent in my position should provide for their kid,” he says easily. “It’s not help. Not everyone can support their children through college, but I can, and I wish I had been from the start.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. 

He nudges you into a walk toward his car. “I owe you more than you realise.” 

He takes you to an early dinner, and celebrates your improving grades with the dessert of your choosing. Conversation with you can sometimes feel strange. It’s hard to think you were a kid once and he’d never met you, but then he realises how young twenty two really is, how you’re still willing, longing for him to be a father to you. You’re smug that he’d go to the dean to for you. You like that he stepped in. And you love being doted on, being encouraged. He can see that easily. 

“When can I come back to see Jack?” you ask eventually. 

He wishes he could say whenever you like, but he has a hard time following Haley’s movements. “I’ll ask. Soon, I promise.”

“He took great care of me.” 

The last time you’d stayed over, Jack acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread (which you are, in Hotch’s eyes). 

“You know, he had a little trouble with bullies last year.” 

“They aren’t bullies,” you say, taking a bashful bite of your ice cream. 

“No, of course not. But he’ll understand, if you want to tell him about it.”

“Aaron, he’s five.” 

“He’s six,” he corrects. 

“Oh, sorry. But still, I don’t think Jack wants to deal with that. I couldn’t unload on him, he’s my… you know, he’s my little brother.” 

“Then tell me about it, at least.” 

“You saw the most of it.” 

He sighs. Wishes you’d call him dad, understands why you don’t, and can’t think of what to do. It was easier when Jack had trouble, because little kids bully each other almost on accident. They don’t know what they’re doing is wrong, having learned the behaviour from their parents. It’s almost never personal. 

Your situation is not the same. 

“I’ll talk to the dean,” he suggests again. 

“Don’t bother. It’s alright. And if it gets worse, I’ll tell you.” 

He smiles, reaching over plates to squeeze your hand briefly. “Thank you.” 

You look down at your food. Some shyness to you still at being cared about. “Thank you,” you mumble. 

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[lindawrites]

Claggor Imagine ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Description: fluff, friends to lovers, au!Claggor

A/n: hi!! First time writing a fic so pls don’t expect too much ty <3 decided to give it a try because Claggor just needs more love (divider by cafekitsune)

“I swear Mylo, if this is one of your tricks again,” I muttered as I tend to the customers at the last drop. "No, I swear this time! Claggor told me that he really needs your help with his new invention,” he crossed his heart and smiled. Powder chuckled and nudged your shoulder “I’ll take over your shift, now go and don’t let your boyfriend wait for too long." "He’s not my boyfriend?” I muttered as red started to appear on my cheeks. "Not yet,” she winked. I groaned as I gathered my things and left the bar. “You were messing with her, weren't you?" She looked towards Mylo who just shrugged, “All they need is a push, they’ll thank me later.”

I quickly fixed my appearance before knocking on the door of his workshop. “Come in” a voice behind the door grumbled as I slowly entered. “It’s me” I smiled entering the place and seeing him hunched over his desk. “Oh y/n, I didn’t expect you to visit. Is there something you need?” He looked towards me and shyly smiled. “Mylo told me that you needed my help for something?” He rolled his eyes and looked away. “Not again” I approached him and touched his shoulder, “anything wrong?” He straightened his back, blush evident on his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it. Since you’re here anyways, I’d like feedback on something that I’ve been working on” He guided me towards a room with his hand on my back, “Sure, is it one of those hybrids you’ve been working on?" "I guess but not the one for Zaun, it’s another thing I’ve been working on” I entered a room and noticed a flower in a secured jar. “is it that one?” I pointed towards it, and he nodded. “Claggor….It’s beautiful” I stared at the hybrid flower, mesmerized as it was shining in my favorite color. “You think so? I’ve been trying to perfect it for a while” he leaned towards the doorframe, lovingly staring at you while you were busy staring at his work. “It looks good to me, any reason why you made this?” He started coughing and I approached him out of concern “Its uh…I made it for you actually,” he muttered as he tried to look at anything but me. My eyes widened as I tried to take in what he said. “Wait, you created a flower for me? Why?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He finally looked at me and hesitantly held my hands, “Can’t you tell y/n? All the longing stares I gave you, the teasing I get from my siblings about you. When you complained about how you had trouble focusing, I spent weeks building a music box for you to listen to. How I try to get to know you more by constantly annoying you with questions—“ he was rambling while I just stared at him in awe “—I’m sorry if you see it as me being weird but” He stopped when I removed my hands from his and slowly put them on his face “no no, claggor I…I’d be dumb enough to not like you back” I mumbled as he held my waist and looked deeply into my eyes, “I’d be a fool not to like you, climbing to your bedroom window when we were young to get away from my siblings and to feel comfort from you. Always trying to defend me from those who made fun of me. I’d be a fool to not like someone who’d always seen me as something more than what I thought I was, someone who’s as perfect as you” Eventually, his face was close to mine, noses touching, waiting for the other to make the next move. “What happens next?” I whispered, heart beating rapidly at the close proximity. “Whatever you want, we could even get married for all I care” I giggled as he leaned in closer, lips almost touching. “Let’s first go through the dating stage, loverboy” I jokingly rolled my eyes as he smiled “Finally,” he muttered as he finally kissed me. My hands moved towards his neck while his tightened around my waist. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt for this to happen.”

Bonus:

I walked back to the bar, with Claggor by my side, displaying a proud grin on his face. “There you are! And it looks like you’re not alone” Powder smirked as she noticed her brother stuck by her friend’s side. Claggor rolled his eyes as Mylo approached us and patted our backs. “You see Powder, I told you I'd get them together no matter what, no need to thank me” “You know what? Since you helped us, how about I help you by bringing Gert here? Hey gert!” “HEY WAIT CLAGGOR STOP!”

[oaksgrove]

Pilates Punishment

pairing: Platonic!TF141 x Reader

synopsis: It all started with an offhand comment about your Pilates routine—Soap and Gaz were convinced it was nothing more than "old lady stretches." So, naturally, they insisted on joining your morning workout.

warnings: Extreme secondhand embarrassment, excessive whining, Soap and Gaz making bad decisions, Ghost suffering in silence, and Price enjoying the spectacle.

word count: 746

It started with Soap’s big mouth.

“What’s this I hear about your morning workout?” he asked one morning over breakfast, grinning around a spoonful of cereal. “Some kinda yoga, eh? Nice and relaxing?”

You smirked over your coffee. “Pilates, actually. And it’s not as easy as you think.”

Soap raised an eyebrow and turned to Gaz. “C’mon, mate. Pilates? Sounds like old lady stuff. How hard can it be?”

Gaz, ever the enabler, chuckled. “Yeah, we’re not talking about running a marathon here.”

Price, calmly stirring his tea, chimed in. “I suppose you think your weightlifting makes you invincible.”

Ghost, who had been silently eating in the corner, let out a quiet snort. “Wouldn’t hurt them to stretch. Their hamstrings are tighter than their shooting groups.”

Soap bristled, puffing out his chest. “Alright then, let’s see what all the fuss is about. We’ll join you tomorrow morning, yeah?”

Gaz grinned. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Price sighed, shaking his head. “You two are gonna regret that.”

The next morning, you were up early, as usual, setting up your mat in the small gym space when the Dead Men Walking stumbled in.

Soap stretched lazily. “This is gonna be a breeze.”

Gaz rolled his shoulders. “Just tell us what to do, boss.”

Price leaned against the wall, arms crossed, sipping his coffee like he had front-row seats to the show. Ghost, in full tactical gear for no reason, stood at the back—watching. Waiting.

You smiled sweetly. Predatory.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s get started.”

The warm-up was deceptively easy—simple stretches, light mobility work. Soap and Gaz smirked at each other like they’d already won.

Then, you transitioned into the real routine.

“Plank position. Hold for a minute.”

Soap barely lasted twenty seconds before groaning. “This isn’t bad… but…why does my core feel like it’s on fire?!”

“It’s called working muscles you don’t usually use,” you replied, biting back a smirk.

By the time you moved into side planks with leg lifts, Gaz’s face was red, and Soap was visibly shaking.

“Who—who invented this?!” Gaz wheezed.

“A sadist, obviously,” Soap panted.

“You’re doing great,” you said, voice dripping with faux encouragement.

Ghost, to his credit, was holding up better than the others, though his breathing was heavier than usual. Price, the smartest of the bunch, had joined for stretches but wisely opted to observe the harder moves.

Then came fire hydrants.

“Thirty reps each side,” you instructed.

Soap got through four before collapsing.

“I can’t feel my legs!”

Gaz flopped onto his back. “Why does everything burn?”

“You two skipping leg day?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Even Ghost had slowed down, his movements stiff and deliberate. Price, still against the wall, chuckled.

“Told you lot to stretch more.”

Then came glute bridges and it was the final straw.

“Feet flat, lift your hips, and squeeze,” you instructed, holding the pose effortlessly.

Soap attempted one rep before throwing his arms over his face. “This isn’t exercise—it’s torture!”

Gaz made it halfway through before rolling off his mat in defeat.

Ghost was silent, but from the way his knuckles flexed against the mat, he was suffering.

Price, watching the carnage, sighed. “Pathetic.”

You grinned as you held the pose effortlessly. “You’ve been humbled.”

Soap groaned from the floor. “Never again.”

Gaz, still on his back, wheezed. “This was an attack on my pride.”

Ghost, still catching his breath, simply muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

By the end of the session, the gym looked like a battlefield, they were panting and groaning like they’d just survived a warzone..

Soap was sprawled out like he’d been shot. “I’ll never mock Pilates again,”

Gaz lay on his side, staring at the ceiling in existential dread.  “How do you do this every day?”

“You’re tougher than you look.” Ghost sat up slowly, rubbing his aching legs, looking vaguely like he wanted revenge. 

Price clapped you on the shoulder. “Good show, soldier. You broke them.”

You grinned, grabbing your water bottle. “Maybe next time you’ll stick to what you’re good at.”

Soap groaned. “There’s not gonna be a next time.”

“Not unless you want to end up like this again,” Gaz added, pointing to his limp leg.

Ghost, rubbing his shoulder, muttered, “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” you said grinning like a madwoman

As you walked out of the gym, their dramatic moans and vows to never skip leg day again followed you.

A small victory.

One you’d savor for weeks.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[dorabellingham]

Caught in the act

warning: sexual intentions

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when you are spending time at his parents' house and he has very compromising ideas

may contain spelling and translation errors!

Jude was lying on the sofa in the living room, absently fiddling with his cell phone, while you finished organising the things you had brought to his parents' house. You wore a loose tank top and shorts that showed your legs, and honestly, he was already losing concentration since you had passed through the room for the third time.

Jude's parents were in the kitchen, talking about the weather, when his mother appeared at the living room door.

-Let's take Taco for a little walk. Who's going?

Jude raised his eyes quickly.

-No, mum, thank you. We are tired of the trip.

He smiled, trying to look casual, but you, who didn't fully understand what they were talking about, noticed the slight tone of haste.

Denise shrugged.

-Okay. We won't be late.

As soon as the door closed and the sound of Taco's paws disappeared, the older Bellingham got up from the couch, walking to you with that smile he already knew well. He seemed relaxed, but he had something in his eyes that delivered his intention.

-What was it?

You asked, crossing your arms and staring at him suspiciously.

-Nothing, babe. I was just here thinking... -He put his arms around your waist and pulled you close, tilting his face until he almost touched his nose to your neck. -We're alone...

You raised an eyebrow, holding back your laughter.

-And what do you think that's the reason for, exactly?

He shrugged, kissing the corner of your mouth gently.

-To enjoy.

Before you could protest, Jude lifted you by the waist and put you sitting on the kitchen counter. He held you by the legs, fitting his body between your knees, and you let out a nervous giggle.

-Babe, your parents can come back at any time...

-Sweetie, they went for a walk with Taco. That always takes time.

He murmured, gluing his lips to yours before you could invent more excuses.

You tried to keep control, but the way Jude kissed you made your mind erase. His hands slid down your waist with familiarity, and his warm touch seemed to ignite your skin.

–You are so beautiful... so perfect... my love.

He said, his voice hoarse and low, while distributing kisses around his neck.

You, feeling his hands go up his thighs, took a deep breath.

-Jude... your parents...

-Shhh, Y/n... -He replied, with a smug smile. -Trust me. We have time.

However, as a direct signal from the universe, you heard the sound of the front door opening. You immediately pushed your boyfriend, coming down from the counter awkwardly, your heart racing.

-Jude, my God, are you in the kitchen?

Mark called, while the sound of Taco's paws echoed through the room.

-Yes, dad, here we are.

Jude replied, trying to look casual while fixing her messy hair. You were slightly red, fixing the tank top and muttering things softly.

His father appeared at the door with a dog's collar in his hands and looked at the two.

–Are you okay? You seem... how to say it?... nervous.

-We're great!

You answered automatically. Jude let out a low laugh, realising his hasty tone.

His mother came in right behind, and Taco went straight to you, putting his paws on your leg as if he wanted to climb on your lap. You took a step back, still nervous, but smiled to disguise.

While your in law's began to put things away and talk about the walk, Jude leaned to you and whispered in your ear, with a provocative smile:

-I think they suspect.

You, still embarrassed, gave him a light elbow.

-You're impossible, Jude.

He just laughed, putting his arm around you.

-I love you, sweetie.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hold back your smile. After all, no matter how chaotic it was, you knew you were completely surrendered to him.

I brought a short one shot because I'm having a terrible day, today the results of the college entrance exam came out and I didn't get in :(

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hiii! May i request a fem!reader x alucard where alucard happend to isekai into the modern universe and reader helps him, but he also ends up falling in love with her?

“Do you miss your old world?”

“I’m not really sure how to answer that question.” Alucard replied as he looked out across the night sky with [Y/N]. Pondering the implications of the ask.

When he first arrive in her world, through a magical portal or some divine intervention, he had been overwhelmed by it. His father had machines of electrical energy but nothing like this. Everything was bright. Everything was loud. People were in mass but it also seemed that vampires were too; finally doing what the vampire Messiah had long hoped to achieve in ‘conquering the night’. Who needed an endless dark when the glow of neon would draw the humans out like moths to a flame, and technology let you have anything you wanted at your fingertips from a little lighted box. Who needed an army of thrall when there was Doordash now?

“ ‘Miss’ I don’t think is the word. Even before we met, I had seen the world shift so much over time. A year a blink. A century to wipe what was missed completely away.” The jump to here was a bit of a shock for Alucard, but he adjusted quickly. With [Y/N]’s help.

She had taken him in when that was objectively foolish and helped him come about in this new world. Taught him things. Showed him how to act to be less conspicuous. Although some of his ‘old world’ habits refused to die down, but at least people perceived that as eccentric rather than insane.

“I don’t know. I think I would like it. The dresses. The old architecture.”

“I assure you, shitting in a bucket once will dissuade your rose tint on the ‘old world’.” Alucard reasoned as he closed his book and came up beside [Y/N].

“What about the magic?” She asked.

“There is magic here.” He reasoned. People of this time just refused to see it. The magic of invention. Modern medicine. Clean water that came from just a flick of a tap. Iron giants that flew through the air. And yes, even indoor plumbing. “The old magic may be gone, but the world has adapted in its absence. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy being here. And, the old world does not have you.” Alucard leaned in to give [Y/N] a kiss. His favorite part of this new world. “Shall we order in and watch that new show on that Netflix you were talking about?”

“Yes please!”

[rsanchezslut]

I just have this crazy image of like. Being DISASTROUSLY tired for whatever reason, maybe work was shit or Rick put you up to something that ended up going badly, and you’re just dragging your tired, achey feet back to your house so you collapse into bed…

And when you finally make it home, pushing open the door expecting dead silence and darkness, Rick is there on your couch waiting for you; a plate of dinner Beth made wrapped in cellophane, a sweaty beer he’s been saving for you next to it on the coffee table, watching TV of sorts or fiddling with an invention and whatnot.

And it used to be you’d get home from days like this to nothing, nobody. And maybe you’d give Rick a call for sex or attention or even just to tell him you miss him… but suddenly he’s waiting up for you, looking at you standing in the doorway to the living room as if he doesn’t know, is ignoring why you’re shocked.

N you don’t want to scare him off, so you sorta just float down next to him, not saying anything, sitting down and waiting for him to acknowledge you except it’s just…

“Well?” Rick says, giving you somewhat of bland look from out of the corner of his eye, “gonna say hi or what, baby?”

You’re not sure if it’s shock or exhaustion causing your silence to fester, the surprise of his presence or the unexpected joy that’s starting to simmer at the realization he had the idea to come see you.

“Hi, Rick,” you coo softly, tiredly, nudging into him as you sink next to him on the couch, and then when he doesn’t respond immediately, “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I knew you didn’t want me around, I wouldn’t have come. I’m happy to leave.”

There’s no malice in his voice, none of the usual heat and tease, so it’s obvious there’s no intention behind the threat. Still, you reach out for him anyway, grabbing the hand closest to you as if to stop him from pulling out his portal gun suddenly.

“No,” you say, almost too quickly, too needy, causing his pinched face to melt somewhat. “No. I mean… I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

You lean in hesitantly to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek, a kiss he tilts to return when you pull away slowly, as if in fear that he wouldn’t be receptive. His lips are surprisingly gentle against yours, it’s more of a peck than his usual excited kiss, wet with passion and ferocity at the thought of what will happen next, but the tenderness isn’t unwanted, and in fact, fills you with a sudden warmth that quickly seems to overpower your fatigue from the day.

(And you find that it’s not lust or longing but rather a feeling of affection which seems to buzz under your skin, as if aching to be let out.)

Reaching a hand up to his jaw, you pull back to stare into Rick’s own eyes, suddenly going shy as he gestures to the plate of food he brought you.

“Thanks for coming,” you peck him again, this time fully pulling him away from the TV, “I’m really happy to see you, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, shutting his eyes as he leans in closer to you. “Me too.”

[svltzmans]

bet - h.m.

hope mikaelson x fem! reader

warnings: smut 18+! wrote most of this late at night (sorry if there are nonsense sentences) reader and hope drink a teeny bit (but are both of legal drinking age) <3

"truth or dare?"

hope erupts into laughter. she's sure y/n wasn't actually asking her to play a sleepover game invented by twelve year olds.

then again, y/n had suggested crazier things after a drink or two.

playing a party game on the floor of hope's bedroom was tame.

"i'm serious," y/n insists, before inadvertently starting to giggle alongside hope. "which one?"

"truth, i guess, i don't trust you to give me a dare," hope had to get on y/n's nerves a bit, considering she was the reason they were playing this immature game in the first place.

y/n feigns offense, bringing her hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. "you don't trust me?"

"not with this. now, what do you wanna hear the truth about?" hope quips, taking a sip of her beverage.

"how can i make this as scandalous as possible?"

"so i can't trust you with truths either?"

y/n can't help but laugh at hope once again, and before they know it, they're both laughing until they're out of breath.

"so, have you ever faked an orgasm?"

hope practically chokes on air, taken aback by the forward nature of y/n's question.

y/n continues to laugh. "sorry, too forward?"

"i mean, it's truth or dare. might as well make it interesting. yeah, i have."

"no way." y/n stares at hope with a doubtful look in her face.

"i honestly don't think i've ever... not faked one."

"what? you've never...?"

"i mean, i have by myself. never with anyone else."

y/n couldn't believe the conversation she was having with hope. they had always been close, but not quite this close.

hope hides her face behind her hands. "don't look at me like that!"

"that's just... pathetic," y/n laughs before finishing her sentence. "people still can't make a girl cum."

hope's breath hitches at the vulgarity of the conversation. she'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the tension.

"well, they otherwise were winners i suppose."

hope's attempt to defend her taste in partners fails miserably, with y/n stifling a laugh.

"what, like you could do better?" hope interjects smugly, crossing her arms dramatically across her chest.

"i bet i could."

hope is sure y/n is joking. they had shared many laughs throughout the night.

but y/n is looking at her in a way that tells her she's dead serious.

and before she knows it, she's leaning into y/n, pulling her lips into her own.

y/n is swift at lifting hope off the floor and into her lap, hands firm on her thighs.

hope's hips inadvertently rock back and forth, gasps escaping under her breath.

y/n flips them over, hovering over hope laying on her back.

"strip," she mutters, with a sudden confidence.

hope is quick to oblige, shuffling out of her outfit in record time.

"you're perfect," y/n lowly mumbles. "spread your legs."

hope almost whines at her command before following it.

y/n rests her head between hope's legs, lightly kissing her thighs.

hope had never experienced so much care in this type of situation - or been so filled with need.

"my god y/n just hurry up- oh,"

hope's complaint is interrupted by y/n's tongue on her aching clit, her hands pushing her thighs further apart.

she whines when y/n pulls away, a smirk plastered on her face.

"already fucking you better than the others, huh?" she taunts, inches away from hope's pussy.

hope pulls her back in by the hair. "keep doing that. we have a goal here, don't we?"

"touché," y/n mutters before sucking hope's clit into her mouth.

"fuck, y/n. just like that."

motivated by hope's praise, y/n is unrelenting. she didn't intend to go easy on her.

"you're so good at that," hope mewls, running her fingers through y/n's hair.

hope presses her legs together, the sight of y/n between them making her moan.

she rocks her hips back and forth, letting y/n's tongue roll over her in a way that nearly sends her over the edge.

"i'm, i'm close, so close," she manages to growl, her back arching into y/n. "please don't stop, you're gonna make me cum."

hope is blabbering the words out, her brain only able to focus on the feeling.

y/n makes eye contact with hope, looking deeply at her with an expression of pure desire, throwing her over the edge.

hope lets out a raspy moan, her vision briefly going black. she swears she's on another planet by the time her body finally relaxes.

y/n smirks up at hope. "i won the bet."

"that you did," she responds, still out of breath.

[fourthavecafe]

may I please request a sort of sequel thing to killua using his assassin techniques for something much cuter where he finds out that not only do we like being tickled but we LOVE it

I'm thinking the reader gets tied up somehow (maybe we get kidnapped and he rescues us or get caught in a trap or maybe killua is just showing off how much better he is) and our arms are above our head, completely unable to defend our self against him

killua taking advantage of your little situation

The air was damp and musty in the dimly lit cavern where you were stuck. The ropes that bound your wrists above your head were taut and your arms were starting to ache from being held in such an uncomfortable position.

You had stumbled into this trap during your mission, one you were sent on with the assurance that it would be “simple.” Of course, that was never the case.

You had tried twisting, wriggling and even reasoning with the ropes as if they might magically unbind you out of pity.

But no luck. With a deep sigh, you resigned yourself to waiting, hoping someone would find you before whatever had set this trap returned.

Just when the silence became unbearable, a familiar voice cut through the gloom.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Your head shot up, and there he was killua standing casually at the mouth of the cavern with his hands shoved into his pockets. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the pale light and his sharp blue eyes were filled with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“About time” you muttered. “You took your sweet time finding me, huh?”

Killua smirked as he approached, his steps echoing softly. “Oh, excuse me for not having a map to your embarrassing little predicament. Seriously, how did you even manage this?”

You huffed, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I was going to escape on my own, you know. I just didn’t want to rush it and deprive you of the chance to play hero.”

Killua raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. “You were going to escape? With what? Sheer willpower? Because it sure doesn’t look like you’ve made any progress.”

“I was about to !” you shot back, your tone light but teasing. “I didn’t need your help.”

“Right” Killua drawled sarcastically. “Because you’re so competent. Let me guess you were also about to invent a way to untie knots with your mind?”

“I’ll have you know I could’ve handled this” you replied, sticking your tongue out at him. “and I was doing just fine before you got here, thank you very much.”

Killua leaned against one of the cavern walls, crossing his arms and giving you a mockingly appraising look. “You? Fine? You can’t even handle a little tickling without falling apart and you think you could handle this?”

The comment threw you off guard and before you could retort, Killua took a single step closer and casually poked your stomach.

A sharp, involuntary giggle escaped your lips and you glared at him. “H-Hey! That’s not fair!”

Killua’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “Ohhh, interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes, immediately regretting your reaction. “Don’t even think about it, Killua.”

But it was too late. He tilted his head, his expression somewhere between teasing and downright evil. “You know” he said, taking another step closer “I don’t think I will untie you just yet. After all, you said you didn’t need my help, right?”

“Killua, don’t you dare—”

“Prove it.” He grinned, now standing directly in front of you. “Get yourself out. Go on, I’ll wait.”

Your jaw dropped. “I can’t get myself out! My arms are tied up!”

“Sounds like a you problem” Killua quipped, shrugging.

You glared at him, trying to muster up some authority despite your vulnerable position. “Killua, this isn’t funny. Untie me.”

“No way.” His grin was downright devilish now. “This is way more fun. Let’s see how you handle this.”

Before you could respond, his fingers darted to your sides, squeezing lightly. You jerked in your restraints, a burst of laughter escaping despite your best efforts to hold it in.

“Killua, stop!” you managed between giggles.

“What’s wrong?” he teased, his hands now lightly tickling your ribs. “I thought you were tough? Didn’t need my help, huh? But you can’t even handle this?”

You squirmed, twisting as much as the ropes would allow but it was no use. Killua was relentless, his hands darting to your stomach, ribs and sides with a precision that only someone like him could manage.

“Okay! Okay! I give up!” you cried, laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

“Already?” Killua asked, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. “That’s pathetic. You’re really not trying, are you?”

You gasped for breath, shaking your head. “Killua, I mean it—s-stop!”

“But why would I stop? This is way more entertaining than rescuing you.” He moved his hands to your hips, earning another loud burst of laughter from you. “You said you didn’t need me, remember?”

“I lied!” you admitted through your giggles. “I need your help! Please!”

Killua paused for a moment, his hands still resting on your hips. He looked up at you, his smirk softening into something more playful. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You glared at him, your face red from both the exertion of laughing and the sheer embarrassment of the situation. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Oh, I know” Killua replied smugly. “But you love it.”

You opened your mouth to argue but before you could say anything, Killua’s fingers moved again, this time targeting the sensitive spot just below your ribs. Your laughter exploded once more, any semblance of composure completely shattered.

“You’re so bad at this” Killua said, his voice filled with mock pity. “How do you ever expect to go on a mission alone if you can’t even survive a little tickle torture?”

“This isn’t—!” you tried to protest but another burst of laughter cut you off. “This isn’t fair!”

“Life’s not fair” Killua quipped, grinning like a cat playing with a mouse.

Your struggles grew weaker as you were overwhelmed by laughter, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Okay, Killua! You win! Just untie me already!”

He stopped, stepping back and crossing his arms as he regarded you with a satisfied smirk. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I’m kinda enjoying this.”

You glared at him, panting. “Killua, I swear—”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” He reached up, his fingers deftly untying the ropes. “But seriously, you’re the most helpless person I’ve ever met.”

As soon as your arms were free, you stumbled forward, rubbing your wrists and glaring at him. “You’re a sadist, you know that?”

Killua shrugged, his grin unrepentant. “Maybe. But you have to admit, that was funny.”

You gave him a half-hearted shove, which he easily dodged, laughing. “Next time, I’m leaving you tied up” you muttered.

“Sure you will” Killua said with a smirk, walking ahead. “But first, you’ll have to catch me.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you followed him out of the cavern.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

In Time

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble - 2K WC

Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: none really this is very fluffy because I'm a slut for Feyd being soft with you and nobody else

----------------------------------

You wandered the dark halls of the palace. Geidi Prime was dark, cold, and lonely. You missed Ix, your home world. You had been sent to Geidi Prime as an offering of sorts. The Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha was of age and needed a wife. Several options from the Great Houses had been sent and you were there to represent Ix as its only princess. You truly did not care for this polluted planet and knew someone as plain as you considered yourself to be would not catch the Na-Baron’s eye. So, you wandered the halls in search of nothing in particular. A grand palace was very different from the labs of Ix. Everything on Ix was below the surface of the planet, the only reason to go to the surface was to travel. So here you wandered, the glow from your levitating lamp was all that accompanied you. You heard your steps echo before you stopped. You activated your shield, a bluish blur settling over you. You stood still, listening for something as you felt the air around you shift. You softly pressed a button on your wrist control pad, the light from your lamp going out. You sat in complete darkness, yet you knew you weren’t alone. Pressing another button your eyes shone like an animal in the dark, searching for prey through the night vision. 

“I can see you.” you said to the man ducking low behind a pillar a few feet from you. You walked over to him as he rose to his full height; he towered over you and he was most definitely a Harkonnen. You tried to walk past him but he followed you.

“You’re not allowed in this wing.” he said gruffly, trailing behind you closely.

“And what wing would this be?” you sighed out, not wanting to deal with anyone right now. 

“The engineering wing,” he said, now walking next to you.

You let out a laugh, “This is exactly where I should be. Feels like home.” you said.

“Home?” the stranger asked.

“Ix - aka the high tech planet. We make everything useful and somehow we are still forgotten.” you sighed, shrugging off the sadness in your statement. You turned into a room that was exuding light in the hallway, the only light in this dreary place. It looked like one of the basic mechanic labs on Ix but for the Harkonnens this must have been impressive. You went to one of the tables before grabbing specific tools. The stranger watched you from the doorway, leaning against it. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Fixing a glitch.” you said nonchalantly as you pulled out your right eye. 

Feyd walked closer, watching your nimble fingers work to fix something so small. “You made your own eye?” 

“Eyes,” you corrected. “I was born without eyes, a strange mutation but Ix has such advanced technology I have always been able to see.” you said as you snapped the final piece into place. You put your eye back in, blinking a few times to get it recalibrated and working. You clicked a few buttons on your wrist control pad, watching as it ran diagnostics through your right eye while refocusing the left. 

“Do you invent things like the others from Ix?” he asked, watching your pupils dilate repeatedly. 

“I’m not that talented,” you chuckled, “I am excellent at repairs though, I enjoy fixing or upgrading random things in the palace. Mother hates it, says it's for the servants to do.” You rolled your eyes.

“Can you fix this?” Said the man, handing you his shield device. “It turns on but falters.”

You took it from his pale hand, fingers connecting, sending a chill up your hand in the most pleasant way. You inspected it before unlatching the cover and began prodding the wires. You used different tools from all over the room, the man’s eyes never left you. 

“Why are you on Geidi Prime if you’re the princess of Ix?” He asked, sitting slightly closer as he watched you melt wires together. 

You faltered for a moment, setting your tools down before letting out a sigh. “I’m a prospective bride for the Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha.” You said with a grimace.

The stranger chuckled, “Not a fan of his?” He asked. 

“I’m not a fan of being a prize for some stranger to win.” you corrected him. 

“You’re not afraid of him?” he asked, sounding like he was in slight disbelief. 

“I fear no one. Fear is the mind killer.” you replied.

“You’re Bene Gesserit?” he asked with slight disdain. 

“No, but it is a good mantra to hold. Once you know the horrors of the universe and fear nothing, the universe is yours.” you said, clicking the receptor into place.

“And what will you do if he picks you?” he asked.

“That depends. If he is a brute, I will endure and bring both our houses honor. If he is gentle, I will grow to love him, and hope he loves me in return. Either way I will do my duty. My happiness is all that hangs in the balance. But that has never mattered much to men.” you finished before fastening his shield to his torso armor. You turned it on, the blue blur covering him. You grabbed a screwdriver, flipping it over before attempting to stab him. The shield caught the sharp, not allowing it to pass.

You put the screwdriver back on the table, “There, all fixed.” you smiled sweetly at him.

“You could have stabbed me.” he smiled back.

“But I didn’t.” you pointed at him before walking towards the door. “Come on.” you motioned for him to follow you.

“Where to next?” he asked.

“I should probably return to my chambers; I could be engaged tomorrow. Best to get some sleep.” you sighed once again. 

“If he asked, gave you a choice, what would you say?” the man asked, walking beside you down the corridor. 

“Feyd Rautha? Well… if he were like you I’d be inclined to say yes.” you smiled softly, glancing at him.

“Like me?” he asked with a bit of shock in his voice.

“Kind, curious. You are the only Harkonnen who has been either to me. Everyone else is… cold. People on Ix are quite similar, mother always said I was too emotional. Said it was a weakness that ‘inhibited one's ability to see reason’. But I think it can be a strength. It allows for one to truly feel, to truly connect with others.”

“Did you connect with others on Ix?” he asked.

“No, not much. It has always been a lonely existence, my plants and trinkets were company enough.” you replied, looking down with slight shame.

The man gently grabbed you hand in his cold pale one, “You won’t always be alone.” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “The princess with the magic eyes.”

Your lips tipped up at the affectionate name, “Y/N.” you said, realizing you never told him your name. “Princess Y/N of Ix.” you said giving a curtsey while he still held your hand. 

He chuckled before kissing your knuckles again, “Goodnight Princess Y/N of Ix.” he said before letting you go. 

You watched him walk down the hall into the darkness, wondering if your family would accept a Harkonnen on Ix as the mystery man made you feel something inside. Your eyes widened, realizing you never got his name, you looked up quickly to ask him but he was already gone. You turned in for the night, drifting off to thoughts of the man you met that night. 

-------------------------------------

The maids that traveled with you finished adorning you in your house colors, gold and black. You looked at yourself in your mirror, sighing.

“You look beautiful my lady, the Na-Baron would be lucky to have you.” your maid said. 

You smiled sadly at her, nodding in agreement. Your chamber door slid open, multiple guards filled in. “Time to go princess.” he said, leading you down the hallways before entering the Great Hall. You saw 10 other women from the various Great Houses standing in a line before the Baron. 

“Fine specimens for my nephew, he will enjoy whomever he chooses.” the Baron said to Rabban with a sick laugh.

You rolled your eyes, clasping your hands together in front of you. You prayed that you were overlooked and could leave Geidi Prime as soon as possible. You heard the Grand Hall doors open once more and watched the man from last night round all of you to stand next to the Baron. 

“Nephew!” he said.

Your stomach hit the floor, your eyes bulging. You felt faint as you started to tremble slightly. The man from last night was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen himself. “Fuck. Me.” you damned yourself. 

“Choose your bride.” the Baron said, motioning to you all. 

Feyd started at the opposite end of women, slowly walking past each one. The tension was agonizing. Now that you knew who the man from last night was, you regret everything you said to him. You tried to stab him for fucks sake. Who knew what sick plans he had for you. You stared at the ground  until you saw two black boots standing before you. 

“This one.” you heard his gruff voice say before you felt his cool fingers tilt your chin up. Your eyes held nervous tears, afraid of your now set future. 

“Princess Y/N of Ix, a fine choice.” the Baron said. “See that the others leave Geidi Prime safely. Clear the room, give my nephew time to converse with his new bride.” the Baron said before leaving the Grand Hall with everyone else. 

“I - I’m so sorry Lord Na-Baron, please forgive me for everything last night. If I had known it was you I would not have been so… so…” you stumbled. 

“Normal?” he said, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “I picked the princess with the magic eyes for a reason.” he said, hand falling to gently graze yours, yet giving you plenty of space to pull away from his touch. 

“I should have acted in a manner befitting my station.” you whispered. 

“I didn’t pick you because I wanted a princess.” he said.

“Why then?” you asked cautiously.

“I picked you because you act with humanity, with emotion. Something lacking on Geidi Prime. Something lacking within myself.” he said with a tinge of sorrow. 

“That’s not true.” you said, softly grasping his hand. You heard him suck in a sharp breath as you looked up to him. “Your eyes are blue.” you said with a small smile.

“Your eyes are magic.” he responded, not quite sure how small talk goes between people who were not Harkonnens always discussing war or bloodshed or greed. 

You smiled at his words, nobody else had ever been impressed by your one invention, your eyes had always been deemed mid level impressive to those on Ix. 

“I’m not a brute,” he said, holding both your hands. “I wish to see you happy on Geidi Prime. I must act with a hardened disposition but… not with you. Never with you.” he spoke. 

You dropped one of his hands to cradle his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and getting lost in it. The sight saddened your heart, he had not known a gentle touch. “We can bring each other happiness, in time.” you said as you thumbed over his cheek bone. 

“And… perhaps love. In time.” he said, opening his eyes. His hand grasped yours from his face before kissing your palm. 

You leaned up, briefly connecting your lips in a soft kiss. His hands fell to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “All in good time, Na-Baron, my husband.” you smiled. 

“Feyd,” he said. “Just Feyd to you, my Na-Baroness, my wife.” you could just see his black teeth with the slight smile he gave you. 

“Na-Baron Feyd Rautha and Na-Baroness Y/N.” you said your formal titles, well, what would be your formal titles by the end of the week. Harkonnens wasted little time with wedding ceremonies, only wanting an heir as soon as possible. 

His name sounded like a prayer on your tongue as he leaned his forehead against yours, holding you close to him. Your hands rested on his chest, breathing him in. He wasn’t a brute, your happiness didn’t hang in the balance. You wanted to nurture each other, what more could you have asked for? 

-------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! To all my new and old fans out there, thank you for reading my stuff! Still madly in love with this little psycho but I tend to write him as a soft boy because I love the "hates everyone but you" trope. Next Feyd fic will be a smut piece so be on the look out for that. I would love some Feyd requests so don't be shy, please send them my way! Thanks again, <3!!!! XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXO

[heliads]

You and Me (A Whole Lot of History)

Based on this request: "y/n is a historian with access to old schematics so kaz hires her for a job. he keeps inventing reasons to find her afterwards until he’s forced to admit his feelings"

masterlist

You only get to study about half a chapter of your textbook before you’re interrupted by a criminal. It’s not like you mind having to put down the heavy tome you’ve been leafing through; estate law of centuries past is not your idea of some fun light reading, but you’ve been helping to piece together some fragments of an old mansion from pre-Unsea Kerch, and you’d really like to be able to decide if the master of the house your tattered documents keep referring to is the eldest son or the second eldest. 

It all depends on very specific details that refuse to make themselves known to you. So no, having an excuse to stop all this isn’t terrible, you’re just a little distracted by the fact that you’re in a private study room in the historical library of Ketterdam, and you know for certain that you locked the door that has just been opened.

You know who’s just broken into your study space. Not personally, that is, but just as well as any resident of the Barrel knows the one they call Dirtyhands– through bated breath, in stolen whispers of expensive heists and bodies left behind, no traitors tolerated and none allowed to live. The fact that Kaz Brekker has taken it upon himself to enter your study room of all the empty ones still available in the library is not promising, to say the least, although you have absolutely no idea what you’ve done to appear on his radar.

You are, in fact, quite possibly the last person Kaz would even be aware of. You’re a historian, specializing in a few select centuries and powerful families in the Kerch area. This means that you spend most of your time in old and crumbling buildings, not out in shady dealings or shootouts or any of the other places Brekker tends to frequent.

This doesn’t seem to stop Kaz from closing the door behind him and taking a seat opposite your desk. He folds his hands in front of him, idly contemplating the textbook you’re still supposed to be perusing, but remains frustratingly silent.

It falls to you, then, to pick up a conversation, which is unfair considering the fact that he’s the one who’s barged in on your space. “That door was locked for a reason, you know,” you point out.

Kaz arches a dour brow. “Yes. I opened it.”

He’s not making this easy for you. “Why?” You ask.

Instead of answering you, Brekker jerks his chin towards the book in front of you. “What’s that about?”

There is no earthly reason one of the most notorious gang leaders in the Barrel should be asking about the homework you’re doing for your job. Still, he has, so you must answer, no matter how confused you are about it. “Inheritance disputes of the fourteenth century Kerch nobles. Why, are you interested in checking it out after me?”

Kaz scoffs. “No. I just want your information, not that book.”

You feel yourself leaning back slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Trust me, whatever information you’re after won’t be found from me.”

Kaz shakes his head once. “No, actually, I think it will be.”

He reaches for something under his coat, and you’re hit with the brief terror that he’ll get a gun or something and you’ll die here and now, but then his gloved hand comes back out into the light carefully holding a rolled up piece of paper, which he smooths out onto the desk before you. You tuck your textbook away so you can get a better look at the thing, more curious now than afraid.

It turns out to be a copy of house blueprints. As you study it, you realize that you recognize the place. You were there recently for a project for your employer, checking up on the preservation of a few rooms. “Is this the old van Haarst mansion?” 

Brekker’s eyes flash, reminding you of the slick of oil on water. “You know about it?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering further at the blueprints. “I’ve worked there before.”

Kaz nods, looking pleased. “I’d like to buy your services. I need information on this building and your silence on the matter. Are you interested?”

Your brow furrows. “What information do you need?”

To answer you, Brekker tosses a stack of kruge onto the table. You can see the numbers on the edges, and know even without counting that this payment will be far more than what you’d earn even for a year at your job. This is the deal, then. He’ll only tell you more if you accept his money, and if you accept his money, you agree to whatever he wants.

Honestly, not the worst bargain. Ghezen knows you’ve had worse supervisors on other jobs. At least you can trust Brekker to be honest so long as you are too.

You put the stack of bills into your bag, and turn back to the blueprints with renewed interest. “Are you trying to get in or get out?”

“Both,” Kaz tells you. “I’m assuming you’ve heard rumors of Marysa’s Diamond?”

You choke out a laugh. “Have I ever.”

Marysa’s Diamond is like the Saints in flesh for historians. The van Haarst family was exceedingly rich, and one of their matriarchs, Marysa van Haarst, was said to be in possession of an incredible gemstone, the diamond named after her. It disappeared when the family abandoned Kerch for Ravka following the death of three of Marysa’s sons, and no one has seen it since.

You blow out a low breath. “You think it’s in the old house somewhere? Historians have been all over the place, we would have found it if it was there.”

“It wasn’t always,” Kaz tells you. “It’s been moved there. I have good information that the van Haarst house will act as a safe house for the stone while it’s being moved from hand to hand. They’ll keep it there overnight. I will be entering the estate with a team and taking it.”

He goes silent, as if waiting for any objections. You don’t really care about the morals of the affair, though. You have your money and you get to be the foremost expert on a historical favorite of yours. Robberies happen every day, not something to get teary eyed over.

When you don’t speak up, Kaz continues on. “They’ll be keeping the stone in a place no one can find. There will be a window of exactly one bell in which the old owner leaves the house and is replaced by the new owner, carefully staggered so the stadwatch aren’t alerted by too many people in the estate after hours. That means it would have to be a damn good hiding spot. If you were hiding a gemstone in this house, where would you put it?”

You consider the blueprints before you again. There are a thousand and one places you could hide something in there– tucked inside the grand piano, in a safe, under one of a hundred carpets– and there’s no way Brekker’s men could find it in time.

However, that means the person meant to be picking up the diamond wouldn’t be able to find it as well. They would have to find somewhere in the estate hidden to everyone else but the recipient of the gemstone.

The answer occurs to you in a flash. “Oh,” you say, “Secret room.”

Brekker blinks at you. “What?”

You point at the map. “It’s totally going in the secret room. I mean, they don’t want it to be found by anyone else, right? That’s, like, the whole point of a secret room.”

Were it not for the fact that he’s, well, Dirtyhands, you’d swear his voice turns sarcastic. “That was my understanding of a secret room, yes. Where is it?”

Were it not for the fact that he is in fact Dirtyhands, you would roll your eyes. “There’s an entrance off of the secondary hallway leading off of the dining room. Unlock the door using a little latch under the bottom of the ugly painting of the old duchess of Belendt.”

He stares at you. “How do you know that? It’s not on any map.”

You lift a shoulder. “I wanted to know why they’d keep such a foul portrait around. The elites of that time period were huge on perfectionism, every one of their paintings had to be absolutely glorious or it would get removed from their sight. That’s why there are so many old paintings in the surrounding villages, actually, the nobles would just leave these expensive oil paintings outside the castle because they couldn’t take the sight of them anymore. There was no reason they’d let such a dreadful portrait stay unless it was hiding something.”

You had been focused on the map in your hands during the majority of this little speech, fondly recalling little anecdotes from your history classes, but you remember yourself soon enough. You look up and Kaz is staring at you, almost fascinated.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Got distracted.”

He shakes his head brusquely, although there’s a hint of pink on the tops of his cheekbones that wasn’t there before. “No, no. It’s important information. So we should be aware of any suspicious paintings?”

“Yeah,” you muse, “just look for the bad ones. Pretend you’re an art critic or something.”

The edges of Kaz’s dour glare turn themselves up into something of a humored smirk. “Will do. Thank you for the advice, L/N.”

You nod. “Have fun with the heist. Hey, if you see any older books on the history of the family, would you mind grabbing one or two for me? I’ve been trying to do some research for ages, but the library keeps stalling on getting resources to me, no matter how many requests I send.”

Kaz’s brows draw close together. “That would be unbelievably risky. We can’t take more things than we need or we could be caught.”

You grin. “I know, I’m kidding. Just a joke.”

Kaz’s expression lightens microscopically. “Yes, a joke.”

He leaves soon enough, pushing his chair away from the desk and rolling up the blueprints with a crisp snap of the paper. He warns you to keep your mouth shut about the plans, but you’re not sure that he does it with the fire you expected of a notorious gang leader. Instead, the words are soft, like he’s cautioning a friend.

You don’t hear from him again, not for a while. You’re not sure when this mysterious diamond deal is going down, and you doubt the unlucky men Kaz will grift can go to the stadwatch about this. In fact, you have no idea if it’s happened at all until about a week later. You had gone about your day like normal, not suspecting a thing until the moment you unlocked your door.

And there, centered perfectly on your desk when you get back home despite the fact that you never gave keys to your apartment to anyone, are three books. Aged, cracked covers, gilded writing. You hesitantly pick up one and read the title under your breath:  A History of the Bendtsen Family, 1200-1500. Another:  The van Almelos of the Belendt Region:  Two Centuries of Political and Economic Legacy.

Kaz. He actually got the books. Never mind that you were joking, never mind that he knew that, Kaz Brekker went out of his way to risk a heist just so he could help you out with a research project. Saints. And they say chivalry is dead.

You don’t expect to get the chance to thank him for it until he randomly crosses your path not two weeks later. He’s alone again, miraculously turning up outside your company door just as you leave to walk home. Kaz informs you that he’ll need your services again, exchanging some kruge for more words. This time, he wants details on an office building down the street, one that used to be a city hall. You’re able to take him in yourself thanks to access granted to all historians for historic places, and turn a blind eye when he grabs a few documents regarding interport commerce.

He walked you to your door that night, lingering over the threshold like a teenager not wanting to leave a first date. He shows up again after a month, using an excuse that’s less polished and more finicky. The next time, he doesn’t have an excuse at all. It’s just him, standing in front of you. No money, no plan. He just wanted to see you.

Kaz calls it ‘checking up on an investment,’ but you get the feeling that it’s not something he usually does. He walks with you by the water, he buys you drinks at a bar not even in his own pocket. It’s unusually sweet, so you can’t bite back your questions anymore and confront him about it when he hovers in front of your door for the dozenth time.

“What is this about, Kaz?”

He blinks at you in surprise. “What?”

You gesture between the two of you. “All of this. This isn’t for a job anymore. Why?”

Kaz looks away. It’s rare for him to not have a perfect poker face. Perhaps it’s yet another sign that this means something more, something that you can’t help but wish for. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ve called on you for several jobs that can risk the players involved in the game.”

You shake your head. “You’ve gone out of your way to make sure no one knows about me. It’s just us, Kaz. You did that on purpose.”

“Yes,” he admits at last, “I did. I wanted something for myself. Something that wasn’t as bad as the rest.”

He risks a glance over at you, and his shoulders square slightly when he realizes you aren’t trying to fight him on this, or worse, leave. “You’re good, Y/N. Good things don’t last long around here. I want to make sure you do. I want you to stay forever.”

With me, he means. He wants to keep you in his life. His eyes flicker to your hands, and although you know he won’t take them, not yet, he wants to. That’s why you finally put together the pieces. Kaz Brekker is not good at verbalizing his feelings. Perhaps he never will be. This is the best shot he can give you, and he could not even say the word ‘love’ if it ripped his heart out with bleeding fingertips.

You've had so much over the years, and it has never been enough. Not once, not ever. A thousand coffers could empty themselves, a hundred men die and be reborn. It has never once stopped you. This, by contrast, is nothing. A canal rat's promise, most likely broken before the night is through. You know it, Kaz knows it. This is nothing. 

Yet it is the most true thing you have ever had, the one solid stone in a wall about to come crumbling down. It is small, barely there at all, but still worth it. Maybe that is why you stay, for the hope. For him. It is enough.

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