#it wasn’t just the curry that did that :))

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Concubine Harem

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Many people would call you crazy or insane but you didn’t care. You absolutely hated your life and the god forsaken family you were born into. If you could choose, you would have been born into a lesser family. It wasn’t always like this, in fact when you were younger you were last in line for the throne. It was due to the sabotage of greedy and jealous mothers that got all your half siblings and full blooded siblings murdered. Unfortunately, that meant that you were forced into the position of being the next heir and eventually the new ruler.

You could remember the moment you became heir, you were immediately bombarded with people trying to curry up your favor. You honestly hated it, everyone just felt superficial and it didn’t help that as you grew, so did your power. Even your childhood friends were not immune to this. Imagine your shock when your closest friend got up on one knee and asked for the chance to court you. Then your classmate, then your former brother’s friend, and etc.

You had barely even had a concept of what love was. From a very young age your mother was murdered and your father hardly ever paid that much attention to you as well. You were mostly alone in your own little world and you absolutely loved that. People always just seemed so annoying to you that you did the bare minimum in communicating with others.

You tried to remain single as long as possible but your father did not agree with this decision of yours. He’s always seen relationships and marriage as a way to get more influence from around the world. So at the age of twenty, you were officially given a concubine, a foreign princess from the East. She was clingy and whenever you talked to other people she seemed to always want to monopolize your attention. This behavior only seemed to get worse when your father caused you to take in concubines to gain various alliances.

Within your harem there was competition daily. Sons of generals who tried to show off with their strengths, princesses who tried to get your attention with their singing abilities, princes who would try to show off their archery, scholars who showed off their intelligence, etc. The list goes on and on. There was so much jealousy in your harem that it was unbelievable. It also didn’t help that everyone was always trying to kill each other. You were so sick and tired of it. All you wanted was some peace and quiet.

There were daily assassination attempts on concubines, poised drinks to make someone infertile, constant fake crying so that you could favor someone, and etc. Every single time you take in a new concubine you could always feel them seething but you always ignored it. You didn’t know why they loved you so much, hell you even told them if they ever wanted a divorce you would give it to them. Yet, no one has ever left willingly. It was as if they looked up to you as a god or something it was just so strange.

You’re favored concubines were of course, always thrilled to have your attention on them. They were usually the ones who got to sleep with you at night. Seems as a privilege as only the most loved got to do that. You, however, had to be careful sometimes because unwanted sexual advances could happen anytime in the bedroom.

If you feel in a particularly good mood that day however, you may even let one of them bathe with you. “Your majesty, your skin is silky smooth. I wish to do this with you forever. No words can express how I feel and how much I love you. Won’t you allow me to be your first husband?” Yeah, this was basically how most of your conversations went. Everyone wanted to have the first slot at being your husband or wife. It was the ultimate showcase to prove you loved them the most and was a definite power trip for those in the harem.

Going to bed everyday was like a minefield. You just don’t know who’s going to show up in your chambers. Most of the time it’s one of your concubines, that you allowed to sleep with you for the night, in provocative attire. “Your majesty, I’ve been feeling a little lonely lately. Won’t you please pay some attention to me?” It’s honestly crazy how there is no limit of what these guys wouldn’t do for you. They just seem so overly infatuated and obsessive.

No matter what you did to them, they would always seem to look at you with love and admiration. You could basically insult all of them and they would accept it with a ‘thank you’. Nothing you did, could ever make them hate you.

Bullying was an extreme issue in your harem. No matter where you went there were always green tea bitches, white lotuses, and cunning foxes trying to bring someone down in your eyes. It’s even worse if they're new, having barely any awareness of what is happening, they definitely need to be more careful. No matter where you go at least three of them are stuck to your side. You’re alone time is basically nonexistent and extinct.

With teary eyes one of your concubines shout, “My lord, please help me! I’m being bullied by the others in the harem!” If you were being honest, you absolutely did not care about what was going on and one hundred percent knew that she was just using a manipulation tactic. However, to avoid the incoming headache you begin to console her and tell her that you’ll have a talk with everyone. You then decide to give her what she wanted and guide her towards your bedroom chambers. As you both leave she quickly looks at the faces of the others and sticks her tounge out. There was a look of absolute rage on their faces and with that they all had the same unanimous thought in their head.

“I’m totally going to get that bitch back for this!!!”

Pt.2

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere harem #male yandere #female yandere #gn reader

[artiststarme]

A Grudge Be Held

Based on an enabling comment from @estrellami-1. Hope you guys like it and please leave me your opinions in the comments!

~*~*~*~

There are a few well known facts in the universe; the earth revolves around the sun, George Michael is gay, Tim Curry has sexy legs, and Eddie Munson holds grudges.

It wasn’t because he was a bad person or because he thought people were inherently bad, he’d just been through too much to waste his time on people that had already wronged him. He didn’t give more than one chance and if they fucked that up, well, they didn’t deserve another one.

He was usually lenient on what constituted a grudge to be held. Unless someone did something directly to him or someone he cared about, it didn’t really bother him and they certainly didn’t make his list. His parents were on there (because why wouldn’t they be?), Mrs. O’Donnell was on there because he was positive at least one of his failed senior years was due to her having a bone to pick with him, and Principal Higgins was on there too because fuck that guy.

Tommy Hagan was on the list because of a rumor started that made life hard for Eddie for awhile (it was true but needless to share), Jason Carver was on there now for starting a mob trying to kill him, and Billy Hargrove earned a spot for being an asshole to anything that moved.

A person that many people were surprised wasn’t on the list was Steve Harrington. The DnD party was shocked when they heard King Steve wasn’t an object of resentment in Eddie. But he’d never done anything out of malice to Eddie specifically. Where others saw confidence and pride, Eddie looked at a lonely and broken teen that was willing to do anything to fit in. He couldn’t hate him for that. And the time where Steve stood up for Eddie against Billy Hargrove at a drug deal gone wrong forever cemented him as a good guy in Eddie’s eyes.

After his experience with the Upside Down, psychic murders, and overall shitshow that was his Spring Break, Eddie and Steve got closer. Steve coerced everyone of authority to clear Eddie’s name with help from Robin, Nancy, and the passed Chief Hopper that apparently wasn’t actually dead. He housed Eddie and Wayne until they could find a new trailer that they could afford. Then he spent every waking moment making sure Eddie was alright and included as part of the group. In laymen’s terms, Steve saved his life.

So in true Eddie fashion, he made the internal dramatic decision that he would hold grudges on Steve’s behalf. He would be a guard dog of sorts, protecting and defending the love of his life his friend. What he didn’t consider was how difficult the task would be.

Through a new lens, Eddie saw that everyone walked all over Steve. The cashiers at the grocery store blatantly charged him extra, the customers at Family Video talked over him nearly every sentence in response to questions they asked, and teens on the street laughed at the scars in their view. Worse of all though, the Party didn’t respect him. Dustin and Mike told him several times a day how stupid he was, Nancy looked at him in pity and shut down all of his opinions, Lucas talked about not having sports in common with anyone right in front of him, and Robin kept blowing off their plans to hang with Vickie.

Through it all, Steve appeared fine. He smiled and nodded in all the right places but as soon as he thought the eyes moved on, his smile would slip to reveal something sadder. And so Eddie’s vengeance began.

He “accidentally” knocked over sales racks near the registers in the grocery store when they charged an extra $2 for milk. He keyed the cars of the teenagers that laughed at the evidence of Steve’s pain. When he saw Officer Callahan yacking at Steve for speeding, he picked up a dozen eggs and pelted the man’s house in revenge.

Dealing with the kids in the Party was trickier. His glares and barbed comebacks were clear enough for Nancy and Robin to change their ways. The kids though just weren’t observant enough to pick up on the clues Eddie tried to drop. One session of a campaign though, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

“I didn’t know there were dragons in the game. If you losers had told me there were dragons, I might’ve considered playing ages ago!” Steve exclaimed from his seat on the couch, intrigued eyes meeting Eddie’s.

Eddie smirked at him. “Oh yeah, Big Boy. You should know by now that I’m full of surprises.”

Steve blushed a little bit but as he went to respond, Mike interrupted. “Steve, you’re not even playing. You shouldn’t even be here much less interrupting the game!”

Steve’s flush turned pale and he shrunk into himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just uh, I can go. I’ll see you guys later.”

As he moved to get up though, Eddie stood and towered over the table.

“Wait Steve, you’re gonna want to see this part.” He glowered at Mike and rasped his voice to transition back to DM’ing. “A comet flies from the dragon’s cavern and lands on Sir Madeon. Roll for damage.”

“What the hell! No, you can’t do that!” Mike stammered with a dropped jaw.

“I just did, pipsqueak. Roll for damage or die trying.”

“14,” Mike muttered. He glared at Eddie then Steve before pouting in his seat.

“The comet is too large to escape from. Sir Madeon tries to run but he’s not fast enough to avoid the flying stone. It lands on his back in a fiery crumble. The intense heat eats through his flesh, bones, and organs at once leaving only his head and limbs intact, scattered amongst the rest of the Party. He dies a horrendous death and his friends are left alone with only the smell of charred remains to remember him by.” Eddie ends his tirade with a quirked eyebrow. That’ll show these little assholes what happens when they mess with him. A quick glance at Steve shows him excitement and surprise, he absolutely was not expecting that.

“What the fuck. This is supposed to be PG,” Dustin stares at Eddie in horror. “You really just killed a character in the middle of a campaign for Steve?”

“Roll stealth and damage.” Eddie tells him deadpan.

“God-fucking-dammit! Eddie, no, please…”

“Roll or face the consequences!”

“3 stealth, Nat-20 damage,” Dustin whispered with his face in his hands. The other kids watch Eddie in a mixture of confusion and aghastment. But Steve is beaming, teeth shining from ear to ear.

“The dragon hears your cries of grief and turns its burly head towards you. Its glimmering eyes reach the you and the rest of the Party and you see its scaled lips open in a human like smile. With a speed you could never have anticipated, it slithers toward you before standing on muscled hind legs and flapping its leathery wings. Its lips curl around a blue flame. The last thing you feel is a flash of ice before you see no more.

Your friends see you disappear into a pile of ash, the heat of the flame too powerful to escape. The dragon whips its tail towards the party while they stare at where you used to stand. Will the Wise can’t even list his magical staff before the weight of the tail crushes him to the ground in a pile of shattered bones and bloody sinnew.

Luther is impaled by one of the dragon’s back spikes and killed immediately. The light in his eyes fades and all he sees is a figure with a crown waving at him in the distance. Prince Stephen and his pet dragon prosper in the face of their trespassing adversaries once again but the only witnesses to the horror are erased from the Earth.”

The boys stare at him in shock while he arranges his papers and stands. “The end. Steve and I are going to the movies. You bitchasses aren’t invited and if you’re even a little bit nasty to Steve again, I’ll pulverize you in real life just like I killed you in the campaign. Think on that.”

With that, Eddie grabs the hand of a stunned Steve and drags him from the Wheeler’s basement. After that debacle, he’s sure that the kids have gotten their point. And now he’s got a movie to see with his main man.

(The kids absolutely get his point and moving forward are a lot nicer to Steve. And a little scared of how Eddie’s mind works.

Eddie holds a grudge against the kids for months and will still reference their comments when he sees fit for the rest of their lives or at least the rest of his.

And Steve? He starts dating his DM in shining armor a mere two hours later.)

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#I would like to mention that I’ve never played DnD lol #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic #dungeons and dragons #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #robin buckley #nancy wheeler

[zanarkandskylines]

Blast Off

『♡』  fem!reader  x bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ aged to 21 | friends to lovers ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: your favorite metal band is in town, the same one you used to listen to with bakugo back in high school, and you decide to go to the show together! after a long week, a night out in Shibuya is exactly what you need. tags & warnings: brief violence, cursing | friends to lovers, pining, protective bakugo, fluff, first kiss a/n: bakugo would be such a fun person to go to a show with when he��s the one interested! otherwise he’d rather stay home lol ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,714 ꒱

“Yo, you ready yet, dumbass?” Bakugo shouts from your living room, impatiently tapping his foot as he’s waiting for you to finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom.

“Just a sec, Kat!” you call back as you’re leaning over the sink, cleaning up the corner of your eyeliner with a wet cloth.

“Y’don’t even need makeup, dammit!” he retorts, a backhanded compliment to get your ass moving. “Ya probably won’t even -,”

His words die in his throat as you emerge from the hallway and enter the living room.

Woah. She looks fuckin' gorgeous.

You catch him staring as you’re clipping in a pair of earrings. “What? Too much?”

He scoffs as he sneakily checks you out a second time. “Nah, you look great.”

You smile and wink at him. “Thanks, Kat. Right back at ya.”

“If some slimy fucker creeps on you, I’ll punch his lights out.”

You can’t help but snort as his comment.

The outfit you chose to wear fit the scene of the band you were seeing, one of your favorite metal bands that you two would listen to back in high school. It wasn’t too over the top, at least you didn’t think so. An all black ensemble - a thin long sleeve mesh top under your band t-shirt, tucked lazily into a pleather mini-skirt and a pair of tinted sheer tights hugging your legs. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few stray pieces of hair framing your face alongside your bangs.

Bakugo wasn’t as dressed up as you were, donning a simple grey t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and black boots. A stack of his favorite bracelets hung on his wrist and a pair of black studs adorned his ears.

“Figure out where you wanna eat?” you ask as you’re looking for your boots in the hallway closet.

“The curry place by the station. We can hop on the train into the city afterwards.”

Boots in hand, you return to the living in room and plop next to him on the couch.

“Those things could squash a damn kid,” Bakugo jokes, pointing to the platforms of your boots as you’re lacing them on your feet.

“They’re literally the same kind you wear on patrol!”

“And you’re still shorter than me with those fuckers on.”

You punch him in the arm, maybe a little too hard, to be playful. “I don’t need to be your height to kick your ass!”

“Ow, shit! Watch it, those hands are fuckin’ deadly!” he scolds, rubbing the reddening mark on his bicep.

“My bad,” you chuckle, patting him on the shoulder as an apology. “Let’s get outta here.”

-

“Hand it over,” Bakugo orders as you pick up the check from the table, flexing his palm toward you.

“Huh? I told you -,” you start to remind him until he cuts you off mid-explanation.

“Just ‘cause I heard ya doesn’t mean shit. Give it.” He snatches the paper and booklet with one hand while fishing his wallet out of his pocket with the other. “Stop bein’ a brat and let me pay for your damn dinner.”

“I’m not being a brat! I was just trying to treat you to dinner for once,” you say defensively.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I let you buy the tickets.”

Bakugo consistently paid whenever the two of you would grab food. It didn’t matter what it was - coffee before work, snacks from the convenience store, lunch outings, dinners in the city - he’d shove you aside and take your card, or be the one to order so you don’t have the chance to hand your card over. The few times you did get to pay for him, he immediately sent you the money back. It’s been a consistent staple in your friendship since Junior year of high school.

While leaving the curry shop, you see the train approaching at the station.

“Shit, Kat. That’s the train we need to catch to make it on time!” you utter in a panic as you grab his wrist. “C’mon!”

_

You arrive at the venue an hour before the show starts, giving you both enough time to get inside, grab drinks and find a perfect spot as planned.

Once inside, the two of you make your way over to the bar while the crowd was light.

“Are you at least gonna let me buy you a drink?” You tease, elbowing Bakugo in the arm.

He sighs dramatically, the tell-tale sign that he’s no longer going to fight you on it. “You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”

Beers in hand, you both head to the general admission area of the venue and situate yourselves near the back - not too squished between loads of people but close enough to see the stage.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you beam, leaning against him as a token of thanks.

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “Of course. Woulda been mad if ya didn’t ask me to come see the band we had on repeat together through all those study sessions and sparring matches.”

The lights begin to dim and the crowd cheers as the band takes the stage. He lets you take a step back and shift next to him, but keeps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you cheer in unison and hold up your beers for the band as they set up for their first song.

_

The show has been a goddamn blast! The two of you have been singing and dancing together the whole time, screaming every single lyric. Bakugo loves watching you throw your hands up and yell along with the crowd, having the time of your life and not letting anyone get in your way. It’s infectious - his grin not wavering the entire show.

“We have one more song for the night!” The lead singer announces into the mic. “It’s a special one - thanks for coming out!”

The song they begin to play is one of their slower numbers, one that you know Bakugo adored. You watched as his eyes lit up under the spotlights, taking in the moment as the band progressed through the song. You loop your arm with his, rocking back and forth in unison with the rest of the crowd.

Bakugo removes his arm from your hold to spin you around to face him, pulling you close and holding you to his chest. He gently sways with you in his arms as you embrace him, mimicking a slow dance. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his chest alongside the subtle vibrations of him humming to the song. Your eyes flutter closed, absorbing every ounce of love in this moment between the two of you. His hold encased you in a sense of security that you didn’t find with anyone else.

Once the song ends, the band is saying their goodbyes to the crowd as he releases his hold on you.

“I didn’t think they were gonna play that tonight,” you say, smiling up at him. “Guess we gotta buy t-shirts now!”

Bakugo laughs, shaking his head. “Matching ones?”

“It’s either that or we buy one and I constantly steal it from you.”

We?

Bakugo smirked at the suggestion.

“You steal my shit all the time, ya brat,” he teases, pinching your cheek. “I’ll buy two. Which one do y’want?”

“You pick, you have better taste than I do. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” you say as you pat him on the shoulder before skipping off to the bathroom. He heads over to the merch table to stand in line for your t-shirts.

It’s been a good 20 minutes since you wandered off. Bakugo meanders over to the bathrooms, the t-shirts he bought for you both draped over his shoulder. He’s poking around, searching for you in the crowd as he spots your ponytail in a sea of others.

You’re talking with some guy that he doesn’t recognize. The guy slithers into your personal bubble as Bakugo stalks up behind you.

“C’mon doll, you’re fine as hell. Don't you -"

"Beat it, jackass. She's obviously not interested," Bakugo interrupts, stepping to your side.

He scoffs and takes a step back from you. "And who the hell are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now fuck off."

Your cheeks flare at his comment - did he mean that? Or was that just to get this guy off your back?

You turn to leave as the guy slaps your ass - hard. "Have fun with this loser."

Bakugo doesn't even have time to react before your fist crashes into this guy's jaw, clocking him so hard that he stumbles to the floor. The commotion causes one of the security guards to scurry in your direction, beckoning for you to come over to him.

"Shit, we gotta go!" you yell, interlocking your fingers with Bakugo's as you bolt through the crowd and away from the guard before getting caught.

The two of you manage to escape, rushing out of the venue's exit door and into the busy Shibuya streets. You don't stop running until you round a corner and duck into an alley way, hiding from any potential security that could have tailed you and letting go of his hand.

Out of breath, you lean on to the wall and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"S-shit, sorry Kat, didn't mean to thrash you around like that."

He takes a second before deciding to box you up against the wall with his frame, catching you off guard. "I'm not complain'."

"Boyfriend, huh? Was that your way of asking me out?" you joke, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt.

Bakugo snickers as he's shutting his eyes, lowering his face to level with your own before your lips meet. The kiss is brief, but enough to get his point across.

"I bought matching band shirts with ya, who the fuck else would I do that shit with?"

You giggle, pulling him back in for another kiss - longer and sweeter than the previous one.

This isn't where you thought the night would end, but you're over the moon.

bakugo just couldn't resist confessing after watching you beat some dude's ass in one punch ;)

Divider by : @/saradika

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x y/n #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #☆.rei writes

[tatsumessy]

Double trouble - {itoshi sae}

Your twin daughters are mad at their father.

the moment you walked through the door you were met with your daughters standing side by side with tears in their eyes. they perked up seeing you walk through the door ready to tell on their father.

you stood there handing them your bags and walking away because you were not ready to hear them complain about what happened while you were away. “Mom!” the both said setting the bags down on the island counter, “what? what’s wrong my loves?” you asked washing your hands in the sink so you could start cooking.

“why did dad pick us up from school today?” one of your daughters asked whining while she spoke. “you both said you were tired of walking and your father happened to be home so he offered to pick you up, what’s the problem?” you said chopping up some vegetables to throw in the pot for curry. they both collectively looked at each other then back at you.

“he embarrassed us today! infront of everybody mom.” the other spoke slamming her on the counter, you sighed setting the knife down and grabbing the towel to clean your hands. “and how did he embarrass you?” “he made BOTH of our boyfriends pee their pants then in front of everyone he yelled ‘the itoshi twins are not allowed to date anyone until the age of fifty. their father ITOSHI SAE said that.’ he then glared at everyone and drove off.” you started busting out laughing at what he did and the two of them looked at you like you were crazy.

“what do you want me to do about it babe?” you asked looking at both of them, they were about to complain when the man himself walked into the room. they both turned away from him and ignored him like a bunch of kids. “hi baby.” he said wrapping his arms around your waist and soaking your clothes with his wet body, it was obvious he just got out the shower.

“hi,” smiling he leaned in to give you a kiss but you blocked it and pulled yourself away. “what was that for?” “sae, the whole overbearing father thing might’ve worked when they were eight but their sixteen now. it’s embarrassing when their celebrity father threatens their boyfriends and says cringey shit like giving them an age limit for when they can date.” he scoffed glancing over at the twin who had turned around to watch you scold their father.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” he proceeded to say while leaning against the counter, “you can not use your fame to get what you want sae. it’s not fair to them.” you said leaning your chin into his chest and wrapping yours arms around his waist. he hated when you were right so doing the right thing, he sighed placing a kiss on your forehead then walked over to the twins to talk to them.

while finishing dinner you watched idly as he apologized then proceeded to tell them that the days of embarrassing them wasn’t over just in the situation he was wrong. you smiled watching his give the both of them kisses on their heads then watching them run off to go call said boyfriends.

he sighed then got to work on watching his film waiting for you to finish so that the two of you could spend time together.

#sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk sae #sae x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #bllk sae itoshi #sae itoshi x you #blue lock sae itoshi #itoshi sae x y/n #sae imagines #blue lock sae #itoshi brothers #itoshi sae x you #itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x y/n #bllk smut #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x mc #blue lock x reader #bllk x y/n #blue lock

[loveluvrs]

third time's the charm l oscar piastri x reader

request/summary – Hellooo!! Would you be able to write an oscar piastri blurb with little examples of the reader showing him off and him getting all flustered? For example, drunk in a club with her friends / to make him feel more confident / ect..? 🫶

author's notes – idk if this was what anon was thinking of but this is what i imagined 😭

I walked into the paddock, hand in hand with Oscar. I was talking about the newest episode of the series I had been binge watching. Oscar, as usual, had settled into listening to me attentively, as I yapped on relentlessly without an end in sight. 

I stopped when I bump into Max’s mum and sister. His family was like a second family to me, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to see them yet since Oscar and I started dating. 

“Oh, hi! I’ve missed you guys so much. This is Oscar, you guys already know he’s my boyfriend,” I say excitedly as he reaches his hand out to greet them. “He loves the curry I make just like you guys do. Sometimes I think he may like it even more. I mean, he always begs me to make it whenever he’s visiting home,” I ramble on excitedly. 

“Ooookay, we should get going now. Nice to meet you,” Oscar says before dragging me along with him to Mclaren garage. “What happened? I was talking,” I ask with a pout. 

He laughs as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I know, babe. You never stop talking, do you?” he says playfully, “you should remember to breathe every once in a while.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I wasn’t even talking that much! I was just introducing them to you and telling them how much I love you!” I say defensively with a confused look in my eyes. 

“Love, you were telling them I beg for your cooking, that’s embarrassing!” Oscar says with a slight laugh. It’s only now I stop and notice that he’s turned slightly red, making me giggle. Oscar gives me an unamused look before saying, “don’t laugh at me like that, you do this every time!” 

“I’m sorry,” I say with a giggle, “you know I only do it because I love you. I just want people to know how great you are, promise!” Oscar opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted when some of his team members approach him to talk to him about the upcoming race weekend. “We’re going to talk about this later,” Oscar says softly as he points a finger at me playfully. 

——

I screamed as Oscar won the sprint race in Qatar, and I immediately rushed over to him after the race, peppering him with kisses all over his face. “I’m so so proud of you, oh my god!” I say excitedly. Oscar’s face was already red from the heat, and it somehow turned even redder when he saw the cameras approach us. He whined slightly as he burrowed his face into my neck. “Baby, don’t embarrass me,” he mumbles quietly in a shy voice. 

“My boyfriend just won a sprint race in his rookie season in F1, of course I’m gonna show you off and embarrass you. Don’t expect anything less from me,” I tease as I give him one last kiss before sending him off. 

When Oscar returns to our hotel room that night, I’m already half asleep. He spends a bit of time on his phone while in my arms, trying to keep up with everyone’s messages. He stops when he sees an Instagram post from me, his embarrassed and red face that was caught on the cameras now plastered all over this post. “Did you really have to post that?” He asks me playfully.

“I absolutely did. You’re amazing, and you’re mine. Two things every person should know,” I say playfully, earning a playful eye roll from him. “But I look awful, babe!” He protests, zooming in on himself in the photo. I stifle a laugh. “Thousands of people would disagree, actually. Plus, you don’t look awful, you look happy!” I say softly. 

He gives me an unamused look. “What if I don’t want to look happy?”

I giggle. “Then you are one sick weirdo, Oscar Piastri,” I tease with a soft kiss to his lips. 

——

It’s Oscar’s birthday today, and I have been meticulously planning out every single detail for the past few weeks, including a party with some of his closest friends after qualifying session that day. Despite my protests, Zak also insisted inviting some sponsors to the event and key investors of Mclaren, to act as an opportunity for networking. I reluctantly agreed, although I knew Oscar wouldn’t like it. 

As I thought, Oscar seemed a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people there. He was whisked away to a new person every two minutes, and it was all too much for him to handle. He eventually sat down next to me outside with a loud sigh, leaning his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to invite this many people, but Zak said this and that. And you know how he is, he wouldn’t have stopped until I said yes,” I say with a frown as I clearly notice how he isn’t having the best of times at this party. Instead, he just smiles, leaning in to give me a soft kiss. He stands up again, holding his hand out towards me. “I don’t care. Just be by my side while I’m being interrogated?” He asks playfully. I giggle, and with a nod I take his hand, our fingers intertwining. 

We soon see one of my old friends that I knew from RedBull, and I introduce Oscar formally to her. As always, I begin to praise Oscar as a driver and as a person. And as always, he gets incredibly red. This time, however, I catch myself before it gets too bad, cutting myself off. When my friend walks away, Oscar has a frown on his face. 

“Why’d you stop? You usually go on for longer,” he asks softly. I shrug. “You always get embarrassed by it, so I just realized and quit while I was ahead,” I say quietly in a kind of embarrassed tone that he even noticed I cut myself off. 

Oscar shakes his head. “Oh come on, babe. Yes, I do get extremely embarrassed by it. But rambling on about me is so you, and I never want you to stop, you hear me? If I can’t praise myself then I need someone who will,” he says with a playful smile. 

“Promise? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything,” I say softly.

“No no no, absolutely not. You could never make me uncomfortable, ever. And you rambling on and showing me off is embarrassing, yes, but I love you for it. I promise,” he says softly. 

“Well, if you insist… then I guess I could squeeze in a few rambles here and there..” I say playfully with a giggle. 

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagines #oscar piastri oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

[ovaova]

After a tiring day of hero work, all Katsuki wanted to do was take off his work uniform, take a shower, eat the delicious dinner he knows you’ve prepared for him, spend a little time with his kids, and hit the hay.

And if he was lucky, maybe you’ll let him get close to you too

He set his house/car keys in the bowl on the nearby table before making his way past the kitchen into the living room.

There he saw both his middle and youngest daughters watching tv. Of course he kisses them hello, one cheek each. It wasn’t till he noticed his oldest son missing

“Where’s your brother?”

“He’s in his room”

“Yeah but he’s been in his room for hours, it’s weird.”

Hours? That is pretty weird, but not the type of weird Katsuki felt like dealing with tonight.

“Okay, well don’t you two stay staring at that tv for hours, huh?”

Both girls peeked up before instantly trying to find something else to do

‘We really need to cut their screen time..’

Finally, Katsuki had made it to your shared bedroom. He could finally be at ease.

“Hey baby, I’m home. It smells good downstairs, what are you making?” Katsuki said kissed your forehead

“Just curry…Y’know, the usual..” You answered, not looking up from the book you’ve been reading.

Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows at your tone. Usually he wouldn’t dwell but he can’t do that when it comes to you and he knows somethings not right.

“Is everything okay? You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…you can take your shower, I’m done”

“Mm, okay-“

“Actually Katsuki-“

‘Finally, let it out’ he thought turning back to face you

I wanted to ask you about this..”

Katsuki eyes went wide as saucers as he saw what you were holding.

A pack of condoms, some missing signaling that they have been used.

“What..the hell..is…that..?”

“Hm, I don’t know Katsuki. All I know is that we have three kids, I’m on the pill, AND WE HAVENT USED A GODDMAN CONDOM IN FOUR FUCKING YEARS. SO I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL IT IS KATSUKI, YOU TELL ME-“

“B-bABY I DONT KNOW? Where did you even find those???”

“DOES IT FUCKING MATTER WHERE I FOUND THEM??”

.

.

.

“God WHERE ARE THEY? I KNOW I just had them!? I swear this will be the last time I ever hold anything for Haruki”

For the past few hours, (sons name) has been searching for a missing…package that he was supposed to be holding for his friend who was at a summer camp

“Please man I can’t leave them at home! My mom will find them!”

“Please I won’t ask for anything ever again,”

Excuse after excuse after excuse, but of course (sons name) was gonna be a good friend…but if being a good friend leads him to loosing a pack of open condoms in his own house with his two sisters mom and dad, then he might want to change his juxtaposition.

It wasn’t until (son’s name) heard muffles arguing coming from his closed bedroom door.

There could only be one explanation…

“Oh…my…fuck.”

.

.

.

“ (Y/N) I PROMISE THOSE ARENT MINE, WHY WOULD I EVEN HAVE CONDOMS IN THE FIRST DANN PLACE??”

“WELL I DONT KNOW HOW ABOUT YOU TELL ME? THEY WERE IN OUR ROOM, UNDER OUR BED, ON YOUR SIDE.”

The couple continued arguing before heavy footsteps could be heard coming to their door, soon to reveal their son busting in.

“WAIT!”

Both parents glanced to their son who was out a breath trying to get out his statement.

“I-It’s mine!”

.

.

.

“WHAT?” Both parents shouted in disbelief At the same time.

“I CAN EXPLAIN! I CAN EXPLAIN! THEY’RE NOT MINE, THEY’RE A FRIENDS. HE ASKED ME IF I COULD HOLD THEM FOR HIM WHILE HE’S OUT OF TOWN…”

It went silent… no one knowing what to actually say.

Guess relaxing after work was gonna be out of the question for a while…

#bakugo #x reader #dad bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #mha fanfiction

[helplesspuppet-bsd]

BSD! Men x Reader Children? 

Pairings: Chuuya, Poe, Jouno, Tetchou, Fyodor x reader 

Female reader 

Established relationships 

Warnings: smut, clique scenario? Some religious themes (when it comes to Fyodor), not proofread

Overall word count: 2,989

Minors DNI 

《~☆¤☆~》

Chuuya 

Word count: 836 

Chuuya hadn’t let his view on children clear to anyone, even you were unaware of his feelings about children. 

At first, he didn’t see himself having them when he first started dating you. 

When you and Chuuya started dating, he was content on keeping it just the two of you until the end of time.  

He’d seen some of the lower-ranking members of the mafia bring their children in, as they couldn’t get someone to look after the young one.  

After a year or two of you both being in a relationship, he started to imagine himself with you having his children. 

He imagined him watching those mind-numbing cartoons with bright colours and over-exaggerated, ear bleeding voice acting. 

Chuuya knew that you would love to have a child in your life, you would love it even more if you had one with him. You didn’t care on how you and him would have a child, whether it be through you both having sex, hiring a surrogate, or adoption. 

You were beyond ecstatic when Chuuya told you he wanted to have a family with you 

Scenario 

Chuuya never had an interest in children, he didn’t see how a small human could be so fulfilling before he met you. It wasn’t on his mind when he was single. He did get along with the children that was left in the break room while their parents worked, they always had questions for him when it came to the mafia or his work. Chuuya made sure to keep everything PG for the young ones, most of them were at 12-years or under. He kept the most gruesome areas of his line of work out of the question. 

“Don’t choose it has a profession.” Chuuya would always tell them. He was aware on how hypocritical it was for him to say, but at the end of the day, the mafia was the last resort. He did explain his ability to them when one of them asked 

Then, he met you a year or two ago, and he wouldn’t trade that that time for the world. He loved you with all his heart. You had brought up the discussion of children he always told you that he was unsure. 

Yeah, he got along with the children that was in the break room at work, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle one of his own. 

He would never have guessed that the daily conversations he would have with the children would turn to him wanting one of his own, a part of him adored the way the children were curious, and innocent. 

He looked at you and could imagine your swollen belly with his child inside it. He fantasied on how a child with you would be like. It even snuck into his dreams which he woke up from with a flustered face. 

He was on his motorcycle heading back to the penthouse he shared with you, again the thought of a child entered and exited his mind as he paid attention to the empty streets, illuminated by the streetlights. it was that time of the night were most wouldn’t be outside. 

Parking his bike, he walked into the penthouse and could smell the curry that were cooking. It was one of the perks he adored about you, although he’d rather coming home to your sleeping face and cook for himself, or maybe order a takeout for himself. 

He walked into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind as you were on the stove, his hand slowly made their way to your stomach, caressing it softly and placed light kisses on your shoulder. 

“What’s on your mind Chuuya?” You asked as you looked over at him 

“I want a baby, Y/n. I want one with you.” Chuuya whispered causing you to blush before a large smile came across your face, you quickly lowered the heat just so you could turn around to kiss your lover. 

“When?” You asked once you pulled your lips away from him. 

“Preferably as soon as possible.” Chuuya responded, his hands only remained on your stomach. He could feel your heart and your body swell with love, happiness and excitement. “Let’s eat first.” Was everything you said before turning around again and turned the heat back up to continue dinner. 

Hours after, Chuuya had you pinned on the bed, thrusting his cock in and out of you, your moans only fuelled his desire to continue. “Baby...” Chuuya moaned out as he kept going at his quick pace. “You’d be such a good mother.” he then muttered out as he let his own release come again. 

You to stayed there for a small while, both in pure bliss. 

“One more round... Please just one more round.” Chuuya begged in a whisper as his cock slowly moved in and out of your aching pussy 

He wanted to make sure that he had defiantly fucked a baby into you before the both of you fell asleep. 

Poe 

Word count: 313 

Poe already has a child. Karl.

He has expressed that he does not want (human) children, so have you.

You both have Karl, and whatever furry creature you bring into your shared home and that’s all you two needed. 

Scenario 

Poe was working on his new mystery novel for his rival, Ranpo while you fed Karl blueberries, which he took happily. 

You looked up at your loving boyfriend for a moment before smiling a little. “We still have something to talk about Poe.” You said, petting Karl. Poe looked up at you “And what is that Dearest?” Poe asked as he now averting his attention to you. 

“Children, Poe. We should discuss...” Poe cure you off before you could finish 

“We have Karl. Why would we have the need for children?” Poe asked as he continued to stare at you, “So, no kids?” You asked your lover. 

“Yes.” Poe answered. 

You let out a sigh of relief, in all honesty, you didn’t want children of your own. You found them to be insufferable, with all the screaming they do, and crying they do. Not to mention the mess they make. It just wasn’t something you were interested in having. 

“Well, if it helps, I’m not interested in having children.” You said with a smile as you went back to feed Karl blueberries. 

“You're going to spoil him like that.” Poe said as he continued writing his novel. 

“Oh, please... As if you wouldn’t spoil Karl yourself.” You said as Karl now climbed on your shoulder. “After all he’s just the cutest racoon alive.” You then cooed as Karl purred affectionately. 

Poe smiled at you two. Karl was truly like his and your baby and you and Poe, are Karls parents. That’s all you needed. 

You two didn’t want human children, but you two would be perfectly content with any animals you would adopt. 

Jouno 

Word count: 836 

Jouno, much like Chuuya, wouldn’t originally want a child.

He would find the amount of noise they make overstimulating to his sensitive ears. Jouno wouldn’t believe he’d make a good father, he is aware that he is not a good person.

Jouno found out that you wanted children at how he heard how your heartbeat quickened whenever you seen families.

However, he was still unsure on children until he saved one.

Saving a child changed his view on him as a potential father. 

The night after he saved that child he immediately after. 

Scenario 

Juono liked children, he wouldn’t want to bring them harm, but he couldn’t see himself having them, he doesn’t think he would be a good father due to his past as being a former member in a criminal organisation. 

Lately he had been noticing how his wife, you, heart rate had been increasing whenever you had been seeing how parents and their children. He could only imagine what was going through your head whenever it did. 

Jouno would come home and kiss you tenderly on the forehead as you slept at night, he would always be so gentle to you whenever he came home from a long, hard day, and found you asleep on their shared bed, you in one of his shirt because his scent lulled you to sleep, something he always teased you about. 

Deep down, Jouno knew you wanted children soon, you just had never said anything because you knew Jouno would rather have a quiet life with you, you also knew that Jouno believed he wouldn’t be the best fit to be a dad, with his criminal past and due to how long he is away each day, sometimes never coming home for weeks, sometimes months at a time. 

The turning point for Jouno was when he saved a child from a burning building, Tetchou was carrying three people at a time and was still running quickly while Teruko chased the arsonist that caused this fire. 

The crackling of the fire made it difficult for Jouno to hear people's heartbeat, thankfully he heard the cries of a young child. Jouno was quick to run to the child's location, due the fire he was unable to activate his ability. 

Jouno picked up the child and began to run as if his own life depended on it, he felt the child cling onto Jouno’s shirt, as burning timber fell in front of the exit. 

Jouno felt his own heartbeat quicken, but he had to keep his composure, “This is bad, if I don’t get out of here then...” Jouno’s thoughts tracked out to you. Jouno turned his body around. Tetchou soon came running to where Jouno currently stood, carrying two people on his shoulders, Jouno could hear his breath hitched. 

“Tetchou, make yourself useful and lend me your eyes.” Jouno said as he turned to his colleague, Tetchou had been working with Jouno for long enough to know what he means, but he hadn’t seen Jouno like that before. Was it because Jouno couldn’t use his ability? That he might not be able to go back to you? Tetchou couldn’t find out the answer. 

“Uh... There’s a window.” Tetchou mentioned as he knocked on the ashy glass before continuing. “But we’re 3 floors high. I don’t think that...” Tetchou was silenced in shock as saw Jouno jumping out of the window, away from the fire, he could now activate his ability to get him and the child down safely. 

Placing the child down he went to the fire engines to get a trampoline for Tetchou and the people he was carrying. 

After things had calmed down, Jouno heard a very familiar heartbeat approaching “Darling? Why are you here?” Jouno asked before he felt you wrap your arms around him, he felt that you were shaking. 

“Darling? Were you scared for me?” Jouno asked as he wrapped his arms around you, returning your hug in his own comforting embrace. “I thought I would’ve...” You didn’t finish your sentence as Jouno pushed your head into his chest “Shut up you fool and listen to my heartbeat. I am fine.” Juno said in a quiet voice. 

He stayed as you calmed down, not particularly caring if the press acknowledged it. He heard footsteps approach him. “I had a strange thought when I was in there though, and that though is slowly turning into a feeling...” Jouno whispered as he stroked his hand through your hair for another second before his hand found your cheek and brought it up so you could face him. 

“My next once in a blue moon break is in the next 3 months, why don’t we...” Jouno leaned down to whisper in your ear. “... Try to start a family together.” Jouno chuckled as he heard your heartbeat quicken and your face redden with the heat rushing to it. 

For the first time, he was excited to have a child, start a family with his one and only love. 

Tetchou 

Word Count: 526 

Tetchou would love to have children, why wouldn’t he? 

He believes that a child with you would make his life with you more perfect than it already was. 

He would be so happy the day he came home after a mission that took a few months to find you pregnant with his child. 

Scenario 

Tetchou remembers the moans that came from your mouth the night before he left for his mission. You two had been trying for a child each night he could with you. It wasn’t often he could have a night alone with you like this. 

And he wanted to make you feel special before he had to leave you for long time. 

You were the only thing on his mind each night he slept, awaiting the day the mission was completed and could return to you. His beloved wife. 

That day came, after a dreaded 5 months, Tetchou could finally return to you. His love for justice was strong, but his love for you was even stronger. You made him feel more than just a soldier. You helped him feel human. 

He went back to the shared apartment he had with you. He ran into the apartment and his eyes widened when he saw you being visibly pregnant. “Tetchou... Are you alright?” You asked as she placed her drink on the counter and got up from her couch to walk over to him. 

“Tetchou?” You said with a smile before you saw tears falling from his eyes. 

 Tetchou pulled you into a tight hug, crying happily into your shoulder. It was rare to see Tetchou in such a state, but he couldn’t control himself in this current moment, you were carrying his child, he couldn’t ask for more. 

Tetchou kissed your face so many times, before he guided you to the couch, getting you to sit down with him. He was hesitant at first to your bump, he looked at you as if asking if it was okay to touch it. 

You only chuckle and place his hand on your stomach for him. he seemed amazed by it, his hands were so gentle as he grazed your stomach, touching it like it was glass. 

Tetchou’s eyes were still filled with tears as he looked down at your stomach, he found it hard to believe that his very own was growing inside of you. 

“I swear on my life, I will protect you and protect our future child. And if I fail, i will own sword and tear out my own guts.” Tetchou swore with the most serious voice you had ever heard. 

“Oh Tetchou, I love you, truly, but I’d prefer to have you alive2 You said with a laugh as you ran your hand through his hair. Tetchou only looked at you with absolute wonder and love in his eyes as another few tears fall. He gives you a smile, a smile that only you saw. 

“Then I swear to protect you and our child.” Tetchou whispered as he leaned in to kiss you. 

As if his life wasn’t perfect enough already, now, he a child of his own on the way. 

Fyodor 

Word Count: 422 

Fyodor is under the firm belief of having children after marriage, he sees it has the way god would intend it to be. 

When you first approached him about children he just said “When we are married” 

Scenario 

You were laying in the shared bed you and Fyodor had with an icy hand wrapped around as he read one of his books to you, speaking in Russian as you laid your head on his chest. 

“Fyodor... What do you feel about having children one day?” You asked him suddenly, causing him to stop reading out loud to you, he gave a chuckle and looked down at you “When we are wedded lyubov moya.” He simply said as he continued to read to you feeling your eyes droop before you fall asleep. 

Fyodor chuckled as he went off the bed before tucking you in and giving you a light kiss on your forehead, and walked out so he could continue his work. It was routine for the two of you when you wanted to you to sleep, Fyodor’s voice always helped you go to sleep. 

Fyodor sat in his chair in front of his many monitors and sat there for a moment “Children....” He mumbled with a smile. 

“My dear... I promise you, once I have perfected this world, I will marry you, and give you the child you desire.” He whispered before he got to proper work. 

He had to finish erasing you from any official documents, to keep hidden, to keep you safe from his enemies. And anyone that could take you away from him. 

He thought of you, and the future child they would have together, he was already imagining on what his child would look like, how many they would have. Maybe 2 or 3, and what they would be like once they were adults 

Of course, they would be little geniuses like him, his genes are strong, he’d also imagine them having black hair, and 1 or 2 would have your eyes the other/s having his eyes, or 1 or 2 having his eyes and the other one having yours. 

He thought of everything about them. Maybe he’d have to marry you sooner than he planned, for him to have the children his mind is conjuring up. 

“Oh, lyubov moya. How I love you.” He said as he looked at a picture of you. “You are my angel, and I swear, you and our children will make my world more perfect than the one i am currently making.” 

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsdfan #bungo stay dogs #bsd x you #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #tetchou suehiro x reader #tetchou x reader #bsd tetchou #tecchou smut #tecchou x reader #bsd tecchou #tecchou suehiro #jouno x y/n #jouno x reader #jouno x you #jouno saigiku #bsd jouno #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara

[propertyofkylar]

happy valentine’s day - m!kylar x f!pc

cw: breeding kink

You stood outside the manor door, grasping a large tote bag in your hands. It being the middle of February, the weather was still quite unpleasant, so without knocking, you walked right inside.

Almost immediately as you stepped in, you were attacked. A pair of arms wrapped tightly around you and you stiffened in response before realizing it was just your overly-eager boyfriend.

“Kylar,” you squeaked out. “Lemme breathe.”

He apologetically took a half-step back, not letting go of you. Kylar looked up at you, his eyes shining brightly through his bangs. “Sorry! Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m just so excited…” he said sheepishly, and you got the idea that he wasn’t really all that sorry.

You smiled and playfully shook your head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Kylar practically lit up when you did that, and was about to snuggle into you again before he got distracted by the bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

You lifted the bag in question. “Gonna make you something to eat.”

Growing up in the orphanage, Valentine’s Day had never been more than you and Robin exchanging sweets you had managed to sneak past Bailey. But now, having a boyfriend, you figured you should actually do something. You weren’t able to afford much and still be able to pay Bailey, and while you knew Kylar would be overjoyed no matter what you offered, you still thought the boy deserved something nice.

Kylar lit up even more and practically jumped for joy. “Thank you, my love!”

You couldn’t help but smile even more as the two of you walked into the rarely-used kitchen. “Curry noodles,” you explained as you set the ingredients on the counter. “I figured it’d be like that crap you eat every day, but with actual nutrients and a non-deadly amount of sodium.”

His head rested on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around you from behind. “Anything you make will be delicious.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, and probably not true,” you smiled. “Now I need you to get off me so I can actually cook.”

“Oh!” Kylar withdrew as if he had been shocked. “Presents! I need to give you your presents!” He scrambled out of the room and returned with a large gift bag.

You began prepping the meal as Kylar showered you with a variety of gifts like flowers, heart-shaped boxes of chocolate and more. You opted not to ask where - or rather, how - he had gotten his hands on them.

Making idle chitchat with your sweet (and overbearing boyfriend), the meal quickly came together and it was time to eat. You dished up a plate and slid it in front of Kylar, who was eyeing the meal like he had never seen anything so delicious before.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high, it’s probably not that good,” you warned, but Kylar vigorously shook his head “no.”

“Anything my love makes is the most delicious thing ever!” He proclaimed before taking a bite. Kylar’s face was aglow with joy as he beamed at you. “It’s amazing!”

He quickly dug in for more, and with a chuckle, you began to eat your own helping. Well, it was pretty decent, after all.

You didn’t talk much through dinner - Kylar was unable to speak as he was scarfing down his food and you actually had to ask him to slow down in fear he might choke - and when you two were done, he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look on his face.

“Thank you, my love,” he said. “Everything you do is perfect. You’re perfect.”

You smiled at the flattery, an eagerness building inside of you as you thought about what was coming next. “That’s not all I have planned.”

Kylar’s eyes widened and his face flushed slightly. Yeah, he had picked up on what you meant. “O-oh?”

Your smirk grew. “It’s time for dessert.”

Without hesitating, Kylar stood from his chair and grabbed your hand, dragging you to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, panting a little.

You took your time going to sit on the edge of his bed, feeling Kylar’s eyes on you all the while. He stood by the door, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Honestly, it was so cute how he still got so nervous when you had sex.

You almost didn’t notice the red rose petals resting atop his bedsheets. The sight of them made you smile. It was a sweet, romantic touch.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kylar,” you said softly, spreading your legs a little. He could see right up your dress and audibly gulped at the sight of your lacy underwear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

He blinked repeatedly. “W-whatever I want?”

You nodded. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Kylar sucked in a breath, then nodded. He made his way over to you and tugged at your dress. “Off.”

You stifled a giggle at his forwardness and teasingly took the dress off, revealing the matching bra and panties you had underneath. His eyes roamed your body hungrily and you couldn’t help but blush yourself under the intensity of his stare.

“See, this is what you get when you don’t steal my underwear.”

Kylar frowned. “No teasing,” he said, and pushed you back on the bed so swiftly that you gasped, many of the petals fluttering to the floor.

With his hands pressing on your shoulders, he straddled you, still unable to take his eyes off your body. “So perfect…” he murmured.

Your whole body felt hot as his hands began to move, grabbing and groping various parts of you. You let out a soft whimper, which seemed to awaken something in Kylar.

He brought his mouth right up against your ear, the feeling of his hot breath sending a shiver through your body. “I’m not gonna stop til I’ve put a baby in you.”

Without giving you a chance to react, he slid your panties down and shoved his head between your thighs. He quickly set to work, licking and sucking, and he had you squirming with pleasure within mere moments.

“Fuck, Kylar,” you gasped. He knew your body so well that he was able to lock onto that one spot so quickly.

“You taste so good,” he mumbled against you, and the vibrations of his voice made you shudder.

You cried out as you hit your first climax of the night, and Kylar drew back, a wide grin on his wet face. He clambered back over top of you, tugging off his sweatshirt and t-shirt in one motion.

He kissed you hard and you tasted your own juices on his tongue. “I want you to feel good,” he said, tugging down his pants. A large damp spot was visible on the front of his boxers where his cock was straining against the fabric and he looked up at you sheepishly.

“I can’t help myself,” he muttered, and it made you smile. You sat up to peel down his boxers, revealing his flushed and painfully hard cock that was practically dripping precum. Kylar’s breath hitched as you lightly trailed your fingers down his shaft.

Shaking his head and inhaling deeply, Kylar pushed your shoulders so you were laying flat on the bed. He gently stroked his shaft, lubing up his cock between your folds.

Then, with a slightly crazed look in his eyes, he plunged his cock into you.

Almost immediately, Kylar started whimpering and mumbling, but you couldn't make much of it out other than “ohmygodIloveyousomuch.”

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, but found yourself unable to say anything either.

“Kylar,” you whined, which only inspired Kylar to move his hips faster, relentlessly fucking you as he pressed your legs back, moving you into a mating press.

This new angle had you seeing stars, and already you could feel your second climax approaching.

Kylar was pressing kisses all over your face and neck - anywhere he could reach, basically, all while mumbling under his breath about his love for you and how he would die if he didn’t put a baby in you tonight.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, and gripped onto Kylar’s shoulders as you came again.

His stuttering hips and erratic breathing signaled that his climax wasn’t far behind. And with a cry, Kylar came inside you, his hands clinging to your waist as he thrust inside you as deeply as possible.

Kylar buried his head in your neck and laid on top of you, your limbs intertwined, and his cock still inside of you. “I love you,” he mumbled against your sweaty skin.

It made you smile. “I love you too,” you replied, and you could feel his own smile grow against your neck.

Wrapping your arms around his back, you held him close as you rested your cheek atop his head, closing your eyes and settling in.

But Kylar had a different idea.

He flipped around so he was on his back and you were on top of him. You could feel him hardening again inside of you already, and the crazed look was back in his eyes.

“Y-you can’t expect to get pregnant from just one load, my love.”

You were in for a long night.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #kylar the loner #dol kylar #kylar x reader #writing #WOW #FINALLY DONE #YIPPPEEE HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT #cw breeding kink

[maxybabyy]

Daniel watches on as Max dodges him for the third time today, shimmies away from Daniel’s hands as he hurries to catch up with GP.

Daniel knows Max likes GP better than most people, knows they’ve been together longer than he and Max have. Max will bring it up sometimes when Daniel’s being needy and won’t stop touching him. He will go, “He is of course my race engineer, Daniel. Always I will have to see him more when it is a race weekend, no?”

Daniel will whine, call them work husbands with no love left for their real spouses. The words will taste sour even to his own tongue, but in the moment it will feel better. Max will say as he did once, “If you do not like this, GP being my husband. You can of course change this also, Daniel.”

So Daniel doesn’t call them that anymore, has taken to kiss him silly instead to keep him put.

But Max’s already been in two meetings with GP, and Daniel has barely seen him today, didn’t even get a morning kiss in before they had to leave for the paddock.

GP is picked off by one of the engineers, young and sweet as he works up the nerve to interrupt Max’s latest rant, hands vivid in the air. Daniel is quick to swoop in, bullies Max into a small alcove with his knee pressed against Max’s thigh to keep him in place.

“Daniel? What is this?” He says, wiggles in his hold. “I of course do not have time for this. Rupert wants me to look over the food that he will order, and I have to –“

“You’re a busy boy, Maxy. I know, just,” Daniel says, digs his knee harder into Max when he still hasn’t stopped moving. “Why are you being weird? I’ve barely seen you today, baby, and now you’re trying to do a fucking runner on me.”

“I am not weird,” Max says, crosses his arms over his chest.

Daniel smiles, sweet and soft to keep his lips from twisting. “Annoyed then? Frustrated? Did I do something to piss you off, babe?”

Max keeps looking at him, steady blues as he doesn’t blink. But his chest starts to move, deep, fast breaths that make his tits strain against the polo he always wears. The wind is chilly too, makes the nips peak out. “I am of course not this, annoyed, frustrated,” he says, voice curt.

“But I did do something,” Daniel guesses. “Baby, whatever I did to make you mad, please just tell me and I will –“

He leans in to touch Max’s waist, face close enough to kiss if Max just gave up the last few inches. But instead of leaning in like he always does, Max twists away from him with a glare, “Always I will see you later, Daniel. You can think maybe about how to not be a stupid idiot then.”

Daniel doesn’t know what to say, watches him walk away with his back against the wall.

“’A stupid idiot’? That’s what he called you?” George asks, digs his fork into the leafy greens Daniel had been too weak to order. “And you’re sure you haven’t done anything bad? Did you forget an anniversary perhaps? The cats’ birthdays?”

Daniel shakes his head. Max doesn’t care about shit like that. Sassy had her birthday back in April, and Jimmy will have his turn after the summer break. Siblings, but not twins. “They of course deserve their own birthdays, Daniel,” Max had said, coaxing a small hat onto the head of a patient Jimmy.

“He was fine last night, had a nice dinner. The hotel room is meh, but that’s not my fault, yeah?” Max had been tossing and turning all night, sweaty where he was pressed Daniel’s chest. But he’s dealt with a tired Max before, and this wasn’t it.

George watches him for a moment, eyes sharp as he stabs his fork through a tomato. “Reckon it’s that thing women do sometimes?” He asks, voice unnaturally casual like he knows it’s a shit thing to say.

“What, George?” Daniel says and abandons his spoonful of chickpea curry. The coriander tastes odd on his tongue, and he wonders if maybe they put nuts in it anyway. “What is it that women and Max do sometimes?”

“I don’t – you know that wasn’t.” Geroge breathes out, in, and then out again. “Carmen obviously doesn’t do this, mind you. And I don’t think Max would either, but there are like, these stories on the internet of women getting mad at their boyfriends because they dreamt about them cheating on them.

“Obviously, Max wouldn’t do it either, but.” George shrugs uncomfortably, the corner of his mouth pulled to the side.

And like, but indeed.

Max barely looks at him during dinner, talks about the press conference like Daniel wasn’t there next to him, and doesn’t answer when he asks about going out for drinks tomorrow.

He’s about to storm back into the bedroom, when Daniel says, “Reckon we should talk about this? Or do you want to keep being mad about something I did in your dream?”

The way Max’s head whips back to look at him is confirmation enough, but the deep, scarlet tint to his cheeks makes it all the more obvious.

“Maxy, why didn’t you tell me you had a bad dream? We could have talked about it together, yeah?” He says. He closes the distance between them cautiously, hovers awkwardly at the edge of Max’s personal space until Max nudges their feet together.

“You were of course a very stupid idiot in my dream, so I thought it would be good maybe to have you think about why it is so bad to do,” Max says, and he sounds so sincere it makes his chest feel tight.

“I reckon that’s fair. It did feel like shit though, thinking you were really mad at me, baby,” Daniel tells him. Max opens his arms, and Daniel is quick to fold himself into them, bury his head in the crook of his neck. The scent of their shared cologne is faint under the day’s sweat. “But you have to know I would never do that to you, yeah?”

Max nods against his shoulder, kisses the crown of his head. “I of course know this, Daniel. It would be very stupid to do this, and you would end up dead also,” Max says. He cups Daniel’s cheek, strokes his thumb along the edge of his jaw, and Daniel knows he’s going to get kissed, soft lips against his, but he cannot –

“Like, yeah. Obviously, I would never cheat on you, Maxy,” he says, covers Max’s hand with his own. To keep him in place, to stop him from moving closer, he doesn’t know. “But, killing me because of it is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Max watches him with a frown, head tilted to the side. “Cheat on me? Why would you do this? Daniel, is this what you dream of? We should talk maybe about this more also.”

Daniel digs his fingers into the dip of his waist, wills Max not to step away, “Hey, it’s your fucking dream, babe. I just think we maybe disagree on whether it deserves the death penalty, but it’s all hypothetical, no?”

Max scoffs, “This is a very stupid dream you have, Daniel. In my dream you were stupid also, so there is maybe something to think about.”

“If it wasn’t – Maxy, love of my life, whom I will never cheat on, ever,” Daniel says, kisses him softly. “Why were you mad at me in your dream?”

Max’s eyes sharpen, and the hand on his cheek drops to hold his shoulder, “Because never would you listen to me, Daniel. We were in the apocalypse, and always you were going to get yourself killed! You did not want to stay with the very nice, very big dog that I told to protect you, and you did not want to eat the food I made for us.

“Always, you wanted stupid Scotty to stay with us, when you knew, you knew of course that he was bitten and would try to eat us. And then I will have to kill him, and you will of course be sad. But I have to save us also, Daniel, so you have to stop being so stupid!”

Max looks so fucking worked up about this, chest heaving and red in the face, and Daniel wants to fucking eat him alive. Kisses him instead, takes what he can get.

“You’re gonna protect me in your big, bad dream, Maxy?”

Max huffs, lets himself be led into the bedroom, “I will of course always save you, Daniel. When you are being so very stupid, also.”

#maxiel #maxiel fic #my fic #fic #my writing #max/daniel

[gojoed]

A HOUSE THAT SMELLS LIKE HOME. | gojo x reader. | 2k words

He was a hard working man. 

Following the words of the elder people he disliked immensely, and doing their bidding. They had been running him down to the bone even more these past few weeks. Gojo was a person who didn’t like showing his fatigue but it couldn’t help but show itself without his permission.

His usual quick and irritating quips were slowing down, only offering a smile at times. The bags under his eyes had grown increasingly more apparent with each night, barely a few hours of sleep before the sounds of his phone waking him up and demanding him to go to work.

And Gojo has been living off of sweets for the past few days. Not that he normally doesn’t do that but the time saved for lunch with you or his students were cut short as he was yet again sent off. And dinner was no exception. A half eaten plate would become more of an occurrence with him rushing through the door. 

You decided enough was enough when you came home one day. All the lights were off, the structure was silent on the inside just as it was on the outside (you lived in a calm neighborhood close to the school.)

The only light source were the streaks of sunlight peeking through the slits of the curtains, most of them closed; some of them were left open to let the house get air. And one of those streaks of light seemed to land on a head of white hair. 

Gojo was sleeping, if you could really call it that. His whole body took up the entire couch, with a blanket roughly thrown on himself. His work jacket was left laying on the floor, he must have gotten home not too long ago then.

His snores were clear and loud, he only ever did when he really was tired. Getting closer to him and leaving your things behind at the door, you could now see that not only was he snoring but also drooling onto the cushions. Poor thing was exhausted.

You ran a single finger across his forehead, lightly removing his hair from his face and tucking it as best you could behind his ear. You let another finger join the other, running them along his jawline to down his neck. He didn’t stir from his sleep. Gojo never settled as a light or deep sleeper. At night it varied, where one night a single creak could make his eyes snap open or where even the loudest of shouts couldn’t wake him up.

And the tired Gojo Satoru that was left at your kind mercy was deep in sleep, off in dreamland. You worried for him, not that a curse could leave him for dead but that his own disregard for his own wellbeing could end up killing him. He always put others before himself, taking care of his own; even if to others it didn’t seem like that. 

And that worry only peaks when you hear a soft buzz on the floor.

Thankfully it wasn’t enough to wake him up, so you quietly took his phone out of his jacket without stopping your fingers from playing with the ends of his hair.

It was one of the higher ups again, practically demanding that Satoru had another job to do.

Anger rose up in your body, but you didn’t let it control you. Only sending a message reading ‘He won’t be taking it’, you shut his phone off. Was it a little harsh? Just a bit. But they deserved it, Gojo was not a machine. 

He was a human, with needs and wants, just like any other person.

Standing up, you fixed the blanket that was roughly covering him up and went to change. You thought about waking him up to take a bath, but he needed sleep. 

So you took a loose shirt of his and a pair of sweatpants and set it over to where he was sleeping. He was still drooling, still snoring, only having shifted a little. Good. 

Next was food. Gojo had been living off of unhealthy food for some time now, so something soft could help settle his stomach from the contrast of street food and an uncanny amount of sweets. White curry, which was a favorite of his ever since he went to Hokkaido and tried it, seemed to fit for tonight.

Chicken katsu would be accompanying the curry, since he needed the protein. 

Roughly an hour into cooking you felt long arms circle around your torso and tighten. It nearly gave you a heart attack, the arms pulling you slightly away from the stove where you held chopsticks and chicken was cooking on the heated pan.

“Shit Satoru, give me a warning next time.”

“Potty mouth.”

His head was resting on top of yours. He was taller than most people, so his neck was slightly arching downwards. No doubt giving him a bit of pain, but it seemed he paid no mind to it.

“Whatcha cookin’, honey?” 

You hummed, “Chicken katsu right now, we’re eating white curry tonight.” 

It was Satoru’s turn to hum, burying his face now into the nape of your neck, giving it small nips. You leaned backwards, bumping into him as if to say ‘quit it’. He knows you didn’t mean it harshly, so Satoru only hummed again and faced towards the food on the stove.

“It smells good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Definitely, yeah.”

You both stood there, silently appreciating each other as it had been some time since you’ve spent time like this. Satoru ends up softly swaying the two of you side to side, playfully pinching at your skin that his hands could reach. 

“Yknow, it felt nice to wake up to the smell of your cooking.”

That comment made your smile falter just a little bit. Knowing his past, you knew he had grown up with barren walls and very little happiness. The clan where he had gotten his name did not treat him with love. The only smell of food he would ever get was the food that was delivered to his room. No one to eat with, no one but the four white walls that enclosed his room. 

But with you, Gojo had learned things. He learned that dinner was not a time of silence, but a time of noise. The clinking of tableware, the sounds of voices conversing. And the feeling of contentment hanging and infecting the air. To him, a house that smelled like home was one where he could find you cooking.

Taking a deep breath in you calmed yourself and told Satoru to go take a bath,

“But I'm hungry.”

“The rice is still cooking ‘toru, so go take a bath in the meantime, ok?”

“But what if I don't want to take a bath?”

“Satoru, you stink.” The tone of your voice being playful.

“I do not! I smell great, for your information.”

And he did, even with the days of only showering quickly and hastingly going to bed he still smelled good. Like rain water, and something deep that just smelled like him. But if fatigue had a smell, you would say it was lingering on his body.

“Doesn’t matter stinky, now go bathe.”

He whined, but reluctantly began pulling away from the heat your bodies created.

“Promise you won’t forget about me?”

“It's hard to forget you, Satoru.”

“I’m going away to bathe, all alone, it’s scary when I'm all alone.”

“Want a kiss to stay safe then?”

That made him smile ear to ear, taking your chin and letting his lips clash softly with yours. Satoru kissed gently, he kissed roughly, and he kissed as if he was putting his whole heart and soul into it. And he did. Everything he did to you and with you was everything to him. 

Giving your side a hard but playful pinch, he left you with a sore spot and went over to the bathroom to bathe (taking the clean clothes you left near him). 

By the time Satoru has returned, food had already been plated and set onto the table. A sight he would never grow tired of seeing. He happily slid over to where you were standing, leaning on the counter checking your phone. 

He reattached himself to your previous position, draping himself all over you and practically shielding you from everything else that wasn’t him.

“I’m back, did you miss me?”

“Terribly so.”

Satoru grunted and pulled you with him over to the table. Fighting against the monstrosity of a man would prove useless, you learned that out the hard way multiple times before. He let you go to be able to sit down, taking his own seat that was next to you. Why should I sit so far away from you, it’s better this way! Was his argument some time ago when Satoru said he wanted to eat next to you. 

His hair was slightly wet, you could tell by the water droplets that had caught themselves into his shirt. The collar being dotted with dark spots from his bangs. You decided to say nothing, as the sight of Gojo Satoru grabbing onto his chopsticks and anxiously digging into his food was something that could leave you content for days. But your growing hunger made your stomach make noise, so you followed after him.

“Mmm, I love the way you make this curry.”

“And after only looking at the recipe once.”

“Show off.”

“But you still love it.”

“Of course I do! White curry is way better than regular curry.”

“That’s only because you have an unhealthy affection towards dairy, ‘toru.”

“Hokkaido milk is amazing, are you- perhaps jealous?”

“Satoru, I’d have to be pretty weird to be jealous of dairy.”

The rest of dinner was eaten the way Satoru liked it, with you. 

Dishes had taken a little longer to wash, as a water fight ensued, with a plate almost breaking but being cleverly rescued by Satoru’s infinity. You had tasked him with cleaning up the spilled water on the floor while you dried the newly washed dishes and put them away. My new name should be Cinderella now, so cruel to me, my own spouse, he pouted. 

Well that was Gojo Satoru for you.

By the time the kitchen was cleaned, night had already fallen. No more sunlight peeked through the curtains, only faint moonlight and streetlights. Lights within the house had been turned on as well; a warm glow that emitted from them. 

And now, the both of you were in your living room, Satoru laying his whole body on top of you like a sheet. His head resting on your sternum while he faced the tv. You had placed the blanket he was using earlier to cover now the two of you. The tv was playing a movie, but only a few minutes in, not even twenty: you could feel Satoru’s breathing start to get even deeper.

You nudged him lightly, feeling a little bad about it when he jumped a bit and made his chin now rest on your chest to look at you.

“You wanna move to the bed now, sleepyhead?”

Satoru didn’t respond until after he yawned, complaining after you said he needed to brush his teeth.

“No, I don't want to. I’m comfortable here.”

“You sure, it’s bigger than the couch, baby.”

He hummed, moving his hand that tucked under him like a cat would and poked your cheek.

“I’m more than happy to sleep here, if it’s with you.”

Raising your own hand, you cupped his face. The face of the man you fell in love with, the man who bore himself to you.

“Ok, just don’t complain when you have back pain.”

“Dummy you ruined the moment.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He was a hard working man. But the best payment he could ever receive, was to be able to come back home to you.

#satoru <33 #my writing #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x y/n #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #was this written on a whim? yes. #but it's been baking in the brain oven for awhile. #THIS TOOK THREE HOURS YOU GOOFY GOOBERS

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hello! Could I request Ruggie, Deuce, & Azul dating a wealthy S/O? How would they feel about that? Thank you btw! 🙏

Azul Ashengrotto:

Assuming your level of rich, like if you were Shroud family level of rich, it was probably a bigger issue before dating Azul because he had to prove to you (and himself) that he wasn’t interested in just your money. If it was something he didn't learn until after you were together, you were already prepared and immune to his onslaught of investment ideas (not even batting his eyelashes could get you to budge on something you didn't also believe in).

Deuce Spade:

Your wealth had actually intimidated Deuce a great deal. He was worried about the fancy upbringing you most likely had and, being the little delinquent he was, he assumed if you discovered his past your interest in him would tank. There’s something about Deuce that made you want to spoil him, not because you felt sorry for him but because he was cute and you loved him very much. He always felt guilty accepting your generosity but you were always so insistent, it didn’t feel right to turn away your gifts.

Ruggie Bucchi:

Though many might assume it was targeted behavior, Ruggie didn’t start dating you because of your money. As much as it was a benefit, and he wasn’t going to deny that he knew about your wealth before dating you, it wasn’t the only reason he was with you. If he was just trying to get some monetary value he would’ve just treated you the same way he did Leona, going out of his way to do little odd jobs to curry favor; dating and loving a person was a whole different ordeal in his opinion.

#Disney TWST #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Azul Ashengrotto #Deuce Spade #Ruggie Bucchi

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

#everyone else finds out that Eddie is still alive after Callahan helps to clear his name #him and Steve and Robin still move away but Phil acts as a protective big brother and goes with them #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #officer callahan is steve’s brother

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, heavy suggestive themes, lots of kissing, intimate touching, domestic!Simon

Word Count: 8k

A/N: Part Nine of Ink & Needle

Evie fractures. You spend the evening with Simon in his apartment. An unwanted caller makes contact.

Chapter Eight // Chapter Ten

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The excitement of the day is starting to set in. Everything was a whirlwind this morning, and only now, in the quiet of the kitchen in Evie’s Cambridge home, is it all beginning to catch up with you.

The continuously growing list of things to do is as messy and vast as the scattered assembly of carryout boxes on the kitchen island. Most of it is Chinese takeout boxes—which, to your disappointment—is not like American Chinese takeout at all. Evie thought it hilarious when you began opening boxes only to discover multiple containers of curry sauce and mushy peas. Greasy burgers were ordered and consumed instead. Now, as you begin sifting through the mess, tossing containers into a trash bag, exhaustion is showing its teeth, reminding you just how hectic it’s been.

Outside the patio doors, the sun is low, it’s beams hardly breaking over the natural hedge fence along the property line. The lights above the kitchen island and stove are on, adding to the low, warm glow of the evening sun. Scattered across the countertop behind you are various stacks of paperwork. You and Evie need to go through all of it, but you’re unwilling to burden her with too much.

Evie is still grieving, and she’s eight months pregnant, quickly approaching nine. The only thing Evie needs to worry about is getting plenty of rest and the upcoming labor. She doesn’t need to fret over conversations with the estate agent or Archie’s solicitor. Not to mention the fact that the solicitor brought up potential troubles with Archie’s family, indicating a barrister might be needed if they decide to fight over Archie’s money. That did not reach Evie’s ears. Those people have already done enough, and if you can, you’ll keep their poison away for as long as possible.

No. The main concern is Evie’s pregnancy. With the move to London, all of Evie’s medical history has to be transferred to her new hospital and doctor. It’s incredibly close to the due date for everyone’s liking, but it can’t be helped. Evie won’t be giving birth in Cambridge.

Sighing, you toss yet another empty container into the bag, purposefully keeping your back to the stack of papers. You offered up the idea to the estate agent of selling the place fully furnished to which you were quickly dismissed. Frustrating, because it means your job becomes much more difficult, but understandable. People want to make new memories. They don’t want to cling to someone else’s old ones.

Over dinner, you and Evie discussed how she wanted to clear out the house of her belongings. Sell it? Donate it? Put it in storage? Take it with her? There wasn’t a true decision but there was an agreement on beginning the process.

It’s a start. It’s something.

Tomorrow, Friday afternoon to be exact, you and Evie are heading back to London. It’s a quick turnaround, but you’re eager to return and see your wraith. Just thinking of him, speaking his name in your mind, is enough to swirl the quietly simmering heat in your belly to a healthy boil. The warmth that arrives with Simon’s name spreads to your toes and throughout your limbs.

Smiling, nearly giggling, cheeks fevering with the memory of his kisses from Monday, you lightly press the tips of your fingers to your lips, floating in the memory of how they tasted his skin.

Then, you remember where you are. And what you’re supposed to be doing.

“Get a fucking grip,” you mutter under your breath, stuffing the last of the takeout boxes into the trash bag.

When you return from tossing the bag into the outside bin, you wash your hands before reaching for your phone. In the group chat with Jade and Sam, you give them a quick update, silencing your phone afterward, plugging it in to charge for the night.

Evie is upstairs somewhere, likely rummaging around in things she shouldn’t be. She has a knack for that, doing things without asking for help, believing that doing so is a sign of weakness. It’s that American Midwest can-do attitude. Independent and self-sufficient. A good ole’ Missouri girl. That’s Evelyn Green.

Rubbing at your right temple, you head upstairs, aiming for the master bedroom. The door stands open, and as you approach, you stop short the frame when you hear a choked, strangled sob.

“Evie?” you call out.

You listen intently, not sure if you’ve misheard. But you hear it again, a pained sound that sounds more injured animal than human.

Cold fear twists your stomach, drags it down to the floor, stomps all over it and grins.

“Evie!”

Shoving through the door, you don’t find her anywhere. Scanning the master bedroom, you notice the scattered clothes across the bed and the rumpled sheets. But the room is dark. The only light comes from the walk-in closet. Its angles are sharp like a blade and you fear the worst. What if she’s fallen? Surely, you would have heard the crash, or a solid thump?

Heading toward it, the rising fear intensifies until it lodges in your throat, waiting to emerge like a striking snake.

You step into the beam of light.

Sitting in the middle of a large pile of clothes is Evie.

She’s bent over, at least, as bent as her belly will allow her to be. Her pale cheeks are slashed with red and tear-stained. Her shoulders shake with every sob, each one appearing painful. And, in her hands, she cradles a little beige box.

The lid is off. The white ribbon on the top is yellowed and brittle. It rests to the left of Evie’s right foot on one of Archie’s button ups. Within that little beige box is a boutonnière. It’s Archie’s boutonnière. The one he wore on their wedding. It’s dried out now, more potpourri than flower, a silent witness to Evie’s suffering.

“Oh. Evie,” you sigh, going down on your knees in front of her, your hands outstretched but not touching, unsure of how she’s needing comfort.

She glances up. Chokes. Hiccups. “He’s gone,” she whimpers, and all you want to do is absorb her pain.

“I know,” you murmur. “I know, Evie. I’m so sorry.”

“He—he’s gone.” Fresh tears form in the corners of her eyes. They quickly compound on each other, rapidly filling the bottom of her eyelids. “He’s gone and I—”

A gut-wrenching sob rips from her. Like someone is reaching down her throat to tear out her vocal cords.

With extreme gentleness, you place one hand on her shoulder. The other cradles her hand holding the small beige box. “Evie—”

“He’s gone!” she wails. “And this is all I have left!” Evie gestures around at the clothes.

“You have so much more than that,” you soothe, lightly rubbing her shoulder in slow circles.

But Evie is shaking her head, sniffling hard, sucking up all the phlegm that threatens to slip from her nostrils. She’s a mess. A cacophony of a storm.

She glances up. Stares at the ceiling of the closet. “What happens when I start to forget his face?” Evie turns her gaze to you, the defeat and sorrow there sharp enough to shred the soul. “What happens then?”

“You won’t,” you insist, grasping the sides of her face. Strands of her dark hair stick to her tear-stained skin. Your brush them out of the way. “You love him, and the memory of that love is enough.”

Evie keeps shaking her head. “I can’t do this,” she murmurs, cradling her belly with one hand. “How do I do this without him?”

“You can, Evelyn Green. And you’re not alone. You have me. And Amelia. Jade. Sam.” With the pad of your thumb, you remove a few falling tears from her cheek. “This baby will be surrounded by love. She’ll never be without. She will always be safe. And when you tell her stories of her father, all she’ll know is how much you love him, and how much he wanted to meet her.”

Tears spillover to paint Evie’s cheeks as she leans into you. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, offering your shoulder to rest her head on. Neither of you talks, and this isn’t your place to say anything at all. This is for Evie, and whatever she needs.

Keeping one hand clutching the beige box, Evie reaches up with the other, fingers wrapping around your forearm. Digging, digging in where they land and are sure to leave little half-moons behind. Fuck it. You hardly care. You’re too focused on keeping her aloft, on being Evie’s anchor where she has none.

You won’t allow your friend to sink.

You stay like this until your knees hurt and your lower back aches. You stay like this until Evie signals she’s ready to let go with a gentle squeeze of your arm. As she pulls away, Evie wipes at her eyes. She still clings to that little box, but she needs rest, and you know she’ll never forgive herself if she takes it to bed with her and crushes it.

Placing both hands around the box, you silently implore her to let go. Evie does, hesitantly, and you lay the precious cargo on the ground. Presenting your hands, you put Evie to bed, keeping watch until you’re certain she’s truly asleep and not faking it for your benefit.

Only then do you return to the closet. Only then do you lift the little box from off the floor to carry it downstairs and set it next to your charging phone. Going to the mantel over the fireplace, you select your favorite photo from Archie and Evie’s wedding day. It’s a simple one, but the love oozes from it, sticks in between your teeth to blissfully rot away the enamel.

In the photo, Archie and Evie look at each other and not into the camera. It’s not staged. Just a moment caught when they thought no one was looking. A moment special only to them. Taking it to the kitchen, you rest it next to the box holding Archie’s boutonnière.

By the time you crawl into bed in the guestroom, it’s close to morning.

The few hours you manage to snag are not nearly enough. And when you awaken, you realize quickly that there is no amount of coffee in the world that can save you. Dragging yourself from bed, you clean up the clothes Evie left on the floor of the closet without disturbing her. Down in the kitchen, you make breakfast and place several phone calls. Nearly all of them are to Archie’s solicitor and the estate agent.

You’re exhausted. Fucking gone, but you have to do this for her.

Evie doesn’t drag herself out of bed until almost noon. By that time, the two of you need to start heading back to London. You take the driver seat, and Evie sits passenger with the little box holding Archie’s boutonnière and the framed photo resting in her lap.

“Simon came to see you,” are the first words out of Amelia’s mouth when she greets you.

“He did?” you squeak, nearly dropping the bag you just removed from the trunk of the car. Excitement and giddiness blooms in your chest.

Simon came to see you. He came…to see you.

But why would he not? He chased you down. Pursued you. Looked for you relentlessly. Of course he’d come by. You know this.

After visiting him at 141 Ink on Monday morning, you stopped to grab some groceries before heading home. Amelia and Evie nearly tackled you when you came through the door, both of them eager, pecking like annoying hens, seeking information. Too embarrassed to admit that you’d straddled him in front of the big window and sucked on his neck, you glossed over the more intimate moments much to their frustration.

Amelia had popped open a bottle of wine afterward and asked you if you knew anything about his history in the military. In all honesty, you know very little, just what he mentioned that morning. Thinking about it now, you truly don’t know anything concrete about your wraith. Physical chemistry is a good thing to possess, but that won’t last if there is nothing else to connect to.

Amelia already appeared to know this, and mentioned that you might want to take a delicate step with him in that area. “A bad injury” is what she said, but Amelia didn’t know any of the details. Then again, Amelia might know, and was only considering Simon’s privacy.

“Oh, yes. He was here. Burst through the backdoor and yelled at me for forgetting to lock the front one.”

Evie’s head pops up above the top of the car. “He yelled at you?”

You glance at Amelia, unbelieving that someone like Simon would raise his voice at her.

“Oh, posh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Perhaps yell is a strong word. Growled. Said with irritation. Better?” Amelia shrugs one of the bags over her shoulder.

You and Evie exchange a knowing glance.

Could you go see him tonight? You consider the options. You could stay here and have dinner with Amelia and Evie. Or, you could go see Simon. Enter his shop while he’s working, observe him in his elements. And afterward—

“Are you all right? You look like you’re about ready to faint.” Amelia’s voice snaps you back to reality.

Shit.

Evie stands slightly left and back to Amelia. She’s grinning, knowing exactly where your mind drifted off to.

You smile awkwardly. “I’m fine. Just surprised.”

Amelia makes a face like she doesn’t believe that for a second. But she shrugs, not commenting about it. “You should visit him. It’s Friday. Make a night of it.”

“Are you sure?” you ask hurriedly, not wanting to sound too eager.

Amelia scoffs. “Evie and I will be perfectly fine.” She turns to Evie pointedly. “Won’t we?”

“Perfectly peachy,” winks Evie, shimmying her shoulders suggestively at you before following a cackling Amelia inside.

Your grab several more bags as if one less trip will truly cut into seeing Simon time. Then it’s done, and you’re nearly sprinting up the stairs for a shower and a change of clothes.

“How do I look?” you ask around your toothbrush, turning slightly so Evie can see every angle.

Evie glances up from her phone and grins. “If Simon isn’t all over you the moment you walk through the door, he’s a fucking idiot.” She points at you with her phone. “And you can tell him I said that.”

You snort, and then cover your mouth quickly. Evie laughs too but it’s more of a wheeze and that only makes the strangled, airless sounds you both make that much worse.

“Oh shit,” hisses Evie. “I peed. Thanks, bitch.” She half-rolls, half-flops out of the bed and starts waddling toward the bathroom.

“You’re welcome,” you call out to her retreating back.

Evie holds out her middle finger before shutting the bathroom door. Pulling on your coat and grabbing your purse off the top of the dresser, you head downstairs to slip on your boots.

Every step you take toward 141 Ink is light. Unhurried. It’s easy. Yes, you’re anxious, but that’s only because you’re eager to see Simon, to feel his hands on you, and forget yourself for a bit in his embrace.

As you near, that nervousness starts to slither up, blooming like a poisonous flower. Beautiful, but deadly, waiting for you to consume it. The black and eggplant-purple exterior come into view and that only amplifies what is already screeching under your skin.

“You’ve got this,” you tell yourself. “It’s fine. Calm. Down.”

Your heart and brain and limbs won’t listen. It amplifies further as you reach for the door.

Pushing it open, you’re met with warm air and the scent of pine underlined with the faintest hint of sterile cleaning solution. There is no soft chime when the door opens, but it might have been swallowed up by the music. Heavy metal rushes out from the speakers. It’s not overly loud, nothing that would damage the ears, but it’s certainly loud enough to muffle a conversation. You’re curious if this is Simon’s choice, or if it’s the customer currently in the tattoo chair.

Your glimpse of Simon and his client is brief. Immediately upon entrance, an all-black German Shepard leaps off the couch and greets you, tail wagging so fast it stirs up the air creating a breeze.

“Hello, Bravo,” you croon, scratching under his chin and then between his ears. Bravo leans into it, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in perfect contentment. “Good boy.”

When you straighten your back and glance up, you notice Simon in the back of the room next to the tattoo chair. He sits on a small stool with a black cushion on wheels. The person receiving their tattoo is on their stomach, back presented to Simon as he works. He hasn’t noticed you yet. He’s completely lost in his craft.

You take this time to observe him, standing there in the entrance of his parlor while Bravo aggressively licks the inside of your hand. Simon isn’t wearing a jacket, only a black t-shirt with short sleeves. It fits him snuggly, clearly hugging every muscle. Both tattoo sleeves are on full display. One is solid black. The other consist of various images and symbols that all interweave around each other. Other than the black t-shirt, Simon wears black joggers and sneakers.

Simon sits up a bit, rolls both shoulders. The muscles in his arms flex with the movement. Your wraith is all power. There is so much strength there, and your brain conjures up the memory of Riot Room when Simon lifted you effortlessly, held you aloft as he brought your bodies together over and over again.

He dips the tip of the needle into the ink, bends forward, returning it to the skin. Returning to his work. You desire closeness, to admire the art as he’s creating it on the man’s back, but also don’t wish to disturb his concentration. Watching him in his natural elements is peaceful. All that earlier anxiety is suddenly gone.

When Simon reaches for the ink again, Simon finally glances up. The moment your gazes lock, he freezes, hovering in a moment of stasis. It breaks, and Simon starts to stand, his arm extending outward to turn off the tattoo gun.

Nope. No. This is not what you want. You’ve disturbed him, throttled his concentration.

You shake your head vehemently, holding up both hands, pointing at the couch in the waiting area. Bravo lightly headbutts your thigh, clearly upset that you’ve taken away your hand for him to lick.

Simon holds his position. Knees slightly bent, legs just starting to extend like he’s ready to leap up at your request. Moving quickly, you settle yourself on the couch, Bravo jumping up next to you, snuggling down onto his belly, his large head plopping into your lap.

Only then does Simon sink back onto his stool.

The distance between the two of you is too much for your liking, but you know the feeling is mutual. Simon’s gaze is heated, and his body, which at first faced the client in the chair, is turned in your direction. Those dark, gorgeous eyes of his linger. They drag up your body, and back down again. Simon is taking his time, and under that wanton stare, you feel bare. Exposed. Chest cavity broken up and strewn out. Vulnerable.

It's unnerving. And yet thrilling. It’s how you felt when you first accepted his offer at Riot Room, when you off-handedly brought up the proposition and Simon made sure to end it.

His gaze remains a few seconds longer before Simon finally returns to the man lying face down on the chair. With one hand on top of Bravo’s head, you press the other hand to your cheek. It’s hot. Feverish. And you suddenly notice the growing slickness between your thighs.

Attempting to shift focus, you give most of your attention to Bravo, talking softly to the dog about your day, lulling the massive hound to sleep.

Even like this, you can’t help but notice all the times that Simon consistently glances up from his work, gaze focused in on you like you’ll somehow disappear. Sometimes it’s a quick one-two and he’s right back in it, set in on his work. Other times, he draws it out, as if silently telling you that he sees you. Those glances seize your heart, wrenching it right down into your stomach.

Once Bravo falls into a gentle snooze, and you have nothing else to direct your attention toward—except Simon’s lingering stares—you opt for productivity. With no idea how much longer Simon has with his client, you slip your phone out of your coat pocket and start catching up on work emails. Several deadlines are approaching quickly, and you’re terribly behind. You need an afternoon to yourself to simple work without interruptions. But that’s been difficult, especially when most of your time has been devoted to Evie.

“Done.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of Simon’s deep timbre. The client stretches, half-rolling half-stumbling to his feet.

Simon gestures for them to turn around. “Back to the mirror,” he instructs.

From off a rolling cart, Simon snags a hand mirror, presenting it to the client. It allows the man to admire Simon’s work. You have a clear view of the mirror. It’s just an outline, but it’s massive, covering the man’s entire back.

“Color and shading will take a couple sessions,” says Simon. “What do you think?”

You don’t catch what the man says, but you do hear Simon’s amused chuckle. He takes the hand mirror and places it on the tattoo chair. The two of them talk for a bit as money is exchanged and Simon hands him a care packet. The client shrugs on his shirt and coat, heading for the door.

As he approaches, he slows, noticing you on the couch. The corner of his mouth turns upward. He pointedly takes his time opening the door, a flirty smile on his face aimed at you as he steps out onto the street.

When the door clicks shut, you glance at Simon. His fists are clenched, hanging at his sides. Those dark eyes of his are bullets, ready to kill, completely fixated on the shut door.

“Simon,” you call out softly, a little of your worry slipping in. His gaze immediately adjusts, moving to you, softening entirely when he takes you in.

He tears off his black latex gloves and tosses them into the trash, already striding toward you as he does so. Bravo grumbles a protest as you bolt upward and off the sofa. You don’t even make it halfway to Simon before he’s on you, grabbing at the back of your neck and your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

There isn’t a chance for you to push up the balaclava. And Simon doesn’t appear to care. He kisses you through the rough material, and you giggle against his cloth-covered lips.

“Simon,” you laugh, pushing lightly on his chest with your palms, voice slightly muffled from the balaclava.

He pulls back just enough to give you the faintest bit of breathing room. Then, he’s shoving his balaclava up to his nose, revealing those gorgeous lips of his. They are there and gone quickly, Simon already reclaiming what is so rightfully his.

You open and Simon slips his tongue inside, fingers digging roughly into the back of your neck, drawing you closer. This kiss is desperate. Needy. And so full of emotion that when he draws back, you’re momentarily breathless.

Simon’s smile is soft and you easily match it with one of you own. “Amelia told me you stopped by,” you murmur.

“You went to Cambridge,” he states. It’s not a question, and that gives you pause.

You nod. “I did.” You do not elaborate or give him an explanation. The situation with Evie is…complicated. While you wish to tell Simon everything, you also don’t want to unload, to dump all your worries onto him without warning.

“Do I have you for the evening?” he asks, hopefulness laced within the words.

A creeping sadness wiggles in. Simon cannot have you for the whole evening even though you’d love nothing more than to stay the entire night. But you won’t allow the disappointment to make a home. You are still here, with him, and that is enough.

“You have me for a few hours,” you answer, waiting for the discontent on his end.

It does not come.

Simon’s thumb traces the length of your throat. His smile is still there. Unchanged. “Do you want to join me upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“To my flat. For a drink.”

“Oh.”

“If not it’s fine,” says Simon quickly. “I understand. Quieter than one of the pubs.”

You nod eagerly, popping up on your toes. “Yes,” you breathe. “I’d like that.”

Going upstairs to his flat means that you and Simon will truly be alone. And that singular thought, one that speaks to uninterrupted pleasure, starts a thrumming in the lower recessives of your belly that only moves farther south with each passing second.

“Good,” he sighs with relief.

Did he think you’d say no? Is Simon just as nervous, just as eager to want to be with you?

Have you not thought about me? Not once? Because I’ve thought of you. Every day.

And what if I wanted it to be more? What if I still want it to be more?

Of course he does. Of course.

“Just need to,” he gestures to the room. “Close up.”

“How can I help?” you ask.

Simon thinks for a moment. “Floors?”

“Done.”

The two of you work in tandem, moving through the motions in a natural, domestic dance that seems so normal and so routine that it doesn’t feel odd. It’s comfortable. Cozy. Like you could live this life easily and not regret a single moment.

When the floors are cleaned, and surfaces are sanitized, Simon shuts off the main lights, locks the front door, and arms the alarm system.

Simon doesn’t say anything. Just overs his hand to you, palm upward.

There is no hesitation on your end.

Gently, you take his offered palm, admiring the little tattoos on his fingers as they fold over your hand. Simon guides you to a door you’ve never noticed before. It’s blocked off by a curtain, and when Simon opens it, the two of you step into a narrow hall. To your right is a door that leads out to the sidewalk. To your left is a staircase heading up to a landing.

Simon’s grip on your hand tightens as if you’ll make a run for the street. He does this sometimes. You’ve noticed these tiny gestures where he seems to cling a little too tight, and you question whether it’s a need to feel close to you, or anxiety.

Remembering what Amelia told you the other day, that you may need to be gentle with him, that Simon had a bad injury, you consider how that might influence someone. How it might change their perspective on things.

You return his tightened grip with a gentle squeeze of reassurance, silently prompting him to take the lead. Simon does, bringing you to the top of the landing. The front door doesn’t have a traditional lock but a passcode. Strange. Completely odd. But, then again, Simon is ex-military. Old habits?

Simon punches a series of buttons and the little red light on the top righthand side turns green. The audible sound of gears turning and locks—definitely plural—unlatching reaches your ears. Simon pushes down on the handle, and then you’re inside, Bravo right on your heels.

You’ve never thought about what Simon’s space might look like. Perhaps you figured it would be like any other bachelor pad. But Simon’s home is warm, and has a similar feel to the tattoo shop downstairs.

The interior is industrial with brick walls and exposed grey-black pipes running along the ceiling. The floor is hardwood, a deep, rich brown. To your left is a kitchen and dining area. All the cabinetry is black, the countertops butcher block, and the appliances stainless steel. To your right is the living room. The television is massive, and the sofa is large. You easily picture yourself and Simon snuggled on it, watching a movie.

Directly ahead of you is a short hallway. It branches left, disappearing to a place you cannot see. But you do notice an open bedroom doorway to the right of the end of the short hall.

“I have whiskey.”

You glance away from the doorway and find Simon. He nods toward a small bar next to the dining table. He’s right. There is only whiskey there. “Then whiskey it is.”

Simon laughs softly and grabs two rocks glasses. His gaze scans over the various bottles. Finally selecting one, Simon lifts it from its perch. Removing the cork, Simon pours a double on both. He brings your glass to you, and you take it with both hands, glancing down at the amber liquid.

This will hit you hard. You haven’t eaten since lunch.

“Are you hungry?” asks Simon, as if reading your mind.

“What?” you blink, looking up.

“I can order us something. Or I could cook.”

“You cook?”

“I’ve perfected a few meals.” Simon shrugs. “And instant ramen.”

“Instant ramen?” you ask, deadpan.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, the whiskey in his glass sloshing slightly as he does. “And other things.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says automatically.

He wants to do this. He wants to do this.

“Okay. Yeah.” You nod. “You pick. Cook’s choice.”

Simons starts to turn away, but promptly returns, holding up his hand like he’s about to say something. He pauses, and sets his whiskey down. “Hold on.”

“Holding,” you say to his retreating back.

Simon disappears for a minute and reappears clutching a stack of papers. At first, you’re confused, but as he draws closer, you recognize them for what they are.

They’re pages out of a sketchbook, and there isn’t just a handful. Simon has to be holding as least a few dozen individual pieces of paper. And that’s not even the most startling thing. It’s the way he’s holding them, almost nervously, his thumbs rubbing the pages in an anxious tick.

Simon presents the stack to you. “Couldn’t decide on what I liked best.”

Your whiskey glass is on the dining table in an instant. Fingers itching, you gently take the papers from him. Already, from the very top sketch, you’re awed by the artistry. You don’t even look as you sink down into a chair. Placing them on the table, you begin to fan them out in a wide arc.

“These are lovely, Simon,” you murmur, captivated by how creative his mind is.

“You don’t need to select one today. Take a look and pick what you’re leaning toward.”

Quickly, you sift through them, spreading them out across the table, dividing them up to make the process easier. It’s almost overwhelming. Some of the pieces are similar, but most of them are entirely different. Completely unique.

As you start through your first organized stack, Simon is already in the kitchen, a large pot of water on the range. Before him on the countertop is a small pile of flour. He makes a well, cracks three eggs into the center, and the smallest splash of water. Taking a fork, he starts to whisk.

Is he—no.

You hold a paper in each hand but you’re not even looking at the artwork. You’re watching Simon make pasta. Fucking pasta. From scratch. And he’s not breaking a sweat. He looks so goddamn casual it’s almost maddening.

Bravo sits at your side, but all of his attention is on Simon. He licks his chops periodically but is otherwise statuesque. Your wraith wraps up the dough and sets it aside, quickly cleaning up his mess before retrieving a large frying pan, cutting board, and sauce pot.

Glancing between the artwork you pick up and Simon’s movement in the kitchen, you start to see a different side of him. Garlic, onion, fresh basil, and grape tomatoes are tossed into the sauce pot. Oil is drizzled into the large pan. Chicken breasts are pounded out, made thin, and then coated in breadcrumbs.

You at the table. Him in the kitchen, cooking you dinner. Nothing planned. Just present and existing, content with each other’s company.

By the time you’ve sorted through all the sketches and selected ten you’re leaning toward, Simon is rolling out the dough, cutting it into long strands, depositing the homemade spaghetti into the salted boiling water. The chicken cutlets are finishing under the broiler, topped with chunky tomato sauce and cheese.

Bravo’s no longer sitting but laying down. He’s still alert to everything happening in the kitchen, but Simon is meticulous, dropping nothing for Bravo to vacuum up.

“Simon?”

“Hm?” He briefly glances at you over his shoulder before returning his attention to the pot of cooking pasta.

You lick your lips, pausing before asking the question. “How did you get the tattoo shop?”

The tongs Simon holds hesitate before dipping into the water. “Part of my retirement,” he answers. Cooked pasta and leftover sauce are tossed together.

“Military retirement?” He nods but says nothing. You’re not sure if this will be too sensitive to ask, but you’re curious, and Amelia’s words from earlier in the week keep grating on your mind. “What did you do to earn you an entire tattoo shop at retirement?”

Simon divides the pasta up between two plates. “Early retirement from an injury. Got me this flat, too.”

Early retirement? An injury? What the fuck happened to him that the government would give him enough money to afford all this? That is unheard of, at least by American standards. You couldn’t say for certain what it’s like here, but it couldn’t be much different.

You sip on your whiskey, the amber liquid burning smoothly on the way down. “So you didn’t plan on becoming a tattoo artist originally?”

Simon shuts off the broiler and removes the breaded chicken cutlets. Placing them on a fresh cutting board, Simon slices them quickly, transferring one cutlet to each plate. “I was military.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But—did you ever think about after?”

Opening a nearby drawer, Simon grabs two knives and two forks. “Sometimes.”

Why is he being so evasive? Was the injury that bad? Thinking on it, you do recall several scars. There is the one running along the edge of his jaw. That one is clear to the eye. The other scars you noticed were hidden under the ink.

Simon picks up the plates and you hastily clear away the sketches, piling up the ones you didn’t select.

“Find anything?”

“These.” You gently push a small stack toward him.

Simon doesn’t even look at them until your plate is in front of you and you’re holding the silverware. Social norms and general social expectations might say to be dainty when with a new romantic partner, but the food in front of you is begging to be devoured. Simon made this for you to enjoy, and you’re going to do just that.

And Simon doesn’t appear to give a shit anyway. With one hand, he’s cutting through his chicken. The other is spreading out the sketches you selected, his gaze entirely fixed on the paper. He takes a bite of his food. Chews. Lifts a sketch up to study it.

You tuck in, eating but silent, observing every twitch and change in Simon’s expression. There are few of note. You have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he conjuring up new sketches already? Is he itching to pick up his pencil or charcoal or whatever he enjoys working with and starting immediately? Is Simon surprised by your choices?

The strongest reaction you pick up on is the arch of a singular eyebrow.

Eventually, he nods, seeming satisfied. With one hand, Simon neatly situates your selections into a stack, setting it aside. Your plate is nearly empty at this point, inhaling the meal like an addict.

Simon settles into his chair, his gaze fixating on you. “Why’d you go to Cambridge?”

Does Simon mean to make it feel like an accusation?

“I went for Evie,” you answer.

“Your friend.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“In London? Yes. I am.”

You don’t know how far you can take this conversation before crossing into territory you don’t want to discuss. It’s not that you don’t want to discuss it with him, you simply fear the idea that you might unload on him. You are fully aware how stressing the entire situation with Evie is, but Simon doesn’t need to hear all of it at once. There are some things that are private. There are some things that if spoken to another, might break Evie’s trust in you.

Simon twirls his fork in his hand. “She’s pregnant.”

“Very pregnant,” you add.

“Married?”

How the fuck do you answer that?

“Widow,” you decide, because it’s the truth, and there isn’t any reason to hide it.

“How recent?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“She buried him a week ago.”

Simon stops twirling his fork. “A week?” You hear the surprise in his tone.

“Dead two. Buried one.” Saying it like that makes it sound so final. Archie is gone, and Evie is alone in that regard. She’s lost a piece of herself. A pillar of support.

This whole time, Simon’s gaze has been locked on you. But it drops down toward the floor for a brief few seconds before returning. Sometimes you really wish he’d take that balaclava off so you can get a full picture of what might be happening behind it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Simon doesn’t press for more, and you nearly sigh with relief.

“I’m helping her for a bit. Easy for me since I work remote.”

“What do you do?”

Oh shit. Simon doesn’t know. All this time, and it’s never come up in conversation.

“Freelance mostly. Technical writing and editing.”

Simon swallows and takes a sip of his whiskey. “And what is that?”

“User manuals, medical documents, press releases.” You list a few more things and as you do, Simon’s lips stretch into a smile. “What?” you ask.

“That sounds incredibly boring.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as you try not to choke. “Pays the bills. Wouldn’t call it exciting.”

This is easier conversation. This is what a normal back-and-forth is supposed to be between two people. Isn’t it?

But what is normal about this dynamic? The two of you met and hooked up in the basement of a club. You ran and he chased, kept chasing for three years, and when you finally appeared before him, you ran again and he followed after you without hesitating.

“Can you stay?” asks Simon, and you hear the silent plea in his voice. It draws up every needy thought simmering beneath your skin.

“For a bit,” you reply, purposefully being non-specific.

He inclines his head toward your plate. “Finished?”

“Yes.” You start to pick it up, standing with the intention to take it to the sink. Simon is having none of it. He whisks it out of your hands before your legs have a chance to fully extend. You plop your ass back in the chair.

Simon rinses out pans and cleans knives. Sitting in a chair and doing nothing is not something you’re accustomed to.

“Would you like me to help?”

“I’d like you to relax.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmur, finishing off the last of your whiskey.

He washes his hands and dries them on a towel. As he strides toward the dining table, he snaps at Bravo. “Kennel.”

Bravo’s ears droop, but he complies to Simon’s command.

Simon watches the German Shepard disappear down the hallway. He turns toward you, offering his hand. When you place your hand in his, Simon’s fingers take hold, drawing you out of your chair, pulling you against his body. His other hand cradles the side of your neck and lower half of your jaw. His thumb traces over your bottom lip.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, voice slightly husky with need. His thumb returns to your bottom lip, lightly pressing on it. “I want to kiss you. To touch you.” Simon is still holding on to your hand.

Not sex then? Just kisses. Touches. Even the thought of that is sending you into overdrive, every nerve in your body firing at once until your heart thuds loudly in your ears.

“Take me to bed,” you whisper, hardly believing you managed to get the words out.

Slowly, Simon’s hand falls away from your face. It is a gentle release, one that speaks of desire but doesn’t feel so primal and raw as when the two of you first came together. Walking backwards, Simon leads, entering into the dark of his apartment, heading down the hall, and entering the bedroom you noticed earlier.

You don’t even glance at your surroundings. You’re too focused on Simon, and the way he guides you around, easing you onto your back upon the bed. He drapes himself over you like a protective cocoon. One knee slides between your legs, forcing them to apart. The other digs into the bed just shy of your thigh.

Simon rests his forearm just above and to the side of your head. His other hand immediately goes to your waist. You are pinned in. You are under him, and it’s deliciously perfect. Better than what you’ve conjured up in your head. Beneath him, you feel protected. Safe.

Your fingers are already on the balaclava, pushing it up further, seeking him. You know not to go past the eyes, and while it pains you to not see Simon fully, you respect the boundary. That will fall away eventually. As will your uneasiness about being completely open and honest with him about Evie’s situation.

These things will happen. They have to. You want them to.

The moment you have full access to his lips, Simon is on you. Your hands fist the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. Simon lowers himself, his pelvis slotting perfectly with yours. Each kiss is slow. Measured. Every stroke of his hand along your waist, hips, and thighs sends a wave of rippling heat straight to your core.

It grows and grows, melting your resolve into mush. Your legs fall open wider, and Simon instinctually moves in. You clearly sense his needs. It’s fucking poking you. And fuck—what’s a few more hours? You can stay. You can.

Your hand slides between your bodies, slipping beneath the waistband of his joggers, your fingers finding him, wrapping around his hardness.

Simon swallows down a groan as his hips reflexively press against your palm. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, his teeth finding your throat.

Simon gently bites your neck, his large hand squeezing your thigh in warning. “Keep touching me like that and you won’t leave this bed until morning.”

The intensity of his delivery zaps you right out of your haze. “Sorry,” you gasp, withdrawing your hand quickly.

Simon’s answering growl pins you to the spot. He snatches your retreating arm, encircling the wrist, only to draw your hand back to him.

“Never apologize for touching me. Never.” His lips and teeth trace over your skin. When he finds your lips again, there is nothing chaste about the way he tastes you.

“Simon—”

“Not tonight. I—Not like this.”

Your hand that still rests on his chest slides upward. One finger delicately traces that scar you know so well.

“Will you walk me home?”

“You never have to ask.”

Simon guides your hand away from his groin. In the next moment, he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting up and off the bed, and onto your feet.

He’s smiling down at you, and it’s full of joy. You don’t know how to receive it. It’s almost too much, and you slightly feel undeserving of it.

“I’ll grab my coat.” You start to move but Simon’s arms around your waist tighten.

“Wait.” You glance up, find an intensity in his stare. “Can I take you out?”

“On a date?” you blurt.

“Movies. Dinner.” He shrugs. “Normal things.”

Your lips part slightly in confusion. There is nothing normal about Simon. “You don’t want to take me out for normal dates,” you say slowly.

Simon’s jaw clenches. “No.”

You grin, knowing you’ve trapped him. “What kind of date would you actually like to take me on?” Leaning forward, you rest your chin on his chest.

“Take you for a ride for starters.”

“On a bicycle?” you ask with mock innocence.

Simon sharply lands a slap to your ass. “I’ll put you back on that bed.”

“Promise?”

His answer is a growl, and a firm squeeze. “I’d take you to the coast. Or the country. Maybe up to Manchester. Show you where I grew up. All my favorite spots.”

“Go on,” you entreat.

“I’d show you the Highlands. Stay in a little cottage on a friend’s family farm.”

“What else?”

Simon’s brow softens, and then he’s bending down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. “I’d make new memories with you,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Promise?”

“That’s a fucking guarantee, love.”

For several minutes, the two of you embrace just inside his bedroom door. For several minutes, the two of you almost return to the bed, to fall right back into each other’s arms. But Simon has far more control than you.

Coats are collected. Bravo’s leash is found and attached to the dog’s collar.

The two of you don’t hold hands on your walk to Amelia’s. Instead, the two of you loosely intertwine a few fingers. There is no rush. No need to arrive quickly. And while there is silence, it’s a contented, peaceful thing.

Reviving. You are reawakening with Simon.

At Amelia’s front door, your parting kiss is not a kiss at all. With both hands, Simon cradles your face, closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against yours. You match him, closing your own eyes, placing your hands over his, simply breathing in his presence.

You’re practically skipping up the stairs to your shared bedroom with Evie. You expect to find her asleep. But when you open the door, you don’t find her tucked under the covers. She’s sitting up, resting against the headboard, wide awake, and crying quietly.

“What is it?” you ask, panicked, dropping your purse and coat onto the floor, crawling onto the bed to reach for her.

Evie wipes at her eyes, smirking through her tears. “Shouldn’t you be in your man’s bed right now?”

“Oh hush,” you mutter, waving her comment off. “What is it?”

Her smile falters. “Archie’s older brother called.”

The panic disappears. The contentment and peace that clings to you from your time with Simon evaporates instantly. All of it is gone. Poof. Like a popped balloon.

In its place is a seething anger.

“What the fuck does he want?”

“He wants to meet.”

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[sooniebby]

so.... ive read your izuku fanfic and damn they were sooo good i wanna cry t__t anywaaaays, idk if ur requests are open or nah so can i request puppy persona!m!reader x timeskip sakusa kiyoomi from haikyuu, whereas reader is sakusa's s/o and when sakusa publishes reader as his s/o on his insta (he posts their pic tgt) someone's commenting bad about reader and he saw it, what happens next is up to you :DDD stay healthy xoxo

ఌ 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈

❝ 𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙? ❞

꧁ 𝙆𝙞𝙮𝙤𝙤𝙢𝙞 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 1.9k

Rating › SFW

Warnings › minor homophobia

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

Kiyoomi felt great. His team had just won a game and they were close to getting a spot in the semi finals. Pulling up his mask, he swiftly left the locker room, aiming the just shower at home. Still, even as he grew up, crowds bothered him. 

Most of his fans seemed to get the message by now as they mostly stayed at least five feet away from him. Though it took some screaming from his manager. 

“You did so good, Sakusa!!” A girl screamed. 

Kiyoomi simply gave her a curt nod, walking over to the car that his manager drove. He swore he could hear a loud shriek and then a thud. 

Weirdos. 

The drove home took longer as his manager made sure to take a long route so that no one would follow him. Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure why some fans wanted to know where he lived. He wasn’t going to invite them inside, are they stupid? 

“Thanks.” Kiyoomi’s word was muffled but his manager gave him a thumbs up. 

He got inside his apartment complex and punched in the code to his door—ready to get attacked by his overly excited boyfriend. 

Which he was. 

Kiyoomi being the taller one, and used to this, he easily caught his boyfriend and walked inside as if this was a normal thing. It technically was. He wasn’t sure if he hated it or loved it but he hasn’t asked (Name) to stop so it was borderline tolerable at the least. 

“How was the game?” (Name) asked, wrapping his legs around Kiyoomi waist as he shuffled around to take off his mask and shoes. 

“I’m sweaty.” 

“So?” 

“I wanna bathe.” 

(Name) smirked. “With me?” 

Kiyoomi pushed him off, with just enough force to not actually hurt him. “Absolutely not. I’m tired.” 

(Name) whined as he watched his boyfriend go off to their bedroom to take a bath. He pouted to himself as he went into the kitchen to take out Kiyoomi’s dish of curry. 

The two of them had met by chance, really. (Name) wasn’t into volleyball. In reality, he hated sports in general. He had gone to Karasuno so it’s a shock they had even met. It was honestly by luck when Kiyoomi went on a dating app under a fake name and ended up matching with him. 

It was a bit rocky at the start. Their vastly different personalities caused some clashes in the relationship. But it was better now, except (Name) had a problem. 

He wanted people to know that they were dating. But he knew why Kiyoomi didn’t tell his fans or anyone that wasn’t his family. 

Some fangirls had… problems with their faves dating. (Name) was always confused by this. Kiyoomi wasn’t an idol or anything. He was a volleyball player—who really thought they had a chance with him? 

Well, he randomly got a chance with him… 

(Name) brushed the thought away. He should be glad that Kiyoomi even told his parents about him. It was about a few minutes later when Kiyoomi joined him in the kitchen dressed in some pyjama bottoms. (Name) smirked at him, a playful look in his eyes as he looked him up and down. 

“No.” 

“I didn’t even say anything.” (Name) pouted, handing him the bowl of curry. 

“Didn’t have to.” 

ꕤ

Kiyoomi yawned as he laid down in bed, ready to sleep for over 12 hours after such a harsh game when his phone rang. He cursed as he reached over and answered it, knowing it was his manager. 

She’s the only one who’d dare to call him after a big game. 

“Sakusa! Sorry to bother you but you forgot to post a picture today!” She yelled, causing him to wince. 

It was a tradition that his manager came up with. After any game, especially if he won, to post a picture of him thanking anyone who came to the game. It was nice in theory because it made his account seem alive when he only posted like twice a year before this tradition. 

It also helped him go viral to gain no fans. But they weren’t really the fans he liked. They were the fans that liked him for his looks—not his skills as a player. He hated it but hey, ticket sales were higher each next game when he did this. 

Besides, his true fans seemed to also like the rare photos he did. Might as well reward them. 

“Alright,” he said before hanging up. 

A shirtless picture with only his lamp to illuminate him would certainly gain more attention then his usual covered up ones. He was in a semi good mood away. Kiyoomi positioned his phone upward to get mostly his face and bare shoulders, showing that he was indeed shirtless. 

He hit post and quickly went to sleep

What he didn’t know was that he forgot to angle (Name) out of the picture. (Name) was already asleep on the bed, facing towards Kiyoomi so his full face was in the photo. 

Anyone with eyes could tell he wasn’t a friend he’s ever posted before and that (Name) was shirtless as well. 

Yeah, Kiyoomi (really his manager) was screwed in the morning. 

ꕤ

(Name) woke up to Kiyoomi pressing a kiss on his neck before leaving for his workout of the day. He stayed in bed for a while before getting out, checking his phone for his account on social media. (Name) wasn’t famous by any means but he did have a decent 10k followers for just posting pictures of himself. 

He knew it was mainly people who thought he was cute but he didn’t mind. So many of his comments said he was like a puppy, looks and personality wise. He kinda led into it by this point—jokingly wearing dog ears in some pictures that his fans and friends loved. 

To anyone else, it’d look a bit weird but he didn’t care. 

(Name) frowned when he saw the amount of notifications he got. 

Weird, he usually didn’t get this much unless he posted something but he hasn’t in at least a week or two. He checked them out and he felt scared. The comments that mentioned his username was talking about him being a weirdo. 

And it was Kiyoomi’s fans. Their icons almost all had his face in it. 

(Name) checked Kiyoomi’s account and cursed when he saw the recent picture he posted last name. There he was in the background. If there wasn’t anyone practically attacking him right now, he’d say how handsome and sexy his boyfriend is but he couldn’t. 

Was this what his fans felt? 

Was he really that ugly? 

He shouldn’t have but he did. (Name) spent almost an hour just looking at all of the comments on Kiyoomi’s post and his own account. A few people were fighting back against the obsessed fans—stating how creepy they were acting. 

But it was like fighting against the ocean. It was too much. So many kept saying that he must’ve corrupted Kiyoomi into being a homosexual. 

Wow, Kiyoomi was right to hide their relationship. 

“(Name)?” 

Kiyoomi was in the bedroom suddenly. When did he get there? (Name) felt Kiyoomi wipe away his tears, a small frown on his lips. When did he start crying? 

“What happened?” 

(Name) opened his mouth but only a sob came out and his tackled Kiyoomi into a hug. He cried his heart out, not caring at how sweaty Kiyoomi was. Large arms held him tight, as Kiyoomi didn’t ask any questions. He just allowed him to cry out. 

It wasn’t until Kiyoomi’s phone rang that he pulled away, pressing a kiss on (Name)’s forehead. He reached over for his phone on the nightstand. He never took his phone with him on workouts. 

He just never saw the point in it. There was numerous miss calls from a few of his teammates and his manager. He called back his manager, Miss Watanabe, pulling (Name) back into his arms for some cuddling that he gladly returned. 

“Hello?” 

“Sakusa!! Finally, shit! If you wanted to come out you should’ve told me! We could’ve done it in a more less surprising way!” She cursed, sounding weirdly stressed out. 

“I haven’t come out… What are you talking about?” 

“The picture…” It was silent. “Oh no, Sakusa, was it by accident?! Shit, shit. It’s too late to delete. Oh god.” 

Kiyoomi put Ms. Watanabe on speaker and checked his account, seeing his picture certainly did went viral. 

And for all the wrong reason. He saw every comment that bashed (Name) and even checked his account to see them calling him a freak for wearing dog ears. Kiyoomi was angry. 

He wanted so desperately to just make them vanish out of thin air (kill them) but he knew he had to make sure (Name) was alright. 

“There’s a fan meet next week before the big game… I’ll come up with a speech for you to talk about it!” 

“Why would I need a speech? I’ll just saw he’s my boyfriend.” 

“Uh, are you sure…?” 

Kiyoomi hummed, glancing down at (Name) who had stopped crying by now and was actively listening to the conversation. “It’s time they knew.” 

“Ah,” Ms. Watanabe sounded as if she wanted to disagree but stopped herself. “Alright. I’ll stand by you. Do you want to delete the post still? It might not do much but it’ll delete the comments.” 

“No. I’m going to post something. Bye.” 

“Oh, uh, bye.” 

(Name) sighed. “You don’t think I’m weird right?” 

“No. You are a cute dog. My dog,” Kiyoomi said, a hint of teasing in his voice as he gently grasped (Name)’s neck. (Name), despite his puffy red eyes and teared stained face, smirked. 

“Need me to get my collar?” 

“Now you made it weird.” 

“Oh you’re no fun!” 

Kiyoomi simply smiled, as much as he did really, and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower. Get dressed, you have to look good for our picture.” 

“Our picture?” 

(Name) was honestly shocked. Kiyoomi was going to take a picture with him. He had made (Name) wear the dog ears (but not the collar) and dress in their matching sweaters that Kiyoomi didn’t even like wearing often. Just who was this man and where was his boyfriend? 

They were sitting on the couch as Kiyoomi pulled out his phone to take multiple photos—vastly different from his usual one. Each pose was different. One was just them leaning in close, another was Kiyoomi playfully biting his cheeks and a few was of them kissing. 

It was, in Kiyoomi’s word, a way for them to not deny it. 

He captioned it as a full sentence instead of his usual one word. 

My dog is better than yours. Love you, (Name).

(Name) giggled to himself ignoring the weird look Kiyoomi gave him. He tackled him into a hug, babbling on and on about how happy he was to have the world know he was his. 

It really took only two minutes before Kiyoomi’s phone began buzzing like crazy. He hesitated to grab it but knew he should at least see what they were saying. To his surprise, a lot of them were kind, a few shocked by the somewhat “kinky” display but happy for him none the less. 

Though there was one that caught his eye by a random model he noticed that always commented on his post as soon as possible. 

Seriously?! Why him?! With all the people in the world?! To think I thought you were hot. 

Kiyoomi never comments. But he did just this once. He wanted them to know that he’d never take any disrespect from his fans on his lover. 

Are you stupid?  

And that’s all was what needed to be said. He shut off his phone and pulled (Name) into a long cuddle on the couch. 

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

Request number two!! I wasn’t sure what you meant by puppy persona so I just adapted it like that, hopefully it’s fine!

Requests are open!

The request for tomorrow is a threesome with characters from BNHA :)

#bottom male reader

[highonmarvel]

hi hope ur doing well. i was thinking, could u do a buckyxreader where hes paralyzed and like needs a caretaker. through some means reader ends up as the caretaker and all is well. but actually bucky was just pretending and hes not realy paralysed and he just pretended to get closer to reader and reader start expresing the idea that she might have to leave for whatever reason and buck does not like that so like he kidnaps her or something. I rlly luv ur work this is the first request iv sent

this is so good, i’m upset i didn’t think of it first. i’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, i really hope you enjoy, and thank you so, so much for the love. okay, here it is:

Himalayan Salt

Bucky Barnes: You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you.

content warnings here!

You nod as your supervisor goes over your final notes: James Barnes, World War II veteran, quadriplegic.

You follow her from the overcast weather into a beautiful but modest home in a fairly quiet suburb to meet the man sitting in a wheelchair in the centre of the room.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” your supervisor calls, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she waits for him to turn around. When he does, you’re surprised. You hadn’t seen a photo of him beforehand as this had been a pretty impromptu assignment, but you’re sure you were told he was born in 1917, yet he sits looking like he’s in forties, and aging well, at that.

“Hi, Mr Barnes!” you smile warmly at him, and he returns a friendly smile, introducing himself as Bucky and insisting you call him that.

“I just need you to fill out the last of the forms quickly,” your supervisor mutters, waving goodbye to Bucky as she leads you back out to her car.

You’re leaning against the boot of her oldish, red car, pen scratching against paper when she says, “He really likes you.”

“Hm?” you offer, raising your eyebrows but keeping your eyes focused on the form.

She leans her back against the trunk and shifts down a bit, speaking to you but looking over at your handwriting, “He’s known to be grumpy. You see the left arm? I don’t think he likes being dependent, I’ve had to swap out a lot of people.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before I took the job?” you frown, still finishing off the document, “Didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know you’re capable, but I thought you wouldn’t want it. But listen, the organisation needs this, I don’t know if there’s anyone else we can find for him.”

You complete your signature with a satisfied smile, handing back the clipboard, “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

She nods then gets in her car and drives away, leaving you in the driveway. You stretch your arms then make your way back inside. When you enter the living room, there’s a draft you swear wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Bucky hasn’t moved, but you notice an open window. You furrow your brows as you look down at him, “Can I close that? It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Go ahead,” he nods, and you walk over, pulling the handle it, and ignoring the recent-looking fingerprint marks on the glass.

***

A few hours into your first day, you’re a little taken aback by how friendly he is; even despite your boss’ warning, you’ve never had a patient so willing to co-operate, especially not veterans — they tend to be angry they need help, or have episodes due to PTSD, but Bucky seems perfectly in his right mind and understanding of both his and your position.

“Did they tell you I was a pain in ass?” Bucky asks before opening his mouth for a spoonful of food.

You laugh as you pull the spoon back, scooping up more of the rice and curry you made to lift to his lips, “Kind of,” you admit, “Said you were grumpy, is that true?”

He smiles, “I tend to be,” he confesses, “But I can’t keep that brooding persona up around you,” he takes a spoonful.

“So that’s what it is?” you raise an eyebrow as you pile the last of the meal onto the utensil, “A persona?”

He swallows the last of it and shakes his head with a grin, “No, but I can’t not be amused around you.”

***

You have no idea why your supervisor said he was difficult, your next few weeks with Bucky are light and fun, and you feel you’re even developing a friendship. You don’t see to him at night, and he has minimal needs during the day — some days it just feels like you’re there to keep him company.

You’re doing so well, in fact, that your supervisor wants to transfer you to a veteran from Vietnam who’s apparently even worse than Bucky (by other people’s stories — to you, if he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll be nice to see), convinced you have some magic touch.

As much as you’re developing affection for Bucky, you have to put work first, and you’re compelled to leave him for the other man who clearly needs you more. Bucky seems to be doing well, you’re sure you can’t be that special, and you’re sure someone else could take care of him just as well, if not better.

“Hi, Buck,” you greet with a smile as you close the door behind you. You hear his motorised wheelchair come rolling down the corridor to greet you.

“Hi, why could you only come in at ten today?”

You usually come in at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” you sigh, setting your tote bag down as Bucky switches his chair to manual.

“A meeting?” he asks as you take hold of the handles and push him to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Mhm,” you nod as you open the fridge, rummaging around for something to make, “There’s this other guy my boss wants me to help,” you call with your head still in the cold, “A Vietnam vet, no one else in the org will take him.”

You emerge with some eggs and milk, shutting the door with your foot before placing the contents on the island, “Did you eat? I assume Carol made breakfast but I can make more.”

“Are you going to take it?” he inquires, ignoring your question, “The job.”

“I mean, maybe,” you answer, placing your hands on the counter and tilting your head as you think, “I’m not sure yet.”

“But what about me?”

“The other guy needs full-time care, I’d have to spend virtually all my days there, but if I leave, Carol can take over for me, she can go from night to day, she’s amazing, and she doesn’t complain about you, at least not as much,” you wink, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s your job, I get it,” he replies, and you can see the stoicism build up.

“Nothing’s final, yet,” you say as you walk over, “And you’re doing great either way,” you give him a kiss on the forehead, “We don’t have to talk about that, let’s just eat, I’m starving.”

He nods and attempts to smile, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You try to make conversation as you make yourself an omelette, but you can tell he’s not in it, giving short answers and not reacting to your jokes. When you reach to grab the salt, he stops you.

“Not that one,” he says, “Use the pink salt, Himalayan, I swear it makes everything tastes better.”

You grind some onto your food and sit across from him on the island. Digging your fork into it, you see something flash across Bucky’s eyes. Your first thought is hunger, but he’d just eaten and swore he wasn’t hungry. You ignore it as you bring the fork to your mouth, savouring the taste, though it’s not necessarily a chef’s rendition.

It tastes fine, but there’s something off. At first, you think it must be the salt, but it’s not the taste that’s off; usually when you eat, you feel that warmth in your throat and then your stomach, but now, it’s like it went to your head. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling like you’re burning up. Trying to stand, you immediately sway, only not falling by gripping the counter so harshly and hastily you bend a nail. You try to look to Bucky to tell him you’re not feeling well, but he’s out of focus. In fact, he’s not there. Just as you collapse and close your eyes, you feel a tall shadow over you, but you don’t have time to figure out where it’s coming from before you fall unconscious.

***

You groggily wipe at your eyes when you finally stir before turning over to reach for your phone, at first thinking you had had a dream, but your phone’s not there, and the nightstand isn’t yours. You shoot up in panic and look down at your sheets: Bucky’s sheets. Okay, maybe Bucky rang Carol and she came and set you in bed. Your head still hurts, and everything’s a little hazy.

When the door opens, you expect to see Carol, but it’s Bucky.

“Bucky!” you gasp as you throw the sheets off of you.

He gives a lopsided grin, and for the first time you notice how tall he actually is, because he’s standing.

“Christmas miracle?” he offers.

He walks over to you and sets a glass of water on the bedside table.

“That Himalayan salt is really exotic, isn’t it?”

You don’t even have time to process exactly what he means by that, he’s still standing over you, using his arms and legs just fine, in fact, like he’s been doing it every single day forever. You should have suspected something was up; how could a paralysed man stay in such good shape? The thought briefly crossed your mind once when you ran your fingers over his muscled arm, but you brushed it off.

“Bucky! You- you—”

“Are perfectly fine, I am, and you will be too, soon, those drugs just need to wear off. I know you’re having trouble understanding, just drink some water and sleep it off a little longer.”

He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you dodge him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Woah, there,” he chuckles as he catches you with ease, his reflexes so sharp it’s nearly unnatural, “Now I’m taking care of you.”

You’re not sure if you can’t speak because of the drugs or if it’s because you’re in shock. He gently sets you back down and your head falls against the pillow as you struggle to keep your eyes open, spots of black blocking little bits of your vision.

“I’ve been needing someone, I’ve gone through a few, but you, honey, you’re special, and I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can’t leave me, I still need you.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

#dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes x y/n #dark bucky barnes x you #dark bucky x you #dark bucky #soft dark bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x y/n #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky barnes x you #soft!dark!bucky #yandere bucky barnes

[ellephlox]

Obstinacy

Summary: You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you because you don’t want him to get sick, too — the question is, how long can you keep him away?

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Some gross pneumonia descriptions, light swearing, nothing else!

A/N: So I’ve been away for awhile, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been trying to write my own book and I finished the second draft, so taking the time for fan fiction has been on the back burner lately. But of course with the RETURN OF OUR BELOVED KING on She-Hulk, I had to take the time to write something because IM STILL FREAKING OUT GUYS MATT IS BACK AND HES SO AMAZING AND HOT AND ALLSKJF LSDKFJLSKDJFLSDK

You felt the chest pain on your way home from work — the kind that arrived out of nowhere, as though it dropped from the sky into your lungs, and seriously made you wonder how colds were able to work that quickly. 

Of course, maybe it wasn’t a cold. You kept your hopes up as you cooked dinner, testing your chest a few times with a few large intakes of breath, but each time was the same result: a small tickle in the back, like a little voice saying, Hey, I’m here, and you’re going to be miserable for the next couple of days! 

Which really stunk, if you were being honest. It was getting towards mid-October and you were hoping to carve pumpkins with Matt or do some other corny autumn activity that every other normal couple did in the city. Not that you two weren’t normal. But other couples didn’t really have to contend with the whole I’ll-see-you-later-honey-after-I-beat-up-some-bad-guys-tonight, and you figured it must make movie nights a lot more frequent for most people than it did for you and Matt. That was another thing on your list, too — watching a horror movie to get into the Halloween spirit. 

“I’m not into horror movies,” Matt had said when you’d pitched the idea to him. “Audio commentary kind of kills the whole scary aspect.”

“Then you’re watching the wrong movies. I don’t mean movies with gallons of blood and cheap jump scares. I mean psychological horrors, the kinds that make you stay awake at night because they’re that freaky. We’re doing it, Murdock, whether you want to or not.”

Whether you want to or not, however, didn’t include the extenuating circumstances of getting sick.

It took longer than usual to get up the stairs to your apartment. You felt so drained that you wouldn’t have minded showering and then crashing into bed, if you weren’t hungry. The wind rattled at your windows as you cooked a big pot of rice, enough to last the next few days. You’d bought fixings yesterday to make a homemade curry with it, but one look at your pantry and you scrapped those plans in exchange for half a jar of pesto with a dubious expiration date on it. Matt wasn’t supposed to be over until after seven in the evening, thanks to the unforgiving hours of lawyering, but you called him as you stirred the pesto in with the rice. 

“I was wondering when you’d call,” he said. His voice was lighthearted. 

“Hi,” you said, as casually as possible. “How was your day?”

“I officially reduced the pile of paperwork on my desk from ten inches high to eight inches high, so I’d call it a success. You at your place?”

“Yeah. Hey, I wanted to let you know that I think I’m coming down with something, so maybe you should stay at your own place tonight.” Before Matt could ask, you added, “I’m fine. Just one of the colds that’s going around. But I’d feel horrible if you got it.”

“What about the pumpkins?”

“Pumpkins can wait. I haven’t even bought them yet.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, and your stomach flipped. What a way to boost my self-esteem that he actually likes me. “How about we just don’t share sodas, then?”

You frowned. “Last time this happened, I told you to stay away from me and then you just ended up kissing me. The next day, lo and behold, you started coughing. So, no. Not happening.”

“You kissed me, if I remember correctly.”

“Excuse me? What kind of a lawyer are you? That’s gaslighting, sir.”

He continued, ignoring you. “Maybe I’ll just hear some suspicious noises coming from your apartment tonight. And then I’ll have to investigate, because it’s my civic duty as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. And when I see a beautiful girl, sitting on the couch and pathetically eating rice and pesto alone, I’ll just have to join her. Accidentally, of course.”

“What I’m interpreting from that is that you go cuddle up with any girl that you find eating alone in her apartment.”

“What I’m interpreting is that Matt says he’s doing all these dangerous things at night but really he’s just chilling out while enjoying the lavish praise of being a local superhero,” Foggy said, his voice distant in the background. 

You snorted. “Am I on speakerphone?”

“No,” Foggy answered, sounding far too cheerful for someone working far beyond sunset. “Matt just keeps his phone volume weirdly high for someone who supposedly has super-hearing.”

“I do have super-hearing, Foggy.”

“Then how are you not shattering your eardrums? Between your phone volume and crashing at girls’ apartments to eat rice and pesto, I’m really doubting this whole Daredevil façade,” Foggy said. 

“Anyway,” Matt cut in, “I’ll pop in tonight, just to bring over some food and meds. Do you want anything specific?”

“Matt, really. I don’t want you catching this. And it’s late, you should get home and actually get some sleep for once. I’m fine, it just feels like a cold.” You would have elaborated, but your chest decided to seize at that moment, and you had to trail off quickly before it became apparent in your voice. 

He sort of listened to you that night. He had swung by (through the window? Or with the spare key you’d given him? There was no way to know) and dropped off food, but it was while you were asleep, and it looked as though he’d only gone into the kitchen then left. 

You’d only found the food when you wandered in blearily at three in the morning, sweating and freezing at the same time. There was no point for the thermometer; a fever was obvious and you didn’t particularly care what the number was. The cough was worse, though. It made it hard to fall back asleep — every few seconds you’d feel as though your lungs were spasming, and the back of your throat felt as though it had been bitten by fire ants. 

Sirens rang in the distance. You hoped it wasn’t for something Matt was involved in; not because you didn’t trust him to handle it, but because it was three in the morning and you’d kick his ass if he wasn’t sleeping at this point. 

Then the headache hit you. Maybe you wouldn’t be kicking his ass anytime soon. 

The pressure was enough to make you stumble into the counter as you rummaged for a glass of water. Everything about your arms felt off, as though your muscles had been crushed into powder, and you misjudged your grasp on the glass. It fell, crashing to the floor and skating outwards like a nebula of knives. Automatically you reached for the paper towels, and in your haze you stepped forward. 

Barefooted. 

Glass crunched under your foot and you swore, not at the pain but at your own stupidity. It took another half an hour to bandage up the bottom of your foot and at that point you were too exhausted to finish cleaning up the glass. 

When you woke up next, sun was filtering through your curtains and your mouth was as dry as though you’d swallowed ten cotton swabs. Dazed, you picked up your phone, and squinted at the notifications; one missed call from Matt and a followup text. Quickly you sent him an I’m okay message and then fell back onto your pillow. 

The fever felt worse. Goosebumps ran up and down your legs, but you were simultaneously sweaty under your sheets, so you threw them off to go shower. Only then did you remember the glass you’d stepped on because your foot protested angrily as soon as you placed it onto the carpet. 

Hopping was the only option remaining, and that expended just about every ounce of energy you’d garnered while sleeping, so that you just about collapsed against the bathroom wall, wheezing, by the time you’d made it. And of course that was when your phone rang, so you hopped back to your room, and barely made it in time before it went to voicemail. 

“Hello?” you croaked. 

“That’s all I need to hear. I’m coming over.”

“I... what?”

“Yeah. You sound terrible, Y/N.” Matt’s voice was overly concerned, and you didn’t like it at all; you could practically feel the pity coming off of him. At least, it felt like pity. And that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“Matt, not only will I personally make you rue the day that you step foot in here while I’m sick, but—” You broke off, coughing, and wincing at the same time because you could imagine Matt’s expression on the other end.

“I don’t like talking to you over the phone,” he said in a low voice. “I hate not hearing your heartbeat, hearing your lungs, feeling your temperature. You’re being overruled. I’m coming.”

“Don’t you have to be at the court today?”

“Not until ten.”

Defeated, you flung the phone on the other side of the room. That conversation sucked out everything you had, and you gave up on the idea of taking a shower. The bed looked much more comfortable. It didn’t help that your breaths were getting alarmingly short, and it was difficult to draw in anything more than a quick inhale. Your eyes were closed for about five seconds before they popped back open. 

Matt was coming. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You went to the windows and locked them all, then crossed to the front door. He had a spare key, but you also had a bolt, and you slid it across, feeling somewhat proud of yourself for having made the trek to the entryway. The bar is very, very low at this point. 

You’d run a marathon right now before letting Matt get anywhere near you. That resolve was the only thing penetrating the fog around your head, and you double-checked the windows again. It wasn’t as though he’d be leaping and climbing up to them, anyway; he was coming from the office, and would therefore be in his lawyer suit. With the number of people down on the streets and the broad daylight, Matt would be hard-pressed to make it up to your fire escape without the newspaper headline being BLIND ACROBAT BREAKING AND ENTERING IN HELL’S KITCHEN the next day. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later Matt was outside your door, and his sharp rap on the door did nothing to make you move. You sat at the counter, sipping on some water, and shook your head. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Y/N, I can hear the crackling in your lungs,” he said, his patience more intact than you would have expected. He thinks he’s going to win.

“My lungs aren’t crackling. They’re just... not feeling so hot.” Now overly-conscious of your breathing, you tried to make your breaths smoother and less obviously sick. 

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “You’ve got too fast of a heartbeat. Unlock the bolt or I’ll kick the door down.”

“Yeah, my heart’s racing, because there’s a man threatening to kick my door down,” you said, and feeling inspired, you clicked the on button of the remote next to you. The television flashed to life, showing the weather report, and you turned the volume up. Take that, Matt. “See? No more lung crackling or racing heartbeats.”

The only issue was that now you could hardly hear him. You barely made out his next sentence, it was so faint on the other side of the door. “I can still hear both, you know,” he said, muffled. “You know how many televisions there are in the average block of apartments that I have to filter out every single night?”

“Shit.” You shut the television off. “Listen away, then. It’s not going to change anything because I’m not letting you in.” 

“I wasn’t kidding about kicking the door down.”

"And I’m not kidding about not letting you in. Plus, you’d have some tough questions to answer when my neighbors report you for kicking down my door, Devil Man.”

“Why won’t you accept help when you need it? You really need a doctor.”

“Hypocrite,” you said under your breath, relishing the fact that he could hear you.

“I can hear you.” Just as you’d expected. “And what I do is irrelevant to the fact that you’re currently sitting in your apartment with what’s probably pneumonia.”

“Oh, it’s not pneumonia,” you said dismissively, though you felt awful enough that he was probably right. At least, your lungs seemed to concur with that diagnosis, and as if to verbally agree with him you coughed, wheezing and choking for air.  

“If I didn’t have to be at the court in half an hour, I’d go home and get into the suit just to have an excuse to come through your window right now.” Matt was pissed, that was for sure. There was a dangerous undertone to his voice, softened only by that ever-present concern in what he was saying. 

“I know, Matt.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s a lost cause, alright? Tomorrow I’ll be feeling a lot better and then maybe — maybe — I’ll let you come in. And that’s if we keep all the windows open for fresh air and—”

“Why do I smell your blood?”

You glanced down at your foot. Traitor. It had stopped bleeding ages ago, but you should’ve changed the bandage again one more time before Matt showed up. “I’m... doing acupuncture. On myself.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine. I made a blood oath and pricked my thumb to assure myself that I will never, ever let you catch a sickness from me.”

“In ten seconds this door is coming down unless you tell me. And if you could hear my heartbeat, you’d know I’m not lying.”

“Fine! I just stepped on some glass, okay? But my foot is fine, it’s seen worse days. I mean, you should’ve seen that time that I got a pedicure and the lady told me my heels were the most cracked she’d seen in a long time.” You were rambling, and that wasn’t a good idea, because it made you lose your breath and then you were gasping for air. 

After another five minutes of arguing that ended only when you swore to call the doctor if you got any worse, he left, grumbling that Foggy would kill both of you if he was late for court, and that was the only reason he was giving up — “temporarily”. 

Only when it was too late did you realize that was a mistake, and that you should have let him help.  

It was past two in the afternoon when you woke up from a nap, and every muscle in your body felt as though it were frozen. You were trembling slightly from the cold, but couldn’t muster the energy to even sit up and grab the blanket at the foot of your bed. It was difficult to swallow, and you clutched at your throat, certain that someone must be standing over you and clasping their hands around your neck, but there was no one there. 

“Matt,” you whispered, expecting him to be there, or to hear you, but there was no one. Taking slow breaths, you tried to calm down on your own. One, two, three. One, two, three. All you could manage were short, raspy breaths that hardly got enough air, and your head pounded. Blindly you reached out for your glass of water, and nearly dropped it again, your hands were shaking so much. The feeling of your lips against the rim was like pressing a dried sponge to the edge of a bowl and the water tasted sour in your mouth. 

And then you tried swallowing. It was as though someone had blocked up your throat, because you couldn’t swallow, and you gasped, heart racing as panic flooded through you; for a moment you couldn’t breathe and then you finally coughed up the water, chest heaving from the sharpness of each cough. You grabbed a tissue, hacking into it for at least another thirty seconds, and finally a glob of mucus came up and your airway cleared up just enough that you could breathe a bit more. 

You almost tossed the tissue to the floor without looking at it, but a flash of red caught your eye. 

Blood. In the mucus. 

That was the tipping point for you. Didn’t people die shortly after coughing up blood in the movies? That was how it went. A character coughs, looks into their hand, and then resignedly tucks it away without the other characters seeing. It was like the knoll of death, ringing in your ears. 

You hardly knew what you were doing as you dialed Matt’s number, not even thinking about what you were tapping into your phone but allowing muscle memory to guide you. 

“Hello?” He picked up almost immediately. 

“Matt—” You started to speak his name, but halted; it was too painful. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you started over. “Matt, I think I need you here.”

“What? What is it?” 

“I’m—” You glanced down at the tissue. Literally dying here? That was a surefire way to make Matt have a heart attack. “I’m not doing so well. I might take you up on your offer to help.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be over in five minutes. Did you call the doctor already?”

“No.” The thought of calling the doctor was exhausting on its own. 

Matt seemed to notice that. “I’ll call,” he assured you. “Can you breathe alright?”

“Not really.” Tears were spiking in your eyes and you brushed them away. “I just coughed and... there was some blood in it.” You wheezed for breath, the drawing in of air rattling everything inside of you and getting caught at the top of your throat.

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“But—”

“No, sweetheart. You need a real doctor. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Somehow you must have fallen asleep again, because Matt was lifting you from the bed and you wrapped your arms around him. “Can’t breathe,” you whispered, gasping for breath. 

“I know. I can hear your lungs,” Matt said, voice strained. “I’ve got a cab waiting on the street. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“I... I can walk.” You slung an arm around him and made your way slowly out of the room, limping with every step on your bandaged foot. Matt, to his credit, allowed you to do what you could. His tie was loosened and his suit jacket was gone, but he still wore a button-down, tucked into his pants. 

“Bet you won your case, then,” you whispered, hardly even aware of what was coming out of your mouth. “No one can... say no to this.”

“This?”

“Hm. This.” You meant to nod up and down at Matt, but it came across as more of a head shake. “You.”

And then your assertion that you could walk proved difficult to fulfill, so you redirected your efforts to not face-planting in your living room, despite the strong, steady hands Matt kept on you the entire time. Once you reached your stairs he took over for the most part; your feet were hardly touching the ground with the amount of support he was giving. 

That was where your memory cut out. You must have passed out, because the next time you opened your eyes, it was in the hospital bed, and Matt was reading next to you, his long gaze fixed on the wall in front of him as his fingers danced over the text. 

“Hi,” you whispered lamely. Everything about you was groggy and it was hard enough just to focus on him. 

Him. Only he could look handsome in a hospital. At some point he’d exchanged the suit for a tee shirt and sweats, and his hair stuck out at every angle possible. You wondered vaguely if he’d come from Fogwell’s. 

He set the book down, relief evident on his face. “Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?”

You ignored his question. “How do you always manage to look good?”

He nudged you. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“That’s... the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Even if you weren’t blind, it’d be a lie.” You closed your eyes, then opened them again. The ceiling was too white. “What happened?”

"Aspiration pneumonia.”

“Hm?”

“You have aspiration pneumonia,” he said. “Which just happens to be a type of pneumonia that’s not contagious.”

You meditated on this. “So?”

“So you could’ve let me into your apartment, that whole time,” he said, looking distinctly indignant, and it was enough to make you laugh. The laugh was short-lived, because it quickly transformed into a wracking cough that made your entire chest throb, but Matt was on his feet in an instant, holding your hand.

Only when the coughing stopped did you remember the bolt on your door. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get in?”

“Broke down the door, like I promised.”

“Are... are you serious? What about the neighbors?”

He laughed. “You know, breaking down a door isn’t incriminating evidence that I’m Daredevil. I told them you were having an emergency, and when they saw you, they believed me.”

“They saw me?” You didn’t remember an audience when Matt was helping you out of the apartment.

“Well, you were taking your sweet time on the stairs, and coughing loudly enough for anyone in a mile radius to hear you, so yeah, they wanted to see what was happening.”

You buried your face in your hands. “That’s just great. And now, what, is my apartment wide open for anyone to go in?”

“No, I called in a favor with Foggy, and he’s hanging out there until someone can come in and fix it.”

“Even better. Now I’m indebted to Foggy.”

Matt smiled coyly. “Oh, and I should mention—”

“Oh, no. What?”

“—that there’s something else you’ll love about all of this.”

“Stop smiling like that. Why are you smiling like that?”

“Aspiration pneumonia is commonly associated with the institutionalized elderly. In other words, it’s a nursing home problem.”

“A nursing home problem?”

“A nursing home problem,” he confirmed. “I was thinking that maybe for your next birthday I could get you fitted for dentures.”

“Hilarious. Really, so funny. You really should have been a comedian. I swear to you that the next time you get sick, I’m going to make fun of you and you’ll never hear the end of it. Got it?”

He grinned and squeezed your hand. “Murdocks don’t get sick.”

“That is the second biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I seem to recall that time you projectile-vomited off of the Ferris wheel.”

“Because I was motion-sick, not sick-sick.”

Your eyelids were already getting heavy just from the five-minute conversation. You beckoned him closer and leaned onto his shoulder, pressing yourself into his warmth. He smelled like fresh deodorant and coffee. “Pumpkin carving as soon as I can leave?”

“Definitely,” he said, placing your fingers onto the pulse that drummed under his wrist. “And this time, I’m not lying.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #Daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #MCU #hurt/comfort #reader #reader insert