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delphi-shield · 4 months

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on the exhale // leon s. kennedy

Leon x Reader Fluff wc: ~2.5k shoutout to dana for wedging this idea into my brain, i also need leon to praise me for doing the bare minimum.

summary: After your home gets broken into, Leon insists on teaching you how to shoot.

content: mentions of a break-in, extensive discussion and use of firearms, leon being a big nerd (i can't NOT fuck him energy), established relationship, gender neutral reader.

You gave him a scare. Came back home from grocery shopping to find your door busted in and called him, all blubbery and panicked. You were lucky that you hadn’t been home when it happened. Crying to your boyfriend for help made you feel silly now, but at the time it had been the only thing that had made sense. It should have been cops first, Leon second, and he would tell you as much later.

“I’m gonna come home,” he’d told you. That only made you cry harder. Through your tears, he managed to make out the reason - you didn’t want him to get in trouble at work.

Bullshit, he’d thought. After all he gave to this place, they could stand to let him cut out early for an emergency. Thank God - that useless bastard - he wasn’t on deployment when all of this had happened. He rattled off instructions for you. Don’t go in the house, call the cops, wait for him to show up.

Leon doesn’t get frazzled often, but you saw the urgency in how he moved then, hopping out of his car before he even cut the engine. He hadn't thought to tell the cops he was your boyfriend, just flashed his badge at the officer who tried to stop him, teeth bared when he told the officer to move. He doesn't usually swing around the weight of his position like that, tries to leave who he is during his working hours at the door and shoulder who he wants to be when he's with you instead - but damn, if it wasn't effective.

He'd slid his arm around your waist, pressed a kiss to your hair and said, "You okay, baby?" and it was probably only then that the officer pieced together that Leon wasn't here on official business.

You were starting to think this whole thing scared him more than it scared you. It was damn near an argument. He made it clear that he wanted you comfortable enough to know how to shoot if it came down to that. He seems convinced, privately, that it would come down to that eventually. Like an attack is inevitable. You had laughed at the idea. After all, who would target you?

Leon doesn't want to give you the long, long list of answers to that, but his silence says enough.

That was that. He was teaching you how to shoot. No more avoiding it. If it buys him some peace, you’ll fire off a few rounds. Maybe it will even be fun. After all, Leon had almost seemed excited when he insisted he teach you. It's an excuse for him to take you out in his Jeep and drive around the countryside if nothing else.

“Are you sure I'm allowed to be here?” You ask, poking your head out the window of his Jeep.

Leon doesn't even turn around. “I’m sure.”

A man shouldn’t look so good hunched over a rusty padlock, ugly boot propped up on the bottom bar. He swings the gate open, spinning the padlock on his index finger. Wrangler’s shouldn’t be that appealing, either, like they’re molded to him. Maybe it’s just the way he walks. The confident sway of his hips could make anything look good.

He swings himself back into the driver’s seat, pulls through the gate, and asks you to shut it behind you. You take the padlock from him. It’s hard to imagine you have the same confident stride Leon had. You feel like you’re shuffling your feet in the dirt, like the gate is so much heavier and your fingers so much clumsier. Leon’s eyes are on you the whole way, even when you clamber back into the passenger seat. Not that you notice.

The range is little more than a grassy field ringed with shooting bays. You don’t know what you had expected - maybe something a little more clinical. A quick look around fills you with relief. It looks like you’re the only ones here right now.

Leon pulls up in front of one of the pistol bays, already explaining range etiquette to you. You help him unload, picking up a bag that you nearly drop with a muffled whoa.

“What the hell did you pack?”

“Ammo.”

Jesus. Was he planning on forming a militia?

You don’t know why you’re surprised. Leon doesn’t do anything casually. You haul the ammo over to the closest table, hefting it up and thunking it down. Your hands settle onto your hips.

The bay is roughly 50 feet deep, the berms healed over with grass. The flat of the bay is tracked with dirt paths, clearly worn over time. A line hangs at the far end, where Leon clips two targets. He trods his own path back and unpacks his assortment of handguns on the picnic table. At his direction, you unload cartons of ammunition, organizing them by their different packaging. 9mm. .45.

The handguns look, for the most part, the same. Some are slick, carbon black, others dull, burnished metal. Your eyes are drawn to a boxy handgun, all sharp angles, the grip pebbled.

“You look nervous,” Leon notes. He straddles a bench, gesturing for you to join him.

“I am.”

Leon laughs. He nudges a magazine towards you, picking up one himself. “Don’t be. I’ll show you. Here - watch me.”

He thumbs rounds into the magazine. He makes it look easy, like he's loading a pez dispenser. You try to do the same and your thumbs come away sore and raw.

“It comes with practice.” He shrugs. He already has another two magazines loaded by the time you’ve finished your first. You hope he’s right, but you have a feeling your hands are going to ache after this.

He pulls one more gun from its case. It's worn, clearly seen plenty of use. The polymer is dulled and scuffed compared to some of the other weapons that he's laid out for you. It looks like someone took a file to the barrel and sanded it at an angle. He handles it with care, looks it over twice before he sets it away from the other pistols.

“What’s that?”

“This?” He says, laying out a stock next to it. That makes you arch a brow as well - a stock for a handgun. “She’s more of a novelty, honestly.”

“She?” You grin.

Leon rolls his eyes. He really should have known you’d tease him for that one. He flips the gun over and draws his finger across the engraving at the bottom of the grip. ‘Matilda’.

Before you can make some smart-ass comment, he clarifies. “She’s a novelty. My first gun. Can’t get rid of her, even though I probably should.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Quicker to tell you what’s not wrong,” he says, loading the magazine fondly. “The trigger is heavy as hell. There’s no rear sight. This is a military model, so if I attach the stock it fires in a three-round burst, but the way the barrel is cut slows down the way it cycles, so you lose a lot of -”

Yeah, he’s lost you. He looks so passionate when he speaks, though, you can't help but stare. You cushion your cheek on your fist just to watch him for a moment. You can't remember the last time you saw his eyes light up like this. You ask questions just so he'll keep talking – “Double action - what does that mean?”

And he's off talking again, showing you the difference on two different pistols.

He catches on to your game after the third question, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He sets Matilda aside, warning you off of trying her for now. His hand nestles home in the small of your back, urging you closer.

“Try this one first,” Leon says. It's smaller than the others, glimmers with a sheen that seems to have worn off the rest. You miss the full name - the something-or-other Shield. He runs you through the gun, shows you the safety and hands you the magazine.

It’s the basics he’s been telling you since before you even got to the range - finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Only point the gun at something if you intend to shoot it. He shows you proper stance, flexes his knees to emphasize his stance, and you can’t help the little laugh that slips out of you. His brow furrows.

“C’mon, this is serious.” Your laughter dies quick. You quiet, start taking it a little more seriously, chase the hearts from your eyes for the moment.

It feels like you should be taking notes with the amount of information he’s telling you. You nod along, trying to mimic his stance as best you can. Finally, Leon presses the gun to your palm, his hands covering yours to adjust your grip. His touch lingers, fingers sliding along your wrist as he steps away.

“Remember,” he says, loud enough for you to hear over your hearing protection. “Squeeze.”

Squeeze. Okay. You can do that. Just squeeze. You try, curling your index finger. You tense in anticipation of the shot.

The gun snaps in your hand. The grip sears into the soft skin of your palm. The ejected shell casing sizzles past your ear. You swallow the lump in your throat. You’d squeezed the trigger just how Leon had told you to, and you’d still jumped, pulling your shot up and away from where you had been aiming.

You look over to him, about to say you’re doing this wrong, you’ve got to be messing something up - you can’t even tell if you hit the target. Leon’s giving you a thumbs up and a dorky smile when you look over, though, and any thought of backing out splinters into a laugh. His voice is muffled by your earmuffs, but you think you hear him say ‘keep going’.

The rest of the magazine goes by quicker. You never quite get used to the bark of the gun, but you manage to hit the target more than once, letting out a surprised oh! each time. The slide kicks back and you barely notice - you try to fire again and it only clicks limply.

"Not bad," Leon says. You snort, but you’re smiling despite it, removing your earmuffs. Your shots are all over the place. He stares down range, hip cocked against the bench, arms folded across his chest. “You're pulling up and to the right - see?" He says, pacing down the range, gesturing for you to follow him. You trod over spent casings, catching up quick. He points to the groupings, circling them for you as if you were having trouble seeing the holes you had put all over the place.

He walks you back, talking you through pointers while you try to cram that information in along with everything else. You slide another magazine into place and try to get back into position. Your feet shuffle uncertainly on the concrete slab. Something about this is so embarrassing, being so wet behind the ears at something he’s so passionate about - you can hardly swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Hang on.” Leon’s voice cuts through your nerves. You move to lower the gun, but he stops you with a feather-light touch at your elbows.

He moves you into position, his leg wedging between yours, kicking your feet where he wants them. His touch is a suggestion, guiding you into proper form with the faintest press.

“There you go,” he rumbles. He’s pressed so close you can feel it vibrate down your back. His hands slide down your sides, fingers curling into your hips.“Nice and slow. Take your time. When you’re ready - exhale and squeeze.”

How the fuck are you supposed to breath deep and slow, concentrate on firing on the exhale, when his hands are gripping your hips like that? His breath puffs hot against the back of your neck. His voice drifts to you through your earmuffs, cloudy and dreamlike.

“Nice and slow. Squeeze.”

His hands press your hips, kneading - and then he steps back. You take a moment, let your breathing even, find your rhythm. In and out - on the exhale. You squeeze the trigger again, just like he showed you. The gun jumps, but you’re ready for it this time, the shock absorbed in the roll of your shoulders.

Center mass. On target, roughly where you had been aiming. You lean back into Leon’s chest, grinning.

“Good job,” he says. His hands slide up your arms, squeezing your shoulders. “Much better. I’m proud of you.”

A little thrill rattles up your chest. You’re going to have to unpack all of that later.

“Can I see you do it?” You ask, stepping away from the bay. You drop the magazine just like he showed you earlier. All right- maybe not just like he showed you. You fumble with it, just a little, and he does have to remind you to fish out the chambered round.

“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun.” He says, subduing a grin. He gestures for you to put your earmuffs back on and takes Matilda in hand.

It’s a night and day difference from the way you had shot. He’s quick and precise, comfortable even with the gun he had spent minutes telling you was ungainly. A tight cluster of shots in the chest of the target, two rounds in the head - just to show off, you’re sure. It’s a blink and you miss it exhibition.

And yet, Leon clicks his tongue. “I’m pulling left. See?”

“Mm…” you pop your head to the side, pretending you see what he does. You step up to him, chest pressed against his back and hands at his hips, tormenting him the way he had just done to you. “Maybe if you just…”

Your hands slide to his front, coasting up his chest. He huffs a laugh and it presses his pecs into your hands.

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,” he says, laughter wobbling his voice.

“I’m taking it just as seriously as you are.”

There’s no arguing with that. He sets Matilda aside and turns to face you. “People pay good money for lessons like these.”

“Yeah? You’re a really hands-on instructor.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his laugh this time. “C’mon. Let's shoot through a couple boxes, get you comfortable. I’ll take you to lunch when we’re done.”

“I thought you packed lunch.”

“Yeah, well. I wanna treat you.”

“You spoil me.”

“I know,” he says, affecting an exasperated sigh. He disentangles himself from you, quickly loading the magazine for your pistol and sliding it over to you. He nods towards the gun you had fired earlier. “That’s why I bought that for you.”

That little shit. You should have known he’d pull something like this.

You open your mouth to argue, but Leon seats a magazine into Matilda and turns to face the target again. “Going down. Earmuffs on.”

Bastard won’t even let you argue about it.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy #x reader

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tinycozycomfort · 7 months

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flowering

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day four of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: degradation -> read her day four here

summary: Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold.

warnings/tags: degradation/humiliation kink, sub!joel, name calling (whore) + pet names (sweetheart, honey), misuse of underwear (i know), c*ck grinding, finger sucking, edging

word count: 1.4k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: yes this is late. yes i will beg for forgiveness.

main masterlist

“I didn’t even talk to her.”

“That’s exactly right—you did nothing. Just stood there with that stupid look on your face while she tried to touch you. And you let her.”

Joel is panting under the arch of your legs so hard that you have to readjust your body, rocking your hips back to allow his chest more space to swell. His cock catches on the downturn, the wet film of your still-attached underwear enveloping his head.

You stifle a laugh at the hiss that leaks through his teeth, leaning forward to compensate for the new position—a small mercy—thighs bracketing the knobs of his waistline, seam of your cunt aligned with the underside of his length, hot and slick and what has to be painful for him at this point.

The lip of cotton around your waist curls with resistance, tugging at where it’s wedged between his stomach and the mash of your joint movements, trapping him inside.

“I didn’t mean any of it, you know that.”

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean it, Joel. If you want to act like a whore, I’m going to treat you like one,” you tsk at him, stale, like you can’t believe you have to spell it out for him, “Falling over at the attention of any woman willing to look at you, even when I’m in the same room. You earned this—remember that.”

You careen yourself into a start again, little jostling thrusts that make the material holding you together peel and reattach with a wet slap on each pass. Your clit rubs against the ridge that separates his tip and you moan, light and sweet and selfish, your head thrown over your shoulder. You can hear the sheet stretch to accommodate his fist under you, the uptick of his whining; you beam.

“N-No, fuck, please–” He tries desperately to keep himself still, knowing better than to extend his punishment. He’s been at the edge of something he doesn’t deserve more than a few times over the last hour, the glide of your heat over him and cruel delivery of your words enough to have him on the verge of absent, dizzy with pleasure.

You almost feel a twinge of guilt until you peer down to find he’s squeezed his eyes shut to remain focused, to keep his release at bay; he likes this, asks for it, he’d much rather be good than come.

You hold a moment to just take him in—the soft haze of sweat that mists his face, the curl his hair takes in the presence of it, the twinkling sheen around his mouth of everything he couldn’t clean up with his tongue after he'd eaten you through two orgasms. He has the sweetest flush flowering across the flat of his cheeks, every bit as pretty as he insists he’s not, even more so when he finally allows himself to unfurl.

Joel knows you’re looking, rolls his neck like he can hide—always dipping into a place of embarrassment over your attention. His eyes blink open and beyond his squirming you can see a shimmering glaze—that need that demands a cruel hand. Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold. They fall in tandem now, hand in hand—one can’t exist without the other.

Joel loses his words, mouth floundering open and shut, so you wrap a hand around the line of his jaw to center him, fingers dimpling the skin over his teeth until you can make out the shape of each hard lump.

“No what, honey? Try it again.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a whore. Let me make it up to you, please.” A fold of bone in his finger twitches at his side, the dragging motion rippling the bed near your ankle; his tell, he’s close. You are, too, the spool of liquid fire in your core unwinding, sloshing until it licks at your spine. You love to see him like this, so eager to do right by you after an offense he hadn’t even committed.

“So earlier when you said you didn’t do anything wrong, were you lying? Or are you lying now?”

“I was lying before. I was a whore, but I don’t want to be. I want to be good,” he breathes, and that’s what you’ve been waiting for, there’s that declaration—of better, of changing, of promise.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. It was a horrible thing you did, so I can’t just let you fuck me. What good would that do?” You pause the swing of your hips, bending at the waist so you can rub the crest of your nose against his neck, his jaw still gathered in your clutch.

Trained to answer, he doesn’t hesitate, “Nothing.”

“Right again,” you tap your longer fingers against his cheek and he preens, taking any reward he can get, “What should we do about this, then?” It’s as much a check-in as it is a threat, trying to gauge just how much more of this almost-there he can take—though you assume he’d toe this line until his body gave out, relishing in the feeling of being afforded repentance.

“Let me make you come again. Wanna taste you.” Joel’s voice is broken, hoarse, and as much as you want to allow him his atonement, the thick shape of his cock isn’t lost on you, the pulse from within it thrumming devastatingly hard on your clit. You want to feel him, want to be able to have him undo you once he’s accepted his scolding, just as desperate for his prize as he is.

For him, you see it through, keeping the routine intact—wrong-doing, judgment, penalty, reassurance, compromise, forgiveness, “I can’t just give you what you want, either. ‘M gonna have to make it a long night for you, baby. Think you can take it?”

He’s nodding before you even finish and you’re grinning again, so enamored with the pile of man beneath you, fierce and hard and soft and delicate, everything he told you he wasn’t sure he could be again.

“So polite. Come for me, then. This is just the start; gonna wear you out so good you couldn’t whore around even if you wanted to.”

“I don’t w—”

You shush him, little tuts of your teeth that tell him no, as you maneuver your hand to be able to slide two fingers between his lips, pressing down firmly on his tongue. He moans, curling the smooth muscle between them, face going slack.

Joel sets off immediately, canting his hips up into yours, heaving when he ruts into the strip of fabric encasing you both, the strung-up spots having run cold—no skin to steal warmth from during your lull.

You can feel yourself bridging the gap to completion but you refrain, wanting to see him apologize for finishing before you—he’ll thank you for it later.

He thrusts shallow enough to continuously notch against your opening—tight, purposeful dips that bring him right to the cusp.

“Come on, honey. Shouldn’t be that hard for you. You drool for all the other girls, what about me?”

That’s the last straw, apparently, hard intakes of air popping in his throat like gnarled cries, pieces of voice that sound like thank you, I’m sorry, I love you breaking the gulps between them. He spills everywhere, most of it getting caught in the halo of material still somehow propped on your waist, squelching when it drips back between you.

You coo at him to guide him through it, an inversion of everything you’ve accused him of, freeing yourself from his mouth to press kisses to the corner of his lips.

When he comes to, he looks small—sweet—the swath of color in his face running red. “Again,” he whispers, the bend of his mouth letting you know he’s giddy—unwound, “Please, again.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #joel miller/reader

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slexenskee · 2 months

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Only Shooting Stars (Break The Mold)

The AU where Gojo is actually All Might's California kid that literally no one asked for, including me 🤦‍♀️

Satoru’s best friend just told him she hates him. Actually, she told him she wanted to go hiking, which is basically the same thing.

There is emphatically nothing he’d like less than being dragged through the parched, dry hills around the Dish on an otherwise perfectly normal Saturday morning free of classes, but Makoto is only in town for two days and he promised her he’d do whatever she liked barring arson and/or more tequila shots.

“Can’t you just get Captain Underpants to go with you?” He throws out as a token protest, staggering into her rental jeep with the darkest shades he owns tossed over his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep his hangover at bay.

He squints at her as she settles in the driver’s seat of her rented death contraption. And why isn’t she hungover, anyway? She had even more to drink than him last night.

“You know his hero name is Captain Celebrity, and please don’t say that where anyone can hear you.” She rolls her eyes as she starts the car. “Until I get a more famous client he’s still my cash cow, and I’d really rather not get fired right now.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse one.” Satoru snorts, flopping into the passenger seat. “Isn’t he still cheating on the daughter with the stepmom or something?”

“Alleged,” Makoto hisses. “Allegedly cheating. And no, obviously. I wouldn’t still be his publicist if he was that much of an idiot.”

She tries to back out of her spot and almost immediately slides several inches down the heart-palpitation-inducing San Francisco incline he’d parked her on last night. She gives him a look of pure, sheer terror over her steering wheel.

Satoru quickly undoes his seatbelt. “Yeah, okay. Put the parking brake on and switch with me— I’ll drive.”

He has them up and off the worst of Hyde St.’s incline with the undisturbed impassivity of a kid who’s spent his entire driving career wedging himself into tenuous and visibly improbable parking spots all across the bay area. Makoto gives a sigh of relief once they clear the worst of the soaring hills, and actually doesn’t bring up the topic he knows she’s itching to broach until he’s pulling onto the 101.

“You know, I wouldn’t have to bother with Captain Celebrity if someone would just finally agree to be a hero.” Makoto needles him, for the umpteenth time.

He rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “Not happening.” He shoots her down flat.

“You can’t stay in college forever!” She protests.

“What do you mean, forever?” He protests back, offended. “I’m not even twenty-two yet!”

And she makes it sound like he’s wasting his life away going to college or something! As if getting into Stanford isn’t the most snobbish badge of supremacy you can wave around in this damn state!

This is what he gets for saving her all those years ago, he laments. A best friend who nags him over all his life choices. He should have let her just fall from that damned New York skyscraper. Or more realistically, just waited it out and let an actual hero swoop in and save her. It’s not as if there hadn’t been plenty around at the time.

She’d been a twenty-one year-old intern at a prestigious marketing agency caught at the wrong end of a villain takeover, and as far as his mother was concerned he’d been a seventeen year-old ostensibly touring the city for colleges, but in reality had been touring music dive bars more than campuses. They’d immediately bonded over the fact he’d saved her life, but also the indie band shirt he’d been wearing as he’d done it.

Growing up in LA, his only two real options were surfing or surf rock, and he’d chosen to spend more time on the route that wouldn’t lead him to immediate skin cancer. His mom had eventually moved them to San Francisco, but he’d never quite grown out of his SoCal roots. He’d loved music in his last life, and in this life, he’d decided to chill the fuck out and ignore society and all it’s problems, and music seemed as good a way as any to do it. And he was pretty damn good at it, if he did say so himself. His expansive catalog of songs from his last life and eidetic memory made most people call him a genius, even if he rejected the label. So he was a passable— if not prodigal— guitarist, and Makoto had just learned to play the bass herself, so it was really no surprise they’d not only immediately bonded, but immediately decided to make a band together.

Makoto jumping ship and splitting her time between the US and Japan had thrown a bit of a wrench in their rockstar dreams, but they were making it work somehow. And considering he can teleport around the world at will, it’s really not that much of a hindrance.

That does beg the question though, of why Makoto would rather him be a hero than a musician. But he imagines he actually already knows the answer to that.

“How about you stop cleaning up after stupid celebrities, and become a celebrity yourself.” He argues, with a raised brow.

Makoto scoffs. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to break into the music industry?”

With the confidence of several dozen platinum hits spanning several dozen genres sitting pretty in his head, Satoru retorts; “I don’t think that will be a problem for us.”

She laughs him off at first, but then seems to give it genuine thought. “I guess you are pretty enough to have lead singer appeal,” she concedes, uncharitably. “But we haven’t even released an album yet; you have no idea how well it will be received on the charts. Playing little dive bar shows isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Satoru just shrugs. “Then what’s stopping us? Let’s record an album.”

Makoto just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Come pop by Japan next weekend, and let’s do it.”

“Sure.” He agrees immediately, making her do a double take. He grins winsomely at her. “What? I’m free next weekend. Why not?”

She just shakes her head in wonder. “Even seeing it multiple times, sometimes I really do still forget you can just… teleport across the world. And stop bullets with your eyeballs.”

“It’s telekinesis,” he corrects, but at this point it’s just rote.

“No, I specifically remember you trying to explain it had something to do with your eyeballs, don’t try to change it up now.” Makoto pokes him in the shoulder— or tries to, but is stopped with his barrier. “And how the hell that’s supposed to even make sense, I have no idea. But you definitely said it.”

Yeah, he probably deserves that for trying to explain his cursed techniques while he’d been several mystery drinks deep at a college frat party. Makoto probably still hasn't forgiven him for dragging her to that madhouse, but in his defense, she’d all but begged him to take her to an American college party in the first place.

“It’s… complicated.” He hedges off. “My eyes just help me understand how to use my powers; they’re not actually what creates my barrier.”

Makoto squints at him suspiciously. “... What’s your mom’s quirk again?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, she can convert energy from the sun. Mine’s a mutation, obviously.”

“Could just be a strange combination.” Makoto muses. “What did you say your dad’s quirk was?”

“I, uh, have no idea.” Satoru coughs, keeping his eyes on the road in a vaguely panicked manner.

“Shit, that’s right, I’m sorry.” Makoto jolts in her seat, apologetic. “You still haven’t heard anything? I thought your mom said… I mean, they’re not on bad terms, right?”

Frankly, Satoru almost wishes she would continue pestering him about becoming a hero over this particular topic.

“They’re not on bad terms, no.” He hedges off, shifting in his seat. Why couldn’t his best friend have a normal quirk, like fire breathing or water bending? Or anything besides being a human lie detector when he has so much he needs to lie about? “But they don’t talk much. I’m not sure she even knows what his quirk is herself.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, your quirk is what it is.” Mercifully, Makoto lets the subject drop. “Even if it makes no damn sense.”

Satoru laughs that off. “Does any quirk ever really make sense, though?”

Makoto just clicks her tongue, then launches into a spirited rant on the laws of quirk science. Satoru breathes a quiet sigh of relief as the conversation devolves into a nonsensical argument on what would be the most useless quirk in history.

One of these days he’s going to have to cave and tell Makoto the truth, but he’d really rather not do it when he’s hungover and facing the prospect of a miserable hike for the next few hours.

And to be fair, nothing he said to Makoto was a lie.

His parents aren’t on bad terms. Or rather, they’re not on any terms at all, as he doesn’t think they’ve even spoken once in the twenty-two years he’s been alive in this world. But according to his mom, they hadn’t parted on bad terms. They’d been college sweethearts, and his father had always been honest about his intentions to return to Japan. His mother had been adamant about staying in America and pursuing her own career. They’d split up for practicalities sake, unaware he was already on the way, and his mom looks back on that time of her life fondly.

His mom would go on to have him several months after his father had left the country, and raise him as a single-mother as she built a life for them. His father would go on to be the world’s strongest hero.

His mother had only ever known Yagi Toshinori as All Might, unbeatable and unbreakable, with a quirk so strong it would have him going down in history as one of the strongest heroes of all time. As far as she— and the rest of the world knew— he had some kind of strengthening quirk.

But Satoru had seen him before, on one of his trips back to Japan. It had been from a distance, as he’d taken down a villain to the delight of the cheering crowds around him, but it had been enough for Satoru’s Six Eyes to see his quirk wasn’t quite as straightforward as the strengthening ability listed on his hero profile. All Might’s core— where most humans had a swirling mass of plus alpha energy— was as empty as Satoru’s. Satoru was quirkless because his father, All Might, had been born quirkless. The quirk All Might had now must have been given to him when he was older, growing around that empty space and spreading through his body almost like a parasite. Or a curse. Satoru honestly couldn’t tell.

Satoru honestly didn’t care.

He has no opinion on All Might, or what choices he may or may not have made to wield the power he has.

When he was much younger, and saw how much his mother struggled to raise him on her own without help, he would resent him a bit for leaving her on her own like this. But his adult mind could understand the logic in both his parents’ motivations. They both made their own choices, and did what they thought was right with only care and consideration for each other.

And it’s not as if Satoru’s childhood was lacking in any capacity.

Actually, his childhood was awesome.

To be entirely honest, he doubts he would have wanted All Might around even if that was possible. He can’t imagine a better way to grow up than the way he did, rocking out in the garage with his mom on the weekends, surfing in the mornings (with adequate sunscreen), skating from school to the skatepark in the afternoons, and having the complete and utter autonomy only a latchkey kid could have. His mom did what she could to make sure he grew up comfortably and well-cared for, and that included putting in long hours at work that had him on his own for most of the week. It was the best. There were no rules against using quirks in America— someone finally got their act together on personal bodily autonomy and all that— so he’d use his ‘quirk’ to teleport himself all across the world in his spare time. As long as he was back by dinner time, his mom didn’t need to know if he decided to spend the afternoon wandering the streets of Seoul in search of the best hotteok.

He tried to keep his excursions on the down low, and keep his grades up and his nose out of trouble. While he adored his freedom, he never wanted to worry his mom. She was honestly too good for this world— and for him too, if he was being honest. The least he could do is be as good of a son as possible.

Well, he can try to be as good of a son as possible. As it stands, the majority of his chaotic existence usually gets in the way of that.

“Oh, Sacchan, you’re home already?” His mother peers out of her office, thick, horn-rimmed glasses making her purple eyes look comically large on her face as she pokes her head over the wall. “Where’s Makoto-chan?”

“Probably on the plane already, unless it got delayed.” He tosses his keys into the basket by the front door, toeing off his shoes.

She frowns at him. “You drove her to SFO, right? Don’t tell me you let her go by herself!”

He rolls his eyes. “She had a rental car to drop off, ya know. But yeah, I drove her from the rental place to her terminal.”

Not that she deserved the consideration, after dragging him on a hike of all damn things yesterday. They’d just stayed out the whole night drinking beforehand, what madwoman does that?

She gets up out of her chair, stretching her arms over her head as her hapless bun spills silver-white hair over her shoulders. “She’s such a nice girl,” his mother enthuses, as she cracks her neck. “I wish you’d bring more of your friends around, Sacchan. Your poor mother worries.”

“I’m in college now, mom.” He rolls his eyes. “We don’t really bring our friends around to meet our parents.”

More to the point, he wouldn’t want to anyway. College boys are emphatically the worst, and his mom is a very pretty woman. That’s just asking for trouble. And beyond that, he doesn’t have anyone at school he’d feel close enough to introduce her to anyway. He has plenty of people in his orbit to pair up with in labs, hang around the quad with while he’s killing time between classes, or drag to various house parties, but those are superficial bonds at best.

He’s a young, handsome boy who surfs and skateboards and is good at all sports and plays rock music and still ranks at the top of his class; suffice it to say, he’s never wanted for friends or popularity. But he’s also a full grown man living through a second life; he has very little in common with the people in his age group. It’s gotten better now that he’s a full-fledged adult again, but he still tends to find the petty struggles of his fellow undergrads to be a bit pedantic.

“You never brought any around in highschool either.” His mother laments. “Sacchan, you’re not embarrassed over your mother, are you?”

“Not at all.” He protests, then adds, because he doesn’t want to worry her, “I just don’t want people knowing exactly where I live. They seem nice enough, but you never really know with people these days.”

He says it to assure her that he’s a perfectly well-adjusted and well-liked kid who has plenty of deep and genuine friendships (entirely untrue) but only serves to worry her even more.

She frowns at him, eyes downcast. “Oh, Satoru,” she says, in a sad tone that automatically has him lurching forward to comfort her. “I know things with your father are… complicated, but I never wanted to make you feel like you had to hide yourself from the world. I want to keep you safe, but I want you to have fun too, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” He rushes to reassure her. “And I do have fun— you know I do! You came to my show just last week!”

His mother gives him a watery smile. “Yes, and your bandmate Kenji nearly started a bar fight, and the crowds got so unruly that the fire department got called in.”

“That guy deserved to be slapped around a bit.” He returns, unapologetic. “And the fire department was just there to make sure we stayed under capacity— we weren’t causing any trouble!”

“No trouble, he says, when the cops were still called by the end of the night.” She teases him.

He rolls his eyes. He can’t control whether or not two drunks decide to get in a brawl over baby mama drama outside the venue, that was totally not his fault. And also probably not the best show to take his mom to, but it was one of the few local performances they’ve ever done, and she was always making noises about finally seeing his band play in person. Unsurprisingly having two bandmates that live across the ocean and one that hops between two countries means they rarely play shows on this side of the Pacific, and he still hasn’t found a way to admit to her that his teleportation radius is a lot larger than he’d originally told her as a five year-old manifesting his ‘quirk’.

“Cops or not, it was still a good time.” He grins, adamantly.

“It was indeed a good time.” She nods, grinning back. She leans up to pat his cheek. “You looked like you were really enjoying yourself up there, Satoru. I always knew you’d be a star.”

“It was a weekday performance at a local bar, I would hardly call myself a star.” He protests, helplessly.

Her eyes twinkle behind her glasses. “Maybe not yet.”

Yes the title is from All Star by Smashmouth 😂 this fic has the most millennial playlist I've ever made

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#fic may death never stop you #mdnsy oneshots

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months

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All The Lies || B. Barnes - Part 3

Character: mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/N, haunted by guilt and betrayal, visits her ailing father, who reveals Bucky's apology and love despite their tragic past.

Warning: Angst, heartbreak.

Part 1: Echoes Of Revenge

Part 2: Shattered Echoes

Part 4: Sweetest Dreams

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Six months. 182 excruciating days since Bucky's eyes, dull and defeated, had mirrored the desolation gnawing at Y/N's soul. His words, "heartless woman," still echoed through the corridors of her mind, a spectral curse that clung to every breath she took.

She told herself it was righteous anger, the echo of justified revenge, but the bitter and jagged truth was that she saw a defeated man, broken at her feet every time she closed her eyes.

Then came the call, her mother's voice, tinged with worry, shattering the fragile normalcy she'd pieced together. "He's sick," she whispered, "your father." Y/N knew, even before the words left her mother's lips, that it was an act of defiance, a silent plea for reconciliation forged in the crucible of illness.

A deep and guttural sigh ripped through her, a mirror to the chasm between her and her father. His disapproval, a boulder thrown at her heart for her unconventional methods of vengeance, had created a distance so vast it felt like galaxies separated them.

Packing was a desperate attempt to outrun the ghosts that haunted her. Once a canvas of shared dreams, the city now felt like a labyrinth of memories.

Every corner whispered of Bucky, his laughter echoing in bustling cafes, his touch lingering in the rustling of leaves in the park where they'd first kissed. Did he still walk these streets? Was he haunted by her, too, by the love she'd poisoned with her vengeance?

The hospital, sterile and reeking of disinfectant, felt like a tomb. Her mother's embrace, warm but brittle, couldn't dispel the ice clinging to Y/N's heart. "Go see him," her mother's voice cracked.

As the door slid open, revealing the sterile white room, Y/N's breath caught in her throat. There, on the bed, lay her father, pale and frail, the years etched into his face like a cruel map of her absence.

The tears, long held at bay, finally broke free, flooding the sterile room with the bitter tide of regret. She knelt beside the bed, her hand reaching for his, a desperate plea for forgiveness, for a chance to mend what she'd broken. She has disappointed her parents and destroyed Bucky.

"Forgive me. You did all of this because of me." Her father's words hung heavy in the sterile air, each syllable a shard of guilt wedging itself into Y/N's already wounded heart.

"Dad," she choked out, the word a flimsy dam against the tide of emotions threatening to engulf her. "It doesn't matter. We won."

Her father's voice, raspy with illness and regret, shifted the conversation. "That boy came here."

"Who?" Y/N's breath caught, a flicker of hope battling the embers of fear.

"Bucky."

The name now felt like ash in her mouth. "Why?"

"He… he apologized," her father said, his voice cracking. "For his father."

Y/N's heart clenched. Bucky, carrying the weight of his father's cruelty, the man she'd betrayed and used his trust, had chosen to apologize instead of blaming her.

"When I saw his eyes," her father said, his grip tightening on her hand, "I knew he was different. And he told me… he loves you. But he knew you both couldn't be together. He didn't want to burden you with the past."

"He was different," her father continued, his voice a weary echo. "From the last time I saw him. Fifteen years, can you believe it?"

"You know him?" she asked, her voice a mere tremor in the silence.

Her father nodded, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips. "The reason I stayed friends with Nicholas is because of Bucky."

"Why?" she whispered, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

Her father sighed, the sound heavy with a lifetime of unspoken words. "Nicholas is a businessman," he rasped, "cold, ruthless. Not fit to be a father. I met Bucky when I visited their home. Skinny, malnourished, haunted by his father's cruelty. I went there a few times, just to check on him, to make sure he was okay."

He continued "He's a good man."

He pulled her close, his embrace a fragile offering of comfort. "You're my precious daughter," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I don't want you haunted by the ghosts of this. You deserve to find happiness, to build a life free from the shackles of the past."

Y/N clung to her father, the tears she'd held back for so long finally spilling over. Each drop felt like a release, a purging of the guilt and anger that had poisoned her for years.

But the weight of his words, "you deserve to find happiness," echoed through her like a mournful wail. Could happiness truly exist without Bucky? Could she ever truly escape the ghosts of their shared past?

The city lights bled into the night sky, painting the air with a luminescent haze. Y/N walked, a solitary figure navigating the urban jungle, her thoughts tangled with the echo of her father's words.

The weight of his love and his pain, the burden of his betrayal and Bucky's apology, all pressed down on her, a storm brewing within.

Driven by a subconscious desire, or perhaps a cruel twist of fate, her feet led her to the pulsating heart of the city – Club Onyx, Bucky's domain.

The bass throbbed like a heartbeat, the air thick with sweat and expensive perfume. Inside, the dance floor was a kaleidoscope of bodies, lost in the rhythm, their worries and woes melting away in the strobe-lit frenzy.

But for Y/N, the music was a cacophony, the laughter a mocking echo. She perched at the bar, nursing a drink that tasted of ashes. Her unseeing gaze flickered across the crowd, searching for a ghost, a silhouette that wouldn't be there.

Even if she did find him, what would she say?

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Turning, she met the familiar eyes of Steve, Bucky's friend, a witness to their love story and its tragic demise. "Y/N?" his voice was hesitant, unsure.

She managed a weak smile. "Steve."

He slid onto the stool beside her, his gaze holding a quiet understanding. "Are you here to drown your sorrows or find him?"

Y/N shrugged, the gesture mirroring the storm raging within. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe both."

Steve sighed, a deep rumble that mirrored the bass thumping through the club. "I don't know what happened between you two," he confessed, his eyes filled with a flicker of pain. "For a year, Bucky searched for you like a man possessed. Then one day, he just… left. Came back a shell of his former self."

His words cut through her like a knife, twisting the wound she'd tried to bury. The guilt, a venomous serpent, coiled tighter in her stomach. Bucky had searched for her, even after she'd pushed him away and declared him the enemy.

And what had she done in return? Abandoned him, condemned him to a life of shadows. The guilt gnawed at Y/N's insides, a relentless worm feasting on her fragile peace.

"He just kept saying 'not meant to be,'" Steve revealed, his voice heavy with concern. "Since then, the laughter died in him. Sleep became a stranger, replaced by endless work."

"As his longtime friend," Steve's voice reached through the fog of her guilt, "can I ask you to see him, just talk?"

Y/N nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. "I'll talk to him," she rasped, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Steve's eyes, weary yet hopeful, held a silent plea. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, glancing at his watch. "Bucky should be back in half an hour. He had a quick inspection at another branch. Can you wait? The drinks are on me."

Y/N raised her glass, a wan smile twisting her lips. "One is enough," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need a clear head for this."

Steve ascended to the top floor, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and the pulsating rhythm of the club.

**********

Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the drumbeat of her growing anxiety. What would she say? How could she mend the chasm she'd carved between them?

Seeking solace in the cool anonymity of the restroom, Y/N found herself caught in a line of impatient patrons. The air, thick with perfume and the cloying scent of cheap liquor, pressed down on her like a physical weight.

Suddenly, a sharp prick on her neck sent a jolt of pain through her. The world tilted, blurred around the edges, and then, darkness claimed her.

Steve, returning to check on Y/N and inform her of Bucky's imminent arrival, found a scene of unsettling confusion. A staff member, his face etched with concern, was helping Y/N stand upright.

"What happened to her?" Steve's voice cracked with alarm.

The staff member, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, stammered, "I think she's... drunk."

"Bring her upstairs," Steve barked, a tremor of unease lacing his voice despite the staff member's assurances about Y/N being just drunk. But one glass? His gut screamed otherwise.

Just as Steve turned to follow, the music surged, a deliberate shift in tempo that whipped the unsuspecting club patrons onto the dance floor, creating a human wall between him and the stairs.

Cursing under his breath, Steve fought through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face for a sign of Y/N, his heart thundering a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

******

Meanwhile, Bucky, adrenaline pumping through his veins, leaped out of the car, his heart a frantic drum solo against his ribs. Steve's message, "Y/N's at the club. Waiting for you," buzzed in his ears, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

He strode into the club, his eyes scanning the throng, searching for any flicker of Y/N's familiar silhouette. Then, he spotted Steve, his friend's face etched with a panic that mirrored his own.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice, raw and desperate, cut through the cacophony.

Steve whirled around, his relief morphing into horror in an instant. "Bucky, Y/N is missing," he gasped, rushing towards him and spilling the disjointed story.

Y/N's single drink, the suspicious staff member, the sudden disappearance - it all painted a chilling picture of abduction, a reality too horrifying to contemplate.

The ground beneath Bucky's feet felt like it crumbled. He'd lost Y/N once, for a year that had felt like an eternity. The thought of losing her again, this time forever, was a blow that shattered his already fractured world.

Without a word, he bolted out of the club, the pulsing music a grim counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. The city lights, once a familiar comfort, now blurred past him, each neon sign a mocking reminder of the darkness that had snatched his light away.

His mind, a whirlwind of fear and desperate determination, raced through possibilities, each one a fragile thread in a web of uncertainty. He had to find her. He couldn't lose her again. Not this time.

The world spun, a hazy kaleidoscope of blurred lights and distorted sounds. Y/N groaned, her head throbbing like a captured bird against its cage.

Darkness, cold and clammy, wrapped around her, broken only by the dim luminescence of a distant bulb. A taste of metallic fear clung to her tongue, the echo of an impact she couldn't quite recall.

Her breath hitched as movement pricked the edges of her awareness. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crept closer, their rhythm an ominous drumbeat against the silence. Then, a figure materialized from the shadows, settling into the creaking chair opposite her.

More than a year had passed, but the passage of time hadn't softened the venomous edge to Ivan's features. Gone was the polished veneer of the Goldenlix capital, replaced by a scraggly beard and hair that hung like curtains around his gaunt face. His clothes, once impeccably tailored, now hung loose and threadbare, a testament to his fall from grace.

"You made me bankrupt, Y/N," he hissed, his voice a twisted mockery of its former smoothness. A cruel smirk twisted his lips, but the fire in his eyes lacked its usual spark, replaced by a simmering hatred that sent chills down her spine.

"And now," he continued, his fingers brushing against her chin with the caress of a serpent, "I need your Midas touch to make me rich again."

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

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mylovelies-docx · 10 months

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Part 4

Oh, shit. I was supposed to post this today, wasn't I?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Feels, anxiety, grown ass adult conversations

Word Count: 2,055

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3]

You nibble on your thumb nail, trying and failing to pay attention to the audiobook blasting in your ears. You’re only a few short minutes from touching down at Avenger’s Tower after months away. There’s a nervous excitement bubbling away under your skin, but it is tempered by anxiety of seeing Bucky again.

You can’t help but glance at the parachutes lined up along the wall of the cargo bay you’re sitting in. Shaking your head imperceptibly, you dismiss the impulse as a coward’s way of avoiding an uncomfortable situation. You’ve already come up with a strategy, a game-plan, for how you are going to deal with Bucky and make this situation as easy as possible for the both of you.

You’re startled from your musings when you feel a hand lift the headphone from your ear. You turn wide eyes to Steve as he crouches beside you and tells you that you’ll be landing in less than a minute.

You nod mutely. You discard your headphones and place them back into your duffel bag while tucking your phone into your back pocket. You take a steadying breath as you feel the quinjet settle down onto the landing pad. Steve and Sam join you at the back of the jet. With a soft jolt and a hiss of pressure, the bay doors open wide.

Standing against a backdrop of glass and steel and the bottom of the giant ‘A’ stands a lone figure.

Bucky.

He’s the only one on the platform, the wind fiercely whipping against his clothing and hair this high up. You can’t help but admire him for a fraction of a second. As you notice that his hair no longer brushes against his collarbones – instead, the short strands don’t even reach his eyes when the wind blows them onto his face. He looks ruggedly handsome with the new haircut, the length helping to define his face and accentuate the stubble growing across his jaw.

The effect he has on you is almost instantaneous, your heart acting as if you hadn’t spent months away from him at his request. It beats a staccato rhythm in your chest, demanding blood to flow to the beat of Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

You take a stutter-step off the jet, hoping for composure.

You remain five steps behind the boys as Bucky claps Steve enthusiastically on the back as they hug, muttering something into his ear. Then he lets go to grip Sam’s hand before bringing him in to bump shoulders. You use this time to look behind Bucky, checking to see if anyone else from the team is going to show up to greet you since you’re sure you won’t be receiving as warm a welcome from the man before you.

“Everyone else is out at the moment,” Bucky’s voice calls out hesitantly. You turn your eyes back to him, watching a pained smile spread across his lips as your eyes meet after so long apart. The wind snatches his next words away so you’re not sure if you weren’t meant to hear them or not, but you watch his lips form the words ‘Hey, doll’ as his smile relaxes into something less rigid.

A knife wedges itself into your ribs at the name. You swallow hard and paste a polite expression on, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, you hoist your bag higher onto your shoulder and walk inside, bypassing the group of men as they watch you leave.

You enter the building, breathing in the scent of your home and reacquainting yourself with the familiar surroundings. The medbay resides behind glass walls directly in front of you, the easy access from the landing pad having saved you life and limb on a number of occasions.

Your feet guide you to the elevator on instinct, showing you the way to your rooms without conscious effort. The ding of the elevator doors closing and the hum of Black Sabbath playing quietly over the speakers brings a small but genuine smile to your lips, your first today.

You don’t anticipate many in the coming weeks.

The doors ding once again and you step out into the living quarters. You run your hands along the back of the plush sofa as you pass, then slide your fingers along the textured wallpaper as you exit the living room and head towards the bedrooms.

You’re halfway down the hall when the stairwell door ahead of you opens quickly. You stumble to a halt as Bucky steps out, slightly out of breath. You watch him as he first looks in the direction you were walking then swivels his head to look back at you where you stand with your hand against the wall.

Your hand rises to clutch at the straps of your bag on your shoulder, now using two hands to keep it aloft instead of one. You fret with a loose seam with your fingernails when Bucky calls your name softly and walks slowly toward you.

He stops a mere foot or so away from you, but you increase the distance with a step back. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when you move away, so fast you can’t tell what it was.

His voice is soft when he speaks. “Can we talk?”

Shit. You hadn’t been expecting to have this conversation so soon. You’d been hoping for a little time to get into the right headspace, get your emotions in check before facing him head-on.

You nod your head and wipe your expression blank, removing your fidgeting hands and keeping them slack at your side. You lock down every emotion inside of you, just in case you can’t say what you need to.

Bucky nods back at you and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jeans, pulling in on himself. You can’t stand to see him so uncomfortable around you.

“Listen, doll, I wanted to apologize –” he begins.

If you hear Bucky apologize again for suggesting to sleep together, hear how much he still regrets having spent time knowing you intimately, you will implode. All the feelings you’ve sorted through and the realizations you’ve come to in the last couple of months will burst forth out of your chest and spew all over Bucky. You’ll vomit out the words you held back when you were ‘together’. Then eight letters that would ruin everything between you forever will fall from your lips and land at his feet, where he is sure to stomp them flat underneath his boots again.

You can’t hear it. Not again. So you stop him from breaking your heart a third time.

“Stop.” You raise a hand in the air, palm towards him. You wave it back and forth in an effort to halt the apology in his throat. He closes his mouth and looks at you questioningly.

“We don’t have to rehash our last conversation, James. I get it, you –”

“James?” he interrupts softly, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

Dammit, he’s probably right, you think to yourself, that’s still probably friendlier than he wants.

“Sorry. Sargeant, then.”

“That isn’t what –”

“I did what you asked and got myself together,” you begin again. You stare hard at a blur just past Bucky’s head, unable to meet his eyes and see the anger and loathing again. “You don’t have to worry about any lingering feelings on my part. I took the time away to realize that I only thought I felt that way about you due to our arrangement.”

Liar, liar, LIAR. You loved this man then, and you love him now. But your love suffocated him, stifled his ability to explore his sexuality and intimacy with new partners in the 21st century after decades under Hydra’s control. He wanted no strings attached to figure out what he needed, and you took the opportunity and ran with it. He gave you an inch and you took miles.

You refuse to do that to him again.

“I sincerely apologize again for forcing my feelings on you and overstepping. I understand if you no longer wish for me to call you Bucky or James, if you still wish to not be friends anymore. I –”

“Y/N, no,” Bucky says. He removes a hand from his pocket and steps forward, barely reaching out for you before dropping his hand again. “I never said that.”

Well, it was implied, you thought bitterly, sadly. “I don’t mind the formality, Sergeant. If that’s what I need to do in order –”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky demands forcefully. The shock of his words finally gets you to look him in the eyes. His jaw is locked tight and you can see his teeth grinding together.

So he doesn’t want me to address him at all? You think. Doesn't want me to speak with him at all?

“Ah. Well that…” You scratch the back of your head, turning your face away from him. “I mean – I won’t bother you outside of missions from now on, but I need at least some way of addressing you during –”

“If you say one more word, I’m going to lose my fucking mind!” Bucky yells at you, finally exasperated enough to raise his voice.

You flinch and take another step back. “Sorry…” you murmur, looking down at the carpeted flooring under your shoes. All the sudden, you see Bucky’s boots inches from your own and feel his hands grab hold of your shoulders – not rough, but also not gentle. You raise your head, your wide eyes meeting his.

“I never said I didn’t want to be friends,” Bucky says vehemently. “Y/N, I am so sorry for how I acted the last time we saw each other – sorry for how angry I got.” At this, his hands loosen a fraction on your shoulders, his fingers no longer digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder blades. “You’re one of my best friends. I started seeing a new therapist after you left; she’s helped me realize how important you are to me. Helped me realize that –”

His words are cut off as you drop your bag and immediately slam into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. You burrow your face into his neck and squeeze your arms when you inhale the familiar smell of his soap and skin. You’ve missed him so much, missed his company and his voice and his laugh and his smile and just everything about him. Your eyes begin to water when you feel his arms circle around you in return, pulling you tight into his embrace.

You speak into the space between your bodies quickly before he can finish his thought, wanting him to know that you can do this. You can be friends again. He doesn’t need to worry about loving you back. Just as long as you can still be his friend. Just as long as you can still love him in secret. Just as long as you can still secretly hope he changes his mind someday.

“I promise I don’t love you,” you say to him.

Liar.

“Please, doll. Don’t say–” Bucky tries to loosen his grip and pull away, but you hold fast and keep going.

“I promise it was just a crush, I promise I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Lies.

You remove your face from Bucky’s neck, looking up into his eyes. You have tears streaming down, but you give him a reckless smile, “I promise.”

You are such a fucking liar.

Because being in his arms again reminds you just how much you’ve missed them. Just how much you’ve missed loving him up close.

Bucky takes a moment to look desperately at you, eyes flickering between your own, trying to find any hint of a lie. You’re so happy Bucky still wants you in his life as a friend that forcing the love to stay hidden isn’t excruciatingly painful at the moment.

Taking your words as truth, Bucky nods his head once and crushes you to his chest, squeezing tightly. You feel him sigh heavily when he rests his chin on top of your hair. Nuzzling softly, he places a small, chaste kiss onto the crown of your head before pulling away entirely.

A sad smile mars his face, and you can’t imagine what caused it.

Part 5

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #Sorry I Love You

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Yandere Demon nsfw

Since I own two souls here’s a draft of your yandere demon in heat.

Word count: 500 mdni

Baron had been acting strangely lately. Stranger than usual. Clingier than ever before; hardly listening to you even with added pressure. He growled at your boss for just wishing you a good morning. The moment your clothes came off, they’d disappear within a flash; you having caught him hunched over in your room with the articles strong in his clutches. The worst part were the looks. Just – watching you at all hours of the day. Urges kept barely at bay.

It all came to a head one weekend morning. Alasdair was nowhere to be seen, and Baron was cuddled to your back as you woke up abruptly. Dawn hadn’t even hit, but you found trouble in going back to sleep. What’s worse was that the room felt too hot, sticky. You soon realized the source of the heat came from the hundred pound demon behind you. His leg was wedged between yours, hands gripped at your thighs and held you close; sleepy grumbles falling from his lips. The dampness of his skin only worsened the feeling, the back of your shirt drenched as he buckled against you in his slumber. You couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to cool down or you’d end up in hell before you even died.

You squirm out of Baron's grasp, the demon brought to immediate attention at the loss of his cuddle partner. He grabs the side of the bed, claws just out of reach as you stand up.

“Y/n.. wait. I.. I don’t feel so hot. Can you stay?”

“I need to take a shower. I’ll be right back.”

He calls after you, but you leave him here in silence agony. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Shit, he could still smell you. In the sheets, the pillows – the air. It was driving him wild. He thought his cycle would be over by now, but it seemed with a mate he found proper, it only lasted longer and powered tenfold. The bathroom light blinds him as he looks towards it. You had forgotten to lock the door, and even worse – close it. His breath came in shaky pants as he saw your shorts fall to the floor through the crack in the door.

You check yourself in the mirror as the water rages on within the shower. Your eyes were heavy from the lack of sleep that wasn’t just from tonight. If the shower didn’t help, you’d try sleeping on the couch instead.

The creek of the door catches your attention. From the reflection, you watch as Baron slips into the bathroom; sheets wrapped around his lower torso. His head was low, both mouths exhaling deeply and saliva edging from his lips. He creeps over, arms slithering around you as he drops his head on your shoulder.

“Um.. Y/n? I shouldn’t be asking you for anything, but I could really use a favor right now. Fuck, you smell so good.”

He presses against you; you having to grip the sink for support, and that’s when you feel it. Something rubs against your lower back as he pushes – two somethings to be precise, the cloth around them wet like everything else.

“I’m… in heat and.. just thinking about you isn’t enough.”

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your-eternal-lies · 30 days

Text

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter one)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

WARNINGS — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER ONE HELLO, NEIGHBOUR

Steve Rogers stands before the sleek new digital coffee maker on his kitchen counter, his fingers fumbling with the confusing array of buttons.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, blue eyes narrowing in concentration. The machine beeps in protest, flashing symbols that might as well be hieroglyphs for all the sense they make to him.

Back in his day, he reminisces as he jabs futilely at the modern contraption, all he needed were some grounds, water, and a bit of heat. So, why does this have to be so complicated?

But the LED display just flickers mockingly at him before flashing an error message, which only adds insult to injury.

As Steve stands there, engaged in his silent battle with technology, his phone vibrates on the counter. It’s from Natasha, and for a minute, he thinks he’s being called into work. Instead, her words pop up on the screen like tiny grenades:

Natasha: Have you asked out Sharon yet? Natasha: She’s cute AND a nurse—practical for a guy who gets shot at for a living.

He sighs, pocketing his phone as he leans against the counter. Sharon is cute, he relents, but asking her out means stepping into unfamiliar territory.

He tells himself that he can’t afford any distractions, thinking about his duty to SHIELD, about the literal shield that feels a bit heavier with each passing day. After Peggy, Bucky, the ice… he didn’t feel like it was fair to drag an innocent civilian into this crazy life of his.

A lot of the time he still feels like that awkward and skinny Brooklyn boy, who had never even danced with a woman before, let alone go on a date with one. They had always looked at him with a sad mix of pity and derision, would much rather hang off the arm of someone like Bucky.

And despite his now… enhanced, shall we say, appearance, the looks of admiration he often gets now just seem to ring hollow.

He knows Natasha means well. She understands the weight of history he carries in his heart, as she’s got her own demons she fights to keep at bay. So, Steve never faults her for encouraging him to have a life outside of work… even if she doesn’t necessarily take her own advice.

Well, he knows shockingly little about her, so he doesn’t know that for sure.

Shaking his head, Steve decides to give the coffee machine one last chance, pushing what he hopes is the right combination of buttons. The machine whirrs affirmatively, and victory seems to be within reach for one hopeful minute—until it sputters pathetically and then goes dark altogether.

“Ah, forget it!” Giving up, Steve unplugs the machine, deciding that he’ll just have to conquer the world of espresso another day.

Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from his Captain America garb, he decides to head downstairs to the Starbucks on the first floor.

At least there, getting coffee is easy.

Just down the hallway, you stand before your dresser, rummaging through its contents.

When your hand finally emerges victorious, it’s clutching the lone survivor of your clean underwear collection—a single polka-dotted testament to your chronic procrastination.

Laundry day cannot be ignored any longer, not unless you wanted to start fashioning outfits out of your dish towels.

Resignation slumps your shoulders as you zip around your apartment to gather the scattered attire strewn across the floor, each garment snatched up and tossed unceremoniously into the gaping maw of your laundry basket.

With the basket brimming, you wedge a hip against it to keep everything contained. You move slowly towards the door, putting on a pair of slippers, only to be stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from your couch.

“No, Chuck,” you remind your unofficial roommate, a German Shepherd who goes by the name of Charlie—or Chuck, as you prefer to call him. “You can’t come. You are banned from the laundry room after ‘the incident’.”

But Chuck’s tail continues to wag hopefully, his large brown eyes shining, his head tilted to the side in the very picture of innocence.

You soften, but only a touch when you remember him peeing all over your freshly washed, neatly folded laundry, meaning you had to start all over again.

“Nice try, buddy,” you give him a half-hearted glare. He lets out a soft woof, and you swear you see judgment in his eyes as he looks at your leaning tower of laundry. Well, what does he know, the big oaf? He licks his own butt. “Couch fortress until I return, okay?”

The hallway outside your door is its usual self—stale air, the faint smell of someone’s burnt breakfast, and the muffled echo of someone’s TV playing what sounds like a rerun of I Love Lucy.

As you round the corner, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. There, leaning against the wall with a casual grace that flies in the face of a man who leaps out of planes and fights aliens for a living, is him.

Captain America himself, in all his star-spangled glory, waiting for the same ride down to the lobby.

Oh, no. Nnnnope.

You are not taking the elevator with Steve freaking Rogers, carrying an arm full of your unwashed unmentionables while dressed in old PJs and a tank top. There is no way!

The urge to run back to the safety of your apartment is strong, where neither your couch nor your dog have arms that could bench press a Buick.

Maybe you could step back behind the corner, make a run for the stairwell, or maybe even pull the damn fire alarm—

But it’s too late. He’s heard you, already twisting slightly at his narrowed waist and tossing a glance back at you over his shoulder.

“Hey, neighbour,” he smiles. Your heart does an unwelcome somersault.

Well, at least the elevator ride would be quick… right?

« Series Masterlist || Chapter 2 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

Notes — So, to encourage my writing, I’ve decided to make each chapter exactly 1,000 words, no more and no less. It’s harder than I thought it would be! But it also takes the pressure off to hit a longer word count and helps me manage the pacing. I hope you enjoy!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #summer’s fics

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

Note

Why hello 👋 sorry to trouble with this extremely long request but I would like to make a request where MTMTE lost light crew gets teleported to the prime verse where buddy is megs daughter and guess they we're having some trouble with tfp megs cause he is hogging all the energon and lost light decides to help them with their and during that time MTMTE megs got pretty close with buddy and she was happy to have her dad back even if he was from a different universe

And tfp megs ends up deciding to kidnap his own kid and abused her pretty badly to the point where she was missing some limbs, bleeding a lot too and he like refused to let knockout treat her wounds so when they tried to go rescue her and megatron holds her by her neck showing them the damage he has done and shocking everyone

Something like immediately snapped in MTMTE megs and his old self resurfaced and he nearly beats tfp megs but tfp Optimus and his MTMTE Optimus manages to hold him back from killing tfp megs and they rush buddy to the med bay in attempts to save her and she lives and the tfp decepticons decides to join tfp Optimus they kept there decepticon badges ofc but their working with him only

As for MTMTE crew they had to go home megs decides to ask buddy if she wanted to come with him to his universe (the answer is up to you) I do not know what else to write

P.S: please let breakdown be alive in it and sorry for it being so long

OH MY!

Who needs a roller-coaster when you cane have emotional rollercoasters?

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality gets kidnapped and MTMTE Megatron finds out

SFW, Platonic, ANGST, Mentions of injuries, near death but everything turns out ok, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP/MTMTE

Megatron’s forces were taking more and more energon mines by the day.

The resources were dwindling to dangerous levels.

The team needs them soon and fast.

Thankfully they found an untapped energon mine ripe for the taking.

Buddy helped get all the carts ready and the drills prepped.

“Everyone ready?”--Arcee

“Wait! I’m coming too!”--Buddy

“Are you sure about that Buddy?”--Bulkhead

Buddy firmly grasped her drill piece.

“We need as many servos in that mine getting the energon as we can. I’m going.”--Buddy

Optimus looks at Buddy for a second.

“Keep close.”--Optimus

Buddy smiles and salutes.

“Absolutely!”—Buddy

The team landed in one of the darker areas of the mine.

But the light from the energon crystals made up for most of the visibility.

It was time to get to work.

The team spread out through the cave while maintaining some proximity with each other.

Buddy managed to get the deeper crystals that had managed to wedge themselves in between the rocks.

She ventured to more of the outskirts of the cave trying to reach a particular energon vein.

She felt off.

Sudden shivers would run down her spinal struts.

It felt as if someone was watching her.

She started walking towards the others.

The feeling just grew, and she picked up her pace a bit.

She was still a few yards away from the others.

Out of the corner of Optimus’s optic he saw Buddy walking faster than usual back to the group.

Buddy then heard it.

A familiar sound of a blade being pulled out.

She froze in place.

Her spark beating out of control.

No…

There was no way he was here…

Optimus looked at Buddy’s fear-stricken face and went to walk over to Buddy.

Buddy slowly turned around to see who was behind her.

Optimus saw something drag Buddy into the darkness of the cave with her screaming bloody murder.

He started running towards the darkness.

The team followed behind him.

The screaming continued until they reached an opening in the cave.

The glow of the moon and groundbrigde shown upon the two figures.

Buddy beginning held up by her throat thrashing in pure fear.

The one holding her was none other than her father.

Megatron.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Optimus Prime and his lackey’s.”--Megatron

Optimus drawing out his canon with a steely gaze.

“Let her go Megatron.”--Optimus

The rest of the team has their weapons out and ready to fire on command.

“And why would I do that Prime? She is my daughter, not yours.”--Megatron

Megatron squeezes a bit more making Buddy squirm even more.

Buddy looks at her family with tears in her optics.

“G-go!”--Buddy

“What?”--Arcee

“I-I’m not worth it—urgh--I’m not worth it!”--Buddy

“Let her go NOW!”--Optimus

Megatron just smirks at the Prime and throws Buddy through the portal and dashes right after her.

Prime sprints to the portal but it closes at the last second.

He looks in horror at the place where Buddy was just there.

She was just there…

Optimus can hear the frustration and calls to Buddy from behind him.

He shakingly reaches his commlink.

“Ratchet…”--Optimus

“What is going on in there!? I can’t get a good reading on Buddy and half of the team in blowing up—”--Ratchet

“Buddy has been taken.”--Optimus

“…What? What do you mean taken?!”--Ratchet

“Megatron…”--Optimus

Ratchet on the other end slightly covering his mouth.

“No…”--Ratchet

The team returned to base, and they set out to immediately find Buddy.

There was no telling what Megatron would do to her.

They needed to find Buddy.

A few painful hours passed and there was still no trace of Buddy, Megatron, or the Nemesis. Everyone was on edge waiting for some sort of clue to come.

The Bots were getting desperate.

That’s when the portal opened.

Portal opens.

Miko looked at it wide eyed, grabbing Jack and Raf.

“GRAB ONTO SOMETHING!”--Miko

Bulkhead quickly scoops up the kids.

The team holds onto sturdy objects digging their pedes into the ground.

“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS THING IS MIKO?”--Wheeljack

“IN A WAY! THAT WAS THE PORTAL THAT GOT ME AND BUDDY INTO THAT ALTERNATE DIMENSION!”--Miko

Several figures shoot out of the portal and land sprawled out on top of each other on the ground.

The portal closes.

The team has their weapons out and pointed at the pile.

“GET OFF OF ME!”--Rodimus

“I WOULD IF YOU’D GET YOU TAILPIPE OUT OF MY—”--Drift

Tailgate bounces from the top of the pile and lands roughly on the ground.

“Ow!”--Tailgate

Miko squints a bit before smiling widely.

“Bulkhead put me down.”--Miko

“What? Absolutely—”--Bulkhead

“Hey Whirl! Whirl you in there?”--Miko

From somewhere in the middle of the pile Whirl hears Miko and furiously digs himself out of the pile.

Whirl gets out and spots Miko waving widely at him.

“Miko!”--Whirl

Whirl walks up to Bulkhead.

Bulkhead holds the kids closer.

“Don’t worry Bulkhead he’s a friend!”--Miko

“Yes my future Amica!”--Whirl

“AMICA?!”—Bulkhead and Wheeljack

Whirl snatches up Miko from Bulkhead and plops her into his cockpit.

“Hey, we’re in Miko and Buddy’s dimension.”-Tailgate

The rest of the Rod Squad gets up stretching and saying hello to Miko.

“Umm…”--Smokescreen

The rest of the crew looking at Team Prime, who just looked confused.

“Oh right! Lost Light crew meet Team Prime!”--Miko

MTMTE Optimus makes his way to the front with Rodimus and…

“What is HE doing here?”--Arcee

All guns trained on MTMTE Megatron who was looking around.

“Who Megs? He’s on our side now.”--Rodimus

“Our side?”--Ratchet

“The war is over in our dimension.”—MTMTE Optimus

Both teams look at the differences between TFP Prime and MTMTE Prime.

“Wow, didn’t see you the last time we went to the Lost Light.”--Miko

“I was visiting when the portal sucked most of us in.”—MTMTE Optimus

“Where’s Buddy?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Yeah, where’s Buddy!”--Tailgate

“Calmly Tailgate.”--Cyclonus

“Tailgate?”--Arcee

“Yep, that’s my name. But where is she? She’s going to be so happy when she see us!”--Tailgate

Team Prime looks down slightly.

“What’s wrong?”--Rung

“Not too long-ago Buddy was kidnapped by this dimension’s Megatron.”—TFP Optimus

All the Lost Light crew freezes.

The Lost Light crew is now out for blood.

Brainstorm and Perceptor helped Wheeljack and TFP Ratchet create a stronger signal booster.

That way they would cover more ground to try and find Buddy’s signal.

Instead they found a strange SOS Signal.

Knockout, Breakdown, and Steve had created the link.

“What do you Con’s want?”--Bulkhead

“Easy Bulkhead, we aren’t looking for a fight.”--Breakdown

Yeah like I believe that.”--Bulkhead

“Listen, we don’t have much time before this signal gets discovered so shut it!”--Knockout

“Go on.”--Optimus

“Steve is inputting the coordinates of the Nemesis.”--Knockout

“Your… giving away your position?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Who’s that? Never mind, if you want to get Buddy follow these coordinates.”--Knockout

“And if it’s a trap?”--Arcee

“It’s not! Buddy is not going to make it if you don’t come NOW!”--Steve

“Breakdown what does he mean by that?”--Wheeljack

“We can’t say anymore Bulk, just get here fast.”--Breakdown

“And don’t hurt any Con that doesn’t try and attack you!”--Steve

End transmission.

MTMTE Megatron, MTMTE Rodimus, MTMTE Optimus, and TFP Optimus are the ones to come up with the formal plan to rescue Buddy.

Everyone else works together with the sole thought of getting Buddy back.

They manage to infiltrate the Nemesis once the coordinates are inputted.

Most of the Lost light crew insist that they come to help, but later agreed fo a small party to join Team Prime.

Some stay behind on base with the medical supplies ready and in case they need back up.

When the rescue team enters the Nemesis, they encounter the first vechicons.

They are parting ways to let them pass through the halls.

They pass by Breakdown and Knockout who point in the right direction, no questions ask about the other bots with them.

They noticed that Soundwave was on the med slab unconscious with his visor cracked like a spiderweb.

As if someone hit him…

That’s when they meet Starscream.

He isn’t a problem after some punches.

That’s when they hear muffled poundings.

They don’t hesitate to knock on the door.

All weapons are up.

This is when the Lost Light crew finally meets this dimensions Megatron.

He has energon coated on his servos and some clear dents and slight cuts to his sides.

But what really gathers their attention is the pool of energon gathering around his pedes.

There is a couple feet away from him was a small frame

Still…

Unmoving…

MTMTE Megatron clenching his servos into giant fists.

“What. Have. You. DONE!”—MTMTE MEGATRON

TFP Megatron looking at this slightly familiar mech next to TFP Optimus.

“And who are you to demand such a thing from the Almighty Megatron.”

“We’re the ones who are going to send you to the pits if you don’t answer the question.”--Rodimus

TFP Megatron laughs as he grabs the limp frame in his servos.

The small frame has too many large slashes and dents.

Most noticeably, their entire right leg is gone.

Whirl almost tackles him to the ground but gets held back by the Wreckers who are equally fuming with anger.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER!?”--Whirl

TFP Megatron laughs.

“Nothing I can’t do to a traitor of the Decepticon army.”--TFP Megatron

He throws Buddy to the wall.

She falls to the ground unmoving with a slight trail of energon trailing behind.

SNAP!

MTMTE Megatron screams and tackles TFP Megatron to the ground.

The fight wasn’t even close to being fair.

TFP Megatron is out in seconds by the sheer anger this Megatron packs into his punches.

“YOU!”—MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“DON’T!”—MTMTE Megatron

SLAM!

“DESERVE!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“HER!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

It takes both Optimus’s, Rodimus and Magnus to tear him off of his counterpart.

Most of the other party had already left to the base with Buddy.

MTMTE Megatron just heaves heavily.

He doesn’t regret anything.

He grabs some chains and bounds TFP Megatron from escaping.

The sound of static alerts the remaining bots.

Soundwave was leaning on the wall with the rest of the Decepticon’s behind him.

He asks if Megatron lived.

TFP Optimus nods.

Soundwave nods back.

Steve walks forward.

“I want to join your side.”--Steve

“Wow… wasn’t expecting that.”--Whirl

“We are done working for Megatron. We follow Buddy now.”--Steve

“So, you’ll become bots?”--Arcee

“Not exactly, we’re still Cons through and through. But we’re taking it back to its original ideal.”--Breakdown

“Peace.”--Soundwave

“Breakdown and I can come and give any medical assistance that’s needed.”--Knockout

TFP Optimus nods.

The remaining rescue team plus Knockout and Breakdown enter the groundbrigde leaving the vechicons to the ship and put Megatron in stasis lock.

It was all servos on deck to keep Buddy from flatlining.

After several hours of intense surgery and fixing, the medics came with the news…

Buddy was finally stable.

She was going to pull through.

The Lost Light crew insisted in helping around the base and with New Cybertron as much as they could while Buddy recovered.

MTMTE Megatron rarely left her side alongside several other bots and cons who visited often.

When Buddy did wake up the first thing, she saw was MTMTE Megatron gently holding her servo.

She was internally freaking out still trying to process what was happening, but all the fear left her when she saw the tears coming from his red optics.

She knew exactly who this mech was.

Buddy started bawling clutching MTMTE Megatron with as much mobility she had.

MTMTE Megatron gently soothed her as the others came in.

Everyone told her story of what happened during her rescue.

Soon enough the portal comes back for the rest of the Lost Light.

Buddy being held in TFP Optimus’s arms waving and hugging the crew as they make their way to the portal.

“Buddy… you know you could always come with us.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy freezes.

TFP Optimus freezes.

“Really?”--Buddy

“Yes, the decision is up to you.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy looks at MTMTE Megatron’s servo and TFP Optimus.

“…I think I’ll stay here. Someone’s gotta keep the place clean when you guys come back.”--Buddy

MTMTE Megatron smiles and lightly hugs Buddy.

“You take care of her Prime.”--MTMTE Megatron

“With all my spark Megatron.”—TFP Optimus

“Farewell.”—MTMTE Megatron

Megatron and the others enter the portal and vanish.

The portal closes.

Buddy smiles and hugs Optimus.

He hugs back feeling relief.

Everything was going to be okay.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #idw mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte x platonic reader

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

Text

Recently, my local grocery store bought a robot to keep the shoplifters at bay. Now, it doesn’t do the full Robocop routine: this thing is shaped like an enormous buttplug on wheels and doesn’t even have any onboard weapons. What it does do is get in the way of my cart, often when I’m setting up multiple-element produce-aisle drifts, and then take half an hour to do a million-point turn to get out of my way. I don’t have this kind of time, especially when the carton of ice cream I pocketed is melting in my coat.

So, the obvious answer: break into the thing, pull all of its parts out, put them in the bottom of my cart and then drive them through the self-checkout, which likely hates its new coworker and will be happy to see its guts scattered across the dirt floor of some creep’s suburban garage. The robot makers, however, saw me coming. They put my worst enemy on the job: security fasteners. Special, proprietary screw heads, of a type which I did not carry on my person at all times.

We had a problem, then, the two of us. I would need more time to complete my action, so I stuck a can of artichoke hearts under the robot’s wheels, causing it to lose traction. In response, it beeped furiously for help that would never come, from the same minimum-wage workers it was meant to replace. Taking the initiative, I used my shopping cart to wedge its gleaming white plastic body up against the bottom of the soup shelf, where it writhed in agony, its optics and radar futilely searching for an opportunity to escape. Then I walked over to the hardware aisle, which – although surprisingly generous for a grocery store, the reason why I “patronize” it – did not contain any security screwdriver bits, or even a plasma torch. I opted, then, for a flathead screwdriver and a hammer, and returned to the robot.

I’ll never know what it saw in its last moments of life as a complete object, but it was probably me lifting the hammer aloft as I drove the last of the mangled security screws loose from the cage holding its thought matrix. After I removed it from the sea of shattered plastic and wiring and looked up what it goes for on eBay, I realized that it would probably just have been cheaper to let it follow me out into the parking lot and hit it with my car. At least then, the guy who handles my insurance calls would have to hire a new employee to handle robot-on-car claims.

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to-thelakes · 1 month

Note

Luke sleeps like a starfish when he's alone. Taking up all the space in the bed without Roxy next to him but on a case you have to share a room with him. It only has one bed

okay, i wasn't entirely sure what ask to reply to since what i am about to give you is a combination of 4 (not 3 as i told you last night (whoops)) asks that you have sent in! i just kind of got carried away and this one-shot is just SO CUTE. i'm gonna leave the prompts i combined for this below and then there will be the one-shot

so please enjoy the chaos below

star-fishing

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke helps you clean up after a fight with an unsub.

warnings; fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, one-bed trope, description of injuries (and cleaning them up), reader is down-bad for luke, a little bit of teasing and kissing

“Ow,” You hissed softly as Luke gently ran the cotton swab across your forehead. The Unsub had got you pretty bad but you had insisted that the medics didn’t need to clean you up. Which meant that Luke was doing it now. He was wedged between your thighs as you sat up on the hotel bathroom sink. The first-aid kit was laid out next to you but he was focusing on cleaning the blood from your skin for now.

The hand holding the cotton swab rested against your head as he swiped away the blood while the other had a hold of your face, keeping your head level. Luke was so close to your face. You could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks as you tried to decide what to look at. The heat was creeping up your cheeks despite your best attempts to keep your bubbling feelings at bay.

“Sorry,” Luke muttered, “I’m nearly done,” He added, briefly meeting your gaze before he returned back to the wound. There wasn’t much blood left so now he was doing his best to disinfect the wound. It wasn’t as bad as it had looked at first which gave him a sense of relief.

“I could have done it myself,” You said after a beat of silence. You couldn’t tear your gaze off his face. His eyes were boring into you and his hand was so warm against your cheek. You were sure he could feel the heat that had rushed to them but you tried not to think about it. He didn’t even notice as you admired his face.

His stubble had grown in a little since he hadn’t had the chance to shave and it somehow made that rugged yet soft look more prominent. His lips were so full and kissable. Every part of you wanted to just grab his face and snog him, fulfil the urge that had been clawing its way to the forefront of your mind for weeks. The feeling of his stubble and his lips pressed against yours would make it so easy to forget everything, you were sure of it. But you had to fight the urge.

You and Luke were friends. That was all you had been and probably all you would be.

His cheeks were slightly red from the heat of the bathroom and his chest was resting so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His skin was so warm, you could have melted into him. Your hands always seemed to run cold and you desperately wanted to shove them underneath his hoodie to warm them up but you didn’t. It was unprofessional and he would complain about feeling cold himself.

You averted your gaze from his face, letting your eyes rove over his shoulders and down his arms. Even in the hoodie, you could see how built he was. But Luke wasn’t like the other muscular guys you had known. Usually, they were arrogant and the muscles were purely for vanity. Luke’s at least served a purpose outside of boosting his ego.

But what confused you was how gentle he was despite the muscles. When you first met him, years ago, you had expected him to manhandle you. If you got hurt, you expected him to be frustrated but he was always so gentle. All the strength he held turned to softness and he held your face so gently as he took care of you. It was so disconcerting and it was far from what you were used to when it came to men but it made you feel safe.

Luke made you feel safe.

That was probably why you spent so much time around him. It was easy to be around him because he was such a teddy bear when he wasn’t trying to do his job. It made it easy to talk to him. He was so easy to talk to and you didn’t know how to deal with the feelings that he gave you. You had told yourself that you would never mix work life and your love life but Luke made that so hard.

You felt his gaze shift and his eyes traveled over your face. He could see how nervous you had suddenly become and he nudged your cheek with his thumb. Your eyes jumped up to meet his gaze and smiled at home.

Luke chuckled softly before he pulled back, a hand still rested against your face as he flipped the cotton bud. He dipped the clean end into the bottle of disinfectant before he returned to the wound on your forehead.

“Your hands haven’t stopped shaking since you punched him in the face,” Luke stated. It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about. The Unsub. You scoffed, balling your fists. He was right even if you didn’t want him to be.

You dug your nails into your hand, hoping that maybe it would stop them, “I just-” He paused as he adjusted his hand so that he could tilt your face up to make sure everything was disinfected properly, “don’t want this to get infected.” You rolled your eyes before letting them close. It was sweet that he cared so much.

“I nearly had him,” You muttered after a moment. He chuckled, looking at you and tilting your head slightly. In the fluorescent lights of the hotel bathroom, it looked pretty clean and so he dropped the cotton bud into the bin. His hand left your face and his body moved from between your thighs as he searched for an appropriately sized plaster in the first-aid kit. You unclenched your fists but your hands were still shaky.

“We’ll get him,” Luke reaffirmed as he grabbed a couple of band-aid options. He then stepped back between your thighs.

“I know. We got lucky finding him the first day here,” You said after a moment. Luke nodded and he began to compare plasters for your forehead cut. He tilted your chin slightly to make sure it was the right size and once he was sure, he dropped the rest of the options before he ripped it open.

“Would have saved us sharing a bed,” Luke muttered, glancing at your face to gauge how you reacted. You pouted playfully, cocking an eyebrow.

“Don’t pretend you’re not gonna love it,” You stated, a teasing smile on your lips. Luke chuckled and shook his head in disbelief.

“Uh-huh,” He muttered softly. He shifted the band-aid on your forehead before deciding on the position. He then pulled the backing off and stuck it down against your skin. He ran his thumb over it, smoothing it down before he stood back.

“It’s beginning to sound like you want to be in bed with me, The great Luke Alvez never ignores a teasing comment,” You continued to taunt him as he checked over the rest of your face. Aside from the bruises and busted lip, you seemed to be mostly okay. There were no immediate cuts and you didn’t have a concussion

“How’s your lip?” He asked, avoiding your comment. You shrugged, your finger coming up to gently press against the cut. It was busted, it wasn’t great but it wasn’t as painful as you had expected. The pain mostly just blended into the background.

“Could be worse,” You shrugged. Luke nodded, “Just for the record, we are having a pillow wall. I’m only teasing,” You said. Luke smiled up at you, he tilted his head slightly as he looked into your eyes. Your eyes kept shifting anxiously, you were picking at the nails on your hand without even realising it, “And before you get an ego boost, I am only doing this because I didn’t have another choice.” There was a teasing lilt to your tone, a smile on your lips which completely contrasted the anxious movements of your hands.

He chuckled at your comment, it was a deep chuckle and it made a grin crawl onto your face. It was hard to resist despite the pain that it caused your busted lip. It was such an easy laugh from Luke, you wanted to hear it forever. His hands rested at his side, a green hoodie covering his usual button-up. He looked so soft and domestic, it was hard not to admire him.

“You could have shared a room with Rossi,” Luke suggested. You scoffed and shook your head vehemently.

“No. That man snores. I can hear him through the walls, if I was in the same room as him, I would commit a homicide.” Luke chuckled again and stepped back to help you down from the counter. You let out a soft sigh. You were so tired but you felt so dirty. Sweat, mud and the smell of the local PD was clinging to you and you wanted to shower it off so badly.

“I guess you’re stuck with me then,” He teased. You huffed out, pretending to be annoyed but you really didn’t mind. Part of you wondered if Emily had set it up so that you and Luke had to share a room. Her, JJ, Penelope and Spencer had already confronted you about your possible feelings for Luke at monthly pasta night. So, it wasn’t a hard leap to make but you didn’t want to assume - or make a fool of yourself.

“Yeah but you’re not watching me shower so get out,” You said, shaking yourself out of your thoughts, “I know you’d love it but not tonight mister.” You felt a little awkward and clunky teasing Luke the more your feelings rose to the surface but you tried to keep it up. Your relationship was built on teasing each other and if you stopped, Luke would be suspicious. You were not gonna let that happen.

“Not tonight?” He asked, a mischievous smile on his face, “So another night?” He asked. You scoffed and smacked his chest playfully.

“Play your cards right and maybe,” You stated before you urged him out of the bathroom. He chuckled as he threw his hands up in mock defense.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” You sent him a teasing smile before you closed the door behind him. Once you were sure it was locked, you stripped out of your work clothes and walked over to the full-length mirror. You had fallen pretty badly during your fight with the Unsub and there was already a pretty nasty (and massive) bruise blooming across your hip.

You gently prodded at it before you checked over the rest of your body. Except for a few bruises on your knees and arms from hitting the ground, you were fine. So, you switched the shower on and waited for it to heat up before getting under the spray. The warmth soothed your skin and you did your best to keep your hair and face out of the spray. You didn’t want the band-aid to peel off and by some miracle, you managed to not get it wet.

After scrubbing the grime of the day off your body, you got out of the shower and slipped a towel around your waist. The shower made you look a little more sane and you dragged your to-go bag from beside the door onto the counter so that you could change into your pajamas.

Thankfully, you had packed the more modest pajama option for this trip so you were in long pajama pants and a comfy vest. You took your time going through your night-routine just so you could calm your anxiety. The thought of sharing a bed with Luke was obviously fine but it made you feel nervous and giddy. Nothing was going to happen but you hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since your last partner so it just felt strange.

After taking a few deep breaths, you stepped out into the bedroom to find Luke star-fished on the hotel bed. His head was buried in the middle of the pillows and he seemed to be asleep. He wasn’t even under the covers so it was hard to tell if he had actually conked out or not. You also couldn’t see his face. He might just have been resting for all you knew.

Either way, he was in his own pajamas. Well pajama pants. He had neglected to wear a top which you didn’t really mind; it was a good view.

“Move over,” You stated as you walked over to the bed. Luke’s shoulders shifted at the sound of your voice and he lifted his head, eyes opening groggily. Had he been asleep? You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Clearly the day had taken it out of him, “I’m sleeping in this bed too,” You added. Luke let out something incoherent before he reluctantly shuffled over. His head buried in the pillows again and you couldn’t help but smile softly. He was so sleepy, it was adorable, “Lights on or off?” You asked after a beat.

“Off,” Luke grumbled. His voice was thick with sleep which just made you smile even wider. You had never seen him like this before and your earlier assertion that he was like a teddy bear only seemed to be more accurate.

Before taking your place in bed, you switched the big light off and trudged back over. The room was plunged into almost complete darkness but you could still navigate your way around relatively easily. You dropped into your side of the bed and tugged at the duvet.

Luke was still half-asleep on top of the covers and his hulking form was making it very difficult to move the covers comfortably around you. You let out a groan of annoyance as you tugged a few times with no avail.

“Luke,” You whined as you tugged again. He grumbled something incoherent and rolled over. Well, that was helpful, “Luke,” You complained again, tugging harder but it did nothing. You let out a soft huff and got up onto your knees. You leant over Luke and poked his cheek. He grunted in annoyance before attempting to swat whatever was poking him. But you evaded and did it again. He mumbled something incoherent again and you poked once more. His eyes reluctantly opened and you chuckled.

“You’re hogging the duvet,” You stated. Luke looked up at you, leaning over him and his eyes blinked closed for a moment before he let out a grumble. He then grabbed your waist and tugged you on top of him. You let out a yelp as you landed against his chest, “I’m cold,” You muttered. Luke wrapped his arms around you, tugging you closer.

“I’ll keep you warm,” He muttered as he snuggled up to you. Part of you just wanted to give in to this fate. It was comfortable and Luke was a human radiator but your toes were cold and Luke was half-asleep. It felt like you were taking advantage.

So, instead, you opted to poke at his chest and face a few times as you said his name softly, asking him to get off the covers. It took him a moment but eventually he opened his eyes again. It was a split second but when he realized what he was doing, his eyes popped open. All traces of sleep disappeared from his features and he let go of you immediately.

“I did not- I didn’t realize- I-” Luke began, stumbling over his words as he shuffled to sit up against the headboard. You giggled at his flustered reaction as you crawled over to your side of the bed again, “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-” He continued to try and excuse himself but when he realized that you were laughing. His eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“You really know how to woo a girl,” You teased. His eyebrows furrowed and you tugged the covers back, “I think you’re half-asleep self is better at flirting with me.” You knew that you were stepping into dangerous territory with that comment but you couldn’t help yourself. It was endearing to see him so sleepy and touchy and you were also exhausted which made you a little more bold than you would like to admit. Luke was stunned by your reaction, “Come on, let me get under the covers. I’m freezing and I’ll set up a pillow wall. Avoid any more half-asleep kidnappings.” Luke watched you for a moment before he finally moved, “But if you are gonna cuddle me in my sleep, I’m not gonna object.” You were acting so confident but your heart was thudding in your chest as you moved to grab a pillow.

But when you turned back, Luke was just looking at you. He didn’t seem to know what to say as he looked into your eyes. You tilted your head to the side slightly but just as you opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, he had tugged you towards him again.

“I want to kiss you,” He stated. You stared at him, your eyes widened as he looked at you, “Can I?” He asked. You nodded your head and he grabbed your face, pulling you to him. Your lips connected so softly. He was being so cautious of your busted lip and you melted into him. He only gave you a few soft short kisses before he pulled back a little. You reopened your eyes to look at him and he looked completely love-struck.

“Do it again,” You urged as you moved one hand to wrap around his neck. He grinned and tugged you into his lap before kissing you again. It was so soft and he let you take the lead as you adjusted your body to get a better angle, not disconnecting your lips for even a second. You were right. His lips were so soft and they made it impossible to think about anything but the two of you kissing in that moment.

Your head tilted to the side as you kissed him over and over again, his tongue ran across your bottom lip and you let him in without a second thought. His hands moved from your face to your hips and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you as close as he could. His tongue explored your mouth as you held his face, whining softly as your fingers ran through his hair.

A groan escaped his lips when you tugged at his roots and you let out a breathless giggle. He smirked and opened his eyes briefly before he let them fall closed again. You tugged him closer, hand cupping his jaw as you continued to connect your lips. Your fingers scritched at the stubble and you felt how he melted underneath your touch.

It was exactly what you needed.

The two of you kissed till you were breathless and when you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled together as you panted, arms moving to wrap around his chest as you gently nudged your noses against each other.

“If I knew getting in the same bed with you would get me this, I would have done it ages ago,” You mumbled. Luke chuckled, his eyes closing as you moved your hand to rest against his chest, feeling the way that his chest rumbled with laughter, “Mhm, the wait was worth it though,” You said after a beat. Luke tugged you closer.

“More than worth it,” He muttered as he pressed a few kisses to your face and cheek and forehead. It was so sweet and you felt yourself melting into him.

“I think it’s time to sleep though,” You mumbled softly. Luke hummed in agreement and he shuffled back so that he could lie down. You were laying on top of him as he tugged the covers over the two of you, “My hands are cold,” You grumbled. Luke chuckled and he grabbed your wrists and tugged your hands underneath his back. The two of you shuffled to be comfortable before he wrapped his arms around your waist again.

“Better?” He asked. You hummed in agreement before cuddling up to his bare chest, eyes falling closed. You fell asleep, content against his chest with a sheepish smile on your face.

#luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #luke alvez fluff #reader-insert #criminal minds fluff #luke alvez x reader fluff

82 notes · View notes

ladychota · 7 months

Note

Hi! Can I request an established relationship with avenger!loki and reader where reader works in the med bay and loki gets hurt on a mission and is trying to avoid reader from finding out to not worry her but she finds out anyway and gets mad at him. kind of like fluff humor you can take it from there lol 😭

I'm fine

Pairing - Loki x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of surgery, blood, injury (let me know if there's anything you want added)

Summary - Loki's been avoiding Y/n after a mission and she wants to know why.

Word Count - 2.3k

A/N - Thank you for this! I've been so excited for it lol, I hope it's alright!

Masterlist

"Hey, Bruce," You call, running after the scientist as he rushes through the med bay, tablet in hand. "Bruce!"

"What's up, Y/n?" He asks, turning to face you. "Are you gonna ask if they've reconnected to Loki's comms again?"

You let out a breath. "How did you guess?"

Loki - your extremely loving partner - was sent on a mission earlier today along with some of the other Avengers. It's often for you to continue work while he's away; a usually vain attempt to distract your mind from the dangers he could be in.

"Yes, they reconnected a few moments ago. He's alright," Bruce's reassuring smile lifts a huge weight off of your shoulders. "Nat said he-"

Bruce is cut off by an urgent-sounding noise on his tablet. He taps a few times before speaking.

"Hey Tony. Everything good?"

A crackly voice leaves the device. "No... Clint i- injured... retur- base."

"Got it. Get JARVIS to send me the details."

"Will do, over... ou-"

The call ends and Bruce visibly tenses. "Y/n. Go prepare and meet me and the team in Surgery 2."

Your relief instantly fades away to jittery nerves. You nod and turn around, quickly heading to grab your scrubs.

The pace around you picks up as word spreads over the incoming Avengers - no one is entirely sure how bad Clint is injured, but Bruce fears the worst. It doesn't take long for you to prepare - your hands are washed, scrubs, gloves and an apron are on, a disposable mask covers your nose and mouth and your hair is tied up tightly.

You file into the room with the rest of your team and begin setting up the equipment, readying supplies that will likely be needed. The thought of Loki niggles at the back of your mind. You're annoyed you can't meet him on the landing pad as usual. But it's not like him to just... disappear in the middle of a mission. Something must have happened...

You attempt to push the thoughts away. Your top priority now is to take care of Clint; to make sure he survives.

"The Avengers have landed in the Quinjet. Dr Banner says to be ready," JARVIS' mechanical voice rings down from the ceiling; you take a deep breath and ready yourself to do what you do best.

Bruce and the porter wheels a sedated Hawkeye into the bay; everyone gets to work straight away, Bruce overseeing the procedure.

It takes over two hours of surgery. Clint had lost a lot of blood from cuts and bruises everywhere. His worst injury, however, was a large piece of debris wedged in his lower abdomen - it took a lot of effort to remove the debris without causing any extra trauma. With some donor blood in his system and a few stitches here and there, the surgery was concluded and Clint was wheeled to a bay to come to his senses.

"Well done Y/n, you did good in there," Bruce congratulates, offering a smile. "Have the day off, you deserve it. I'll get one of the others to do the paperwork,"

You sigh quietly, happy to have some time off. "Thanks Banner. Don't overwork yourself! I'll come check on Clint later today."

"See you later,"

You turn and walk out of the Med Bay, the doors swinging to-and-fro before shutting behind you. Your gaze floats around the empty corridor, looking for a certain trickster God - sometimes he loiters outside the Med bay while you're in surgery, waiting to make sure you're okay. But today he's no where to be seen.

You shrug it off. He's just been on a mission and is probably exhausted, so he'll likely be in your room; or his, if he's not feeling the best. You take the lift up to the living quarters, skipping the common room and heading straight to your room.

"Hey Lo-" You push the door open, but your bed is empty; the bathroom door open. The room is eerily silent, and somewhat cold. Something feels... off.

You walk over to his room and knock twice - there's no answer. So, you walk right in. Loki never minds about you being in his personal space, so why would today be any different?

"Loki? You in here?" You hear a scuffle behind the closed bathroom door. "Loki?"

"Yep, I'm in the bathroom," He responds, his voice muffled by the separation between you both.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine!" He says much too quickly. Your eyes narrow with scepticism.

He bursts from the bathroom, the door crashing against the wall from his strength. He winces, a lopsided grin creeping on to his face.

"I'm fine," He repeats.

"For the God of lies, you really are a bad liar," You move forwards, rising onto your tip toes and gently angling his face down so you can analyse it.

"Uh, that's rude," He mumbles as you move his face this way and that, scrutinizing every part of his pale complexion for so much as a scratch.

Loki understands what you're doing almost instantly, his eyes rolling playfully.

"I'm fine, darling. I promise,"

You release his face and look down at your feet. "I'm sorry, I just... what happened on the mission? Bruce said your comms had been disconnected and... I panicked I guess."

Loki would typically tilt your head up with a singular finger and promise you that he was fine; that everything is okay. But today he doesn't. He stands silently - you can hardly bear it.

You hold your arms out and envelope him in a big hug. He doesn't return it straight away, what can only be described as a shudder flowing through every inch of his body.

Pulling away just as his arms try to snake around your waist. Your face contorts into one of worry, a small hint of hurt shining through your façade.

"Are you sure you're alright, my love?"

He nods somewhat sombrely.

"You know what?" He speaks. "I just remembered I have to feed the horses,"

Loki's eye twitches almost unnoticeably at his mistake - his lie is clearly one he's told many a time on Asgard.

"Feed the horses, huh?" You can't help but smirk slightly.

"It's a metaphor," He clarifies, pulling himself together and looking as if he hasn't just told the worst lie in the entire multiverse. "I have to go make sure Thor has enough pop tarts."

You hum in suspicious acknowledgement as Loki begins edging towards the door.

"Sure, sure."

"I'll see you later, darling." You're about to ask if you can come with him, but he's gone before a single syllable has left your lips.

The room around you feels much too quiet without him, and much too lonely too. What is up with him? Did he see something on the mission that bothered him? Or is he deliberately trying to hide something from you?

It's often that he's a terrible liar in front of you - despite his title - due to an unspoken rule he created, likely near the beginning of your relationship. It seems he vowed to himself never to lie to you, hence meaning that when he does lie they come out twisted and blocky, not smooth like his deceit towards anyone else.

You're unsure of what to do with yourself, but end up deciding to take a shower to ease away the stress of the day. By the time you've finished and spent time drying your hair, you're sure Loki will have finished... 'making sure Thor has enough pop tarts'.

~★~

"Hey Thor, Nat. You seen Loki?" You ask as you wander into the common area, feeling refreshed and a little less tense.

"No, Lady Y/n. I apologise, I last saw him as we departed the jet of the quills earlier today."

You share a look with Nat, trying your best not to laugh.

"Thor, it's a Quinjet." Nat emphasises, rolling her eyes and barely concealing a smirk.

"Yes, that's exactly what I said, Lady Natasha. The jet of the quills." Thor beams like a toddler with candy.

Nat audibly sighs. "Sorry Y/n, I haven't seen him either."

"No worries." You mumble, looking around the room rather hopelessly. "You don't happen to know what happened on the mission with his comms, do you?"

Nat purses her lips for a moment. "It was just a lost signal. I don't think anything actually happened."

"Huh. Okay," Your brows furrow. If nothing happened then why does it feel as if he's avoiding you? You must just be overthinking it. "Thanks."

"You alright?" She adds.

"Uh, yeah-" The lift pings and you hear the doors slide open.

"Ah, brother!" Thor exclaims. "Your lady was just asking after you,"

You turn to see Loki in the lift, an unreadable look on his face.

"There you are! Where have you been?" You ask, your face breaking out in a smile.

"Oh, me? I was just on the balcony enjoying some fresh air." He laughs nervously.

"You were?" Nat asks, shooting you a look. "I was up there a few minutes ago,"

"Oh you were? We must have missed each other." Again, he laughs.

You try to shake away the hurt and confused feeling that has seeped into your soul. "Well, no matter. I have the day off so we could spend it together if you like?" You ask him.

Loki sucks in a breath. "I really would love to, darling, but I have to go fill in my mission report. Maybe later?"

You feel your shoulders sag, but you don't let your expression show your disappointment.

"Talking of which, how did the mission go? You usually give me a very detailed analysis." You say, waltzing into the lift alongside him.

"JARVIS, take us to the living quarters," Loki says to the ceiling and watches as the lift doors close once more. "It went okay, average really." You nod as the doors slide away to reveal the corridor to your rooms. "I shall see you later then, my love,"

Loki takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips gently, then turns and exits the lift.

"Uh, not so fast, Romeo," You call after him, fed up of his anticks. He's clearly avoiding you - and something is clearly up.

You stride over to him; he takes a few steps back until he hits the wall.

"What is up with you?" You ask, jabbing a finger at his chest. He winces.

Your eyebrows twitch with confusion. Why did he wince?

"Nothing is up, my love." He elects not to say more, you guess because he's lying. Again.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you place your hand experimentally on his chest. He attempts to hide it, but he definitely flinches.

"Look, I must get on with my work. I promise I shall treat you to dinner tomorrow when it's all done," He grins and slips from your grasp, sauntering into his room.

"Nope," You say defiantly, following him. "You're going to explain to me why you're avoiding me. And I'm not leaving until you do."

"Avoiding you?" The door clicks shut behind you. "Y/n, darling. Don't be so silly."

"Are you calling me crazy now-" You cut off, catching a glimmer of crimson in the sink through the open bathroom door.

"Of course I'm not call-" Loki also stops, noticing what you're making a run for.

"What is this?!" You ask, holding up the bloody rag you found in the sink.

Loki swallows, biting nervously at his lower lip.

"I assure you, it's nothing."

"Don't play this game with me, Loki. What's going on?"

He sighs dramatically. "I merely gained a scratch while on the mission,"

"A scratch? Show me then,"

"I really don't think that's nec-"

"Show me," You interrupt, your tone harsh.

Loki gives in, wincing as he pulls off his shirt. Beneath lies a myriad of scuffs and scratches, some deep enough to still be oozing blood, others just red and angry. You move forwards, fingertips ghosting over the worst gashes as your face betrays your emotions.

Looking up into his eyes, you notice the spark of guilt dancing around - yet you ignore it.

"Why didn't you tell me!? Gods, Loki, this could get infected... look how much dirt there is!" Huffing, you point to the bed. "Lie down."

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I just didn't want you to worry. You worry enough as it is." You ignore his comment, filling up a bowl with warm water and finding a fresh cloth. You bring it into the bedroom and place it on the bed next to him, dipping in the cloth and wringing it out.

"This might hurt," You murmur, gently dabbing at the wounds. Loki's muscles flex, his jaw setting with pain as you clear up the grit and blood.

"The comms cut because of this," Loki starts, speaking as if he owes you the explanation. "There were too many on me and they knocked me to the floor. I skidded and somehow broke the device. I had to fix it with my magic, but it took a while because I had to rid myself of those imbeciles,"

You don't respond straight away, continuing to clean him up.

"And how did no one notice during the subsequent medical exam? Or did you somehow manage to dodge it?"

He chuckles softly. "You know me too well. It was actually very easy to dodge it without you around. Speaking of, how did Clint's surgery go?"

You yawn, tiredness from the day creeping behind your eyes and into your mind.

"It went fine. He's in recovery now and will be on bed rest for the next day or so,"

The cuts are all clean now; you place the rag in the now bloody water and grab a medical kit to place strips over the worst gashes.

"You really are amazing," Loki murmurs, more to himself than you.

You can't help smiling. "And you would be amazing if you didn't hide your injuries from me,"

"I'm sorry my love," He replies.

Now finished with your job, you lean over and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

"You're forgiven," You get up and begin putting everything away, flashing a smirk in his direction. "Although I do still expect that dinner tomorrow night,"

"I wouldn't dare miss it." He grins.

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