#you literally get to bite into a lump of dough with no filling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

h2bakugou · 3 years

Text

『 𝗵𝟮𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 』 ✦ 𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝘂 ; 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝘂 ; 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗗𝗡𝗜

𝐈𝐕. 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗱 ✦ 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀-𝗼𝗻 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ; between you and izuku’s relationship, sex was always something to touch on later, both literally and figuratively. so when you go to your closest guy friends seeking advice on how to please your boyfriend, they give you much more of hands on lesson than you had expected.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hanta sero x reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ; 18+, smut, swearing, porn with plot/little plot, cheating, dub-con, virgin!reader, virginity stealing, oral (male and female receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, cum play, spit play, spanking, fingering, bukkake, orgy, split roasting, biting, mentions of porn, partial revenge sex, sub/dom dynamics, praise kink, degradation, masturbation, double penetration, recording

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ; this came to me on a whim, i really needed to just get this out of my head. i’ve been in a weird headspace and this prompt just kinda came up and stuck with me. apologies for any spelling/writing errors, this piece was not proofread!!

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ; 6.7k

✦ 𝗻𝘀𝗳𝘄 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁 ✦

Wanting to be the perfect girlfriend for your ever so lovely boyfriend was becoming more of a challenge. Izuku was an angel, and heaven-sent. He was as sweet as he could be. And you loved him for all that he did for you.

Helping you study for your college classes, taking you on cute picnic dates to watch the sunset.

You were lucky to have a guy like him. But having a perfect guy like him meant you could also lose him. And you didn’t want that at all.

The two of you had never dabbled much into sex and all of its activities. There was the time you’d grinded against his lap, or made out while he jerked off under you, but you’d never done anything with him, just like he’d never done anything with you.

You were both nervous, but you wanted your first time together to be something special. Something you could both cherish. You wanted it to be perfect for him.

Since porn was the last place you wanted to take advice from, you swallowed your nerves and bit the bullet, asking your best group of guy friends if you could hang out at their flat for a bit.

And of course, in the group chat, you were all in together, they welcomed you over with open arms.

You settled on their couch instantly recognizing the neutral grey walls as your second home when you weren’t pacing around your own flat.

“So what’s up girlie?” Kaminari asks, already laying his head in your lap like usual.

“I have a really big favor to ask you all.” You stare worryingly at the floor, just past Kaminari’s head.

“What is it? You know we’re here to help.” Kirishima chimes in, honestly expecting some bad news.

“Don’t tell me that shithead Deku’s causing problems.” Bakugou grunts from his spot beside you on the couch.

“No, no. It does have to deal with Deku, but er...” You pause, swallowing the lump of nerves in your throat before spitting it out.

“We keep having these sexual moments, and I just wanna please him but I don’t know where to start so I thought I would ask you guys what feels good for men.” You suddenly feel as if the world has caved in, your frame much smaller than anyone else’s in the room.

As if a lightbulb had flicked on simultaneously in the male’s heads, they all gathered around you.

“Well, I know for a start, I like it when they look at me when they blow me. Makes me feel in control.” Kaminari grins.

“Yeah it’s the only time you’re in control.” Sero jokes. Kaminari slaps the ravenette and rolls off of your lap, sitting up beside you.

“So you want to have sex with Izuku finally?” Kirishima asks. You nod sheepishly, still embarrassed to be so open about your sex life, or lack of one, with some of your best friends.

“Have you ever had sex before?” Bakugou asks bluntly. Your silence speaks volumes as the four men around you all seem to get the same idea yet again.

“We can give you some tips!” Kirishima’s words aren’t supposed to have a double meaning, but in a matter of seconds, Bakugou’s standing right in front of you, gazing down at you with lust-filled eyes.

“Take my belt off.” He speaks clearly.

“W-wait you guys are just supposed to teach me-”

“We are. Hands-on teaching seems to show the most progress does it not?” Kaminari butts in, his hands creeping up on your sides, dipping under your arms to undo the buttons on your blouse.

“We’re gonna help you understand what feels good for us! We can teach you better this way, so pay close attention.” Sero stood behind Bakugou, slinging his arm over Bakugou’s shoulder.

“If this is gonna help, I guess it won’t be too bad.” You mumble, your timid hands reaching for Bakugou’s belt.

“Look at me.” Bakugou’s voice ushers for your gaze. Your eyes travel up his clothed chest to his crimson eyes.

“Good girl.” Bakugou grinned, watching as your eyes widened.

“Bet stupid Deku doesn’t praise you.” Bakugou huffs. Your hands eventually undo his belt and now you stare at his abdomen. Bakugou tugs his shirt off over his head, revealing his toned chest.

You’re in awe.

“Izuku doesn’t look like that.” You think out loud, figuratively drooling over your best friend. Bakugou feels a strong sense of pride as he glances at Kaminari, who’s finally able to tug your shirt off and reveal those pretty tits he’s beat his dick to at night.

Photos of you in swimsuits, or teasing clips you’d posted to your instagram stories late at night in a bra or some sort of revealing top while you hung out with your girlfriends, Denki kept them all in a hidden folder and let out embarrassing moans when his hand jerked his cock at them.

“So pretty.” Kaminari mumbles, biting your shoulder as he unclamps your bra, finally seeing them in person, unobscured.

“Deku’s so fucking lucky.” Kaminari hisses, grabbing them roughly, kneading them in his hands harshly.

You whine, whether in pain or pleasure is unsure, the feeling of Kaminari’s hands kneading your tits like their just dough is making your cunt throb. And it suddenly feels so much hotter in the room when your eyes widen at the size of Kaminari’s bulge as you glance over at him.

“Does he touch you like this?” Kaminari whispers, his fingers twisting your nipples, tugging them between his thumb and forefinger as the rest of his hand continues to cup and massage your breasts.

“N-No. He’s never touched me.” You whine, your head hanging on your shoulders, embarrassed to be so turned on by this. This was wrong-

“Get my cock out. It’s time for you to learn how to suck someone off.” Bakugou places his hand on the back of your head and yanks your hair back, forcing you to look at him.

“Go on, or you won’t like when I do it myself. I’ll use your throat like a fleshlight.” Bakugou’s voice drops, watching as your hands find their way back to his pants.

“How come he gets to get blown first?” Kirishima mumbled to Sero, the pair gradually undoing their own pants, slowly palming over their clothed erections.

“Because I hate Deku the most.” Bakugou grunts.

“Oh fuck.” You curse, staring at Bakugou’s cock in awe.

“I’ve never seen one in person before...” You babble, completely shocked by the pure length and girth of the cock that’s twitching in front of you. Bright pink cockhead, with a prominent vein on the underside, he’s fucking huge. And for a second you wonder if you can even open your mouth wide enough to take even the head of him in your mouth.

But you get your answer soon enough.

“So innocent.” Sero’s ashamedly turned on by your innocence. The way you stared at Bakugou’s cock like it was the only thing in the room was enough to make him excited. He wanted to steal every moment from you. He wanted to ruin you.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.” Bakugou instructs. You do as you say and you can see Bakugou visibly tense. His shoulders relax as he grips the base of his cock and slaps the head of it on your tongue.

“Rule number one. No teeth. Ever.” Bakugou makes this rule very evident as he taps his dick against your tongue.

“If it’s too much, tap me three times.” Bakugou says in a slightly gentler tone, almost as if he knew you were going to need to tap out.

“Well, it’s not gonna suck itself.” Bakugou huffs, smirking down at you. You try to think straight but nothing’s working. You search in the dirtiest parts of your brain, trying to remember all the magazines you’d seen telling you how to suck a guy to make him cum, but as you took Bakugou’s cock into your mouth, just past the tip, your jaw was already starting to ache.

Kaminari’s hands had traveled down to your shorts, teasing your bare skin as he slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties.

“Holy fuck.” Bakugou murmured, glancing back at Kirishima and Sero, who had now whipped their cocks out, stroking them while their pants sat pooled around their ankles.

“Is she good?” Sero asks, glancing over Bakugou to look down at you. You were clearly struggling, your hands resting in your lap awkwardly, not sure of where or what to do with them.

“Here, get on your knees down here.” Bakugou pulls his cock from your past your lips with a small ‘pop’ sound, his strong arms tugging you down off the couch, leaving Kaminari alone up there.

He quickly hops down too, sitting down behind you, taking the chance to play with your tits some more, biting and kissing your neck and shoulder.

Sero and Kirishima stand on opposite sides, now trapping you between all four males, one on each side of you.

You gaze at Sero’s cock. It was long, and lean, a significant curve set his apart from Bakugou’s. It was a bit thinner but still looked like it could do some serious damage.

Kirishima, on the other hand, seemed to outweigh them both. His cock was fat and hung along with the biggest balls you’ve ever seen-note you’ve seen three pairs so far.

It was thick, long, and veiny. And you were scared. If you could barely fit Bakugou’s in your mouth, you knew for a fact his wouldn’t fit at all.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t ‘cha?” Kirishima teased as your hands daintily reached up to stroke Sero and Kirishima’s cocks. Something you’d seen in a porno once, where a girl was in a position similar to yours.

“Where’d you learn that one?” Kaminari teases, licking your shoulder.

“P-porn.” You stutter out.

“Oh.” Sero laughs.

“What a dirty girl you are.” Kirishima’s hips thrust forward, allowing your hand to complete the first stroke from the tip to the base.

You lean forward and take Bakugou’s cock back into your mouth, staring up at him as he grunts. His hands find their way to your hair, forcing you to take his length.

So much for going in slow and easy.

You’re sure you see the heavens for a moment. Your vision blurs with tears as Bakugou’s cock hits the back of your throat. Your hands stop moving on Sero and Kirishima’s cocks as you take a moment to adjust.

You mewl, your voice reverberating against Bakugou’s cock, the vibrations sending chills down his spine. He takes control, using your mouth as his own personal fucktoy.

And you were completely helpless. Besides the tears on your lashes and the ache in your jaw, your hands returned to jerking off the men beside you, your eyes still set on staring up at Bakugou as he smirked pridefully at you.

And then you felt it. Kaminari’s hands had slid down into your panties, his fingers just barely ghosted over your clit before you forced yourself down to the base of Bakugou’s cock, your hips jerking from the sensation alone.

“Woah there.” Kaminari pulled his hands out, giggling.

“Someone’s never felt that before.” He teases. You tap Bakugou’s leg three times and he pulls out, almost disappointed.

“Are you alright?”

“Does it feel good to be touched down there?” You ask your hands reaching to remove your shorts.

“I think you’re talking to the wrong crowd for that.” Kirishima jokes.

“Dumbass. Of course, it feels good. Don’t tell me you’ve never-”

“No! No! I’ve tried I could just never, make myself...”

“Oh my god.” Kirishima and Sero give each other an almost pitiful stare.

“And Deku’s never pushed sex so I always thought something was wrong with me. What if I can’t cum? How can I please him if I can’t-”

“Hey. Why don’t we help you out? Clearly touching you there evoked some sort of reaction, why don’t you relax and let me see if I can work something out of you.” Kaminari offers, rubbing your sides. You nod shyly.

Spreading your legs similarly, your movements are slow and timid as if you're scared to make a wrong move. Kaminari glances up to the others as they quickly picked up, Bakugou kneeling down to help remove your shorts and panties, which had a small damp spot, one Bakugou didn’t miss.

“You’re already soaking your panties. You’re enjoying this.” Bakugou retorted, staring in awe of your glistening cunt, one his childhood best friend had claimed before him.

It ate away at Bakugou daily. Seeing the two of you walk to classes together, or whenever you’d post snaps of you laying on his chest after he fell asleep during a movie night.

Or the way he’d call you baby in front of all your friends. It pissed Bakugou off. He was in love with you.

But oh was Bakugou going to take this chance by its reigns. He was going to show you exactly what you were missing being with that stupid nerd.

And even more so. Bakugou was going to take your virginity away from you, and away from the guy who you clearly thought was going to.

“Damn Deku really is lucky.” Sero whispered, his eyes locked tight onto your dripping cunt. It was beautiful. Sero had his fair share of one-night stands, and hookups, but he’d never seen one that looked like yours. God, it was captivating. He wanted to feel your tight, plush walls hugging his cock as he fucked into you from behind.

And then there was Kirishima, who stared in awe as well. His eyes wandered your naked body and wondered if you were truly the same girl going out with Deku.

Part of you being in a standing relationship was so enticing. Kirishima was nothing short of respectful, but wanting to destroy any sort of expectations you had for your first time with Deku sent his brain and cock into overdrive.

And there you were, legs sprawled out, cunt dripping your essence onto the soft carpeted floors, your back pressed into Denki's chest as his fingers reached down and spread your pussy apart.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt like you were going to implode. Your senses were heightened, and the slightest touch between your thighs made you squirm. Denki chuckled as the other males salivated over you, picking their jaws off the floor was the next step.

"Go on, why don't you find her clit." Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest with an evil grin.

"Oh shut the fuck up." Kaminari's fingers moved from the lips of your cunt to the hardened bud, and with one tiny little touch, you let out an embarrassing whine. Denki grinned as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion over your clit, watching how you quickly clamped your legs together.

"Awe no, let them see just how good I am with my fingers." Kaminari cooed in your ear, using one hand to pry your legs back open, Sero bending down and grabbing the other, forcing them apart. You whined in pleasure as his fingers worked wonders against your clit, your back arching against his chest.

"Denki!" You cried out, feeling something building up inside of you. Kaminari grinned but Bakugou wasn't having it.

"Oi, enough. I wanna cum down her throat." Bakugou grunted, yanking you up to your feet from your forearm.

"Sit on his face and suck my cock, slut." Bakugou spat, your eyes widening. You nodded, glancing back at Kaminari who was already moving for you to do so. You were nervous, feeling awful for sitting on his face, but you didn't regret a thing when you felt Kaminari's tongue swipe through your folds.

The cold steel of his tongue piercing made you shiver as his tongue flicked across your clit making you whine.

"'m ready." You choked out, glancing at Bakugou.

"Us first." Sero stepped in, gripping the base of his cock, tapping it against your lips, similarly to how Bakugou had done. Kirishima stepped up and nudged his cockhead against Sero's, the two unphased by it.

"I-I can't take both-"

"So take turns." Bakugou said bluntly. You glanced up at Sero and Kirishima, worryingly trying to take Kirishima's cock into your mouth first. You made it just barely past the tip of his fat cock, before you realized your attempt was futile. You brought a hand up to help, stroking the base of his cock while your mouth worked past the tip. Your free hand returned to jerk Sero off, your ego racing as you heard his own grunts of pleasure.

"She's a quick learner." Kirishima grins, his hand resting on your head as he guides you gently to take more of his cock into your mouth. Kirishima is saddened when you stop and switch to try and do the same for Sero.

Halfway through the transition, Kaminari's tongue prods through your entrance, making you stop. Your shoulders tense up and you freeze, quickly hunching over, grinding your cunt against Kaminari's mouth, the tips of his nose brushing against your clit.

"Fuck!" You cry, feeling yourself lose control. Your mind turns white for a moment, and all the pleasure begins to hurt as you want to leap off of Kaminari's tongue. But his strong arms wrapped around your thighs holding you in place stop you from doing so.

"It-it hurts! Please." You pant, your lips parted as you mewl against his face.

"He fucking did it. He made her cum." Sero groaned. Your head shot up, staring at the ravenette.

"T-that was-"

"A female orgasm? Yeah. Felt weird and tingly, and when he kept going it hurt. Fun huh." Sero grins.

"Dude, let her explain it." Kirishima sighs.

"It felt good. Really good. I've never felt anything like that before." You go to continue your job of blowing Sero, but he stops you.

"Let's take this to Bakugou's room." Sero smirks.

You're on your feet in a matter of seconds until the boys toss you onto Bakugou's cozy bed, the one you've crashed on multiple times while he was away or while he slept on the couch.

This time, Sero was quick to take control of the situation, ushering you to the edge of the bed where your head hung off. Sero smiled down at you, tapping his cock against your lips again as you eventually opened it for him. Before sliding it in, Sero leaned down and spit into your mouth, cutting any possible complaints off by shoving his cock down your throat.

"Fuck." Sero dragged out, watching as Kirishima took the opportunity to plant himself between your thighs, his tongue diving into your cunt. Your moans were silenced by Sero's cock as he fucked your throat raw. Kaminari was the only one who hadn't been inside your throat. But he was doing just fine, teasing himself with his hand, forcing himself to stop every time he felt like cumming at the sight of you being used by his friends.

"She tastes so good. Want more." Kirishima muttered against your cunt, using one hand to spread you open as his tongue wrecked your clit, his other hand dipped a single finger inside your tight entrance.

"She's so fucking tight." Kirishima commented, rubbing his middle finger along your folds, his knuckle just barely grazing the fleshy walls of your hole.

"I bet." Bakugou muttered.

"Can I fuck her thighs?" Kaminari asked, eyes bright with excitement. It was something he'd dreamt about doing. Feeling your plush thighs squeeze his cock, all while gripping handfuls of your tits, cumming on your tummy. It was a thought he could get off to over and over again.

"Shit. Gonna cum!" Sero groaned, sliding his cock past your lips once more, his cock twitching as he shot his hot load down your throat.

The next few seconds were fuzzy. Sero pulled out and shot up, cum leaking from past your lips. You couldn't swallow it. Shamefully spitting up, feeling horrible, it dropped onto your stomach and began to leak and make a mess.

"Awe, poor thing. Never had anyone cum in your pretty mouth before huh?" Sero patted your head, tilting it back so you could look up at him. Your lips were glossy and glistening with spit and cum, but your eyes were watery.

"Sorry! I-"

"Don't apologize. I should've just cum all over this pretty face instead." He smirked, leaning down, pressing a rough kiss to your lips. Kirishima decides to add another finger, and you're gone, moaning into Sero's mouth, hands gripping the sheets with enough force to turn your knuckles white.

Your thighs clamp over Kirishima's ears, and you find yourself grinding against his tongue and fingers, back arching off of the mattress. Bakugou just stands in awe, whipping out his phone to record the whole scene.

"Alright let Kaminari have his fuckin' turn." Bakugou groans, tugging Kirishima away, watching how your legs twitch as you cum for the second time. You're so sensitive and you don't know why. For the first time, after Sero pulls away, you see Kaminari's cock.

It's a little larger than average. It's pretty and slightly fatter at the head than at the base, and much like Sero's, as a pretty curve in it. Kaminari is eager to sandwich his cock between your thighs, watching how he smiles as he leans down to paw at your tits.

Just as he slides through your thighs, you feel the friction of his cock glide against your cunt, and suddenly you're awakened to yet another new feeling. Your back falls flat against the mattress again, your eyes floating back up to Sero who hovers over you. You go to reach for his cock but he shakes his head and yanks Kirishima over to his spot.

"Be a good girl for Kirishima, he likes to fuck pretty little mouths like yours." Sero grins evilly. You stare at the monster cock above your lips and you hesitate. How does he fucking live with a cock like this? Your cunt throbs just looking at it. You can imagine it buried in your cunt, your legs shaking as you cum over and over again on it.

Kaminari panted as moaned as his cock fucked your thighs, his hands still kneading your tits as Kirishima forced his cock down your throat, this time much slower than Bakugou or Sero had done. Your jaw ached in a much more intense pain. But you squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring it.

"That's it, take my fucking cock down your throat like the stupid little fucktoy you are." Kirishima degraded you. You let your hand travel down between your legs, forcing it to your cunt while not disrupting Kaminari's pleasure.

"Aw look, she wants to cum again." Kaminari quickly snatches your frisky hand back up, slowing his ministrations and slowing the friction of his cock grinding against your cunt.

Kaminari and the rest of the men hear your failed attempt at a whine as you struggle with Kirishima's cock in your mouth. Kaminari's hips move slowly and smoothly, humping your thighs like a needy pup.

Pining your hands to the mattress as he grinds his cock between your thighs, Kaminari lets out a huff before pulling himself away from you.

Kaminari groans and slinks over to Bakugou, whispering something in his ear which only elicits a smirk on his lips. Bakugou passes the word onto Sero who passes it onto Kirishima like a game of telephone.

Suddenly Kirishima's drawing his cock from your mouth and Bakugou's tugging you up.

"Get on your knees." Bakugou instructs, forcing your face down into the mattress, hiking your ass up into the air. Bakugou's palm comes down against your ass, the sound echoing in the full room. You whine into the sheets as he does it again, this time letting his hands grip your cheeks, spreading you apart.

"God, you're fucking dripping." Bakugou's not worried about the mess you've made smearing Sero's cum over his sheets, he'll have to wash them after what's going to happen.

Bakugou leans down into his mattress, tasting you for the first time. You clench the sheets between your hands, mewling in pleasure as his tongue flicks across your clit and scoops up your juices, most of it dribbling down his chin. He's eating you out like he'd been starved. You're cumming in a matter of seconds as he continues.

"'s too much! Please!" You cry out, your cunt aching in overstimulation. Kaminari had denied you once, and it didn't take much for the need to cum to overtake you.

"Gonna have to fuckin' punish you for that. Did I say you could cum, bitch?" Bakugou pulls away, spanking you once more.

"N-no!" You cry.

"'m sorry!" You apologize, hoping your efforts would spare you humiliation. But oh how wrong you were.

A searing pain rips through you as Bakugou's cock pushes past your entrance. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, a small cry ripping through your throat.

"It hurts!" You cry. Suddenly, the searing pain stops. Bakugou has pulled out, sighing as he moves onto the bed, waving for the guys to join.

Bakugou guides you down onto his cock, however, this time it's more like sitting on his lap. He's propped against his headboard, and you ease down as best as you can. It hurts, but Kirishima and Sero coddle you, kissing on your neck and chest, leaving Kaminari to suck on your nipples, flicking his tongue across your the hardened buds.

Bakugou bottoms out inside of you and all you can feel is the stretch. It hurts, more than anything you've ever felt. It's overwhelming and you can't think at all. Bakugou doesn't move. He rests inside you until you give a weary moan.

"Better?" He asks softly.

"Y-yeah." Your arms sling over the shoulders of the redhead and ravenette attacking your shoulders and neck with kisses and bites.

Bakugou's hands rest on your hips and help you up and down as you begin to bounce on his cock, the tip nudging against a spongey spot inside you, forcing moans to spew from you like a shook-up soda.

"Her moans are so fuckin' dirty." Kirishima speaks against your skin, sinking a hand down to your cunt, his fingers beginning to work at your clit, making you spew even lewder sounds as your moans turn to mewls and cries of pleasure.

"Who knew she could moan like that?" Kaminari laughed, palming at your breasts. You feel embarrassed, letting these men rip you to shreds while trying to learn.

It then dawns on you how you'd ended up in this predicament in the first place. You came here willing to learn, hoping to bring back something to help Izuku, but you'd completely blanked. You couldn't really remember anything they'd taught you, or if they'd taught you anything at all. Once you sucked Bakugou's cock, it'd all happened so fast.

Sitting on Denki's face, stuffing your face full of Kirishima and Sero's cock, cumming on Bakugou's tongue while being face down on his bed. It was all a strange feeling.

And now as your mind began to turn blank, vision clouding from pleasure, you realized you were fixing to cum again, this time from Bakugou's cock. All your pain had melted away-though a dull ache still remained in your abdomen, and turned to pleasure. You were cumming.

You. Were cumming.

Bakugou had taken your virginity.

And Bakugou had come to the same conclusion. As your cunt squeezed and pulsed against his aching cock, so desperately wanting to spill his load inside you and see you plump with his kid, claiming you for his own, stealing you away from that stupid fucking nerd you were with, he realized he had been the one in the end to claim you, and your virginity.

It was a sick and twisted sense of pride, to really think he had any say-so over your body. But there was something so devilishly hot to say that he'd been your first.

"Bakugou!" You cried out, your nails digging into the skin of Kirishima and Sero. Bakugou's cock continued to thrust into you.

"Yeah take my fuckin' cock. Take it you fuckin' whore. Gonna fuck you until you're braindead." Bakugou muttered, reaching a hand up to grip your throat, forcing your back against his chest.

"I wanna see you full of Kirishima's cock. Think you could take it? He'd rip you apart." Bakugou grinned, setting his friend up next. You shook your head against his hand on your throat.

"It's too big!" You cried, hoping that he'd listen to you. But he didn't. Instead, you found yourself back on the mattress, this time on your hands and knees. Weakly you kept yourself upright as Kirishima positioned at your entrance,

"Gonna use you like the little cocksleeve you are." Kirishima chuckles, watching as you squirm as the tip grazes your tight hole. Your cunt is dripping, every little touch seems to make you whine, and you can't tell if you've peed yourself or if you're just that wet. You think the former would be less embarrassing, but you decide to just stop thinking about it, and instead, you thank your body for all the natural lubrication it's making for Kirishima's cock.

Kaminari takes your mouth, sliding his cock inside and finally getting to feel what everyone else had. You can't speak, you can barely make any sounds with how raw they've fucked your throat. And you're painfully aware that they hadn't even bothered to slap on a condom. Not that you'd minded, they'd shown you time and time again that they were clean, and you were happy they'd taken the steps to have safe sex with any partner they had.

Kirishima's fingers leave bruises on your hips, gripping you with force. He sheathes himself inside you and you swear you feel yourself ripping in half.

It's so much, all at one time.

"Holy shit she fucking took you all." Bakugou says shocked, almost as if that was something to be proud of.

"He sent a chick to the ER. That phone call was awful." Sero teases the redhead for one of his mishaps.

"I didn't purposely hurt her! I was just trying to have fun, didn't think my cock was capable of tearing her fuckin' vagina." Kirishima feels a bit awkward talking about a terrible sex story while he's plowing into you, especially since you're too cockdrunk to even realize what's happening.

"Would you two shut up?" Kaminari's grabbing a fistful of your hair as he tilts your head back, sliding his cock down your throat, smiling down at you.

"You're doing such a good job. So fuckin' cute swallowing my cock like that." Kaminari praises. His praises make you feel warm and fuzzy, and you think for a moment, this is what it's like to be loved. But then images of Deku cross your mind. And your gaze drops, and you feel ashamed. You feel dirty.

You repeat to yourself that this is just a learning experience and nothing more. You'd never do this because you weren't satisfied in your relationship. No. You were doing this for Deku. You wanted to show him you knew what you were doing. You wanted to show him he could fuck your throat and make you cum with his tongue.

Kirishima grunted, his cock stretching even further, reminding you of the pain Bakugou had put you through the first time he'd entered you. It burned, but it became tolerable after a while.

"Shit, she's so fuckin' tight. Wanna cum inside." Kirishima groans. Your ears perk up at his words. You want to tell him no, but you can't. You don't. He pulls out before he gets the chance to and you're relieved.

"Sero, your turn." Kirishima trades places with Sero who was stroking his cock watching you get dicked down on both ends. Sero's cock takes you down an undiscovered path.

It seems every time he slides into you, his cock nudges against that spot inside you, making you cry in pleasure as Kaminari swaps places with Bakugou, his cock rammed down your throat once more.

Things become blurry, and all you remember is cumming again and again. When Sero nears his climax, he swaps places with Kaminari and Kirishima takes his chance to fuck your throat.

Kaminari's pace is different from Kirishima, Sero, and Bakugou's. He has no restraint. He fucks you fast, and hard, sending your body forward with each heavy thrust. He might be a bit smaller compared to the males, but he surely makes up for it.

"Out of everyone here, Kaminari has the most experience." Sero chimes in, patting his shoulder while he huffs, pounding into you until you're cumming around his cock, your milky white juices leaking out everywhere.

"She's making such a mess. How pitiful. So how fucked out are you, gorgeous?" Sero asks, watching as Kirishima pulls his cock out from your mouth, drool and saliva dripping past your lips as you choke out a moan.

"Feels-s so good." You babble, your head hangs on your shoulder as you bury it into the mattress, moaning as Kaminari fucks you into yet another orgasm. His stamina is incredible considering you thought he was still new to sex. Sorry Kami.

"She's fuckin' out of it jesus christ." Bakugou mumbles, pulling Kaminari out from between your cunt. Bakugou flips you onto your back and stares at you in amazement. Your legs are shaking and you're still making noise, whining about how you want more and how empty you feel.

"Please, fill me up." You whine, staring at the boys.

"With a face like that, how could we resist?" Kirishima grins, slapping Sero on the ass. Sero rolls his eyes and joins you on the bed.

"Think you can take two at once gorgeous?" Sero coos, laying down beside you, ushering you to lay on top of him. Your mouth drops open as you lower yourself onto him and lay back, watching as Bakugou saunters around to the front. He grins as he lines his cock up at your entrance, just barely pushing his tip inside.

"Kirishima stretched her out good for us to use her like the little whore she is. God, she's so fucking good at this I almost don't wanna give her back." Sero whines against your back, kissing your bare skin as Kaminari watches in amazement as Bakugou sinks his cockhead inside your already full cunt.

"So full. Want your cocks inside me." You manage to blurt out as Bakugou grips your thighs, shoving his cock into your stuffed pussy. It wouldn't fit all the way, but it threw you over the edge.

"Maybe she needs that filthy mouth of hers full of cock again." Kirishima's hand strokes his cock, eyeing Kaminari. Kaminari eagerly hops onto the bed, his knees hitting against Sero's arm as he taps his cock on your lips.

"Come on angel, wrap those pretty lips around my dick." Kaminari smiles, watching as your mouth lolled open. Sero's arms wrapped around your tummy, holding you against him as he fucked up into you, his cock rubbing against Bakugou's inside of you, both cocks rubbing against your walls, making you feel insanely good.

Kirishima was not going to let this moment go to waste. Snatching Bakugou's phone, he began to record, calling you a slut for them.

"Look at this cockdrunk whore. Stuffed full of three fuckin' cocks." Kirishima laughed, holding the phone near your pussy, making sure to record how Bakugou and Sero abused your cunt.

"What would Deku do if he got this nasty little clip huh? Bet he'd call you a slut. Watching his friends fuck your little virgin cunt until you're braindead." Kirishima grinned as he moved and set the phone up to continue recording for the rest of the session.

"Wanna fuckin' fill you up." Bakugou grunted.

"Teach that nerd a fuckin' lesson about how to fuck a woman." He continued.

"She's making such a mess, look at that pretty pussy. So sloppy." Kaminari moaned as your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, trying your best to take him into your mouth. The angle was a bit awkward but you managed, eventually pulling him into your mouth.

"God let's hurry this up, I can't take much more of her cunt squeezing me." Sero huffed into your back. He was going to cum again if he kept going. He wanted to fill you up like everyone else did, but he wanted to see his cum all over your pretty face.

Bakugou pulled out first leaving Sero alone inside you. You let out a strangled moan as Bakugou tapped his cock against your sensitive clit, your cries no longer silenced by Kaminari's cock since he too had pulled his cock from your mouth.

"Get down on the floor, on your knees." Bakugou instructed. Hazily you lifted yourself from Sero's cock, slightly amused by the moan he let out as he slid out of you. You stumbled onto the floor, sitting patiently on your knees as they gathered around you, this time smushing themselves to all have a view of you in the front.

"Can't wait to see you covered in cum." Kaminari spoiled the surprise, his hand jerking his cock. You stared up at Bakugou. Leaning in you licked the tip of his cock, watching as his eyes rolled back. You took turns swapping between the males until they were all helping you out, stroking their cocks at fast paces until Bakugou came.

Hot ropes of cum stuck to your face and chest as Kaminari came second, Sero third, and Kirishima fourth. It dribbled down your chin as you stared up at them, each of them smiling proudly at you.

"So fuckin' slutty. Look at her, so fucked out." Sero said breathily. They all rushed to grab their phones, snapping pictures of you covered in their cum. You just sat quietly, staring up at them as your chest heaved, your cunt throbbing.

"So what'd you learn?" Bakugou leans down, a handful of your hair holding your head back so he could look into your eyes.

"I-I like being stuffed full of cock." You babbled. Your cheeks were stained with his cum.

"Whose cock?" Bakugou's eyes narrowed.

"Yours." You parted your lips, still miraculously trying to catch your breath.

"Good girl." Bakugou praised. The other boys gathered around you, leaning down with towels to help clean you up.

It took about fifteen minutes to clean you up entirely, but afterward, they helped dress you and treated you to some dinner. You were nothing but smiles the entire time.

Before you left their apartment, Bakugou pulled you aside.

"Record your time with Deku so we can give you another lesson." He whispered into your ear, an evil smirk on his lips. You pulled away from him shyly, nodding.

"Thank you for teaching me." You thanked the men as you walked toward the door, an obvious limp in your step.

"Do you need a ride home angel?" Sero asks, ready to hop in his car and drive you over to your shared apartment with Deku.

"I think I'll be okay. I drove here anyway." You giggle. Sero smiles and glances at the others. Visions of your face covered in cum plague Sero's thoughts and he wants to slam you against the front door and fuck you all over again.

The same image is running through everyone's head as they stare at you as you leave, wanting you to stay. But it's too late when the door shuts and they're left alone as if nothing had happened.

"What happened doesn't leave this fuckin' apartment." Bakugou states, trudging off down to his room to put his freshly washed sheets on the bed.

When you arrive home, Deku's happy to see you. He doesn't question where you'd been, he knew you were with the boys hanging out. He smiles when you kiss him, and he's nothing but unaware of what had gone down.

He doesn't know about the cocks that had been stuffed inside your cunt, or a spot or two of dried cum that the towel might've missed that you'll clean up in the shower soon. He doesn't know about how dirty your mouth got and how it was filled with his friend's cocks only hours earlier.

He cuddles you sincerely until your hand begins to wander, palming him through his boxers.

"I'm ready." You smile sweetly, ready to put all that you had learned to the test.

✦ 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ✦

697 notes · View notes

digitalstowaway · 3 years

Text

Phoenix was never enthusiastic about baking or cooking as he settled into his early 20s. It was hard and time-consuming, and why stand over a hot stove for an hour when he could just microwave noodles for a minute or order something someone else cooked?

But then he remembers Edgeworth's birthday when they're comfortable around each other--when they make phone calls often and catch up over lunches and dinners and late nigjt conversations when Edgeworth is finally back in the country, back home. When he hears Edgeworth plans to be home in mid-May, he thinks it's perfect timing. He'll be able to snag him just long enough to make it a nice, quiet birthday before sending him off.

He sets off to learn to make a cake. Maya watches him, tasting batter and sampling bites when they're out of the oven. She scrunches up her face time and time again and asks if he forgot the sugar, the baking powder, literally anything. And he has. Time and time again. Something is missing. Something was looked over by his impatience and lack of concentration.

Maya sits with him until early morning when he finally gets it right. A perfect chocolate cake he'll decorate later with the steady hand of a former art student.

And when Edgeworth sees it, he's flustered that Phoenix would even remember his birthday let alone go to the effort to bake a cake.

"I wish you hadn't," he even says. "I usually don't indulge."

Phoenix coaxes him into having a small piece, laying the guilt on thick when he tells Edgeworth how long it took him to make it. It's appreciated and well-made, Edgeworth assures him, though half of his plate goes uneaten.

The next year, he has Trucy and more free time than he knows what to do with. The anniversary of her adoption comes, and he pulls out the old recipe. The paper is stained and splattered with who knows what. Maya doodled a picture of herself in the corner.

It only takes one try this time, and he supposes it must be a fatherly thing. He covers the cake in pink sprinkles and loopy handwriting with bright colors. Trucy loves it.

A few more years pass, and he tries more cakes. He tries brownies and cupcakes and cookies and even a couple of pies. He sends packages to Maya and Pearl and prepares their favorites when they visit.

Edgeworth is hesitant to sample his experiments when he's around more often than he once was (to check in on him and Trucy, to make sure they're okay) but with more guilt and a lazy smile from Phoenix, he eventually settles into a routine of eating whatever Phoenix hands him. And eventually, does so with excitement.

He's never great at baking. He knows so. Often batters and doughs burn and stick to pans and trays or come out in inedible lumps. But he fills a decent amount of pages in a book Edgeworth gifts him once they find a house for the three of them (once Edgeworth promises he's staying home for good).

He takes requests and has Maya sit with him again at late hours when she's around, just like the old days. Edgeworth pads down to the kitchen when he smells something in the oven, wrapping his arms around Phoenix and asking, so politely, if he could maybe sample whatever it is when it cools. And Phoenix can never say no to that face, oh so soft with "indulgence" and love and healing. He brings treats to Athena and Apollo (and of course, both get cakes with the steady, beautiful decorations on their birthdays), unable to not spoil everyone he knows.

He's never great but, he supposes while washing containers that only took an afternoon to empty, he doesn't need to be.

#ace attorney #let Phoenix be okay at baking #let him make his loved ones cookies

26 notes · View notes

bakutae · 4 years

Text

bnha headcanons #4

today’s menu:

bakugou katsuki with a dollop of shouto todoroki

scenario:

where you try to cook dinner for him

prompt:

‘i love you, so much, but please stop trying to cook me dinner. you suck.’

bakugou katsuki

it wasn’t a special occasion but you wanted to cook, and you shall

who would go against that?

well, bakugou did

you two had been together for quite some time now and you even shared an apartment together

there were times where you felt... well, experimental in the kitchen and wanted bakugou to come home to warm, delicious home cooked dinner after a long day

calling your cooking skills bad was an understatement

it was absolutely horrendous

you tried making curry once, instant curry, to be exact

how did you even mess up instant curry? it's literally just pouring water into it and stirring and adding your ingredients that you want in the curry

well, firstly, you added too little water and you boiled the curry for too long, causing most of the water content to evaporate and more paste like from the curry powder

you didn't mix the curry while it was boiling- it wasn't in the instructions though! how were you supposed to know that? and adding on the fact that most of the water content evaporated, you ended up with burnt curry

i mean hey, more char is added into your dish which makes it more flavorful..right?

bakugou came home to the smell of burning and at first he thought a fire was occurring somewhere and him being a top hero and all, was obviously on high alert in case anyone needed help

but when he took a closer sniff, he realised that it was coming from the kitchen

he peeked inside the kitchen and saw you trying to scrape the burnt curry off the saucepan, mumbling to yourself on how stupid you were for not using a non stick pan instead

he then shifted his glance to the plate next to the dishwasher and squinted

the curry looked..burnt and lumpy and it didn't look like it was edible

but bakugou didn't think much of it, how bad could it be?

it wasn't long before he wrapped his arms around your hips and snuggled his face into your neck, sighing in content, causing you to squeal from his hot breath on your neck

and well, long story short, it didn't taste nice, and ended up having pizza delivered for dinner, asking the delivery man to throw out the saucepan that could not be revived

of course you tipped the delivery man, it would be rude not to

this time, you wanted to go for something more ambitious; filet mignon

you couldn't help it, you were doing some grocery shopping and just so happened to drop by the meat section and saw a huge thirty percent discount on the meat

it was calling out to you, dancing on the shelves, waiting for you to pick them up

or at least that's what you told bakugou

bakugou rolled his eyes as he tried to take over the kitchen

he was a fantastic cook, actually and he didn't want to see the poor beef be served in such a pitiful way

however, you shoved him out from the kitchen telling him that everything will be alright and told him to go talk to kirishima or something if he was bored

you first added salt and pepper to both sides of the meat, carefully massaging it into the meat to make sure the the salt and pepper really make the meat flavourful and that your massaging would make the meat even more tender

you then tossed the meat into a saucepan, a new one this time since your old one got uh destroyed

you waited for a few minutes before flipping it over; or trying to flip it over

you had done it again

the meat was firmly stuck to the bottom of the saucepan as you panicked

the heat was still on and you didn't want to burn that side so you quickly turned off the heat and tried to quickly move the saucepan to a flat, cooler surface

the saucepan handle was metal, and since the saucepan was already quite hot, you held it without thinking and pain shot through your hand as you quickly let go of the saucepan, your beef falling on the floor, half cooked and probably burnt on the other side

bakugou heard the ruckus and came flying to you, worried that you got yourself injured in the process

he certainly didn’t expect the sight that he saw

you, with a shocked look on your face, hair all messed up and sticking to your neck from sweat

the meat, on the floor, contaminated with all sorts of germs, visibly stuck to the saucepan since the saucepan was tilted in a ninety degrees

he burst out laughing

'oh my god- pfft y/n, oh y/n darling, i love you, so much, but please stop trying to cook me dinner. you suck'

you pouted and your fingers went to nip at the corner of your top as you tried to defend yourself

'i forgot to butter the pan suki, maybe we should just get a non-stick pan and everything will be okay'

bakugou helped you with cleaning up

needless to say, you ended up another night with pizza delivered and once again, asking the delivery man, once again to help throw out the saucepan with the meat still stuck on it

shouto todoroki

it was your anniversary today and shouto wanted to prepare something special for the day

he knew how much you absolutely loved food, so he decided to make you a homemade meal for dinner

this guy actually took months to come up with the dishes that he was making

in his mind, he was envisioning a romantic candlelit dinner, with homemade aglio e olio and a side of mashed potatoes

shouto had no experience in cooking at all, he had never even held a kitchen knife in his entire life, except when thieves are threatening him with knifes and he coolly freezes them and slips the knife out of their hands, but that was it

he didn't think it'd be hard at all since he did some research on how to make aglio e olio and it did seem like one of the easier foods to make for beginners

it only needed the pasta noodles, garlic, salt and pepper, parsley and red pepper flakes- easy enough

he already had the ingredients needed, all he needed to do was to get you out of the house, which was easy

he gave you a long list and requested you to get them at the grocery store that was quite far from your place

at first, you insisted that shouto go with you

you were aware that it was your anniversary and shouto seemed to have forgotten about it

even so, you wanted to spend time with shouto, but he was so insistent that you go alone that you left alone, starting to feel down as you slipped on your shoes ad left with a sigh

shouto heard it, and he felt so guilty for making you upset, but he had to get cooking

he hurriedly tried to boil the water and he waited for the water to boil

when the water was boiling rapidly, he casually tossed the noodles in, watching as the noodles started to bend and sink deeper into the boiling water

he didn’t know how long to cook it for, and therefore decided to search it up on the internet

just then, he received a call from you

he picked up and you told him that the list was unclear and that the sprinkles in the supermarket had many types; striped ones, those in the shape of a heart and those rounded ones

he scratched his head as he wondered if he really did write down sprinkles; he had forgotten, as at that time he was just writing down anything that came to mind, focused on getting you out of the house

a smile crept onto his lips as he envisioned you staring at the packets of sprinkles in confusion and wondering which one to pick

‘shouto? why are you giggling?’

he snapped out of it and told you to buy whichever you liked best and then ended the call

his phone screen was on google, which the question ‘how long do i cook pasta for’ in the search tab

that was when he remembered what he was doing before you called

he slowly tore his eyes off the phone and peered inside the pot

great, at least it hasn’t been boiled into one lump of dough yet

he quickly turned off the heat and poured the water out, then took a strand and placed it into his mouth

it was melting in his mouth, the moment he placed it into his mouth, he could barely bite it before it was swallowable

it was far from al dente; and he still had to fry it in the pan with the other ingredients after this

he was at a lost, and decided to toss everything into the pan with some olive oil in it

the scent of garlic invaded shouto’s senses and he sighed, it smelt nice, at least

when he tried to stir the noodles, it started breaking and it looked a lot less appealing, but again, it smelt great

he absentmindedly stirred the noodles, waiting for the garlic to be cooked as it sizzled furiously in the pan

he then heard the sound of keys, followed by the sound of you opening the door

oh my gosh, you were back already? he was sure you’d take quite some time with the groceries since there was a lot of things to buy

he ran to the door to greet you, and saw you carrying at least four plastic bags on each arm and he ran to help you

‘y-y/n? why’re you home so quick?’

‘oh shouto, the grocery store is basically my second home, i know my way around’

he decided to tell you his plan, since it had already fell through

you grinned, so wide it almost scared shouto

‘i thought you forgot about our anniversary!’

you enveloped him in a warm embrace and press a quick kiss to his cheek and soon enough, a slightly smoky smell filled your noses

shouto suddenly pulled away and was running to the kitchen

‘my pasta!’

you trailed behind him, seeing the mess in front of you

the pasta at the ends were colored black as shouto tried to gingerly stir the pasta

the pasta at the bottom of the pan was burnt to a crisp

‘oh my gosh, shoutoo, i love you, so much, but please stop trying to cook me dinner. you suck.’

you gently stepped beside him, trying to assist him in cleaning up as he stood there, a blushing mess at the fact that you said that you loved him shouto todoroki is a shy as heck boyfriend oh man

taglist: @bnha-homeroom

#bnhabookclub #event: provisional license 2020 #tag: fluff #shouto todoroki #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha fluff #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki fluff #shouto todoroki fluff

78 notes · View notes

buckthegrump · 4 years

Text

Finals Week

Summary: A short look into Bucky’s time at university.

Warnings: minor angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.5k+

A/n: This is my secret santa gift for @holy-captain (sorry if it’s crap) Happy Holidays @bucky-smiles

Bucky bumped into her freshman year, literally. He was walking down the hall of the school on the first day of class, not watching where he was going and ran into her, knocking her to the ground.

“Dude!” She’d yelled from the ground and glared up at him. “Do you ever look where you’re going? Or is your ego so big that you assume everyone will move out of your way because you’re a man who is pretty?”

Bucky held out his hand for her, she took it but didn’t stop glaring at him.

“You’re not going to apologize or anything? Typical,” she bent down and picked up her things.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful,” he said as he watched her carefully. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

She stood back up and scoffed at him. “Good for you.”

He watched her walk away from him with a smile on his face.

* * *

Y/n sat in a spot in the middle of the classroom, knowing that she would probably only half pay attention in this class. Mostly because she’d taken it in high school, but the credits didn’t transfer, so she had to take it over again.

Class was about to start and she was sitting at a two-person desk by herself and was thirty seconds away from celebrating until that boy, Bucky, who’d run into her in the hallway took the seat next to her.

“Hey, you weren’t saving this seat for anyone were you?” He asked. She shook her head at him and he pulled out his laptop and books.

She kept her eye glued to the front of the room not even bothering to pretend to take notes. She twirled her pen around her thumb as the professor droned on about the syllabus. Then instead of letting the students go, like most of the other professors would’ve, he kept them there and started talking about something that wasn’t even relevant to the class.

When Y/n’s curiosity got the better of her and she glanced over at Bucky’s laptop screen she watched as he began to play the Sims. Their table was parallel with the wall so there was no one behind him that could rat him out and she wasn’t going to. But still, Sims? On the first day of class? Bold move.

To be fair, she was seriously considering blatantly putting her head down on the table and taking a nap. Luckily, the professor dismissed class, and before anyone could say anything else to her, she darted out of the room.

* * *

While Bucky was determined to at least talk to Y/n, she was deadset on ignoring him. And much to her dismay, he continued to sit next to her in class. So for a few weeks, he would try and talk to her and she would either completely ignore him or just glare at him.

He stopped trying to talk to her as much, moving on to only greeting her at the start of class. To which her response a mere nod of her head.

It wasn’t until midterms when she was forced to interact with him.

“So for the final project,” the professor said meandering in the front of the class, “you’ll be working with your table partner.”

“Fuck,” she groaned and leaned her forehead on the table with a light thud.

The teacher droned on as she silently moped. She could feel the pure excitement wafting off of Bucky.

Y/n was already convinced that Bucky was one of those people that liked putting off work until the very last moment. Which, Y/n was one of those people, but only when it came to solo work. When it came to group projects she liked getting things done as quickly as possible. Or at least her portion of the work.

Once the professor was done talking she lifted her head again.

“So, I think we should get together sometime this week and go over what we want to do and split up the work,” Bucky said.

Y/n looked at him surprised. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she answered. “Sure, sounds good. How about after class on Wednesday?”

His smile widened. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

The term went on and they spent a lot of time together in the library, and once their project was finished they went back to only seeing each other in class. Except for the time when they found themselves at the same frat party.

Bucky saw her from across the room, she was sipping on whatever was in her red cup. She was glaring at anyone who walked too close to her. He smiled at her behavior and walked over to her. She gave him the same glare she’d given everyone else.

“Oh c’mon, we just spent half a term working on a project together and you’re going to treat me like you don’t know me,” Bucky said trying to sound hurt but he had a smile on his face that wouldn’t leave.

“I can know you and still glare at you,” she muttered into her cup taking another sip.

“At least the term’s over.” Bucky grabbed an unused cup and began to fill it with an unsavory mixture of alcohol.

“Have you ever mixed a drink before in your life?” She sneered at him. “But term being over means that I have to go home and spend winter break with my family. Which will end with a trip to the hospital for sure.”

“Sounds like quite the family get together,” Bucky said adding sprite to his drink.

Y/n made a gagging noise. “I cannot stand here and watch you drink this monstrosity,” she said as she walked away.

Bucky didn’t see her for the rest of the night. He wondered if he would ever see her again, that it would be one of those things of ‘what if’?

* * *

It was a year later and finals week was right around the corner. Y/n had about a million finals coming up and she was stressed.

She’d just spent twelve straight hours at the library, she was supposed to be working on her reports or at the very least studying. Neither of those things happened, she spent almost every second of that time staring blankly at the screen saver on her computer or playing the sims.

With her laptop now in her backpack that was hanging off her shoulders, she stood in the middle of the grocery store. She felt that if she was going to finish any of the reports she had due, she needed some form of substance, healthy or not, to get her through these last few hours.

It was about two am and the store was practically deserted. The buzz from the fluorescent lights and hum from the freezer lulled Y/n into a trance as she stared at the ice cream section for way too long.

“Hey, stranger.”

She whipped her head around to find Bucky Barnes standing there in plaid PJ bottoms and a dark blue crew neck. She said nothing only offering a nod of her head as a greeting. She went back to staring at the Ben and Jerry’s options before letting out an annoyed groan.

“Is everything ok?” He asked.

“What the fuck do you think pretty boy?” She asked through clenched teeth. She could feel the lump in her throat begin to rise and the tears well up in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She scoffed keeping her tears at bay. “Everything. I can’t figure out what I’m going to do about my multiple six-page reports I have due at the end of the week. All of the notes I have for my classes don’t make sense. I think I wrote them in Russian but I don’t speak Russian. And now my boss is telling me that they might be laying people off. And to top it all off I cannot find chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“Isn’t this it?” Bucky opened the freezer door and pulled out a pint of ice cream.

“That’s dairy-free,” she said no longer able to hold back the tears. She started sobbing right there in the middle of the aisle.

Bucky put back the pint and a couple walked by giving Y/n a judgemental look.

“What the fuck do you want?” She yelled at them.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized with a shrug, “Finals week.”

The couple scurried away as Y/n continued to cry. She muttered complete nonsense and was convinced that Bucky had just left her alone to cry her heart out.

Until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked over to see Bucky still standing there this time holding a different pint, both blurry from her tears.

“C’mon, I think you need a break from everything,” Bucky grabbed her hand a led her towards the checkout stations.

* * *

They sat on the bench in the park blocks in the middle of their university. Bucky was silent as Y/n ate her ice cream. Bucky didn’t want to tell her that it was too cold to eat ice cream outside because it was the only thing that had gotten her to calm down and she had been insistent about not being inside for a bit. And he wasn’t about to let her sit outside in the middle of the night by herself, no matter how many times she told him she would be fine.

“When we first met I thought you were a dick,” she said, her voice muffled by the bite she’d just shoved in her mouth.

“To be fair, I did run into you.” Bucky chuckled at the memory.

“And knocked me on the ground, but I was mostly referring to the fact that we had to do that project together. I spent that entire term thinking you were just some pretty boy who thought he could skate through life because people would give you what you wanted -”

“Because I’m pretty?” Bucky teased as he bumped her shoulder with his.

“I was going to say ‘because you think you’re hot shit’ but yeah I guess that works.”

Bucky sat back on the bench and looked at the street lamps that lined the pathway.

“I thought you were really pretty when we first met,” Bucky whispered.

There was silence from both of them for a moment.

“I still do,” he said. He turned his head to find her staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You’re going to get through this finals week and every other one just fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you became my boss.”

She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out, except a yawn.

“We should get you home before you fall asleep here on the bench.”

Bucky stood and offered her his hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet. The walked through campus until they got to her building.

Bucky started laughing when she stopped in front of the stairs to the building.

“What?” She asked.

“This is my building too,” Bucky smiled.

Y/n laughed and they walked into the building together.

* * *

Y/n had four more questions on her last final and yet she could focus. Hoping that she had gotten enough of the questions right, she filled in the remaining bubbles on her scantron and turned it in.

She walked into her building and got into the elevator completely in a daze. The doors were just about closed when an arm stopped them and she was joined by no other than Bucky himself.

He didn’t say anything as he walked into the opposite corner. Y/n wasn’t sure how to talk to him after that night in the park. But it was just a short elevator ride before they got to her floor and this encounter would be over.

However, it would seem that her luck had run out because between floors five and six the elevator stopped.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Y/n whispered as she frantically pressed the button for her floor.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” Bucky said. “Besides sometimes it will start back up on its own.”

She glared at him and turned back to the doors.

After what felt like hours but was probably closer to two minutes the lights flickered off.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered. She pressed the help button just as the emergency lights came on and she turned to him. “I’m having a terrible day because of you!”

“What did I do?” He asked.

“You can’t just tell me that you think I’m pretty and then go on and on about what else you like about me right before I have to take a shit-ton of finals. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week and then through every test, I kept imagining what it would be like to kiss you which then turned into fantasies about just hanging out with you in a very domestic way and that’s disgusting. I don’t need this kind of bullshit in my life!”

He took a tentative step towards her and she took a step back in an attempt to maintain the distance between them. They continued this dance until Y/n was up against the wall and Bucky was only a few inches away from her.

“You what?” He finally asked with a small smile on his lips.

“Oh don’t be so smug about it babycakes,” she snarled at him.

Bucky crossed his arms in front of his chest which highlighted just how big his biceps were, which pissed Y/n off even more. Over the course of a few days, his facial hair had grown, not enough to give him a full beard but his stubble had her thinking about what it would feel like between her thighs.

“What do you mean by domestic way?” He whispered.

“Ya know, just sitting around watching TV together and -” she scoffed. “I don’t have to clarify my thoughts of thinking you’d be a good boyfriend.”

She closed her eyes and hung her head to avoid the smirk she knew he had on his face.

“Do you -” he cleared his throat, “I can’t stop thinking what it would be like to kiss you.”

She finally looked back up at him to see the slight blush he has. Off of instinct alone, she grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer to her. She paused right before her lips met his and he closed the gap between them.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist trying to pull her closer to him and Y/n ran her fingers through his hair. Just as she was going to deepen the kiss a loud ding sounded off in the elevator and they broke apart.

“Are you ok in there?” A voice asked over the small but lough speaker under the buttons.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered a little breathlessly, “We’re ok.”

“Ok well, the fire department is on their way.”

Bucky smiled at Y/n.

“So after we get out of here -?”

“We should talk,” she finished, but she had a lot more than talking planned.

#cmmsecretsanta #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes AU #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you

144 notes · View notes

twodaysintojune · 5 years

Text

The Mystery of the Midnight Pies

Debriel, Supernatural, Warnings-None

One Shots Masterlist, Long Story Masterlist

Find me at AO3

Last time Dean checked the calendar it was not Christmas yet but that didn’t stop him from wondering for a second while his hands held the precious confection in his hands.

When he woke up with a start and moved to get up from the bed was the moment he felt his foot thumping against something and he froze for a moment trying to assess if it was a threat or not. After a second, he pushed the lump a bit more and, when nothing happened, he turned his lamp on and took a peek towards the thing.

Dean frowned. He sat and moved towards it and picked it up. It was warm. He sniffed it with a bit of hesitation. Sweet cinnamon. Another sniff, tart apple. The pie wasn’t that big at all, it fit perfectly in his hands and was the exact type of thing his grumbling stomach had been pleading for as a midnight snack.

And he knew, he knew that it was not the best idea to eat anything that had just magically appeared out of nowhere but this was the bunker and it was his room and let’s be honest Dean why would you get up from your comfy bed when you can have this delicious, crisp pastry right now?

Dean sighed and lifted it towards his mouth. “I just hope you’re not poisoned.” He bit it and the explosion of the juicy interior hit his sleepy sense of taste in an almost orgasmic way. He groaned “Fuck I wouldn’t mind you being poisonous with this taste either damnit.”

Dean enjoyed each and every bite and sucked his fingers when the tinfoil platter was empty. He grabbed the napkin he barely noticed now and wiped his mouth and fell back on his pillow with a satisfied sigh. Soon enough he was drifting once more into slumberland.

The following day, there was no trace of the used napkin or the tinfoil plate. He would have presumed it had all been a dream but something in his gut, pun intended, told him it was not.

Still nothing new or different or odd happened. Not on the usual hours at least but three days later, another pie appeared by Dean’s feet when he woke up once more with a start. This time it was the luscious scent of sweet cherries mixed with a spice Dean couldn’t exactly pinpoint what made him bite into it. The crumbly texture and the crisp snap of the pastry dough making him shiver in delight.

“Holy Crap” Was all he was able to say munching delectably, crushing the perfectly smooth flesh of the cherries against his palate, crumbles of pastry stuck close to his lips until he deemed to take the napkin by his side.

Two weeks later, after a couple of cases that kept them away from home, he was woken up to find a pie filled with decadent chocolate ganache. That night his lips got smeared with streaks of dark chocolate that he cleaned thoroughly with his own tongue. The dark chocolate cream literally melting inside his mouth and gliding down his throat along the sweet whipped cream with ease at each bite he swallowed.

When the rhubarb pie appeared four days later, Dean picked it up realizing that, despite how much he loved it, he couldn’t keep this up. There was definitely someone or something barging into his room without his knowledge and although he wasn’t, he knew he should be worried about such a breach of privacy.

The following day however, Gabriel cooked them a chicken and mushroom pie and Dean knew without a doubt who had been the person sneaking into his room all this time. The golden, flaky, buttery and rich crust had been a dead giveaway.

Thinking about a way to catch the man in the act, Dean walked straight into the library and began to research for sigils to keep archangels contained. It hadn’t been easy but after some days, a bit of consultation with the other feathered inhabitant of the bunker and some test runs with the same aforementioned angel, Dean was pretty sure he was gonna be able to finally catch himself an archangel in fraganti.

That night, he was woken up not by the sweet aroma of the pie at his feet but by the scuffle in his room, he vaguely felt sparkles jump and someone shuffling.

“Ouch! What the hell!?”

He turned and lit up his lamp to see Gabriel standing still in front of his door, like a child that believes you won’t notice them if they stand still long enough.

“Gabriel?”

“Hey Dean-o what’s up?”

“What’s up with you? Why are you doing this?”

“This? What this?”

Dean went forward and took tonight’s pie in his hands.

“This.”

Gabriel blushed and glanced away. “Uh...”

“Look, I’m not angry man, I just want to know why you go through all this trouble.”

“I don’t… I mean… I wasn’t sure if you were gonna like them.”

“Are you kidding me? You could open a god damned store with these and settle for life! They’re that good.”

Gabriel sighed and his shoulders fell. “I know they’re not bad.”

“Then?”

“I...” Gabriel lowered his voice considerably. “I just wanted you to eat them.”

“Just that?”

Gabriel blushed but he nodded. And it might have been the way he was purposefully avoiding him right now or the way he was fidgeting with his hands but Dean understood there was something else. Something important he had to find out.

“And what about Sam and Cas and Jack?”

Gabriel groaned “Oh come on! You know they would never get it.”

Dean laughed, “yeah, that’s true.”

Gabriel smiled with him and the silence prolonged itself enough for Dean to feel a bit awkward.

“So uhm, do you want a bite of this?”

Gabriel looked at him for a second and gave him a lascivious smile “Well Dean, I guess I could help myself since you’re offering like that.”

#Debriel #dean winchester #gabriel #fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

everythingcollided · 6 years

Text

Petrichor [Peter Parker]

(credit to owner)

Summary: Peter shows up, soaked from the rain, to explain something said in the heat of the moment.

Word Count: 3064

Warnings: Swearing, Checkered boxers

A/N: Here’s another imagine no one asked for. If any of you want to maybe read one you did ask for, hit up that request box ;).

“I’m not giving up Spider-Man for you!”

Peter’s eyes were bright fire, burning embers packed into two powerful orbs that sent me flinching back. Hands clenched into fists at his side and distance from me long in a way that made my stomach curl, he spoke softer, “If you can’t accept it...then go.”

A sound comes from my parted lips. A gasp of surprise or a whimper, it’s one that resembles the crack that appears against my heart. His words are a slap - no, they’re a blow to my side with a sword - and no amount of clearing my throat gets the lump dislodged from it. My eyes burned and in seconds I knew hot tears would tumble from them. I didn’t want him to see them, have the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me, so I gave up my fight. I’ve never been good at reciprocating fire, especially when it came to those I loved. Peter fell into the deepest part of that category.

Without a word, I grabbed my bag and left. The flood came the second the elevator doors shielded me from his floor.

For my seventh birthday, my mom got me a fish.

A beautiful betta fish a shade of indigo I’d never seen before, named Shimmer by my young mind. For months I’d kept her alive on my own, talking through the glass bowl lit up on my nightstand for hours after I returned home from school. Shimmer was my first friend, my best friend and though she never talked back, I loved her.

I cried for weeks after she died.

My parents thought there was something wrong with me, asking around their friend circles to see if any of their children broke after a pet died. I learned that I grew attached to things quickly, especially after I named a boy my best friend for picking up a yellow crayon of mine. And later, when that boy moved away, I found that when I lost those I was attached to, it was painful.

Leaving that apartment physically hurt me. Days have passed one after another, I’ve never been thankful that Christmas break has begun - and that’s saying something. I sit around in Peter’s Midtown School of Science and Technology sweatshirt and wish that we could be spending our time away from school together. Plans of binge watching the Star Wars movies morphed into stuffing my face with ice cream and playing How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days on a loop until I’ve run out of tears to cry.

I haven’t yet.

I don’t know if we’ve broken up or are on some kind of break but I feel like I’ve lost Shimmer all over again. My chest is tight with a pressure that only fits the definition of ache and my head has been pounding since I pulled into the parking garage of my apartment complex.

“Just go.”

I wipe at my cheek with a dark blue sleeve pulled over my fingertips and unload another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into my mouth. My attachment to it does nothing to soothe my garbage mood. Rain splashes against the windows in harsh strokes, the battering of it on the fire escape outside the glass creating a symphony of soft clangs that soothe my bones. I curl in on myself, finding no shame in inhaling the scent engraved in the threads of Peter’s sweatshirt. A sweet smell, subdued by something I’ve never been able to place. I allow my lashes to flutter and shield my eyes from the poignant scene that’s been drawing away all my happy energy and replacing it with something worse.

A powerful knock at the door draws me from the haze of content I’d constructed.

Groan slipping past my lips without sanction, I burrow further into my arms and convince myself that I just imagined the sound. The aroma of Peter brings the image of him to the black of my eyelids and comfort flows in waves as I watch the colors splash against each other, painting a picture of a boy laughing, blushing.

Another knock.

I grumble, giving a soft punch to the cushion beside me before teetering to my feet and padding over to the door. I’m ready to curse at the person who disturbed my semblance of peace, even if that semblance included the reason it was crushed in the first place. I look through the peephole to ensure myself I’m not about to get stabbed and leave a gruesome scene for my Mom to come home to post-business trip.

My breath hitches at the sight and my fingers grab for the locks before I even fully comprehend the face on the other side, click clicking until he’s standing right there, right in front of me. Ears filling with the beats of my heart and palms beginning to grow moist, the anger rises in my throat. I open my mouth to scream, to yell, to hit him, when I fully realize what he’s wearing.

Peter is soaked from head to toe, thin navy jacket shining minorly with the appearance of water and hair stuck to his forehead like glue. His entire figure shakes and though his hands are stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, I know it isn’t helping when I notice the growing stain on the blue carpet decorating the hallway. His face is pale and his dark eyes are fixed only on me, the bags bordering below highlighting the rich color of them.

All that anger melts away. “Good God, Peter it’s freezing outside what were you thinking? Hurry up you’re soaking the carpet. Do you need a towel? Of course you need a towel, I’ll go get one for you, maybe some clothes too if I can find them. We don’t need you getting sick. Be right back.” I’m halfway down the hall that leads to the bathroom when I catch up with myself. I stop in my tracks, notice the adrenaline thrumming through my veins, the blood occupying the entirety of my face.

“Shit.”

Stupid Peter Parker. Stupid Rowan. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should be leaving him out there shivering and miserable, or throwing books at him, or anything other than aiding him. “You are such an idiot,” I mutter to myself as I grip a towel, “You literally have no self-defense mechanism, what is wrong with you.”

I berate myself with no successful result as I clamber throughout my room in search of Peter’s sweater - the first one I’d ever stolen from him. It’s buried far back in my closet on a pristine plastic hanger that I almost break in my haste to get this boy out of here before I fall apart, managing to trip twice on my run back to the main room.

I throw the two articles at him, and I know the burst of exercise I completed isn’t the only reason why my breaths are heavy. “Put that on, I’m going to make you some hot chocolate, you’re shivering.”

“Rowan-“

I send him a glare, both in payback of what he’s made me go through the past few days and a refusal to whatever argument he’s going to make. I resent the way my heart drops when his features turn sad, and he begins to tousle his hair in the provided towel as a gesture of surrender. I can’t help but watch him for a moment while he moves, caught off guard by how much my body is urging me to reach out to him.

He’s shaking, and it’s not until I clench my fist that I realize I am too.

My stare is diverted quickly when he begins to lift his head and I practically dive into the kitchen.

I make the scorching drink with mechanical actions since it’s been engraved into my mind how he likes his hot chocolate since I gave it to him that first day. It gives me a larger window to think.

I have no idea why he’s here.

Is he trying to break my heart some more? To dump me officially? The thought brings an uncomfortable twisting to my stomach and I have to put down the warming mug because my hands have begun to shake. I tug at my sleeves and run fingers through my wild hair to get it to stop, to no avail. My surroundings are growing blurry due to the tears burning at my eyes and my throat is closing up and I can’t breathe. I’ve never felt like this before, probably because Peter’s different than anything I’ve ever lost. Things like Shimmer and that boy I never had to see again, but the subject this time around is sitting in my living room, doing just fine without me.

And I’m in here crumbling.

I sprinkle the last crumbles of cinnamon onto the previously deposited whip cream and take precious gulps of air. Come on, Rowan, you can do it. It’s just a stupid boy. A stupid, adorable boy that you love. No big deal. Nope nope.

I step back into the living room.

Big deal.

Peter’s head snaps toward the small patter of my feet on the hardwood and I think my lungs compact in on themselves in record time. Messy hair beginning to gain its natural curl as it dries and eyes that look like the honey stored in some kitchen cabinet makes me freeze up. The towel I’d given to him is wrapped around his shoulders clad in the dry sweater.

But his pants are not there.

He is not wearing pants.

“Shit, I didn’t get you pants.” My cheeks burn, eyes traveling up to the red checkered fabric before I can stop them. I bite at my lips, cringing at my idiocy and trying really hard to keep my focus on Peter’s face as I tread over and hand him the hot chocolate.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not anything you haven’t seen before.” A sound erupts from his throat directly after his words and blood has time to fully rush to my face before he can stutter out the next string, “Shit, I mean...like w-with the Spider-Man s-suit and...yeah. That’s what I meant, sorry.”

His adorable struggle to find the words would be humorous if the mention of his alter-ego didn’t stab into my heart. It’s obvious that he notices my sudden change in mood because the room abruptly turns quiet. “It’s fine.” I mutter, picking at the balls of lint collecting on the edge of my sleeve. From the corner of my eye I watch his fingers grip the bright yellow mug, tapping in a sloppy rhythm I’m too anxious to keep track of.

“Why are you here, Peter?”

He must have been expecting the question, his answer is immediate. “I, uh, wanted to explain.”

“I thought you made it pretty clear,” I’m facing away from him so he can’t see the pain I know hides in my expression. “It’s fine, really, if you don’t...you know, want to be with me anymore.”

It’s not fine, my heart whispers, you love him and you're giving him up.

I hate what’s happening, but if Peter wants it I’m not going to force him to do something that doesn’t make him happy. All I want is for him to be happy.

I’m finding it hard to inhale as I wait for an answer. The only thing I can hear is the pattern of breaths that leave him and it’s driving me crazy. My knee jumps up and down, pumping the hope for a happy ending into my veins.

I flinch harshly when warmth envelops my hand. It’s Peter, skin retaining heat from the mug I’d just handed him. He intertwines our fingers against my knee and I don’t stop him. I’m one snap away from bursting into tears; my nerves are frayed and my breaths feel ragged and I don’t have the strength to push him away.

“Rowan,” He starts softly. Seconds pass and he sighs in what sounds like frustration, taking a loud sip of hot chocolate and placing it on the coffee table. Those dark eyes meet mine, wide and darting to different parts of my face, flecked with gold. “I meant what I said. I won’t ever give up Spider-Man for you, but I pushed you away instead of explaining. That’s why I’m here.”

He begins to trace around my fingers, it feels like summer is traveling along my nerves. I give him a squeeze to indicate that I want more information. “Spider-Man is everything I’ve wanted to be since I was little. When I put on that suit, I feel like I can do anything. And...that anything includes protecting you, protecting Aunt May, protecting Ned. What if I did give him up and one of you got hurt? Or worse?

The anguish of his words alone is enough to snap the string packing my emotions up tight. A drop slips down my cheek and Peter’s thumb is there flicking it away before it can get too far.

“I’m really scared of losing you, Rowan. And maybe I don’t face that threat a lot doing what I do in Queens, but what about when Mr. Stark needs me again? When not just this city but the whole world’s in danger? I can’t risk not being there to protect you.”

I feel like such a selfish bitch.

How could I parade around begging Peter to give up something that was priceless to him? I was demanding that he take away part of himself for me and broke down because he refused. I’ve been sitting around moping as a result of my own stupidity. “Peter,” I start helplessly but he cuts me off.

“Wait, before you say anything, let me finish.” He briefly lifts his hand to run it through his hair desperately, and he looks frantic. “I can’t give up Spider-Man for you because that would mean that I’m not being the best boyfriend I could be. I’d hate myself forever if I let something happen to you because I was vulnerable. I love you, Rowan. A lot. So, if it’s between you and Spider-Man, I’ll always choose Spider-Man because a you that hates me is better than no you at all.”

Peter releases his heated hold on me and reaches for his cooled hot chocolate, slurping loudly on the contents and diverting my attention away from the self-loathing enclosing on my form. His exposed toes are hitting the floor in a soft pattern, sweater cuff pulled to the fingertips of his left hand and air dried curls beginning to drape over his forehead. He’s unaware of the fact that he looks like the embodiment of a Sunday morning.

I allow myself to dive into that fantasy for a few minutes. Sharing an apartment, cooking breakfast together, getting a dog like we’ve both wanted our entire lives, weekends together, weekdays together.

Why would I ever want to give that up?

And in what universe would I ever hate him?

Peter peers at me from over his cup. “So, um...do you still want to be...together?” Hesitance coats his voice, eyes heavy with vulnerability that tugs on my heartstrings.

That thing he does where he cares about others more than himself even when things are their fault is going to get him killed one day. Once in eighth grade, he’d pushed down his bully, only to help him up right after. He ended up in my house half an hour later with a bag of frozen peas held up to his swollen face.

All the pain I’d gone through after I left his apartment is my fault. I asked him to stop being Spider-Man, and I was the one who didn’t even think to demand an explanation. I’d just left him there, alone.

God, that must have hurt him too.

I skim over the darkness beneath his lashes and the fear twisting his mouth into an attempted smile, guilt coiling around my lungs. I press the pads of my fingers against his tense jaw and let out a breath when it relaxes under my touch.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head gently, as to not lose contact with me. “For what?”

I trace the the line of his face until I reach his chin. His eyes close momentarily; I’d forgotten how much Peter loved any reminder that someone cared for him. He was like a puppy. And I’d kicked him. “For hurting you.”

“Rowan,” he says, free hand clutching to mine and bringing it to his cheek, “You didn’t answer my question.”

I hum in response - I’ve gotten caught up in the eyes that must match the shade of the sodden ground outside, in the park we’ve played in since we’d first became best friends, where he’d asked me out. “Yes.”

His lips stretch wide with the smile I’ve fallen in love with in the happy moments. “Then you didn’t hurt me.”

“But-”

The kiss he places in my palm runs the thoughts out of my skull. “Maybe you should stop overthinking this time around,” he murmurs, placing his mug back onto the table and holding out his arms, “And just...come here.”

I don’t even hesitate to crawl over to him, draping my knees across his lap and burying myself into his chest. He smells like rain and Peter, a combination that works for him and blurs my mind. We’re a mess of unruly hair and rapid heartbeats and Peter dipping his head into my neck because he knows I’m ticklish and it’ll bring a giggle out of me. I want to save the moment forever, hopeful for the future, relishing in a new beginning.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper against my shoulder, content.

I fumble with his minor curls, unable to resist the tugging at my lips. Sunlight casts itself across the hardwood floors as the rain stops and the clouds part. The shine reflects against the fat drops of water sitting on the leaves of the flowers planted in the windowsill and highlights the strands of Peter’s hair so that it’s quickly a pile of rusted gold in my grip.

We sit there, unmoving in a puddle of yellow, and I couldn’t ask for a better day.

“I missed you too.”

41 notes · View notes

real-fakedoors · 6 years

Text

under leaves so green - CHPT 7 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 7: 绣球花 (Hydrangea)

In which Adrien and Marinette spend Mother's Day in very strange ways.

Adrien had grown to enjoy the call of bells, almost always associating the pitchy jingle with happiness. One would ring at the front and back door of Marinette’s shop, come day or night. Another sounded lightly as he prowled the streets as Chat Noir, jostling ever so slightly just below his throat as he leapt from building to building.

And this morning, one greeted him upon entrance to the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

“Welcom - oh! Adrien, hello!” Madam Cheng beamed as he stepped inside, his senses overcome in the most fantastic sort of way.

It was warm within the buzzing bakery, but not hot and sticky like the summer air - this was a comfortable heat, one that reminded him of fuzzy blankets and hot chocolate. The smells were staggering in their own right, the aroma of cookies and fresh bread flowing around him like the sweetest tides of a cotton-candy sea. Adrien could drown in it and never want to come up for air; it was the same smell that always seeped from Marinette’s pores, only more poignant. A chattering pair of women eyed a display case near the window, so he strode past them and returned Madam Cheng’s smile with as much kindness as he could muster.

“Madam Cheng, so nice to see you. And Happy Mother’s Day, of course.” He bowed politely as he reached the register, standing just a bit aside in case anyone came up to make a purchase while he chatted. If it was possible, Madam Cheng smile only widened.

“This is Nathalie, my father’s assistant,” Adrien said through pursed lips, and the woman shook Madam Cheng’s hand.

Of course, Marinette’s mother seem just thrilled. “A pleasure, Nathalie -- and please, Adrien, Sabine is fine.” The tiny woman held up a finger to pause their pleasantries, leaning her head into the back. “Hey! Tom! Adrien is here!”

A pause.

“Be right there!” A familiar, jovial voice answered, and Adrien felt himself pink slightly. He tended to almost forget how overwhelmingly kind the Dupain-Chengs were until he was in their company, but then, their daughter was practically the dictionary definition of perfection. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“So, how can I help you this morning?” Sabine looked between the two, and Nathalie only responded with a strained smile. It took an impressive amount of self-control for Adrien not to laugh at the woman’s dismay, clearly unsure of what to make of Madam Cheng’s bubbly attitude.

“Well…” Adrien fumbled with his fingers. “I actually came by to see if Marinette was available. I wanted to talk to her, but my phone is, uh,” his gaze flickered over the tight-lipped woman beside him. “Unavailable at the moment.”

Sabine frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Marinette’s not home. She left early this morning on an errand.”

Adrien had only enough time for his eye to twitch before a small bear emerged from the back in the shape of Marinette’s father.

“Adrien! How are you, son?” Tom Dupain walked right around the counter and hugged Adrien fiercely, crushing his bones and giving his torso a light dusting of flour in the process. Nathalie looked like a fish out of water, both literally and figuratively, and appeared about ready to pry the man away from him.

The blond was all smiles, though, and gave Marinette’s father a firm pat-pat. “Hello, Monsieur Dupain, how are you?”

“Just great - business is, ah, hold on. Come!” He extended an arm and gestured for Nathalie and Adrien to follow him into the back of the bakery. Sabine nodded at them, but kept her focus on the customers who had just approached the counter with sweet selections in mind.

“Sorry, sorry. Just easier to talk without people buying - so good to see you! And who’s this?” Tom smiled kindly down at Nathalie, who cleared her throat.

“Nathalie Sancoeur, thank you. I work for Gabriel Agreste and am escorting Adrien this morning.”

He blinked, likely taken aback by her biting tone, but there was no dampening the man’s mood.

“Well, welcome to the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie! Don’t mind our mess; when you work with flour and dirt, it’s something you learn to live with.”

“I… see. Thank you.” Nathalie eyed their surroundings, quickly understanding the man’s meaning. The place was indeed a mess, all sorts of ingredients strewn around the work stations, a half-dozen aprons hanging on hooks, and piles and piles of open books littered with numbers and figures.

Monsieur Dupain set himself to task while making pleasant conversation, and Adrien thought his behavior seemed very much like Marinette at that moment. “So, did I hear you say you were here for Marinette?”

Sheepishly, Adrien scratched his cheek. “I - yes. But Madam Cheng said she’s not home?”

The man nodded severely, rolling out a mysterious dough that smelled like heaven. “Yes, it feels like our girl’s never home anymore. Did you want to leave a message of some sort? We can always give it to her when she comes back after work.”

Before he could answer, Marinette’s mother appeared beside Nathalie, and the leaner of the two women flinched.

Adrien had to snicker quietly at that. It was upon Nathalie’s own insistence that he was not to enter the bakery unattended, so he was going to enjoy watching her squirm, at least a little.

“Yes, and I’m afraid she didn’t say where she was going, probably just had to facilitate some deliveries or something,” Sabine sighed and wiped her hands on her apron, which caught his attention.

“Oh, your apron! It’s lovely.” He pointed, elated by his recognition.

She looked down momentarily and the smile that spread on her features reached her eyes.

“Oh, yes, speaking of Marinette,” she sighed contently and rubbed the embroidered D/C proudly. “This was a gift she made me for Mother’s Day. I didn’t expect her to get me anything; I don’t even know how she found the time.”

Adrien did not respond, but he nodded his agreement. Marinette had been deadbeat exhausted yesterday, but he wasn’t about to say that to her parents or Nathalie.

Oh, yes Madam Cheng, I know. I snuck into your daughter’s room last night while she finished making that apron. There was about a million reasons why that was a bad idea, and at least half of those reasons would have made him blush to think about.

Adrien coughed. “Well, I am sorry I missed her… Maybe I will just try again tomorrow, or swing by the shop later.” He didn’t even need to look her way to feel the look Nathalie was giving him. Such a detour was not in his schedule and therefore was not going to be allowed, but Adrien didn’t want to appear suspicious to Marinette’s parents.

“Well, that sounds like a wasted trip son, at least take some pastries back to your Dad.” Monsieur Dupain replied, wiping his cheek carefully with part of his forearm. The dough was taking taking the form of a swirled knot-bread, and Adrien could smell the vanilla and cinnamon from where he was standing. His stomach growled, and by some good graces, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Ahh, no, that’s okay,” Adrien rubbed his neck. “My Dad’s not really a… ‘sweets’ kind of guy. But thank you for offering.”

Of course, Madam Cheng wouldn’t hear of it.

“Hmm, well, how about at least something for your troubles? Nathalie, that includes you of course, pick out anything from the display and we’ll package it up for you.”

Adrien blushed, always overcome by their generosity. They hadn’t much, at least compared to his father’s wealth, but that never meant they weren’t eager to share.

“I- I, well,” Nathalie sputtered, uselessly pushing random buttons on her tablet. Clearly she was not used to being treated this way either, and Adrien remembered how flustered he had been the first few times he had come here.

“That would be amazing, thank you,” he accepted for the both of them, and Sabine lead them back out the front. Adrien didn’t want to disrupt Marinette’s father a second time in the middle of working, so he went to give him a friendly pat on the back in farewell. Once again, more bear than man, Monsieur Dupain turned and engulfed Adrien in a hug so tightly he felt short of breath by the time his feet were back to solid ground.

“Take good care Adrien, and thanks for stopping. I’m sure Mari will be sorry she missed you.”

Tom Dupain finished his statement with a not-so-subtle wink. Adrien swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to burn too furiously while returning to the front of the bakery.

Sabine greeted a new gaggle of customers that entered just as the three of them returned to the front of the store, so Adrien gestured for Nathalie to follow him to the glass display of cakes and breads and cookies.

Once out of earshot, Nathalie shot him a sharp whisper.

“These foods will not comply with your meal schedule, so please say your goodbyes and we’ll go.”

At that, Adrien snorted and had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. He actually felt a little bad as Nathalie flushed, evidently disquieted by his behavior. She saw this place as one of indulgence - sugar and happiness, free food and plentiful hugs.

How ironic.

Wealth meant Adrien had seen display cases just like these many times, usually filled with pillows of rich velvet that were topped with excess. Diamond jewelry or watches that could fund a year abroad were the “bread and butter” of the upper-class, so expensive taste came with the territory.

Adrien felt the bread and butter prepared by the Dupain-Cheng’s hand to be much more tempting.

Everything was a careful arrangement of love here, and it filled him with a million reminders of Marinette at every turn. Each price tag was hand-written, with chalkboard specials on display. All of the boxes were pink and simple, somehow adorable and refined at the same time. The energy itself was animated, a welcome world, and it required no explanation to surmise that Marinette was a product of this saccharine wonderland.

By comparison, Adrien had felt only lucky enough to window shop before. He didn’t want to browse anymore.

Marinette may have been reared within these candied walls, but Adrien found it hollow without her in them. He longed for laurels of green and Banks’ roses. The absence of dirt felt like the absence of her, resolute and empowering without ever being too much. To him, the bakery had become an echo of her, whereas the shop was filled with Marinette from the dirt to the air to the sun itself. A pastoral daydream, between the green apron and the green house, the shop was the metropolitan wilderness.

A paradox.

It shouldn’t exist in a city like this, and it was too pure for this world.

Yet somehow, he had found her.

Nathalie interrupted his daydreams by clicking her tongue.

“We cannot accept their food without paying. If word gets out, the press might take it to the rumor mill.”

His response was probably more bitter than it had to be, not because of her words but because of the sneer behind them.

“You are worrying too much,” he studied some cocoa truffles absently. “I’ve tried to pay them for years, but they always refuse. Marinette even snuck money back into my wallet once; their obstinacy is borderline unfair.”

Nathalie pursed her lips. “This… Marinette that you came to see. She’s been through your wallet?”

Sometimes he forgot how protective Nathalie and his father were, to a painful degree. Still, the insinuation that came with Nathalie’s worry he found to be in poor taste.

He kept his tone matter-of-fact. “Yes. I’d trust her with anything, my wallet included.”

The dark-haired woman narrowed her eyes and looked ready to say something else, but Sabine completed her recent customers and appeared across the glass case.

“Have you settled on anything? I already grabbed some of that cheese bread you always ask for, Adrien, but please, pick out at least a few more things.” Marinette’s mother jostled a bag lightly over the counter, and Adrien thanked her. In his shirt pocket, a very exciting twitching began at the call of cheese.

After some back and forth, Adrien made up Nathalie’s mind and kindly accepted two pieces of cheese bread, a sweet smelling strawberry tart for himself and a few macron’s for his father’s assistant. It took more effort than it should have to accept, what with Nathalie’s constant disapproval, but he had gone through the motions with the Dupain-Cheng’s enough time to know they were impossible to argue with.

By the time he said farewell, two hugs later and a whole heart fuller, Adrien settled into the backseat of the car and sighed comfortably. He almost could have forgotten he had come to see Marinette and utterly failed to do so. Almost.

Nathalie directed them home, dubiously accepting a macron when offered, and Adrien even tried to see if his ever-silent bodyguard would accept one. There was no verbal response, but the man did hold out his hand when Adrien reached towards the front of the sedan.

“So, is Marinette someone we should…?” Nathalie began as they were neared the mansion, and Adrien cleared his throat.

“Nope, that’s -- nope.”

The woman sighed pointedly, but did not ask any further questions. They both knew better than to bother his father with petty matters like high school crushes, so Adrien at least could confidently say Nathalie would not to bring up the subject again.

He bound up the stairs once they arrived home, shutting the door to his room behind him. A greedy-eyed kwami greeted him swiftly.

“Pay up, kid, I wants me some of that bread.” Plagg almost cackled as Adrien unfurreled the bag and set it at his desk, listening to the strange gorging sounds of a kwami bodily assaulting unsuspecting pastries.

Adrien was already pacing, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“What a waste of a morning.” He stopped at the window, pressing an arm against the cool metal beams and resting his forehead there. “I don’t think I can wait until tonight to see her, and not as Chat Noir. I need to see her as me this time.”

“You know,” Plagg called from the bag, clearly speaking with his mouth full.

“You sure are going way out of your way to see this girl. You’re sure you just want to be friends?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Just, shut up, Plagg.”

“If your poor heart can’t wait, we could sneak out again. You know, stop by the flower shop, go and see your lovely lady,” the kwami mused in a sing-song voice.

Adrien didn’t answer. It’s not like he could deny it anymore.

From the night she gifted him the Russian Snowdrops petals, he probably should have realized it then. The comfortable way she deposited the sentiment, more than just the flowers, into his hand and the sincerity of her soft blue eyes within their private twilight was something from a movie.

That night had been a wickering candle that had burned just bright enough and just long enough for him to fall smitten.

If not then, Nino’s not-so-subtle talk should have forced him to acceptance. His friend had called him out like a judge during a fencing match, making Adrien confront some imaginary coin flip that he didn’t believe could be real.

But how far back did his denial go? The shy glances, sweet blushes, thoughtful gestures and innocuous little fleeting moments they had shared through the years. He couldn’t tell if his stomach had always twisted in excitement when it happened and he had just tried to bury the instinct, not wanting to freak her out, to the point where he himself believed it wasn’t there. Adrien tried to remember, but then, none of that mattered anymore.

What mattered now was that Adrien was absolutely, hopelessly in love with her.

Of course he was.

Marinette’s smile was everything. When she laughed, he felt like the most fortunate person in the world to hear the sound - and that’s not even to say how he felt when he was the one to make her erupt into giggles. Sometimes, if surprised, she would squeak, and it was adorable. She was beautiful - lean, strong, soft features and lips that looked so kissable he wanted to tear his hair out just thinking about it. If he hadn’t come to her home with the mask last night, he might not have been able to stop himself from kissing more than just her forehead.

His legs guided him to his bed, laying down and staring at the ceiling. Marinette was everywhere in his world, and so suddenly, too. It was like the most pleasant vertigo imaginable. The dark ceilings looked like her hair, soft and rich tresses of ebony. The sinking sound of his head hitting the pillow was her sigh, and the rustling of Plagg at his desk was the fluttering of her lashes. Most devastating was the sky, though, miles of her eyes for him to get lost in.

Marinette was everywhere, but even so, she wasn’t here.

Plagg belched and flew over to him, looking upon his charge with a smug grin.

“You’ve got it bad, you know that, don’t you?”

Adrien didn’t respond, but his face surely said enough. Plagg nodded.

“Well, if it means anything, I -- ”

The kwami stopped and his brow dipped, catching Adrien’s attention. A moment later, there was a crisp knocking on the door, and they met eyes before Plagg flew away to hide.

“Yes,” Adrien groaned as he sat back up, walking towards the door. “What is it, Natha-- ?”

“Adrien.” His father greeted with a nod, and the blond went slack jawed.

“D-Dad, hi, what are you…?” Adrien cleared his throat and paused when his father motioned for him to stop, raising a hand.

“Why don’t you come to my office for a moment?” He asked, though he spun on his heel before Adrien could answer. Stumbling after him, he hoped Plagg had enough sense to stay put, just in case, and followed his father down the stairs.

Each step felt like a march towards some sort of purgatory. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t remember the last time his father called him to his office and they had a pleasant conversation. All they seemed to talk about anymore was Adrien’s future, and they both had very different visions in mind for what that looked like.

Adrien kept his irritations under lock-and-key. He was resigned to wait for his father’s invitation to speak.

It wasn’t until he shut the door that the conversation began, and Adrien wondered which one of them had lost their minds. It had to be one of them, because his Dad didn’t just say that, or he himself was dissociating and misheard him.

“Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

It was the proverbial record scratch of the past week. Flowers and blue eyes, slamming doors and text messages, late night stargazing and bitter coffee all rushed to greet him in a visceral sensory experience. A whole week’s worth of memories pumped through his veins, sending his heart into a tailspin of nerves and worries and fears but, more than all of that, Adrien was blindsided by so much sudden happiness that it a miracle he managed to stay on his own two feet.

He didn’t really have words, so he managed a croak.

“Huh?”

His father pursed his lips, hands behind his back as he gestured for Adrien to sit in the pit around the runway. Apparently, he managed to comply with his Dad’s request, though he had no memory of even sitting down.

A few hours earlier

“I can do this.” Marinette fanned her face with a hand, as if it would help. It wasn’t particularly hot today, in fact, it was cloudy and pleasantly mild for a morning in the summer, but that wasn’t the cause of her clammy complexion.

No, this was the kind of crippling nervousness that would knock anyone off their feet in her situation, and Marinette wasn’t exactly known for her superior coordination.

“I can... do this.”

Spilling your guts out to your crush of three years was never easy.

Doing it on Mother’s Day seemed like an awful mistake, given his mother’s mysterious disappearance.

Coming to his house unannounced, early in the morning, with pastries and a tiny potted plant?

“I can’t do this.”

Every neuron in her brain was firing off at once, screaming at her legs run away, but she was trying not to listen. Her heart was hammering, working overdrive to make up for the disagreement between her body and mind, and she was stuck.

Hiding.

Tikki jostled her purse, knocking into her hip slightly - it was a sort of silent code they had established, for Marinette to check their surroundings for curious eyes before opening the clasp.

With fumbling fingers, she managed to get the thing damned open and her kwami’s large round eyes were sympathetic.

“Don’t say that, Marinette! You can do it - you can do anything. I believe in you.”

“I-I know, Tikki,” she stammered, and the kwami’s red face frowned. “I just, heh, you know, we said ‘set small goals’? That was the agreement… I feel like… this is a little much…?”

“No,” her kwami shook her head. “It’ll be perfect, I promise. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” Marinette’s response was immediate, and she felt her pulse relax just slightly. “I just… no, no, you’re right. I can do this.”

“You can do this,” Tikki parroted and nodded, closing the purse herself so Marinette couldn’t talk herself down.

“Thanks, Tikki,” the girl whispered before brushing herself off unnecessarily.

With a pit - no, a crater - in her stomach, Marinette slipped around the corner and stiffly walked up to the front gate. She spotted a familiar, almost angry-looking red button on an inlaid control panel, and gulped.

The first time she rang the Agreste doorbell, when Nino had been akumatized years ago, a little camera came out and appraised her. Just in case, Marinette fixed her bangs and patted out her pigtails, hoping her make-up covered most of the bags circling her eyes. Her choice of outfit was… acceptable. It was just her work uniform. The whole pretense of coming before work on a Sunday was so she had a designated time to leave in case things became awkward, and Marientte wanted to have an escape plan; she preferred to plan for the worst-case scenario, so anything better than that exceeded her expectations.

Long inhale.

Marinette pushed the button, feeling the weight of the world compress the shiny plastic covering against her forefinger.

No going back now.

Long exhale.

She stood for almost a minute, fidgeting more and more and thought about pressing again (or, better yet, about just running the other direction) when a voice finally answered, accompanied by a camera’s judgmental eye.

“Yes?”

It was male, but it wasn’t Adrien.

Oh for fondants sake…

Her mouth was horribly dry and she licked her lips - surely, that had to have looked great on camera.

“M-Monsieur Agreste! I apologize, I’m… um… a friend of Adrien’s. I was wondering if he was… home?”

There was a long silence, and once again, Marinette considered fleeing the scene.

A hard voice swept away whatever nerve she had gathered. “What’s your name?”

“I-I… I-I’m Ma-Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. A-Adrien’s, um, he’s in my class.” She swallowed, and Tikki jostled lightly against her hip. The reminder of her kwami gave her some confidence, however small, so she added, “I designed… a hat for your contest a few… years ago?”

Marinette tightened her grip on the reusable paper bag she had in her right hand in an effort to stop her nervous shaking, and, to her genuine surprise, it actually helped.

“Hmm,” Monseiur Agreste sounded thoughtful, and Marinette tried to smile at the camera as kindly-and-not-dorkily as possible.

“You may enter.”

The electric blue eye of the camera retracted back into the wall, and there was a brief buzzing as the lock on the gate fell. She could hear Tikki lightly chime at her hip.

“You’re doing great, Marinette! Just keep it up!”

“Phew,” she breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, even if Tikki couldn’t see it. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

Her usual stride was definitely clipped of it’s usual personality, much more rigid as the door loomed ever closer. She had only been here a few times, and this was the first time she’s ever come totally alone - the entrance seemed so massive up close.

A tiny voice dubbed Rationality in her mind noted that it was probably unusual for Gabriel Agreste to answer his own doorbell, but then, that tittering was snuffed out rather quickly by the hundred of others voices - Worry, Anxiety, Fear, and Uneasy, for example, were composing an epic interlude against the raging metronome provided by her heart.

Marinette, as conductor for this impromptu orchestra, only found it fitting that the crescendo built with the stacco thump of her knocking fist against the heavy barrier that kept her out.

Much faster than she expected, the door was opening, and stood before her was the ever-immaculate Gabriel Agreste. Sometimes, she was so wrapped up in Adrien that Marinette all but forgot her idolization of the man before her.

He was a fashion legend, and even his home attire showed for it - his hair was swiped back, out of his face. On his person, he wore a crisp white suit jacket with red pants that were tailored to perfection, accented by a red-white ascot.

Marinette bowed, feeling humbled and tragically underdressed.

Staring at her feet instead of at his piercing eyes, she found enough of her manners scattered on the immaculate foyer tiles to muster a greeting.

“Monsieur Agreste, it’s an honor to meet you in person. I’m… Adrien’s friend, but it’s also such an honor. I’m a huge fan of your work!”

She would never bet anything on it, but she could have sworn it almost sounded like, ever so lightly that he… laughed?

“Come in, Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” he stepped aside and Marinette meekly scuttered in, feeling more a mouse in a giant labyrinthine of architectural splendor.

Naturally, she drank in as much as she could as fast as she could - huge ceilings, a refreshing clean smell, marble pillars and a central staircase like one she pictured in Cinderella. It was spacious and monochromatic, and Marinette could only admire the careful attention to the building with each slope or facade.

“I’m ashamed to admit I only vaguely recall our first meeting, Mme. Dupain-Cheng.” Monsieur Agreste began, hands behind his back. His posture was impeccable, and Marinette quickly tried to fix her slouch.

“But I do remember the bowler you created; it was a rather impressive piece, especially for someone your age. So forgive me if I’m a bit... unsure to the nature of your visit.”

Marinette bit her lip - she knew from Adrien’s occasional mention that his father was harsh, but she could certainly tell where her friend got his lessons in etiquette. So far, Adrien’s father had been entirely intimidating, but surprisingly kind.

He frowned and cocked his head to one side when Marinette didn’t respond, and she nearly squeaked when she realized she was just staring into space.

“O-Oh! Right. I’m very sorry to show up unannounced, and on… a holiday, no less.” She paused to make sure she hadn’t just put her foot in her mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind the mention of today’s date. His wife was gone, but it had been several years so perhaps he had just learned to accept such affairs. “But I… I wanted to see Adrien and thank him for his help the other day. Your son is, um, a very… kind young man.”

Studying her shoes, Marinette quickly found his lack of response to be unbearable, so her gaze flickered his way. Mounseir Agreste had a small, albeit nonplussed, smile on his face, and it looked remarkably similar to Adrien’s.

Maybe she could do this after all.

Feeling a bit emboldened by his agreeable expression, Marinette held the bag out infront of her with the D/C logo printed proudly on the front.

“My parents own the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie - it used to just be called Tom and Sabine’s - by the school, and they recently purchased a flower shop only a few streets over from here. I work there and… I brought some pastries and flowers for Adrien as thanks. I... hope that’s okay?”

Mounseir Agreste studied the bag with a severe expression on his face before bringing a hand to his chin.

“Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” his eyes flickered to her face, and Marinette felt herself blanch slightly. His voice was like a whip, and each word was the crack before the lashing.

“While your gesture is very kind, Adrien is not here at the moment.”

She deflated. Bag lowered back to her side, Marinette felt all of the reassurance she had spent the past several days gathering be swept away with a single sentence. This had been hard enough to do the first time, and now she was doubtful she could ever find the courage to come back here like this.

Still, she couldn’t just stand and sulk in the middle of the Agreste mansion, so she cleared her throat and turned politely towards the door.

“I’m very sorry for intr-- ”

“But he should be back soon,” Adrien’s father interrupted lightly, and her head shot up in his direction. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying…?

Flatly, he confirmed her disbelief with a few easy words.

“If you’d like, you are welcome to stay here until he returns.”

Marinette felt her mouth fall open, and she blinked repeatedly. “A-are you sure? I’d hate to impose!”

He shrugged, and Marinette couldn’t believe how impressively casual he was acting. Surely this couldn’t be the monster Adrien painted him to be?

“I assure you Mme. Dupain-Cheng, it is fine. But Adrien is out with my assistant Nathalie, so would you be willing to wait for their return in my office? I mean no offense, but we prefer company to stay supervised in the house.”

She was practically bouncing now, almost too elated to mind her manners. “Are you kidding? Me, in the Gabriel Agreste office? Where you create your designs?! I would - I can’t -- ummmm,” she exhaled low and tried to calm herself, and to her relief, Mounseir Agreste didn’t seem to mind her fangirling. “I would be so honored, sir!”

“Very well,” he gestured for her to follow, and Marinette tried not to trip over her own feet as Adrien’s father stopped at the western wall before a set of massive double-doors. “We can leave the door open, so we’ll hear them come in.”

As Marinette passed the threshold, she could barely keep the bag in her hand, marveling each and every surface of the room with adoration. She had been in here before as Ladybug, but never had there been a chance for her to really stop and appreciate the room for what it was.

The walls were smoky marble, scored in a diamond lattice of light grey that stopped a few feet up from the ground, framed by wood so dark it was almost black. Each panel was carved with intricate molding, giving a sort of three-dimensional depth to the walls. The room itself was divided into three levels with short steps between each. Adrien’s father walked straight towards the top level on the far-end of the room where a large white screen - his famed ‘designscape’ - was situated, just in front of a grand golden portrait. Between the computer and the door, Marinette noticed a short sort of pit in the center of the room that opened to a lower level that mimicked a runway, but, she guessed, could also double as a conference table depending on the circumstances. Spread across the crisp white surface was a dozen portfolios and even more loose pictures, covering the desk from end to end with hundreds or even thousands of drawings and pictures of designs. The far end of the room was pierced by two larger-than-life panes of glass, windows to the world beyond, and they shone brilliantly with the emerging light of a Sunday morning.

On the wall to her immediate right upon entering, Marinette spotted Adrien. And Adrien. And more Adrien. This had been the image to capture her attention most prominently the last time she came here, naturally, and it was an ever expanding collection of his portraits done for his father’s fashion line. Everything about him, the poses, his smile, his presence - all of it, he was effortless.

Mounseir Agreste, apparently, noticed her staring. From behind his pseudo-computer, he commented off-handedly, “He does excellent work, doesn’t he?”

Marinette felt her heart leap into her throat, and she could barely breathe for how quickly the blood rushed to her cheeks.

“U-um, yes, sir. He’s very… ahh... talented?” Her hormone-addled teenage brain could come up with plenty more colorful descriptors for what else Adrien was, but perhaps his father was not the best audience for that. Instead, Marinette just laughed awkwardly, and Mounseir Agreste looked at her from above his glasses before smirking.

“You can set your things down on the tableau, if you’d like. Just push aside any of the mess,” he gestured towards the runway-esque-table in the center of the room, and Marinette shyly nodded and accepted the invitation.

Her mind was racing a million miles a minute, of course. Was this a stupid thing to do? What could she possibly talk to Adrien’s dad about? How long would they be - what if she had to get to work before Adrien even came home? And if not, would she even have sufficient time to talk to him? Why did she stop stalking Adrien’s calendar, if she knew where he was then this never would have happened!

Because, her brain scolded, tracking his whereabouts was creepy and you know it.

Yes, but, her squirming stomach argued, she had never been trapped in the Gabriel Agreste’s office when we had Adrien’s schedule memorized, now did we?

Both of you - Marinette’s jack-hammer heart interrupted - whatever figment of my imagination is giving you unique voices, please, cut it out! This is hard enough when I’m not arguing with myself!

Unsure what else to do, her eyes eventually started to linger across the countless designs sprawled across the length of the runway. The action started as a distraction, but Marinette’s attention was swept away in the painstaking detail that went into each image. From bodice to bustier, tulle and organza, slacks and skirts and accessories of every kind, the Gabriel span of influence know no bounds. She was particularly interested in a volume of unfinished work, most pages only half-colored but otherwise lined with pencil sketches suited to the shapes of men and women of every size and proportion.

“M-Mounseir Agreste?” Marinette spoke meekly, and his attention flickered up from the screen. “I hope you d-don’t mind me saying, but these are all so lovely.” She gestured a shaky hand across the runway.

“I-I promised myself if I ever got the chance, I would tell you the Adalaid handbag from Milan Fashion Week… was - is the most amazing use of suede I’ve ever seen… the attention to detail is something to be… sorry, I’m rambling,” Marinette pushed a hand against her forehead and ducked her head again, hoping he might just let her self-esteem die a quiet death.

“Milan is always a favorite of mine,” he responded, almost sounding bemused. Marinette glanced up to see him come to end of the runway, looking down over the cascade of his own creations through his decades in the industry.

“Ah,” his attention lingered over the thick portfolio right in front of her. “I see you’ve found Emilie’s work.”

“Emilie…?” Marinette responded, but she need not clarification when the man turned around and beheld the abstract, flawless painting of his wife hung behind his work station. She lowered her eyes on the book, and suddenly the unrefined but peculiar drawings seemed to make sense.

“Oh… these were, um, your wife’s…” She mumbled, trying to put distance between herself and the bound collection of sketches, feeling like there was some invisible line in social etiquette and that she had most definitely crossed.

“Yes,” he responded curtly, but sighed and descended to the pit. “She wore many hats, and her own creativity is something I still… I never sketch without the book you’ve got there.” His voice sounded wistful, and Marinette was surprised to hear him speak so openly about his wife. Adrien very rarely even mentioned Madam Agreste.

“It’s one of the handful of things she... left behind.”

Marinette didn’t dare ask for clarification on what else she might have “left behind,” but she didn’t really have to. There were some that required no explanation, like her husband and her son.

“You do have an eye for fashion, Mme. Dupain-Cheng,” Mounseir Agreste said as he looked over her shoulder, noticing the sketches she pulled towards the front in her absent minded admiration. “I always did like this one, but the color always felt wrong. I could never get it as I wanted.”

He pointed at a brown-leather ensemble, fitted like a trench-coat but seemed to Marinette a dress, the bodice dipping to a sweetheart neck with dropped-shoulders. A wide buckle pulled the eyes to the waist while accentuating the curvature of the hips. Interestingly, there was a peek-a-boo line of fabric that poked out from the bottom of the dress, where the leather crossed over itself like a coat; vertical stripes of white and brown just hinted at something more. To the side of the page, a razor sharp stiletto heel of the same color crisscrossed over a more detailed side-sketch of a foot, with smaller straps that resembled the center buckle as it clasped around the ankle. Were it food, Marinette would have been drooling; but as a designer, she could only feel her creative intuition flare at the sight.

“Wow,” she breathed, and without thinking, added “You said it was the color? You mean the tone of the leather?”

He frowned. “Yes, it was supposed to be… young and bold. Spirited, even. But it always seems… matronly, when worn.”

Marinette had to swallow the urge to make suggestions - who was she kidding? She was a no-name designer speaking to the Gabriel Agreste. No way would she even think of proposing modifications to one of his designs. It’s not like the leather might not be better suited as the patent variety, broadening the possibilities of color. Something like red would certainly pop with spirit, but this… that wasn’t her place.

“I never considered patent leather,” mused Monsieur Agreste, and picked up the paper with one hand and rubbed his chin with the other.

Marinette’s eyes widened in mortification.

Did I seriously just… say that… out loud?

“Oh - oh my, I’m so sorry Mounsier Agreste! I just blabbed and I know that was totally inappropriate, my sincerest apologies - sir, um,” Marinette stood and stepped away, bowing her head again, but this time in shame. Her face was burning and her eyes were nearly watering from the embarrassment.

Looking at the floor, Marinette couldn’t see the amused, if not a little bewildered, raise of Monsieur Agreste’s brows.

“You should never regret speaking on an original idea, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. They are scarce enough as it is. And a good idea? All the better.”

All she could do was blink inanely, sure she must have heard incorrectly.

“Some people make their literal livelihood as purveyors of honesty, you know,” he said, taking the picture with him to his designscape. Marinette slowly returned to the long table, not sitting but listening with interest.

“What is a critic but someone who is paid for their opinions? Or the curator of a museum? They seek out the best pieces of art on some sort of objective scale and create a gallery from their opinions alone. A discerning eye is a rare gift, Mme., you might not be so quick to silence yours.”

“I… wow,” she eventually answered, nodding as she sort of collapsed onto the row seating again. “Thank you, that… that really means a lot, coming from you.”

Marinette watched Adrien’s father’s with rapt attention, his own gaze flickering between the wide touchscreen and the picture in his hand. He hardly paid her any mind for several minutes, and for that, Marinette was thankful; her face right now was probably the picture of dumbfounded admiration.

“So,” Mounsier Agreste offered after a few minutes of silence. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son, Mme. Dupain-Cheng?”

His voice had regained that pointed, almost dangerous quality to it, and Marinette flinched slightly. Thankfully, the man’s attention was caught in his work, so he didn’t notice see the very obvious embarrassment color her cheeks a deep crimson.

“Ah…” Marinette scratched her cheek.

“We are… just friends.” She sighed, unable to keep the regret from her tone. “His best friend Nino, you might know?” Marinette paused, but he so much as look up. With a dry gulp, she continued. “W-well, Adrien’s best friend Nino is in a… he’s dating my best friend, Alya. So… the four of us, um, hang out together. Socially. And at school, too - Adrien’s been… been, uhh, in my class since he started school with us. So…” She sort of just let her explanation taper out, not really sure where she was going with that.

They continued to sit quietly for a time after that, save for Marinette’s heart pounding in her ears and the occasional tap-tap against the designscape. She was torn between excusing herself, trying to think of anything that might not sound stupid to say to him, or continuing to suffer in the near-silence.

Mercifully, he cleared his throat and looked up from his work before she could act on any of her escape plans.

“My apologies, I wanted to incorporate this while it was still on my mind.” With a few keystrokes against the side of the machine, a projecting eye - much like the one she had been interrogated with at the front gate - popped out of the ceiling and a dazzling splash of blue light spilled onto the wall across from Adrien’s portraits. A narrow, blank canvas hung on the wall there - Marinette hadn’t really given it a second thought upon entering - but now it’s utility made perfect sense.

A life-sized drawing of the leather outfit, now accommodating Marinette’s suggestion for red patent, appeared and occupied the space perfectly. The empty canvas was almost poetic as Marinette stared, wide-eyed, at the creation come to life before her. With her suggestion, so too did the outfit itself come to life; the shine of the red seemed more animated than the maturity of browns and whites. Along the bottom lining, Monsieur Agreste had also recolored the peek-a-boo fabric to follow a nautical schema - vertical stripes of blue, white and red seemed to wink out from the folds of the dress, and it definitely looked youthful. Sexy, even, Marinette dared to admit.

“Wow…” She breathed, amazed by how quickly and masterfully her idea materialized by his hand.

“Indeed,” he said, agreeing with the sentiment of Marinette’s exclamation. The girl realized she was gaping, mouth-open, so she firmly closed her lips and tried to her fix her face into something appreciative but not too starstruck.

With all the practice I’ve had with Adrien, I’m pretty sure I’ve got that one down.

A contented sigh escaped Adrien’s father, and with a quick hand, he turned off the projection and the canvas returned to its former off-white, all creativity sterilized by the flip of a switch. Marinette’s eyes could still see the echo of an image, splotchy as her focus blinked back into reality.

“Now, where were we?” Monsieur Agreste came down from the top-level and stood with his back to her, which Marinette found less intimidating, They both faced a wall of Adrien.

“You said you’re a friend of Adrien’s from school - and, oh, that’s right. A gift in thanks? And what did he do that would be so deserving of such a kindness from you?” He turned his head slightly and smiled, laughing just one breath of a laugh, but Marinette felt the tension in her stomach unknot slightly.

She considered how best to respond this time, not wanting to ramble or putter through her sentences like she had been. Honesty felt right, and Adrien was someone with his whole day planned out, so it’s not like she might be sharing anything he wouldn’t already know. Maybe it had been a stroke of good luck with their designer-to-designer moment, but she felt like maybe he respected her… just a tiny bit?

“Well… we crossed paths recently since I work so near to your home… I fell at work a few days ago and messed up my shoulder, and Adrien stayed to help me sort out my mess with the customers. I was willing to pay him, but he declined - so I thought, um, this would at least be a small form of thanks.”

Looking at the bag, Marinette smiled. “He even made a sale. I know it’s probably… not the best idea for him to do something like that, with his fame, so I hope he didn’t get in trouble because of me. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Adrien’s father turned, a brow raised. “That... sounds like my stubborn son.”

She laughed lightly. “Stubborn is a good word for him.” They met eyes, and Marinette was relieved to actually see him smiling.

Proudly.

“And again, I really am sorry for just showing up like this, sir. If I had known Adrien was out I would have just dropped this off,” she gestured towards her bag, ducking her head shyly. “I appreciate you letting me wait with you, but I do have to get to work soon.”

Adrien’s father adjusted his glasses and glanced at his watch. “I see. Well, your apology is not necessary Mme. Dupain-Cheng, but it is a nice gesture. You can leave the… gift with me, and I’ll make sure Adrien receives it once he gets home.”

Beaming, Marinette nodded and stood up, walking out of the pit towards the door. He followed a few steps behind her into the foyer. She put a hand on the door and prepared to open it when he caught her attention.

“By the way,” he said, voice curious. “What was the name again?”

She blinked, admittedly a little hurt. “M-my name? It’s Marinette Dup -- ”

“No, I’m sorry,” Monsieur Agreste stopped her with a hand. “I meant, the name of your place of work. The flower shop.”

“O-oh! I don’t think I said it, my apologies… It’s Sous les feuilles si vert.” She dug in her purse quickly, Tikki pressed against the very bottom. The kwami read her mind and lifted a business card for Marinette to grab. “I, um, imagine you have a florist on hand… but if you ever need anything quickly we are over off Courtier St.!” She nodded fervently as he accepted the card, and Mounsier Agreste studied the piece of cardstock in his hand.

“Under leaves so green? An interesting name…” He tucked the card in his breast pocket as Marinette pulled open the door.

“We can’t take credit, that was the name when my parents bought it. The previous owner said it’s from a famous poet… William Blake, I think.”

The man wrinkled his nose. “English. I should have figured.”

Marinette giggled nervously and started out the door, waving. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. Thank you again, sir, for everything!”

His expression was strange, looking caught between amusement and something else she couldn’t identify, and Marinette found couldn’t get around the gate fast enough. Each step was a beat to her mantra, repeating again and again as she made her way to work.

You. Just. Met. Adrien’s. Dad. THE. GABRIEL. AGRESTE. You. Just. Met. Adrien’s. Dad.

THE.

GABRIEL.

AGRESTE.

That had gone far better than she could have imagined - if she had been planning on meeting Gabriel Agreste today. Seeing Adrien and dumping three years’ worth of feelings in his lap, with gifts in tow? Yeah, that part could have gone better.

Still, the whole way to the shop, Marinette felt a spring in her step, a lightness in her chest. The blaring philharmonic that carried her to the mansion had quieted, shifted keys, and now the melody was brighter. It twisted and bloomed, unrefined around the edges and a little off-tempo, but Marinette found that she rather enjoyed it. It felt natural and beautiful and right.

This felt right.

The question came a second time, with a different inflection but a surprising amount of patience on his father’s behalf.

“Are you in a relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Adrien had half a mind to wonder what he looked like at that moment, because he was pretty sure his face would have made for a good laugh for Nino. Alya, too. Heck, even probably Marinette would get a kick out of his scrunched lips, drawn brow but concerningly wide eyes. It was a mixture of shock and embarrassment and a stupid amount of pride. That emotion definitely doesn’t belong there, mixed in with the others. Adrien was at least self-aware enough to recognize that, but he didn’t question it, either. That’s love for you.

“I’m not...” Adrien managed, meeting his father’s gaze. “But... I... want to be.”

Across the table-desk-runway, his father’s face remained passive, but a curious finger tapped his pointed chin.

“I see. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Adrien was wondering if this was a joke and some washed up celebrity was going to pop up and shout “You been PUNK’D!” in his face. Then again, that was even less likely a thing his father would agree to... So, somehow, this conversation was really, actually happening.

Struggling to find the words, Adrien leaned over his knees and rested his elbows on his leg. “I… I didn’t even think you knew who Marinette was. It’s all still sort of… new… I’m just sort of admitting it to myself, to be honest.”

A beat of silence passed, and he heard his dad release a long sigh. The clipped sound of dress shoes on cold floors were like short little needles, pricking his ears until the swishing of fabric told him that his father was sitting beside him.

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” His voice was gentler than Adrien was used to, and the blond glanced at him. Glasses off, his father looked uncharacteristically pensive - regretful, almost. “You’re not wrong. I didn’t know her name until this morning, and I feel… I’m not sure how I feel, actually.”

Adrien blinked, too surprised to react verbally, just watching his father return the glasses to his face and lean back, crossing one leg over his knee and looking at the ceiling.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I at least hope you know that you can talk to me about anything.” With a little grin, he glimpsed towards his son. “Even about girls, believe it or not.”

Adrien leaned back too, folding his hands in his lap. His fumbling thumbs seemed much more interesting all of the sudden, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with the redness he felt rush across his cheeks.

“Father,” he stopped to clear his throat, surprised by how choked he sounded. “I, um, thank you. I… I know that. I guess I just haven’t figured out a lot of this myself yet. I only just discovered that she has feelings for me, so I’m trying to make sense of it… I don’t want to freak her out by coming on too strong, but I hate not having my phone. She’s… she’s sort of amazing, Dad.” He laughed through the stress, halting momentarily to gaze down the length of the room. A portrait of molten gold, beautiful as the woman portrayed there, made Adrien smile. Words were coming easier, and it felt like his Mom was listening, too. He imagined she would approve - but then, how could she not? Marinette was perfect.

Indeed, so wonderful, Adrien didn’t even realize that he started rambling.

“Her parents are bakers, and she works at a flower shop around the corner. That’s… that’s where I was, actually, when I lied to Nathalie a few days ago. I really was with Nino and his girlfriend Alya, but I wanted to see her and I just sort of got caught up. Sometimes I can’t even remember my own name when she’s talking about something, she gets really…” Adrien paused, trying to use his hands to explain. It didn’t even occur to him that he was rambling.

“Animated? I don’t know. I can’t figure her out, and that’s the best part about her. And… well, I didn’t want to tell you because… um, I don’t know. She’s really kind, Father, but I don’t know if she’s… uhh, who you would expect me to date,” Pursing his lips momentarily, Adrien turned back to face the man seated next to him.

“But I think you might like her if you met her. She’s interested in design, so you would even have something to talk about.”

At this point, Adrien was pretty sure it could have started raining akumas in the room and he wouldn’t have been surprised. A very large part of him still wasn't convinced this conversation was really even happening.

Adrien was startled a second time, and it was by a sound so foreign that could do little else but stare.

His father was laughing.

Really laughing. Covering-his-face-with-a-hand laughing. Shaking-and-covering-his-stomach laughing.

Laughing.

Adrien was torn between confusion, indigination, and shock just at hearing the sound come from his own father. Still, his lips turned up and let out a laugh or two himself; it was an infectious sound.

Eventually, through some breathy chuckles, his father shook his head and stood, turning towards the door. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for her, son. I am... happy for you, but I wish you would have let me finish.”

Adrien frowned. “Finish… finish what?”

Only then did he notice the bag sitting by the door, and Adrien balked. It was brown paper, stamped with a familiar logo across the front.

“Didn’t you wonder how I knew about your interest in Mme. Dupain-Cheng?”

Adrien just opened his mouth and closed it again, utterly baffled. Did his Dad go to the bakery? Or the flower shop? Had he gone through his text messages? But that wouldn’t give him away - he hardly texted Marinette. Adrien had just sort of assumed Nathalie had told his father about this morning, but he had already figured that wouldn’t have made sense for his assistant to do.

“These are for you. They were delivered this morning, in-person.”

“In… person?” Adrien accepted the bag and pulled out tissue paper, his hands shaking with disbelief and unbridled excitement.

A small piece of stationary was the first thing he could find, tucked into the silky face of a dozen tiny petals.

“ 绣球花”

For your help.

Love,

Marinette

He blinked at the Chinese. “Hydrangeas.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous #miraculers #fanfic #ao3fic #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #adrienette #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #flowershop au

18 notes · View notes