#I think it would be funny if he was forced to swallow a dog toy when he was little

[perfectlovevn]

premilo looks like he would squeak like a dog toy when you hug him

I mean he does kind of squeak in his voice clips like a rabbit. They say that high pitched squeaks can indicate when a rabbit is happy and lower ones means they’re scared.

I guess he might be both when it comes to Eris.

#I think it would be funny if he was forced to swallow a dog toy when he was little #and the noise he makes is just the ball #perfectlovevn #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #yandere vn #milo asks #about milopre

[erodasfishtacos]

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast. 

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula. 

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money). 

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess. 

“Kissy?” 

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed. 

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal. 

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs. 

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest. 

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it. 

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly. 

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little. 

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy?  I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder. 

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now. 

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

— 

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room. 

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters. 

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor. 

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out. 

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

 When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws. 

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier. 

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you. 

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern. 

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together. 

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency. 

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark. 

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years. 

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations. 

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?” 

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist. 

—

Thanks so much for checking it out :) PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS!

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[seyenna]

Philza and/or Techno and/or Ranboo fic recs

just some of my fav dsmp fics, mainly phil, techno or ranboo bc i’m biased but also a bunch of sbi and others

this one goes out mainly to zablr discord my beloved

pls tell me if the links don’t work

all of these are on ao3

rating\status(complete/ongoing)\warnings\word count\misc tags

ichor flows free amongst the iron by summer_rising

T\o\violence\13k\series\gods AU

Summary:

A gods and goddesses AU of the Dream SMP, dramatized for all our benefits.

First work:

  "Two gods meeting on a mountaintop overlooking the stormy sea? Very classy, Dream, I appreciate your taste."

  Dream didn't turn to look at him, but the faint shake of his shoulders let Techno know he had heard.

  "Scar's healing up nicely, I see," Techno mumbled with a light nod of his head.

  "Mhm. Cut nice and clean. Not that I expected any less from you, of course."

   ~~

   The god of power and the god of luck meet on a mountaintop to discuss Luck's standing in the ongoing political disaster.

We're Only Young by ImperialKatwala

G\o\-\66k\series\Dream & Technoblade

It's easy to forget amid the chaos and bloodshed how similar - and how young - Dream and Technoblade really are.

And when the sun comes up, you'll find a brand new god. by SkyboxZoo

M\o\violence\19k\gods AU

Summary:

The wounds from the fight had healed nigh instantly, but the golden blood still soaked Techno’s shirt. His cloak had gotten torn off and his hair had fallen out of its pony-tail. Ichor pooled in his boots. The man left a trail of golden, bloody footprints in his wake.

old gods (new gods) by WriterWinged

T\o\-\9k\series\gods AU

Summary of first work:

Survival, Blood, Madness. Philza, Technoblade, Wilbur Soot. Three gods who have never cared for mortal life, who play with them when they want to, who kill their toys just as easily. How, then, did a mortal end up in their hands?

This House Is A Fucking Nightmare by SilverWing15

T\c\-\17k\series\sbi

Summary:

AU Where Phil isn't quite as willing to stand by while his sons drop like flies

Summary of third part (my fav):

Does lingering too long in the shadow of a god make you a god? The voices in his head seem to think so.

His brothers know he's older than them but they don't know how much

OR: Technoblade doesn't think his brothers realize how different they are from ordinary men. After all, ordinary men may fight the gods, but they don't win.

It's been a long day. by BecausePlot

G\c\-\3k\Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

Sides are bad: he knows that much. He’s seen it tear people apart time and time again, so when he decided to separate himself from Tubbo and keep his distance, he knew he was in the right.

Well. He thought he was in the right, at the time. Sitting all by himself on the steps to the Prime Path, he’s not so sure anymore.

Yes, the sides might have torn the others apart, might have made them so weak that they have no choice but to fold under Dream’s hand, but at least they aren’t lonely.

So are sides bad?

‘I don’t know.’

~*~

Or, Ranboo looks out at the ruins of L'Manburg, feeling more lost and lonely than he ever has.

But, as he soon finds, he's not as alone as he thinks.

the voices in my head, they say a lot of things by rosyasteria

-\c\violence\1k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

Some days the voices didn’t listen. They didn’t let up. They screamed instead of whispered, relentless, assaulting his ears until they bled.

tell them i was the warmest place you knew and you turned me cold by rosyasteria

-\c\-\2k\Techonblade-centric

Summary:        

Technoblade cared. But in the end it just fucked him over.

For the majority of his life, Techno felt like less of a companion, less of a family member, and more like a weapon to be wielded. 'The Blade' they called him; never 'friend'.

It Leaves Little Time for Anything Else by mirandible

M\c\-\1k\part of series\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

   A young man aims for the top, but fate has other plans for him. So does Technoblade, apparently.

   (Or: answering the question of “Why does Techno hide his scars if they’re supposed to be some sort of trophy? Why keep your point of pride a secret?”)

the best requiem is a bar of silence (and I'll sing it, even if I must hold back my tears) by jello12451

T\o\-\10k\Philza & Technoblade

Summary:

   He can’t help the noise of celebration that escapes him. Techno- this means that Techno’s free, and he got his horse back, and everything is alright-

  Tubbo, filled with rage at Phil’s cheers, turns and impulsively shoots an arrow.

   He doesn’t expect to hit his target.

---

  Alternatively: What if Phil didn't have a bucket of water when Tubbo shot him?

Change fate by being aggressively kind by sircantus

T\o\-\13k\sbi, Philza-centric

Summary:

   “You do understand that you’re caring for the thing meant to bring destruction and chaos to our world, right?” The woman asks, Phil looking behind him fondly as Techno grabs at the ends of his wings.

   “He’s just a child.” Phil answers distractedly, humming as his wings get gently yanked at.

   “He’s the first of three to destroy life as we know it! Shouldn’t we, well, get rid of him?!”

   “Oh, no.” Phil raises his eyes with a sharp glare. “Believe me, I have my own way of preventing the apocalypse.”

   ---

   Or, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy are basically chaotic forces of nature, destined from birth to end the world and bring destruction. Most who hear of the tale of them are trying their best to track them down, and to end the monsters while they’re still young, still just children.

   Phil has a different plan.

   (In which Phil raises the minecraft equivalents of the anti-christ with love and support, so much so to the point where the world ending is really just a funny thought, and Phil has three kids who casually have powers that are bit more extreme than anything else in the world)

I promised you that everything would be fine by findingkairos

G\c\-\6k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   manifestation: (n.)

1.     an event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something abstract or theoretical;

2.     a version or incarnation of something or someone;

3.     an appearance of a ghost or spirit;

4.     the Blood God.

When he's young and still alone, still establishing his reputation as the immortal warrior, Technoblade makes up an imaginary friend.

Years later, the blood god is very real and very much a god: one that is prepared to do anything for their first and only friend.

the inner mechanism of a black box by Bee_4

T\c\violence, self-harm\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   Technoblade lets himself get imprisoned for Philza’s sake. He doesn’t plan on being there long. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Pandora’s Vault.

   There are things that will make even the Blade fall apart in due time, as it turns out.

carry all my sins by BananasofThorns

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo-centric

Summary:

Ranboo swallows. “All my armor and weapons and stuff are missing. Fundy and I were gonna go looking for them after the festival, I think.”

“I see.” Tubbo smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s just a festival. We could probably find someone to lend you a sword or an axe or something.”

He starts towards the stage, waving at people when they call his name, and Ranboo follows. The original panic has dulled to a cold buzz in his chest, but apprehension still wraps itself around his body like chains. He doesn’t like being without his armor and tools; he feels too exposed, and if something happens, he’ll be helpless.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, glancing back.

Ranboo shakes his head and hurries to catch up. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he repeats. “Everything’s gonna be fine."

Tubbo grins. “That’s the spirit.”

Rule 5: be loyal. L'manberg doesn't do well with supposed traitors. Ranboo deals with the consequences.

Sojourn by Lacy_Star

T\o\-\13k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

“Well…” Ranboo started slowly, “You see, uh… I kinda… don’t have a house anymore, obviously. Um… Phil found me in—“ He paused, cutting himself off and squinting at the floorboards— very discreet, “Phil… found me. And… um… He said I could stay by you guys. Like, um, by the dog house he wants to build?” He paused, then began to ramble, “But, uh, if you don’t want me here, I understand— and I’m sorry for coming in your house when you weren’t here, I swear I didn’t touch anything— it was just cold outside and—“

Techno just stared at him. And how, how was this the second time this had happened to him? How was this the second time he returned home after battle to discover an injured teenage boy waiting for him, seeking assistance with nowhere to go? And how badly had that ended last time, in nothing but betrayal and insults?

---

AKA: Phil drags a half-enderman home after Doomsday, and Techno decides that they can keep it. For now.

can an axe count as rent? by aboutfivebees

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

Ranboo’s struggling to settle into his new life on the Arctic Anarchist Commune, but at least he’s got bread.

or the struggles of an enderman hybrid to come up with a housewarming gift to give to his friends, who are just trying to adopt him

The Caged Bird Sings of Freedom by StarPrince_Punk

T\o\-\25k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

The Blade's stance was still tense, his body prepared to fight at a moment’s notice if need be. “What’s your name?” Phil asked “My… name?” The Blade asked. “Yeah. Your name isn’t actually The Blade, right? That’s like a stage name?” Phil tried to keep his tone light. “What’s your real name?” The Blade hesitated. “No one… No one’s called me by my name in a long time.” ------- When Phil comes across Ranboo in his panic room after L'Manberg's destruction, it reminds him of when he first met Technoblade. And just like when he met Techno, Phil's first instinct is that he has to help this kid. While living together, Techno and Ranboo learn that they're much more similar than they had previously thought, and Phil learns that it's not too late for him to be a better dad.

This already feels like more of a home by H3118ENDER

T\o\violence, death\18k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

As the ashes of L'Manberg settle the conflict continues to come to life setting the stage for a new wave of blood shed. Stuck slam in the middle of past and present friends Ranboo is coming to learn that even without nations to their names feelings and feuds don't die but people, people do.

A Shadow of a Shadow by unappetizingegg

T\c\-\4k\ Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

There were a few beats of silence, and then- “What are your plans, now? Do you need a place to stay?”

That caught him off guard. Surely he’d heard incorrectly. Phil was offering him a home, right after he’d orchestrated the destruction of his past one? It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. Why would Phil say that?

Then he remembered, he remembered Techno stopping him in the fight. He remembered being handed his book, the question in Techno’s gaze. He swore, in that moment, Technoblade, the Technoblade, had been worried about him. He remembered that he had been told to leave, to run, to get away and preserve himself. He had spared him, he remembered that Techno had spared him.

Techno had helped him. Phil had tried to protect him, to get him away from the danger.

They were there for him.

 ---

alternatively:

Ranboo is alone. But he really isn't.

Meritocracy by oddsbodkins

G\o\-\18k\Dream & Technoblade, sbi, medieval AU

Summary:

Dream is more successful than he'd ever imagined - but there's one thing that's been bothering him. Technoblade, his biggest rival, the Acolyte of the Blood God and King of the Arena, went missing last spring, just before Dream got the chance to duel him. Without that one achievement to pave his way, all the following victories have felt cheap.

So, Dream hired some goons to dig Technoblade up and pester him into coming back to the Capitol, for one last showdown. Easy enough, right?

Interlude I: "Promises to Keep" by Ozzyyy

T\c\-\1k\part of a series\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

These woods are lovely, dark, and deep But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep.

--

Techno has a plan. It's crazy. It's insane, it's actually just batshit bonkers. But if chaos cannot be enjoyed together, then what's it worth, yeah? There's a certain beauty in watching the world burn from the center of the flames. Phil intends to be there.

I Don't Want To Start A Fight (wouldn't you rather start a riot?) by KryOnBlock

T\c\violence, death\15k\Technoblade & Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

An universal ping rang out from behind him, the third and final he knew, and Phil sobbed, clutching the body tighter.

Techno didn’t move.

It always has been Technoblade and Philza, Philza and Technoblade. Take on half, and you shall never go back.

Sheltered by Lulatic

G\c\-\6k\Ranboo & Technoblade

Summary:

It was cold outside. But Techno never heard Ranboo complain.

That was the best excuse he could muster to keep him out.

Antarctic Princes 'verse by BirchWrites

T\o\-\15k\series\sbi

Summary:

Loosely-connected one shots set in an AU where the Antarctic Empire and the Dream SMP are in the same world. Ordered chronologically, but each fic can be read as a standalone thing

Summary of first part:

Oh shit. Forget arrested; Dream’s going to have to tell Wilbur that he watched Tommy get stabbed for being terminally stupid.

May we cross paths again by QueenLunaFreed

G\c\-\1k\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

“Even if tomorrow it’s just us versus the entire server, Dream, I’m telling you right now - I have confidence.”

---

Dream couldn’t comprehend the pacing contradiction in front of him, the weakness he could clearly see, but would never comment on. Because this man has been defying Dream's expectations since they first met, because despite them not being friends and having no reason to trust each other, Dream knew that Technoblade is the only person who he’d trust to do this right. To destroy L'Manberg alongside him yet again, this time for real.

leave me your starlight by findingkairos

T\o\-\18k\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

For you the world, Phil.

Once upon a time, Philza Minecraft is the only person who does not shy away from the bloody teen that regularly turns the tide of war.

This cements a friendship that will last wars, empires, worlds, and lifetimes.

 ---

(Featuring: Back to Back Badasses, healthy relationships, accidental deification, intentional world domination, and Phil's past coming back to haunt his best friend.)

#fanfic #dsmp #technoblade #philza #ranboo #zablr #fic recs

[thisisthehardestthing]

18+

DEDICATED TO @undermattsun​​

Skate Rat! Kyoutani x Reader

So, if you’ve been following me these past two (?) months, you’ll know that I have become obsessed with Miki’s blog. Not only is she a talented writer with a big brain, but she’s funny and cool and a wonderful person to talk to that has not yelled at me for my dumb thoughts and sliding into her dm’s. Yet.

Thank you, Miki, for giving us Skate Rat content and being you.

Warnings: uh, weed, spit, toxic behavior: possessive, jealous? i dunno. Aged up. They’re in college.

:)

Kyoutani sits across the room, the red flame of the lighter flickering in his wild eyes as he lights the bong, chest expanding as the milky smoke vanishes into his body. His eyes close as he holds his breath; you inadvertently hold yours. When they open and the smoke floats up, he doesn’t look any more relaxed, the frown deepening as he passes the contraption to his left. His bleached hair, with coils tight against his scalp, blends into the eggshell-shaded wallpaper of the basement.

You dated Kentaro for a year when you decided to end things with him. Well, dated is a strong term. You banged for a week straight, he would ghost you, then hit you up again three weeks later saying he was “busy” with “stuff”, before seeing you nightly again for a couple more weeks, this pattern on repeat. And fuck it, he looks good. His loose shirt is unbuttoned save for the third, showing off the tattoo saying ‘MAD DOG’ across his sternum in small block letters, underneath multiple slim silver and gold chains.

He knows you’re watching, making it a point to guide the bong to the girl’s lips next to him. You can see his mouth move as he whispers something sickenly encouraging to her– he always liked ‘em green and fresh– but he laughs when she coughs, dainty, tiny hands clutching at the chest of her too-cute dress. You watch her let out a breathy giggle, but she’s scared, her hands trembling from his overpowering pressure (and probably smell, axe body spray mixed with hash). Your eyes roll as you take another sip from the vodka-red bull in a cheap, scratched, yellow Mickey Mouse cup–you found it in a cupboard in the kitchen.

But the cup bounces, missing your lips and splashing onto your white t-shirt when someone falls down next to you.

“Fuck, Oikawa!” you shout, leaning forward so that the drink runs directly to the already stained carpet. You spot a drop of blood from the night Mattsukawa smashed his nose while crushing a can against his forehead. The man in question chuckles, slinging his long legs over yours as he settles into the couch.

“Reparations?” he holds out a half-smoked blunt, and you glance at his strangely slender fingers, before sighing and taking a deep breath. It burns, you cough, and Oikawa grabs it back from you, checking to make sure it didn’t extinguish.

“What is that mixed with?”

He just raises his eyebrows, taking a leisurely drag. As the smoke filters out of his lips, he says, “Iwa rolled it.”

You wrinkle your nose, but then fall back as your heart drops into your stomach and the entire room spins. Groaning, you clutch at your temple, throat raw from just that puff.

“It’s mixed with dokha,” Oikawa whispers into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. 

You mumble a weak ‘get off’, bumping him back with your shoulder. He’s too close. You feel sick, as though stuck in a vacuum and your feet got sucked in before your head, stomach lurching up– 

“Move,” you curse, shoving Oikawa’s legs from yours as you bend over, head between your knees, eyes screwed tightly shut. Oikawa’s teasing laugh echoes in your ears as you dry heave, forcing yourself to ride the high like a bronco. You’ve had worse, you tell yourself over and over, whispering it as you begin to level out, mellow out, the buzz starting a static that tingles from your toes to your brain.

When you look up again, the room spins, pleasantly. You’re in a galaxy, tumbling through time and space, and you fall back to watch the stars pass by behind your eyelids. Oikawa’s legs find their way back over your knees, but you’re floating too far away to care.

“How does it feel?” he whispers. You can feel the stardust tickling your nose.

“Fantastic.”

You force your eyes open, with more effort than necessary, and your gaze instantly locks with Kyoutani’s. His thick lashes that rim his eyes are a magnet that you find yourself struggling to look away from. That cutesy girl is straddling him, his tattooed hands on the globes of her ass as he guides her grind against his groin. You’d almost feel jealous if it wasn’t for his intense stare licking over your body, swallowing you whole. The girl’s head travels slowly as she sucks on his neck, her fingers poking out from the tops of his hair where she clutches at it. You’re calm, confident even, when your arm lifts and your middle finger extends. It almost feels like you can touch him from across the room. His frown deepens as he rips his stare from you and instead focuses on pulling the girls lips against his.

“Hey, Oikawa,” you chirp, interrupting whatever the fuck he was prattling on about, “wanna fuck?”

Glancing sidelong at his shocked face, you see his lips turn up in a small smile with a shrug, “sure, why not.”

Oikawa lurches to his feet, gentleman-like as he helps you up from the couch, lanky body bending over yours as you find your footing on the constantly osmoting floor. You can feel Kyoutani’s eyes on you as you take Oikawa’s hand to lead him to the stairs of the basement. Hell, even Iwaizumi’s eyes burn into your back as you disappear into the main area of the house.

The lights are brighter here, the smell almost strange as you emerge from the fog and into where Iwaizumi’s mother keeps a clean house. It’s slightly sobering, unfortunately, and you look back at the man dragged by your hands into the bathroom just off the hallway. His eyes shine with excitement, and you sigh as the door closes, locks and his hands find your face.

His fingers have the slightest scent of tobacco to them as his lips press against yours. They’re hard, almost forceful, and you find your nose crunching before you try and relax into the kiss. You haven’t had any action in a while, so you might as well see it through and then dip for the night. The room tilts when your eyes close, letting Oikawa lean over you as you bend back and into him. His palms slide down your neck, squeezing and pawing at your breasts while your mouths slip open and tongues collide.

You think about the eyes that stared at you as you walked from the room, probably knowing exactly where you are, what you’re about to do. It makes your heart pound in your ears, heat flooding to your core, in a steady rhythm. It gets faster, faster and you pull away from oikawa’s mouth with a gasp.

“I swear to God, Toru, you better open this fucking door right fucking now.”

The door rattles in it’s frame as you hear Kyoutani call out in his rough growl from the other side. Oikawa looks down at you, then over his shoulder with a puzzled expression, eyebrows contorting on his pretty face as he pulls himself back from his high-driven lust.

“Are you and Kyo…?” he asks, hands dropping from where they had slipped under your shirt. You shake your head, and Kyoutani bangs on the wood again.

“Toru! I know yo–”

Oikawa whirls around and opens the door fluidly, leaning casually against the frame, “Dude, calm down.”

You peek around Oikawa’s chest, crossing your arms as you stare at the seething man, steam practically billowing from his nose– or it might be the last bong rip remnants. He catches your amused stare, his frown deepening as he pushes past Oikawa, into the bathroom, and between the both of you.

“You can’t sleep with him,” he says over his shoulder to you, keeping a guarded gaze at the man in front of him. Oikawa whistles lowly, whining a ‘dude’, eyes scanning over the situation while your cheeks begin to burn. Did he just–

“You can’t tell me who I can and can’t fuck.” You shove Kyoutani on his shoulder, the deep maroon shirt a soft cotton. It takes you by surprise; he always chooses the best fabric. You blink, bringing yourself back to the moment. Back to focus. You’re too high to start an argument.

“Of course I can.”

At Kyoutani’s words, Oikawa quickly raises his hands, saluting a bye to you as he turns on his heel and strides back to the basement, removing himself from the inevitable combustion. Your fists ball tightly, and you quickly shut the door before Kyoutani walks out. It slams closed.

“Why would you think that?” your voice is dangerously low, and Kyo looks over his shoulder at you, eyes slowly tracing up the line of your arm that presses against the wood by his head.

It feels like minutes pass for him to turn around, his body twisting so slowly–head first, then shoulders and chest, then his hips–before he’s finally facing you. The multitude of chains on his neck glints in the ugly fluorescent lighting, and his eggshell hair is stark against the green tiled wall in your peripheral, but his presence swallows you completely. That tattoo is a beacon to your gaze. ‘MAD DOG’, beware, stay back, screams out and you swallow as you lift your stare into his eyes.

The thought of how unfair it is that boys always have such thick lashes crosses your mind, but then Kyoutani licks his lips, and you smell the weed, axe body spray–his scent, just wafting through the air as it fills the bathroom. He shrugs, then chews a hangnail from his left ring finger, not intimidated in the least by your anger.

“You’re mine.”

Suddenly, you’re looking through a crystal glass, his face swirling in a kaleidoscope as memories of his possessiveness rush back into you. A bulldog. He looks at you like a toy, his honey eyes glazing your body until it’s slow and sticky.

“I’m not ‘yours’,” you quote, feeling the heat roll off his body in waves. You take a step back. His hand darts out to hold your neck, strong palms gripping your nape.

“Yes. You are.”

And he crashes his lips against yours, swallowing your protests down his gruff throat and pulling you tightly into his chest. It takes you by surprise, your gasp letting him burst into your mouth with tongue and teeth, and you claw to push him away. The hand on your neck controls you, turns you until you hit the sink with your lower back.

“Kyo,” you mumble, turning your head. His lips moving against your jaw with fire, possessiveness leaching into your skin. “Kyo, stop.”

He’s harder than you remember, your hands gliding down his chest as you push weakly at his sternum. Each touch of his pillowy lips has your knees buckling. His free hand thumbs the hem of your shirt, and you remember something,

“Isn’t that girl looking for you?”

Kyoutani falters, pulling back to stare at you with apparent confusion.

“What girl?”

You beat at his chest, finally able to shove him away. He truly has a one track mind; when he has his sights on something, nothing else matters.

“The one downstairs, that was all over you, that you were all over.”

You press two fingers into the side of his neck where she left a faint mark.

Realisation flickers in his eyes before a lopsided smirk takes over. He grabs the edge of the sink with his tattooed knuckles, pinning his hips against yours. The clouds that are his lips come tantalisingly close to yours again. You scowl.

“You jealous?”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, “you’re the one that ran after me.”

He frowns, mouth turning down, erection crushing painfully into the bone of your groin.

“She’s dumb, can’t handle her weed, and I’m not going to take care of that right now.”

The snort that comes out of your nose surprises you. The feeling of anger towards Kyoutani reluctantly begins to melt away, although you’re slightly worried about leaving that girl alone with the boys downstairs.

“I don’t think I was actually going to fuck Oikawa,” you admit, stretching your arms past his head and resting them in a dangle on his shoulders. You stare into his eyes, stuck like a fly in their syrup.

He slams his lips into yours, the force bending you backwards so that your forearms lock behind his neck to keep yourself close. You’re more prepared for the onslaught of his kiss, tongues dancing to the memory of how it used to be. Fuck, no ones a better kisser than Kyoutani. And you’re breathless when he pulls away to peel the shirt over your head, fingers heading straight for the clasp of your bra. The one track mind flooding back. 

Then again, on weed, you always feel like you’d die if you weren’t fucked right away, desperation seeping into your bones.

Your fingers undo the single button keeping his shirt closed, pushing it off his body and to the floor while he sucks and nibbles on your earlobe. His mouth is hot against your cold skin. You vaguely register that the door is unlocked, but when he grinds against the seam of your jeans, your thoughts are replaced with just how much you missed being touched by him.

Your bare chests press together, disrupting your thoughts of why you stopped sleeping with him. Your nipples harden against the cool metal and small raised ink of his multiple tattoos. The intricate lines of the moth on his breast has you fluttering, and you moan into his mouth.

“Off.” Kyoutani pulls at the loops of your pants, commanding you, making you unbutton your jeans in between sloppy kisses.

You kick the heel of your left shoe off, and your mouth is suddenly lonely when he drops to his knees and drags the pants down your legs hastily. You tug your leg out of the jeans so that you can widen your knees, and hop onto the edge of the sink. Kyo’s rough palms push your chest back until your head hits the mirror and the faucet presses into your spine, but your discontent is cut off when he forces his head between your knees to bite at the tender meat of your inner thighs.

He takes a deep sniff, nose nuzzling into your panties, and you feel your chest flare up, holding your breath.

“You stink,” Kyoutani says with a grin, staring up at you with glazed eyes. Embarrassment burns in your face, you feel yourself crashing down and you kick his shoulder.

“Shut up, it’s not supposed to smell like roses,” you huff, almost closing your legs around his head. He chuckles, deep and throaty, and stops you, a hand keeping one knee open wide. His other comes to your mound, and you feel his thumb pawing just off-centre to your clit.

“A bit to the right, asshole.”

He grumbles, but his finger shifts and you moan, your voice echoing against the tiles, bouncing into your body as you grip the edge of the sink, abdomen tightening. You know it drives him wild to hear you, and your eyes close to revel in the pleasure that’s beginning to build.

“Nah, keep your eyes on me.” Kyotani stops his movements, thumb dropping lower as he feels the slick that’s seeping through the cotton, tucking the fabric between your folds. You glare down at him, eyes shooting open, and shift your ass on the cold ceramic that’s starting to bruise your bones. You feel the static starting in your toes, and you scrunch them at that same time that his tongue presses, flat and wide.

You flinch at how wet his mouth is, (does he even get cotton mouth?) how he knows exactly how to press against your skin to have you grinding your clit against his nose as he laps you up and leaves you thoroughly soaked, tingling. His lips move to suck on your sensitive nerves and you feel those first waves travel through you. Struggling to keep your balance on the sink edge, you arch your back from the faucet, gripping his hair as you pant and groan into your orgasm.

“Oh God,” you moan as he pulls away, licking his lips as he watches your rolling eyes and twitching thighs.

“No, just me,” he smirks, grabbing your jaw with rough fingers and bringing you forward. You wince as the skin beneath your ass rubs over the bone, peeling from the ceramic. You focus on his eyes, the golden glint in them, and at his contorting lips. 

He spits into your mouth.

He lets it fall onto your soft tongue, watching it as it slides down and you swallow it. Your tart taste zings your nerves, and your eyes roll up at how dirty that just was. He chuckles, fingers sliding down to grasp at your hips and pull you off the sink.

Your knees are weak, but you stand, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders. Your right foot is asleep in your shoe, and you lean onto your left.

“That was gross,” you moan, but you still feel your core clenching in need for more. You grab the back of his head and bring his mouth to yours, licking a long stripe up his jaw. The slight stubble of a fresh shave pricks at your tongue, and you bite his ear. He shudders, pulling his body tighter against yours. The buckle of his belt presses into your stomach, a cold metal, an off-white knock off.

“Do you have a condom?” you whisper, letting your breath tickle his cartilage, feeling the goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. You run his chains through your fingers as he turns his head, raising an eyebrow.

“No, we don’t need one.”

Suddenly your chest combusts, and you burst out laughing, forehead falling to his shoulder.

“I do not know where your dick’s been these past few months, Kyo.”

He shrugs, his right hand moving to rub teasing circles into your hip, his other hand lifting your head with your hair.

“You don’t know where my tongue’s been either, and you just came all over it.”

Your mouth shuts, you huff, and push a single finger into his chest, “no rubber, no lovin’, baby.”

He groans, rolling his head, his neck cracking lightly.

“I’m clean.”

“Kyo, no.”

“Just a thigh fuck?”

You give him a pointed stare–you want him in you–and untuck the wedgie of your panties from your folds, beginning to pull your foot back into your jeans. His hand flies to your shoulders, his other digging deep into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

“Wait, wait, fine, I’ve got one here.”

You smile. You knew it. You did date him for a year.

While he fiddles with his velcro billfold, you tug on his belt, loosening it until it falls open and his pants sag. Your hands stroke languidly up his hard length, while he angrily rips into the golden foil packet with his teeth. He smacks your hand away, and you pout, but watch as he unfurls his thick cock from his underwear. The thought of being stretched out by him again has your toes tingling and fingers twitching. His pants are pulled down to just below his ass–he has the kind that juts out and perks up.

Kyo’s lips find yours again, warm and quick. You feel him fiddling between your bodies, unrolling the condom down his shaft. Once it’s on, his hand grabs your hair, fist tight until you whine at the tug, your neck stretching out for him.

“I really hate condoms,” he grunts, then pulls your skin between his teeth as he sucks a blooming blue mark onto the column of your throat. 

His free hand wanders to your pussy, fingers sliding over the drenched cotton, peeling it to one side so that a thick finger slides inside. You find your fingers in his hair, tugging it as he pumps inside you, his lips never leaving your neck. Your skin bruises, glistens with his spit as he breathes behind your ear, nipping at the lobe. You pull him back against your lips.

As your mouths collide, his cockhead taps at your folds, his fingers circling around your waist to grab at your hips.

“Turn around.”

You glance down to double check, before turning around and come face-to-face with your bloodshot eyes, puffy lips and bitten skin. You watch as Kyoutani spits into his palm, the sound echoing along with your heaving breathing.

“How romantic,” you deadpan while he smooths it over his covered cock. 

He glares up at you, but smirks when he glances back down at your back, the curve of your ass. You make a show of peeling your underwear down until just below your rear, showcasing your cunny for him. Kyoutani grunts, fingers instantly reaching to spread your skin apart.

“Shit, I’ve missed this pussy,” he mumbles, more to himself than you, but you shiver, arching your back. You missed his dick, but you’d never tell him that.

“Fuck me, Kyo” you moan, catching his eyes in the reflection, the malicious smile that spreads on his lips.

“If you insist.”

Then the cold tip of the condom presses against your folds, your slick ample enough that he starts to slip inside. Your fingers grip the ceramic, your eyes rolling back as you feel that stretch that only he can give you. 

Kyoutani enters you slowly, savoring the way you pulse and unfurl around him as he disappears inch by inch inside your beautiful body. A body that was made for his cock, for him. That thought raises goosebumps on his arm, his lower lip pulling between his teeth. Not enough of you is marked as his.

You wriggle against him, whining to feel completely full. His warm palm presses against your middle-back, deepening the arch, his other hand grabbing a handful of ass that sends a dull throb of pain that makes you clench around him. You briefly see his eyes flutter, but when he sees you smiling triumphantly, he slams in, fully sheathed.

You yelp, jerking forward, palm slamming to the mirror before your head hits it.

“Careful,” you pant, breathing deeply, moaning as he leans over you and places a gentle kiss to the top of your shoulder.

That’s the last thing he does you remember coherently. His hips pull out, and he begins his relentless pace, pistoning so that you shake against the sink. He has you bumping into the edge of the ceramic until you’re sure you have bruises against the bone. Curses tumble out of your lips, his name floating around you as endless pleasure pours through your pores.

You don’t know if it’s the high, but you can see stars. Each rut into you pulling your core tighter, clenching around him as his cock kisses your cervix. You vaguely register that warm palm pushing you down even lower, your cheek grazing against the cool metal of the faucet. A particularly rough thrust has your hand flailing, the water turning on and running cold against your heated flesh. Is it misting? You gasp up when it pours into your mouth, water dripping down your chest and between your breasts as he laughs. You brace yourself against the mirror.

In your shock, your body tightens, the slick between your legs spreading messily as he continues to pound into you. You’re just so wet and he’s so warm. A little too warm.

“Fuck, tell me you’re mine,” Kyoutani growls, staring at the way he disappears into your willing body, your aching body. You grit your teeth in defiance. His fingers reach around to rub tantalising circles into your clit, his teeth graze the smooth skin of your back as his moans sink into your skin. Your head drops back in ecstasy.

“Say it!” he barks, thrusts getting sloppier, but his fingers drift away from your clit.

“I’m yours!” you plea, your mouth to keep that coil from unravelling. You feel that pressure, the electricity as it courses up your spine. “I’m yours.”

It’s all you repeat, begging him not to stop until you see nothing but green and yellow and white and, fuck. Your orgasm has you collapsing, your knees buckling in so that you’re held up only by the edge of the sink and Kyo’s hands around your waist, still circling your clit as you draw him into your cunt.

He moans your name, shuddering to a halt inside you, cheek resting sweatily against your skin. You catch your breath, the ascension of your orgasm has you floating and every single hair on your body prickles with hypersensitivity. It almost hurts. The water from the faucet drips off your chest, your hands sliding on the rim of the sink, your thighs slipping together–

Wait.

No.

“Mother fucker!” you groan, shaking him off you as you turn around to stare at his bare dick, the condom discarded and forlorn on the floor. “How fucking dare you.”

 “You told me you’re mine,” he shrugs, wiping the left over cum leaking from the head and licking it with a satisfied grin. Tucking himself back into his pants and picking up his shirt, he continues, “you’ve still got an IUD, right?” 

You just stare incredulously at his cockiness. He pulls the burgundy hand towel from a rung and places it in your limp hand. Your skin crawls, feeling violated, but you’d be lying if you weren’t still turned on by his blatant disregard of your feelings.

“Asshole.”

He smiles, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, “thanks, I’ll call you.”

You know he won’t. You grab his chains, ensnaring his swollen lips with yours, before he leaves you messy, naked and bruised. Exactly how you like it. 

------

<3 I hope you liked it Miki.

I wanted to make Oikawa cry, but didn’t know how.

This is extra, I thought about writing it in but didn’t know how to end it so:

He smiles, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, “thanks, I’ll call you.”

You know he won’t. You grab his chains, ensnaring his swollen lips with yours, your hands snake between your thighs.

Smack! You slap some of his dripping cum against his cheek, laughing as he angrily wipes at it with the back of his hand.

#skate rat! kyoutani #kyoutani #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani x reader #toxic behaviour #tw drugs #possesive #jealous #claudia writes #mine #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #hq

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Dog Days Are Done - fic

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Haley the dog, a quick bit of Barbara Gordon Summary: Dick is a good guy. He is. He knows that. Just like he knows that bribing your wayward, animal-loving, emotionally-traumatized brother to come see you with a puppy is exactly what all good guys do. That was a fact. A/N: How their post-Ric/everything reunion should go, but we all know it won’t. If Dick doesn’t bribe Damian at least once with that dog in canon then everything is a waste.

~~

Dick nervously stared at the phone on the counter. Bit his tongue and looked away. Sheepishly glanced back.

“I know you want to.” Barbara hummed in his ear. Softly, though. Gently. Knowingly. “I’m not going to do it for you.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Dick mumbled, sighing as he pulled his mask from his face. He’d just gotten back from patrol, and it’d been a rough night. Been a rough night after a rough few months.

And Babs knew him way too well.

Because it’s not like he’d said anything. Not overly, anyway. Hints, here and there. Probably. Nothing more. But she knew. Of course she knew.

“I know.” She chuckled. “He’d probably hang up on me if I called anyway.”

Dick smiled. Yeah. Probably.

“…You’re the only one he’s wanted to talk to anyway.” Barbara whispered. A moment to let that sink in, then a lighthearted snort. “You picked a shitty time to be an amnesiac.”

Dick gave a little laugh too. “Yeah, yeah.”

“…I’ll give you an hour.” Barbara decided.

“Or what?”

“Or a certain wayward young hero will be getting a call about a neglected puppy in an abandoned Bludhaven apartment building.” She said cheerfully. Without any other warning, she cut the line to the communicator.

Dick could only roll his eyes.

But…she was also right. He needed to do this. He did.

So he got a water bottle, chugged it, changed his clothes, fed Haley, took her for a walk, gave her a little more food, gave her some treats, took her out for one more potty time, then found himself back at that counter. Staring at that phone.

He hit the button to light up the screen. It’d been fifty minutes since Barbara had hung up. He had ten minutes before she forced his hand. Because he knew she absolutely would – especially after she went through all that work to actually find the number.

He inhaled to steel himself, but before he could exhale, he heard Haley suddenly puke in the corner.

He looked over to the poor puppy, who looked at him sadly, and smirked.

Well, that’s as good a reason as any.

Dick turned back to the phone, picking it up without thinking about it, and finding the speed dial option that he still had programmed. That he never deleted. That Barbara had already put the new, recently-unknown number underneath.

He bit his lip as the line rang, anxieties running rampant through his brain. What if he didn’t answer? What if he didn’t want to? What if he couldn’t? What if he was dead?

The line rang three times. Four. Five. Six.

It was ring seven that the line finally clicked.

“…This is Damian.”

Dick’s shoulders dropped, his heart loosened.

“Kiddo?” Dick asked, but found his voice was hardly a whisper. He cleared his throat, tried to gather himself back up. “Hey, kiddo.”

Damian said nothing.

“This is Dick.” He said dumbly. “This, uh…did…did your dad tell you?”

“That you regained your memory? Yes.” Damian murmured. Dick felt himself wincing. Because…for once in his life, he couldn’t read him. He couldn’t read Damian. “I just…am…coming to terms with it.”

“…Oh.” Dick responded. “Do you…do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Damian said. Instantly, flatly. So like the little boy Dick had met so many years ago. There was a beat of silence, then. “Did you need something?”

“Uh…yes!” Hope bloomed in Dick’s chest. “Yes, actually, I, uh…you talk to Babs recently?”

“No. Why would Gordon and I be in correspondence?”

“Just wondering. I, um…” Dick smiled, tried to throw it into his voice. “I got a dog.”

There was a moment. “You what.”

“Well, I didn’t get her, I found her. Saved her from street assholes. And she’s not a dog, she’s a puppy. Special needs, too. Has three legs.”

“Congenital or traumatic amputation?”

“Uh…what?”

Damian sighed in frustration. “Was she born like that or is it due to injury?”

“Oh.” Dick turned. Haley was still staring sadly at her pile of vomit. “Born like that, it looks like.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to? See her, I mean. I can send you pictures of her. She’s super cute.” Dick rambled quickly. “But I mean, that’s why I called. I…I don’t know if I’m taking care of her right.”

“If she was born without the limb, she’s probably fine. But if you’re concerned, I’m sure there’s a vet in Bludhaven.”

“Well, yeah, sure. But like.” Dick laughed nervously. “You’re great with dogs. Look at Titus! Even Ace flourished with your attention. How do I get Haley to act like Titus and Ace?”

Damian hummed in thought.

“Also…” Dick scratched at his head. “She just puked, so I…I think I overfed her? I don’t know.” Another pause, and he looked back to the puppy. His puppy. “Damian, I don’t think I know how to take care of a dog.”

And I miss you. He didn’t say. I miss you and I’m hoping you don’t see right through me right now.

There was another few seconds of silence. Then Haley let out a happy bark, and Damian sighed in resignation. “What’s your address?”

~~

It was three days later that there was a quiet knock on the door. Haley growled from her bed, jumping up and stumbling slightly to the floor. Dick smiled at her as he all but raced across the floor. He grabbed the knob and took a deep inhale. He closed his eyes, held the breath, then pushed all the air out of his lungs with a harsh exhale. Then pulled the door open.

Damian stood there.

Dick looked him over, catalogued the changes since he’d last seen his kid brother. He was taller now, and way skinnier. But not in an unhealthy way, in a lanky, awkward, puberty-just-hit way. The baby fat was all but gone from his face, and he was looking more and more like Bruce by the second.

There were also bags under his eyes, ones that Dick didn’t remember being there before, even given their lifestyle. There was a bag in one of Damian’s hands, but the other was free, and his fingers were curled around each other, picking and tapping at the nails nervously.

Damian had never done anything nervously in his life.

Damian wasn’t looking when Dick opened the door, had his head turned back to the hallway, like he was looking for an escape route, or regretted coming and was already thinking about running.

Dick swallowed away that last thought with the lump in his throat. Because he wanted to hug Damian. Squeeze him so tight he couldn’t breathe. But Damian’s body language said not to, that he wasn’t comfortable, not here with Dick. And Dick had to admit, after all they’d been through – that stung a little.

“Hey.” He said instead, letting his smile widen when Damian looked up at him. “Thanks for coming.”

Damian nodded stiffly. “I had some time.”

Dick chuckled, pushing the door open wider. “Glad you could fit me into your schedule.”

“Hardly you.” Damian scoffed walking past him, making a beeline towards the puppy. “I’m here to make sure you aren’t torturing this animal you appear to have kidnapped.”

“I prefer the term rescued, thanks.” Dick closed the door behind them. “What do you think, Haley?”

Haley barked loudly, but happily, barely containing herself as Damian approached. Damian reciprocated her joy as he smiled and crouched in front of her, placing the bag off to the side. It was funny, seeing him with a puppy, with a dog actually his size. Titus always towered over him, even as a baby, and Ace had knocked the preteen over plenty of times, accidentally.

“…Have you actually taken her to a vet yet?” Damian hummed. “Like, just for a check-up?”

“Yeah, after I found her.” Dick sighed, coming up around Damian’s left side. He glanced into the bag as he pushed it out of the way with his foot. It was full of new dog toys, and various bags of puppy food and treats. This kid. “She was getting kicked around by some losers. So I found a place to get her checked out. Just to be sure.”

“And you arrested those thugs, I assume?”

Dick shrugged. “No…but I did beat the crap out of them.” Dick looked down at his fingers. The scars of Haley’s teeth were mere shadows already. “And she bit me for my trouble.”

“Good girl.” Damian whispered, leaning down and kissing her forehead. Haley became putty in his hands, closing her eyes as he scratched at her ears. “I’m very proud of you.”

Dick felt himself smiling, despite the dig at himself. He watched as Damian moved, noting more changes from last time he’d seen him. While Damian always had the ability to be gentle, especially around animals, he seemed even extra so here, with this puppy. Let his pets be feather soft, held up his hands as the puppy decided that his lap was where she wanted to be. Floated his fingers around her torso as she stumbled up the small incline. Cocooned her protectively with his arms when she settled and closed her eyes.

Dick let his smile falter. Because, while the motions were sweet, and on par with Damian’s normal characteristics, Dick knew him better than that. And Damian’s movements weren’t necessarily out of care, he could see that.

They were out of fear.

Damian was afraid to touch her.

What?

“…How you been, kiddo?” Dick whispered after a moment. Damian merely shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You can’t miss what you don’t remember.” Damian sniffed. “It’s scientifically impossible.”

“Come on, Damian. Don’t be like that.” Dick chastised, quietly. “I missed you when I got back. When the whole family got together to kick ass, and you weren’t there. When you never came home.”

“That’s not my home anymore.” Damian replied quickly. “You’ve talked with Father, I’m sure. He’d tell you as such.”

“He told me what happened. What you said before you ran off.” Dick swallowed the lump in his throat. His own fear. Because he knew Damian. And if he said the wrong thing, Damian would run. Damian would bolt, and disappear off the radar.

Potentially take Dick’s new puppy with him.

“Damian.” Dick sat up a little bit now, watched as Damian flinched at the seriousness of his tone. Put his hand on Haley’s back to ground him. To emotionally support him. And Haley was already good at this, she just nuzzled closer to his stomach. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Damian bowed his head. “Yes it was.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Dick pushed. “What happened to Alfred wasn’t your fault. What happened to me, I – you weren’t even there.”

“I should have been.” Damian whispered. “I would have seen the gunman. I would have pushed you out of the way.”

“Yeah, sure. Then the bullet would have hit you and you would have died.” Dick tried not to sound angry, but he wasn’t sure how good of a job he did. “Would that have really been the better option?”

It was a rhetorical question, but stubbornly, Damian answered it anyway. “Yes. It should always be me over you. Always.” Damian looked up, but not at Dick. Kept his gaze forward, out the nearby window. “The world needs Dick Grayson. It does not need me.”

“Don’t-” Dick was lashing out before he realized it, grabbing Damian’s elbow and squeezing. He felt Damian tense under his grip. “Don’t you dare say that again. Not ever.”

Damian looked over, eyes half-lidded and dull. “Why?” He countered, the royalness in his voice not mimicked by his tired features. “It’s the truth.”

“It’s not-”

“I killed Alfred, I do nothing but hurt and torture and agonize everyone around me so yes, it’s exactly as I would deserve.” Damian spit. “If saving you or anyone else happens in the process, than at least you simpletons can convince yourselves that I did not die in vain.”

“It’s not…you can’t…I can’t…”

I can’t lose you again.

Dick didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he did what he always did. He didn’t think – he acted.

He used the grip he had on Damian’s elbow to pull him into his chest, engulf him in his arms. Haley grumbled at the movement, but Dick ignored her, holding Damian’s head against his throat, burying his nose in Damian’s hair.

“Oh, Damian…” He lamented. Then quieter, to himself, to the universe, to the very air around them. “What happened while I was gone?”

“…Everything fell apart.” Damian breathed softly. Painfully. He didn’t return the embrace, kept his hands firmly on Haley’s flank, but he did slump into the hold, lean his head exhaustedly on Dick’s shoulder. “Everything…I…I don’t know who I am anymore. What I’m supposed to do. Who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re supposed to be Damian. You’re supposed to be my little brother.” Dick whispered. “That’s it. That’s it.”

Damian shook his head. “It was through Father’s methods I got Alfred killed. He never acts, always reacts and that’s…that’s not working. That gets innocent people in the line of fire.” A small gasp. “But I can’t…I don’t want to…”

A whimper. A whimper from the great Damian Wayne.

“I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to kill anyone. Not…not anymore.” A watery exhale. “I don’t want to be what my mother wants me to be.”

“Neither do I.” Dick answered honestly. “But I don’t want you to be Bruce either. I don’t want you to be anyone but you.”

“But who is that?” Damian shifted to look up at him, so Dick reluctantly leaned back. He didn’t release his child, though. “What good am I if I can’t make at least one of my parents proud? If I can’t help anyone who needs it?” He shook his head, closed his eyes. “Grayson, I’m useless.”

“You’re not. You’re not useless, you’re not what your parents dream.” He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Damian’s. Damian opened his eyes and stared cautiously up at him. “You’re you, and I love that. I love you, just because you exist.”

Haley whined a little between them, and Dick felt her nosing at the arm he had tight around Damian’s back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry no one helped you when you needed it. I’m sorry you felt so alone.” He whispered. “But I’m here now. I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, no matter what.”

“I don’t think you get to decide when you get amnesia again.” Damian drawled bitterly.

Dick snorted a laugh. “Well then I’ll tell you right here and now, okay? If I’m ever unable to say it, for whatever reason. Know that I love you. I have always loved you and I will always love you. No matter what. Don’t ever forget it. Even if for some reason outside of my control I do.”

Damian didn’t respond, but he silently nodded. Leaned a little more weight into Dick.

“…You know, you avoided my question.” Dick sniffed his own tears back, gently running his fingers along Damian’s spine. The boy melted into his touch. “How have you been?”

“…Tired.” Damian admitted softly. “I’m so tired, Grayson.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have extra blankets, and a really big mattress.” Dick laughed. “Humour me, and stay a few days?”

“I…have places to go…” Damian tried. He even tried to pull back, out of Dick’s arms. Dick refused to let him. “A case I’m working…”

“A case more important than Haley’s health?” Dick asked. Damian sighed.

“I knew from the moment you called that it was a ruse to get me to show up here.” Damian hummed thoughtfully. Remorsefully. “Until I heard her bark, I assumed there wasn’t actually a dog here at all.”

“I mean, it was, but also not really. I want to give her the best life I can, and you’re the greatest expert on dog care I know.” Dick shrugged. “And…I’ve never had a special needs dog.”

Damian seemed to consider, then exhaled again. “The longer I’m here the more likely Father will find me. And I…” A hesitation. “I don’t…want to see him. Right now.”

“If you don’t want Bruce to find you, I won’t let him find you. Simple as that.” Dick promised. “Want to make a bet on it? Stay a week, and if he doesn’t find out you’re here, you have to stay another two months at least. If he does, I’ll go with you wherever you want to go, even if it’s back to where you mom is, and only marginally complain about it.”

Damian stared up at him. His eyes were still dull, still tired, but there was a spark there. Just a little one. Just a tiny bit of hope.

“…You’re ridiculous.” Damian chuckled. “And I’m starting to think this was more than just a plot to get me to show up.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Damian nodded, looking down at Haley. She didn’t open her eyes, but she did let her tail happily wag. “It’s feeling more and more like a kidnapping of me, and not necessarily of this sweet girl like I said earlier.”

“Well, what can I say?” Dick asked weakly, extending his legs until they surrounded Damian’s, and locking his ankles together. Now he had dog and child right where he wanted them – in his arms and under his protection. “I wasn’t lying. I really did miss you, kiddo. So damn much.”

Haley yawned, stretching her front leg out until it touched Dick’s knee. “…I missed you too, Grayson.”

Dick smiled, and leaned forward to plant a long kiss on Damian’s temple. “I love you, Damian.”

Damian smiled down at Haley, ran his hand over her head. “…I love you as well, Richard.”

“…Enough to stay for a few days?” Dick tried, leaning his chin on Damian’s shoulder. “Or, like, forever?”

Damian laughed – genuine, loud laugh – and flopped back against Dick’s chest. In exhaustion. In relief. Dick didn’t care. Just held his boy as tight as he could.

“I suppose I can consider it.”

#dick grayson #Damian Wayne

[pink-flame]

Lucky it Was Hotdogs

So! This is my gift for the @jatp-gift-exchange celebrating 6 months since the show came out. I just so happened to be assigned my friend @tmp-jatp as my giftee. Which is awesome because she’s awesome. She asked for angst and my first thought was my reputation is just going to get worse. 😂 And then I started writing, started over, changed to a different prompt two more times...had a few breakdowns but here we are! Basically all of my friends had to hear about my spiral the last couple of days so thank you and my apologies. 🙏 

T, I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

In some ways Luke thinks that it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Of course, if he had been asked to choose a way to go back in 95 he probably would have said old and in his sleep. Or maybe he would have been a smart ass and said jumping the grand canyon on a motorcycle or playing an epic show in bad weather and having some sort of electrical incident (Reggie wasn’t the only one who had been involved in that amp incident not that he was in a hurry to tell Alex that). Contaminated hot dogs in an alley on the night of their big break probably wouldn’t have occurred to him and it definitely wouldn’t have cracked the top ten list of his requests.

But now that he’s in the future, with his band and with Julie and with their dreams once again a real possibility...he thinks the hot dogs would have been the right choice.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how tragic it is that three kids had their lives cut short at the same time it’s always going to be at least a little bit funny that they went from death by hot dog. It lets him use the tragedy as a means of teasing Julie as she bites into her sandwich and it lets Willie give Alex an affectionate nickname that’s only a little in bad taste. It lets Reggie hover behind Ray when Julie’s dad gets the grill out and clutch his stomach dramatically in a reenactment for his friends amusement. It lets Julie look at Luke like the fact that he is a ghost is mildly exasperating but not inherently upsetting, not like it would be if he was a walking reminder of a car accident or the cancer that took her mom.

So yeah, it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Except...sometimes Luke wishes that it wasn't.

Sometimes he wishes that he had died from an illness or an accident or anything that would prompt someone to look at him and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Because...he does. Just sometimes. Wants to talk about how much it hurt. Wants to talk about how scared he was. Wants to talk about how even though being able to make music still (being able to make music with Julie) matters most it does bother him.

It bothers him that Julie is the only lifer he can touch (even though she would clearly be his first choice).

It bothers him that he fades into non-existence as soon as they stop playing.

It bothers him that he can’t even thank Julie’s dad for hosting their garage gig or show her brother that he’s holding it all wrong when he catches him strumming lightly on Luke’s guitar one day.

It bothers him that he won’t ever be anything other than what he is, a teenager with a guitar and a longstanding suspicion about the consequences of wearing sleeves while performing.

It bothers him that Julie will always be what she is now (an amazing teenage girl with a wrecking ball voice and a heart big enough to keep them with her through sheer force of will) but she will also become so much more.

An adult.

Someone with a job and a family and…

He can’t think about it.

Except he does.

Not all the time but often enough, especially at night when Alex is off with Willie and Reggie is watching tv with an unsuspecting Ray and Luke is wishing more than anything that he could find the escape of sleep.

So usually he ends up writing when he feels like this, seeking out the familiar sensation of pen flying over paper, words tumbling from the deepest recesses of his mind to collect into the shape of a song.

I know I’m being selfish

But feeling alive isn’t being alive

Feeling you breathe isn’t breathing

I just want this feeling forever

Instead I count every moment I’m stealing

“Why are you writing in the dark?” Julie’s amused voice cuts through the silence causing him to jump, a remnant of a time when he had anything to fear other than his own uncertain future.

He’s not sure if it’s a ghostly superpower or just the fact that he had been peering at his notebook from only about an inch away but it’s true, he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and he saw it just fine.

The dark felt more appropriate somehow when he felt like this anyway.

She flips on the light and crosses the room to sink down beside him where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s so distracted for a moment by just how Julie she always manages to be (beautiful and amazing and distracting in the best way) that he doesn’t realize that she’s reaching for his notebook until it’s too late. He tries to snatch it back fruitlessly as she turns her eyes to the words he has scrawled across the page. He hopes momentarily that she won’t be able to make out his infamously illegible handwriting but his hopes are dashed when she reads out the last few lines in a thoughtful tone. He has a brief flash of affection at the realization that she must be his soulmate if she can read his handwriting.

He’s distracted from that thought though when he sees the smile slide off of her face only to be replaced with a tight frown before she turns to face him, concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” He says quickly, hoping to prevent any of his dark mood from seeping into the girl beside him.

The girl who has already known enough darkness for a lifetime.

“Every moment you’re stealing?” She quotes back to him, setting the notebook carefully back on the floor. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

He considers brushing off her concern, playing it off, claiming he’s not even writing from his own perspective anyway, that he doesn’t know where the idea came from.

He can do that because he may be dead but the culprit was hot dogs and that gives him an out to make a dumb joke and change the subject and keep things the way they are now.

And if it was anyone else he would have. But it’s Julie. And he’s Luke.

She can read his handwriting.

And she can read him too.

If he lets her.

“You know how you said your dad made you talk to someone after your mom died?”

She tilts her head, clearly not expecting this question. She answers it anyway.

“Dr. Turner,” She nods. “Three times a week for a while.”

“Did it uh…” Luke swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry considering he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually producing spit anymore period. “Did it help?”

Julie’s hand twitches in her lap and he can tell she is deciding whether she should touch him. He reaches out to toy with the frayed edge of her jeans where they burst open at the knee. The answer to whether Julie should be touching him is always a resounding yes in his opinion but he also wants to let her come to him. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve even been able to touch each other and despite how much they crave it there’s a lingering awkwardness after all the build up.

“Talking to someone?” She asks carefully. “Yeah, it did. After a while I felt like I needed space to sort through things on my own but by then I was able to talk with my dad and Flynn too.”

He nods, keeps his eyes firmly on the hole in her jeans.

“Luke…”

Damn.

He has to look at her when she says his name like that.

He raises his eyes slowly, meeting her soft ones with nerves he can’t quite place.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

Her question is so small and yet so big at the same time. Such a simple offer containing such a big promise.

Always.

Wasn’t that the problem?

His always might not line up with hers.

He could forget that fact for a bit when the band was hanging out and laughing over nothing or rocking a crowd’s face’s off or when Julie was smiling in that certain Julie way that seemed reserved only for him.

But he couldn’t forget forever.

And he couldn’t promise always.

So where did that leave him?

“Luke?”

She breaks him from his thoughts again and he pushes past his caution this time, reaching out to link her hand with his, their fingers slotting together effortlessly despite the way one of them isn’t really there.  

He isn’t really there.

Is he...real?

Luke suddenly feels a strange rush of panic, all of the thoughts he’s been pushing aside for months crashing through him at once.

He must have squeezed Julie’s hand inadvertently because he sees her flinch.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says breathlessly (not that he needs to breathe, he’s breathless, literally, he’s dead), drawing her hand up to press an apology against the skin there, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls away.

She’s not unaffected by his sudden actions, the way her eyes widen for a fraction of a second is proof enough of that, but she’s also determined and she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Talk to me, Luke,” She says like an order and a request and a prayer all at once.

And he can’t deny her anything.

Not even this.

“I’m fine, I am...it’s just...I’m so happy that we ended up here with you Julie no matter what. I need you to know that ok? I just..I don’t...I don’t want…”

She waits as long as she can for him to finish that sentence but when he doesn’t seem prepared to, she leans closer, squeezes his hand, gives him that last push off the cliff he’s been teetering on the edge of for months.

“Don’t want what?”

“Don’t want to be dead.”

The words escape him in a hurried rush, one blending into another until it sounds like one long syllable of pain rather than a proper sentence. Still. He’s pretty sure the message got through.

“I know,” She says simply, her eyes sad but her touch impossibly gentle as her free hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I know, Luke, I know.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she’s brushing his tears away with the delicate tips of her fingers.

And maybe he is real, at least a little bit if his eyes can still muster up the ability to leak like this and damn it why is that what he’s thinking about right now when the girl, the living girl, he loves is waiting for him to say something.

He wants to think of the perfect thing but what ends up coming out leaves a lot to be desired.

“Julie...I love making music with you. I love y...I love being in your life. But I’m dead. And maybe...maybe it would be better…”

“No,” She cuts him off firmly, gripping his chin lightly to turn his face more fully towards hers. “Whatever you think you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

“Julie…” He tries again.

She’s already shaking her head.

“I don’t care if you’re about to suggest some noble sacrifice or push me away or blame yourself for something...just...don’t.”

Any protest he has prepared dies on his lips, the slightest quirk of a smile taking their place even as a few stray tears make their way down his face.

“Ok,” He agrees simply.

Julie brings her other hand down to grip his knee as though she’s trying to keep him with her by anchoring him physically, making him part of her, making him real.

And that’s that.

It takes time.

A hundred aborted conversations with half confessions and unspoken requests for comfort and love freely given if not freely spoken.

But eventually he gets used to talking to Julie the same way he got used to writing with Julie and singing with Julie and falling in love with Julie.

So steadily he doesn’t feel the progress until one day he looks up and there’s no going back, not that he would ever want to.

He’s dead.

He can’t get around that.

He ate some bad hot dogs, and that will always be a little bit funny. It’s also sad and scary and tragic.

He’s dead.

But he’s also so alive.

He can’t promise always but he can promise as long as I’m here.

And he does.

Over and over and over again.

#JATP gift exchange #juke #jatp #my fics

[m3kuroshirt]

GrimmIchi Prompt: Seashells

From this list

Words: 982

Warnings: making out

“I’m supposed to hear what?”

Ichigo sighed. Grimmjow was being difficult. That was nothing new.

To be honest, he didn’t expect the guy to actually accept the beach invite. Especially with all the other Shinigami there. But there he sat, in swim trunks the same color as Ichigo’s hair—thanks for that one, Urahara—holding a conch shell in his hands. At least it didn’t have a crab in it, though a little claw reaching out and pinching the arrancar’s nose would’ve been pretty funny.

“The ocean,” Ichigo said lamely, ignoring the fact they were already at the ocean. Grimmjow didn’t.

“But we’re already here. If I wanted to listen to it, I’d just stuff my fist in yer mouth to shut you up.”

Ichigo felt his eye twitch, had half a mind to leave him sitting underneath the gaudy, Urahara shoten shop umbrella like a loser and go play in the ocean himself. Maybe the tide would wash him out to sea.

“Right, but you take that home and then put it to your ear. Brings back memories, or something.”

“Tch, gotta make any worth remembering first,” Grimmjow mumbled looking down at the conch shell between his large hands. He was the one complaining if he had to be ‘locked’ in a gigai, when Urahara suggested he try doing human things. Grimmjow, naturally, was initially against the idea entirely, but when the shopkeeper mentioned the beach, he seemed a little more than interested. Until right now of course.

Then it hit him. Oh yes.

Ichigo felt the flicker of an idea, lighting the candle above his head. A dull, dumb, reckless, idea, maybe, but an idea nonetheless. He’d give Grimmjow a memory alright.

“Well, I think I can fix that.”

Grimmjow looked over at Ichigo, sitting in trunks as blue as the arrancar’s hair—Ichigo had also been swindled by Urahara’s charisma…or threat of bodily violence. Whichever came first. To say he looked vaguely unimpressed was an understatement, but Ichigo wasn’t deterred.

“Here, give me that,” Ichigo motioned to the shell in his hands. Grimmjow held tighter to it, frowning, like a child who didn’t want to get their toy taken away.  

“No, it’s mine. I found it.”

“No idiot, I’m going to show you how it works.”

“I know how it works.”

“Please?” Ichigo tried to level him his best sadm puppy dog eyes, and since he’d had plenty of practice with Yuzu, he’d gotten pretty good at it. Wiggling his bare toes a little in the sand, he waited for Grimmjow’s response.

After a minute of intense staring between the shell and Ichigo’s face, he relented.

“Fine, but if you break it, I’m slitting your neck with the shards.”

“Fair enough,” Ichigo chuckled out, gently taking the conch from his hands, turning it around, so the spiraled top was facing up, open end now facing towards Grimmjow’s face. He held it up to his ear, and waited.

It didn’t take long, Grimmjow’s eyes went wide, and his own hands grabbed the shell, on top of Ichigo’s, to press it closer to his ear. Ichigo felt a swell of affection, as big as high tide, hit him as he watched the scene unfold. Without thinking Ichigo leaned forward and pressed his lips to Grimmjow’s soft, pliant ones, snaking his hands from underneath the arrancar’s and placing them on each side of his face.

Grimmjow dropped the shell, it landing with a barely audible thud on the blanket. Ichigo felt a hand on each side of him, on his shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss between them. Ichigo moved one of his hands down, down a little lower, feeling the raise of his bare collarbone, and up, the thickness of his neck, muscular. Felt it moving as he moved, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed.

He tasted like the peppermint gum Urahara sold sometimes, Ichigo thought, as he roved his tongue over kiss swollen lips, begging for entrance. Grimmow parted for him, no hesitation, and brushed his tongue up against Ichigo’s, not fighting for dominance, just, there. Exploring this part he hadn’t before. Beating of a raging, reckless, heart clambered around in his chest like a small Urahara with a drum, and Ichigo heard the blood rush around in his body, much like the shell effect on Grimmjow’s ears.

A hand on his lower back, near his spine, digging dull fingernails into his skin forced a shiver out of him, as he dove deeper into Grimmjow’s mouth, wanting to taste, feel, every inch of him, barely startling when the tip of his tongue rolled over a piece of said peppermint gum. Ichigo swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat.

“Oh my god, will you two get a room?” Renji hollered from behind them. Ichigo snapped his eyes open, and watched Grimmjow do the same, pulling apart a moment later.

Cursing internally Renji for ruining his perfect moment, he turned around, and leveled the best glare he could manage…until he saw the sign that he was holding. And Rukia. And Urahara. Tessai, Orihime, Chad, Uryu (though, not looking remotely happy about it), Yoruichi (who looked too happy about it), Jinta, and Ururu. The whole damn crew, all holding a giant, shabby sign that read It’s About Time Idiots!.

Ichigo popped a bubble from his stolen gum as he tried to not look embarrassed at getting caught in the middle of a make-out session like some kind of teenager, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck.

Well, at least Grimmjow had something good to remember the day, he figured, watching the arrancar dart toward the happy group, claws extended as much as they could, and scattered them, earning shrieks from Orihime, Uryu and Urahara, surprisingly enough.

“Well,” he said, licking his lips and standing, “I guess he can’t have all the fun.”

“Grimmjow, wait up!”

#m3kuroshirt #grimmichi #grimmichi prompt #making out #kissing #beach au #backwardswrites

[dilfbane]

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard 

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic. 

Word Count: 7.8k. 

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy! 

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.” 

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties. 

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town. 

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed. 

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air. 

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening. 

“You don’t see that problem with that?!” 

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor. 

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now. 

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.” 

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed. 

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “ 

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?” 

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you. 

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end. 

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.” 

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.” 

He smirks at you, then. He knows. 

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?” 

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks. 

Tonight? 

One bed? 

You are screwed. 

                                                             ***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers. 

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay. 

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy: 

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it. 

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful. 

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one. 

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you. 

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG? 

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all. 

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting. 

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse. 

Actually, though? Not really. 

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” 

“Sorry?” 

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.” 

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.” 

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but - 

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch. 

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.” 

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him. 

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.” 

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.” 

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things. 

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

 Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.” 

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.” 

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers. 

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.” 

“Why?” He asks you. 

“You - really?” 

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.” 

“Yeah,” You  tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.” 

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.” 

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.” 

In reality, it’s several someones. 

                                                             ***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?” 

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring. 

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment. 

“I’m working on it,” He says. 

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’” 

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.” 

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.” 

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts. 

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes. 

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.” 

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply. 

“Did Tony not -“ 

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.” 

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t. 

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says. 

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret - 

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time. 

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you. 

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and - 

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.” 

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet - 

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles - 

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said. 

That you will survive this. 

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue. 

“So what do we do?” You ask him. 

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin. 

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

 “Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze. 

And then the Pink Cobra walks in. 

                                                             ***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with - 

It might be easier not to - 

Fuck. 

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on. 

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by - 

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong. 

You’ll never trust him again. 

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell. 

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out. 

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger. 

He’d looked as scared as you feel. 

And you have no idea why. 

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce. 

You can’t do anything, much. 

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles. 

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.” 

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look. 

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear. 

Next, he addresses Loki. 

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?” 

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose. 

And you know that you can’t let him choose it. 

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?” 

“The thing could be managed.” 

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life. 

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?” 

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess. 

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down. 

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.” 

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?” 

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth. 

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says. 

And then your body knows pain. 

                                                             ***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head,  drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still. 

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm. 

You breathe, and your body knows pain. 

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain. 

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged. 

You blink, and your body feels pain. 

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.” 

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again. 

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this. 

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on. 

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.” 

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?! 

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“ 

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.” 

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch. 

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content. 

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin. 

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body. 

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.” 

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this. 

                                                             ***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him. 

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm. 

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly. 

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking. 

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.” 

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word. 

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.” 

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.” 

That’s… different. 

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.” 

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“ 

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.” 

You nod. 

“Best get it over with, then.” 

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says. 

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted. 

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back. 

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all. 

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“ 

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” 

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad. 

“Will I have to - “ 

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.” 

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate,  quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern. 

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.” 

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.” 

“And you wanted to -“ 

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

 “Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it. 

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t. 

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety. 

You’d failed him. 

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.” 

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware. 

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.” 

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you. 

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.” 

“Enlightening.” 

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.” 

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale. 

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.” 

“I don’t -“ 

He holds a hand up. You still. 

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.” 

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort. 

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing? 

He could not - he can’t - feel the same. 

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.” 

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.” 

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous. 

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip. 

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.” 

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice. 

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow. 

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that? 

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you. 

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart. 

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?” 

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr. 

“Go to sleep.”

#picture1000wordswc #pic 4 #loki/reader #female reader #crack #so much crack #just a lot of references to bad memes and cringe movies that turns into all the angst #because for some reason i’m like this #guess which character from another popular franchise i based my crack villain off #soundtrack to this was 800 percent mouth moods #in all seriousness though huge congrats to @startrekkingaroundasgard #you deserve all the love #unfortunately i showed my love by writing insane crack fic but HEY #loki is in it so hopefully that makes up for the c r i n g e

[wintrcaptn]

It’s You | Chris Evans 🖤

Summary : moving to a new place, not knowing a single person, wasn’t what you had in mind. But wanting a fresh start was the main goal. Little did you know, you were now living next door to none other than Chris Evans.

A/N : I had this dream and thought it would be fun to write a little story off of it. It’s cheesy and I honestly don’t even know if he has neighbors where he lives but oh well. Hope this makes you somewhat happy during these crazy times! Please be safe and don’t forget, wash your hands! (:

The house next door to Chris had been vacant for quite some time and he honestly didn’t even know it had sold.

Until now.

“Dammit.” You groaned to yourself as your books broke through the bottom of the box, falling to the ground.

All you could do was look up and let out a sigh. From driving all night, you were exhausted, stressed and beyond annoyed.

Chris had just finished changing his shirt when he heard the loud ruckus that came from outside, quickly catching his attention.

He watched you for a quick moment before Dodger snapped him back to reality after he bumped into his leg.

“Hey buddy.” He muttered, glancing back at you through the window.

You were struggle to push the broken box to your door. To get it out of the way.

Chris couldn’t help but feel bad. Without a moment to process what he was about to do, he started toward the door, making his way over to you.

It didn’t take long for him to walk over due to being literal next door neighbors. But finally getting to see you clearer he was captivated. Drawn into you for a reason he wasn’t sure as to why.

“Um hey, need some extra hands?”

The voice came from behind you, startling you. “Shit!” You exclaimed, holding your chest with your hand. “You scared me!”

You cut the word short once your eyes met his, suddenly, you were at loss for words.

“I—I’m so sorry.” He muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was—“ he stopped when he noticed your expression, one he has seen too many times on fans faces.

He didn’t mind really, but sometimes he wished he wasn’t so recognizable.

“You seemed like you needed a hand.” He flashed a smirk.

Swallowing hard, toy forced yourself to snap out of whatever the hell you were lost in. Which was harder than you thought.

“T-Thank you. But I’m okay.” You managed to get out. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

Chris’ lips curved at the edges, forming a soft smile. “Chris. It’s nice to meet you.”

As if you didn’t know who he was.

You tried to collect yourself and return back to moving the box full of books. But unfortunately, it was useless. With it falling apart and the weight of it all, you were having a hard time.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” He asked, his hands deep in his front pockets. “It kind of looks like you’re struggling.”

“Struggle is my middle name.”

Immediately, you winced are how horrible that joke was, which only created Chris to chuckle.

You knew having help would make things a lot easier, but you didn’t want to come off as creepy, mainly because you knew you’d probably stare too much or say the wrong things. It’s not everyday you move next door to your celebrity crush.

This whole thing felt like a fan fiction. Which you read from time to time whenever you got tired of the real world.

So it was hard to look him in the eyes and pretend to be cool about the fact that he was your neighbor. Of all people.

“I really am ok—“ before you could finish your sentence, the books fell through the box once again, but this time, one of them landed on your foot.

“Shit!!” You grunted.

Chris strode over to you in an instant, and helped you set the box down.

His hand grazed against yours, and for a moment, you forgot about the pain. Until you shifted in your stance.

“Damn, that’s going to leave a bruise.” You hissed.

Chris couldn’t help but start to laugh. As hard as he tried to hold it in, he couldn’t control it. Before you knew it, you were both standing in your driveway, laughing.

“Great way to break the ice, right?” You cackled.

“Definitely. One hell of a way to meet your neighbor.” He said with a cheeky grin.

You let out a soft sigh, and finally caved. Nothing could be worse than that right? Besides, you’ll be too busy walking back and forth, there won’t be time to talk or embarrass yourself even more for that matter.

“So about that extra hand?”

He nodded and went straight for the box you unsuccessfully moved.

“Where would you like me to put these?” He asked.

“Um anywhere is fine. Thank you.”

He flashed yet another smile and made his way inside, and suddenly you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

‘Holy shit. Chris Evans is my fucking neighbor?!’ You thought you yourself. ‘Okay, be cool Y/N. Don’t be weird.’

As time went on, you were both going back and forth, transferring the boxes into the house. You shared a few glances here and there, and when you would catch each other’s eyes, you couldn’t help but grow bashful and quickly look away.

Feeling like a teenage girl all over again.

Chris on the other hand, he was amused by the way he made you fluster. It was something he was used to experiencing with some fans he encountered, but there was something different when you did it.

After a while, you had small conversations here and there. It started with talking about the weather, then turned into something a little more intimate.

He had asked you about your life, your hobbies, your dreams. And the way you talked about the thing a you loved, he was somehow drawn in even more.

You were funny, and not just in a typical way. It was the one where the laughter rolls up in your chest and bursts out without any restraint.

Talking to him, it almost felt effortless. The words kept slipping through and fell into place. You managed not to screw up.

“I had no idea people still liked the Backstreet Boys.” He chuckled, pointing to your shirt.

“Hey, dont hate on my boys. They have been with me through a lot of relationships and heart breaks.”

He chuckled once again, leaning against your truck, he arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t help but get lost in those damn beautiful blue eyes, that you didn’t realize you had unloaded all of the boxes.

“Oh damn, we did it.” You smiled, feeling relieved to have that part done with. “And now all that’s left to do is unpack those damn boxes.”

“But that’s the best part.” He said. “You get to set up everything the way you like and reminisce on all the random crap you find.”

“That’s true. But I’m too sober to get into that mess.” You chuckled.

He knew he should call it a day and let you be, but he wasn’t ready to say bye just yet. He wasn’t ready to walk away.

“Well, let’s crack open some beers and maybe order some pizza while we’re at it.”

You were taken aback by his words, you weren’t sure if you actually heard him right.

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, I’ve helped you this long. Might as well help you finish.”

You snorted and chuckled at the same time, shaking your head.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, I just have a very dirty mind, and well—“

He paused for a moment before putting two and two together and laughing along with you. “I mean, you could at least take me out on a first date before hitting on me.” He winked.

In that moment, you swore you felt your knees wobble and your breath hitch to the back of your throat.

‘Did he just flirt with me?’

“Trust me, you’d know if I were hitting on you. I’d use some of my famous pick up lines.” You said, feeling a tad confident in that moment. “And besides, I don’t think you could handle me anyway.”

Things were intense between you two. Tension so thick, you could cut it with a knife. But after a long moment of locking his gaze on you, Chris cleared his throat and laughed it off.

“I have some beers at my place I can bring over, and I could order us some food.”

You shook your head no and pulled your phone out of your back pocket. “You literally saved my ass today, the least I could do is buy you food. Pay you for your service or whatever.”

A smirk formed on his lips, “are you calling me a hooker?”

“What? No! I wasn’t! I was just—no. I’m sorry if—“

Chris could see the panic in your eyes and stopped you before you rambled on. “Hey, it’s okay! I was kidding!” He cackled. “I know what you meant. Don’t worry.”

Letting out a sigh, you could feel heat begin to radiate off your body. This is what true embarrassment felt like. Something you were definitely used to since all you ever do is make a fool of yourself.

“I’ll be back. I’m gonna check up on my dog and grab some beer for us.” He said. “Then we can get started on unpacking all of your dark secrets.”

Before you could say anything, he turned on his heels and walked back to his house, leaving you to yourself.

“So much for focusing on myself. How the hell am I suppose to focus when he is my freakin neighbor?!” You mumbled to yourself. Walking back to your house.

Chris was immediately greeted by Dodger the second he opened the door, and his brother Scott who was staying with him for a bit.

“Who’s that?” He asked, pointing out the window. “Because she’s cute.”

“Her name is Y/N. She just moved in—obviously. And please don’t start.”

Scott presses his hands to his chest, pretending to be offended. “Start what? I’m just innocently asking who she is. That’s all.”

“Scott, there’s nothing innocent about you.”

His little brother chuckled and shrugged. “You have a point.”

“Well if you’re done, I am going to grab some drinks and head back to her place.”

“Oh? You two are drinking together already?! Christopher! At least take the girl out on a proper date.”

Chris rolled his eyes as he made his way over to his kitchen. This wasn’t something he wanted to get into at that moment. Especially with his brother.

But he knew he wouldn’t let it go. That wasn’t in his nature.

“She seems like she needs a friend, that’s it.” Chris muttered. “Now let’s drop this okay? Besides, I am in no rush to get into another relationship. I am doing just fine with the way things are.”

Scott pursed his lips, not believing a single word his brother said, but he wasn’t going to push it. “Whatever you say, bro. Just don’t run to me when you start catching feelings, okay?”

“I won’t. Don’t worry.” He chuckled, as he grabbed a six pack of beer from his fridge. “I’ll just be next door, if you need anything.”

“Mhmm.”

As he started back to your place, he kept mumbling to himself, that this was purely platonic. This can’t turn into anything, it just can’t.

And for the most part, he truly believed he had nothing to worry about. But as months come and gone, and you two grew closer each day....

He soon realized just how wrong he was.

——

Chapter Two

#i was bored #im sorry if this sucked #but i think im going to make another part #marvel #chris evans #steve rogers #marveledit #marvel imagine #the avengers #marvel fanfiction #mcu #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #cevans #andy barber #chris evans x female reader #fanfiction #imagines #fanfic

[static-fanatic-1]

What about yandere kikyo zoldyck

Now the question is, what about Yandere Kikyo Zoldyck? So the answer is, General Headcannons!

General HC Kikyo Zoldyck

SFW:

• You could call her annoying, shrill voice and the constant need to act as if you are her kid. She will totally make you her personal pet/kid. Kinda weird not going to lie.

• Anything you usually do, don’t expect any of it to ever be the same when you are with her. She will treat you like lesser-human, like a prized pet.

• Everything goes through her, if you want to eat you will have to ask her in the nicest, most degrading way possible. Basically you will have to beg for anything, especially if you want to do it alone. And yes, that includes going to the bathroom. This woman has no chill.

• Despite being extremely controlling and degrading, she is actually pretty nice. If you can get behind the begging on your part and swallow all of your pride, she will be extremely affectionate and clingy.

• On the topic of being nice, if you are constantly good she will reward you with gifts, more privileges and a lot more affection. Like I said she is clingy, so no matter what she will hold you in a vice like grip while telling you how good you have been. Like praising Mike for killing an intruder type of praise. She will also get you gift she thinks you will enjoy, you don’t have internet so you are surprised everytime. Gifts could be books, video games, movies, literally any form of entertainment. Could also include candy or sweets she usually gives you every now and then. More privileged could be you wearing less revealing clothes for once, more on that later, or going outside.

• She actually does care for your health and comfort believe it or not. If the iron collar around your neck is digging into your flesh, you better expect it to be take and covered with plush padding and then returned the same day. She will play dress up with you and your outfits, outing on some make up she thinks will compliement your eyes. She also makes sure you are clean everyday and get the best products money can buy, both of you get the best of the best and she makes sure of it.

• Of course she had Silva to have kids and sex with, but he never really was the type she wants in domestic life. I mean don’t get her wrong, she loves being dominated... but she also wants to be the dominator and she can’t get that with Silva. More than anything, you are an outlet for her more sadistic side.

• Kikyo loves leashes, collars, little dresses and nightgowns, literally anything that an adult shouldn’t wear. If you are a woman (I usually always default to women) expect skimpy outfits with lace and plenty of cleavage as ass showing. Imaging a frilly nightgown in those erotic movies, that’s what she likes. If you are a man, expect something much much worse, and I mean bare bone outfits. Though, every once in a while when she feels nice she’ll dress you up in a suit and tie to look classy.

• Like I said, this woman has no chill. She will keep you locked up in a private room just to spend most of her free time in there either soaking your presense or toying with you. She will drag you around with a leash and tell you to beg for your meals. If you give her what she wants, she will let you eat on a plate as she feeds you. If you don’t do what she wants on the other hand, she will totally get a dog bowl and force your face into it, making you eat every last thing.

• Very, very freaky. Good behaviors deserve praise while bad behaviors deserve punishment. That is something you learn really quickly into your “relationship”.

NSFW:

• As stated before, Kikyo is a Sadist in domestic life and a Masochist in bed. She wants to be dominated in bed, she wants to pull the strings but be fucked senseless. She can’t get that with Silva, so she can get it with you.

• If you are a man it might not be too difficult to get you used to the bedroom, after all you have the natural assets needed to fuck her into tomorrow evening. She’ll grab your collar and pull you in between her legs with a lustful expression. She’ll lay on her back and present herself like a gift while saying praises and encouragement.

• If you are a girl than it might be a little stranger. You will be given a strap on and expected to do the devil’s tango. She will get creative too, vibrators, dildos and more. This also goes with the boys as she would use any toy she could get her hands on.

• Literally anything is game. Dildos will be used to stuff every hole as you fuck her, buttplugs will be a common thing. Straps and handcuffs for the both of you to enjoy, vibrators that will get anyone wet, and fleshlites just to make you a mess after her onslaught. God and she might even make you get some piercings down there for her pleasure and your pain. Piercings are so hot to her.

• What a kinky motherfucker. She’ll try almost anything if it degrades her in some way. You too. Wax play, temperature play, ice cubes, toys, pissing, whipping, ANYTHING. A freak in the sheets for sure.

• Oh god, she is soooooo loud too. Shrieking and screaming in pure, fucked out bliss, it’s insane how vocal she is. She literally had to soundproof the walls of your little room because Zeno said her little pet must have been quite skilled and that Silva should take some lessons. It wasn’t funny at the time, but later it became funny to Kikyo. She almost takes pride in your skill.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #Yandere Kikyo #Yandere Kikyo x reader #Yandere Kikyo Zoldyck #Yandere Zoldyck

[jawritter]

The Art Of Letting Go

Summary: You though you were searching for Demon!Dean to help Sammy cure his brother. When you do find him, Dean shows you just exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Created for: @spndarkbingo

Square Field: Dub Con

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, Demon!Dean (yes, he has his own warning), slight angst, dub con, language, spn level violence, I think that’s it...

A/N: This fic was beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks hun! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my MASTERLIST! Still want more? BECOME A PATREON, and get exclusive fics and make request!! 

People are affected by things differently. No one processes trauma the same way. Some people close up completely. They refuse to talk about what they’ve been through, and shut themselves off to everyone around them. Some people chose therapy. They choose a professional stranger as a way to vent, or get it off their chest. Some people get violent and want to seek revenge for whatever happened to them, whether that be to a person, group of people, or just the universe in general. 

You’ve seen it all. This life, it had very few secrets left for people in your line of work. You’ve seen them cry, kill themselves, go bat shit crazy and murder everyone they were ever attached too. You’ve seen them lock themselves in the house and refuse to come outside again. 

You often wondered what had happened to that girl. She was such a good hunter. She had finally come across the one thing she couldn’t handle mentally. You were pretty sure it would happen to you one day as well. 

In all the things you’ve seen, in all the horrors you’ve experienced, in all the shit you’ve hunted, you’ve never seen anything that held a candle to Dean Winchester. He once was a damn good hunter,  a friend, but had now turned demon. You know it was the mark that had turned him, and what it was doing to him that made him who he was today, but to say he was handling the trauma from his past life as a human to now swimmingly was bullshit. He literally took all the trauma he’d been through in his life, channeled the anger, took on the fucking mark of Cain and died  and became a demon. You didn’t give a shit what Sam said. Dean had done it on purpose. 

At least he was creative? 

You and Dean  had never been very close, but in all fairness, Dean was only ever close to a handful full of people. You? Hell, you were just another hunter. Not someone he was ever attached too. Not that he had time to even really get to know you anyway. You grew up in one of the many hunting compounds, and you joined about a month before Dean became the beast you were currently hunting. 

You had always idolized Dean in a way. You had heard all the stories over the years growing up, and you always wanted to work with him, meet him. Now? Fuck, now you were hunting the very man you swore that one day, you’d work along side him to save the world. Funny how that shit turned out. 

Sam swore he could cure Dean. You remain unconvinced. Either way, the problem at the moment was finding the bastard. Years of hunting when he was human made Dean damn near impossible to find, and you were pretty sure he was leaving the pair of you a trail of breadcrumbs that literally had you going  around in circles. 

“What, Sam?” You growled in the phone that wouldn’t stop ringing on the seat next to you. It had been ringing almost non-stop for the past thirty minutes, and you didn’t know how to tell him that you still hadn’t found his brother, and  were pretty sure you were never going to find him. 

“Y/N, listen, I just got some video footage from a convenience store about 30 minutes north of where you are right now. Dean was seen there.He beat a man to death with a skin mag. Can you check the local bars and strip clubs, see if you can find him?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, thankful that Sam was unable to see it. This was a first. Dean in his demon form, decided to beat the poor ass hole to death with a fucking porn magazine. He had a knife that was very capable to do the job for him, but this just proved there may be more of the old Dean still in here than you wanted to admit out loud. It took all the self control you had left in you not to burst into hysterical laughter, or ask Sam to send you the footage so you can laugh, and not be judged for it later. 

“I’ll check it out Sam, but I’m starting to think we’re not going to see Dean again in person unless he wants to be found.” 

The resounding silence on the other end was hard to read. You couldn’t tell if you were actually getting through to him with reason alone, or if he was just as done  as you were looking for Dean. 

“Just… Just try, okay?” Sam pleaded, and you could literally hear the fucking puppy dog eyes in his voice through the phone, damn him. 

“Okay, there’s a bar about five miles from me. I’ll start there and If I find anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks Y/N, I really couldn’t do this without you,” he says, letting go the breath he was obviously holding. 

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it Winchester,” you tell him before hanging up on him. He’d said enough for tonight, and a few strip joints and bars were all you were willing to do before finding a place to crash for a while. Dean may be a demon, but you were still human and needed at least another four hours before continuing this wild goose chase. 

You couldn’t deny as you pulled up in front of the old dive bar, that it was just the kind of place the Dean you know would have chosen to hang out in. You could hear the crappy country music blaring even outside in the parking lot, and there were plenty of blondes walking around in cut off shorts to choses from, adding a nice Backwoods appeal to the place that would have drawn the elder Winchester in like flies to horseshit. 

Human Dean was predictable, and you missed that. The only question that remained  was just how much of the man was still inside the  monster. 

As soon as your boots hit the gravel outside your car, a cold chill shot down your spine, throwing your hunter instincts into high gear. You didn’t haven’t even have time to grab your angel blade before your body was pinned to the outside of your Mustang with enough force to knock the wind out of you. The smell of sulfur assaulted your senses, and a scent you knew all too well… Dean.

You could feel the cold steal of the first blade pressing into the thin fabric of your flannel, and you shivered involuntarily at the hot breath that smelled of  beer, sulfur, and spearmint gum fanning over your face, Dean’s strong calloused hand had a tight grip around your throat, while the other held your hands behind your back as if you were nothing more than a blowup doll. No form of shaking, kicking, or moving at all seemed to be able to break his inhuman hold. 

“You know sweetheart, you and my little brother are getting on my last fucking nerve. I told you both to let me go, and what do you do? You chase me across the country like a fucking bitch in heat, all at the request of Sammy.” 

You swallow around the lump that was in your throat as best you could with Dean’s hand holding your neck, tight enough to leave a bruise. You knew he’d been leaving a trail for you, you weren’t an idiot, but you didn’t expect him to be so… well, Dean. You expected a stupid demon, like the hundreds you’d sent back to hell before him. Boy, were you wrong. 

“Then why don’t you just fucking kill me, Dean?” You asked him, knowing that if he wanted you dead you’d already would be, especially if he knew you were tailing him. “If I’m that much of a fucking pest, why didn’t you just handle it three states back?”

An inhuman growl sounded close to your ear, and you felt his solid chest vibrate on your back, his hand tighten around your neck, cutting off most of your air supply. 

You could feel your body responding to his administration, even though you knew it was wrong. The sheer, raw power that seemed to be pouring from his grip on your hand had slick gathering in your underwear and there wasn’t shit you could do about it. 

“Why should I do you that favor hun, Y/N, when you and I could have so much fun together.” 

Dean’s hot breath fanned over the shell of your ear, closely followed by his teeth, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine, and to your horror, more arousal pooling between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Dean,” you gritted back at him, determined to fight against this senseless attraction to the very thing you were trained to hunt and kill from birth. 

This is wrong, this is wrong…

No matter how much you repeated it to yourself, the fast growing bulge in Dean’s jeans against your ass had your cunt squeezing around nothing, begging the fucking demon to fill you up, stretch you in a way you’d only fantasised  about. Knowing the human Dean was packing, and a god of man that seemed to drip sex on bowed legs? What woman with a pulse wouldn’t think about it? 

“See, your lips are saying fuck off, but that little pussy of yours? Well, it’s saying come to Daddy.” 

Dean’s hot tongue licked from the shell of your ear to your jawline, and you had to bite down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that was right on the edge of your lips. His hand that had been holding your throat slipped down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping into your panties with ease, wasting no time in slipping two thick digits into your soaking folds, toying with your entrance. 

A deep chuckle ripped through his throat when he felt just how wet you were, and damn it if his fingers didn’t already have you on the edge of oblivion as they slipped into your cunt, pumping and curling slowly. You fought against the overwhelming urge to grind down against his hand to get the friction you needed from him.

This is wrong, this is wrong…

“Look at you,” the demon said, grinding his full denim covered erection against your ass as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, hitting your G-spot with terrifying precision. “So fucking wet and needy. How many times have imagined these dirty little fingers of yours were mine, baby? How many times have you cum moaning my name, like your doing right now? Better keep it down or you're going to get us caught, and you won't get to cum.”

You hadn’t realized all the noise you’d been making until he’d pointed it out, but here you were, all but saying his name like a prayer as your legs began to shake, the coil in your stomach winding painfully tight. 

“Dean, please,” you begged him, unsure if you wanted him to stop, because you knew this was so fucking wrong. You didn’t fuck demons, this wasn’t you, but be  fucked if it didn’t feel so fucking good. Dean was playing your body like a fiddle, and you were helplessly grinding down on his hands as he increased the speed of his fingers. 

“Please what, Y/N?” he said, chuckling as you did all you could not to fall over the edge he had you teetering on. “It’s all you sweetheart, all you gotta do is let go.” 

You shook your head no as he laughed again, sinking his teeth into your pulse point  hard enough to make you almost cum right there, but you refused to do it, you just couldn’t do it.

This is wrong, this is WRONG!

“You know what your problem is Y/N? You are always SO FUCKING TENSE! All the fucking time. You walk around like you got this big stick up your ass, and a chip on your shoulder. I did the same for a long fucking time, but you know what baby girl, I’m gonna do you a favor. I’m gonna teach you the art of letting go, and we’re gonna start right here in this parking lot. Now, cum.” 

Dean added his thumb against your throbbing clit, and as if on command from some invisible force, you came hard enough to blur your vision. The coil in your stomach snapped as your pussy clenched around his thick digits, your juices running down his hand and soaking your panties further. He worked you through your release until your body fell lax against the car, and your breath came out in short pants as you tried to stand on shaking legs. 

“Hope you're not too tired yet bitch, that was just lesson one.” Dean said, turning you around to meet cole black eyes, and a smirk carved by the devil himself. 

You knew this was wrong, but there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to get away from him now, so you might as well sit back and learn how to let go and enjoy the ride.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth​ @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​ @teresa-67​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

#spndarkbingo #dean winchester #demon!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #demon!dean x reader #demon!dean winchester x reader #demon!dean winchester x you #demon!dean winchester smut #demon!dean smut #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn smut #dean winchester one shots #demon!dean winchester one shots #jensen ackles #x reader inserts #jawritter #the art of letting go

[ku-ro-kai]

My personal headcannons

These are personal-just how I think the relationship that they were in.

Split into three categories

Warning; piss mentioned,spit mention,puking

Dabi

Soft/Fluff;

• he won't admit it but he likes when you gently caress his scars, he melts in your arms when you do it

• when you two cuddle, he hesitates on holding so he doesn't burn you

• You and him like to scare little kids when taking a stroll

• He shares his cigarette/blunt with you, it's cute to him watching you struggle with the breathing part

• You help him dye his hair on Sunday nights

• Dates are rare but he takes you out to the mountains to watch the stars

• you wonder if he needs glasses because he squints his eyes at small things

• He would be bad at aftercare at first but slowly get better with it

• I get the feeling he walks around the house naked to get you flustered

• He only let's you peg him on your birthday; in bed you once found his g-spot and he moaned so loud and came on your stomach

• He doesn't like talking about it-

• You and him have roast Sessions

He gives you silver rings with skulls/chains on them

Toxic /Yandere /Unhealthy;

•He gaslights you

•Puts sleeping pills in your food so y'all can cuddle

•Blocks people when he has your phone

•Monitors who you text and talk too

• degrades you when there’s an argument

• keeps you tied up to the bed if you think about leaving him

• dabi doesn't mind doing "it" anywhere, the thought of having it done on your parents bed turns him on

• he would have little star stickers for your tits that he'll make you wear during roleplay

• he'll overstimulate until your crying and using the Safeword, then tells you how pretty you look crying

• he's into cum play, he likes double stuffing you and if it leaks he pushes it back in with his fingers

• He would chain you to the bed and edge you til the sun comes up, sometimes he just walks out and leave you in a puddle of your own juices

• he has thoughts of you getting spit roasted by him with Hawks/ shigaraki, you caught him with a hard on when he laying down when he was thinking about it

• If you tried breaking up with him, he'd fuck you so hard and say "you'll miss this too much you won't leave,will you? "

•He 100% hates your best friends especially if you're avoiding him for them

•Facials in public

•Likes leaving you a whimpering drooling crying mess when he's done fucking you into the mattress

• Likes putting your hand on your stomach to feel him sliding in/out of you

Random/Funny;

• Dabi is annoying around you

• Y'all commit arson together

• dabi hugs you just to smell your perfume

• Takes naps on your chest so you can't get up

• Doesn't know how to play board games

• You dared him to get in a shopping cart then you pushed him down the parking lot, he fell over hitting a car

• Doesn't like fish but if you cook it for him, he'll eat it

• Lies too much

• You have to remind him to take a shower

• Eats your snacks when your not home

• Small kisses on your forehead

• You steal his hoodies A lot

SHIGARAKI

Soft/fluff

• He wears his gloves around you

• Sometimes he asks you to put facial cream on his face for his skin condition

• His showers were monthly but now with you, he takes showers every week

• He's afraid of touching you since he thinks you might turn to dust

• He plays games with you in his lap

• Doesn't involve you in any of the LOV missions

• He likes taking naps on your back when he wants to cuddle

• He let's you tie his hair during a gaming session

• You keep lip balm on hand for him

• You made him put on a catboy suit, he complained the entire time but he secretly liked it

• If he loses a game, he rants about it to you

Toxic/unhealthy/incel behavior /yandere

• Makes you be a little good cockwarmer in his lap, when he plays his games

• Let's nomu's take turns using your holes, he likes to sit in a chair from the bed, getting hard from your piercing screams

• Would turn someone into dust if they tried to get with you

• Has fantasies about you wearing frilly stockings, giving him foot jobs,

• There's days where he just makes you sit on his face for hours on end until you squirt

• This man will definitely have a piss kink, he likes receiving it or giving

• If your being a brat, he sometimes go in the wrong hole without lube or anything

• Likes spitting in your mouth, watching you swallow it makes him go crazy

• The days when he has to punish you are hard, he pulls your hair so hard afterwards you get painful headaches

• Forces you down on his cock to hear you gags, he likes going rough and hard to the point of making you puke

• Has tendencies to put all five fingers on your neck when choking you

• If you don't obey him, he makes you take all him in your mouth then makes you lick up the mess you left on the floor

• Keeps a leash on you and chains you to the bed if you try escaping

Random/funny

• he sucks at Mario Kart

• dabi and him argue so much over the last jar of facial cream

• falls out the bed a lot

• he asked for a water bottle once, you accidentally hit the back of his head with it

• Becomes clingy if you get him a stuff toy of his favorite character from a game

• Asked you to beat a level he was stuck on for while, you got way more points then he did, let's just say he never asked you to help him beat a level again

• You found a drawer that had aizawa stickers and notes on what he would say to him, if he ever were to meet him

• Puts his shoes on the wrong feet sometimes

• Gets pouty when you call him cute with pigtails

• You have to order his food when going out

• You caught him nibbling on your sweater at night

• Stares at dogs when out in public

• Always dusting the doorknobs to the bathroom

Bakugo

Soft/fluff

• Likes to cook your favorite meals

• Overprotective when deku tries to speak to you

• Has more patience with you

• When you two play fight, he's more soft

• Loves when you give him back rubs

• You wore his hero costume for laughs and giggles , he dragged you back to the room so quick

• You two have matching skull shirts

• When it's snowing, you and him have snow ball fights

• Likes making sparks to scare you

• When cuddling, he'll hold you in his arms on the couch, it's even better on rainy days

• Worries about you when your out for too long

• Buys you hair supplies if your out of them

• Your family loves his cooking

• This is cute to me, he likes squeezing your face to see you perk your plump lips

• You two give each other mean nicknames

• He makes you do his eyeliner

• His parents love you

• Would do your hair for you like braids/twist/bangs,etc

• He orders photos of you and him ever year for y'all anniversary

Toxic/yandere/unhealthy

• Leaves marks that you can't cover up

• when he slaps your ass, he makes tiny explosion beforehand

• Gaslights you

• Likes doing doggy style with a mirror facing you

• possessive of you

• Knows your passwords to all your social media accounts

• makes sure your locations on

• Branded you

• Likes to whisper dirty things he will do to you when y'all get home

I couldn’t put anymore in but I will continue 😔 HAPPY VALENTINES TO Y'ALL ❤️

#toxic headcannons #headcanon #dabi #shigaraki tomura #bakugou katsuki

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (I)

Part 1: How It All Began

 Here we goooo!! New series! This is from a request from my 4.7k followers event, with the prompts 22 and 23 (I won't put them here, cause I don't want to spoil too much… you can check them on my post for the event if you want by doing a quick research.) by @paniconthepitch .

It's a fake-dating AU with the best friends to lovers trope, and it's gonna be a wile ride!!! There won't be any warnings in this fic except for some angst and tooth-rotting fluff, as usual for me :)

So, I hope you like it! I'm gonna structure the fic a little differently compared to what I usually do (even if it's nothing extraordinary), so tell me if you like this first chapter, so I know if you like how I've organized the fic!

Tell me what you think, please! I'm very excited and nervous to share the first chapter with all of you!

Oh, also, I don't like talking about the whole covid crisis in my fics (I write to mainly escape from it), so even though the fic happens this year, there isn't any virus around, so no one is breaking distancing rules or anything.

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count : 4516

                                                              I

                                                  Holmes Chapel

                                                         1999

 It was a warm summer in Northern England. Sun high and warm and skies bluer than blue.

Your parents were unboxing some of your stuff in your new home, but it was the afternoon, and the weather was way too nice for you to stay inside. Instead, despite your tiny body, you had managed to climb on top of the stone wall that enclosed your garden and separated it from the street. Just a little patch of grass on the front of the house, but it was nice. You looked at the cars driving across the street, a thin layer of sweat making your forehead glisten in the sun because of how warm it was. You could hear your parents' distant voices through the open window of the living room. The air smelled of gasoline and blossoming roses from your neighbours' house. From time to time, a dog barked in one of the tiny gardens further down the street.

You were eating an ice-cream, that your mother had prepared for you by putting it in a paper cup. Some of it was sticky on your chin, but you didn't mind. It was good, and you were having fun looking at the new neighbourhood.

A little boy pranced out of the house on your right, carrying a bag to put in the bin outside the house. He seemed to be around five years old, just like you.

As he saw you sitting on the low wall, a curious expression settled on his features, and he tilted his head in wonder. He had never seen you before, and it was very surprising, as he knew all the children living in the street, even the ones who were older than his sister.

He thus decided to walk over to you and investigate.

You beamed at him as he approached, hoping to make a new friend already. It was your first day in this town, you reckoned it would make a great start for the life in your new home.

"Hi!" You waved at him, and his cautious behaviour slightly faded as he smiled back at you.

"Hi. Who are you?" He asked bluntly, a frown wrinkling his round face, chubby cheeks turned pink by the heat, and a bundle of dark blonde hair getting messy as he pushed a few locks out of his green eyes.

"I'm Y/N. My parents and I are moving in this house. Do you live there?" You asked too, pointing at the house he had walked out of.

He nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with your answer.

"Yep," he answered, popping the p at the end. "Why are you alone?" he went on, a lisp making him trip over his words a little.

"My parents are cleaning stuff inside. And I don't have friends here yet."

Again, he nodded at your explanation.

You remembered your grand-mother's advice about making friends, and reckoned that if you wanted to make the little boy your first companion in the neighbourhood, you needed to offer him something. So, you handed him the rest of your ice-cream.

"Do you want some?" you asked with a bright smile.

The boy decided that he liked seeing you smile. You were missing a couple of baby teeth, and it was such a happy gesture that he wanted to make you laugh instead.

He remembered the joke that his sister had played on their cousin that had made the whole table laugh. He reckoned that it should do the trick.

So, instead of taking the ice cream you were offering him, he jumped up and pushed it against your face.

And indeed, your face covered in vanilla ice-cream was hilarious, and he exploded with laughter.

But you weren't laughing at all, as the boy laughed at you. Instead, hot tears started to form at the corner of your eyes, and you looked at the little boy with so much hurt and betrayal on your features that his laugh died in his throat as quickly as it had formed in the first place.

When you started to actually cry, he was panicking.

"Hey, don't cry," he said, as if asking for a favour. "I... I didn't want to make you cry. I thought it was funny."

But you just kept on crying, and he felt so terribly awful seeing you like this that he found himself on the verge of tears too. Your eyes were turning puffy and you were sniffing, and seemed so miserable... he didn't want to see that look on your face, ever. He liked your face too much, actually.

"I'm sorry. It was a joke. Don't cry. Is it because you dropped the rest of your ice-cream?"

You didn't answer, quietly crying still, and he rushed to his house, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. And you were even more miserable than before.

So much for making a friend...

You were about to go back inside, finding no fun in being out anymore and wanting to clean up your face when you saw him running out of the house again.

He was carrying what seemed to be a container full of ice-cream and a spoon.

"Here!" He handed you the two objects, struggling to catch his breath after his run. "You can have mine instead. I'm sorry you didn't find my joke funny. Please, don't cry anymore."

Hesitantly, you took the objects from him, awaiting a new trick, but none came. You opened the box to discover some chocolate ice-cream, as promised.

"I'm sorry. I don't have vanilla one. But maybe Mrs. Richard has some... she keeps this kind of stuff all the time for when her grand-children come visit... do you want me to check for you?"

He seemed earnest, and his green eyes were full of concern. But you shook your head, eating a spoonful of his ice-cream.

"It's good. Thank you," you quipped, making him beam up at you.

He noticed that you weren't crying anymore, but you were pouting still, and he didn't like that look on you either. He wondered what more could he do to make you properly smile again.

"Why did you do that in the first place though?" You asked, interrupting his train of thoughts as he considered running to his room to get his new toy, thinking that maybe if he let you borrow it, you would feel better. But only on the condition that you didn't put ice cream on the red plastic car, of course...

"My sister made that joke to our cousin once, and it made everybody laugh, so I thought it would make you laugh too. I don't know why you didn't think it was funny, I thought it was fun!"

"You're not the one who got covered in ice-cream," you answered with sadness in your voice.

He bit down on his lip, and sheepishly shook his head.

"No... You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I like your ice-cream better," you admitted, and he beamed at you again.

"It's some very good ice-cream! My favourite!"

"Mine too. Want to share?"

He enthusiastically nodded. Climbing on the wall by your side. He handed you the tissue his mother always forced him to have in his pocket at all times. Maybe she was right, it was handy.

You took it with a quiet thank you, trading the tissue against the spoon and you cleaned up your face while he ate some ice-cream too.

And as you looked at him again, you reckoned that maybe it wasn't too late to make a friend, after all.

But you couldn't be friends if you didn't know his name. That would be rude.

"What's your name?" You asked.

He swallowed his mouthful too fast, making his brain freeze and you laughed at the silly face he made as a reaction. He had chocolate all over his mouth, but you reckoned that it made him look even happier.

"Harry. I'm Harry."

                                                            II

                                                         Malibu

                                                         2020

 "What do you mean lying to your family about us? What do you mean you need a 'plus one'?"

You heaved a trembling sigh. You knew that you were asking an awful lot out of your best friend but you simply had no choice.

Your cousin's wedding was in two weeks, and if you went alone you would spend the entire day hearing about how sad it was that you were single, and everyone would try to plan a date fpr you with this cute colleague they had. It wasn't helping that you had decided to move back to England after you would complete your PhD in California. You could not even begin to think about the people at the wedding who would actually make a move on you as the night advanced and veins were slowly filled with more and more liquor.

No, you most definitely did not have the strength to go through this. And all you needed was a tiny lie to escape it all. One tiny lie that would last only for a day and you could actually enjoy the wedding instead of trying to escape from it. You liked your cousin, and knew she would be devastated if you didn't go, so you really had no choice at all.

And all your hopes of spending a decent day relied on your rockstar of a best friend.

Harry was frowning at you, sitting across from you around one of the tables of the Cafe Habana, his pink cocktail since long disregarded as he struggled to understand what was it exactly that you were asking from him.

It was unbelievably warm in Malibu, and your table outside was only salvaged by the weak breeze blowing from time to time. You were nervously fidgeting, your hands resting on the wooden table between you and Harry.

He rubbed his eyes and readjusted his sunglasses upon his head, his green eyes piercing right through you as you explained the situation one more time.

"I need you to accompany me to my cousin's weeding and pretend you're my boyfriend, so I will escape my family's disappointment and all the drunk single guests who will try to dance with me."

"You want us to pretend that we're together. Like... romantically together?"

"Yes."

"During your cousin's wedding. In front of your entire family?"

"Yes."

"And you think that I'm the best man for the job because...?"

"You're my best friend. You've known me basically all my life. You know me better than anyone else on this Earth, it won't be hard for you to pretend like you know all the useful details about me because you actually know them. You get along so well with my parents. Plus, you're an actor now too! Even if it's part-time... You'll do great! Consider it like a training exercise for your career in the movie industry."

"Absolutely the fuck not."

"Harry! Please! I need your help!"

"It's a terrible idea! No... no actually, it's worse than that. It's the worst idea I've ever heard! I can't pretend to be your boyfriend! In front of your whole family! I know your whole family!"

"Harry... please... I need your help, okay? You don't know how they are, it's going to be hell... Half of my family considers that I am a failure because I was not married by the age of 22, and the other half begins to think that the reason I am still single is that I am insane!"

"For their defence, you do sound a little bit crazy right now."

"HARRY!"

"Alright, alright... calm down," he mumbled, raising his hands before him in a gesture of peace. "I was just joking."

"Look, my family is... on that particular point, they're a pain in the arse. I need your help. I will not make it through the day without punching someone if I try to go on my own. And Cassie is so excited at the idea of me going to her wedding! And it's in Scotland! It's gonna be so pretty! Harry, please. It's just for one day."

He heaved a sigh, but you could read in the way that his eyes travelled back and forth from left and right and the way he tugged on his lower lip in between his fingers that he was hesitating.

It was all because of your cute little pout and sad eyes. He couldn't resist those. Never had been able to, even when the two of you were just five years old. Damn you and your adorable face…

"I'll let you eat all the cherries I get from my grandma's orchard this year," you offered, making him smile and shake his head at you.

But you read in his body language that you were winning.

"H, pretty please... just one day... one day... I'll go to all your shows for your next tour. I won't ever tell you again when I don't like one of your songs."

He laughed properly this time.

"Liar, you're too honest. You'll never manage to keep that up. That's why I like you so much."

"Okay... but I will go to your shows. And I'll give you cherries..."

He heaved a final sigh, but nodded this time.

"Alright, I'll do it," he agreed.

"YES!" you cried, jumping to your feet to walk around the table and hug Harry so tightly he could barely breathe. "I knew I could count on you!"

"I mean... if I get cherries..."

"As many as you want!"

You kissed his cheek, loud and ridiculously enthusiastic, making him force a wince to hide the way he longed to grin at the gesture instead.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he gently pushed you away and you sat back down into your own chair. "I have a few conditions though."

"Sure, fire away!"

"Rule number one: no kisses, nothing happens during the day."

"Of course! That would be frankly disgusting!" you teased him. "I'd never want to kiss you!"

"Hey! No need to turn it like that! Careful, or I'll change my mind!"

You rolled your eyes, but waited for him to go on, counting on his fingers.

"Rule number two: I won't sing or do any kind of performance at the wedding."

"She already has a band and everything, no worries. Besides, my aunt doesn't like your music, so she would never let that happen."

"That... was the second blow to my ego in the span of two minutes..."

"It's big enough, it can take it."

He playfully stuck his tongue out at you, and you replied with an adorable giggle.

"Rule number 3: if some elderly member of your family starts being all mushy about us, we drop the act and reveal the whole thing. This only stands as long as it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings."

"Sounds fair."

"And last but not least," he added, shooting you one of his annoyingly charming cheeky grins, "You can't fall in love with me for real."

You scoffed.

"As if! Don't get over yourself! You might have pretty dimples and a nice voice, but you're not half as charming as you might think."

"So… it's all safe! Deal?"

He offered you his open hand, and you shook it with a grin on your lips.

"Thanks, H. You're a real life-saviour."

 "HI!!!"

The sound of your cousin's happy shriek was so loud, you had to pull your phone away from your ear. It seemed safer to put it on speaker.

You were back at your place, alone, and had decided to call Cassie to let her know that you would attend her wedding, and would bring Harry along. You were cutting tomatoes to prepare a salad for diner whilst on the phone, the device set on speaker resting upon the counter by your side.

"Hi, Cass! How are you? How is the planning going?"

"It's almost ready! We've just found the flowers and they're perfect! But I wanted to call you actually, you haven't replied yet to the invitation. You're gonna come, right?"

"Of course, I'm coming. That's why I was calling right now. I just..." you cleared your voice before finishing your sentence, your heart rushing as you lied. "I just had to check if my boyfriend was available too, so I could come with him as my plus one. And he can come so..."

Cassie let out another cry full of excitement, interrupting you mid-sentence.

"Your boyfriend!? How come you've never mentioned him before?!"

"Hum... we like our privacy, let's say. But we'll have more time to talk about that at the wedding."

"Of course! We have a whole week to catch up!"

You frowned hard, feeling panic rise into your chest.

What did she mean by that?

"A week?"

"Well, of course! You're coming to the family event, right?"

"The family event?"

"Haven't you received my email?! For the whole week leading to the wedding it's gonna be our closest family members and friends in Scotland! We'll finish getting ready and have lots of fun! I've planned so many activities! You're coming to that, right?"

"I..."

"Oh dear, I can't wait to see you there! It's been ages! Did you really have to move to the States? I've already asked Amy to get your favourite pastries, I know how much you love those snacks. I can't wait to see you... so, you're arriving on Friday or Saturday then?"

You had to tell her the truth. Had to tell her that you had only asked Harry for one day and not a whole week. He was so busy these days working in the studio, there was no way he could clear a whole week for you being notified only a couple of weeks in advance. A weekend could be done but over a week?!

You heaved a sigh. You would have to spend the week on your own, but at least, the news of a boyfriend coming for the ceremony would ease your family's mind. You could still escape most of their terrible comments about your love life.

"I haven't booked my flight yet. Not sure if I'll arrive Friday or Saturday. I'll keep you updated. My boyfriend will be working though, so he can only come for the weekend of the wedding."

"Oh, of course, I understand. What does he do?"

"Hum... he's in the... music business."

She heaved a sigh.

"Oh, Y/N, please, tell me you didn't fall in love with a penniless drummer again, like you did in high school. Not again, sweetie."

You laughed at the memories, shaking your head.

"He's not a drummer. And he's not penniless either. It's Harry."

"HARRY?! Wait… You mean… HARRY HARRY?!"

"I don't even know anyone else called Harry," you laughed. "Yes, Harry Styles, from Holmes Chapel."

"I thought the two of you were just friends."

"Hmm… We… decided to give it a try."

"Wow… Oh. My. God… wait until your mum finds out. Have you told her yet?"

"No, not yet."

"She's gonna freak out."

"Why would she? She knows him! She likes him."

"As your friend, sure! As your boyfriend… Your dad will chop his head off."

"Yeah… I'm a bit worried about my dad."

"You'll have to tell me everything about it, but I have to run now... There is apparently an emergency with the napkins."

"Good luck with that. See you!"

"See you!"

"Hmm... H?"

"Hmm?" He looked up at you from the cup of tea he held in his hands, his long fingers encircling the porcelain to warm his hands.

It was a little chilly, or as chilly as an evening in early autumn could be in LA, at least. You were enjoying a quiet evening with him, spent in his garden. You sat in the grass, with stars and torchlights shedding just enough light for the two of you to keep on playing scrabble. You had stolen his multicolour cardigan when the sun had set and the breeze had turned colder. Harry wore one of his Treat People with Kindness sweaters.

In the distance, a siren rang and then passed Harry's neighbourhood. You could hear muffled laughter coming from children playing in a garden nearby.

It was quiet still, the whisper of the busy city shushed for the most part. Time seemed a little slower now, an effect of the night and the lack of constant busy flow of people around you.

"About my cousin's wedding I told you about the other day... have you booked your flight yet?"

He shook his head, blowing upon his too-warm beverage.

"I figured we should book the same flight," he answered.

"Oh no! I'll be going a week early."

"I thought you were only staying for the weekend," Harry frowned before taking a sip of warm tea.

You could have walked back inside to finish your game now that the weather was cooler. But it was such a precious moment you were sharing that you were too scared to break your bubble if you did move.

After all, evenings spent alone with Harry were too rare to be wasted away.

You didn't blame only his busy schedule and his numerous friends though, you were a busy bee yourself. Entering your last year of PhD and getting ready to write your thesis to become a doctor as an history major was a lot of work. You also had friends of your own that you enjoyed spending time with, and if Harry sometimes joined you at a bar, it just wasn't the same as spending time with only him.

So, you didn't ask him if you could move in the house when you shivered as the wind blew with more strength. Instead, you enjoyed the way his hands moved across the board as he placed his letters to form a new word, his fingers bare, for once not wearing any piece of jewellery.

"No, my cousin is actually inviting the close family a week in advance to spend a few days with us. She has apparently prepared tons of activities and stuff."

"Oh... shouldn't I go to that too, then? As your plus one?"

But you shook your head, a little embarrassed.

"No, I told her you might not be able to attend that but you would be here for the actual wedding. It's alright. You have enough work as it is."

"You're telling me that you're gonna get a whole week alone with your entire family?"

"Only the close circle but... yeah. It's alright though... they're not that bad. Just annoying with the whole 'being single and soon 30' thing."

Harry groaned.

"We're only 26, don't make me older than I am, I don't need a reminder."

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he would ask another question.

"Won't they bother you for that week if you go alone?"

"I guess... they're probably gonna pretend like I'm not actually bringing anyone, criticize you a lot for not coming for the whole week, especially as you're a musician and they consider that you don't have a real job..."

"For their defence… I don't have a real job."

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn't refrain a smile.

"Anyway... as long as you come to the actual ceremony, I should be fine."

"Nah... that sounds horrid. I'll come with you to the whole thing."

"H..."

"It's alright! It doesn't bother me at all! Besides, I haven't seen your mum in a long time..."

His eyes grew round all of a sudden.

"Wait... we're gonna have to lie to your mum..."

"And to my dad."

His worried expression turned into one of fear.

"Oh fuck... your dad is going to kill me."

You laughed at him, but it was hard to hide your own fear at the idea of the two of you facing your father.

"Of course not! He likes you!"

"Likes me? Have you forgotten the closed-door incident that summer when we were 14? Cause I haven't... I thought he was going to strangle me or something..."

"We're not 14 anymore."

"Yeah, but we're going to tell him that I am really fucking his daughter this time. It's much worse..."

You couldn't refrain a bright wave of laughter, despite the genuine fear in Harry's eyes.

"It's not funny!"

"It is. It is kind of funny. Don't worry, he won't hurt you. You know my dad, lots of barking but no actual biting."

"What about when we mysteriously break up right after the wedding?"

"We'll just wait a few weeks before I break the news to them. I can even pretend that I'm the one who called it quits, if you'd like."

"I better hope so! Or I'm going to earn a good old sermon from my mum."

"Anne can be terrifying at times."

"That's because she's the sweetest the rest of the time. It's too rare, we can't get used seeing her angry at us."

"Hmm... I agree."

There was a short moment of silence while you played, placing letters on the board too and counting your points.

"So... when is your flight?"

"Friday in two weeks."

"Alright, I'd better check if there's some room left for me too then."

"Harry... you really don't have to do that..."

"I said I'd be your plus one for the event, and I will. It's alright. I'll come to the whole thing. But know that if your father ends up beating the shit out of me, you'll be the one responsible! If you weren't a broke student, I'd make you pay for my hospital bills too, but I'm not that cruel. The weight of my suffering and broken bones on your conscience will have to be enough."

You laughed, and he soon joined you, enjoying the way your happy features made crinkles appear at the corner of your eyes.

"Poor chuckaboo..."

"Oi! Don't start with that, lambkin!"

"Why not? You've been teasing me with that stupid nickname since we were 12, I can tease you with your own too!"

"Actually, they're pet names, not nicknames. Terms of endearment."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Dictionary."

"Well, I guess I should have the title, as I am properly kicking your pretty arse at scrabble right now, lambkin."

"Considering that my boxing skills are far superior to yours and that I could actually kick your pretty arse if I wanted to, I would tune the narcissist down a little bit, chuckaboo."

"You've always been a terrible loser."

"You're even worse than I am!"

"How could you know? I always win against you."

You threw a few letters at him in response, making him giggle in the most adorable way.

And as he struggled to calm down and stop his snickering, you reckoned that you truly were lucky to have a best friend like him.

And if he wanted to come with you to Scotland then... how could you say no? After all, you did need all the help you could get to survive this week with all your relatives.

After all, Harry would be there, pretending to be your boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #imagine #series #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #4700 followers #event #writing prompt

[rosymorns]

i’m going to love you as i know how

rosanna x adam (2.5k) -- domestic violence mention cw 

They stumble in, giddy, tipsy. Kat doesn’t bother to click on a light, and at the moment, they don’t need one -- they’re not doing much looking, anyway. Kat crowds her against the sofa, lifts her up on the back so Rosanna has to hold onto her to avoid toppling. Her hands are up her skirt, thumbs drifting along the lace panels of her underwear.

The lace is nice, but the fun part’s in back. Straps and things. Uncomfortable for a night out, but worth it for this ideal end to a night out.

Kat’s lips at her neck, and Rosanna lets out a high moan. It’s a little forced, but she’s learned by now that it gets people going. It’s been like holding her breath, these last few months. Denying herself this. Fingers and toys get the job done on a technical level but it is nothing like this -- like having someone starved for you, and being able to serve yourself up to them. Being wanted. Having someone grateful for your presence and everything you do.

And why had she even bothered withholding? Because of something timid and tender and foolish in her, whimpering out that this wasn’t what it wanted? She’d been led astray by that voice before.

Rosanna pulls back, pushes Kat a step away, and then gestures to another sofa, outlined in moonlight. “Sit,” she says. And Kat obeys.

There’s the rush, there’s the flutter. The way Kat’s looking at her: so, so hungry -- so ready for what happens next. This is what she wants.

Rosanna clicks on a little table lamp by the door, finally, and the room is cast in dim creams instead. And then she undresses. Little black velvet mini dress. She tosses it on the floor in a way that is meant to look carefree but is actually quite deliberate. She doesn’t want to have to spend time searching for it when she sneaks out in a few hours. This is an old dance and she knows its steps without thinking about them.

She takes it slow as she makes her way to where Kat’s sitting. Turns in the right way to give her a good view of a very carefully chosen bra-and-pantie ensemble. Then she climbs into her lap, guides her hands to her hips so she can feel the fun bits -- the straps, the lace, the warmth of her skin where it peaks through.

This is what she wants.

Isn’t it?

From the console table by the door where she’d dropped her purse, her phone rings as if on cue. Rosanna straightens. “Let me just make sure that’s nothing important.”

It’s a little awkward, standing in dull silence in a near-stranger’s living room, dressed down to her intimates. The phone stops ringing as she reaches it, and she wakes the screen.

It’s 11:15PM. She has three missed texts and a missed call. All from Adam. And normally she might pull an annoyed face, snort derisively, toss it back into her bag and get back to business. Right now, she just stares at the messages. The last one, the only one the notification shows, reads, “Where are you?”

“Everything okay?” Kat asks, worry and anxiety high notes in her voice.

It isn’t. This isn’t what she wants. She wants it to be. She wants it to be so badly. This love in bite-sized pieces is so easy to swallow. She barely even needs to open her mouth to take it. And she’d been able to subsist on it for so long -- full up on crumbs. Why, now, does the thought of it make her stomach heave?

Rosanna blinks, shakes her head. “It -- I think so, but this does unfortunately need my immediate attention.”

“Oh.”

“I’m really sorry, honey.” She stands between Kat’s knees and tips her chin up to kiss her. “I’m gonna need a rain check.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” And she collects her dress, pulls it back on. In a single motion, she collects her purse with one hand and the heels she’d kicked off by the door with the first too fingers of the other hand, and then she breezes out without so much as a pause.

 Wayhaven has largely not changed since she was a teenager. Especially in the dark, where new signage and missing trees are obscured. The smell of cooling concrete and the feel of dewy grass is the same, and the night symphony is the same, and the streetlamps cast the same orange glow. For a while, walking home, she is almost sixteen again. Tender, timid, and foolish.

She’s peeling the seed out of whirlybird when her phone rings again, and she drops the debris into the grass. Answers it with a curt, “What?”

“Rosanna.”

There’s a half-second of tempest in her at the sound of Adam’s voice. Happiness, longing, relief, warmth -- and then disgust, self-hatred, anger. Flickering back and forth, on and off. Puppy-dog joy and repulsion at the fact that she would feel that way about anyone.

She swallows it down, and her voice remains neutral: “What do you want, Adam?”

“Are you safe? Where are you?”

“Walking home.”

“Where?”

She sighs into the receiver. “Uh, approaching the corner of Maple and Church.”

And the line goes dead, so she walks on in silent dread. She wants to see him. She always wants to see him. The world grows a bit quieter when he’s there, everything still and safe. Her heart leaps at the thought of it. Puppy-dog joy. But she’s raw, now. Fragile and red.

She doesn’t think she could take it, being near him. She couldn’t take the drip-drop from the bathtub faucet at Kat’s -- so like hell can she handle a tsunami. Submerged in everything pouring out of him, all that might-be-love, and then grabbed by the scruff of her neck and yanked back up to surface. Might-be -- is-not, could-never-be.

“Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself,” she whispers, and stops walking, stands in the shadow of a streetlamp with a knuckle pressed to her forehead. This is the voice of the mother she wishes she’d had. This is the woman who picked a scared teenager off the kitchen floor and sat her on the toilet seat and leaned close to the mirror to patch a split lip and smear bruise cream on a swelling cheek.

And she lies. This woman lies, and she’s a very good liar. She lied to nurses and doctors in the emergency room about stairs and car doors and clumsy, silly accidents. She lied to police officers, hiccuping sobs and feigning ignorance. And she lies to herself, sometimes, insisting this is what you want. But beneath the lies, this is the woman who keeps herself safe, even when it’s warm and the frogs in Cherry Park across the street are so loud, just like they used to be, just like summer nights before this Rosanna ever had need to exist.

One moment, she is alone, gazing out over the street lamps that dot the pavement trails crisscrossing the park, looking a little like the lonesome stars of a city sky. One of the last poems she’d ever penned, before she’d lost so much feeling in her heart that no blood came out when she tried to squeeze it over paper, had been about the stars in the city. Maudlin, clumsy verse. There are so many more stars in Wayhaven, with no light to drown them out. Out on full display with no shadow to shrink in to.

One moment, she is alone, and the next Adam is there. Falling in step beside her.

“What’s so urgent?” Rosanna says. Her fingers clench where they’re carrying her shoes by the heels, a proxy for a clenched fist. From the corner of her eye, she can see him examining her. She probably smells like alcohol. She wonders if she smells like Kat’s perfume. She wonders what conclusions he’s drawing.

“What’s urgent? Detective, you were missing for hours. No one knew where you were -- you didn’t answer your phone -- we thought something had happened --”

She holds up a hand to stop him and, surprisingly, he does. They walk on in silence for a moments, and then he exhales a tense sigh. “I say ‘we’ -- I mean ‘I’.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight.” She swallows, then laughs, weakly. “I say ‘we’ -- I mean ‘you’.”

“I don’t catch your meaning.”

“I don’t have it in me right now, Adam. I just deal with it, normally, everything you say and take back -- every time you --” She sniffs, hard, and scolds herself: you are not going to fucking cry in front of him. “But I can’t do it tonight, okay? So if you’ve got to follow me home, can you shut up and stay a foot away from me while you do?”

And, surprisingly, he does. The five minutes back to her townhouse are blessedly silent. The front room lights are on, the door left cracked. When she pushes at it experimentally, she finds it has been forced open, the strike plate torn out of the threshold. And she tenses, preparing herself to deal with having been burglarized, before Adam clears his throat: “I will have it fixed.”

“This was you?”

“I thought -- I was worried. Your car was here and you weren’t answering --”

She brushes her finger over the latch, and shakes her head at the unexpected fondness that overcomes her. Novel, to be worried after.

“I apologize, Rosanna.”

“I’m not upset.”

The silence between them is heavy as she stands in the kitchen and mixes herself a drink. Adam wants to leave desperately, she’s sure of it. Part of her wants him to leave desperately, too. She wants to curl up on the sofa and cry, and she can’t do that while he’s here. Because it would make him uncomfortable, and she loves him, and she doesn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable. Because she doesn’t know what it would mean if he wanted to stay -- because she can’t remember the last time a hand that wasn’t hers has brushed tears from her cheeks.

“I admit, I thought you would be angrier.”

“I’m sure I will be in the morning. I’m just a bit lost in memory tonight.”

“Oh?”

The clink of her spoon against the glass slows a little as she leans against the kitchen island. “The first time things got bad with my husband, I locked myself in the bathroom. I thought I could just wait until he cooled off and then we could talk.” She taps the spoon against the edge of the glass to shake the last drops off, then tosses it in the sink. “But he kicked the door in. We never got it fixed. It was still broken when I sold the house. So it’s funny, to have another man I love break another door open -- just this time it’s because he wants to protect me.”

She glides over to the sofa and curls herself up on it, and her eyes settle on Adam, tense, stock-still. Love. Not a word she’d meant to say. It feels cruel, to heap something so heavy on someone who has told her time and time again that he does not want her. So she smiles, a little watery and wavering, and shakes her head in an attempt to be casual and reassuring. “Sorry. I’m talking too much. You don’t have to stay. I’m just going to finish this and go to bed.”

She’s holding on to herself white-knuckle. Vicious dog on a short leash. Please go, she thinks. Don’t make me let you see me like this.

She looks away then, down at the opaque peach of her drink, waiting for his silhouette to disappear from her periphery.

“Would you like to be alone?” Adam asks.

Would she?

Forever?

Does she have a choice?

No one has ever wanted her as more than a thing in lingerie. And being a thing hurts now. Prying open her mannequin mouth to take crumbs and crumbs and crumbs in exchange for being touched, in exchange for touching, hurts. They go down like hot ash.

She wishes she could want the cinders. She could never earn love, but lust was a fine enough substitute. In the dark, for a few minutes, it feels like love.

But she’s hollow, she thinks. If she were to beat on her chest, it would ring like a bell. Cold and empty and of no substance. A few breadcrumbs tumble over each other, down in her feet, when she walks -- but nothing could fill her up. And now that her molars have grown together, nothing will.

Do you want to be alone? She doesn’t. She desperately doesn’t. She wants to be something worth love. She wants to be a cherished trinket, held in a pocket, kissed for good luck. Warm to the touch, for being clasped in a hand so often. Plastic is still cold after you skim your fingers over it.

She flinches when his hand comes into view, pulling the glass cupped between her fingers with strange delicacy for a man so strong. He moves slowly, as if she would startle. Or maybe to give her time to tell him to stop.

She doesn’t. Hands free, her fingertips mere inches from him where he kneels before the sofa.

She’d once sat at the kitchen table with mascara running down her cheeks, hands trembling, as she made plans to bring about her husband’s death. She had thought at the time, fatalistically, that she might as well do it, because it wasn’t as though things could get any worse.

She finds herself thinking the same thoughts again. He doesn’t love her. He would tell anyone who would listen -- he does not love her. She is not a thing deserving of love. But he’s there before her, anyway, inches from her open palms. The worst that could happen, if she reached for him, is that he would pull away. Doesn’t he already always pull away? It isn’t as though things can get any worse.

So she reaches for him. She rests her fingers against the fabric of his shirt, over his shoulders, close to his neck. And she hardly even has to pull him towards her.

She expects the leash to snap, for the cracks in the dam to burst. Instead she finds the blood rushing in her ears goes quiet, and the world goes still, and all she can think for a moment is: this is what you want.

#i'm not sure how i feel about this one other than 'well it certainly is finished' #this is 2.5k words of rosanna being sad. adam is at best a supporting character. #and. again. i didn't edit or do more than a cursory proofread so if you find something that sounds weird. no you didnt ♥ #carly.txt #carly writes #carly's ocs #oc: rosanna

[sherrybaby14]

Bucky’s Bakery

Summary:  Baking Christmas cookies, Bucky burns his fingers are you realize his arm is capable of much more than you thought.    

Warnings: SMUT, Reluctance, please do not read if this offends you.

Words:  2K

A/N:  This is my first fic since my hiatus, hope I’m not too rusty!

“You’re like a machine.”  Bucky leaned against the counter, folding his arms.  “How much dough have you made?”

“It’s the holidays.”  You measured out some vanilla.  “Nobody has ever mentioned the phrase too-many-Christmas-cookies before.”  

“Well you’re bordering on it Doll.”  Bucky reached over and snagged one of your finished cookies.  

“Not a Doll.”  You smacked his hand, hating when Bucky used the nickname he called every girl.

“Right.” He popped the treat in his mouth.  “Sorry.”  

You went to lecture him, ready to remind him that you were as much a part of the team as anyone else and deserved to be called by your name.  But his face wore that puppy dog look he made so endearing.  

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than watch me bake.”  You swallowed and looked away.  

“Don’t do that.”  Bucky reached out and touched your shoulder, it sent a shiver down your spine.  You turned to look at him, against your better judgment.  “I want to help you.  In fact,  I want to spend as much time with you as possible.  If it were up to me, I’d never have to leave you.”

The lump in your throat reformed, and this time you didn’t have enough moisture to swallow it away.  You’d had the feeling Bucky was into you for months now, but you were so busy you never really thought about it too long.  He was laying everything out.  How did you feel?  Your heart fluttered, not sure.  

DING!  You jumped and Bucky’s arm fell.  You brought your hand to your chest and let out a laugh, the tension running out.  The awkward situation saved by the bell.  

“Well if you’re going to hang out, help out.”  You gave a pressed smile.  “Will you take the cookies out of the oven.”  

“Right.”  Bucky licked his lips as he moved his head to the side.  

You felt a tad guilty, but he yanked down the oven door and stuck his hand inside.

“WAIT!”  Your heart jumped as he grabbed the tray. “YOU NEED AN OVEN MIT!”

Bucky lifted the batch and turned to look at you as he steadied the cookies.  Your eyes dropped to his metal hand and you felt relief as you shook your head.  

“I forgot.”  Now you felt silly.  “That scared me.  I was picturing a trip to the burn unit over Christmas cookies.”  

“That’s why it’s you.”  Bucky set the tray on the stove as he kicked the door to the oven shut.  “That’s why it’s always you.  You forget, you don’t see a wounded solider, an advanced killing machine, you just see me.”  

“Bucky,  I….” Your heart was racing as you struggled with a response.  “We work together…”

“You’re right.”  His flesh hand reached out and wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest.  You brought your hands up and pushed away, but the grip was too tight.  

“We can’t.”  You looked him in the eye.  “ It would never work out.”  

“Not about that.”  His metal hand cupped your face, still warm from the oven.  

You grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, knowing he was allowing it more than you using your strength.  You glanced at his palm, even with the metal you were shocked that there was not any injury from grabbing a three-hundred-and-fifty degree sheet.  

“It’s capable of much more than grabbing cookies from an oven.”  Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, redirecting your gazed.  “Let me show you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours, already parted for his tongue to slide in.  You let out a squeak and tried to move back but he held you and deepened the kiss.  Your head started to go fuzzy as you fell forward, not meaning to put your weight on him.  The movement was met with a growl from his lips as he held you tighter and coaxed your mouth into action.

For a moment you forgot about anything but him, this kiss.  How right it felt.  And you responded.  A warmth growing between your thighs as you spread your legs.  As good as this felt, as much as you wanted it there was a nagging in the back of your head.  

“Mmph.”  You twisted your head.  Bucky used the opportunity to kiss down to your neck, spinning you so your back was to him and hands were on the counter.  “Stop.  This isn’t a good idea.”  

You spoke the words, but your head tilted to the side to give him better access.  

“You were made for me Doll.”  Bucky bit at your neck.  

The movement of his teeth didn’t snap you back to reality as much as the stupid nickname did.  You tried to slide down the counter, out from under him, knocking your baking supplies to the floor in the process.  The sound made him back away.  

“I’m not a Doll.”  Anger started to rise.  

“I know.”  Bucky slammed his metal hand down on the other side of you and pushed himself against your back so that your hips went into the counter, caging you in.

“This isn’t funny.”  You tried to move in any direction, but you were trapped.  “I don’t know how they did it in the 40s, but back away.”

“You’re not a Doll.”  Bucky’s breath was on your neck, your heart raced as his lips went to your ear.  “You’re MY Doll.”  

A gasp left your lips as your knees started to give out.  His arm circled you, supporting your weight.  

“What?”  You gripped the counter as your head fell back against his shoulder.  “But…you call everyone Doll.”

“Not since I found my Doll.”  Bucky’s lips met your neck as he pressed into you, thrusting your body hard enough into the counter you winced.  “The way you see me.  I see you the same.  Who you really are, how you try to hide yourself away.  Staying as busy as possible.  Doing useless tasks.”

“The cookies?”  Your mind was still struggling with what he was saying.  

Bucky stuck his arm out and swiped the counter clean, sending at least fifty cookies to the floor.  Before you could protest hands were on your hips, lifting and twisting you so you were sitting facing him.  The movement shook you enough that you put your hands on his shoulders.  

“Screw the cookies Doll.”  His fingers went to your waist and he yanked your pants down with your panties in one swoop.  “I bet you taste much sweeter.”

Your breath caught as his head lowered.  Your hands went to his hair, you debated on pushing him away, but then his tongue ran up your slit.  Your head fell back as you gasped, no longer caring about the cookies on the floor or whether this was right.  

“Bucky…” You fisted his locks.  “Fuck.”

“Not yet.”  He looked up at you, his blue eyes looking dangerous.  “So much to explore first.”

He didn’t look away as his tongue met your tender bud.  He flicked it up and down, teasing you into life.  The hunger on his eyes didn’t fade as he brought his lips down, sucking you between them.  It made you gasp and you realized you were not pushing his head away.  No, instead you were pulling it closer.  

Bucky didn’t break eye contact as he lifted your legs to his shoulders, your feet resting on his back.   The sight of him with you in his mouth was almost hotter than the way he was making your body react.  

Then you felt him, cold metal teasing your entrance.  It made your eyes bulge and thighs twitch.  A moan escaped your lips and you lifted your ass off the counter, eager for him to slide inside.  

When he did you shut your eyes and gasped, the attention on your clit growing more detailed as his mouth pulsed against you.  

“What?”  Your eyes snapped open as you felt the vibrations.  

Bucky pulled his mouth away, taking you with him before the suction left.  You winced at his absence, but the movement inside of you was distracting from the need.  

“I told you.  Capable of so much more.”  You looked down, half expecting to see a toy, but instead it was Bucky’s hand, the vibranium fingers coming to life inside of you.  

“Fuck.”  Your chest started to heave.  

“Patience Doll.”  Bucky’s mouth went back to your bundle of nerves.  

“Ahhh!” You struggled for breath as his mouth and finger started to work in tandem.  “This is…I….wha…ho…”

You couldn’t form a complete thought let alone sentence as he buzzed inside of you and his mouth worked it’s magic.  

The tightening came fast.  You felt all of your energy pooling at your center.   Your hips rocked against him as the coil formed.  

“I’m…gon…cu..” The thought didn’t fully form before your head fell back at you let out an earth-shattering moan.  

Bucky didn’t slow as you spasmed around him.  Muscles you didn’t even know you had came to life as your body convulsed with ecstasy.   You fell back onto the counter, starring at the ceiling while your world spun.  

How could you feel this good?  Was it even possible?  

Your breathing started to steady when Bucky’s head lifted.  You heard the sound of his pants coming undone and looked up.   There was no time for a view before he was on top of you.  But damn, you felt him.  Every inch as he slid into your soaked cunt.  

“You taste way better than the cookies.”  Bucky licked his glistening lips and you about came again.  

Before any noise left your mouth his mouth was on yours again.  This time you didn’t hesitate, running your fingers over his hair as you pulled him closer, welcoming his touch.  

His cock bottomed out and he stilled inside of you.  You rocked against him, eager for him to thrust but he remained static, more interested in kissing than fucking.  

“Mmm.” You made a begging noise into his mouth.  

Bucky lifted his head and looked down at you, his blue eyes a flame.

“Please?”  You continued to roll your body.

“Please What?”  Bucky bit his lip.  

“Please fuck me!”  Your grabbed his shoulders and dug your fingers into them.  “Please!”

“Who are you?”  His blue eyes narrowed.

“What?” You didn’t understand, but you kept wiggling under him, wanting to feel the full force of him.  

“Who. Are. You?”  Bucky pressed his pelvis down, making you whine since your movement was now restricted further.  

There was an answer.  He wanted one.  You tried to break between your pants and think.   Willing to be whoever he wanted at the moment.  

“Your Doll.”  The answer came to your lips before your brain even processed it.  

“That’s right.”  Bucky slid out and you moaned with anticipation.  “MY Doll.”

He pumped inside of you, forcing a moan from your body.   You wrapped your legs around him as he started to rail into you.  Each of his pumps sending more pleasure than the last.  

“Never forget it.”  Bucky grunted.  “Mine.  All mine.”  

“Yes.”  You ran your nails down his back.  “All yours.”  

Your bodies started to move in unison and the tightness came again.  When you reached the point you would normally spiral it went tighter and tighter.  Every bit of energy your body could muster gathered.  

Mewls and pants left your mouth as you were no longer capable of speaking.  It felt like there was nothing in the world.  Only Bucky.  Only your pleasure.  

The edge neared and you flung yourself off.  Jolts of electricity ran through your veins as you exploded underneath him.  A mess of noises and movements.  Euphoria hit and it almost felt like you were floating.  

Bucky let out a grunt as he slammed inside of you one last time, joining you in the orgasm.  He coated your insides as he collapsed on top of you.  Both of you struggling for breath.  

It took some time for you both to come off your high.   Bucky pulled out and rolled over, probably smooshing some cookies in the process.   His arm reached out and pulled you close, your head on his chest.  

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”  He kissed the top of your head.  

“I’m not on the pill.”  That was the first thought you had as you felt him drip down your leg.  

Bucky’s hand went between your thighs.  He coated his fingers in his cum while he looked at you, sliding them back inside your quivering pussy.  

“Good.”  

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel

[keanureevesisbae]

So Henry, you want to start a YouTube channel? - Chapter 2

Summary: Twenty five year old YouTuber Sandy Choi has no idea that one of her five million subscribers is the one and only Henry Cavill. When he asks her to help him out with starting his own YouTube channel, she falls more and more in love with her. But she should’ve known that dating one of the most desirable bachelors, does come with a prize.

Henry Cavill x Sandy Choi (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.1k

A/N: If you want to be on the taglist, please let me know xx

Masterlist // Channel introduction // Previous chapter // Next chapter

Henry can’t believe that he had the guts to ask the Sandy Choi to join him on his walk. He is too afraid to slide into her DM’s, let alone to follow her on Instagram, but this he can do?

He just knows that Jackson is going to haunt him with this for a very long time.

He sits on a park bench, nervously moving his leg up and down. It’s cooling down nicely and the spot he has chosen, has a little beach, with a nice lake for Kal to swim in.

Henry rethought his outfit about five times. He wanted something casual, but nothing too sloppy. Sandy always looks so put together in her vlogs and since she had to get ready, he simply knows that she’ll look absolutely stunning.

He looks at his black running shorts, that he paired with a white shirt and some black sneakers. It’s nothing too much, but he doesn’t want her to think that he is a try hard. Besides, this is probably the only outfit that doesn’t suffocate him to death, especially with the aftermaths of today’s temperatures.

He keeps out looking for her. Was it impersonal of him to just sent her his location? Should’ve he picked her up from her house? But what if she’s not comfortable with that?

God, his mind is running all over the place. Kal whines a bit, a nice distraction for a few seconds. ‘I know, but we have to wait a bit for Sandy.’

The fact that he met her friend Lacey last night during one of Jackson’s party. Normally he isn’t too keen on those parties, but this one, he felt like he should go and thank God he did. He has Sandy Choi’s number and texting her has been such a thrill. He has neglected the things he needed to do, solely so he could focus on texting her. She was funny, witty and Henry couldn’t get the idiotic grin off his face.

He stares to his left, before he finally turns his attention to his right. His breath gets caught in his throat. He admired her on her Instagram account (that he would search for every single day, because he couldn’t seem to follow her, too afraid to do so) and on her vlogs, but nothing prepared him for seeing her in real life.

She is wearing a blue and white tartan dress, with tiny sleeves. It comes halfway her thighs and she paired some old white sneakers and some socks with a lace border with it. He knows this dress, he has seen it in quite a few of her vlogs. He can sometimes barely remember the names of the interviewers who just introduced themselves, but this he remembers.

Sandy runs her fingers through her long locks and looks up from her phone, scanning the area. Her eyes finally land on him and a timid smile appears on her face, before she walks up to him.

Henry notices a small change in her body language. The way her shoulders are tense, he can tell she’s nervous. To be fair, he is too, but he knows he can hide it a lot better.

‘Hi,’ he says, holding up his hand, immediately regretting it. God, he looks like a moron.

She stops about four meters apart from him, fidgeting her hands. ‘Hi.’ Her voice matches her appearance: tiny and sweet.

‘How are you?’ he asks, shoving his hand in his pocket, not quite knowing what to do with it.

‘I’m good, thank you.’

Kal gets up from his spot and Henry realizes that he for a second forgot that he brought a dog with him. His own dog for that matter. Sandy holds out her hand when he is nearing her and she smiles. ‘Hi there,’ she says, her voice a little higher as one does when talking to an animal. ‘I never expected you to be this big.’ She scratches him behind his ears and Kal wags his tail.

‘Shall we go?’ Henry asks.

The only things he earns from her is a nod and a soft: ‘Mhm’.

Is he doing something wrong? Was he too forward by asking her to join him? He usually is never this nervous around people, around women for that matter, but Sandy Choi is doing something to him.

They watch as Kal walks in front of them, sniffing trees, marking his territory. She hasn’t said anything so far, something he doesn’t understand. They were texting for hours on end and he enjoyed himself. He loved every second of it. There was never an awkward silence and she was pretty talkative, really funny and witty.

What has changed?

‘What have you been doing today?’ he asks, desperately needing to get a conversation going. ‘Besides texting me.’

She finally looks up, her brown eyes meeting his. It doesn’t last long though, because she averts her eyes and stares at Kal again. She has a soft smile toying on her lips though and she says: ‘I’ve been slowly destructing my own house, because you keep on distracting me.’

He nearly buffs out his chest. ‘Oh, I have I now?’

‘Mhm.’

Kal rushes towards them. He seems to like Sandy, because he keeps on checking in on her, sniffing her hand and licking it in the process. He can’t really seem to pull himself away from Sandy and Henry totally understands. Though she has been pretty timid, it’s something about her presence that is oddly calming.

‘He likes you,’ Henry notes.

‘Good thing I like him too, then.’

‘You don’t have pets, have you?’

‘You tell me.’ She still doesn’t look at him, but he likes those tiny remarks she makes. He figures she is getting more comfortable around him. ‘I’ve heard you have been watching my vlogs intently.’

Henry can’t stop the chuckle, though his cheeks flame of embarrassment. ‘Well, you don’t have one, that I know. Is it because you don’t want one?’

‘I want a pet, preferably a dog, but my landlord doesn’t allow it. If my life wasn’t plastered on the internet, I would’ve hidden one there, but I know he watches my channel too, so that’s out of the window really.’ Her gaze falls on Kal, who sprints towards the water.

‘Shame.’

The two of them stand in the sand, staring at Kal, who is getting it in his head. The entire day he was down on the tiles in the bathroom, since that’s the coldest spot in his home. Right now, feeling the refreshment of the water, it causes him to go crazy. Henry has seen it before this week, whenever he would walk him here at the end of the day, so Kal could cool off.

He watches his dog jumping in and out of the water, running circles on the grass around them. ‘He is mad,’ he mentions.

She snickers softly. ‘He seems like a sweetheart.’

Henry looks to the side. She chewing on the inside of her cheek, but finally Sandy actually looks up at him. She doesn’t look away instantly. ‘What?’ she asks him. ‘Is there something on my face?’

‘No, no,’ he says. ‘Just that—’

Before he can finish his sentence, Kal rushes through the gap between them, only he bumps with his wet side against her legs. She wasn’t totally prepared for the force that comes with Kal. He knows from watching her vlogs that she can be a klutz from time to time and standing here in the sand, can’t be good. He sees that she is losing her balance, so he quickly steps forward and wraps his arm around her waist, preventing her from falling backwards in the sand.

It was a reflex, but now he is actually holding her, his hand on her side, hers resting on his bicep. His heart nearly beats out of his chest, to a point where every heartbeat hurts a bit. He never would’ve thought that he’d be this close to her. The smell of her perfume, a sweet flowery scent.

She quickly blinks her eyes and swallows hard, not breaking eye contact with him. He notices her pupil enlarges a bit in her dark eyes, though the sun is shining on them. ‘Thanks,’ she whispers.

‘I’m sorry, he can be a bit—’

‘It’s okay,’ Sandy interrupts him, a blush apparent on her cheeks.

Then Henry realizes he is still holding her and he retreats his arm, her soft hand grazing over his lower arm and his wrist. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Mhm.’

That mhm again. Is that a good mhm, a bad mhm? ‘Oh, no, your shoes and legs,’ Henry notices, cringing at the sight of how she looks. God, he shouldn’t have gone here. Her shoes are marked with a print of Kal’s muddy paw and her legs have stripes of mud on it.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘It’s okay. Comes with a dog, right?’

‘I’m truly sorry,’ Henry continues to apologize, but yet again she simply shakes her head.

‘Really, don’t worry about it, Henry. It’s totally fine. I have a washing machine back home.’

The way his name sounds when she says it… He all of the sudden likes his name a lot more. Kal rushes towards them and with a stern voice, Henry tells Kal to stop. He obeys, but Henry knows the look on the face of his furry companion. He can see it in the way the big American Akita stands. The dog wants to shake the water and mud off of himself. Henry pulls Sandy by her arm and hides her behind his broad body, while the droplets of water mixed with mud cover his face and his white shirt.

To make things even worse, Kal places his front legs on Henry’s chest, wanting to lick his face. ‘Down, Kal, down.’

Kal stands with all of his four paws on the sand again and he hears a soft giggle from behind him. He turns around, only to see Sandy with her hands covering her mouth. ‘How do I look?’ he asks her, an amused smile on his face. He looks at the prints on his chest and he can only imagine how his face looks like, judging from his arms.

‘Like you need a bath.’ She smiles at him and it’s the brightest smile he has seen of her so far. He just knows that he’ll dream about that exact smile, the way her eyes brighten up as well. ‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘you are truly a gentleman, Henry.’

⟢⟡⟣

The silence between them isn’t awkward anymore, but it’s actually kind of soothing as they continue their walk. Slowly they are talking a bit more, about the sky, the hot air balloons they see and she constantly tells him where she sees a cat, so he can brace himself before Kal pulls the leash, wanting to chase the animals.

Henry decides to live up to the title she has given him, and actually walk her home now, like a real gentleman. ‘What was it like setting up a YouTube channel?’ Henry decides to ask her.

‘It was terrifying,’ she honestly admits. ‘But was the best decision I’ve ever made. Before I uploaded my first video, I made like seven videos prior, but they weren’t good enough in my eyes.’

‘You’re a perfectionist?’

‘Pretty much. Why?’

‘I was wondering,’ Henry says, as they stop walking, indicating they are at her apartment building. ‘I’ve been thinking about setting up a channel of my own.’

‘Really?’ she asks him. ‘That’s exciting. What kind of channel?’

‘Something with maybe building some pc’s or work out videos, tips, gaming, maybe even some vlogs, if I’m interesting enough. I don’t know, but… Why are you smiling, Sandy?’ He crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking at the petite woman who is standing in front of him.

‘You thought that uploading those videos on IGTV wasn’t enough already? Give your fans a break, Henry.’ She runs her fingers through her hair and adds: ‘But I think that it’s really great that you want to do that.’

‘Could you help me out?’ he blurts out.

Sandy’s eyes widen. ‘You want me to help you out? Why?’

‘Because you are talented. I feel like you are the person that could help me out. If you have time of course. I mean, I get that you have more to do than help an idiot create a YouTube channel. You know what, forget I mentioned it. I hope you have a pleasant evening and we’ll probably meet again or not, because I totally ruined it by suggesting this.’ After his ramble, Henry turns around to walk away with Kal.

Fuck, he is so stupid. God, why did he even tell her this? She is probably scared away now and he totally understands. It almost sounds like that is the reason why he wanted to talk to her.

‘Wait,’ Sandy says, causing not only Henry, but also Kal to listen. ‘I want to help you out. It would be my pleasure to help you setting up your channel.’

‘Really?’ He looks at her after he turned around. ‘You’d do that?’

‘Mhm, only you have to know that I take this kind of thing very seriously.’ She is holding her keys in her hand. ‘Does tomorrow work for you?’

She wants to meet with him again! He didn’t scare her away, he actually made her come back. He holds back his excitement. ‘Tomorrow works for me. I’ll text you the address tonight, okay?’

‘Okay.’ She fumbles with the keys, staring at them, before she makes eye contact with him again. She bites her lower lip and finally says: ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Henry.’

‘See you tomorrow, Sandy.’

Sandy pushes in the key in the lock and holds up her hand to wave at him. He quickly waves back and he watches her step inside. ‘Did you hear that, Kal?’ he asks the dirty dog, who he definitely needs to bathe when they get home. ‘She’s coming over tomorrow. I should buy something sweet for her. She likes chocolate, so I should get that for her. Oh fuck, I need to clean up. I don’t want her to think that I live in a bachelor pad.’

Grateful that he wore his running shoes, he takes a sprint with Kal, a smile on his face and it doesn’t fall off, even when he is already home.

Sandy Choi is coming over tomorrow.

Taglist: @flhorah​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @toomanystoriessolittletime​ // @tumblnewby // @newts-fan-case​

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