#He's willing to kill a kid but that goes out the fucking window if he spends more than 1 non-hostile hour with said kid

[anonymous-dentist]

Five weeks out of prison, and Cellbit is buying his sick son cough medicine from the haunted convenience store down the block. It's late at night- too late at night, probably, so it's just him and the two employees and an old lady in an old fur coat...

"I said, put your fucking hands in the air!"

...and the guy in the giant moth fursuit robbing the store.

The girl behind the counter chews her gum and slowly, boredly, raises her hands. The other employee has his AirPods in and either can't hear the villain or doesn't care. The old woman is deaf. And Cellbit... well.

Cellbit picks up a bottle of NyQuil and adds it to his basket. The villain hasn't noticed him yet, so he doesn't have anything to worry about.

Tonight's villain is a low-rank street thug going by 'Moth Man'. He can fly, but only at night, and he sounds like he smokes eight packs of cigarettes a day.

Spiders, Cellbit hears as he sneaks to the next aisle over. It makes sense. Moths, spiders, they aren't exactly friends in the wild.

Of course, Cellbit considers as he picks up a box of tissues and silently slips it in next to the medicine, Moth Man could be scared of a different spider. The different spider.

He watches, mostly unconcerned, as Moth Man waves his Moth Gun in the clerk's face.

"Check it out, guys," he sleezes, leaning in close and shoving his phone right next to the gun's barrel. "She's totally freaked right now."

Moth Man is also a vlogger. More specifically: he's a TikTok streamer, and he's a pretty popular one, too. Honestly, Cellbit's surprised that the Federation hasn't shut his account down yet. (But, really, that would require them actually doing something fucking useful for once.)

Censors, Cellbit hears, and that one makes a bit more sense. He grabs a big bottle of hand sanitizer and adds it to the basket. Algorithm failure, face reveal, doxxing, spiderspiderspiderspiders.

"Absolutely terrified," the clerk unconvincingly says. "Do you want me to empty the register out, or what?"

Dogs, Cellbit hears from her. Needles, knives.

Moth Man's cheap plastic antennae flop embarrassingly as he nods, all fake enthusiasm. He looks down at his phone and thanks someone for the donation, another for a rose.

"No, it's real," he tells his chat. "See?"

He raises his gun to the ceiling, and he fires.

Cellbit jumps, nearly dropping his basket. He swears under his breath and kinda maybe hopes that Moth Man doesn't have super hearing, too, because he needs to get home. His son is sick, he doesn't have time for wannabe-villains in cheap costumes.

Horrible costumes.

Moth Man's felt wings flutter behind him as he lowers his gun and points it back at the shaken clerk.

"See?" he sneers. "Now give me the money."

Terrible costumes.

Honestly, villains these days are just kind of stupid. Where's the anonymity when everyone knows your shadow? How are you supposed to sneak around causing problems and slitting throats when you have giant neon green felt moth wings sticking three feet out of you? And those goggles had better be night vision, or poor Moth Man is going to walk face-first into a lamppost the second he leaves the store.

Cellbit shakes his head and goes to find the soup. Back in his day...

"I was!" the clerk shouts. "Here!"

She opens the register, and then two things happen in quick succession:

1. Cellbit picks up a can of chicken noodle soup. He's not a huge fan himself, but Forever swears by it, and Richarlyson's cold is bad enough that Cellbit's willing to try anything. (He's only had this kid for five weeks, but he thinks he'd kill for him, and that's saying something.)

2. A brilliant flash of red and blue crashes through the store's front display window with a whoop.

Spiders! Cellbit hears. He smiles despite himself, licks his lips just briefly before catching himself and biting his tongue back into his mouth.

Spider-Man's poses are maybe one of the more badass things about him. He lands on the counter in a classic pose, crouched with one hand flat on the counter and the other pointed directly at Moth Man's face. His forehead is pressed against the gun's end, and he's probably smiling under his mask, the freak.

"S-Spider-Man!" Moth Man squeaks. "What are you doing here?"

Spider-Man tilts his head. "Uuuuuh, kicking your ass?"

And then he punches the fucker right in the nose.

Moth Man skitters backwards, crashing into a rack of newspapers. His finger slips and he fires his gun right into the register, sending the clerk screaming onto the floor. Good, she doesn't need to be involved.

"What the fuck what the fuck-" Moth Man breathes.

He jumps to his feet and points his phone's camera at Spider-Man, who doesn't so much as give him enough time to start narrating before slinging a web and stealing the phone right out of his hand.

Silently, Cellbit slips his own phone out of his pocket and starts recording. Just for himself, really. He'll add it to the Google Doc later.

Spider-Man turns Moth Man's phone over in his hands thoughtfully.

"Dude, is this an iPhone?" he asks. "Since when do you have iPhone money?"

"Fuck you, I have money!"

He fires his gun again, this time on purpose. Spider-Man easily dodges the bullet, not even looking up from the phone's web-covered screen.

"With that costume?" Spider-Man snorts and shakes his head. "No way, man."

"My costume is awesome!" Moth Man snaps. "Fuck you! Die, Spider-Man!"

He's terrified, Cellbit can smell the fear coming off of him in waves. It's sour and black and foul and gut-turning, but it could be stronger. This guy might be dumb, but he's also too stupid to realize he's in a fight he can't win. It's embarrassing.

But, really, it's none of Cellbit's business. He's just gonna sneak out as soon as he-

A screeching Moth Man flies past him, his bare hand grazing Cellbit's nose, crashing into the back row of freezers. Cellbit flinches back a step, fumbling with his phone. He gets it level just as Spider-Man pounces on the villain from above with a happy little cheer.

Inexplicably, Moth Man screams and curls into himself, dropping his gun and cowering and muttering to himself.

Whoops.

Spider-Man stands above him mid-kick, confused.

"Dude," says Spider-Man, "what the hell is wrong with you? Come on, get up!"

Cellbit starts sneaking his way out, slipping away as Spider-Man tries getting Moth Man to get up and finish their battle properly.

None of his business, he tells himself. It's none of his business. He got his footage, it's none of his business. One step at a time, tonight is not the night for an interview. He has a sick son to take care of. Investigating can wait.

...He stops in the doorway to take one last video, this one of Spider-Man chasing the poor terrified Moth Man around the store practically begging for him to stop being weird, what kind of fight is this supposed to be?

Camera off, slip out onto the streets and start the trip back home.

Forever's gonna be pissed about the shoplifting, but at least it isn't murder anymore. Cellbit is trying to set a good example.

-

Based off of THIS AU

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #deli superhero au #this is really rough but i'm not editing it #i just wanted to write today so! here something is!

[ghostradiodylan]

In general Ryan gets so mistreated and overhated by the fandom and it makes me sad because I really like Ryan even in my first playthrough :/ I get that the part where he was arguing with Laura about the existence of werewolves when he watched Nick transform and run out the window was kind of dumb but he’s all around a great character who’s brave and helpful and he helped save everyone’s lives in the best ending….

While I don’t agree with all of their actions I can’t bring myself to hate on any of the counselors. They’re all young adults who are stuck in a horrifying and traumatic situation, of course they’re going to be flawed and not perfect. It just baffles me how Travis, Constance, Jedidiah and Eliza do the most horrible things in the game yet people viciously hate on Ryan : (

Oh, the actual adults in the game are absolutely The Worst. (Even Chris, though I think he wants to help, is incredibly negligent at best).

I think there are a few things happening here that can turn people against Ryan (and I'm not saying anyone has to like him as a character, we all have characters we vibe with and ones we don't, but it's worth examining why we don't vibe with some characters especially when those characters are Black or other POC, LGBTQ, and ND-coded).

Ryan is a victim of some of the less compelling writing choices in the game IMO. They don't have anything to do with his character, really, he's generally well-written, but some of the things that were cut from the game, and the way the relationships unravel in the latter half of the game does Ryan kind of dirty.

First of all, his relationship with Chris Hackett isn't fleshed out enough for a lot of players to understand why he's willing to sacrifice so much on the hope that his mentor isn't actually a werewolf (or a deeply irresponsible asshole of a boss). If they'd left in the scene of Chris following up with Ryan about following his dreams and going to animation school and the initial confrontation with Chris that was patched out, where Ryan questions how he hid this from them all this time when he cared about them and Ryan trusted him (literally heartbreaking to watch tbh 🥺), it might have been a little easier for players to empathize with his loyalty to Chris. This kid has no known father, absentee mother, aging grandparents, a sister he clearly feels a lot of responsibility for, and his father figure who he goes to for advice left him in the worst possible situation. Of course he's going to be in denial about that and about him being a werewolf until he sees it for himself, and then Ryan has to kill him. It's so fucking tragic. And he doesn't even get a second to mourn or even react because the Silas plotline kicks in immediately (and they spent all the animated tears budget on Jacob).

Then there's Ryan's relationship with Dylan, which I could (and will) write about for days. Based on the game we got, plus the cut content, I don't think Ryan was ever supposed to have the option to get with Kaitlyn. I think that's a red herring that allows homophobic players to avoid a gay kiss (kind of a fucked up use of a BAMF character and Brenda Song's star power but, ok). I don't think he was ever supposed to get to romance Laura either. But I do think he was meant to be able to either end up with Dylan, or decisively not end up with him. If they'd kept the relationship system that we still have traces of but no actual structure for, then his ability to say 'maybe neither' to Laura wouldn't be something players held against him because it would have a basis in the choices we've made as Ryan (and Dylan) so far. As it stands, it feels like that is unsupported by what's happened in the game when we've had Dylan and Ryan flirting with each other and taking an obvious interest in each other since they were introduced.

Even if you choose the less favorable dialogue options, Dylan and Ryan are never really shown to be truly at odds (with the possible exception of the gun argument, but even that pretty much smooths over in the end). Even if you have them be hard-headed assholes to each other, they still have their heart-to-heart on the way to the radio hut (which I really think was supposed to have an alternative if they had low relationship stats).

Complicating matters is the fact that a lot of people really love Dylan. Obviously I'm one of them, I mean, look at my url and writing choices. I think Miles gives the best performance of the game, hands down (and I think all the actors did really well tbh). He's a great actor (his line reads are flawless and that sassy boy body language? I die.) but he also gets a lot to work with in terms of the script. Dylan is complex and compelling in a way that tends to be highly relatable for most people. He's probably neurodivergent (ADHD) but it's portrayed in a more palatable way for neurotypical people. Plus, as an audience, we are primed to empathize with the person who wants to be wanted, who is afraid of rejection, who has the cute crush that we want to see reciprocated and is trying not to get their heart stomped on. We've all been there! That's a centuries-old trope in drama and literature for a reason. And while Ryan does not owe Dylan reciprocation, we see some pretty clear signs of it at least being possible. So the game sort of dangles it in front of players like we can make that happen with our choices and then makes a half-baked attempt to snatch it away. That annoys people and, I think at least partially because Ryan's race and stoic demeanor (/autism) have people subconsciously primed to view him negatively, they take that out on him instead of the SMG writers who opted for that rather than fleshing out the relationships any further for the latter half of the game.

Like, yes, it's a horror game not a dating sim (Ryan and Dylan dating sim DLC when tho??), but you spend so much time building relationships that end up not mattering to the outcome of the game, I get why that's frustrating for people. It's frustrating for me! I just think being mad at Ryan over it is the wrong take. I still see people saying "Dylan deserves better than Ryan." Dylan and Ryan both deserve to exist in a finished fucking game where we have the option to get them together or not, but blaming whatever happens, or doesn't, on Ryan as a character is kinda trash.

#the quarry #ask bunny #hello beautiful anon #bunny rants #I have a lot of thoughts #and feelings #in this house we defend Ryan Erzahler #ryan erzahler #dylan lenivy #rylan #radioheads #they deserved the world #patpat ryan gif

[ravenrambles6229]

Titanium Ninja actually kind of fucks, though

So I rewatched the last episode of season 3. A pretty mid season, right? Well that final episode fucks in all the ways that made my brain vibrate as a 12 year old. So let’s fucking go I need everyone to appreciate this episode.

First up, ninjas trapped in space. Alright. There’s already no solution to this that isn’t bullshit, so just make it cool. Well, I like that they had to use their abilities and knowledge to make the ship instead of tornado of creation-ing it. Really shows how much they’re capable of when they work together!

“How we holding up?” “Bubblegum and a wish!” As they fucking send it. What a legendary line. It burned itself into my brain for years to come and is a part of my standard lexicon.

“Hasn’t Ninjago suffered enough already?” She asks, on season 3 out of what is now 17.

Overlord’s face is kinda silly but the mech honestly kinda slaps.

“My heart has reached critical mass, it appears my unlimited energy is in fact limited!” “Critical mass? You mean it’s gonna blow up?” “Don’t worry about me!” AHJGHSJKG See kids, this is what we call foreshadowing.

Okay but seriously, now that they’re in the atmosphere, they use their elemental powers to shield themselves as they come in from from orbit like goddamn meteors. Is it bullshit? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely the fuck not.

Skales saying they can’t help the people of Ninjago then doing it anyway? Love him for that. Because he presumably sees the ninjas and is like “ugh these fuckers again. Well if they did it once-”

The city recognizing the ninja as they plummet towards the earth as multicolored meteors? There had better be folk songs about this. I’m surprised there isn’t a church. Saviors from the stars here to kill Satan.

Man, people still getting a haircut as the Overlord attacks. Frickin iconic. No wonder people handled season 9 so well.

Pixal on her lil bike.

Also the ninja being caught by their vehicles. Does it make sense? Not really. But the animation for it is cool so once again, I am fully on board.

“A few parachutes would have been nice!” “Friends and family make a good substitute!” Fuck, I love Kai so much.

City fortress. Cloaked in blacks and reds in a dusky sky. What a sick image.

The fact that they were prepared to throw hands with the Overlord even before Borg came to them with a solution. These lil heroes I love them so much.

Lloyd biking through a hole in a window while Cole just WHAM. I love them both so much.

“Go back, and our probability of making it to the temple exponentially diminishes!” “This isn’t about numbers, Zane! It’s about family!” AAAGH the fact that that line came from Kai! Also, foreshadowing!

Cole whooping even as he’s running from certain doom, what an icon.

Lol the ancient seal of the temple being helped by a convenient barrier.

“Let me get this straight, you want us to get close to a guy with armor that, with one touch, will make us toast, and you want us to give him a pill?” “Precisely!” Oh Borg, never change. Unironically my favorite side character, I love this genius idiot so much. He’s just like “well if anyone can do it, it’s you lunatics” and it still feels like pot calling kettle black.

Zane offering his armor to Pixal!!! I love him! Even though he’s so big on probability, he’s so willing to give up his own safety for others!

“I shall see you again.” AAGH

Magic armor toysets!!

The ninja ninja-ing over rooftops will never not make my brain whir.

Okay the golden spiderweb thing goes kinda hard as a villain aesthetic, though. Great way to make the normally heroic golden colors look all evil!

That shot of the ninja, these tiny lil dudes, against this giant evil robot kicks so much ass though.

“Then attack the people.” Holy SHIT Pythor! What a dick move! And the fact that its his former second-in-command that comes to offer the people refuge is so good!

“That was ALL YOU’VE GOT!?” It sure was, but these ninjas are the masters of asspulls so watch yourself.

Okay now we’re getting to the scene. The scene. One of the best scenes in the show, and I am prepared to die on this hill. Actually, I’m prepared to kill on this hill. Because this scene is just fantastic, and has stuck with me vividly for years, even after I fell off the show back around season seven. If you had come up to 16-year-old Raven and told her to quote this scene, she probably could have done so.

“Support me friends, for one last time.” Never does Zane ever think of this as anything less than a group effort. Even here, he’s asking for their support! And they do what little they can!

Then this GOAT just fuckin grabs the armor and demands “Let! My! Friends! Go!” His voice cracking, as the music swells! The way he’s writhing makes him look like he’s in genuine agony but pushing through it anyway!

“Go where, doomed ninja?”

Then they show his fucking heartbeat! It’s robotic, but also very much so a human pulse! Because Zane is as alive as anyone! Then his faceplate falls off!

And you can see the Overlord’s expression change here as he starts running calculations, getting worried!

“The golden weapons are too powerful for you to behold! Your survival chance is ZERO!” “This isn’t about numbers. It’s about family!” What can I even say about this exchange? First of all, the Overlord is appealing to Zane’s survival, rather than his chance of SUCCESS. In all likelihood, he KNOWS that Zane is a threat right now, because that robot is channeling the power of his own armor. But Zane is not swayed by his own chance of survival.

Killing the moment a bit, looks like Zane is programmed in some wacky ass C++. Wonder if Dr. Julien could help me with my Arduino homework. Never was good with stepper motors. Anyway back to drama.

Then the ninja desperately wondering why Zane isn’t letting go, but Wu realizes. “He’s protecting us!”

“I! Am! A Nindroid! And Ninja! Never quit! Go ninja, Go!” There’s so much here. It’s like when he found his true potential on an infinitely larger scale. The Overlord will not hurt his friends, because he knows who he is: A nindroid that never quits, built to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Also, “Go ninja, go!” Amazing how the addition of one extra “go” completely changes the mood. It sounds desperate, like he’s telling himself to go, to take the plunge, to give everything up, and he DOES that.

Then he just. Fuckin. Goes. What I imagine is happening here is that he is directly powering himself with the golden armor, channeling the Overlord’s golden power THROUGH his heart to boost his own elemental power. Completely frying himself in the process, but able to literally produce the power to kill Satan. 

“No Zane! No!” It being Jay, the one often considered the meek one, to be the first to run after Zane. As Wu has to force them all away, because he can’t lose all his ninja.

Then. The music change. The MUSIC CHANGE. This song. Let me tell you something. I just recently got back into Ninjago. And I was getting caught up on what I missed. Well, I was listening to a music compilation, and suddenly, this song started playing. I Ratatouilled so hard, y’all. I had a flashback to Zane having flashbacks, because this music is absolutely stunning.

His heartbeat plays over the music. The sounds of the fight fade away. As he recounts his time with his brothers. His time meeting his father again, even if it was for only a few short months.

“There’s something special about you Zane.” Cut to Pixal. Then cut to him smiling.

“I know who I am!”

“You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” That’s it. That is the microcosm of Zane’s character. He protects people. He protects his family. And Zane can die happily if it means he has fulfilled that directive.

As he flatlines. Holy hell. I cannot stress enough the impact this had on me as a child.

One final (for now) NOOOOO from the Overlord, then it’s all quiet. The tower light goes out. The manhole freezes over. The robots break. It’s eerily soft compared to what was just happening. Like a single, soft exhale of breath.

Kai looks at a damaged “New Ninjago City” sign. This is symbolism.

And Cole finds a piece of Zane’s body! Is this the only surviving piece? It must be, and that’s devastating! Granted, a kids show probably can’t show what is essentially a corpse, but they don’t even have anything to bury!

Him comforting Nya as she starts to sob. Jay just looking away softly. And Borg. “I used to think technology would be the answer to all of our problems.”

Then it cuts to the memorial.

“Then I saw technology invent new problems. Devastating problems. And then, a Nindroid named Zane saved us all. He was the perfect balance between us and technology.” And nothing encapsulates that better than the heartbeat from a few seconds ago. The heartbeat of a human contained in a machine.

“Technology can improve our lives, but so can people.” The fact that they don’t fully demonize technology, which would be hypocritical seeing as Zane is technology. Instead, it’s all about balance!

“Our city will find its way again, but this time, with Zane as our compass.” Couple things here. First off. That this takes place in a park rather than an urban sprawl. Second, that the photo of Zane is of his season 1 outfit is nice! And that they’re going to look to Zane as an example of what technology should be.

And Zane gets a statue! I love this a lot. I love that it shows up in later seasons. Later on, Zane says he doesn’t need a statue. But it’s not even just about Zane, it’s for the people to remember Zane and his sacrifice by. To remember the mistakes that he fixed so that they don’t repeat them. The Titanium Ninja, a strong metal to act as a foundation for their future. It’s not complex symbolism, but it’s still extremely effective! No wonder I lost my mind at age 12.

Then his falcon sits on his shoulder, with the leitmotif playing! Agh! Just stab me in the heart already, show!

“So, what happens after this?” “I don’t know.” “And I don’t care. Today’s about Zane.” I have a lot of thoughts about this. First up, Jay completely not acknowledging the love triangle right now. He doesn’t care about that, because today IS about Zane. It’s so humanizing. And next up, we know what happens after this. In their grief, the ninja fracture. It’s tragic, but they’re all so devastated by their grief that they don’t know how to carry on together. This is a recurring thing in the show. When Nya becomes the sea, the team splits up. When Lloyd thought his friends died in Sons of Garmadon, he nearly gave up everything. For better or worse, these ninja need each other, they are a very tight-knit family. I wonder if the new series can touch on how they deal with being separated from each other on longer terms. Either way, this family loves each other so much, and I love that,

Kai being the one to give a eulogy. Literally I could type out that entire speech and point to line after line just being like Look! Look at this line! It’s amazingly eloquent, especially coming from Kai. Out of all the ninja, he’s always been the most family-oriented. He’s powered by brotherhood, and Zane continues to power him. We see this in season 4, when he visits Zane’s statue, that he still thinks about Zane every single day, still looking to him for guidance. He has so much love and respect for his family, but also can’t cope with yet another loss in his life.

Wu blinking rapidly as he ducks his head!! Dude is holding back tears big time.

.Dareth sobbing! He loves those funky ninjas too!

“Ninja never quit, and ninja will never be forgotten! Wherever you are Zane, you’ll always be one of us.” As it STARTS TO SNOW! AGH! This is so good!

All of Zane’s flashbacks before it’s revealed that he lived on in the Digiverse! At least before Ronin stole him, lol. Well either way, Pixal moving from grief to hope as she realizes he’s alive! Holy shit! I’d like to draw attention to her speech from crystallized. “Long ago, in a different battle, you gave up half your power source to save my life. Ever since that moment, I felt things I’ve never felt before. I felt love. For you.” Pairing these two moments together just... It hits so hard.

Then the fucking MUSIC. The FUCKING MUSIC! It is triumphant and glorious and a CELEBRATION.

“Are we compatible now?” Holy hell, what an ending.

No wonder this did irreparable damage to my brain chemistry. No wonder I was never normal again. This absolutely DESTROYED me as a kid, and I think it still holds up as one of the most emotionally impactful series of scenes in the show. The beginning is really awesome, the fights are fun, the characterization is stellar, and the death scene is damn near flawless. Is the episode nonsensical and a bit meandering at times? Well, yes, it is. The entire season is all over the place. But this episode still works SO well. I’d say it’s probably top five, easy.

It was something I never considered possible, as a kid. This is coming off season 2, which was pretty Lloyd-centric. I never thought we’d get such an amazing tribute to my, at the time, favorite character. I never thought he’d get such a moment in the spotlight to be as amazing as he was. Granted, he’s since had PLENTY of deaths to call his own, but this one remains the most impactful to me. This was the first death to REALLY be a death and to REALLY hit home. The only deaths that I’d say even come close are Nya’s death in Skybound (since she didn’t really die in Seabound) and Morro’s death for how brutal it is. Nya becoming the sea was also really good, though, with a beautiful funeral. But this one just...

The Titanium Ninja was a revolution for me as a kid. I had adored this show since the pilot. I had kept up religiously since the pilot. But this was the moment that the show went to a whole different level. And honestly, I think it holds up. Ninjago has a list of issues a mile long. But I just want to celebrate for a moment this episode, and everything it does so, so well.

Anyway, that’s my rant about an episode that I really love. I may do this again with episodes like Son of Lily. Because I love this stupid little show so much, guys. I grew up with it, and its always been a big part of my life. Episode 7, Tick Tock, was like, the biggest plot twist of the universe to me as a kid. It was what made Zane my favorite character, and got me so invested in him in the first place. To see Ninjago use that to make a genuinely fantastic character arc, then to use that as the foundation for the fourth season, was absolutely brilliant, and my life is genuinely better for having gotten to enjoy such a show as a kid and now as an adult. This show isn’t some life-changing revolution, but it makes me so happy, and I hope this rant helps illuminate a little bit of why.

#ninjago #ninjago masters of spinjitzu #ninjago rebooted #ninjago season 3 #zane julien #zane ninjago #titanium ninja #the titanium ninja #yall i love this show so much #even when it hurts me #looking at you season 5

[star-vibing-prompts]

Random shit I had or others had said as prompts.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sus, dark humor(probably), dark themes(also probably), Sensitive topics

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

"Motherfucker is high on cat nip at the top."

"Imma just kick this fish then-"

"Let me sleep with you!"

"STOP CREAMING YOURSELF"

"Let me throw your child!"

"I smacked a bad guy's booty."

"That was a good ass slap!"

"Give me all these delicious batteries!"

"Everybody died in this family!"

"I JUST SHOT HER BODY WITH MY GUN-"

"I DIDNT EVEN KNOW I HAD BALLS STILL!"

"I got stuff on my neck!"

"Be honest, am I hot?" "I'M GAY-"

"IMMA WHIP OUT MY BEANS ESSAY"

"Not the duckussy"

"Already sus gonna hide in the ooc"

"Okay I got my happiness, bye"

"I like me some Among Us"

"Can someone hold me please"

"[Name] stop searching. I wanna search something up to on him!"

"IS HE WRITING A FANFIC OML"

"I KNOW BUT WHEN I LAUGH I SOMEHOW CHOKE ACK-"

"You're more grosser than I am."

"Ohh~ Hee got the rizz~"

"OKAY BACK TO CRYING"

"I love dying screaming"

"IM CRYING WHAT DID WE JUST WALK IN ON???"

"I will slap myself if I say something sus"

"Let her scream lmao."

"Being force to talk by a 14 year old"

"Such a beautiful break up"

"STOP RIZZING ME"

"Anyway does anyone want to get slap by me?"

"Damn she hot"

"THE FUCK WOMAN???"

"DAMN I AM A LONELY BITCH"

"Actually *SHITTING* himself would be pooping. *PISSING* himself would be peeing."

"Why did you eat mah stick?"

"STOP EATING POOP???? WHOS POOP EVEN IS THAT???"

"I- Wha- ho- ...MY BRAIN CANT HANDLE THISI-"

"I think u just pissed him up even more"

"And why are you creaming [Name]?" "Damn tell me how you really feel about the cream jesus"

"One of them is: What the fuck is going on at this point and why am I still here for it?"

"I just love killing people!"

"I want to fuck Optimus Prime."

"Allergies are kicking me ass"

"I would've given you some but you didn't talk fast enough /j"

"[NAME] PLEASE I BE SILLY"

"I SWEAR ON [NAME] IT AINT ME"

"Why is [Name] robbing [Name2]"

"Enjoy your last peaceful moments"

"You were the chosen one"

"Then speak it"

"And [Name] just set himself on fire"

"I feel like I am being judged now,,,,,bye." *disappears*

"The shame has already been done there is no going back"

"My mom used to buy me robux before she mcfucking died"

"I BROKE MY STICK"

"THEY DONT KNOW WHAT GOES ON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS"

"My gaydar told me"

"What the fuck are smiley fries."

"Rice with beef broth because we have no chicken"

"Anime cat girls are canon within Spongebob now."

"The Cat Has Ingested The Wall"

"Split dat chicken wingg"

"Oeuur... digs chicken wing out of the carpet"

SHRIEKS AND BREAKS IN THROUGH A WINDOW

"They have been bestowed the name [New name]"

"I love the fumbling with the remote"

"Literally vibrating in my chair, I’m really excited for the game"

"That's so sad imagine someone hated you so much they wouldn't even spend more than 5 bucks to hire a hitman"

"Bro's gonna be willing to die after that"

"FLOOFY AND GOOBER"

"I wanna invite them for tea and crumpets

The best type of relationship"

"ILL FORFEIT ALL MY LEGAL POSSESSIONS TO HIM"

"Like damn dude you don't need THAT much eye liner"

"This is so emo"

"My dude needs to look fabulous"

"WHAT A GOOBER ! FOOLISH LITTLE FELLOW"

"OMG ITS MY KID"

"LIL GUY IS SPEEDY ASF"

"They got a little too silly"

"ITTY BITTY"

"They just need to put some ice on it"

"Aww noo they spilled the cranberry juice" :(

#star prompts #vibe prompts #writing prompts #creative writing #creative prompts #dialogue prompts #imagine your otp #otp prompts #imagine your ocs #funny prompts #comedy #tw swearing #tw sus #Yes i can be sus lmao #prompt list #prompt list friday #tw dark themes #probably #tw dark humor #tw sensitive content #sensitive topics

[cyberrat]

74th Batch Of Fics: 1st Fill

Hanzo/Cole; Genji/Roadhog – Trucker AU – Part 40 – cont B72F5 – A quick stop at Roadie's to drop Genji off...

---

The atmosphere in the cabin is icy and both brothers refuse to talk to each other, so Cole turns the volume of the radio up some and just leaves them be. He’s too damn old for that kind of drama and he feels like it goes way deeper anyway.

Something about Hanzo trying to kill his brother? He’s seen quite a nasty scar on Genji’s back peeking out of his shirt. Doesn’t sit right with him to think that Hanzo not only tried to kill his brother but also apparently did so from behind, but he wasn’t there to begin with.

Isn’t your damn rodeo, he reminds himself, eyes on the road as he drives.

Predictably, Genji starts whining at him about the length of the drive pretty early in. He keeps asking about how much longer they have to be on the road. Once Cole turns the radio up loud enough that even his own ears start to hurt, the kid seems to get the picture because he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff and just pouts.

After a while he turns it down again. He’s noticed Hanzo all but glued to the window, back stiff as he peers out at the road behind them via the rear view mirror.

“You alright?” Cole asks with a grunt. It takes Hanzo a beat to realize that he’s been spoken to and then replies tersely: “Yes.”

“You lookin’ whether we’re followed?”

Cole keeps his eyes on the road but in his peripheral is watching Hanzo pull his shoulders up to his ears. After a long beat of silence he replies, quieter: “Yes.”

Cole sighs softly but lets him be. He doesn’t think the kid will stop that habit any time soon but there’s nothing to be done about it.

 It’s starting to get dark, both boys asleep or on their best way to it when Cole starts to slow down the truck.

“We’re here.”

A second later he has Genji at his shoulder, peering out the windshield as if he hadn’t been draped across the slim mattress before. It makes Cole jump and hiss out an expletive.

“Wait what? I thought you were going to drop me off at like… a reststop or something.” He sounds upset, but he looks intrigued at the sight of a quaint little house at the end of a row of houses.

“Was my plan. But he said to drop you off here, so… here we are.” He grabs his phone to send out a text but the door to the little house is already opening and Rutledge’s massive frame carefully slides out of it. It looks like he has to unfold himself on his porch once he is through the doorframe.

Cole can hear Genji make a sound like an excited little whimper before he starts rattling on the backrest of his chair, demanding: “Get out so I can get out!”

Cole rolls his eyes, muttering: “Pretty damn eager if you keep in mind that we had to almost drag you to the damn truck.”

He throws Hanzo a little glance but the other is already pushing his door open, slipping out onto the pavement. Genji is hot on his heels, apparently not willing to wait for Cole to get his fat ass in motion.

By the time he’s stretched his legs, locked up the truck and made his way around it, Rutledge has two sluts all but hanging off either of his arms. Hanzo isn’t quite touching, but he’s standing very close, while Genji is wrapped around the other tree trunk sized arm, grinning up at Mako’s all but expressionless face.

“Damn… you catch ‘em quickly, don’t ya?” Cassidy mutters, scratching the back of his head.

Mako grunts and turns back to the door, waving for them to follow behind. “Animal magnetism.” It doesn’t sound like he’s joking but Cole is also very familiar with Mako’s humor so he snorts.

They trail behind him like some ducklings. He’s been in Rutledge’s house exactly once before so he is somewhat prepared for its interior – unlike Hanzo and Genji. The latter of which whispers out a not so subtle ‘what the fuck?’ as they follow the giant through a pretty little hallway and into a living room that is just one doily away from looking like it belongs to a sweet little old lady.

Soon enough they’re all sitting; Cole and Hanzo on a massive couch and Mako on an even larger armchair that must have absolutely been custom made. Genji, after a moment of indecision, plants his little ass on the armrest. From what Cassidy can tell, Mako is pleasantly surprised by that, his meaty arm slowly curling around Genji’s waist.

“So… here we are,” Cassidy drawls. He throws his arms along the backrest of the couch, watching Mako and Genji from beneath heavy eyelids. “Thanks again for taking in the other stray I found.”

Mako grunts. His palm is on Genji’s thigh. Everything about him dwarfs the other man. Genji’s eyes look a little glistening and feverish and like he isn’t even aware of their surroundings anymore. He’s pressing himself into Rutledge’s side.

As far as Cole is aware, he’s already fantasizing about the meaty cock that’s waiting for him.

“You weren’t followed?” Mako questions.

“Not that I know of. But better safe than sorry.”

Mako nods curtly and lightly turns his head, his small, dark eyes staring at Genji as he tells him: “You’ll stay inside for the foreseeable future. Don’t want trouble coming my way.”

“Oh I’ll stay inside all you want, big guy,” Genji croons. He’s shifting around, draping himself against Mako’s side and throwing his arm over his massive stomach. He looks like a kid asking Santa Claus for a present this year. “If you give me what I want, I don’t think I’ll even be able to go outside, yeah?”

Cassidy slowly grins, jerking his head toward Genji as he drawls: “Think trouble already found ya alright, buddy.”

Mako doesn’t reply to any of this. He still has his hand on Genji’s thigh, just sitting there like a King on a throne… or more likely a statue of a King. He might be thinking a lot of thoughts – or nothing at all.

Cole hasn’t quite figured him out still in all these years. All he knows for sure is not to underestimate this man.

Finally, Mako shifts a little. As he does so, his meaty sausage fingers curl around Genji’s leg and grip it, thumb brushing back and forth over his hip. If Cole were to hazard a guess, Rutledge would probably be able to snap Genji’s bone in two without breaking out a sweat. Genji seems to think so too but instead of getting intimidated, he just flushes darker and his face becomes shiny with sweat.

Eager. That’s what those two brothers got in common. They’re both eager little sluts in their own rights.

“Where’re you two goin’ now?” Mako asks, eying Hanzo. Is he thinking about the time he had that slut on his knees sucking his beer can dick? His face does not give any clues.

Cole’s grin widens and becomes a bit sharper. He slides an arm off the back of the couch and around Hanzo’s shoulders, pulling him in close to his body.

“We’re gonna celebrate a mission accomplished by going on our honeymoon. Got a lot of stuff planned with this one.”

The brothers don’t say anything about it all. They just quietly stare at each other across the room.

#cyberratting writes stuff #hanzo/cassidy #roadhog/genji #trucker au

[artzychic27]

How would the science kids react being in a fairytale story like how they react to the other characters and the premise of the story?

They immediately start pointing out everything seriously morally wrong with the stories

Lacey is cursing out the prince from Rapunzel and is about to chop his manhood off

Lacey: *Putting the Prince in a headlock with her hair* NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Then she throws him out of a window into the thorn bushes

And as for the witch… She also gets pushed out the window. Now with two people to break her fall, Lacey escapes

Mireille is explaining to Red Riding Hood’s mother about all about the dangers of leaving children unsupervised in VERY graphic detail

Mireille: Now… How do you think your mother will feel knowing you’re dead?

LRRH mother: … *Starts crying*

Mireille: Exactly.

Instead of breaking and entering, Denise just walks past the house and goes to a market

Or… Denise goes through with the story, the bears finds them, and it somehow leads to a wrestling match

And instead of kidnapping children who come from a loving home, Simon legally kidnaps abused children and takes them to Neverland

Also, he didn’t cut off anyone’s hand because that’s the makings of a serial killer

Zoé looks through some documents belonging to Cinderella’s parents, takes them to ye olde notaries, and gets the house back without a man having to marry her or crows pecking out eyes

Oh, and she pushes the stepmother down the stairs. She pretended it was Audrey

Marc doesn’t take fruit, a “magic corset,” or a strange comb from strangers, but that doesn’t stop the evil queen from trying to force him to eat the apple

While he’s choking, Marc does the Heimlich on himself and immediately calls the police cuz this crazy lady tried to kill him

But then he meets the prince, he looks like Nath, and is like, “Where the fuck is that apple?!”

Cosette meets the Prince from Thumbelina and is like: Look, man, I’m kinda into someone already, so… Yeah

And the Prince is totally fine with that because he’s a decent human being… Er, fairy.

Jean does underwater teenage rebellion and goes topside to meet the prince who looks strangly like Austin T. He’s not complaining

And knowing how the original and Disney story goes, Jean doesn’t give up his amazing singing voice and allows the Prince to see him as a mermaid

Forbidden love sorta thing

And as for Ismael, when he arrives in Oz, he does a couple of magic tricks, and people think he’s a wizard

And, he’s not complaining. But as soon as Dorothy and Co show up, he throws a smoke bomb but not before leaving a note telling her to click her heels together

As for the lion, scarecrow, and tin man… Who cares? This is all a dream

Reshma, cuz she’s a lesbian, doesn’t fall in love with the Prince and just does her own thing throughout the story

And as a strong-willed young lady, she doesn’t feel compelled to touch the spinning wheel and doesn’t fall asleep… Because she’s awesome like that

Aurore ends up taking her father’s place, but doesn’t fall for the Beast. It’s completely platonic

But, platonic love is still love, so the Beast turns into that guy who looks like he sells organic milk on Etsy

Oh, and she roundhouse kicks Gaston

The End

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ao3fic #aurore beaureal #marc anciel #jean duparc #mireille caquet #zoé lee #fairytales #fairy tale retelling

[poisoned-peppermint]

Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it

Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech

George: See also, esteemed bastards

Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids. 

Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws

~~~~~~~

Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors

Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum

Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same

~~~~~~~

Foolish:When's your bedtime :)

Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods

~~~~~~

Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons 

Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout

~~~~~~

Bad:You’re enough

Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~

Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.

~~~~~~

Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work

Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone

Bad: wait for you to get back

~~~~~~

Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in

Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch

~~~~~~

Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish

Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep

Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall

Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.

Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.

~~~~~~

Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out 

~~~~~~

Quackity: If I were dating you?  Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore

Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!

~~~~~~

Skeppy: Are you ok?

Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like

~~~~~~

Sam: My hands are cold

Ponk: *holds their hands*

Ponk: better?

Sam: My lips are cold too

~~~~~~

George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?

Sapnap: of course *leaves*

George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.

Dream: yeah no shit

~~~~~~

Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.

Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?

Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.

Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you

~~~~~~

Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.

Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.

~~~~~~

Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*

Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate

Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*

Skeppy: No!

~~~~~~

Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know

Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!

Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?

Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!

~~~~~~

Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you

~~~~~~

Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?

Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)

Wilbur: that’s a turtle

Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

~~~~~~

Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it

Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended

Ranboo: No

Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

~~~~~~

Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

~~~~~~

Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Bad: Sex.

Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.

Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.

Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Ant: Food.

Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?

Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.

Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!

~~~~~~~

Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

~~~~~~~

Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?

Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.

~~~~~~

Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re pathetic!

Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!

Techno: You’re both losers.

~~~~~~

Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.

Skeppy: Bad, please!

Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?

~~~~~~

Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?

Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.

~~~~~~

Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

~~~~~~

Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!

Bad: LANGUAGE!!

~~~~~~

Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.

Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!

Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*

Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!

~~~~~~

Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.

Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*

~~~~~~

Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Puffy: Where did you get that?.

Bad: My pocket.

Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Bad: Skills.

~~~~~~

Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.

Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Quackity: Spiders?

Bad: Spiders it is then.

Quackity: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…

~~~~~~

Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.

Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.

Punz : Break her bed not her heart.

Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings. 

Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.

Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Tommy: Bet you I can!

Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

~~~~~~~

Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?

Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!

Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.

Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

~~~~~~~~

Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!

Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.

Pummel party Squad: …

Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Phil:

Phil: Why are you eating dirt?

Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.

Tubbo: You don’t even know.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!

Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!

Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.

Skeppy: WAIT NO!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.

Bad: Good, because I hate you

~~~~~~~

Bad: Are you a painting?

Skeppy: What-?

Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?

Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.

Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Tommy: I earned this, back off!

~~~~~~

Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-

George: Finally! You’re proposing!

Dream: How’d you know?

George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

George: I even picked it up once

~~~~~~~~

*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*

Bad: Aw. :(

Skeppy: You know what they say.

Bad: Please don’t-

Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

Bad: Frick-

~~~~~~~~

let me know if ya’ll want more <3

#dream smp #incorrect quotes #mcyt incorrect quotes #pummel party saturday #gumi my beloved #skephalo #badboyhalo #skeppy #dnf #dream team #georgenotfound #sapnap #quackity #karl jacobs #ant and velvet #happy duo incorrect quotes #captain puffy #purpled and foolish have an interaction #dsmp tommy #sbi #dsmp techno #philza #very gay undertones in this #beeduo #tubbo my beloved #ranboo my beloved #also a smidge of ponk and sam

[amatchinwater]

For the prompts—Romantic List, 1. "I could listen to you all day." My #1 ship choice is Sterek for this but feel free to write any ship that comes into your mind <3

Thank you so much for the request!! Sorry it took a bit to get done! It's Sterek and there aren't any warnings I can think of!

Hope you like it :)

---

Being the kid with ADHD, Stiles was always dubbed the spastic, annoying kid who talked too much and never sat still. Like it was his fault his brain went a mile a minute and the ideal medication was basically watered down speed. Seriously, whoever thought that Adderall was a good solution for people with ADHD was fucking high.

But he dutifully takes the pill as asked, no matter what weird effects it has on his body. The first time he accidentally took too much, he cleaned his room in about twenty minutes while Scott stared at him with a slack jaw. Don’t even get him started on the research rabbit holes that he goes on without the drugs. Good thing there’s usually enough monsters terrorizing Beacon Hills that Derek regularly needs the human’s help figuring out how to stop them.

It took the second monster’s research only taking him a short two hours for Peter to give Stiles a key to his apartment so he could have access to the Hale archive. Talk about awesome! The creeper wolf is actually pretty decent to be around with his sanity intact, like an older brother or uncle Stiles wouldn’t mind having. Derek even sits with them most nights they’re scouring through texts. Stiles is sure he’s just being a proper Alpha. His heart- that has a major crush on the wolf- would like to think he’s the reason Derek comes around so much.

Not that Stiles truly believes for a second that the wolf could have feelings for him too. But a guy can dream, right? Hope that the stupidly gorgeous Alpha could fall for the lanky, mole-speckled human by sheer willpower alone. That’s totally a thing that could happen. At least Stiles hopes so because he isn’t going to say a damn word. Embarrass himself like that? Nuh-uh. No siree. He’s just going to love Derek from afar and do things for him in hope that’s the Alpha’s love language.

Because words are fucking hard.

As of late though, Beacon Hills has been oddly quiet. No rogue hunters trying to wipe them off the face of the earth. No random Omegas joining forces to kill their way through town. Not to mention the wendigo last month eating anyone it could get its hands on. So, Stiles finally has been able to do things for himself. He’s missed staying up late at night with both Hales trying to figure out how to protect the pack. But nothing beats laying in bed, a bag of doritos at his side, and God of War on the t.v. Honestly, the only thing that could make this better is if a certain Alpha was here with him.

But how the hell does he ask the wolf for company outside of pack related activities without giving himself away?

A question Stiles doesn’t have long to contemplate. Just as Kratos gets to Freyja’s home, there’s a tap on the window. Locked in a cutscene and having played it enough to know there’s no fight after, Stiles lets it play while he sees who it is. Glowing red eyes meet him when he reaches the window and Stiles wills his heart to beat normally in his chest. Having expected Isaac to be waiting for him, not his fucking crush showing up after wishing he would.

“Are you gonna let me in or not?” Derek asks, shaking a to-go back, snapping the human’s focus back. Apparently he’d spent too much time trying to calm himself down. “Come on, Stiles, I’m starving.”

Right. He’s still just standing here.

Opening the window, Stiles takes the offered bag so the wolf can climb in. The human can’t help himself, Freyja looks out her window to her home land and Stiles gets locked in. Shoving his hand in the bag for some curly fries, he sits on his bed. Piling them in his mouth, he listens to her talk about how Odin wronged her.

“That’s right,” the human says around a mouth full of potato, “fuck Odin.”

Derek snorts and sits beside him, kicking his shoes off. Grabbing a burger for himself, the wolf asks, “why do we hate Odin?”

“Are you serious?” Stiles asks, pausing the game when the Alpha nods his head and takes a bite. “Odin is not much better than Zeus if I’m being honest.”

“We don’t like Zeus either?” Derek asks carefully, thick eyebrows rising.

“Oh my god,” the human groans. “Odin married Freyja for money and power disguising it as peace and love. Took her from her home and forced her to bear him sons. Then, when she tried to gain some sense of independence to be a fucking person, he casts her aside, strips her of her full powers, and erases her name from history. Condemning her to only be remembered as Frigg, his wife, it’s bullshit.” Stiles takes a gasping inhale at Derek’s shocked expression and realizes he hasn’t. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, “I got a little carried away there.”

The Alpha smiles softly at him. “You don’t have to apologize, Stiles.”

“No, honestly, I’m sorry,” the human repeats. “I know I tend to ramble and talk too much.” Stiles sheepishly looks away. “I should probably be told to stop more often.”

“Oh, please,” the wolf chuckles before eying him seriously. “I could listen to you all day.”

“You-” Stiles narrows his eyes, mouth falling in an open frown. “What?”

Derek wraps his burger back up, setting it on the other boy’s nightstand. “I love hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. Or when you learn something new and get so excited you’ll tell anyone who’ll listen.” The Alpha ducks his head with a smile. This is the most he’s spoken in one go, Stiles isn’t about to interrupt. “Why else do you think I work with you and Peter?” Blue-green eyes meet amber pools and the human shrugs. “Because I want to be the first person you turn to. I- I want to be the one you tell everything to.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles starts, thinking this must be the reason, “you’re my Alpha.”

“Not just because I’m your Alpha, Stiles.”

Obtuse as ever, Stiles continues down the path of obliviousness. “Well, you’ll have to fight Isaac for the title of best friend, dude.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Derek corrects him.

“I don’t-” Stiles shakes his head. Not really understanding what the Alpha is trying to say at this point.

The wolf pinches his face in contemplation and the human patiently- anxiously- waits to let him think. Derek must’ve come to some sort of conclusion because he looks at Stiles with newfound determination. “Understand you can say no.”

“What-” Stiles doesn’t get to finish voicing his confusion because the Alpha’s lips press against his own. Derek’s. Kissing. Him. Holy shit! As if he could say no to that. Yeah fucking right. The human eagerly leans into it, deepening the kiss, not caring one bit that he’s kind of squishing the paper bag between them. The wolf moves the bag and it thuds to the ground, grabbing Stiles by the hips to put him in his lap, growling in the back of his throat. “Wait, wait,” he says against the Alpha’s mouth. Not wanting to stop, but needing to sort his brain.

“Sorry,” Derek pants, leaning his head against the headboard. “Too much, too soon, sorry.” He tries to move Stiles off of him, but the human holds firm.

“No, it’s okay. I’m not mad or anything,” Stiles assures, trying to catch his own breath. “Just trying to process the fact that you like me too. I had no idea.”

Derek reaches up and brushes a stray hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Do you think I bring every member of the pack dinner so that I have an excuse to be around them?” The human opens his mouth with an exaggerated shrug, the Alpha covers his mouth. “No, I don’t. It’s called courting, Stiles. I thought you had looked up everything there is to know about wolves.”

“Not the fun stuff,” he responds under the wolf’s palm, knowing he’d still be heard.

Derek chuckles and lowers his hand, “had I known you had no idea, I would’ve been a little more obvious about it. I’m sorry.”

“Uh-uh, no apologies,” Stiles leans in to kiss the wolf. “More kissing. Lots and lots more kissing. You’ve got lost time to make up for here, Sourwolf.”

“Anything for you,” Derek says, sealing their mouths again.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #thank you for asking #Match Writes

[therealvinelle]

I've always wondered this, but what do you think the Cullen's political viewpoints would be, given their individual backgrounds? if vampires don't change after they turn, then surely they would all be extremely racist (especially Jasper). would this not come up at some point? they aren't like the Volturi because the Volturi are too old to care, but the Cullens are young enough that they have been brought up with opinions on stuff like sexism, racism, homophobia and the like.

Oh fuck.

You get an early answer because otherwise I'll just chicken out and delete this one, pretend I never saw it.

UMMM.

Since I'm guessing you meant American political viewpoints, we need a disclaimer. I am not American, and not too knowledgeable about your politics. Not just in the sense that I don't follow the day-to-day drama, but as I am not an American citizen there are several things I don't know, can't know because I've never lived in your country and therefore can't know what the effects of living in a country ruled by American policies is like. What I do know is based off of the news in the foreign section, social media (by which I mean tumblr posts), and Trevor Noah's Daily Show.

I am an outsider looking in.

Which is really rather appropriate, since the Cullens are too.

The Cullens go to high school and college, Carlisle works, they pay taxes, they own real estate, and submerge themselves in American culture. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella are young enough that this is in many ways their world, and apart from timeouts they've more or less spent their entire lives, human and vampire, integrated into American society.

Not fully integrated, mind you, they do what they need to to fit in and get to school or, in Carlisle’s case, to work. They go no further. No extra-curriculars for the kids, no book clubs for Esme, no game nights for Carlisle. They walk parallel to humans, not among us.

In addition to this they're obscenely rich, which puts them another thousand miles from the experiences of your average American. They won't deal with the health system, which means healthcare is a non-issue, they're not going to need welfare or other social programs, unemployment is another non-issue. Name your issue, and the Cullens don't have personal stake in it. Even the climate crisis won't be a problem for them the way it will for us.

What I'm trying to say is, American political issues are a concept to them, not a lived reality. Just like they are for me. So hey, you made a great choice of blog to ask.

I'll also add here that you say the Volturi are too old to care, and I agree- from an ancient's point of view, racism is a matter of "which ethnicity are we hating today?", and it all looks rather arbitrary after a while. Same with every other issue - after a while it all just blends together into "what are the humans fighting over today? Which Christian denomination is the correct one? Huh. Good for them, I guess."

I can't put it any better than this post did, really. The Volturi are real people, humans are nerds and tumblr having Loki discourse. Aro thinks it's delightful and knows entirely too much about Watergate (and let's be real, Loki discourse as well), but the point I wanted to get at is that politics really don't matter to vampires.

And I don't think they matter to the Cullens either.

So, moving on to the next point while regretting I didn't put headlines in this post, I'll just state that I don't think vampires' minds are frozen. Their brains are unable to develop further, and they can never forget anything, but... well, this isn't the post for that, but in order for this to be true of vampires they would barely be sentient. They would not be able to process new impressions, to learn new things, nor to have an independent thought process. Yes, we see vampires in-universe (namely, Edward, who romanticizes himself and vampires) believe they're frozen and can never change, but there is no indication that this is a widespread belief, or even true. Quite the contrary - Carlisle went from a preacher's son who wanted to burn all the demons to living in Demon Capital for decades and then becoming a doctor and making a whole family of demons. Clearly, the guy has had a change in attitude over the years. Jasper, in his years as a newborn army general, slowly grew disenchanted with his life and developed depression. James initially meant to kill Victoria and hunted her across the earth, then became fascinated and changed his mind about it.

Had these people been incapable of change, Carlisle would still be hating demons, Jasper would be in Maria's army, and James would still be hunting Victoria.

It goes to follow, then, that they are able to adapt to new things.

The question is, would they?

Here I finally answer your question.

So, we have these people who don't really have any kind of stake in politics, who keep up to date all the same (or are forcibly kept up to date because high school) and are generally opinionated people.

Where do they then fall, politically?

(And this is where you might want to stop reading, anon, because I'm about to eviscerate these people.)

Alice votes for whoever's gonna win. She also makes a fortune off of betting each election. Trump's 1 to 10 victory in 2016 was a great day to be Alice. MAGA!

The actual policies involved are completely irrelevant, she does this because it's fun. Election means she gets to throw parties. Color coded parties for the Republican and Democratic primaries, and US-themed parties for Election Night! (Foreigner moment right here: I at first wrote "Election wake" before realizing that's not what y'all murricans call it.)

Alice loves politics. Doesn't know the issues, but she sure loves politics.

Bella votes Democrat. She actually knows about the issues, and cares about them. This girl is a Democrat through and through.

Carlisle doesn't vote. I can't imagine it feels right. Outside of faked papers he's not a US citizen, this is meddling in human affairs that he knows don't concern him.

More, this guy has never lived in a democracy.

In life, Carlisle lived under an absolute monarchy that, upon civil war, became an absolute theocracy. From there he learned that vampires live under a total dictatorship.

For the first 150 years of his life, democracy was that funky thing the Athenians did in history books thousands of years ago, no more relevant to him than the Ancient Egyptian monarchy is to me. Then the Americans, and later other European countries started doing this.

Good for them.

There's this mistake often made by those who view history from a... for lack of a better term, a solipsistic standpoint. A belief that the present day is the culmination of all of history. “My society is the best society, the most reasonable society; all the others had it backwards. Thank god we’re living in this enlightened age!”

The faith in our current system of government is one such belief. We (pardon me if this doesn’t apply to everybody reading this post) have grown up in democracies, being told this is the ultimate form of rule, and perhaps that is true - but remember the kings who have told their subjects they had were divine and the best possible ruler based on that. Remember also that most modern democracies haven’t actually been democracies for very long at all, America is the longest standing at some 230 years (not long at all in the grand scope of things) and they have a fracturing two-party system to show for it.

Every society, ever, has been told they’re the greatest, and their system of government the most just. Democracy is only the latest hit.

This is relevant to Carlisle because he’s immortal and decidedly not modern. Democracy has not been installed in him the way it was the rest of the Cullens, Jasper included. To him- well, it’s just not his world. He has no stakes in our human politics, and as he is older than every current democracy and has seen quite a few of them fall, he’s not going to internalize the democratic form of rule the way a modern human has.

I think the concept of voting is foreign to him.

It requires a level of participation in human society that he’s simply not at. He does the bare minimum to appear human so he do the work he loves, but nothing more, and I find that telling.

As it is I think he'd be iffy about his family doing it. He won’t stop them, but in voting they’re... well it’s kind of cheating. They’re not really citizens, none of this will affect them, and by voting they’re drowning out the votes of real human voters. He does not approve.

Edward votes Democrat. He's... well he’s the kind of guy who will oil a girl’s bedroom window so he can more easily watch her sleep without being discovered, justifying it to himself as being okay because if she were to tell him to get lost he’d stop immediately. Same guy is so sure that he’d leave and never return again if she wanted him to, except this is the man who returned to Forks to hang around his singer, knowing there was a significant chance he might kill her. To say nothing of his Madonna/Whore complex, or of the fact that he tried to pimp out his wife twice, and was willing to forcibly abort her child.

This guy is very much in love with chivalry, with being an enlightened and feminist man who supports and respects women, while not understanding the entire point of feminism, which is female liberation.

He votes Democrat because he’s such an enlightened feminist who cares about women’s rights.

Emmett doesn’t care to vote, but if he has to he votes Republican. The guy is from the 1930′s, and has major would-be-the-uncle-who-cracks-racist-jokes-if-he-was-older vibes.

Esme doesn’t vote, that would require getting out of the house.

More, I just... can’t see it. I can’t see her being one to read up on politics and The Issues, period, but if she has to then I doubt she’d be able to decide.

Jasper doesn’t vote. Alice can have her fun, he does not care.

There’s also the whole can of worms regarding the last time he went to bat for American politics.

I imagine he stays out of this.

Renesmée doesn't vote. She has no stock in the human affairs. Who would she vote for, on what grounds? When Bella tries to pull her to the urns, she points out that she's three years old.

Rosalie, guys, I’m sorry, but that girl is definitely gonna vote Republican. Perhaps not right now as it’s become the Trump party of insanity, but the Mitt Romney type of Republicans? Oh yes.

And for the record, yes I imagine she does vote. To step back from politics would be another way she was relinquishing her humanity, and that’s not allowed to happen. So, yes, she goes to the urns, less for the sake of the politics involved and more because like this, she’s still a part of society in some way.

Now, onto why I think she’s Republican, I think it’s both fiscal and social.

This girl was the daughter of a banker who somehow profited off of the Depression, and who then became part of a family with no material needs that would soon become billionaires thanks to Alice. Poverty to Rosalie is a non-issue, as it is I imagine she views it as a much lesser issue than what she’s had to deal with. The humans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, Rosalie’s infertility is forever.

Rosalie’s empathy is strongest when she’s able to project onto others, and she won’t be able to project onto the less fortunate at all.

Then there’s the fact that the Republican party is all about traditional family values, and pro-life.

Rosalie, a woman from the 1930′s who idolizes her human life and who‘d love nothing more than to get to live out this fantasy, is down for that. And as of Breaking Dawn she’s vocally pro-life, so there’s that.

This all being said I don’t think Rosalie cares to sit down and fully understand these politics she’s voting for, the possible impact they’ll have- that’s not important. What’s important is what voting does for her.

TL;DR: I bet anon regrets asking.

#long post #twilight #twilight vampires #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #politics #history #twilight history #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #renesmée cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #emmett cullen

[sweeterthansammy]

Undercover || Stucky

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes; The reader is Bucky and Steve’s girlfriend.

Summary: Despite their protests, Y/N goes undercover during a mission, leaving her boys astonished nonetheless.

Genre: Random

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Mentions of killing, mild arguing, sexual innuendos, sad Bucky (if you squint), mild language, and me using Google Translate for French dialogue :)

Word count: 2.5k+ (with translations); 2.4k+ (without translations)

A/N: I wasn’t sure as to whether or not I should put smut in it but let me know if you guys want a part two with smut! Divider made by yours truly 😌

“You’re not going and that’s final.”

Once in a blue moon was Bucky stern with Y/N, tonight being one of those blue moons. Y/N fought and fought and fought. She wasn’t a little kid, most certainly not his, and she thought that she was making that clear. Same with Steve. It was beyond infuriating, having the two constantly babying her.

“I am going to complete that mission and you can’t stop me. Nor can you.”

She looked at Steve who seethed of irritation, big arms bulking out of the tiny black tee. As Bucky opened his mouth to protest yet again, Steve stopped him.

“Let her go. She wants to do it, so let her do it.”

He kept his eyes on her the entire time, stalking her like a predator.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I found you in pieces,” he grumbled, crotch pressed right up to her behind with his nose nuzzled into her hair.

She scoffed, elbowing him in the ribcage before proceeding to pack her clothes. He simply chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest once again.

“If that’s how you plan on taking anyone down that isn’t me, consider yourself dead.”

She looked back at him, eyebrows furrowing as she forced herself out of Steve’s grip.

“That’s what this about it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m strong enough to actually anyone down.”

“No-”

“That’s exactly why you don’t want me to go!”

“We don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” Bucky interjected, looking back and forth between his two lovers.

“I don’t need either of you to watch over me like a fucking child and that’s the last time I’m reminding you,” she spoke quickly and quietly, packing the remainder of her clothing into her suitcase before zipping it up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

“The mission isn’t until tom-”

“I didn’t ask you,” she sung, making her way up to Nat’s floor.

“And then Steve goes ‘if that’s how you plan on taking anyone down that isn’t me, consider yourself dead,’” she quoted Steve, deepening her voice to her best ability to mock the captain. “And then Bucky has the audacity to deny it, like, dude, I know that you’re undermining my skills!”

Natasha was dying of laughter as Y/N recited the quarrel she had found herself in with Steve and Bucky. She eased up, face red and cheeks aching as she held onto her stomach.

“Oh, jeez,” she muttered, shaking her head as she felt the laughter dying down. “I mean...it’s unbelievable. I can’t believe they still do that even after being with you for over two years. Hell, what do I know? I’ve been on and off with Clint for plenty of years and I have to yell at him for being so protective over me.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her own relationship, reflecting on the many times that she’s actually scolded Clint for babying her. He may act like a hardass around the crew, but he was far from that - he was a huge softy for Natasha.

“Thanks for letting me stay up here with you, though. I probably would’ve ended up killing them if I spent another second in there,” Y/N giggled, placing her suitcase in a corner that wouldn’t disrupt anything of Nat’s.

“Anytime,” she started, offering a lopsided smile. “Besides, we haven’t had girl time alone in forever.”

Girl time suddenly became girl time including Bucky. He was there for all of the movie-watching, doing facemasks with them, painting their nails. As much as the two girls loved Bucky with all of their hearts, they couldn’t just let loose. Natasha had to bite her tongue down to refrain from gossiping so many times just because Bucky was there.

If he heard half of the things that they spoke about, not even the latest gossip, he would more than likely be traumatized. So kicking back with Natasha, they whipped out nail kits and face masks, Nat’s huge collection of snacks, and they picked The Notebook, getting ready to spill all of the tea and unleash their younger selves for the first time in months.

Not even one full night into staying with Natasha that they were brought out of their zone, a sturdy, rhythmic knock on the door, bringing Nat to her feet.

“Don’t die,” Y/N called after her, throwing her arm over the armrest, eyes pasted to the screen.

“Natasha, I’m not stupid. I can literally smell her, she’s sitting in the living room.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, the sound of Bucky’s voice causing her to stand up from her seat and go over to the door.

“What do you want, Buck?”

“You. Come back to the room please, we’re sorry.”

“I don’t see Steve anywhere, so, you’re sorry. Bucky, go to bed, it’s late. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Nat watched as Y/N closed the door on him, his entire demeanor slumped.

“Don’t sleep in front of the door either.”

She wasn’t going to lie, she felt guilty dismissing Bucky, but she wasn’t giving in to either of them that fast.

Her night spent with Nat had flown by within the blink of an eye, the two girls using the power in their legs to travel up the ramp into the Quinjet. Y/N took a seat next to Nat, smiling at Sam who sat directly across from her.

“Not sitting with your lovestruck puppies?” Sam snickered, looking to his right to see them coming up the ramp. “Speaking of the devils.”

She chuckled as she shook her head. Her eyes followed Sam’s, the red rimming of Bucky’s eye bags notable. He didn’t sleep…just because she wasn’t there.

“You’re staring,” Nat muttered, gently kicking the back of Y/N’s heel with the tip of her boot.

Y/N smiled up at Bruce, who took the free seat to her left. She didn’t miss the deadly glare from Steve, shaking it off as she began to buckle herself in. The flight was quick as per usual, landing in Paris, France, in only a couple of hours. Nat couldn’t wait another second on the jet before taking off, running to the facility at which they were staying at.

“Holy shit, that’s ours?” Y/N asked, jaw hung open from pure amazement as they stood in front of the primarily glass-made building.

There were many floors to it, way more than their home base in New York. She gratefully pounced on Tony as he handed her the key to her own floor.

“Enjoy cause you won’t have it when we go back to New York,” he awkwardly pat her back, her arms becoming loose around his neck as she forgot who she was hugging for a moment.

She was so excited. Not only did she have her own privacy, but she was able to stay away from Bucky and Steve. As much as she wanted to see them, she wouldn’t break easily since she wasn’t sharing a floor with them.

Hours passed, dusk was finally closing in on them, signaling them to get ready for their mission. This was her first mission in months so it was nerve-wracking, putting the bullet-proof vest right below her button-up and slipping her feet into a pair of high heels, a garter with a knife strapped right around her thigh, nearly invisible underneath her skirt. The sound of heels clacking on the floor drew her attention from the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room.

“Are we going to a fucking seminar or a nightclub? Don’t get me wrong, you look hot, but you look like you’re ready to give a two-hour lecture.”

Y/N gasped, feigning pain as she placed her hand over her chest.

“What, it’s formal-“

“We’re going to a nightclub, not a class. You need to fit in, and I have just the thing.”

“Nat-“

“No, don’t ‘Nat’ me,” Natasha lampooned, spinning on her heels before leaving Y/N’s floor, hurrying down to her own.

She came back in less than five minutes, bunched up white fabric draped over her forearm.

“You, my friend, are going to look stunning in this. It’ll also catch the attention of your soldiers,” she added with a wink.

She in fact did look stunning in that dress. A white maxi dress with a large slit coming up to the front side of her right hip, straps keeping the dress up just off her shoulders.

“Nat, one blow of breeze and my entire vagina is exposed to French people at a nightclub.”

“Good.”

Y/N left on her strappy black heels, the straps wrapping all the way up to the skin just around the middle of her calves. They were at the club in no time, sweaty bodies, the stickiness of spilled drinks, and booming music filling the environment. The dress in fact was an eye-catcher, everyone whipping their heads around to look at Y/N. She looked like a goddess and anyone would be willing to fall at her feet, especially Bucky and Steve.

“Anyone got eyes on the target yet?”

She was dragged out of her thoughts by Stark’s voice muffled through the earpiece stuffed into her ear.

“Negative,” everyone mumbled.

Their eyes danced around the crowds, looking for none other than Georges Batroc. The clock was ticking and no sight of the man. As they waited out any chance to find him, they sipped on drinks, danced with many strangers as well as each other. Y/N’s eyes were as sharp as daggers, dodging each person until she was looking directly at the blue-eyed monster.

“Bingo,” she muttered.

She scrambled for her earpiece, holding down on the black piece that was discreetly clipped to the strap of her dress.

“I have eyes on the target. I’m moving in.”

“Be careful.”

It was Bucky. She smiled at the sound of his voice, tucking the black piece right under the fabric of her dress strap. She walked over to him confidently, chest puffed out to expose a little more cleavage as her legs stealthily moved over to the man leaning against the bar. That sick son of a bitch.

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she greeted with a pleasant smile.

[Good evening, sir.]

“Bonsoir, colombe.”

[Good evening, dove.]

She pretended to grow flustered at the nickname, looking down at her feet. She swirled the drink in her hand before taking a tiny sip, leaning against the bar right next to Georges.

“Parlez vous anglais?”

[Do you speak English?]

“Pas beaucoup.”

[A little.]

“Ah. Je t'ai vu là-bas et ça m'intéressait...un homme élégant, tout seul. Je devais venir.”

[I saw you over there and I was interested...a smart-looking man standing all alone. I had to come over.]

“Tu es trop précieuse, colombe. Now, what do you really need? J'ai vu vos petits amis s'occuper de moi aussi.”

[You’re too precious, dove. I saw your little friends looking out for me too.]

“Vraiment un homme intelligent, non?” she paused, her eyes locking with Steve’s. “Ils pourraient facilement vous déchirer directement du trou du cul et vous laisser crier à l'aide, mais ce sont de bonnes personnes. Nous ne cherchons que des fils de putes comme vous. Alors donnez-nous ce dont nous avons besoin ou nous le ferons à la dure.”

[Indeed a smart man, aye? They could easily rip you apart right from the asshole and leave you crying out for help but they're good people. We only go after sons of bitches like you. So give us what we need or we'll do this the hard way.]

“C'est ce que tu veux?”

[This what you want?]

“You know damn well that that’s what I want,” she said through a fake chuckle as he held a silver key right above her head.

“Demandez-le gentiment.”

[Ask for it nicely.]

She scoffed, “Qu'es-tu? Mon père?”

[What are you? My father?]

He chuckled at her snarky remark, his hand remaining above her head.

“Ask for it.”

“Je suis un agent. Pas un super-héros. Ça ne me pas d'avoir un peu de sang sur mes mains, chérie.”

[I'm an agent. Not a superhero. I don't mind getting a little blood on my hands, honey.]

“Pas si je mets ton sang sur mes mains en premier.”

[Not if I get your blood on my hands first.]

“Bien essayé.”

[Nice try.]

Those were the last words she said to him before exposing her thigh, pulling the knife from under her garter, and sending it straight through the skin hovering over his jugular vein. She watched as the blood seeped out of his neck, creating a deep wound in his neck as she dragged her knife down, almost as if she were cutting through a piece of meat, which she technically was. She gave him a knee to the sack before snatching the keys from in between his fingertips.

“Fais de beaux rêves, homme intelligent.”

[Sweet dreams, smart man.]

She winked as his figure slowly dropped to the ground, his hands tight around his throat to succumb to the bleeding. She looked around, seeing bodyguards, most likely his, making their way over to him. She fled into the crowd, a pair of hands falling onto her hips before spinning her around.

“That was so fucking hot,” Steve whispered, ferociously kissing her as if he would never get to do so again.

Her bloodied hand left a trace over Steve’s chest, clad in a tight white button-up. Her hands felt up on his skin, slipping the keys into his back pocket as their tongues continued to dance around each other.

“Y/N? Y/N? Why are you breathing so heavy? Oh my god, is she dead?”

She pulled away from Steve, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.

“No, Stark. I’m not dead. I got the key to the chamber and I killed the bitch.”

“You killed him!?”

She walked hand in hand with Steve, his muscular figure trailing behind her. She was attacked with hugs almost immediately, Nat rambling about how good Y/N did.

“And she speaks French!? Why did I not know this!?” Sam asked, agreeing with Nat as to how amazing Y/N performed.

Y/N was overjoyed. Back on her first mission and she did it, leaving unscathed. She looked around, Bucky leaning against a booth with one arm in his pocket and the other holding a drink, most likely his metal arm as a sliver of it peeked from under his leather jacket. She let go of Steve’s hand for a moment, shimmying past anyone in her way over to the super soldier.

Her hands rested on either side of his neck as his fell to her behind. He tasted like fresh whiskey, his tongue rolling into her mouth, their lips creating a sloppy mess. Their teeth clashed as Y/N’s arms engulfed Bucky’s head, fingers getting lost in his near-shoulder length hair as he hoisted one leg above his hip. Flipping them around so she was being pressed up against the wooden divider of the booth, his thumb circled her hip, completely exposing her right leg as it snuck past the large slit.

“Fuck, hearing you speak French does some shit to me.”

“Ramène-moi dans ta chambre et baise-moi stupide.”

[Take me back to your room and fuck me stupid.]

“Gladly, dove.”

The voice in both her and Bucky’s ears caused them to look back, Steve nodding his head in the direction of the door.

Taglist: @ronbrokemyheart @quxxnxfhxll @eunoia-kth @siriuslyslyslytherin @dracomalfoys-wh0re @rudypankowisdaddy

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky imagine #stucky imagines #steve rogers x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x steve rogers

[levisgirll]

Hey! :] can I request erwin or levi having a younger sister who dates armin, Eren, Jean, Connie, Hange?? Headcanons pls!! :)) pls take ur time<8

𝙇𝙚𝙫𝙞 𝘼𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙣'𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙎𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

text: Hi there! Thanks for sending me a request🥺 ♥♥♥ This is such a cute idea and I love it! I decided to go with Levi having a younger sister instead if that's alright c: (if you want another one with Erwin, please let me know!) I also hope you have a nice day <3

synopsis: Levi Ackerman is a guy who would worry a lot about his little sister, and actually get scared for her whenever she is reckless, or gets herself hurt either emotionally or physically and if someone did that to her, consider them dead- but he would be just a good big brother to her and a bit an overprotector cause of the past they have shared and he wants to make sure there is no harm to her. So, when she decides to date one of the scouts, this is where he gets worried and concerned, he starts to watch every move of the person she is dating and will interrogate them, he won't care if its someone he knows, he will make sure they have no bad intentions with his little sister and he would give them his cold and strict glare 24/7 (also he would tease her a lot while she is dating them-).

fluff, comedy, aot world, headcanons ♡ —

𝗘𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗿

When Levi found out his little sister was dating Eren, he was quite shocked to be honest and he had to go find her and actually confirm and hear it from her. “Are you actually dating that Kid? Fucking Yeager really?” He would say as he crossed his arms and was giving his little sister one of his looks, where it was him wanting answers from her now.

“W-What about it?” She said nervously, and looked away. ‘Shit, how did he find out?’ She would wonder as she looked around to find an escape route. She would always do that when she knows her big brother is going to give her one of those long lectures. “You are not going anywhere young lady. You are gonna stay here and tell me how the fuck you both started to date.” Now she is trapped.

When Eren found out that the person he was dating is Levi’s little sister, he was scared as fuck. He was worried that Levi would appear out of nowhere and beat him since he is dating his little sister. “Oh my god, Is your big brother going to kill me cause I am dating you?!” He would say and as he held on both of your shoulders and his eyes would wide, he was actually nervous and scared. “No, Don't worry. As long as you are with me, you are fine! He wont dare lay a finger on you.”

Then Levi appeared out of nowhere, “Oh hell yea I will if you mess with my sister, and make a one meter distance from her shithead. I don't want her to catch your germs.”

His little sister then would turn at him and give him a glare, “Levi, stop it.” She would say and give out a long sigh. 

Whenever his little sister comes back from a date with Eren, she would go see her big brother Levi to see how he is doing and he would say to her with a glare. “You were with him, Hm? You’re filthy now, go shower.” His sister would give out a long sigh and tsk at him while leaving his office, she knows Levi says that on purpose cause he started to tease her more ever since she started dating Eren!

Levi would watch and look after his little sister even more when she started dating Eren, because he found him a bit fishy. “Hey, you sure about this?” He would say one evening as they were drinking tea and he sounded serious, Levi would then give her a big brother/sibling talk.

Eren would always wait for you either when you are cleaning, training or in a meeting and Levi would think he was stalking you and following you at first. “What do u think u are doing following MY little sister? You are so fucked kid.” Levi would say approaching Eren, and he was ready to beat him up again. “LEVI WAIT- that’s the guy I am dating now!” Levi would suddenly stop, and turn around with a surprised expression looking at his little sister “Seriously...”

Once, just once, Eren made Levi’s little sister tear up and Levi did not leave him at all that day and was looking for him. He ruined his life that day. Levi’s little sister teared up cause she got ready to go out with Eren, but Eren somehow forgot and stood her out!  Would be scared to make her cry again, cause he doesn’t want to get beaten up by Levi.

She would tease Eren sometimes. Like, “Hey Eren can you do this for me now?”. “No I need to train, not now!”  he would say and he was approaching the training area, “Hmm…okay I’ll go ask Levi instead” Eren stopped from his tracks, and turned around quickly towards her. “W-WAIT! Actually I can make some time.” This would always make her giggle.

Levi would actually find Eren annoying once Eren started to date Levi’s little sister. “I think he has a thing towards us.” Levi would say to his sister as they both looked outside from his office window and looking at Eren who was searching for Levi and his little sister. “He chases around me, and is dating you, why can’t he just leave us alone...Ugh”.

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗷𝗶 𝗭𝗼𝗲

They know Levi worries a lot about his little sister, as she is the only one left who is family to him. So Hanji would update Levi about his little sister from time to time, especially after a date. “Heyyy Levi! Just letting you know that she is doing well and finished her work early today!” Hanji would say cheerfully, and Levi just knows that they had just seen his little sister. But, this gives him a relief to know at least that she is doing well as he is quite busy sometimes to check on her.

Would help his little sister to convince her brother with things. “Don’t worry, I can talk to Levi for you babe!”. Hanji would say with a big smile and a light blush would appear in their cheeks, they want her to depend on Hanji.

“Oi, Don’t send Hanji to me again. I cant even shut them up now ever since you are going out with them.” Levi would say as he gave out a long sigh, defeated by Hanji as he let them win with whatever they were trying to convince him. Hanji would not give up and wants to impress his little sister!

Hanji would be good at lying to help Levi’s little sister out just incase she tried to skip something such as cleaning or some training lessons, and Levi would actually fall for it sometimes.

His little sister and Hanji are loud and squeal a lot, it would Levi go mad and yell out at the both of them to shut up, but Hanji would think he is joining their squeals. “Oh my god....Levi finally joined us!” But, his little sister would go to Hanji and whisper to them “Um…I think he’s mad.”

Literally anything his little sister asks Hanji to do something, they get so happy and hyped up. And Levi sees that and actually finds them both cute, he would also appreciate how Hanji is willing to do anything for her and that makes him glad.

If he sees his little sister really down one day, he would see Hanji trying their best to boost her energy up, and Levi would really admire that about Hanji, making his lil sis happy <3

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗞𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗶𝗻

Levi would definitely intimidate Jean, just to test him (He lowkey thought Jean was a fuckboy) and this would piss his pants.

Whenever Levi passes by his little sister and Jean. Jean would salute to him quickly like an idiot. And to just rub it on his face so Levi can scare him more, Levi would say “Jean, You are not causing trouble to my little sister right?”.

Jean: “N-No Captain!!”

Levi: “Hm, better be.”

“Yo....Your brother is scary. Does he hate me?!” Jean would say, full of concern in his tone as they both looked at Levi who was giving out orders for everyone. “Um...You kinda annoy him to be honest.” She would say as Jean looked down with a sad look. “B-But don't worry! He’s just like that in the beginning.”

Jean can’t believe the sweet, cool and lovely girl he is dating is related to Levi. He had to even make sure and see if their last names matched!

“I-Is your brother here today??” Jean would say to her as he looked around, making sure he wasn't near as they were both alone in the stable. He wanted to give a kiss to her cheeks but he was scared as hell if Levi appeared out of nowhere. “It’s either now or never Kirstein.” 

Jean would try to do more tasks and try and to impress Levi just a bit. He would show him his ODM gear skills, and the only thing he got from Levi is saying “You’re an idiot.” and he would give him a stoic expression and walk away. “Huh..” Jean said as he was left all alone in the training area. Although, Levi did appreciate his hard work.

Levi would seem to like Jean later on as he was observing how he was treating his little sister and it would be with respect, love and even respecting her boundaries and Levi found the guy good, but won’t admit it.

Finds it amusing how he gets a small gift for Levi’s little sister every time whenever he went out to town, “Okay, he got taste.”

He also likes Jean because he found out he is hygienic and clean, and how he always presents himself clean and tidy, with a nice outfit every time he goes on a date with his sister during the weekend. “She’s in her bedroom, she will come for you soon.” Levi would say as he opened the door for Jean to enter their small house and Jean would stand like a stickman, too afraid to do anything that would upset Levi. “Hey brat, are you alright?”. It lowkey made Levi chuckle, and Jean thought this was it for him when he heard his small laugh.

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

Levi got now, two idiots to deal with. His sister and Connie, who would always bother him with stuff and their stupid games they keep telling Levi to join.

They actually do a lot of pranks on Levi, most of it is Connie’s idea and Levi’s little sister would agree with them and try to do it. But if they get caught, Connie would take the blame and when he does that and Levi sees how he would never bring his sister involved he would just let it slide.

Levi actually likes him, because he makes his little sister laugh a lot with his jokes, and Connie always tries his best to make sure he does that at least once everyday. He would say the most random things and she would laugh and Levi would look at her and think ‘That was not even funny...But, at least she is laughing.’ 

She would get in trouble sometimes with Connie, and if Levi found out, Connie would immediately defend you and just babble about things that did not even make sense. This would make Levi be so confused and even get lost in track to what he was even saying at the beginning. His little sister would try and hold back her laughter. Levi would just sit there, give up with the conversation and say “You know what, Forget it. You both are dismissed.” After they left, Connie would say with a big smile “See! I told you I could convince him!” “Connie...You weren’t even- Nevermind.”

When Levi walks in the hallway and hears someone laughing, he would know it’s Connie making his sister laugh and he actually smiles about it. He would later come in after they finished laughing and talking (giving them some time) and Levi would say “Oi, idiots. Focus on your work.”

𝗔𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻 𝗔𝗿𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘁

Such a mature boy when he dates Levi’s little sister, and to be honest Levi would have no problem with him dating his little sister.

He’s also a softie and always makes sure he gives what his girl wants, and Levi appreciates that how he is willing to do his best for his little sister only.

Levi can tell before they were dating how Armin would always look at Levi’s little sister, admiring her beauty and character and Levi would think to himself ‘This kid is so lovestruck’

Levi would go to his sister later on and let her know that someone is interested in her, “Who is it!” She would say blushing and looking at Levi, waiting for a response. “Hm...You will find out soon. I think he will ask you out.” Levi would say as he flipped through the papers he had. “Oh come on tell me big bro!!!” Levi liked teasing his sister and he would then say “Okay...I will tell you if you bring me some tea.” And, even after she does that Levi wouldn’t say it and she would want to beat him up.

During missions, he trusts Armin to be with his little sister since he knows he will protect her and have her back while he is away.

Armin wants to prove to Levi that he is capable of taking care of his little sister too! And he would risk his life for her, Levi knowing that would go up to Armin and say “That’s nice and all, but use your brain and don’t die. Besides...that would make my little sister sad and I wont forgive you if you do that.” That was the only time Levi was real and showed his way of trust to Armin, and that made him happy.

When Levi goes to the library, he would spot his little sister with Armin being all lovey dovey as he wanted to go and grab a book. “Tch, what do you think you both are doing?” Levi had no idea that they were actually on a date and both of them were blushing and were shy. But, he lowkey found that adorable. Later on, his sister would yell at him at how he ruined her date and he would say “Yeah yeah....Sorry.”

Armin would ask Levi sometimes what his little sister likes such as food, her favorite jewelry, or literally anything and Levi would say while raising his eyebrows, “Ask her yourself brat.”

For special occasions he would go for Levi to ask what would he do to make his little sister super happy and Levi appreciates the thought. So, he somehow ends up telling him some ideas and it was a secret plan between them to surprise her.

Armin would ask Levi to train him to be stronger after he starts dating Levi’s little sister, so he can be strong and protect her. “You will never reach my level, but sure.” Levi would say teasing Armin and after every training session, Armin is knocked out, laying on the ground. “Levi!!! What did you do now?” His little sister would yell out running towards Armin who was on the ground, “What? The brat said he wanted me to train him.”

this was such a nice and fun idea and I liked how I made hc’s for other aot characters so thanks for the request anon!! let me know if you liked it and if anyone else did let me know by leaving a like or a reblog! Have a great day and I hope this somehow cheered anyone up! <3

#Levi ackerman #levi headcanons #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman headcanon #levi ackerman headcanons #levi fanfiction #anime fanfiction #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan fan fiction #attack on titan #attack on tian fanfiction #attack on titan modern au #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan armin #attack on titan eren #attack on titan hanji #attack on tian jean #attack on titan connie #shingeki no kyojin #armin arlet #jean headcanons #jean x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean kirschstein #jean aot #armin headcanons #armin fluff #jean fluff

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #best friend!harry styles #loose ankles #lol #one of my fav things ive written #i got carried away during the smut.... sorry

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Gojo Satoru general headcanons

Let's get one thing clear: this man is absolutely chaotic. He is always full of energy. His energy levels never reach below 50%. He is loud and proud, always running, and never takes a minute to relax.

Do not give him Monster. Shoko did that once and it took her forever to get him off the ceiling. Also, avoid caffeine. Shoko replaces his normal coffee with decaf and he still hasn't noticed the difference. Keep it that way.

He was the class clown when he was younger. He wasn't exactly a trouble maker, but he may as well be. I cannot word that sentence and I am sorry. Next.

All of his teachers assumed he never listened in class, so they always called in him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. It still shocked them every time he rattled off the correct answer.

Not only did he answer the question correctly, but he could also explain his reasoning behind the answer, and if it was multiple choice, explain why the other answers were wrong. 

This tall man child would march up to the board and absolutely fill it to the brim with work, turn around, drop the chalk-like a mic drop and walk back to his desk with the smuggest look on his face.

That doesn't mean he did the work tho

Idk how schools in japan work but we all know schools in America only care about the amount of work you do and not what you actually know so we'll use that for the sake of the headcanon: he had straight D's bc he never turned in his work

Despite not doing the work snd goofing off, teachers actually really liked him

A lot of people liked him and he was super popular, but he still felt alone

Fake friends, you know how that works, he didn't meet any real friends until he became a shaman

Clean freak. This dude actually makes his bed. He scrubs his bathroom twice a week. His desk can get cluttered but he straightens up once a week. He's not exactly a germaphobe because

He cannot respect your personal space and that's actually canon but let me take it a step further 

He's a slapper. Especially when he laughs. It doesn't hurt, it's playful dw. He hugs you from behind especially when he's cold. He picks you up and carries you around. He will grab your wrist, arm, or hand and lead you around even if you're following him. He lays his legs across you or lays across your lap. Puts his head on your shoulder. Platonic cuddling between friends is mandatory. He's just so hands-on it's ridiculous.

Unless you explicitly tell him you're uncomfortable he won't stop

Don't worry, if you aren't in that type of relationship, your no-no square is safe. Except, if you seem chill, he will slap your ass regardless of friendship status. His ass is also slappable. You can't tell me Geto and Gojo didn't run around slapping each other asses, okay

He was weird and scrawny as a child. He didn't start beefing out until he started training to be a shaman and he's still kinda smaller than most beefy boys

He can pick you up and throw you around easily. He carried around a 170 pound Yuji like a sack of potatoes and can easily carry around three times that weight

It's amazing he's so tiny because you remember 2014 Shane Dawson making all of those wack ass desserts that was just s pile of chaos wrapped in chocolate?

He can eat every last bite of one of those monstrosities without getting a stomach ache, gaining weight, or dying basically

He knows bc Yuji dared him to do it

He has really cold hands and feet

He sounds old. Let me elaborate. He's constantly cracking his joints. They also creak when he moves. He complains about body pains like he's 80 y/o

He also shares wisdom with the kids as if he's actually 80 y/o

It's irrelevant advice that doesn't make sense but is also useful. Megumi can't count the number of times he's asked Gojo for feedback on his technique but had been told to remember to chew 40 times or never go to bed angry

Starts off sentences with "now son" and "when I was your age"

He uses his blindfold as a headband when he wants his hair out of his face. He also uses headbands as... Headbands... When he wants to wear sunglasses but get his hair out of his face

He owns so many pairs of sunglasses but he always wears the same pair

He's only bought a handful of them himself, most of them are gifts

No one knows what to get him for Christmas or his birthday bc he has everything, so they resort to sunglasses

His favorite pair is a pair that Shoko and Geto bought him as a gag. He thought they were dead serious, though, so he wore them around for a month

They were heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses

Can you believe this man doesn't use any gel or anything to keep his hair spiky with the blindfold on? It just naturally defies gravity when the blindfold is on

Tell this man he's pretty because he already knows. He's narcissistic but not the cringy kind

Photogenic as hell. Takes great pictures from any angle. 

He gives everyone a different story as to why he covers his eyes. Sometimes he says it's because his eyes are too pretty and are a distraction. Sometimes he says it's because the sunglasses/bandages/blindfold look cooler than his eyes. Sometimes he says it's to protect the six eyes from seeing things he doesn't want to see. The world may never know

He's tried covering his whole face before, but he thinks he's too pretty for that. He at least wants one of his many amazing features to be shown at all times.

So about his driver's license;

He knows how to drive. He can be a good driver. When he wants to be. He just doesn't have a driver's license.

Now he TELLS people he just never got around to getting one, however, there's a rumor he lost it due to too many parking tickets

It's amazing the only tickets he's ever gotten have been from that and once he got caught without a seatbelt; he would have gotten out of that one if he hadn't been flirting with the police officer so bad

This doesn't stop Gojo from driving places though

He steals Ijichi's car a LOT and Ijichi DOESN'T KNOW HOW like??? The windows are never broken and it doesn't look hotwired-

Gojo has a key

You're not even supposed to be able to duplicate car keys but Gojo did 

Also; none of the first-year trio knows he doesn't have a driver's license, though that much should be painfully obvious

He whips around corners, speeds up at yellow lights, goes "watch this" and does a donut, it's just a mess

The poor students have to sit in the backseat too. Just imagine Megumi with all three seatbelts around him like that one meme.

He thrives off of Nobara and Yuji screaming from the backseat, and he can see Megumi being smooshed because he thought the middle seat was the safest through the rearview mirror

Which he doesn't even need because of the six eyes

Despite being such a reckless driver, he knows when danger will happen, so he's never once gotten in a wreck

He blasts the radio, which makes up for the driving.

Has a habit of getting in a car and ending up in the McDonalds drive-thru

Steals other people's fries and keeps the fullest one for himself.

He was rebellious as a kid and teenager, but hey, at least his juvie record is sealed 

He's been detained and in the back of a cop car many times, but the reason was never really bad enough for him to be arrested. Mostly he's just being mouthy. And the time he got caught spray painting on the side of a building. And that one time he and Getou hopped the fence to get into the local pool. And that other time-

It got worse after Getou wasn't around to get him out of trouble. Suddenly, breaking the rules wasn't fun anymore and he mellowed out. 

Tried alcohol and cigarettes before he was legal. Decided neither was his thing, however, he did start drinking occasionally when he was legal.

He's a fucking chaotic drunk. Oh my god he's absolutely feral

Most bars in the vicinity know him by name and they sigh whenever he walks in

Shoko is his emergency contact. She hates it

Shoko has to drag drunk Gojo home at least twice a month and is not happy about it

Once she left him in an alley. He made it home okay so she guesses it's fine

Once he got so drunk he spilled beer on his sock. The thought the fastest way to dry them was by sticking them in the microwave. Forgot about it until someone asked, "Who the fuck is cooking socks???"

I feel it important he was in the break room of the local grocery store and no one knows how he got there

As he was escorted out he stole a grocery cart and rode away in it while singing Don't Threaten Me (With A Good Time) by Panic! At The Disco

He has no alcohol tolerance at all what so ever

He will literally just stare at you and giggle

It's funny he's really flirty but also doesn't seal the deal. Literally, every woman in that bar is willing to get in his bed but he declines every offer. No one knows why

Its because he respects women

He helps his students break the rules as long as they're within reason. Once night Yuji was really hungry and after having a temper tantrum he couldn't order Uber eats bc the school is supposed to be secret Gojo helped sneak him out to get food. Who needs curfew anyway.

The shirts in his closet range from like twenty bucks to the iconic rich bitch shirt the kids ruined in that one chapter we all know the one 

He still wears that by the way, he calls it "art" 

When he was younger, Megumi drew a picture of Gojo being eaten by his shadow dogs. Gojo found it and now it's framed in his room.

He keeps up with current trends and memes like no one's business. This is how he bonds with his kids.

Don't call him old, but also, he'll tell you to respect your elders it's a mess

He has a lot of games on his phone. You can usually find him holding his phone sideways playing some RPG game he probably spent too much money on 

He did hop on the Pokemon Go hype train but after becoming overpowered he got bored

This happens to a lot of games. He pays way too much money, gets to be the strongest in the server, and gets bored

He likes games where you can kill other people's troops and likes to watch as they lose all their power

I canon him as being borderline sadistic

This is why he's Sakata Gintoki reincarnated

White hair, sweet tooth, black leather clothes, dad vibes, never takes anything seriously bc when he does he's scary as fuck, the works.

He is Sakata Gintoki

He liked Gintama growing up. He watched a lot of iconic shows as they aired. He considers himself an og

He's hella bilingual

Because he's the strongest he goes overseas for missions a lot. Because of this he speaks a lot of languages and knows a lot about international cuisine 

He takes pictures of himself eating disgusting foods like snails. He never likes them but he loves the idea of Nobara gagging back in japan

Has paperwork sitting untouched on his desk from three months ago that he will not touch for at least another three months

Does the crossword puzzles in the newspaper every week

Uses humor as a coping mechanism and it honestly just became a personality

Constantly popping his joints. I'm sorry if you find this gross I too find it gross.

Probably brought home every stray animal he ever met ever until he was at least like 22 y/o

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

#jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons

[seijorhi]

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

The (not so) long awaited Hitman AU 👀

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

TW Blood, minor violence, referenced/implied murder, stalking, implied kidnapping

Iwaizumi has one rule. No kids.

They could be the damn antichrist for all he cares, if they’re underage, they’re off limits. Anyone else is fair game - kind old ladies, rich corrupt businessmen, housewives, politicians. He doesn’t give a shit so long as he gets paid, and paid well.

You were fair game.

He never cares why. Iwa has better things to do than listen to meaningless justifications and vendettas. They make no difference either way - he’s being paid to kill, so he’ll kill, ruthlessly and without prejudice. All he wants is a name, a picture and whether or not they want brains splattered on pavement or something a little more refined. An address doesn’t go astray, but he’ll work with what he’s got, it’s the reason he can charge a fucking premium.

But you… you weren’t what he expected. He’s used to filth. Liars, cheaters, bottom of the barrel trash. Every once in a while some poor idiot gets caught up in something they don’t understand and ultimately pay the price for it, but good people don’t often end up in files splayed across Iwaizumi’s desk. He’s not used to innocence, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re as close as they come.

He supposes that things might have been different if they’d wanted you dead quickly. 

Publicly. 

But they didn’t want that. They wanted you to disappear without a fucking trace. It wasn’t a kindness - it just meant more work for him. It meant that instead of staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle perched in the window of an empty apartment across the street from yours, he’d have to get his hands dirty.

If you want somebody to blame, sweetheart, why don’t you start with them?

In hindsight, he probably didn’t need to go inside the little coffee joint you worked at. He could lie to himself and say that it was an excuse to get closer to you, to see if you had friends at your work who might try and get in the way, but the simple truth was that he’d been up since four in the fucking morning, and he might just have shot somebody out of sheer irritation if he didn’t get a hit of caffeine and soon. 

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

And it wasn’t like you were going to recognise him. Three days in, and as far as Iwa can tell, you don’t have the slightest idea that you were being watched, much less that the pair of eyes watching belonged to a cold hearted killer. 

People tend to be a little more scared when they sense he’s coming - there’s a kind of innate fear that seeps from every pore as they scurry about trying to hide, trying to put off the inevitable - but you, you’re just blissfully oblivious, flitting around with those wide doe eyes like you haven’t got a damn care in the world. 

He honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to envy or pity you for that sweet naivety. 

Currently though, he’s more concerned with whether or not you can make a half decent cup of coffee. 

“I asked for an extra hot latte.”

Or he would be, if the asshole with slicked back hair and an expensive suit hadn’t cut him off just as he was about to step up to the counter to shove the coffee you’d just made him back in your face. He watches your eyes widen for a split second before you smile - apologetic and demure before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it not hot enough?” 

The moment the words leave your lips, you all but flinch. Both you and he know that despite the fact you mean them sincerely (which kind of surprises him, considering that if your situations were reversed he wouldn’t have been nearly so generous) they’re a mistake.

The asshole sneers down at you like you’re nothing more than scum on his shoes. “If it was fucking hot enough, I wouldn’t be wasting my time complaining, now would I?”

Even before he found himself dabbling in his current line of work, Iwaizumi never considered himself much of a knight in shining armour. The world’s a shitty place, it’s not his job to go around fixing things and softening blows. He’s not a cold, emotionless bastard, as most people assume, he just has better things to do than run around playing a damn bleeding heart and sticking his neck out for strangers. It’s not his problem and as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe anybody shit.

Impassive olive eyes watch as you try and backtrack, apologising again, offering to make him a new drink, explaining that the reason the coffee wasn’t as hot as he wanted was because you were trying not to scorch the milk- for naught.

You in your naive little world don’t seem to realise that the asshole doesn’t actually give a shit about the coffee. He wants a power trip, and you’ve given him the perfect excuse. He wants to yell and scream and stamp his feet and take all of his repressed anger and feelings of inadequacy out on you so that he can feel like a big man. He wants to see you whimper and cry and bow down before him.

It’s pathetic, but Iwa’s content to watch it play out, drumming his fingers against the wallet in his hand, more irritated with the delay in getting his own coffee than the outburst itself-

Until the asshole reaches for his latte. 

Iwa’s good at reading people, predicting their movements before they’re even made. It’s a necessary skill in his profession, one that’s saved his skin more times than he can count. He sees the little vein in the asshole’s temple throb, his jaw tighten, and the moment his hand twitches towards the still steaming cup of coffee, Iwa knows that he fully intends on throwing it at you.

He moves quicker than a man of his size has any right to, an iron grip wrapping around the asshole’s wrist, squeezing. He glares, sneering down at the man who all of a sudden doesn’t seem quite so angry, much less imposing. 

“Get out,” he hisses.

It’s not a request.

But the asshole either has a death wish or he’s trying to salvage what’s left of his fragile ego, because his beady eyes narrow and he opens his mouth - no doubt to spew more vitriolic bullshit.

Iwa twists.

Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it sends the man to his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, desperate to relieve the pressure on his wrist. 

“I said,” he begins, his voice colder than ice, “get out.”

Yet he doesn’t spare the asshole another glance, not even as he releases his grip and the man skitters away like he’s been burned. The cafe is deathly silent, and without even glancing around, Iwa knows that they’ve managed to draw the attention of most if not all of its patrons.

And for once, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

Iwa’s eyes, his attention, all of it is focused entirely on you - on the wide eyed, stunned look on your pretty face. It’s a violent outburst, not nearly close to what he’s truly capable of, but in the quiet little cafe on a dreary Tuesday morning, glaringly out of place.

Will you burst into tears, he wonders. Ignore it, brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Stutter out more apologies for causing a fuss, for making a simple mistake? He somehow doubts you’ll be the type to scold him for it. No, you’re far too meek for that.

You surprise him, smiling slowly instead, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

It’s a far cry from the contrite air you’d graced the asshole with earlier. It’s hesitant, nervous, but it’s very much real, and Iwa finds it difficult to stop the corners of his own lips from twitching upwards in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He inclines his head a fraction. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t charge him for the coffee, even when he practically shoves the bills across the counter into your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shyly parrot back at him, and he almost fucking snorts when there’s a warmed chocolate chip muffin waiting with his coffee when it’s ready.

He’s being paid forty grand to make sure you’re dead by the end of the week, and you’re here giving him free muffins. Oikawa would see the humour in that. Of course, Oikawa would have absolutely no qualms in charming the absolute hell out of you seconds before he pulled the trigger. Realistically, he shouldn’t either. It’s his job, nothing personal.

To say he enjoys killing is probably a stretch, but he takes pride in it. Iwa’s good at what he does. It’s simple. Easy - so long as he follows his own rules.

This shouldn’t be any different. You’re cute, he supposes, in an odd sort of way. Innocent.

Endearing.

It shouldn’t have an effect on him. 

It doesn’t, but-

He could have killed you two days ago. He’d be willing to bet good money that he could’ve walked right to your apartment, knocked on your door, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and you would have smiled and invited him right inside. 

And it’s not like you’d stand a chance of being able to fight him off.

Over the past few days there have been at least twelve different moments that Iwaizumi could have stepped in and snuffed that pretty little life of yours out without making a fuss and it would have been easy.

But he hadn’t.

There’s a difference between surveillance and stalking - it’s a fine line, a blurred one maybe, but it’s there all the same. After yet another night spent camped out watching you move about your apartment - cooking dinner for yourself, zoning out on the couch and fiddling with your phone while the tv plays in the background before finally curling up in bed in the early hours of the morning - Iwa comes to the realisation that he’s crossed it. 

He wonders why it doesn’t bother him like it should.

The next day, he goes back to your little coffee shop. There’s no muffin this time, but your face brightens when he walks through the door and when he goes to pick up his coffee there’s a tiny, bite sized cookie sitting atop the lid.

“Don’t tell my boss,” you whisper, darting a glance back over your shoulder even as another pretty little smile graces your features.

Something unexpectedly warm and pleasant sings through his blood, and this time Iwa allows his own lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a grin in response.

You really are a truly awful judge of character.

Maybe that’s your downfall, that beautiful, naive innocence you just bleed. It’s a wonder that nobody’s come along to take advantage of you, especially when you are so very ripe for the taking. 

Well, nobody until him, he supposes. 

Iwa doesn’t know for certain why the men who want you dead do, he doesn’t particularly care either, but he does know that whatever their reasons are, it’s not enough.

Neither is forty thousand dollars.

It takes time, more than he’d like, to find the root of it all. It’s messy and he has to call in a few favours from old friends, but Iwa is nothing if not thorough.

He’s never particularly enjoyed killing, but there’s a certain satisfaction he gets from watching the light leave their desperate, pleading eyes knowing that he’s finally done his job. When he comes home, his shirt flecked with blood, his hands still dripping with it and coaxes your stricken, tear stained face up into a lingering kiss, Iwa feels content.

They wanted you to disappear entirely, he made sure that you did. 

#yandere haikyuu #yandere iwaizumi #yandere iwaizumi hajime #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere iwaizumi hajime x reader #yandere fic #my writing #tw stalking #tw blood #tw minor violence & implied murder

[wincestisasincest]

Waves on the Shore - Chapter 6 Sneak Peek

So rude that this chapter isn't writing itself, and that I, a self proclaimed "writer" have to do it.

Anyway, literally thanks to all of y'all for sticking with this story so far! Every single one of you sparks joy :')

As usual, enjoy

WOTS masterlist // wc: 615 // triggers: hospitals, poison, death, discussion of unplanned pregnancy, idk if babies count but they are kind of gross no shade to babies tho i was a baby once too // tags: @edenstarkk, @modernamilf, @dedicated2viktor (hi sorry i could not answer your comment directly because this is a sideblog and tumblr is stupid but you are now on the taglist!!!!)

Getting closer, you recognized the squirming and the crying coming from the colors. Those were babies. You had stumbled into the maternity ward.

Leaning your head against the glass, you observed them like wild animals.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Jayce asked, appearing out of nowhere. You didn’t turn around.

“There are so… few of them,” you said, “this is the only hospital in Piltover?”

There were exactly 15 babies in there, all healthy, if a bit scrunched together and barely awake. Kind of like drunk adults.

“What do you mean?” Jayce was at your side, watching them with less interest.

“What I said. There are not a lot of babies.”

“Oh? Well, I know that Piltover does a pretty good job of controlled pregnancy. They want all of these kids to go to good homes.”

“What happens if a birth is unplanned?”

“Then they get adopted.”

“There’s always someone looking to adopt?”

“Or foster. But yeah.”

“What about the leftover kids?”

“There aren’t any leftover kids.”

“So every kid has somewhere to live. No orphanages, no factories, no nothing?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. That doesn’t happen in Bilgewater,” you dropped your hands to your side, “unwanted pregnancy is a whole industry there.”

Jayce was quiet.

“Did I say something?” you turned to the side. He had a distant look on his face, like you weren’t even there.

“No,” he shook his head suddenly, “I was just thinking. By the way, we’re all poison-free.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess,” you rested your shoulder against the window, “so, did you get anything before he kicked the bucket?”

“Viktor said something happened after I left. I’ll have to ask him about it. But other than that, no.”

“Damn,” you sighed.

Everywhere you turned you just more evidence that there was some greater conspiracy going on and never any specifics. They were always swiped from underneath you before you could look at them properly. You were grasping at straws, confused, with no sign of an end in sight, and having to drag every breakthrough kicking and screaming into the open.

“But hey, we’ll keep trying,” Jayce smiled softly.

“Do you think it’s worth it. To keep trying?” you said, playing with your fingers, “I mean, whoever is doing this, they don’t wanna be found. And they’ll kill people for it. Maybe… maybe we should stop before more people get hurt.”

“I thought you wanted to solve this?” Jayce asked doubtfully.

“I did, but I’m kind of over it. Fuck my closure, Iron Leg might not be the only one dead if we don’t let up,” you let yourself sound a little harsh to mask any vulnerability.

“That is why we must look into it, yes?” Viktor said from behind you, the clack of his cane not even registering since you had gotten so used to it, “this person is dangerous.”

“But they don’t have to be if we just stop looking.”

“That is what they want us to do.”

“Okay? That’s better than them wanting us dead, isn’t it?”

“I believe that this is worth the risk,” Viktor was beside Jayce, who was nodding along enthusiastically.

“Alright, well,” you raised your hands defensively, “if you wanna keep digging, I can’t stop you, but it seems unnecessary to me.”

You refused to acknowledge the awkward silence and turned back to the babies.

No kid goes unwanted in Piltover. Maybe it was because this city needed a consistent supply of people willing to risk themselves for some greater good. Viktor, though, he wasn’t from Piltover. He should know better than anyone else that, with no one looking out for you, you were the only thing keeping yourself from an early grave.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #jayce talis #mel medarda #mel #caitlyn #jayce #waves on the shore #caitlyn kiramann

[riotwritesthings]

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

#my fic #bucky/tony #winteriron #starkbucks #everybody loves vampire bucky AMIRIGHT #anywhooo HAPPYBIRFDAY 😘