i only say feelings and not ✨love✨ bc i get that the latter is a luxury in arranged marriages. but maybe, just maybe (and call me crazy if im being too radi/cal), it's important to have some kind of feelings for the person you are supposed to spend the rest of your life with
I literally rolled on the floor when i read ayatos/shenhes reaction on the "So your the one fucking my daughter????" But pls make pt 3 of these characters
- hu tao
i really love this prompt so much and im glad you guys like it too, its amazing honestly,,,,,,, ive never written for hu tao i have no idea how to portray her ESPECIALLY NOT IN A SITUATION LIKE THIS??????????
characters: albedo, hu tao, keqing, itto
beware: direct mention of sex but no nsfw content
You had told your father to go easy on your beloved partner, he promised he would. When you introduced them to each other you made sure to send your father a stern look. It all began innocently, sweet greetings as you sat down for dinner, and then your father began to speak.
"So," your father looked directly into your partner's eyes, "you're the one who's been fucking my daughter?"
❥ albedo first looks at you, a puzzled expression paints his face
❥ albedo's reaction makes you more embarrassed that your dad asked that in front of albedo than the fact your dad asked about your sex life
❥ you and your mother scold your father harshly, forcing an apology and a bellowing laugh from him
❥ albedo simply decides to ignore the question, though there is very very light blush that displays his embarrassment
"pass the salt, please?"
❥ she stops humming and looks at him in pure terror
❥ oh my god, your dad is confronting her right now, is she going to become one of her own customers over this
❥ shes very pensive for a moment, a stark difference from the playful girl that your parents first met, but she bounces back (as much as she can, at least)
❥ after you and your mother are done ripping your father a new one she proceeds the conversation with a bit of a nervous demenour
"wow! do you ask all your daughter-in-laws that one?~ eheh.. heh..."
❥ hu tao.exe is malfunctioning, hu tao.exe is not running properly...
❥ keqing's face turned completely indignant, flushing red as she gripped her fork like her life depended on it
❥ honestly high chance she just... stopped breathing for a moment
❥ as you and your mother scolded your father for saying something like that she tried to recollect herself, hand shaking as she reached for her water. literally just like the fucking meme. she spilled a few drops too
❥ once your father apologized and you and your mother calmed down, your mother apologized and keqing simply tried to professionally respond--a total failure, her face was still painted red and her brows were still burrowed in embarrassment
❥ however your father didnt let it go that quickly
"so then.. are you or are you not the one fuc-"
"PLEASE STOP ASKING ME THAT, SIR"
❥ literally went "eheh what"
❥ FLABBERGHASTED! this boy is in SHOCK, in AWE, his body physically recoiled, absolutely BAFFLED that your father asked him that
❥ was he in trouble? oh my god is your dad going to beat him up? how does your dad know? this is the first time he's met him!!!!!!!
❥ he doesnt blush or get embarrassed he just PANICS, hes hyperventilating and trying to do some extreme rocket science to figure out how your dad found out
❥ at this point your dad HIMSELF has to ask if he's okay
"uh, son? you alright there? listen, it was just a joke-"
"IM SO SORRY FOR FUCKING YOUR DAUGHTER I DIDNT MEAN TO PLEASE DONT BE UPSET ABOUT THAT HONESTLY I DIDNT KNOW IT WOULD BOTHER YOU ACTUALLY I DIDNT KNOW YOU WOULD EVER FIND OUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD STA-"
twilight boys encountering a 'pick me'
a/n: just felt like writing something fun w these three today. edwards is the longest because i like him. reqs are open :))
warnings: both edward and emmetts get a lil dark, seth has the only sane response, cursing and fem!reader
he has no choice but to know everyone in a 5-mile radius, so as soon as he lays eyes on them in his head, he's already like 'this fucking guy😒'
genuinely perplexed how they thought this was going to go
Edward is a curious man. Humans are weird creatures. So the first time they approach he is going to at least give them the benefit of the doubt.
As soon as they even spoke ill of you—
"Come on." And then throws his arm over your shoulders and walks away like a fucking diva, as many times as it takes.
if they are a little harder to get rid of
his first instinct is to protect, if he senses you can't take it or remove you from the situation if you are the type to throw hands lol
doesn't really matter who they are
"Edward, that was my lab partner, you dick."
"Yeah? They were about to tell me all about how you used to eat dirt and then ask out for coffee later. Do you want to turn around?"
if they don't take the hint, then boo hoo, they can face the consequences of messing with the guy willing to die for his s/o
Edward gets mildly psychological. he never touches a hair on their head, but his methods are a little... long-lasting
he won't tell you either, you'll just be curious and ask after your usually persistent annoyance
you asked how they were doing one night over the phone, and they'd shakily confessed to you that lately, just when they start to think they're alone, in tight rooms and smaller spaces, the lights will cut off, doors slamming shut and locking tight for sometimes hours until someone finds them. They ask if they can speak to Edward. He hits the end call button.
they don't answer your texts anymore :/
that, and the hostile stares across the lot, usually gets the job done
but if it's someone you absolutely have to be around, or you explicitly make it clear you want this person in your life for whatever reason,
he can muster the niceties, but that doesn't stop him from pressuring you to get rid of them, even if you think you aren't personally affected, hearing negative things flung around about you is mentally taxing to anyone going on for long enough, and he doesn't think forcing a fake friendship for any reason is healthy
if the reason you give him is something materialistic—say you are using them for their pool
he will pave it in your backyard like those guys on youtube using bamboo and mud if it means you listen to him
if they cross the line again he is absolutely that guy to stop the conversation with "and what do you mean by that?" "What is that supposed to mean."
until they respond, completely killing the vibe 🙄
you already know what it is
anything this man thinks is coming out of his mouth right away
they try to be subtle, making little digs at you here and there, and smoothing it over with some personal anecdote no one asked for or acknowledges. Give him a second. Emmett is a little slow to catch things like this.
Maybe they take it too far, or if you complain about it at all–
*80+ years of American public school activated*
"The hell did you just say?"
and if they try to apologize, backtrack with some well-meaning bs to get on his good side?
absolutely DISGUSTING, begone thot
"People wouldn't hate you so much if you weren't so weird all the time" 🥴
Emmett isn't out to blow anyone cover or anything, but what are the Volturi going to care about a couple of American highschool write-ups
unrelated, but now I'm imagining one of the Cullens(probably still Emmett) having a prison arc because they keep beating high school children's asses until they are sentenced and then breaking out years later. it becomes a local legend and his mugshot is memed for years
he gets mean, but if they wanted him to stop, they wouldn't shit talk his girlfriend right in front of his face
Emmett is a car guy. I'm sure he identifies strongly w transformers. his first thought is always gonna be the car.
he isn't above dinging doors and bumpers, keying something mildly threatening, perhaps rigging it up to his jeep and hauling it to the far side of the parking lot and ruining their transmission for the entire school to see, if he's feeling wild
If they don't have a car? He at least has the self-control for some mild intimidation.
walking a crowd is always a risk. You never know who is going where at what time, who could step on a lace, stick a leg out, snatch their collar like scruff and yank sharply until they fall on their ass
It's petty, girl.
He picks up on their dislike of you pretty quickly and is kind of worried for you cause–
Are you not aware? That this one person really seems to dislike you? Why is no one else talking about this?
he wants to be nice to your friends, so he waits for your cue, desperately side-eyeing you for the entire conversation, waiting for you to shut their jealously down
they say something rude about the way girls like you take care of yourself and he is just beyond over it and blurts "Okay—What?!"
really pitchy and confused, and also blinking incredulously because what the hell is their problem
Seth is a pretty persistent guy, and he not going to just let someone slip an awkward insult at you and continue to talk to him like normal
he'll be nice at first when they immediately apologize to you and him profusely and everything is cool again
until five minutes later, when you mention being a little tired and they cut in to ask him how you can even keep up with him, greedily eyeing the smooth brown skin of his arms, exposed by his sleeveless shirt, not subtle at all in their admiration of the lean musculature
"What are yOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT⁉️" he explodes, controlled in his anger but soo frustrated at having to listen to this crap, and then the unwanted advances.
he figured it was part of it with the redirection of every subject back to them, but he can't even think about that because that came completely out of left field and he can't just gloss over it again to keep the pace, mamas 😩 yes he says mamas, his sister is a lesbian i think its funny
completely bitches them out, but it's just an itemized list of every horrible thing this person has shown about themselves in the short time he has been around them — and after he has said his peace, calmly leaves
you follow him,ofc
brutally honest ship opinion meme
Spideytorch is the m/m ship for people who like to do deep, complete continuity reads and compile coherent impressions of characters based on their totality. There's an incredibly strong case for it strewn one issue, sometimes one panel, at a time, over sixty years of crossovers in literally dozens of different titles. Spideytorch is for people who unironically enjoy comics from the 60's and then apply queer readings to them. I have consumed significantly more spideytorch content than reflects my actual relative investment in it because it's a cheat code for finding good 616 fanworks, and I'm not at all looking forward to the FF joining the MCU ruining this for me.
So like...for me the short version is "spideytorch is very real" and the long version is "but is it though??????" Like it is but it's this situation where Johnny is just as plausible a love interest for Peter as the many, many other people he has romantic chemistry with, whereas Johnny's secondary superpower is being an utterly inhospitable environment for any kind of romantic chemistry, so this like, actually means something, but more for Johnny as a character than Spider-Man as a property.
It's pretty standard, as much as anything can be within this incredibly small niche of media analysis, to interpret Johnny's absolutely nonexistent chemistry with every single female character who's ever been deliberately written as his love interest as him being gay, but by my read Johnny having romantic chemistry with men is also very rare. I generally address ask answers to the class, but you specifically and you alone have gotten the outline notes of the "Johnny Storm is on the ace spectrum" essay I promised I would write like...two...years ago...... so you know that I'm like, uh, having some thoughts about this.
Like I think if we lived in an alternate history that weren't heteronormative they would have been an item, but if we lived in one that also wasn't amatonormative Johnny wouldn't be wildly miscast in the role of a playboy in the first place, or would at least be written into this position with deliberation instead of largely by bizarrely consistent accident. Peter Parker might be the love of Johnny Storm's life, and the fact that I think Johnny isn't strictly allo (while Peter is like one notch below Zeus Tier on the ranking of extremely allo fictional characters) doesn't contradict that but it does make it weirder and more fraught. Peter falls in love if you say hi to him and this keeps him so busy he's never even fit noticing he knows next to nothing about queerness into his schedule. It's a confused doomed pining conflicted forever-angst fest but then you look at their actual dynamic and it's just the most comfortable bickering you have ever seen. Hell of a flavor happening here.
Like, if I'm ranking Peter love interests, Johnny is in like, the Betty Brant zone, but you need to know when I say that that I think Peter and Betty are great. They light up my life. Absolutely never going anywhere, but that's not the point. But also, you can't just make this comparison cold, because you need to correct for how only one of these ships actually gets to be a thing in official media, because society bad. But then that correction creates new problems and weakens the verisimilitude of your takes overall. Analyzing spideytorch is an endeavor in sociological studies. You know I kind of thought that when I came back from the break I took from answering these I would sound slightly less insane.
*stares at the meme for an ungodly amount of time while contemplating also which boy to send* how about u and k for.....poe or marc
Thank you for asking!
For you Tegan, you can have both!
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Poe - Poe is a try anything once kinda guy so he's totally fine with a lot of stuff as long as all parties enjoy. But our daring flyboy has quite a thing for semi-public sex... Hear me out here. Poe likes the thrill that you might get caught although he'd never put you in a situation where it was guaranteed (he'd rather keep that sight just to himself). But thrives on adventure and the edge of danger and it gives just a little extra bite to your love life. He loves dragging you off to the back of the hangar, or into a supply closet after a mission and he's desperate to get his hands on you? He isn't waiting and if people hear you... Well, at least they know he knows how to take care of you.
Marc - Marc likes it when you're in control. It takes you by surprise the first time he asks you to tie him down, given how much control other people (or god's) have taken of his life. But to Marc, trust is the ultimate form of intimacy and he trusts you more than anyone in the world. He loves it when you tie him down to the bed and use him for your own pleasure. And when you invite him to do the same to you... Well let's just say he takes no prisoners.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Poe - Poe is a massive tease. He'll spend forever winding you up, flirting, touching, kissing, doing everything to have you litterally in the edge and keeping you there. He'll tease you softly about how pretty you are like this, all needy for him and desperate. He'll have you begging as he caresses every part of your skin with feather light touches but never where you want him to, not until he's sure you're on the edge of madness, and then he'll give you everything.
Marc - Less of a tease unless you specifically ask for it. He's a little bit too impatient for that. He's waited this long to get you into his arms he'd rather spend his time burried deep inside you than he would teasing you. He loves to spend time wrapped up in your arms, listening to you breathe his name rather than squirming and begging. But be careful, wind him up with your own teasing and he'll give as good as he gets.
Send me requests from the NSFW alphabet and I'll give you my headcannons!
gruff's masterlist post
I absolutely DO NOT give anyone permission to translate, repost, or share my stories except by reblogging from this blog.
No Wattpad (or similar sites that crop up)
No copy/pasting to a post on your blog
No copy/pasting to another account on AO3 (I am kaeorin)
Reblogs are OKAY and LOVELY.
An embarrassing number of fics below for these fandoms:
Other Marvel Avengers
American Horror Story
Being Human (lol just one solitary fic for this one, sorry!)
Through Shadows to the Edge of Night: Fili/Female Reader. This takes place post-BOTFA. The Durins survived. But the battle still weighs heavily on all of you. When Fili’s demons drive him to wander beneath the mountain, how long can you keep your own hidden away? G. Fluff/comfort.
A Stroll in the Springtime: Thorin/Reader. IBW Hello Spring Prompt: Stroll. Thorin takes you for a walk in the burgeoning spring greenery. He’s got a surprise for you. G. Fluff.
The Frozen King: Thorin/Female Reader. Thorin falls into a half-frozen river and you have to help warm him. (It occurs to me now that I could have gone in a very different, very explicit direction with this, but…eh.) G. Angst/Fluff. Yearning!
Sodden Love: Thorin/Female Reader. Your husband does not often allow himself to get drunk, but when he does, things get…silly. (Prompt: Booping the nose with a drunk Thorin.) G. Drunk Fluff.
When the Darkness Creeps In: Fili/Female Reader. At night, you sit awake, trying to ignore the churning of your stomach and the pounding of your heart–and the knowledge that this anxiety is both unfounded and insulting to your husband, who has surely faced down much worse. G. Fluff/comfort. Written to deal with my own anxiety.
A Series of Small Things: Fili/Reader. Imagine giving Fili a back rub as you sit around the fire at camp. G. Kinda fluffy.
Winter’s Fire: Thorin/Female Reader. You’re settled in bed, ready to spend yet another cold winter’s night alone, when Thorin comes through the door. R for some sex but it’s not graphic smut. Cuddling.
A Light From the Shadows: Fili/Reader with female pronouns. This story takes place post-BOTFA, in a world where everybody survived the battle. You’ve been with the Company from Day 1 and with Kili for nearly as long. One afternoon, you catch him in the trees with another, and you find comfort in an unexpected place. Rated PG-13, maybe, just because of alcohol and some kissing? Hurt/Comfort and some fluff.
The Darkened Road: Thorin/Reader with female pronouns. Post-BOTFA. As memories of the battle wash over you, you try not to ask the most important question of all. Where is Thorin? Rated PG-13 because of remembered violence. Angst.
Hair of the Dog: Modern!Thorin/Female Reader. A Soul Mates AU with some werewolves thrown in. You’ve got a Mark that never fails to raise eyebrows, but for the most part, you’ve made your peace with it. Until a stranger walks into your life. Rated R because of sex, awkward urban legends, and threatened violence? I mean, it’s a Soul Mate AU. General Romance with some Angst?
Untitled–Spies AU: Modern!Fili/Female Reader. Just a quick thing I wrote. You’re a spy, and you go undercover with a fellow spy (that’d be Fili) to try to get some info on some generic baddie. Rated PG-13 for…I dunno, drinking and suggestive situations? General
A Matter of Time: Thorin/Reader (gender not specified, and the pairing isn’t super strong). You make a sacrifice try to ease Kili’s sickness and someone else calls you out on it. I feel like this may have been inspired by @imaginexhobbit or maybe even @imaginethorin but I can’t think of the imagine it might have come from, so…enjoy this anyway? Rated PG for maybe some teasingly-threatened violence? Fluff. Kind of slice-of-life-y
Wanderer in a Shadowed Land: Thranduil/Female Reader, but not in a nice way. Hints of Thorin/Female Reader. Imagine catching Thranduil’s eye when the Company is captured. He offers to release everyone if you’ll spend one night with him, infuriating Thorin who has fallen for you. Rated R!! MATURE!! NC-17!! Nonconsensual sex (or coerced consent, at least). TW: Rape; please proceed with caution. Angst. Hurt/Comfort
A Dance by Candlelight: Fili/Original Female Character (not the reader for once!). Imagine, at one of the banquets celebrating the reclaiming of Erebor, you dance with the children and interact with them so much that one of the Durins realizes how in love they are with you and how much they want a future with a family with you. Rated R/Mature for sex. PWP kinda. Talk of pregnancy, if that’s something you try to avoid.
The Songbird: Thorin/Female Reader. Imagine Thorin tying a ponytail before going down on you, because his hair gets in the way. Rated R/Mature for sex and things. PWP. Just porn.
And the World Turned Upside-Down: Kili/Female Reader. Partway through a long and grueling trek with the dwarves, you snap and run naked into the nearest water source to bathe. An array of misunderstandings ensue. Rated PG-13 for, like, non-sexual nudity? Probably more of a PG, tbh. General/Angst/Romance
On Meadows Green: Fili/Kili/Female Reader. “Imagine that due to the lack of female dwarves you marry both Fili and Kili. This is making you very nervous about your wedding night.” Rated R/Mature for sex! General/Romance
American Horror Story:
Taken By the Wind: Misty Day/Female Reader. And your plan to slink away to go hide in your bedroom for the rest of the morning might have been successful, if you hadn’t run straight into someone the second you exited the kitchen and turned the corner. Jesus, leave it to you to knock someone to the floor. When you looked up to see who it actually was, your heart stopped. Because who else should be standing there with you, in your arms, beaming down at you with all the beauty of an angel, but Misty Day herself? PG for kissing/romance?
Pillow Talk: James March/Reader with female pronouns. After an especially bad panic attack, there’s really only one thing you can think of that can bring you back to normal. And so you draw in a steadying breath, look your lover square in his face, and ask, “How would you kill me?” Rated R or even NC-17. Sex and murder. No little ones allowed! Kind of PWP-y? Sex for sex’s sake.
Jumping at Shadows: Misty Day/Reader (gender not specified). Who wouldn’t go through hell for Misty Day? (Inspired partly by the fact that Misty deserved better than that and partly by this imagine on @ahsimagines: “Imagine being the one to get Misty out of her hell before she dies.”) Rated PG-13 for graphic violence. Angst. Kind of hurt/comfort-y?
Oh the Guilt: Tate Langdon/Female Reader. Imagine being Tate’s best friend in high school. Constance brings you to the Murder House to let you pick out a few things from his room, as Tate watches in pain. (I’ve given it a bit of a different ending from the one on their blog, though.) Rated…R? For violence and murder. Angst.
*NOTE: Also check the next category for other Loki/Reader stories. I wrote quite a few for my Stark Tower drabbles series and didn’t want to mix them up. Sorry!*
Loki’s Lullabies: (Plotless Little Loki/Reader Fluff-Bombs to Comfort You to Sleep)
*Although I list these ficlets in order, you do not need to read any/all of them in order to understand each individual ficlet. These are rated PG-13 at worst: there will be no smut in any of these. Unless otherwise marked, reader is typically gender-neutral.*
Words, Wide Night: Loki reads you poetry when you can’t get to sleep.
Pictures in the Dark: Loki/Female Reader. The two of you take turns remembering your early moments together.
In His Arms: Loki breaks quarantine to join you in your empty apartment.
Feels Like Home: When you wake up after a nightmare, it doesn’t take long for Loki to soothe you back to sleep.
East of the Sun and West of the Moon: Loki/Female Reader. When you can’t fall asleep one night, you ask Loki to read to you. But he has a better idea.
The rest of the Lullabies (199 of them as of 8/13/21!!) can be found on AO3 here. Tumblr is far too slow/glitchy for me to be able to get links to all the Lullabies here on Tumblr and AO3 keeps track of them so nicely for me.
In the Dark (AO3): Loki/Female Reader/Mystery Avenger. When you join Loki in his chambers, he has a surprise for you. Can you take it? R. SMUT. Filth. Kink, Bondage, D/s, Sharing, Overstimulation, Submissive Reader. Seriously, this is filth. I didn’t even bother posting it here on Tumblr because I knew it’d get my blog flagged. READ THE WARNINGS.
Catch Fire, Burn the Stars: Loki/Female Reader. While tracking down another rogue Asgardian, you and Loki run straight into her in an alley. When she doses the both of you with old Asgardian sex magic, will you let Loki help you? R. SMUT. Sex pollen.
Predatory Behavior: Loki/Female Reader. Loosely based on this imagine from @imagine-loki. It’s a long imagine, but it’s worth a click to read through the OP’s words. Essentially: imagine asking Loki (without actually realizing it’s him) to save you from a catcaller/creep on the streets. PG. Fear/Comfort.
Mine: Loki/Female Reader. Loki suggests a private game to liven up one of Stark’s events, but it backfires on him a bit. Prompted by a lovely anon’s request for this prompt meme: LokiXReader and “love bite”. R. Smut!
Getting Ready: Loki/Female Reader. IBW Hello Spring Prompt: “___ is missing! Help me find it!” Loki watches you getting ready for an event at the Tower, but you need his help finding something very special. PG for lascivious thoughts? Fluff.
Goodbye Letters: Loki/Reader. IBW Hello Spring Prompt: Goodbye letters. You carry your goodbyes to your teammates in a little leather pouch close to your skin under your suit. When you’re injured on a mission, Loki asks you about the pouch. PG for injuries? Fluff.
All in Green: Loki/Female Reader. You put on an old favorite sweater, which just happens to be green. A series of awkward mishaps ensues, and then the two of you wind up in a closet together. R. Smut!
Things You Weren’t Meant to Hear: Loki/Asgardian Reader (specifically the Loki/Reader characters from Captivation, but having read that fic isn’t necessary for understanding this one). You find Loki in the stables, and overhear something you weren’t really meant to. G. Kinda Angsty/Fluff
A Silken Touch: Loki/Long-Haired Reader (I imagined a woman but I think I kept it neutral). When Wanda discovers that no one’s ever played with Loki’s hair before, she enlists your help in making that right. And then of course he has to find a way to repay you. G. Fluff.
A Welcome Distraction: Loki/Asgardian Reader. Your husband, Loki, finds you hard at work and tries to convince you to take a break. G. Fluff.
Don’t Say You Love Me: Loki/Reader. Things go south and you’re badly hurt on a mission. Loki comes to see you when you get back, and he’s got something to say. PG for injuries/violence? Fluff.
Worlds Apart: Loki/Female Reader (inspired by Captivation; knowledge of that long-ass fic NOT required) Your husband is far away, gone to a neighboring kingdom with his brother, and now you’re having nightmares. Rated PG for suggestive stuff? Post-Infinity War Fix-it Fic. Everybody lives fluff.
What Could Have Been Will Never Be: Loki/Reader from Captivation (a NON-CANON AU interlude) The night had shifted. You were back in that beautiful home that Loki’s parents had given the two of you after your wedding, on the floor before your new husband and clutching at him, begging him not to ride into the night. Rated PG-13 for talk of violence. Death of several major characters. Angst.
An Icy Touch: Loki/Original Female Character. This girl, this small mortal, whom he had frequently caught shivering from the cold and burrowing under every blanket in her home, she could not possibly wish to have his true form. But she stared at him with eyes that were as bright and earnest as ever, and he could not see any deception there. She did not know what she was asking. Rated R/Mature for sex! Smut/Angst
Mistaken Identity: Loki/Female Reader. One night, Tom comes home a seemingly changed man. Rated R/Mature/NC-17 for intense D/s sex. Could technically be rape by misleading? Nothing violent or hateful, but…not super clear.
Three Times Loki Scared You (and One Time You Scared Him): Loki/Lightish-Skinned Reader? (Loki likes the pink in your cheeks when you blush). Loki has developed a taste for the things your body does when you’re startled. One day, he gets more than he’s expecting. PG for swearing/anxiety attack. Comfort.
Captivation: Fairly AU, female-reader-centric. You grew up in a small village outside of the palace, surrounded by the usual gossip and chatter about the royals but rarely partaking in any of it. What will happen when you are summoned to one of the grand palace balls, and subsequently chosen as the prince’s consort? Rated R or M, graphic material. Some smut, dubious consent, violence–please be aware of trigger warnings in the authors notes at the top of each chapter.
Chapter 1 (on Tumblr), Entire Story (AO3)
Confession: There is something that you must tell your king, but the uncertainty that you have about his response is frightening. Rated R just to be safe. General/Angst
Avengers/Stark Tower Drabbles: In which everyone lives together in the Tower and they’re all one big happy family.
Radiation Sickness: Loki/Reader. After spending a beautiful summer day with friends, you end up with sunburn–and get help from an unexpected place. G. Fluff.
Weathering the Storm: Thor/Reader. You’ve always hated thunderstorms. Who better to help you deal with than than the God of Thunder himself? G. Fluff.
Driving Force: Bucky Barnes/Reader. The shower has always been your place of respite after missions. Tonight someone joins you there. Rated R. Smutty smut.
Blowing off Steam: Steve/Female Reader. No real backstory to this one, no real reason for the reader to be in the tower. Just accept that she’s part of the team and you’re good to go. In this one, she’s got a female body and identifies as female, so if that’s something that yanks you out of a fic, I’m sorry. The original plotbunny for this was a longstanding desire I had to read some Steve Rogers hate!sex, but I’m not sure the actual sex part really counts as hateful. Pretty rough, pretty graphic. Beware. Rated R. Smut!
It’s Not a Heart Attack Protocol: Tony/Reader. Not super shippy. When something triggers an unexpected panic attack, you get some comfort from someone you wouldn’t have expected (but maybe should have). PG for description of anxiety attack? Comfort.
Bright Lights and Cityscapes: Loki/Female Reader. You’re the only one in Stark Tower who can stomach fireworks on July 4th. Or are you? PG for kissing? Fluff.
Brought to Mind: Bucky/Reader. Bucky makes sure you don’t ring in the new year sick and alone. G, though a couple of mentions of blood. Sick!fic!
Acts of Daring: Wanda Maximoff/Reader. Tony wants to play Truth or Dare, and Natasha knows too much about you. PG for yearning/kissing? Crack!fic; I mean, the team plays Truth or Dare.
Wearing His Clothes: Bucky/Female Reader. Bucky likes it when you wear his hoodies. Like…really likes it. R. Smut.
Human Contact: Bucky/Female Reader. Sometimes Bucky comes home from missions and needs to prove to himself that his hands can do more than just kill. R. Smut!
Death, Maybe: Bucky/Reader, non-shippy. IBW Hello Spring Prompt: Re-encounter after three years. You’re from the same HYDRA facility where they held Bucky, and you’ve just stumbled into the world. Kinda just a character study. PG-13 for mentioned violence?
Who Hung the Stars: Tony/Reader (not super-shippy). IBW Hello Spring Prompt: Starry night. When you reveal to your new employer that you miss the stars from your hometown, he gets to work on a project to bring them back to you. G. Fluff.
In Which Tony Stark’s Got Your Back: Tony/Reader. The anniversary of your mom’s death brings you down, but Tony’s right there with you. G. Hurt/Sadness. Comfort.
Peace in the Darkness: Loki/Reader. The reader comes home from a mission just in time for a nasty headache to knock them on their ass. Loki notices and comes to offer some help. PG for some yearning? Fluff/comfort.
Sweetness in the Cold of Winter: Bucky/Reader. Bucky Barnes is not fond of the cold. But he’s very fond of you. Bucky spends an afternoon thinking about how much he adores you, and you find a way to warm him up. PG-13/R? for some nudity/lead-up to smut.
Take Care of You: Steve/Female Reader. It seems unthinkable that someone as old as him could still possibly be learning new things about himself, but there’s just…something about you that brings it out in him. (Hint: He likes being called Daddy.) R. SMUT! DD/LG.
The Golden Light: Loki/Reader. You’re not thrilled at the idea of having a breakdown in front of Loki of all people, but what can you really do about that? G. Anxiety/Comfort Fluff.
Spencer Reads: Spencer Reid/Reader “Imagine spending a whole Sunday afternoon reading with Reid“. G. Fluff.
The Man With the Smile: Imagine teaching Spencer how to use chopsticks on a date, per this imagine. Just a quick little piece. G. Fluff.
Twice Shy (multi-chapter; links below): Mitchell/Annie. A still-living Annie finds Mitchell apparently bleeding to death in an alley after a fight with some werewolves. Can she nurse him back to health? Can he resist his nature long enough to get out of there without killing her? Rated R for violence and blood. General. Angst. Bit of romance?
***I know that RPF is kind of a dicey thing in general. I get it. It’s weird. Let actors be actors and stay the eff out of their personal lives. For these Aidan stories, there’s really nothing that says the Aidan in question HAS to be Aidan Turner.***
Rescued: Aidan/Female Reader. Imagine getting cornered by a creep while out walking alone at night, and being rescued by Aidan, who just happened to have been passing by. Rated R for threatened violence/assault. Hurt/Comfort
No Better Love: Aidan/Female Reader. Based on an idea I had and submitted as an imagine to @imagine-aidan: “Imagine Aidan slipping his hand up your skirt in public.” Here there be some public sex. Thankfully, the fictional aspect of this story makes it so I can be 100% certain that there are no non-consenting passersby involved in this. Rated R/Mature/NC-17 for sex and stuff. Mostly PWP.
The World is Quiet Here: My first RPF story ever. Unfinished. You’re working in a bookstore when someone vaguely familiar comes in. What will happen? Rated PG, maybe for language. Flirty fluff.
In Which an Intruder Cooks You Breakfast: You wake up on one glorious day off work and find that you have an unexpected visitor–and that he’s cooking you breakfast. Rated PG-13 for implied sex? Fluff.
Road Trip: Tom takes his girlfriend out for a surprise road trip, but things don’t go as planned. Will their fight drive them apart, or can they salvage things? Rated PG for language. Fluff.
Walk With Me: What if that sweet Tom Hiddleston we all think we know is nothing more than an act? What if he’s something more than that—and has been for hundreds of years? Rated PG-13 for horror. Creepy Romance. Avoid if you’re not really into blood.
Need: What happens when you meet a stunningly attractive man while out on a stunningly disastrous girls’ night out? Rated M, R, NC-17, whatever. Smutty McSmutface. Pure PWP.
Gilded: Despite the fact that you’ve been with Tom for months now, you’re still struggling with your past and your insecurities, all of which are holding you back from enjoying intimacy with him. How can you find a way to get past that? Rated M or R, very mature. Smutty angst.
Finding My Way Back: Tom wakes up in the hospital with no memory of the last ten years. How will he handle the people around him—strangers who love him and whom he knows he should recognize—and will he ever get back those memories? Rated PG-13 for now, rating will increase if/when I get back to updating. Angst.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
ABC: (links forthcoming, sorry!)
Reflections: Sherlock wants to incorporate a mirror into the bedroom. John’s not much of a fan at first, but it’s not something worth starting a fight over, so he goes along with it. Rated R or M, graphic NSFW. (Pretty sure this was my first ever slashfic.)
Sonata: John hears Sherlock’s violin playing downstairs and, unlike all the times this has happened before, he knows that it’s real. Sherlock’s just downstairs, playing his violin like he never left. Takes place after Reichenbach and after Sherlock’s return. Rated PG, just a bit of post-Reichenbach, pre-S3 stuff.
Between Asleep and Awake: John is sick. Incredibly, extremely, dangerously sick. Plagued by a high fever, he begins to hallucinate, start seeing things that aren’t really there. Because they can’t be there. Can they? Rated PG. More post-Reichenbach, pre-S3. And it’s sickfic, which is my guiltiest of pleasures.
Scars: John’s scars symbolize death, the bullet and the infection which almost killed him thousands of miles from his home. They should not hold such fascination for Sherlock. It’s…strange. Rated R for short mentions of sex. Angst.
Crap Telly: "I knew it was dangerous, getting you into crap telly.“ A bit of bonding, friendship, and something more.
He Was Not a Good Man, But He Was Mine: Jim Moriarty was not a good man, but he was a very good actor. It’s okay for me to miss the character he was playing, because he managed to fleece all of London into loving him just like I did. Rated PG. Angst.
After months, I’m finally getting around to some meme tags! I was tagged for this one by @lqtraintracks. Thank you, love! 💜
When did you get into Drarry and why?
In 2016, at the age of 43, I fell bass-ackwards into Drarry after a random link about fan creations utterly clotheslined me on Facebook. The graphic that accompanied the link was art by the legendary chouette-e. At their DeviantArt, I found the tag “Drarry," and then I was off and running because apparently I’d been missing out on something exquisite.
Which Drarry fic hooked you?
The very first I stumbled over at The Hex Files while searching for “Drarry”: Demons by ddelusionall, followed quickly by Turn by Saras_Girl; Double-Edged Sword by @romaine2424 ; and Hungry by birdsofshore.
Top three favorite Drarry fics:
Expecto Patronum by @writcraft
the keys to your kingdom by @thistle-verse
As Souls From Bodies Steal by @femmequixotic
And three more because I can’t not:
Embers by @shiftylinguini
Lumos by birdsofshore
let me see you stripped (down to the bone) by @lqtraintracks
Why can’t you quit them?
I don’t…understand the question.
The thing is, I’d never in my life had a ship, any ship. My first fandom was Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, and I met someone through the Dream Lovers zine who's still my best friend almost 30 years later. And that was it for a long time. I read all the HP books but entirely missed the bus for the fandom.
By the time I discovered Drarry, I was 16 years into a relationship that had started well but gone very bad. I was depressed and flirting with medical disaster because I was too sad to seek help for a heart problem. Discovering Drarry gave me the chance to read a hundred stories exploring a hundred possibilities. The fundamental Drarry question, for me, is, “Now what?” You got what you thought you wanted, or decisions were made for you, but either way, here you are: now what? Are you unhappy? Angry? Bored? Okay, what are you going to do about it?
Entirely because of Drarry fic, I went looking for the medical help I needed, made a plan to end my bad relationship, and was eventually lovingly shoved into becoming a writer and an artist in a vibrant community. I’m turning 50 in November and I’m definitely younger now than when I first showed up here.
So when you say, why can’t you quit them? It’s like asking why I would never quit the friends who fell into my life and led me out of my lowest time. No matter what vile, asinine thing JKR does next, no matter what may eventually become of Tumblr, Drarry will always be what prods me to look at my situation from a different angle and to Take the Unknown Road Now.
Would you rather be friends with Harry or Draco?
Draco. I have a surprising amount in common with him, and I think I already am friends with a few Dracos of the “brilliant academic” model.
Who breaks your heart more often?
Harry, with whom I also have a surprising amount in common.
Favorite non-Drarry HP character?
Hermione and Luna, who are two sides of the same coin as much as Harry and Draco are.
If you had to pick one, enemies to lovers or (enemies to) friends to lovers?
Friends to lovers, every time. @phd-mama rocks it.
Three songs that scream Drarry to you (feel free to include the Drarry-est lyrics!):
“Fumbling Towards Ecstasy” by Sarah McLachlan
Peace in the struggle to find peace
Comfort on the way to comfort
And if I shed a tear I won’t cage it
I won’t fear love
And if I feel a rage I won’t deny it
I won’t fear love
“The Fundamental Things” by Bonnie Raitt
Let’s get back to the fundamental things
Let’s get back to the elements of style
Let’s get back to simple skin on skin
Let’s get back to the fundamental things
“Roses Grow” by Concrete Blonde
Up through the cracks
Up through the broken glass
In the hot red light of a black and white
so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great
MHA one is up!!
ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!
plain as day - emleewrites
In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.
In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments
Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.
I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments
Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.
Chaotic Neutral - akaraka
Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?
1: Anonymous: see title
2: Anonymous: curry king
3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?
4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above
jellyfish - mysterytwin
At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.
Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta
A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.
The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw
"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.
No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”
Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.
Terrarium - sausaged
He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).
At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?
Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?
A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.
They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao
"You're in love with him."
Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.
"Yeah," he says instead.
He's never been good at lying, anyway.
bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody
Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.
my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn
Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.
Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.
(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)
Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki
Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.
the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot
Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.
Accidentally In Love - todxrxki
Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"
Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.
the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony
TW: major character death
Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives
even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot
Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.
you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot
Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.
teach me the way home - icespyders
“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”
Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.
in this universe - crossbelladonna
Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.
All this, and a glass of water.
Beginning’s End - todxrxki
Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.
All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki
“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”
“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”
“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.
just to miss the sun - rosevtea
Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.
Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn
After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.
bitter - silvercistern
He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.
Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.
And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.
In Another Life - LittleLuxray
TW: major character death
Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.
The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.
120% yes - pissedofsandwich
TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya
in reply to @bokkun_official
Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!
Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays
It happens right after training camp.
Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.
But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.
daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar
Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.
The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)
Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”
(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)
A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol
In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?
Headcanons for being a feral Avenger
Avengers x reader
warnings: guns and death mention (but no one dies dw)
a/n: s/o to @emcon-imagines for the idea since we needed smth OPPOSITE of the norm. also i find it really funny that i got a request for a feral xmen hc while i was writing this
you were just.....too much for the team to handle
and that was saying something considering you were THE AVENGERS
“guys, guys, guys, oh my god, look what matt damon just posted” -you
“since when do you care about matt damon?” -literally any avenger
“i dont” -you
absolutely no idea when to quit
so there’s never a dull moment
“who is screaming ‘i fucking knew it?’ some of us are trying to work” -tony
“i think you know” -nat
“follow up question: why?” -tony
“i believe they are watching ‘the mandalorian’” -wanda
“WITHOUT ME??? SON OF A—” -tony
not being allowed to have coffee
or really any kind of caffine but
“...vis? did you give y/n coffee?” -wanda
“i wasn’t aware that it had this effect on them” -vision
accidentally punching a hole in the wall
putting a picture of the team over it
“oh, that’s nice...oh, nevermind” -sam
yes, you announce yourself every time you enter the room
*arms raised* “hello all, it is i, your favorite avenger” -you
“actually my favorite avenger is natasha” -clint
“okay, then it is i, that bitch” -you
“im going to duct tape your mouth shut” -tony
fun fact tony cracked peter’s formula for web fluids just so he could web your mouth shut
*mmph. mmmmph. MMMMMMPH* -you
“ah, finally. peace and quiet” -tony
being found asleep (or just lying down) in some odd positions and locations
the quinjet, on the helipad, in natasha’s room, on the kitchen floor, under the couch cushions, and more
*finding you lying on the kitchen floor* “you alive down there?” -tony *nudging you w his foot*
steve has tackled you on the battlefield several times. why, you ask?
“dont go chasin’ waterfalllls stick to the rivers and the lakes that youre used toooo...erbaneanananeeneedododoo...” -you
“y/n, watch out!” -steve
you can put the rest together
also just being the worst on the comms
“clint u gotta pull ur pants up” “work it, wanda!!!” “anyone else smell hamburgers?? hey peter, why don’t you get me a combo?” “look guys! i got one of their weapons! wonder how it works—NEVERMIND” “woah, holy shit, nat. can you teach me how to do that???” -all you, babey
“i don’t remember hitting ‘play’ on the director’s commentary of this mission” -natasha (courtesy of the brilliant @emcon-imagines)
“yep, turning off their comms now. they’ll manage without us” -tony
“you’re the genius, why don’t you develop a real-life mute button for them?” -rhodey
“yeah, let me just turn y/n into a cyborg first. thanks for the input” -tony, sarcastically
“GUYS??? GUYS???? ARE YOU ALL DEAD??? IM THE ONLY ONE LEFT???? this is not how i imagined this happening. maybe i can get a bigger room at the compound. hmph.” -you
whipping a random ass chain around??? where did you get that???
flagging down rhodey
*lands* “what?” -rhodey
“did everyone die?” -you
“why cant i hear them on comms?” -you
“see you later” -rhodey, flying away
sleepless nights tbh
why? why. whywhywhywhy why
was it nightmares? was it hunger? straight up restlessness? wouldnt you like to know
“do i smell popcorn?” -nat to wanda in the dead of night
you had two ENTIRE boxes of popcorn bags out on the counter
“maybe you should just knock them the fuck out, wanda” -natasha (also a product of @emcon-imagines’ genius)
“no!!! movie night!!!” -you, moments before falling into nat’s arms
ur not only feral.....ur also a good friend
“y/n, i really need your help” -peter
“shoot. wait—is it illegal? i’ll do it if it’s illegal” -you
“?? no, no, i just need you to schedule my dentist appointment. my aunt says she won’t do it for me anymore” -peter
*gasp* “can i make up my own character??” -you
you were actually a fan favorite
*in front of news cameras* “hey cool fact about captain america: he can lift his legs behind his head”
social media legend
wintersoldierthirstpage: “can you tell us if bucky’s metal arm vibrates”
y/n_l/n: “can neither confirm nor deny. yes.”
you had a tiktok that was half trends/dances and half memeing serious situations
*pointing camera at secretary ross* “dude’s really trying to take away our rights and shit” *phone smacked out of hand by rhodey*
*all the avengers arguing with “say so” being played over it*
walking into the room covered in string lights
burning ur cookies!!!!
taking clints bow and arrows for “practice”
bad decisions all around
“oh no” -you, rushing out of your room
“what? what’s ‘oh no’” -sam
“my toilet is on fire” -you
“are—are you joking?” -sam
“where’s the fire extinguisher.” -you, VERY CALM
“y/n???? Y/N???? WHY ARENT THE ALARMS GOING OFF?? THE SPRINKLERS?? THERES SMOKE COMING OUT OF YOUR ROOM” -sam
“fire alarms are a myth” -you
they act like they cant stand you but deep down, you make their lives sm more interesting and they don’t know what they’d do without you. there isn’t always someone trying to achieve world domination.
taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich //
to a nightingale: chapter two
Summary: Gwyn Berdara, an up-and-coming reporter at the House of Wind, is given an assignment most journalists would kill for: exclusive access to the Bat Boys as they tour to promote their new album. The only problem? She's met Azriel before, on the worst night of her life. Though he saved her then, he knows too many of her secrets. Gwyn knows she should keep her distance, but there's an undeniable spark between them that threatens to set fire to the life she's carefully constructed. And maybe, deep down, that's exactly what she wants.
Chapter Word Count: 3,974
Warnings: This chapter contains references to past assault. In addition, this fic contains gun violence and mature consensual sexual situations.
All chapters are available on Archive of Our Own and Wattpad. All previous chapters are linked here.
Though Azriel insists on walking Gwyn to her apartment, and gives her a quick hug before she crosses the threshold, her photo doesn’t make it on the internet or any gossip magazine. Instead, by morning, the headlines are filled with raves about the new Bat Boys album, Twitter going wild to figure out each reference to Feyre and Nesta, though the real focus has become the identity of the Nightingale, a project that has already racked up a million Tweets and at least a dozen memes, though Gwyn performs this count before she has her coffee. Clotho calls to give her the morning off to celebrate and pack, and Gwyn spends most of that time hovering between her phone and her suitcase. She selects and discards a half-dozen outfits before throwing clothes in and hoping for the best.
By the time Gwyn makes it to the House of Wind offices, dragging her suitcase behind her, Twitter has decided that Elain, the middle Archeron sister, must be the Nightingale. #ThreeBrothersThreeSisters is trending, and there are photostories connecting a necklace that Azriel sings about with a pendant Elain sometimes wears around her neck, a rose with opal petals that refract the light into rainbows.
Clotho’s in the middle of a conference call with a potential investor, but waves Gwyn into her office, pulling up Twitter on her phone.
Write about the Nightingale, she mouths, and Gwyn’s stomach sinks. Because she can’t lie, but she’s afraid to tell the truth.
She falls into her favorite chair at one of the long communal tables where staffers work and fills the next hours researching and trying to calm her swirling thoughts. In the end, she’s surprised with how much she likes the piece, which shows why Elain is unlikely to be the Nightingale, how at minimum, her golden-brown hair and deep brown eyes do not match the description in the lyrics. She makes a plea to allow artists to enjoy a little mystery, to enjoy the story without trying to pin it to real life.
She ends with a question: Don’t we all want to imagine we’re the Nightingale?
When she emails the file to Merrill, an urgent editorial request blessed by Clotho, she dreads the scrutiny of their brilliant and fearsome senior editor.
“You actually put some thought into this, Berdara,” Merrill writes back within the hour, “I thought this would be a puff piece I’d have to deflate, but you’ve done pretty well. Not sure about the last question, though. Might raise questions about your objectivity. My other notes on the doc in red.”
The edits aren’t as bad as Gwyn had worried they would be, and she files the piece two hours later, with plenty of time to head to grab a quick dinner before watching The Bat Boys’ first show of the tour. She even has a few minutes to arrange her favorite pens alongside her notebook and recorder before she leaves for the arena.
Around her, the office is filled with the sound of fingers clacking on keyboards. Clotho gives her a little wave, and Gwyn wonders why it feels so final, leaving the House of Wind like this. She’ll be back soon, she reminds herself, the same person she is right now.
There’s a moment in between their last moments backstage and the first chord when the Bat Boys transform. Gwyn has seen it before with other bands, but the transformation is more profound. Rhys gives Feyre a last kiss, Cassian wraps his arms around Nesta, Azriel checks the tuning on his bass one last time, and when they turn to the stage, they’re larger than life, some kind of magic blazing in their eyes.
The screaming audience goes silent as they begin Your Starlight Eyes with no preamble, and Gwyn wishes for a second that she could just let herself be swept away by the music, those three voices in harmony.
Then she catches a glimpse of Feyre’s shining eyes, mouthing the words, and she finds her angle.
When the song ends, she passes Feyre a note asking for an interview, and Feyre gives her a smiling nod in the midst of her clapping and cheers. Gwyn feels a little tug on her denim jacket.
“She’s always like this about Rhys,” Nesta Archeron says, the eyeroll easily audible even over the continued cheering. “You get used to it after a while.”
Caught between awe at the person who got her this gig and the truth, Gwyn falls back on her training. “I think it’s sweet,” she whispers. “It’s her song, too.”
“She’s a better writer than she gives herself credit for,” Nesta says, her face softening a little, though the sharp lines of her face remain, exquisite and a little terrifying. She wears her hair in her trademark coronet of braids and the effect is majestic.
“I’m surprised you didn’t contribute a song.” She considers reaching for her notebook, even as Rhys begins to pick out the notes of the next song, one of their older hits, but guesses that it will only make Nesta warier.
“I’m a reader, not a writer. That’s on the record, if you want it.” When Nesta winks, the gesture reminds Gwyn so much of Cassian that she can’t bite back her laugh.
She opens her mouth but Nesta speaks before she can answer the question.
“Elain isn’t the Nightingale,” she says with a smirk. As if she knows more than she lets on. “She’s living with her boyfriend in DC. He’s the one that gave her that rose necklace after years of pining. She texted me to say she can give you a quote if you want it.”
“I think I’ve shut that down as much as I can.”
“You know people will only keep looking.” Again that too-knowing tone.
“Everyone gets tired of searching eventually.” At least that’s what she tells herself. And maybe she’s imagining it, but she swears that Nesta’s expression softens just the slightest bit.
Before she can be certain, the music swells, and Nesta turns back to the stage, as focused as Feyre, and Gwyn keeps trying to capture the concert via broken phrases in her notebook, carried away entirely from the conversation, the logistics of her life.
She finds herself wishing she could twine her own voice around the songs. There’s nothing missing in the melodies or the harmonies, even the arrangements, which are filled out occasionally by local musicians, some of whom she recognizes with delight. But Gwyn can feel an empty part of her heart as the music rises around her, one that she doesn’t want to admit isn’t filled even by her most incisive articles or well-turned phrases.
Still, she lingers in the shadows, writing and listening and watching, a spy of sorts for the House of Wind, in search of whatever secrets might be offered up.
Gwyn didn’t try to get Azriel’s attention before the concert, but he aims directly at her once it’s over, his bass slung over his shoulder.
“How was it?” His voice is a little hoarse, a little too loud from all the sound that’s passed through him over the last two hours, but she can tell that it’s a real question. And Nesta and Feyre are too busy kissing the other Bat Boys for anyone to notice her, so Gwyn lets herself beam at him, shows him she’s more than a little starstruck.
“The album is a masterpiece but it’s better in person.”
“I was a little off on Ocean Eyes.”
She shakes her head, though of course she didn’t miss the crack in his voice. Wondered if she might have anything to do with it, there in the backstage shadows. Wondered if she was thinking too much of herself.
“It only added to the effect, Shadowsinger.”
At the nickname on her lips, he gives her a crooked smile and his hand reaches out. He curls his fingers around her elbow, and she can feel the heat of his grip even through the denim.
“Want to talk about it more in a bit?”
The image in her mind is this: a dark corner, Azriel’s body over hers, his breath thick in her ears as he rucks up her camisole, frantic to get his hands on her skin. Nightingale, he calls her in the safety of her mind.
Part of her is relieved that she can want again, can imagine his lips and fingers on her body and only feel a deep and coiling need. But the other part of her reminds her that she’s built this whole new life. All it would take is one shitty iPhone selfie at just the right angle and her fledgling career will vanish.
He sees her hesitation. Gwyn can see it in the way his posture shifts, in the way his face becomes a little more pleasant while his eyes go just a bit dull.
“I have to put the bass away, greet some fans. But after, Rhys and Cassian and I always have one glass of whisky together. We’ve expanded the circle a bit recently. You’d fit right in, I think.”
“I’d like that,” she says, her head nodding along, a gesture he mimics with a little smile, like they’re making an inside joke together.
“Then I’ll text you the name of the bar,” he says, before disappearing into the shadows.
Gwyn is wondering how the three of them have preserved this tradition without attracting the media’s notice, realizing she should write about it and also that she doesn’t want to, when she hears graceful footsteps behind her. A dancer’s walk.
“What’s your secret, Berdara? I’ve never seen Az invite anybody to post-show drinks,” Nesta says. Her slender arms are crossed over her chest, her flawless porcelain skin doing nothing to make her less dangerous.
Gwyn smothers a gasp, reminds herself that she’s done nothing wrong. Not yet.
Still, she selects her lie carefully when she says, “Right place, right time.”
Nesta gives a little snort and waves her further backstage, where the band and Feyre have already disappeared.
Gwyn steels herself, then asks the question she really wants Nesta to answer: “How did you find my writing?”
“My assistant was a fan, and insisted I check you out,” Nesta says, and then, softer, the admission of what Gwyn suspected during the concert: “Your writing is good but your singing is better.”
“How did you find me?” Gwyn’s words are barely a breath, caught in her throat. Despite bracing herself, she still feels caught.
“YouTube.” Nesta shrugs, her eyes intent on Gwyn’s face but not unkind. “Your secret is safe with me, but you’ve done a shitty job of hiding, if that’s what you want. Are you in danger?”
Gwyn shakes her head, swallowing the lie the way she always does. Because despite her best efforts otherwise, those men are still free. But maybe it’s Nesta’s silver-blue gaze that makes the rest slip out of her.
“I wanted -- I needed a new life. Something happened. A lot of things. I stopped knowing how to be the person I was before. It was easier to make myself someone else.” She thinks, rueful, that her therapist would be proud of this stammering little speech. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” Nesta says, holding out her hand. “For the record, you’re a talented journalist. But when I heard you sing, that was a gift.”
“The audio quality must have been shit,” Gwyn says, eyeing Nesta’s outstretched hand.
“Some of the worst I’ve ever heard,” Nesta agrees, and then Gwyn can’t help it, she squeezes Nesta Archeron’s hand in both of hers, not caring that her notebook and pencil scatter on the ground.
Aside from Azriel, no one has really seen her in a while.
The Bat Boys have reserved a small private terrace at the top of Andromeda, a chic little bar a short walk from the stadium. Above them, the stars blanket the deep expanse of the sky, and their table is covered with handles, making the cool night a little cozier. At first she’s quiet, not wanting to move towards Azriel, to think through what it might mean, and takes tiny sips of her wine while Cassian teases Rhys for a part of their between-song banter, Azriel playing referee while Feyre and Mor laugh over their drinks.
“Hello, new girl,” a woman whispers, and Gwyn looks into golden uptilted eyes, “I’m Emerie.”
“Should I call you old girl?” Gwyn asks, and Emerie breaks into a bright smile. She’s beautiful, Gwyn thinks, her russet-brown skin gleaming even in the night, set off by a perfectly tailored white blouse.
“I think Mor would approve of that,” she says, flashing her left hand, where a diamond sparkles on her ring finger. “She and Nesta said I should meet you. They said you’d probably be willing to talk books. Do you read romance?”
“Not recently,” Gwyn says, expecting Emerie’s face to fall, to have to explain that she hasn’t wanted to think about the possibility of romance for a few years. Gwyn can already hear the halting words in her mind, but Emerie only pulls her phone out and cheerfully makes half a dozen recommendations, telling Gwyn that she’ll definitely love this slow burn romance, that she’ll be screaming at the characters to finally kiss before she’s read the first hundred pages.
For some reason, that description makes her think of Azriel, who’s smirking at something that Cassian said, then looks up and meets her eyes. She feels the impact of that glance inside her body, pressing against her chest, making something curl deep in her belly.
He mouths something like how are you?
Gwyn sends him a smile, mouths better now with a little wink, but just as he’s making to rise, Nesta comes over and joins the conversation with Emerie, asking Emerie about her work. It comes out that she owns shops all over the West, hiring women who are looking to remake their lives, paying them generously and teaching them everything she can. She talks a little about working as a buyer for one of the big department stores, how she wanted a place that felt like home. She sells books and clothes and home goods, she says, but when she added a little cafe, with snacks and coffee, her concept really took off. Now her customers linger and make purchases and often help Emerie’s employees find new jobs when they’re ready for the wider world.
Gwyn thinks of Clotho, not as her boss but as the person who gave her a new life. She smiles easily, trying to keep her questions soft and light. Right now, she’s an interested party, not a journalist. She sips her wine and accepts a refill when it’s offered for the first time in a long time.
Something settles in her, talking to Nesta and Emerie. It’s been a long time since she had really close friends, maybe not since Catrin died, but even though she hasn’t known either of them before today, it’s so easy to talk to the two women who sit on either side of her.
Nesta is sharp but funny, and it’s clear that behind her tough exterior, she cares more than anybody, that she remembers the names of many of the women in Emerie’s employ despite only meeting them once. She talks about her editors and authors with pride, and when she promises Emerie a stack of advance copies, Emerie squeals loudly enough that everyone turns to look at them.
Emerie is warm but blunt, the kind of person who Gwyn could imagine going shopping with, who would tell her without hesitation that her dress or blouse didn’t suit. Whenever the conversation turns to novels, there’s a giggle in her voice, an excitement that grows as she and Nesta talk about their favorite authors, when they promise to send Gwyn books they’re both certain she’ll love.
They talk for long enough that Gwyn’s voice becomes a rasp in her throat, and soon after, Emerie and Nesta leave with Mor and Cassian, and it’s only Azriel and Gwyn at the long table, the mountains rising beyond them in the darkness, the stars overhead.
“Good night so far?” she asks, her fingers splayed on the wrought iron table.
“I wish we could’ve talked more,” he says, his hazel eyes intent on hers, like he’s trying to figure out what she’s thinking. “But I liked hearing you laugh.”
“Nesta and Emerie are incredible. Everything about tonight has been. It’s surreal to me that I had your poster on my wall in high school and now I’m drinking with you. Though I guess you probably hear that all the time.”
“I’m only trying to figure out where you got the poster. The first one only came out three years ago, and I know this for a fact because Cassian bought enough to wallpaper our bus with them.”
“That must have been horrifying.”
“I can tell you’re trying to keep from telling me where your contraband poster came from, Berdara.” His little smirk nearly undoes her.
“Well, Shadowsinger, if you must know, right after your first album came out, I spent an embarrassing amount of money at Kinko’s getting a photo of you resized for my wall and for my locker.” She’d committed to telling the story, but her cheeks are hot by the time she finishes.
“And did you and the poster get up to anything interesting?”
They definitely had, but Gwyn only takes one last sip of her wine and murmurs, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He smiles at her, bright and open, and says, “I could convince you to tell me, but I’ll forget all about your high school obsession if you’ll sing for me.”
Gwyn stares at him, sucking in a breath. She’s barely hummed to herself for the past three years.
“It’s complicated,” she says, after a long moment, twiddling the empty wine glass between her fingers. His hands move, gently, to cover hers, stilling her. She can feel each scar, each callus, the story of his life marked on his body.
“I saw your face during the concert. You looked sad, and… I think the best word is hungry. Like you wanted to be there. And I don’t think it was about the crowd or the fame or any of that bullshit. I think you wanted to be inside the music.”
She takes a deep breath. Because after last night, she trusts him with this information. And he was the one who saved her from so much worse.
“Those men at the bar? They’d been in the audience for weeks.” She closes her eyes, trying to still her mind. “I thought I finally had fans. But they were only waiting. Until I was alone and happy and drunk enough to let my guard down and follow them into that alley.” Her voice is ragged and his hands are tight around hers. She can feel his pulse in his fingers.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” There’s a promise in his voice, equal parts kind and wrathful. She can tell that Azriel means it. “And I won’t make you tell me whatever you did with that poster. But if you would sing for me, Gwyn, I would be honored.”
Her eyes are still closed tight when she takes in a breath and lets out the first words of Le Vie en Rose, her voice a little rasping from all the talking and the wine, but it suits the song, the way she likes it best, dreamy and more than a little despairing, the way Piaf would sing it in some Paris nightclub. She tries not to think about how romantic the lyrics are, the fact that she’s writing about the man sitting across the table from her while she sings about if you give your soul to me.
But despite all of it, Gwyn’s heart thrums in her chest as the music unspools from her. It’s not the same rush as singing her own songs, but she feels joyful and honored, using her gift, being trusted with these beautiful words, the melody with its loops and whirls. This is how she used to feel, in the perfect center of the music.
Halfway through, she opens her eyes and he’s looking right at her, like he’s trying to absorb everything about this moment. She has to close her eyes again, take a quick breath to steady herself, syncopating the phrase more than she’d originally intended.
When she finishes, the silence is laden.
In that moment, it occurs to Gwyn that she’s just closed her eyes and sung for a literal rockstar. How foolish that is. How arrogant, to think that she could offer him her voice, when she hasn’t sung in years.
Then Azriel is clapping, cupping his hands and mimicking the roar of an enormous crowd.
Gwyn has read every single interview he’s ever done and watched hours of his concerts, and she’s never heard him make such a fool of himself.
She opens her eyes, and the Shadowsinger himself is beaming at her, his perfect smile at full wattage. Goofy, even.
“You’re fucking incredible. Sometimes I thought I’d imagined your voice. But it’s real.” His words are in his smile, in his eyes. He’s not lying.
“I want to kiss you,” she says. She’s not thinking, only feeling the residue of the music in her body, the golden weight of Azriel’s hazel eyes on her, the brilliance of that smile and what it does to his perfect face.
She barely blinks and he’s moved around the table, taken her hands and pulled her to standing.
“You’re sure?” Azriel is so close that Gwyn can feel his breath on her lips, warm and faintly tinged with whisky.
His lips are on hers, soft enough that she could move away if she wanted. But Gwyn only moves closer, toward his warmth, toward his mouth, memorizing the shape of his lips against her own. His hands span her waist, a gesture that makes her feel delicate and strong and safe all at once. She can almost feel all her fears melting away as she curls her fingers in his hair, inhales his scent of cedar and petrichor.
He licks the seam of her lips and she opens to him, savoring the taste of his mouth, the feeling of him. A little sigh escapes her throat.
He moves away from her, half a step. Even so, the night air between them feels too cold.
“You’re all right?”
She nods, then says, “I haven’t kissed anyone in more than three years. Haven’t wanted to. But I want you to know, before everything happened that night, I already wanted this to happen. Hoped that after I sang, we might get a drink and-- that something like this might happen.”
She blushes and her eyes fill with tears, saying it. The fantasy is stupid and frankly embarrassing, but it’s so much better than what actually happened, the terrible way she’d ended up in Azriel’s arms, sobbing with pain and terror and cold.
He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulling her close against his body.
“I’m glad you waited for me,” he says.
His phone begins to vibrate and when she checks her own, she realizes it’s past midnight, that they were supposed to be on the bus long ago, headed for Phoenix.
“Cassian says they’ll only hold the bus for us if we run.”
“Remind me why you all take a bus instead of flying?” she asks as he leads her towards the door, his hand still at her waist even at their speeding pace.
“Because the bus waited until I got to kiss you,” Azriel says, and she follows him down the stairs and into the waiting night.
Notes: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I loved writing the scene where Gwyn sings for Azriel, as well as the scene where she's watching the concert and wishing she was inside it.
A few more notes:
- Sorry not sorry, #threebrothersthreesisters is now dead and buried in this AU.
- The scene where Emerie approaches Gwyn to talk about books at a bar is definitely based on personal experience, with many thanks to the people who inspired it 🧡
See you next Thursday for chapter three and the aftermath of that kiss! In the meantime, you can follow me on Instagram at house.of.hurricane for a sneak peek, more Gwynriel content, and lots of theories.
Taglist: @almosttenaciousmoon @ashadowednightingale @azrielbedara @azrielsdarling13 @blissfulxblake @books0lover @brieq @brown-and-weird @camreadsum @cozycomfyliving08 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @drinkbleach0 @earthofemily @foxwithagoldeye @gellybeangoogle @girlbossenergy @glemiessa @gwynrielsupremacy @haajarkj @hlizr50 @imsointobooks @katekatpattywack @ladytessaocizel @lightwood-bane13 @livelyblu @lola-lightwood @meher-sumedha @moonbeammadness @mystical-blaise @nansr @nervousninjasuit @onemorenightdreamer @pintas3107 @rubyriveraqueen @ruthieluvsbooks @sanniegirl1214 @saramoonbeam @secretlovelybeauty @shisingh @soffiiione @sv0430 @thecleversword @thenerdywriter @the-stars-eternal @trashforazriel @treadinglifeorslowlydrowning @valkyriesbooks @vassien-supremacy6 @vikingmagic33 @whoever-you-choose-to-love @witching-by-the-willow @zanywolffriendhairdo
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Daddy Dearest (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot
(Thank you to the very first Anon who requested Sugar Daddy! Zemo. This one’s for you)
Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.
Tags: Sugar Daddy!Helmut Zemo, No Powers! AU, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit and Enthusiastic Consent, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Voyeurism, Cock Warming, Car Sex, Daddy Kink, Age Difference, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Cunnilingus, Bubble Bath, Fluff, Zemo is Soft but also Not
Warnings: Swearing, Extremely Explicit Sexual Content, Dehumanization (Zemo very shortly pets the reader’s head and orders them to do something like a dog. He also is referred to as treating them like property, but both only occur within a consensual BDSM-esque scene)
Word Count: 8000~
This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!
Z: Are you free tonight?
Read at 3:13 pm
Z: There’s a little get-together happening at The Jane Hotel’s ballroom. Stark is hosting. I thought it would be nice to crash the party.
Read at 3:21 pm
Z: I know you’ve read my messages.
Read at 3:32 pm
Z: I’m not pleased, Y/N.
Read at 3:35 pm
(3) Missed Calls From Z at 3:39 pm
Z: Pick up your phone. Now.
Read at 3:40 pm
(1) Missed Call From Z at 3:41 pm
Z: ... I’ll buy you that ridiculous golden dildo you begged for if you answer in the next minute.
Read at 3:42 pm
Can you pick me up at 6?
Read at 3:42 pm
Z: I’ll be in the teal 57’ Bel Aire in my usual spot. Wear something purple, no panties.
Read at 3:43 pm
Love you, Baron! I can’t wait to see you <3
Read at 3:44 pm
Z: I love you too, Schatz. Until 6.
Read at 3:44
Your phone sat open on the counter on the last text from Helmut, sending its bright white light across the ceiling of your bathroom as you finally got out of the tub and grabbed a towel. You still had a little time before six… With a contented sigh, you wiped yourself down before slipping into your robe. There was no rush, and even if you took too long, Helmut would just have to wait. Yes, you had plenty of time indeed...
Across the apartment, your speaker was still playing, lazily spouting the sultry tones of some jazz singer from another decade. If you closed your eyes you could almost imagine things had been this way your whole life. Long baths, soft jazz, $15,000 24 karat gold dildos… when you opened them again, though, the girl in the mirror was the same one who, less than a year before, had been struggling to keep up with payments on her college dorm and made one pack of ramen stretch for two meals by breaking it in half. It made you laugh, you had to admit, thinking of how far you’d come, and all thanks to the Baron’s generosity.
Well, that wasn’t fair. In reality, you put in as much work as he did. While he paid in gifts, you paid him in kind with your time…. Well, among other things, but the semantics of how your relationship had gotten complicated didn’t really matter anyway! The only thing that mattered was that your bills were paid, your fridge was full, and you actually liked Helmut Zemo more than you ever assumed you would. What was once an internet meme had become so much more. You still remembered it all like it was yesterday.
Helmut Zemo, Baron of Sokovia, had just moved into a new, lavish Manhattan apartment and the media has been abuzz with rumors and theories for his move. Some said he had been ousted from his ancestral home by his father, others claimed that he was moving to begin a new chapter of some drug smuggling scheme in America, but all of them agreed on the fact that he was, for now, the hottest and richest bachelor on Long Island Sound.
He was older, sure, but he was still insanely attractive, not to mention loaded. At the insistence of your friends, you had sent out the tweet the changed your entire life:
“I wish Baron Zemo was my sugar daddy, tbh”
Less than 8 hours later, as you sat tired and extremely hungover in a lecture about the history of pigments in paint, he sent you a personal message.
“I’m not quite sure what to say to that…”
To say that you were mortified had been an understatement. Things ended up working out in your favor, though. A short conversation later he was driving you to get coffee. Your initial deal had been simple, he was going to help you pay off your college debt while you showed him around the city and acted as his plus one to any parties he was invited to. Once you were stable financially and he wasn’t as firmly situated in the public eye you both thought you would simply go your separate ways and that maybe you’d end up getting a cool car in his will another 50 years down the line. Everything changed about 3 months later.
Neither of you was quite sure who crossed the line first, but the two you had ended up in a broom closet at the Metropolitan Opera House with your hands down his pants and his lips on your neck. That’s when things started to get good.
The apartment, the car, and the presents were nice, the jet black credit card, heavy in your wallet, was a perk as well, but the sex was the best part of the whole arrangement. Helmut liked to be worked up, taunted, and poked until he burst at the seams and took you like an animal, so that’s exactly what you did. You wrung him of his money and his dignity and in the end, you got railed. It was mutually beneficial and both of you ended your nights together tired and fully satiated in the wholest of ways.
This kind of… arrangement wasn’t for everyone. It wasn’t easy. Some days you felt endlessly lonely in your strange, massive, cold apartment, knowing that until your little pact with Zemo ended, you would never be able to get married or have children or move on with your life. Other days, you sat reading back the messages he had sent you wishing he was the one you could settle down with. That being said, most of the time, things were wonderful. Helmut made you smile, was a surprisingly good shoulder to cry on, and would protect you with his last breath. For now, that was enough.
Grabbing your phone quickly and tying the waist of your robe, you took one last long, hard look at yourself in the mirror, listening to the water drip from your hair onto the bathroom floor. Maybe the face in the mirror wasn’t the same one you’d seen filling her electric kettle in her dorm’s communal bathroom, her skin bathed in flickering fluorescent light. Maybe, just maybe, the woman staring back at you now was so much more.
With a contented smile and a confident ‘you got this’ nod to yourself, you hurried off to your closet in search of a suitable outfit for the party.
In the end, you were shaved, dressed, made up, and fed before six o’clock ever rolled around, but you still let yourself dawdle in the doorway, taking your time watching the world go by just to make Helmut antsy. He always told you that whenever you were late he spent every minute without you wondering if you had finally tired of him, stolen his riches, and run away to some beautiful island on the equator. Today you only made him wait for 4.
He was where he promised to be, parked across from your apartment building tapping his gloved fingers against the white leather of the steering wheel as you walked into his line of sight. The second he saw you, he beamed.
“Schatz!” he exclaimed as you rounded the front of the car and sat in the passenger seat, “I was worried you wouldn’t make it!” His grin was infectious, spreading to you before you even knew you were smiling back at him.
You feigned innocence as you gave him a peck on the lips. “I thought you said 6:15,”
“Is it impossible for you to be sweet to me? Just for one night?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always sweet to you, Helmut,”
He grinned. It was his favorite part of the little game you two played, the give and take of it all. Slowly, his right hand crept to your upper thigh, brushing the bare skin that peeked out from the slit in your long dress. “We’ll see about that… are you sure you’d like to go to the party? I’m sure we could find plenty of other things to do. We just finished the indoor pool back at the manor upstate and I haven’t found the time to try it out yet,”
“Baron! You promised me a party but now I feel like you’re suggesting something… indecent,” You let your lower lip jut out slightly as you crossed your arms. He gave in, as he always did.
“Forgive me, Schatzi, that was rude of me,” As he spoke, he moved his hand to the gear shift and quickly put the car into reverse, “If it’s a party you want, a party you shall get,” With the skill of a man who had been driving old cars his whole life, Helmut spun the steering wheel and tore out of the parking spot, leaving your apartment in the dust.
You had always loved watching him drive. It was one of his favorite things to do (not to mention the fact that it only increased his car collection tenfold. He wanted to know if he could master driving them all.) and somehow he was ten times hotter than usual when he was behind the wheel of some old muscle car, focused entirely on the feel of rubber on the road. Sometimes you felt as if he were somehow on the same wavelength as the car and he could just feel exactly what he needed to do to maneuver it correctly, hypnotized. Watching him drive was hypnotizing in its own way.
He wasn’t the type to indulge in mindless chatter, especially once he got into his groove, so you busied yourself by fiddling with the radio and pretending you weren’t mesmerized by the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly whenever a light turned yellow too soon for him to blow through it. It wasn’t quite time for emotional honesty yet. The game had barely just started. Speaking of the game…
Schooling your expression as much as you could, you let your hand mirror his earlier touch, your fingertips brushing across his inner thigh. Watching his whole body bristle at the contact almost made you slip into a fit of laughter. He was powerless at your whims, and how you loved to feel like you were the one with the power.
“Schatz,” he warned.
“What’s wrong, Helmut?”
“You know exactly what’s wrong,”
“Hands to yourself while I drive. You know the rules,”
Suddenly, and with the best acting skills you could muster, you gasped, pulling your hand back into your lap. “I didn’t even notice! I’m sorry, Helmut, I guess I just missed you so much that my hands moved without me even thinking,” You wouldn’t say your words were dripping with sarcasm, but the look in his eyes told you you sounded about as far from genuine as possible. Perfect.
Helmut let go of a sigh and, as he stopped at a red light, let his eyes leave the road long enough to shoot you a weary gaze. “Are you going to be acting out all night?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,”
With a low ‘Mein Gott’ under his breath, he turned his attention back to the traffic light. The sun was barely lowering out of sight under the Manhattan skyline and yet he was already starting to lose his composure under your subtle yet insistent need to defy him at every turn. Usually, it took him at least until you arrived at your destination to get a fracture in his controlled facade. Maybe he had been having a bad day? It didn’t quite matter to you. Him cracking sooner just meant you’d get to drop your own act early and kiss him like you meant it. Still, you were competitive. It would take more than your own temptation to sway you, especially when you were in the lead.
You turned your attention to the radio once again and switched to a new channel, wringing your hands in your lap. After a moment the disc jockey announced the next song and Zemo let his forehead hit the steering wheel with a sharp inhale as the opening notes of some Beatles song floated up through the open air around you and drifted away from the convertible in soft waves. Maybe a few minutes of the band he deemed “insufferable British drivel” could turn the fissure in his defenses into a sizable crack…
For the remaining 13 minutes that you spent driving towards the heart of the city, Helmut was on edge. The psychic connection he shared with his darling Bel Aire had been shattered by the constant stream of Paul McCartney’s voice and he was far from pleased. He pulled into the hotel’s parking garage with more speed than he probably should have and then, suddenly, the car was off and he was walking around to your door to open it for you. You beat him to the punch. He scowled.
“Is something the matter, Baron?” You asked, walking delicately to his side as your heels clicked below you.
He offered you his arm. “I’m simply tired. Work ran long today”
Tired of your teasing was probably closer to the truth, but he was too much of a gentleman to say it.
With false sympathy, you took his arm and patted his bicep gently. “Are you hurting? Maybe we should go straight to the bar so you can sit down,” Your words were soft, comforting, and all too sincere. The fact that you truly did worry for him was helping you more than anything else now. You were a bad liar, but the facade of your brattiness was the true lie.
Helmut smiled down at you. “I’ll be fine, Liebling. We can go wherever you please first,” his mask of strength was gone, leaving him weak to your kindness. This was your chance.
“A man as old as you are should be careful when he’s tired. With the risks of arthritis, you never know when your knees might just give out and send you sprawling to your death. Maybe we should buy you a Life Alert...”
He froze in place, maybe 15 steps away from the door into the building, and dropped your arm. Despite the fact that he was obviously affected by your words he kept his eyes straight ahead, jaw set in a hard line.
“Repeat that for me, Schatz,”
It was an out, an opportunity to continue on with the night. You doubled down. He needed to let go as much as you did.
“I only say the things I do out of worry, Helmut. You’re just so… frail in your age. I worry each time you mount me that it’ll be the last thing you ever do before your heart gives out. Do-”
A sharp yank on your arm broke you from your revelry. It took a good minute to figure out exactly what was happening as the world went blurry around you, but when you did finally blink through the haze you were upside down. What? You thrashed, but a strong arm around your torso held you firm.
“You’re going to regret that,”
Helmut’s voice was low and sharp, accent cutting through heavily. He had you over his shoulder, your ass to the sky, as he stormed back towards the car in a blind rage. To be fully honest, you didn’t know he could even lift you so fast, let alone maneuver you into place and start walking like it was nothing. Was he… showing off?
“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll bite your tongue and keep quiet unless I ask you to speak. Do you remember the rules?”
A chill ran down your spine, and it wasn’t because of the breeze hitting your bare legs and getting dangerously close to your barely covered core. You breathed, “Yes, daddy,”
“What are they?”
“Red means full stop, yellow means I need a break, green means keep going,”
“And if your filthy mouth is full?”
“One tap is lighten up, two taps is let me out and check my color,”
You could practically hear his perfect teeth grinding as he, suddenly, slowed and came to a stop. You weren’t anywhere near the car yet. What could possibly have caused him to pause now? Did he intend to take you on the concrete of the parking garage for anyone to see? You couldn’t deny that the idea had your heart thumping. The obstacle, though, quickly revealed itself.
“What do you have there, Zemo?” A familiar voice called from somewhere in front of Helmut. You didn’t have to crane your neck around his broad back to know exactly who was there.
Helmut patted your ass almost lovingly in the same way he patted the hood of a prized car after winning a race. “My little Kätzchen thought it would be a good idea to test my patience, I’m taking her home until she learns to behave in public. Do you have a problem with that, Stark?”
“Actually, I might,” Tony Stark’s tone was cool, almost mocking, “Excuse me for not believing you, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving that young woman alone with a man of your… reputation,” What an ass. Tony had seen you and Helmut together countless times, and yet he always found new ways to prod at the two of you each time he saw you. There was no malice in it but it got really damn annoying at a time like this.
You could feel Zemo’s shoulder’s tensing beneath you. “One could say the same about you,”
“Yeah, but they don’t tend to because I do a much better job at hiding my vices than you do,”
“I assure you, Y/N and I are perfectly happy. She’s no more a vice to me than building bombs is to you,”
“How about you let the little lady speak for herself,”
Zemo chuckled darkly. You stayed silent. Slowly, he tightened his grip around your waist. “Go on, you can tell Mr. Stark how you feel Kätzchen,”
It came out as barely a whisper. “Green, daddy,”
“Louder. I couldn’t hear you,”
You gulped. “Green, daddy. I wanna keep going,” For good measure, you added, “Please?”
Stark’s booming laughter echoed in the cavernous structure. “I stand corrected,” His footsteps got louder for you, and very briefly he passed through your field of vision, offering you a wink and a smile before continuing to move on towards the door.
A low growl built in Zemo’s chest. You could feel it against your own, vibrating through his ribs as every hair on his body stood on end. He didn’t like to share, and especially not with Tony Stark of all people.
“I’ll see you two lovebirds next time!” Tony called back with a laugh, and then he was gone, disappeared into the hotel on his way to a party you were sure you wouldn’t regret skipping.
With a sharp inhale, Helmut started walking briskly towards the car again. His voice came in a near whisper. It was more accented than usual somehow as if his control on even that aspect of himself was slipping away into something far more primal.
“You’re lucky that the bastard interrupted us. I might not have let you cum tonight if I still thought I needed to re-train you, but that’s not true. You know how to be good for me. I know you do, taking my orders so well and letting me show you off. No, Kätzchen, you simply need a reminder that though I love you dearly, I will not tolerate misbehavior. In the end, it’s my fault, I let you run wild for too long without consequences, but you should know better by now. I think a few orgasms at my hand should do the trick, perhaps one on my tongue… I’m not yet sure if you’ll deserve my cock, but we shall see.” He paused, chuckling at a joke only he knew, “Firstly, though, you’ll have to pay your penance for ruining our drive. When I set you down, get under the wheel,”
He didn’t ask you for confirmation. Both of you knew that, at that moment, you’d do anything for him. Then, Helmut came to a stop just a few inches from the driver’s side door of the Bel Aire, giving you one last squeeze before finally lowering you down and letting you get your bearings.
The headrush was the strangest part. After a few minutes upside down your heart had been pumping harder than usual in a futile attempt to keep blood flowing to places other than your head. Strangely, it had only continued to flow freely in one other place that was currently dripping wetness down your thigh, but the rest of you felt heavy, slack against the smooth leather below you. It took a lot of effort, but you maneuvered your body beneath the steering column into the same position that some would use to take communion.
A moment after you were settled, Helmut climbed into his seat and maneuvered his strong, well-muscled legs around your body. He fiddled a bit, making sure he could comfortably reach the gas pedal and brake with the mass of your body in the way, and once he was satisfied he finally reached to palm the bulge in his well-tailored slacks. Your mouth watered. They probably were your favorite pair of pants that he owned, corduroy-feeling with a slight flare at the calf giving them an almost bell-bottom feel. It would be a shame to ruin them with a mess. Silently, you steeled yourself for what came next.
“Since you seemed so determined to touch me as I drove earlier, I suppose I’ll let you do it again. Don’t move. If I feel even a hint of teeth I’m going to use my belt. I’ll try my best to avoid bumps, but it’s your responsibility to be prepared. You also must remember that this is a convertible. If you were to make any filthy noises, though I don't object, you’d be alerting the whole block to your state. Do you understand, Kätzchen?”
Helmut unzipped his slacks and then, finally, he pulled out his cock. The tip was already leaking, a small trail of precum beginning to dribble from the head down to his shaft, and though it wasn’t fully erect quite yet after being neglected for so long it was twitching as his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you below him, ever so eager to please. If he liked the show, you’d give him a better one
Slowly and with purpose, you moved your head to a more comfortable position and opened your mouth. He grinned. The next thing you knew he was guiding his plump cock between your lips. Once you had it firmly within your mouth, he chuckled.
“Ich liebe dich, meinne verhurtes dreksgör… do you like being my dirty girl?” The twinkle in your watering eyes told him all he needed to know. Softly, he added, “Remember your taps, Schatz,” Then he started the car and pulled out of his parking space.
His apartment, you knew from months of visits, was somewhere between five and ten minutes away from where you were, give or take a few depending on traffic and the time of day. It wasn’t an impossible feat to simply keep his cock warm for a few miles, right? In the end, 10 minutes turned out to feel a lot longer while trying your best not to choke on your sugar daddy’s massive cock while it tickled the back of your throat as he drove painfully quickly over each and every pothole and speedbump. You did your best to focus on the parts about it that you enjoyed. The weight of it against you, the slightly bitter taste of his pre-cum mixed with the freshness of his ridiculous imported soap, the constant pulsing of the fat vein that ran up the underside against your flattened tongue. Still, you were sure you were about to break until the second he made a familiar turn up the parking ramp and into the private floor of his building’s garage. The relief was palpable as the feeling of the air conditioning washed over you.
You held out just long enough for Helmut to stop the car, looking down at you with a mix of admiration and pure filthy want. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, he removed himself from your mouth with one hand as he turned the car off with the other. Every muscle in your head and neck screamed for release. Chuckling, he reached down and ruffled your wild hair almost as if he were petting a dog. “Break, Kätzchen, ”
At his orders, you let yourself collapse. In a rush, all of the heady desire within your own body came flooding back through your slightly numb extremities. Wetness dripped down your thighs into a pool between your aching feet. The poor upholstery. That didn’t cross your mind, though. Barely anything did. All you could do was lay limply against the leather and drool, enjoying the euphoria of unrestricted motion. Even in your soul you felt well and thoroughly used. It was thrilling.
Your mind was spiraling deeper now, sending you to the places only Helmut had ever been able to take you. You felt useful. With weary, heavily-lidded eyes you could see him there, admiring his work with tender, loving care. He loved you. Only you could ever be so good for him. Even when you were awful and said terrible things and demanded ridiculous gifts it was all for him, all to be good and give him what he needed to let go of his mask of nicety and become the man he was beneath it all. A man with wants. A man with needs. You were a need to him now. Neither of you could go more than a couple of days without each other. It was an addiction with no cure, an endless circle of want then need then gratification until it spiraled back to want again.
With the car door still open, Zemo squatted down to meet your loose gaze. “Are you still with me, Kätzchen,”
You made a pathetic noise somewhere between a moan and an affirmative. He chuckled.
“You warmed my cock so well. No teeth, even on the bumps. I’m incredibly proud. I knew you could follow instructions for me, my good girl,”
“Only you,” you mumbled.
“I would hope so,” he said, “You did so well that I’ll give you a choice. Do you want Daddy right now, or do you want Helmut? I’ll give you a moment to choose, don’t rush,”
Once again, you stood at a crossroads. You knew the real meaning of his words. It was more than just what you’d call him. Now you could decide exactly how the next portion of your night went. Did you want to be fucked or did you want to be coddled? Either sounded nice honestly. You’d be in the arms of the only man in the world that would ever make you feel close to this good no matter what, but what you were doing there would differ vastly. Of course, sex would still be on the table once you were able to string together complex sentences again, but it wouldn’t be the same. It would be missing the same desperation, the same all-consuming fire that spread endlessly from one of you to the other when one had won this particular type of game. In the end, the throbbing heat between your legs won out, overpowering rational thought. You needed him to touch you and you needed it yesterday.
Lifting your head a fraction of an inch off the driver’s seat, you cleared your sore throat. “Daddy, please,”
That answer seemed to please Helmut. He was nearly purring as he reached down to help you clamber up out of your crouched position and onto your feet. When you almost tripped, heels askew from the ride, he was there to catch you. Displeasure only flashed across his face when he saw the mess you’d left behind on the floor.
“What a puddle, little one,” he muttered as you leaned into his warmth. He was wearing your favorite coat, the one that smelled of cedarwood and sage and faintly of the rare cigarette Helmut would enjoy after he had particularly good food or sex. You buried your face in its fur collar. The motion distracted him enough that the puddle was fully forgotten. “Are you sure you can take what I will give you, Schatzi?” When you looked up to meet his eyes you found worry.
Oh, how you hated seeing him unhappy.
You did your best to retain as much lucidity as you could. “I can take it, Daddy, I just dunno if I can make it all the way upstairs,”
He swept a few sweaty strands of your hair away from your forehead with a gentle touch. “In the backseat, then?” You nodded. He was more than happy to compromise for you. “Can you stand on your own long enough for me to open the door for you,”
“Yes, please just hurry,”
Helmut drank in your desperation like a deserted man at an oasis. You were never more beautiful to him than you were in moments like this, pliant and willing and oh so ready to take whatever he was willing to give. No matter what, he always gave you everything he could. Anything you wanted, you would have, from designer dresses to his tongue buried in your folds. He supposed that even if you had asked him for the impossible he would just have to make it possible for you, especially when you were like this.
On your end of the world, you barely registered Zemo pulling away from you to prepare the backseat. All you could focus on was not toppling over in your 6-inch heels while your legs would’ve been more useful if they’d been made of jello. Soon enough, though, his arms were around you again, laying you down on your back and leaving you almost exposed before him. It was like some sort of renaissance painting, with you sprawled there, panting and moaning freely now, and him running his large hands up and down your legs to try to soothe your aching muscles and your racing mind. The pair of you were timeless. You couldn’t imagine, though, that anyone in history had ever felt quite the way you did when Helmut lavished you with his affections.
“Mouth or fingers, Kätzchen?” he asked before pulling off one of his gloves with his teeth.
“Mouth! Oh, please, Daddy!”
The desperation was starting to set in now. You probably could’ve cum even if he wasn’t touching you. Still, you held back. You needed to know what it would feel like once he did.
“Anything you want, schatzi, my little treasure. Look at you… So good for me. So good for Daddy,”
You were on cloud nine. It didn’t even register in your mind when Helmut pulled up the skirt of your dress to gather it at your hips. Then, without ceremony or hesitation or even his usual snide remark, he was delving into your core with his tongue like a man starved, and you screamed. Really, truly, full-lung screamed his name. It only took a couple of minutes for him to do the job that usually took around ten. You came on his face as stars exploded behind your eyes as his tongue circled your clit for the first time that night. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever felt before.
Helmut seemed equally moved by your little show, frantically jerking himself to completion as you drifted through a sea of cotton candy clouds. Your brain was mush, dripping out of your ears as you listened to the streams of german escaping his lips. It was all for you. It was always for you. When he had shot his load onto the concrete below he flopped down into the backseat next to you, wrapping you in a loose but sweaty embrace. He was the first to speak.
“You look stunning like this, Liebling. Truly stunning,” he whispered, hot breath on your ear.
With the small amount of strength you’d regained, you turned in his embrace to face him. “You don’t look so bad yourself,”
Slowly, as he chuckled, he reached between you to run a finger over your still-soaked slit. Your whole body shook.
“Now, Kätzchen, I know you behaved so very well for me, and I’m incredibly proud,” he said as an impish grin spread across his face, “but you’d make me even prouder if you could cum just one more time. This was supposed to be a punishment after all,”
You were oversensitive, jumping at the slightest brush of his knuckles against the sensitive bundle of nerves that was still almost numb. That being said, you were never one to turn down a chance to impress your Daddy. “Do your worst,”
“That’s my good girl,”
He brought you to completion one more time, laying there in the back seat of his teal Bel Aire as you keened for him, making the sweetest noises he had ever heard.
His pace was slow, sickeningly sweet, but you loved every second of it. You fell apart when he crooked his thick fingers just so, pressing into that spot that sent a shock of pleasure through your whole being down to your very soul, letting the fire in your belly reach its crux for the second time.
You weren’t present for a while, just enjoying the warmth of Helmut’s chest against you and the drifting feeling of being absolutely satisfied in every possible way. When you came to, he was still where he had been before you closed your eyes. Something ever so subtle, though, had changed.
“I can’t believe you,” you groaned, looking down at where your dress used to be only to be met by your bare, glistening flesh, “Were you that desperate to get me naked?”
He laughed. “I had to use something to clean up your little stain in the front seat stairwell and my coat wasn’t an option, so I got a bit carried away when I was removing your heels,”
“You could’ve just used a sock or something! That was one of my favorite dresses,”
“And I’ll buy you ten more just like it,” he murmured, “hell, after that, I’ll buy you whatever you want,”
With a giggle, you leaned in and kissed Helmut. It was a sweet thing, barely parted lips as you tasted your juices mixed with his usual minty tang, so different from the desperate scramblings you’d shared earlier. This wasn’t the same person, though. This was Helmut Zemo, gentleman and doting lover. The beast he carried in his chest had been satiated for the moment. There was no need to rush anymore.
You kissed him again. And again. And again once more. Then, you pulled away. “I still want that stupid fancy dildo,”
“A promise is a promise, Schatz. It’s wrapped up in black paper on the counter upstairs,”
“How? I just asked for it today?”
“I may have ordered it the same day you mentioned it intrigued you, just in case. Now, before I get up and break this spell, is there anything else you want? A yacht? A mansion? A private island?”
“What I want more than anything is to get upstairs into your bathtub with the jets. I feel fucking gross,”
“As you wish,”
He stretched slowly, rising from his place at your side and removing his coat before standing fully. You accepted his coat with a still, trembling hand. With everything you’d done in the past hour or so you assumed you’d be feeling weak for a little while.
“D’you mind carrying me?” you asked, slipping yourself into the coat like a large second skin. He shook his head.
“Not in the slightest. Have I ever mentioned how much I like it when you wear my clothes?”
“Only every time I’ve ever worn them,”
“Ah, and yet I will continue to say it long into the future because it’s true,”
“You’re such a sap, Helmut! Has anybody ever told you that?”
“I believe a certain good little girl said something similar once,” his voice was teasing but only slightly. It made you smile the kind of smile reserved for children and people that were truly happy.
“You don’t say,”
Helmut reached down to scoop you up and you fell into his arms like you belonged there. You certainly believed you did. For a moment, the idea flashed across your mind that perhaps you had been made for him to hold, molded from the same primordial clay with the fate of being united in the future. Something about your post-orgasmic haze made you fancy yourself a bit of a poet.
The walk to the elevator was short. With the press of a button, you and Zemo were headed up to the penthouse. You clung to him like a child as your bare legs hung loosely over his arm. Man, you were so glad you took the time to clean up your shave.
“How is your current project going,” Zemo asked. You shrugged.
“The vases are going pretty well. The sculptures… well, not so much. The only one I actually liked ended up having an air bubble and exploding in the kiln. I’m trying again on Thursday, though, so wish me luck,”
Even as you rambled, Helmut listened intently. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know the first thing about throwing pots or glazing ceramics. All he needed to know is that it was the thing that made you happy, that meant he would never ignore a single word you said about it. Your passion was his passion, as he liked to say. He offered a smile as the elevator opened.
“I’m sure you know this already,” he said, carrying you quickly through the entrance and to the bathroom where he set you down on the toilet at he began to draw your bath, “but if you find any new glazes or need any more supplies I’m always more than happy to be a patron of the arts,”
You snorted. “Helmut, you’re my sugar daddy. Paying for materials my college would happily provide doesn’t exactly make you a philanthropist,”
“It’s the thought that counts,” he paused, letting his fingers ghost against the bottles of various expensive soaps and bubble solutions, “bubbles, Schatz?”
“Oh, hell yes,”
“How did I know?”
Slowly but surely, as the sound of running water thundered to your right, you massaged the feeling back into your extremities. Some semblance of normality was returning. The longer you sat, giggling with your lover about the price of clay, the more you felt your mind returning to its usual, content albeit controlled state. The memories of your previous activities were still fresh but their physical reminders were slowly abating. It was a real shame he hadn’t marked you up, you would have loved a little reminder a few days along the road.
Within a few minutes, the bath was full. You handed Helmut his coat, which he quickly left to hang up like the army-raised neat freak he was, and descended into the steaming, bubble-filled water.
Okay, maybe one thing could feel better than your earlier orgasms, and it was that bath.
An audible groan escaped your lips as you let the heated jets massage the tension from your shoulders. “Helmut,” you called, “You are a saint!”
He popped his head back into the room, returning with pajamas for the both of you. “I’m actually a Baron, Schnuckelschneke, but good try,”
The nickname earned a groan. You couldn’t stay mad at him for long though. “Wash my hair?”
By the time you looked over to see if he would respond he was already reaching for your shampoo.
A peaceable quiet fell over the two of you as he lathered your hair and you rubbed away the dried mess from between your legs with a washcloth. It was strangely intimate for your relationship’s title, but between the two of you it just… worked. Sometimes you wondered if it would be appropriate to ask him if you might even have something more than just a mutually beneficial agreement. In the end, as always, you let it go, instead choosing to relish in what you had a close your eyes as Helmut rinsed, conditioned, and dried your hair. The whole process took about an hour including the short break he took to let the conditioner sink in that you had spent lazily kissing. Afterward, you were warm and pruned and dry in a thin cotton nightshirt. Helmut donned a matching set of simple pajamas.
“Do you want to eat before we sleep?” He asked, “My interview with the New Yorker was catered and I brought home what I thought you’d enjoy,” You shook your head and yawned in response, happy to just pad across the hall into his bedroom, but more specifically his marvelous and fluffy four-poster bed.
“I ate before I left home. A late-night snack might be good later though,” With a content sigh, you collapsed into the bed. Helmut watched from the doorway with thinly veiled amusement. “What was your interview about?”
“Originally it was supposed to be about how I’ve adapted to the American lifestyle. In the end, I assume the quotes they’ll use are mostly about you,”
You froze. It wasn’t the same kind of freezing that Helmut had done earlier, this was a warm freeze, if that were possible, a soaring feeling of elation so big you couldn’t quite contain it within your faulty human nervous system. A short circuit. “Me?”
He was leaning in the doorway now, arm up above his head as the other rested loosely on his hip. His eyebrows raised. “Were you expecting me to talk about anyone else?”
“Well, no, but yes? I guess? I dunno-”
“Don’t worry, Schatz, all good things,” He approached the bed like a predator approaching their prey. This was a new game, new to you both. It was as if an imaginary chasm lied before the both of you. You had skirted around it for about 9 months but now the only place left to go together was right over the edge. Into the unknown, but into the unknown together.
“Do I get to know what you said about me before the world does?”
The intention remained unsaid: I will leap with you if you hold my hand.
“If you ask nicely,”
“I know what you want, Schatz, but both of us know I won’t say it unless you ask me directly,”
“What did you call me?”
He approached the bed slowly, sitting on the edge so he could run his fingers through your damn hair. “Your name, mostly. Meine Schatz a few times in passing,”
“That’s a nickname for your ears only,” he chuckled, before pausing, “I believe the last thing I said on the topic was that you were my equal, the only one like me in all the world and yet my exact opposite in every way. I believe the press will have assumed our engagement,”
Your heart thudded in your chest. “We’re skipping the whole girlfriend stage?”
He shrugged. “I assumed the title Baroness was much more attractive, but if you’d like to wait a while before we acknowledge the engagement I am more than willing,”
The way he said we was what sealed the deal.
It was such a small word, one syllable and two letters, and yet it tied you together. You were no longer separate entities anymore, no longer isolated. Instead, you were a pair. Somehow you found the strength within yourself to rush up and catch his mouth with your own. He collapsed into the bed, broad chest flush with your own as he laid above you and laid his claim upon your lips. While he busied himself with maintaining dominance your hands snaked their way into his hair. Nothing could have felt more right.
After a while, you felt him hardening against you through the thin fabric of his pajama pants and despite the ache in your core, you found yourself craving him.
“You didn’t get a chance to fill me up earlier, Helmut,” you breathed, letting your head drop onto a soft down pillow as your sleep shirt rode up, exposing you to him again. “Take me?”
You didn’t have to ask him twice.
“We shall only have the finest things, you and I,” he murmured into your neck before sucking a deep red bruise into the sensitive skin. While his mouth was busy there, his hands were undoing the buttons on his pants and freeing his cock once again. “I shall give you anything you desire. Anything at all. Wealth, fame, riches. I will buy you your own studio, somewhere beautiful and inspiring, or a mansion all your own. Say the word, Y/N, and it’s yours,”
“The offer is nice, but the only thing I desire right now is you,”
His hips bucked against you, hard.
“Should I get…” his eyes darted towards the bedside drawer, but you shook your head, pulling him in for another kiss.
“It doesn’t matter, I just want you now,”
He gave himself a few strokes before guiding your leg to rest on his shoulder. Then, he lined himself up. Your nerves were still fried. Even the light teasing of his tip gathering up your wetness in preparation was enough to make you feel absolutely insane.
Your whimpers were like music to his ears.
“Are you alright?”
“I could only be better if your cock was inside me,” you chuckled.
“Well then, let me remedy that,”
Slowly, and with more love than you thought possible, he finally bottomed out.
You tensed around him as his hips shuddered. Even he was losing control. His hands were at your waist now, holding you in place while he started to drive into you. It was the perfect storm.
There was no more witty banter, no need for pretenses, no need for words, just the sound of skin on skin and the desperate moans that escaped both of you as Helmut pounded into you as if his life depended on it. He didn’t even need to mention when he was getting close. You were connected enough that you just knew. As his rhythm stuttered, you closed your eyes and simply let go. The both of you plummeted off the edge of the cliff holding each other and never wanting to let go.
You laid in a pile of collapsed, sweaty limbs for a while, with Helmut pressing soft kisses to your collarbone from above you and you drawing patterns absentmindedly on his chest from below as his seed dried on your thighs. Of course, though, once he was in his head enough to make a snide comment he did.
“Are you still so afraid of my heart giving out or me falling down the stairs?” He asked voice laced with sarcasm.
“Oh, that’s not fair! I was just trying to get on your nerves, I don’t really think you’re old,”
“You really are a little devil sometimes,”
“But you love it,”
You wriggled your way out from under Helmut to reposition yourself as a little spoon in his grip.
“Are you tired, Schatz?” He tightened his grip around you, burying his face in your neck again and breathing you in.
“Then rest. We can talk in the morning,”
“I only need to know one more thing right now,”
“What were you mentioning about a private island?”
Kätzchen - kitten
Schnuckelschneke - nibble snail (a nonsense cutesy term of endearment)
a/n: Do y’all understand why this took a couple days now? I’m not fully pleased with it, but it’s like 7 am and took way longer than I wanted it to, so I hope you enjoyed it. I genuinely didn’t know I was capable of so much filth until I write this... Well! If you liked it please leave a comment! I love to read them and respond.
@tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @sweetlittlebird
a styles vacation to Hawaii
Summary: a little continuation of this family. The styles take a vacation to Hawaii with mild bumps in the road.
a/n: no warnings, but harry is not famous in this. I’ve never been to Hawaii and do not much of the hawaiian attire/culture, i just did research and put what i found. If there’s any misconceptions or if i’ve offended anyone by accident pls lmk!
Pairings: Dad, Husband!Harry
“Honey, you have to let go so we’re not late for the plane” Harry grunts, trying to stealthily pull Ava away from her hold on Milo.
“No! We can’t leave Mimi” she cries out, cuddling her face into the pup’s fur even more.
“Mimi has to stay with nan, honey” From his tone you can tell he’s losing patience.
It’s a definite eyesore. The whole situation takes place on your mother's porch. You were all meant to say your goodbyes before the three of you–– no Milo–– go off on a small vacation to Hawaii.
Ava is holding on to the australian shepherd, not letting up one bit. You would think she glued herself onto him without anyone knowing, with how she latched on.
Milo in front of your mother's feet, enjoying what he thinks is a hug it seems. Only letting out long whines when Ava's sobs get out of control.
Harry is standing behind Ava, bent at the wait trying to pry her off her best friend.
You're crouched beside her, a hand on her back, trying to convince her to let go.
Ava's poor grandmother stands in the doorway. A look of agony on her face as she watches it all go down.
The–– now three year old–– has been throwing a hissy fit in the car, holding onto Milo's paw. Ever since Harry informed her how they were going to her nan's house to drop off Milo and then hurry to the plane. She saw the news like a terrible taste in her mouth, while she stared at you both in the rearview mirror eyes widened.
You know how much the two love each other, but you didn't expect her to throw a fit like this.
“Ava I know you’re upset but, you gotta let go honey so Mimi can have fun with grandma. Don’t you want to go on the airplane, hm? Weren’t you excited about it?” You ask her, beginning to unclasp one hand and go for the other, trying to bring into your arms.
But with quickness, she remembered the only way she would be able to go on this vacation. Without Milo, she wraps her arms around Milo again.
“Baby, Milo has to stay. Dog’s aren’t allowed in Hawaii” At this moment, Harry is willing to try anything.
“They’re not?” she asks, tilting her head back a little to see her father’s face.
“Nope, Milo won’t have fun there. He’ll have more fun with Nana” he tells her, bringing his thumbs down to wipe away the tears.
“...I wanna stay with Mimi!”
Milo doesn’t eject this idea, letting his chin rest on her small shoulder. You and Harry huff in frustration, glancing at each other. Your mother...well she’s had enough of whatever foolishness you and H are pulling right now.
“Okay enough of this” your mother starts, gaining everyone’s attention. “Ava, honeybee, Tell Milo and your grandma see you later and let go of him so you can have fun on your trip with your parents.” She says this with a stern, yet loving tone. Down to business and nothing else.
“Yes nana” she mumbles, placing a few kisses to Milo’s cheek and glides to your mom.
You and Harry look at each other in an instant, eyes wide at the way your mother fixed the problem in less than a minute. A mutual look of what the fuck, as in the what the fuck were you possibly doing wrong.
“Thanks mum.” Harry says sheepish, looking at the calming little one swaying in your mother’s arms.
“Yeah thanks mom” you say, standing up straight.
“No problem, Now get going, before she fusses again”
You all exchange your see you laters. Ava has yet another sweet moment with Milo. While Harry tells her she won't be staying in Hawaii forever and Milo won't stay with Nana forever. As you're driving away you all wave at the two, Ava yelling to Milo.
“Bye Mimi! See you soon! Don’t chase a squirrel when I’m gone!” She yells out the window, her arm waving in the wind.
You and Harry share a chuckle. Despite what she may think, Milo has never chased a squirrel in his life. She's watched it once on a cartoon and it somehow filled her heard with the imaginary scenario.
When both her grandmother and bestfriend are out of sight, she turns her head to the other window. A solemn look on her face, looking out the window like the Kermit the Frog meme.
You play the Frozen 2 soundtrack for the less pouty girl behind you. But when you don't hear the shrill sound of her singing, you look behind you to see an upset look upon her cherub face.
Her bottom lip is juts out, her hands fisted and arms crossed.
“You okay?” you ask her, turning in your seat to cradle her knee.
She’s dressed cutesy in a matching sweat set and a cute beanie rested over her plaits.
“No. I’m upset and I wanna yell” she looks at you, resting her case, before she turns her head back to its original spot.
Harry peeks at the interaction through the rear view mirror; an eyebrow quirked. One hand on the wheel while the other takes its natural spot in your lap, your fingers tangled with his.
“Why are you upset?” you ask.
“Because…” she groans, trying to figure out her ‘big feelings’. “You left Mimi and now he’ll hate me”
“He won’t hate you, you’re his favorite person”
“You guys don’t love me either!” She whines, glaring out the window. Wigging in her spot, causing your hand to fall from her knee.
“That’s not true! We love you” you exclaim, in a loving manner.
“Then get Mimi”
“Mimi is staying with grandma Ava, enough.” Harry’s voice catches her attention immediately. “ It's okay to be upset but Hawaii doesn’t accept dogs, remember?”
She only huffs, dropping her hands from her chest.
“Can you play the when I am older song, please mommy?” she almost whispers.
You accept her request, turning so you’re seated right. Playing the song and hearing her sing eases your glazed stare a bit. Releasing a breath and closing your eyes as you rest your head against the window adds a bit to your release.
Harry raises the entangled hands away from your lap, placing an adored kiss to the back of your hand. Sending a quick questioning look your way.
“I’m fine” you send back, in a smile. No mother wants to hear those words.
He can’t do much with him driving and with Ava in the car. So he places a kiss to the back of your hand once more, and extends his hand so he caresses the back of your neck.
“You’re doing a great job, stop being so hard on yourself” he encourages.
If your mom was here she’d give you a tip or two on how you and Harry are too soft on Ava. You couldn’t help leaving all the disciplining to Harry, you probably were definitely too soft on her at times.
Through all the pouting, belting of kid songs, and Harry's annoying jokes and teasing. Five hours later you've made it to the resort.
At the moment, Harry was checking you both in while you and Ava looked around the gift shop. When you feel someone’s arm come around your shoulder, you jump. But the feeling of his cold rings and brings you down.
“Scared me, don’t do that” a breath of relief follows as you tilt your head back onto his shoulder. He gets the memo immediately, leaning down for a peck to the lips.
“Made a friend in the lobby.” He tells you like nothing. Eyes shifting at his little girl looking through the stuffed animals and keychains.
“Are you okay?” you ask in disbelief.
“What?” he laughs, one eyebrow perched.
“Like in the head”
“I’m not following…”
“Why are you so good at making friends with strangers this easily? Seriously.”
He laughs you off like it’s nothing, but it’s uncomic. You wish you could blame it on being shy, but compared to Harry it was not that easy for you to chat up strangers enough that you become acquaintances.
Your husband could make friends with a duck if he wanted to. Everywhere you went. Whether in the ice cream shop a few miles away at home or the park where you took Ava all the time .He was always chatting with someone, in the end pulling you in.
He only laughs it off, beyond doubt enjoying the look on your face. “We agreed to save each other a seat at the Luau tonight, for whoever gets there first. Talked to the husband actually, but you’ll see”
“You’re insane” you tease him.
“Can I have this?” A teal, stuffed sea turtle is thrusts in the direction of you and Harry.
“How do we ask nicely” you say.
“Can I get this?” she smiles, a smile so sweet, your tooth hurts from looking at it. She’s the most adorable thing and knows exactly how to use it to her advantage.
“My sweet little baby.” Harry crooned, advancing to her, lifting her into his tattooed arms. Placing a series of kisses to her plump cheeks. She giggles, never wanting the affection to stop. “You can have it,” he tells her. “Let’s go to the till.”
“Harry you didn’t even check the price” you chimed in.
“Shh. We’re having a moment” he acknowledged. He outstretches his arm, so his palm meets your face gently. You laugh into it, before you smack his wrist away, then placing a light kiss to his wrist when he whines.
It’s some hours later. You’re all getting ready for the hotel’s hosted dinner/Luau tonight. The three of you took a two and a half hour nap.
You were touching up your light makeup while Harry got Ava ready. He lost two rounds of rock-paper-scissors and now must deal with the havoc that is dressing Ava.
“Baby, get the trousers mommy picked out for you” you Harey him tell Ava.
“Trousers?” She says the word with confusion, “Don’t have trousers babe? That’s a silly word.”
Then you hear the raspy laugh of Harry.
“Your pants, get your pants and your top too”
Not even a minute later do you hear Harry asking her to stop wiggling around.
Harry walks in the bathroom, a giggling Ava sat on his hip.
Harry adores a very laid back...dad look you could say. The back of the white wife beater he’s wearing get’s covered by a black button up shirt with flamingos patterned all over it. He’s also wearing a pair of shorts and his favorite vans.
Ava’s tucked into a set. a cami top with matching flared pants and sunflowers ornamented the black fabric.
“Oooh look at mumma, beautiful huh?” he asks Ava, extending one hand towards you, once you clasp your hands in his, he spins you letting his eyes sink in.
“Thank you both” you smile as Harry tugs you in for a swift kiss.
You had picked out an angelic, ivory crochet set. The top you’re wearing shows off your midriff and the long, flowy skirt matches with beautiful lace detailing.
You turn to Ava to give her a kiss on her cheek. “You look so handsome.” you tell Harry, letting your hand run through his hair. “And you look so adorable, you like your outfit?” taking her from Harry’s hands.
“Yeah, I like the flowers–– Can I have some too?” she points to the plethora of makeup products spread over the bathroom counter.
Looking over at Harry for his confirmation, he nods. You take the brush running it over the blush, before brushing it over her chubby cheeks and her nose.
“Tickles,” she laughs, pushing your hand away.
“Are you ladies ready to go?”
“Wow! Look the fires!” She points at the lines of tiki torches submerged into the sand, jumping as she sits on your hip.
The layout is stunning. There’s a stage for the performance, round tables spread out everywhere across the beach, and a buffet in the back.
Most of the tables are already filled, albeit the show was to start in like twenty minutes.
“There they are, over there” Harry indicated, his hand waving back at a family of four.
With Harry’s hand settled on your back, he weaved the three of you to the table.
“Hey Shawn.” Harry greeted, their hands clasped together as they brought each other in, clapping each other on the back.
Shawn was a tall man, a few inches taller than Harry, and very built. He had amazing brown skin, clear like a mirror, and was bald––which he pulled off effortlessly.
“This is my wife, y/n and my daughter Ava” he smiled at the two of you, while you shook hands with Shawn and asked Ava to say a hello. Which she did, like bursting a ball of energy as put her hands out for a handshake like she watched her parents do. It caused a laugh out of everyone. She didn’t know why they were laughing at her, but she enjoyed the attention.
“This is my wife Avni” you hugged, as close as you could, with a petite, expecting Indian woman. She was radiant as she smiled at you and Harry. “These are my kids Grey and Aster” you shook hands with them both.
Grey looked about Ava’s age, bouncy coils moving as he bobbed up and down in his seat. His sister, who looked in her tweens, sported the same hair texture. Aster more silent of the two sent her greetings kindly.
“And the third is still cooking in here” he laughed, setting his hands down on Avni’s early protruding belly.
With that joke, you understand exactly how the two of them got to know each other, as Harry joined in with his laugh. The wives chuckled amongst themselves.
“How far along are you?” you solicited.
“Three and a half months” Avni smiled proudly, rubbing both hands around her belly.
You cooed, “It’s amazing, you’re literally glowing. You're making me miss being pregnant” you joke.
“Okay! Enough of that. One little devil is enough.” Harry tickles your side, as a result you jab his side with your elbow gently, as he grins down at you. “We’re gonna go get some food,” he informs the couple.
Now everyone’s sitting around the table anticipating for the show to start. Conversation running pretty smoothly. The four of you were even able to make a few plans for the week you are here for. You had gotten a high chair for Ava to sit and eat in, but she wasn’t having it. Failing around while reaching for you.
In result, she’s now sitting in your lap, bouncing side to side. Munching on her French fries, chicken, and sipping on her pineapple juice.
“Taste good?” Harry asks his toddler.
“Mhm” she hums, shoving her thumb into his face.
“I can tell” he chuckles, extending a napkin to wipe her face clean.
You tilt your head down closer to hers, to see sauce around her mouth, some of it on her cheek even.
“Mimi would like this, he loves the chicken mommy gives me”
“You give Mimi your chicken?”
You both laugh it off, not seeing the point in correcting her.
“Mimi is our dog, he's big and he can talk!” Ava answered, her voice ringing with excitement.
“Dog’s can’t talk!” The high-pitched voice of Grey argued, eye brows pitched together.
“That’s a fib, Mimi talks to me all the time!” she defended.
Thankfully, the show was beginning, two young women and four young men came out on stage. Dressed in their traditional Hula attire.
You and Avni shared a grateful smile, knowing neither of you would know how to suppress their little spiff.
The dance is mesmerizing and it was nice with the sun almost setting as a background. Light hues of orange shaded the sea as the night took over the rest. Everyone watched in awh, clapping when it was appropriate. The women’s skirt flowed amongst the air like water.
Harry’s arm propps on the back of your chair. During the performance you feel his fingers run against the back of your neck.
You turn your head towards, trying not to disturb the entranced little girl on your lap. “What?” you mouth.
“It’s beautiful” he whispers to you.
“I know” you tell him, smiling when he rolls his eyes at you.
At some point in the show, the original dancers plus a few more stepped off the stage. An array of Lei’s on their arms, watching as they put Leis around their chosen person’s neck. During this time a woman walks behind Harry, setting one around his neck.
You laugh at the shocked look on his face and the way he fixes his posture. She places a grip onto his arm, making him stand up so she could guide her to the rest of the others. Avni gets chosen too.
The smile on your face makes your face hurt as you watch Harry “dance” up there. The man definitely didn’t have the bet rhythm but he’s having fun and you loved that.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!...” Ava cheered on her father, clapping her hands. Harry looks towards her, waving. She gets even more excited chanting his title louder.
She's Not interrupting anything, you’re surprised he heard her in the first place. But also not, she always knew how to project her voice when needed.
A little over a minute goes by when Ava raises her hand and keeps it up there until you’re able to flag down someone for a lei, which you both get. The both of you walk up to Harry and you set Ava on the ground.
A slight circle forms as you three hold hands together. Just swaying. Sometimes letting go because Harry wanted to spin the two of you. It’s a beautiful image, you're sure. All the glee you could hold in your body transpires in the way you danced with them.
When you’re walking back to your hotel room, your arms are hooked with Harry’s and your head rests on his shoulder. An almost asleep Ava in his arm. He stops to bring his free hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.
“Thank you for giving me this, I love you” he whispers against your lips.
Last night, after the dinner and the Hula, Ava had facetimed Nana. To be honest, she had wanted to say a goodnight to Milo, but talking to her grandmother was always a plus. She was still dressed in her outfit, you and Harry getting ready for the night, so you could then focus on her.
She sat up against the headboard, Your giant phone–– compared to her hands–– held in her tiny ones. You were looking through her duffle bag for her pyjamas when you heard…
“Look Mimi, I saved you chicken”, her small teeth bared, holding up a piece of her chicken from dinner. Your phone is now being propped up against a pillow.
You looked up to watch her pull a piece of chicken from her...pant pocket.
That was the point you reavulated yourself as a parent and had to think about what kind of kid you and Harry were possibly raising.
“Harry!” you called for him.
He walked out, an eyebrow quirked.
“Look.” you hiss, voice low.
‘God…’ Harry thinks. “Where’d she get that chicken from?” he asks, running his towel over his hair.
“Her pocket! Why are you so casual about this?”
“Angel...you had a baby with me, what’d you expect?” he questions, seriously questions you this.
“You’re fixing it then, Mr. mini-me”
Presently, you’re all at the beach. Three towels and three umbrellas lay in/on the sand. You’ve rubbed sunscreen on Ava twice now and have had to remind Harry three times. After last time there was no way you’d be rubbing aloe vera on him all night.
“Baby you’re dripping it.” You sigh, reaching over to wipe her chin of the chocolate ice cream she was eating, from a cup you might add. “Do you want me to feed it to you?”
“No, thank you” she replies, kicking her feet out.
You’ve all swam a bit, but now are on a mini break from the water and saw they were selling ice cream close by.
It’s pretty quiet between the three of you, too busy enjoying your treat.
She gasps, “Daddy you’re a fibber” Ava says indifferently, slurping even more of her ice cream from her spoon.
He guffaws, caught off guard from her statement. He shifts towards the two of you. The way the wind blows his hair and the sun makes the green in his eyes even brighter catches you off guard–– the sight of his abs doesn’t hurt either.
You also knew it wouldn’t be long until his hair gained some highlights and his freckles would be more prompt. You couldn’t wait.
“How’m I a fibber, messy?” squinting down at her.
“Look!”she points, “There’s a puppy right there”
There is, you turn your eyes to where her fingers point to see a woman walking a black Dachshund.
Harry turns his head towards him, a sad look on his face. “You’re right baby. I’m a fibber. I’m sorry”
Ava hurls from her seat to latch her arms around his neck, “It’s okay daddy, now Mimi can come next time” she tells him.
If there’s one thing about Ava, it’s how much she hates sadness. Unless it’s from her. Then it’s perfectly okay. She hates sadness so much, she particularly had a dislike for the character from Inside out. Until you had to explain to her how sadness is something that is okay and needed from time to time, Like in the movie.
After her round of affection towards Harry, she emplaces herself into his lap.
You both hum an answer.
“It looks like a hot dog” she eyes the dog while it trots down the sand.
“It does huh?” Harry answers, brushing her flyaways back. All while you laugh into your palm.
Your hands feel tingly when you wrap it around Harry’s neck, pulling him into you. His head lays against your shoulder.
Definitely a vacation to remember and cherish.
if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3
red lights, stop signs
msby x reader
summary: learning how to drive can’t be that hard, right?
One of the many insufferable things about Atsumu is that he can’t keep his mouth shut.
The only times he would consider it would be if someone was holding a gun to his head or if his manager was threatening to quit if he accidentally went viral as a meme again because of his interviews.
Other than that, Atsumu can’t shut up.
Usually, you were able to tune him out. His voice was one that could be considered pleasant which meant you had an easier time forcing him into the background.
Today, however, it was impossible to ignore him.
“You don’t know how to drive?”
“Get out of my kitchen.”
“How have you not learned by now?”
“Oh my God, please leave me alone.”
Atsumu spins around in his barstool. He’s seated at your counter so technically he’s not in your kitchen.
“I don’t get how you have gone so long without your license! Does Omi do all the grocery shopping? Does he take you to work?”
You continue to roughly chop the carrots. Does he think the subway system ceased to exist the moment he had enough money to afford a car? Ugh, professional athletes make you sick.
Kiyoomi does, however, do all the grocery shopping. His main reason for doing so is because he can’t stand to see ugly fruit or vegetables and he doesn’t trust you to pick the ripest green apples. Him being the sole grocery shopper has nothing to do with your lack of license.
Slowing down your chopping, you frown. Maybe it does have to do with you not having your license yet.
It is more inconvenient for you to get groceries, and especially with the amount of food Kiyoomi consumes in only one week, seeing as you would be forced to travel by subway and then have to order an Uber at the last stop to get home. Kiyoomi’s hours are more flexible than yours on certain days so he’s able to pick them up on his down time whereas you would be stuck with all those bags at the peak of rush hour.
“Omi does do all the grocery shopping,” Atsumu gasps, covering his mouth with his hand.
“And I do all the cooking. It evens out,” you shoot back without thinking.
While Kiyoomi micromanages what produce is brought home, you have full control over the kitchen. He isn’t a bad cook per se, but his food is very bland. It is so terribly bland that you blame him studying abroad in London for this flaw.
The thing is, his bland cooking doesn’t add up with his taste. He loves those Korean spicy noodles and he adores Indian food. His favorite nights are the ones where you make a big pot of biryani.
Something isn’t clicking.
You cease your chopping. Has Kiyoomi tricked you into cooking because he doesn’t want to do it? Or is being around Atsumu making you think the worst of Kiyoomi by association?
“How do you live like that?”
“I mean, we split the chores so it’s actually really nice.”
Atsumu waves his hand at you. He slides off the stool to come into your kitchen. “No, not that. The whole not-being-able-to-leave-when-you-want-to thing.”
You point your knife at him. “You got a car less than a year ago. It’s a little hypocritical to be acting all holier-than-thou with me.”
He rolls his eyes and leans over to grab some of your chopped carrots despite the stink eye you give him.
You’re giving him less food whenever dinner is ready, the thieving fuck. He saw how much you struggled cutting these carrots up. Kiyoomi had a lapse of judgment at the store and bought you a bag full of baby carrots. You’re fairly sure the bag described them as petite baby carrots.
“Yeah, but I’ve had my license since I was in the league,” he says while he chews, “So if something happened and I needed to drive a car, I could.”
Gross, you could see the carrot bits stuck to his molars with him this close to you.
“I’m sure if an emergency came up, I’d be able to figure it out.”
Driving cannot be that hard. Sixteen year olds do it all the time with minimal injuries in the US. Some kids are even able to get their licenses as young as fourteen years old if they had a special circumstance.
You just press the gas or brake pedals depending on the situation and spin the steering wheel. What is so difficult about that?
There are people out there on the roads who have licenses and still suck at driving. Odds are, your driving could be on par with those other drivers.
He cuts you a disbelieving look but shoves more carrots into his mouth instead of refuting you.
“Stop eating the ingredients,” you scold, slapping his hand away from the cutting board.
“But I’m hungry!” he whines. “And you’re taking too long!”
Bodily shoving him to the side, which is no easy task seeing as the team is in full conditioning mode for the upcoming season, you stand in front of your cutting board protectively.
“Go eat at home then!”
“Why? You’re making dinner aren’t you?”
Bless his heart because he actually looks confused as he says that. Again, professional athletes make you sick.
“I’m making soup. And you don’t even like soup,” you say.
Then you make a face. He’s been coming over too often if you know his preferences.
Atsumu tries to peek over your shoulder. “Who said I didn’t like soup?”
“You did. When I made that butternut squash soup two weeks ago.”
“It had nutmeg in it.”
He says it like that is enough explanation. And maybe it is.
“If I put nutmeg in this soup, will you eat it?”
You step back so you can pull out your spice drawer. Nutmeg isn’t an orthodox spice for tomato soup but Atsumu doesn’t know that.
“There’s nutmeg in this soup.”
“You’re still making the grilled cheeses though, right?”
You squint at him. “How did you know that?”
“You only like grilled cheese when you have tomato soup.”
There’s something to be said about how much time you spend with him if Atsumu knows your preferences as well.
“We’re having grilled cheese?” Bokuto calls from the entrance.
He’s toeing off his shoes while Kiyoomi strips out of his outerwear.
“Yeah. And tomato soup,” you call back.
Bokuto cheers and makes his way to the kitchen. He stands behind you to peer over your shoulder.
“Can you get that towel and take out the tomatoes in the oven?” you ask Bokuto, pointing to the island table.
He nods, brushing past Atsumu.
“Did you guys know that [Y/N] doesn’t know how to drive?”
You whirl around to look at Atsumu. “Why would you say that?”
Yeah, now you’re definitely grating some nutmeg over his soup.
A loud crash sounds behind you and Atsumu.
Bokuto’s standing with his hands only holding the towel and the pan on the counter. Half of the vegetables you had been roasting for the past hour are spilled over the counter. Thankfully, the tomatoes are all still on the pan but the same cannot be said for the celery or red peppers.
“You don’t know how to drive?”
You stare at Bokuto and then at his empty hands. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like he’s burned himself. “Why did you drop the pan?”
“I can teach you!”
“You know how to drive?”
You don’t mean to sound incredulous but you don’t think you have seen Bokuto in the driver’s seat. Ever.
“Yeah, Akaashi taught me. I just don’t like it,” he shrugs.
He’s scooping up the fallen vegetables and brings the pan over to you. Bokuto smiles down at you and you turn back to the cutting board to keep from staring at him.
Your face isn’t warm. No way.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
You don’t need much convincing when it comes to Bokuto.
“Just us?” you ask, a bit of hope in your voice.
Bokuto opens his mouth but Atsumu beats him. “Me and Omi too! We’re the best drivers.”
He points his thumb at himself proudly.
“That’s debatable,” Kiyoomi says flatly as he enters the kitchen.
He’s in a pair of sweats and hoodie despite how hot it is in the kitchen currently.
He nods towards the blender, raising his eyebrows at the pan of vegetables.
You shake your head. “Give me 10 minutes.”
“We’ll go tomorrow after breakfast,” Atsumu decides as if any of you have agreed to him showing up.
“Yay,” you mumble.
“It’ll be fun! I’ll be the best teacher you’ve ever had!” Bokuto declares, smiling widely at you.
Your heart skips a beat at the sight. “Sounds great,” you croak out.
You’re trying not to focus on how perfect his teeth are nor the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with the force of his smile.
“They grow up so fast,” Atsumu sniffles, wiping away a fake tear.
You look to the ceiling and cross your middle finger over your index. Hopefully, Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu out of the car at some point tomorrow.
Hinata’s in the car.
“Why are you here?” you ask.
You’re surprised so your tone is sharper than you intended but you don’t rush to apologize. Hinata shouldn’t be here. He didn’t even come over for dinner last night!
“Atsumu-san said we were teaching you to drive today!” he says brightly.
You squint. You didn’t agree to this. “Go home.”
“Aw, come on. I’m already here!”
“Yeah, so drive back.”
He stares at you. “Atsumu drove me here. You know I don’t have my Japanese license.”
“You don’t need that to drive back.”
“That’s definitely illegal.”
“Are you planning on breaking any traffic laws?” you shoot back.
He frowns. “Of course not.”
You make a shooing gesture. You don’t need to be humiliated in front of Hinata as well. “Then go home.”
“You’re not kicking out Shoyo, are you?” Atsumu whines from behind you.
The rest of the boys are filing out of your apartment like they’re on a mission.
Kiyoomi has his dark sunglasses perched on his nose, giving Bokuto a severe look over the tops of them when he stumbles out of the door. He has on an all black outfit. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he is going undercover.
Bokuto is bounding down the steps with his usual workout outfit on and it definitely does not help the minuscule crush you have on him from deepening. Not at all.
Kiyoomi’s keys are dangling from his pointer finger. You know he had to pry those out of Kiyoomi’s hands as if his life depended on it. They took too long grabbing their stuff for it not to be because Kiyoomi was lecturing them on what they can and can’t do in his car.
Atsumu has his head shoved on your shoulder as he looks into the car with you. He’s dressed comfortably with sweats and some MSBY sweatshirt from the last season. He has something in his hands but you can’t tell what it is.
He sees you turning your head to look at what’s clenched in his hands, narrowly avoiding knocking into his cheek as you do so.
“Guess what I have,” he sings, waving whatever’s in his hand.
You grab his wrist, ignoring his immediate blubbering about how it’s too early for you to start flirting with him.
Prying the paper out of his hand, you take a look at it.
BEWARE: STUDENT DRIVER
“You’re so funny,” you deadpan.
It’s not a sticker so you can assume he is going to tape it to Kiyoomi’s car.
He definitely did not run that by Kiyoomi before he printed it.
“That just means people are going to treat us worse on the road, you dumb fuck,” Kiyoomi grumbles.
He’s opening a shot of that nasty ginger concoction he drinks every morning. He even has the nerve to pass another one to you with no orange juice or water to act as a chaser.
“You hate me,” you say.
Tipping the bottle back, you grimace as a flood of ginger enters your mouth. You have no proof that drinking this has made your health better but it definitely hasn’t made your health worse so you continue to choke down this concoction to keep your roommate happy.
Repressing the urge to spit out the remnants in your mouth, you hand Kiyoomi the empty bottle.
“Does that actually help?” Atsumu asks. He’s looking at the bottles with mild interest.
“Yes.” Both Kiyoomi and Hinata answer.
You turn your head to look back into the backseat. “You drink those?”
“You seem like the type.”
His face screws up. “Is that supposed to be offensive?”
You shrug. Kind of a loaded question considering that Kiyoomi is right there.
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Bokuto interrupts.
He looks excited.
He hands you the keys. “Here you go, driver!”
You take them from him, trying not to look as charmed as you feel at the moniker.
“Shouldn’t you show them where everything is?” Atsumu says.
Kiyoomi scoffs. “You’re acting like Bokuto can’t do that from the driver’s seat. Get in.”
He motions towards the middle seat.
“I don’t want to sit in the middle!”
“Then don’t come.”
“You're so mean. I’m too tall to sit there.”
“I’m too tall to sit there,” Kiyoomi mimics.
“You sit there then.”
“It’s my car. I’m not sitting in the middle seat.”
Hinata turns his head to face the window. He gestures towards his headphones without looking at any of you. There’s a few audible clicks as he turns up his music.
Kiyoomi starts tapping his foot. “Either get in or go back to the apartment.”
Atsumu stands there for a few seconds more with a pleading look at Kiyoomi before sighing dramatically. He ducks his head and enters the car. He curls his legs to himself, shoulders hunched and eyes miserable.
Atsumu’s plight has nothing to do with you so you open your door, sliding into the driver’s seat.
You’re shocked at how far the seat is pushed back. Your feet are resting on the floor of the car, no pedals in sight.
“Is this car even big enough for you, Kiyoomi?” you ask in disbelief.
He has one of those fancy cars that require you to press a button to move the seat forward so it takes a good few seconds for you to adjust the seat to where you need it.
Thankfully, no one says anything as you do so.
He’s shifting behind your seat, stretching out his legs in the newly acquired room.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
Your back is pressed flush against the back of the seat, the placement forcing you to sit with the best posture you have had in weeks.
It’s typical of Kiyoomi that he sits as if he’s been in the military or something.
“Hands at 10 and 2,” Bokuto instructs.
You move your hands to place them where he said when he leans over you.
You freeze, your breathing stalling.
He grabs something on your side and then pulls back. The drag of his arm across your waist has your knees weak. It’s a methodical touch but you can’t seem to convince your brain of that. It’s working too hard to keep you from having a heart attack to listen to your rationality.
He buckles you in, clicking the seatbelt into place and falls back into his own seat.
“Safety first,” he says cheerfully as he buckles himself in.
“Totally,” you manage to say.
Shaking off that adrenaline rush, you twist in your seat to look at your other passengers.
Atsumu looks delighted at the expression on your face while Hinata searches for his seatbelt. Kiyoomi looks unimpressed as per usual with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Atsumu, put on your seatbelt,” you order, ignoring the way he’s grinning at you.
“You should do it for me. You know, part of your driving lesson,” he teases.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I mean based on your-“
He’s cut off as Hinata leans over him to buckle him in.
“There you go, Atsumu-san.”
Hinata winks at you as he moves back into his seat.
You hide your smile. Okay, maybe having Hinata here isn’t the worst.
Truth be told, if you had it your way, these lessons would only involve Bokuto. But you suppose you would allow Hinata to come as well if you had to bring someone else along.
Alas, luck is not on your side and you have all of MSBY’s rookies seated in Kiyoomi’s car.
“Okay, what next?” you ask.
“Adjust the mirrors,” Bokuto instructs.
You move the rearview mirror, winking at Kiyoomi when he comes to view. He rolls his eyes.
You finish adjusting the side mirrors and place your hands back on the steering wheel. You look at Bokuto expectantly.
“Alright, now the most important part: the music,” he says gravely.
Kiyoomi cuts in, “No music.”
“Omi,” Atsumu warns, barely turning his head.
“No. Music,” he repeats flatly.
“We either listen to music or Hinata sings the entire time.”
You nod. “Hinata has a pretty good voice.”
“Fine,” Kiyoomi huffs. “Nothing obnoxious though.”
“You ready?” Bokuto asks, scrolling through his Spotify.
You let out a loose sigh and straighten up further. Your hands are gripped on the steering wheel, tighter than the nonchalant look you’re going for warrants. There’s nothing to it. It’s just driving.
It’s dead silent on the drive back.
You’re not driving. You have switched seats with Kiyoomi. Atsumu is clutching at your thigh, digging his thumb in.
You can’t even look at him.
Luckily, the silence in the car has nothing to do with you. The worst thing you did today was run over a curb in the parking lot after Bokuto had decided that your first lesson would be dealing with the parking lot.
It went fine.
Until it didn’t.
Atsumu had been arguing with Kiyoomi that he was the best driver out of this group. For some reason, Kiyoomi motioned towards the driver's seat and said, “Go ahead.”
You still haven’t come up with a reason for why Kiyoomi said that. Your working theory is that he was briefly possessed by a roadside demon and the timing was unfortunate to coincide with Atsumu bragging about himself.
There had been some reshuffling as you switched with Atsumu. You muttered an apology to Kiyoomi when you brushed against his thigh as you buckled up which he waved off. He tugged his mask up higher on his face and scooted over to give you some more room.
Atsumu adjusts the mirrors and winks at you through the rearview mirror. “Everyone ready?” he sings.
He’s talking animatedly as he backs out of the parking spot, irritating Kiyoomi enough that he starts kicking at Atsumu’s seat. He quits it once Atsumu maneuvers the car onto the highway but the mutinous look is still on his face.
“You did pretty good for your first time,” Hinata says.
You laugh. “I’m glad I was able to conquer driving around a parking lot.”
It had been nerve wracking though you won’t admit that to any of these boys. Mostly because they were the reason why it felt so nerve wracking. There had been too many eyes focused on your every movement.
The back of your neck is still slightly damp from the stress sweats you broke into when you first hit the curb. You couldn’t bear to look at Kiyoomi considering it was his car.
He had moved forward and patted your shoulder, holding his hand there for a brief second. You’re still not sure if that was reassurance or a threat. Regardless, you didn’t hit another curb for the rest of the time you were driving.
“Wait till you learn how to reverse park,” Kiyoomi sighs, leaning his head back.
You make a face. “I don’t want to learn that.”
“What! It’s so easy,” Bokuto gasps, turning dramatically to face you.
“And Kiyoomi has a backup camera!” Hinata chimes in.
You squint at him. “No license, no opinion.”
Atsumu glances at you through the mirror once more. “It’s really not that hard.”
“Wow, now I’m getting ganged up on?”
“You can’t not learn something just because you think it’ll be hard,” Atsumu says.
That is the last thing you want to hear from him. He refuses to finish ‘Breath of the Wild’ with you because he sucks at it and complains that it’s too complex.
What a sore loser.
“If it’s not a requirement, I’m not learning it,” you say stubbornly.
“One day you might end up having to reverse park. What are you going to do then?”
“Park somewhere else?”
“What if there’s no other place to park?”
You throw your hands up. Why is he on your ass over a hypothetical? “Then I wasn’t meant to be at whatever place I’m trying to park at!”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t-”
Atsumu abruptly stops talking as he swerves into the other lane.
Kiyoomi’s arm shoots out in front of you and he shoves you back, protecting the back of his neck with his other arm.
Your eyes shut immediately after Atsumu’s intake of air and you can feel the car still moving. But there’s something wrong with the way the tires are just sliding across the concrete.
Atsumu is frantically trying not to jerk the wheel while Bokuto screams. He’s screaming loud enough that you think the next car over can hear him. You hope they can hear him. At least, they’ll know that there were once alive passengers in this car.
“I think we’re going to die.”
Hinata sounds too calm for what he’s saying.
Kiyoomi’s arm is still holding you back and it’s what you choose to focus on. Just Kiyoomi and his arm and your breathing.
Oops, you’ve forgotten that last bit.
You need to breathe.
In and out. In and out.
Slowly, the car rights itself.
“Just a bit of hydroplaning,” Atsumu says after a few moments. His voice is strangled.
His knuckles are white with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. He’s dropped the speed to well below the speed limit and is practically crawling down the road.
“Park on the shoulder,” Kiyoomi orders roughly.
Atsumu obliges, rolling to a stop.
Kiyoomi unbuckles and opens his door. He stands in front of the driver’s door, watching impassively as Atsumu shakily unbuckles and gets out.
He motions towards you to get out, which you do quietly. He slips into the car, shoving himself back into the middle seat and patting the seat next to him.
You slide in and buckle your seatbelt once more.
You cover his lax hand with yours, squeezing it gently without looking at him.
Bokuto has righted himself in the passenger seat, nervous rambling falling out of his mouth.
You can’t look at Kiyoomi.
There’s no music on the drive back.
Unsurprisingly, you guys make it back to your apartment unscathed.
Atsumu had shoved his head onto your shoulder, looking off into the road despondently. You merely brushed his bangs out of his face repeatedly, unable to find the words to comfort him.
All of you exit the car, Atsumu trying to hide behind you as if you could hide someone as tall as him.
Kiyoomi twirls his keys in his hand as he heads to the stairs. He doesn’t look at any of you.
You quicken your steps so you can be near Bokuto. He’s the only safe space here.
“Shit,” he whistles lowly, sharing a wide eyed look with you.
“Same time next week?” you joke weakly at Bokuto.
He leans down, lips brushing against your ear and looping an arm around your waist. “Maybe without the rest of them?” he offers quietly.
“Definitely,” you whisper back, unable to look at him this close.
He puffs a warm breath, not quite a laugh because of the tension but it still relaxes you. He squeezes your waist lightly. “I’ll pick you up,” he promises.
He squeezes you once more before jogging after Kiyoomi to pat at his back and exclaim about the near death experience.
You watch as he heckles Kiyoomi, a bright smile on his face despite the day all of you had.
Your heart feels full.
Atsumu hadn’t meant to give you this moment with Bokuto but you thank him internally nonetheless. If all goes well next week, you won’t make fun of him for this. Not too much anyway.
I'm sorry if this annoying but can I please get a little fanfic with the inumaki forget idea ? Sorry if this werd English isn't my first languag
Not annoying at all anon, In fact I really like this idea of yours. (Also your English is pretty good so don’t worry!) Hope you like the fic!
CHARACTERS: Inumaki Toge x Female Reader
WARNINGS: Smut, Dark Content, Noncon, Yandere, Manipulation, Mind Control/ Brain Washing, Cunnilingus
Minors Do Not Interact!
It was comforting, the fluff of ashen white hair that lay on your shoulder, the morning light seeping in from behind the slat blinds cascading a bright shimmer over the expanse of the snowy tufts. The individual strands were dusting your skin feather-light, tickling against you in the sway of every meager intake and exhalation of breath escaping Toge’s mouth.
You had known Toge for years now, and although you couldn’t truly remember how you even came to know him in the first place, he had effortlessly situated himself in the spot of one of your nearest and dearest. You found that his earnest silence brought you solace, words that he could not convey through sentence instead being understood through the knowing glances and expressions you had come to share with one another, the fluency of this mutual language only strengthening with the passage of time.
Now was one of those blissful moments of comfortable, knowing quiet. domestically lounging around your apartment during a day off, lazily giggling at some meme compilation in unison while leaning against one another on the settee. You couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time, this cozy sphere of amenity that you had constructed with Toge an apt repose from the outside world.
Whilst you were lost reflecting on your rosy blessings, you were suddenly brought back to reality when you felt the weight of toge’s head lift from your shoulder, turning to meet the familiar gaze of inquisitive violet eyes peering at you from behind off-white tresses.
“Are you okay, Toge?”
The response, that usually implied he was doing fine in the small dictionary of onigiri vocabulary he had come to employ.. Didn't feel genuine, to say the least. His irises were blown wide, registering your countenance as though he was trying to gleen some hidden information from your inquiring squint, when Toge began to lean further over you. You turned the front of your body to look at him directly, though you were steadily inclining your spine backwards in your perplexion at Toge’s unusual advancement.
He soon had draped his entire upper body over yours, hands reaching around your frame to press into the sofa to support himself as his face drew dangerously close to yours.
“Toge?” A heat was rising in your upper body. Sure, you and Toge were incredibly close friends.. But this was a little too much for your liking. You pressed your palms against the jut of his shoulders and pushed slightly, though with no true force. Blushing, you faced away from him, trying to announce your discomfort at his invasive approach. “T-toge.. This is a bit too-”
And sure enough, compelled by some otherworldly force to entertain the command, you had stopped moving in your tracks. It didn’t take long for you to figure Toge had used his technique. Like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, your body froze statuesque while conflicting eyes beamed alive, frantically searching for the reasoning behind the cruel fate that was racing towards you.
An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his lips pulled tight, his usually bright irises murky with shadows of deception. Something awful was afoot. His deadpan look in conjunction with the preceding events told you this was no prank, swiftly realising that your trust in him had been irredeemably breached to the point of fear at what was coming next. Your body twitched as you strained under the spell that had been cast on you, helpless to the plummeting feeling of the safe structure of friendship you had built with Toge coming crumbling down around you.
Your fears were proven genuine when Toge’s hand began reaching forward, coming to rest on the curve of your hip. You tried to communicate with your eyes, begging for him to stop and to just think about what he was doing, but he paid no heed to it. In fact it seemed like he was ignoring your glare, focused on the task that lay at his palms. He began deftly inching your bottoms down over your pelvis, panties and all coming to a halt over your thighs, just above your kneecaps.
It was then that he shot you a glance of what seemed like sorrowfulness, as if he was fully aware he was enacting something cruel but thought it necessary. Perhaps like how a farmer would look at lame animal before putting it to rest.
Still, you were broken away from the horrid thoughts and back into a harsher reality when Toge had begun ripping the aforementioned cloth even further down your legs until they reached your calves. Shoving his hands between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressed forcefully against the flesh and separated the limbs till they spread wide. You were completely exposed, the open air cutting a chill against your privates.
He traced his fingertips over your slit, with whatever wet, however slight gathered up in it’s trailing wake. He looked you in your eyes when he brought the digits to your clit, as if looking for a reaction when he began grinding his forefingers against the sensitive nub. Unable to do so much as flinch away from the offensive touch, you mentally grit your teeth as you felt that aching bundle of nerves scream against the assault. It felt painful, at first. You were so unprepared for the sudden encroachment on your most sensitive parts, It made you want to recoil in on yourself completely, though there was nought you could do in protest.
Toge began occasionally lowering his fingers to reach directly into your core, drawing out the little slick you were producing to mercifully rub it over your clit. The lubrication meant his ministrations were less painfully direct, his motions transforming into a light flutter that felt traitorously gratifying, an unwarranted heat beginning to pool in your stomach. Your body was disobediently reacting to his touches with craving, and it made you want to hide away forever but unfortunately you were rendered completely unable to escape the explicit display you were being forced to partake in.
You felt his warm breath exhale humid air over your cunt, when you noticed from your frozen position that you couldn’t see Toge’s face any more, only the top of his alpine locks as he lowered himself further over your pulsing heat.
You knew what was coming, but you still inwardly lurched with shock at the swiping of that lithe muscle over your aching bundle. The feeling made you throb with hypersensitivity, the combination of the attention that area had received earlier now with the sudden sensation of Toge’s wet mouth lapping at you desperately causing your entire pussy to twitch around his tongue in a chase for release.
Dragging and dipping his emblazoned tongue over and between your sopping folds, he came to plant his mouth directly over your clit. He sucked over it with such vigor his cheeks completely hollowed, rolling your nub between his lips whilst deft fingers aided in your pleasure as he continued to pump them in and out of the sticky apex of your crotch.
He worked at you for some time, steady in the intensity of his applications. It wasn’t long before the sensations grew too much, pussy clenching around his fingers as you reached a climax, flood gates swinging open as you gushed helplessly over his face.
He stayed where he was for a second, before rising. When his pale face came into view, you took in the sight of your own slick washing trails down his chin, the purple tattoos it overlay on his cheek glistening prismatic in the light the sun cast over it. He looked wild, salivating at the maw, sparkling amethysts settling an intense gaze into your own eyes which were vacantly still trying to work through the thralls of your orgasm.
Yet, fear sparked them alert with dread when you saw his mouth drop open to speak once again.
Even in that split second of recognition you had before your memories had been erased for (unbeknownst to you,) the umpteenth time, it was enough for an intensely visceral stream of consciousness to flood your thoughts. You realised intuitively Toge was never really the person you thought he was, and you wondered how many times you had been used like this. How much had happened, how much had you been subject to by his cursed technique. Just how much was real in that domestic setting that you had been experiencing before it all came crashing down like this.
If only you knew just how much of your true self had slipped away. With your hands wrapped around his cock once more, The sunset and rise beginning to melt away at the edges into a haze of warm gradients was just a pretty sight to you, the concept of time becoming irrelevant to you as you settled into your life as an ignorant hostage.
Yeah so this kinda became a fucked up version of 50 first dates.. although now that I think about it I guess 50 first dates is pretty fucked up? Also god writing a character who hardly speaks is so hard in fic format;; I guess enjoy the challenge though
Hey! I love your writing and I was wondering if you could do the Brothers (+now datables if you can) reacting to a teen!MC that's like a sibling to them being bothered by someone over text? I'm 14 and recently there's been this guy that won't stop texting me, asking me to be his girlfriend and asking for...other things. Anyways, it's getting annoying and I tried blocking him but he made other accounts, so I just told my parents. It's alright if you don't do this, thanks anyways! Have a great day!
Oh my god. That boy needs to be reported ASAP. I'm glad you told your parents, little one. Hope they took action and you're safe. These sort of people are just ugh. Hope he isn't bothering you anymore?
And don't worry, the demo brothers would definitely protect you and take drastic measures against him.
The Demon brothers protecting Teen!MC
You were sitting in the living room with everybody else. Lucifer was near the fireplace doing some left over paperwork. Mammon and Asmo were arguing about who looked better in the magazine covers. Levi was enthusiastically telling Satan why light novels based on anime can also classify as literature. Beel was happily munching some new treats Luke had made while Belphie snoozed in his lap.
Diavolo and Simeon were listening to Solomon's adventures in the human world. Barbatos and Luke were talking about recipe.
You were smiling to yourself at the calm chaos around you as you surfed the internet when that brat messaged you again. "UGH LEAVE ME ALONE!" you groaned in annoyance as you deleted the messages and blocked the sender. The brothers all looked at you in suprise and worry.
"Is something the matter, MC?"
Sighing, you tell them your situation. And then chaos ensues.
The audacity of that ill-mannered little trout. He'll surely have to discipline him.
"Give me his number MC."
"Are you going to call and threaten him?"
"No I just need to track his location and pay him a visit. In my true form."
Legit pin drop silence from that end now. Like he never even existed.
Count on Lucifer to scare him off existence in general.
Who dare keep annoying his human like that-
"Oi MC show me his face!"
"What are you planning?"
"I'm going to make sure he has nothing bad luck for the whole week."
From losing his wallet twice, dropping his phone on his face and then getting constantly attacked by crows at random points of the day, you were convinced he'd learnt his lesson.
Noone messes with you under Mammon's care anymore.
Noone treats his best friend like that without dire consequences.
"Give me his account names."
"Are you going to hack them?"
"Oh hacking is most harmless thing on my mind. What follows is going to be so much more fun. Just you wait MC."
Next thing you know, the annoying guy is a meme now. All the texts and everything were outed on his on account as he did them himself and was proud of it.
Levi's skills of internet audience management are no less than Asmo's.
Someone surely has the nerve to harass a human who's looked over by the Avatar of Wrath himself? This will be fun.
"How would you like me to torture him, MC?"
"Don't worry it will only be a nightmare. His worst one yet."
Oh Satan was very true to his word. He's now your guardian demon of sorts. Anyone who messes with you has deadly nightmares.
You got a hundred scared apology texts before his account vanished off the grid.
Oh he's dealt with this so many times. Leave this to Asmo, honey.
"He's on social media right?"
"Yeah but what are you going to do?"
"Call him out of course. Nothing is more horrifying public shaming."
Your messages are flooded with comforting messages while that brat gets his accounts suspended for harassment.
Asmo is the master of social life, you're well protected from brats online.
Isn't MC only 14? They are too young and they shouldn't be dealing with this.
"I'm going to eat him."
"Fine I'll just eat his phone then. And a bunch of other stuff."
This became a huge urban legend in the human world where if you harass a minor a deathly wild animal will come hunting for you.
Of course Beel doesn't know that, he's just happy you're safe.
Why can't humans just sleep instead of doing disgsuting stuff like this? See this is exactly he wanted to doom humanity. Well now atleast he can doom one problematic human.
"Beel let's go."
"You both are going together?"
"Two demons are better than one."
Yeah so the legend says the sleep paralysis demon doesn't just stand at the corner of your bed anymore.
Do tell him the next time another brat like this tries to annoy you. He'll happily take care of it.
Ah these kind of humans ruin the reputation for the rest of us. So pathetic.
"I have a simple solution for this."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"No really all I'm going to do is curse his phone."
Yeah his cursed his phone alright. And every other phone he ever came to possess. Any text with bad intentions would turn into silly memes or unreadable typos.
Aw isn't Solomon a sweetheart?
Simeon and Luke
Sigh. See this is why y'all can't make it up to the Celestial realm.
"He needs a divine intervention."
He became one of those jokes on the internet where the people send wrong things to the wrong people. Whatever he was texting you went to his family group chat. All of it.
Simeon is pretty sneaky for someone who is bad with technology. Oh wait that was Luke. Still sneaky.
Diavolo and Barbatos
A problematic human, you say? Don't worry we're used to a lots of them.
"Ah just let us know who is he is we'll take care of him."
"You both have eerily big smiles on your faces."
"Nothing we are just going have a fun trip on Earth."
They drag him down to tell to personally apologize to you. In handcuffs, chains and everything. The demon way.
What else were you expecting from the crown Prince of Hell?
little things about the Venus Signs
abstract dreamy things I associate with the Venus Signs in Astrology.
Risk. Risks you take because you know that something exciting is on the edge of it. A good time. Fire and desire, a flammable combination you can’t help but be drawn too. Dependability. Someone who has your back. Moments to remember. Legs dangling off a balcony because when the wind moves, you’re filled with freedom and empowerment. Less thoughts. More actions. Weekends away, just because. Kisses in public, just because. Laughter. Belly laughs which’ll have you crying. Experiences to remember. Eye contact. Daring you to look away. A look that just does something to you. Promises something more.
Stability. Stability in something we’ve nurtured and are proud to share together. Routine. Loyalty. You know where you stand. An unsaid declaration to show up, in the good times and the ugly. Someone you can count on. Delicious food. Shared. Eating in bed. Fingertips that mould to every curve of your body and incite a strong feeling in your core. Physical senses heightened. Your favourite scent. Tender, routine moments of care. A love that is a grounding force when life gets a bit too much. Gifts with you in mind. That heady feeling of pleasure. Can’t get enough. Don’t want to. Feenin’. Sharing what I have, with you.
Lightness. Love is light-hearted but sentimental. Akin to cold champagne, bubbles in your tummy and warmth in your head. Laughter. Lots of it. Hanging out with other people but my body language and eye contact is on you. Late night conversations with you. Pushing your buttons because I can, but my intentions are pure. Can you deal? A willingness to delve into the deeper emotions of life. Being charmed. Flirting back and forth. Lip biting. Feigning forgetting important dates to surprise you later and show that I pay attention. Smiling till your face hurts. It’s hard to be sad when I’m around you. A desire to know what you’re thinking.
Coming home. My door is open and every meeting feels like the first time all over again. A love that follows you everywhere. Cleanses you. Breakfast in bed. A sensitive spot touched on your back. Just. Like. That. Emotions. Emotions on overdrive. Are these mine or yours? Emotional highs. Highs that sweep you up into the heavens where everything is fluffy and soft. Feels like you’re treading warm water, soft ripples glimmer in the moonlight. Devotion. Whatever you want, I can take care of it. Being fed. And then devoured whole by the intensity. It’s all you can feel. Sink or swim, I’m right there with you.
Loyalty. I vow to ride things out for you. With you. Anything for my equal. Nothing but the best. Tender moments where eyes are locked and the inner spirit is visible, for a moment. Taking pictures in iconic places. Compliments. Affirming how good you look. Back rubs. Head rubs. Hand on my heart, I swear this feels too good to be true. Playfulness. Teasing. I wanna see what you’re about. Show me how I light you up so I know i’m not the only one feeling this way. Wearing my heart on my sleeve. Nights spent enjoying each other’s company. Messing around, just because. Letting you in because you recognise the inner child within me.
Little things. The things you overlook I cover. There’s little I wouldn’t do for you. I got you. Practical gifts. Soft nagging. Simple things done together. Grocery shopping. Your favourite treat in your bag because today is a big day and I believe in you. A connection that surpasses the body but is rooted within the spirit. Acceptance of all your flaws. Loving you even more for it. A mental connection that just flows. Dry jokes. You get me. Subtle touches. Gratitude. Feelings that run deep. Putting in work because I value this connection. Showing a different side of me when I’m with you.
Balance. Sweet words. An even sweeter smile, with eyes crinkling. Matching our steps when we’re together because I like being in a groove with you. Sharing a milkshake with two straws. A fairytale romance where only true love is promised. Holding hands. Thinking of you. A sense of peace together. Taking turns splitting the bill because this right here is based on give and take. Tucking that stray hair behind your ear. Looking at you pains me a little. Yin and Yang. But in a good way. Nothing is perfect, but this right here, is real close.
Bare. That’s how it feels. Seeing beneath the physical body but wanting more. Surrounded by people but consumed by your presence. Heat. A look. A smirk. Intense feelings. Intense feelings that you can either face head or back away, either way you’ll feel it. No sharing. But no prisoners, either. Ride or die. You’re guaranteed not to be the same after. Say goodbye to the old you. Secrets shared. Each day brings us closer and I’m fast getting used to it. Flying off the edge because something greater needs to be explored. Shadow emotions not shrinking away from the light but opening up to be perceived. Deep healing. An even deeper connection.
Exploration. Exploration of your mind. A raucous kind of love. Play fighting. An acceptance of you and how I come together. Falling a lil bit deeper each time you express whats on your mind. Freedom. Introducing each other to new things. Living life on the wild side. Travelling together, you and I and two backpacks. Anything feels possible when I’m with you. Remembering how to dream. Questionable decisions that feel oh so good in the end. Having faith. In a higher power, in a higher calling. In you.
A quiet declaration of love that doesn’t need outside confirmation. You know what it is. Weekends away in the countryside. Showing up for you. Playing house. Love is made a priority. Lunch dates. Settling down in the evening just us. Brushing our teeth together and sneaking glances in the mirror. An earthy kind of love. Feeling grounded, together. Helping you take the burden off of your shoulders. You can lean on me. Dinner and drinks. Privacy. Living our best life together. Taking things slow but an end goal is in place. Doing things for long-term results. Thinking of a future where you feature.
Acceptance. A connection that questions everything you knew before. Shaking your world up. How open are you to the unpredictable? I wanna find out. Making a fool out of ourselves because its 1AM and we’re up. Watching the sun come up. Netflix and chill. A series we watch together, just us. It’s our thing. Listening to your dreams but getting distracted by the pure passion emanating from your eyes. Finding humour in awkward situations. Shining eyes. Things we share together. Moments of time apart that we share which doesn’t feel impending of something bad, but more of a comforting reminder that what we have is something to come back to. Trust. Sending you this meme because I saw this and thought of you.
Unconditional. A connection that doesn’t exist on a 3D level. Love that filters through into your dream world. What separates us? Not much. Fantasies materialising. Taking place on a soul level. Dreamy eyes. Looking at you just because. Looking at you when you’re not looking. Talking to you but then losing track because you look so damn good. Tracing the curves of your face. Holding hands with thumbs circling that fleshy part where the thumb meets the index. Losing myself in you. Sharing things together that can’t be explained. We don’t want too.
| little thoughts about mercury placements
| little thoughts about mars placements
| little thoughts about saturn placements
For the prompt meme:
daisuga D 8 space 👀
Hi, thanks for the prompt! This one turned out really fun to write :)
Daichi is crying.
Sawamura Daichi, Captain Sawamura Daichi, who never lets slip a moment of weakness, who has a habit of inadvertently scaring the brand-new crew members with all his blunt intensity, who is most frequently seen comforting and encouraging others—with a firm slap on the shoulder and a cup of coffee or his own ration of space candy—is crying.
He’s sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge, face in his palms, broad shoulders quaking, and Koushi doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it, because this has never happened before.
Koushi doesn’t know what happened to make Daichi cry, or why he’s sitting in the captain’s chair to do it, of all places, when he has a perfectly good captain’s quarters to do it in instead (very private, soundproof, very comfortable chairs, even more comfortable bed, as Koushi would know).
And Koushi certainly doesn’t know what his role is supposed to be in this situation.
They’re friends, sure. Captain and Vice Captain. Lovers, maybe, sort of, if you squint (and lately, Koushi has been squinting so hard and so often that Asahi’s started asking him if he needs glasses).
But they’re not that kind of friends. Or that kind of Captain and Vice. Or that kind of lovers.
They don’t talk about the deep stuff.
Not that they couldn’t. Koushi, for his part at least, would feel perfectly comfortable talking to Daichi about all the important, sensitive things that swirl around with the other thoughts inside his head.
But he also likes the (confusing) friendship (with benefits) they’ve established, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize it by trauma-dumping all over the place. And Daichi never offers much in return in the way of personal history and emotions and such. Never opens up the way Koushi wants him to.
In truth, even after two years as Daichi’s Vice Captain and three more as crewmates on the U.N.S. Karasuno before that, Koushi sometimes thinks he doesn’t know Daichi very well at all.
He’d like to change that, but he isn’t sure how to go about it.
Well, maybe this is a good place to start.
The bridge is dark and quiet when Koushi finally get his feet to work and crosses the threshold, his footsteps echoing around the empty space. They’re in a particularly boring stretch of the galaxy for the time being, just flyover systems with no interesting planets or signs of life at all. Daichi will already have sent the crew to rest, since there’s nothing that needs urgent doing, and the artificial 24-hr-cycle-counter has automatically turned the lights down low, signaling that it’s meant to be whatever the space equivalent of dusk is.
Daichi sits up when he hears Koushi approach, shoulders stilling. He looks good in the captain’s seat, silhouetted by the stars through the viewport. Captainhood suits him, though Koushi can see how it weighs on him. The curve of his neck is tense and warm when Koushi slides his hand over it.
“Oh, Suga,” Daichi says, as Koushi settles into his lap, draping his arms around Daichi’s neck. “It’s you.”
Daichi’s arms come up to wrap around Koushi’s waist. They’re strong, steady, dependable. Like him. “It’s late. Why are you still up?”
“Hmmm,” Koushi hums, and cards his fingers through Daichi’s short hair. “Well, I was hiding from Oikawa, because he got those new alien lifeform samples, you know, and he’s been showing them to everyone, but I gotta say, all that gray mucus really grosses me out. So I was hiding in my room.”
Daichi’s hair is soft. Clean. Smells like that regulation space fleet soap they all use. Koushi makes a fist in it and tugs gently. “Then I got lonely. Came looking for you.”
Daichi huffs and presses a kiss to Koushi’s cheek, but just a chaste one. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m in the mood tonight.” He looks away, but doesn’t make an effort to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He’s still leaking around the edges, tears slipping silently from the corners of his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Koushi asks, because even if they’re not that kind of friends, they’re still friends, and Koushi’s determined to do his damned best to make him smile. Or cry with him. Whichever it ends up being.
Daichi laughs softly. Buries his face in Koushi’s shoulder. “It’s stupid.”
“If you’re crying about it, it’s not stupid.”
“That’s not true. I can cry about it, and it can still be stupid.”
Koushi pinches him. A hard pinch, right in the meat of his arm. (His very muscular arm.) Daichi doesn’t flinch. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Daichi laughs again, louder. “No. I’m calling myself a dumbass. For being so emotional about something so pathetic.”
“Well, without knowing what it is, I can’t tell you if it’s pathetic or not.”
Daichi doesn’t take the opening. Koushi just sighs and wraps his arms a little tighter, and Daichi snuggles in. There’s a wet spot growing on the collar of Koushi’s uniform under Daichi’s face. He’s still leaking, then. Still sad.
What the hell is Koushi supposed to do?
“It’s strange,” he says, “how mundane space travel can be.”
Daichi snorts into Koushi’s neck. “What exactly about space travel is mundane?”
“Exactly! Space travel isn’t supposed to feel mundane! It’s supposed to be big and epic and exciting, you know, like Star Trek or Star Wars or… Star… all the other star things. And it is, most of the time. Like when we get to explore new planets and go new places and go out in our suits to do ship repairs.”
“You think ship repairs are big and epic and exciting?”
“Floating around in zero gravity to do them is!”
“Fair enough.” Daichi seems to have stopped leaking, but his voice is still rough. A bit unsteady. Koushi keeps going.
“Anyway, my point is that most of what we do out here does feel exciting and new and all that. Even the space candy is fun to eat. But sometimes, like right now, space travel just feels like travel. Like long hours looking at the same scenery. Zoning out while steering because the road is wide and straight and flat.”
“I don’t zone out while piloting the ship, Suga,” Daichi says, indignant at the insinuation.
“I didn’t say you did. I said I would.”
“Oh my god,” Daichi groans. “I’m never letting you co-pilot again.”
“Fair enough. But what I’m trying to say is, do you remember that documentary we watched about the prairie cats in America?”
“Yes, those. Where did they live again? In the part of the country that had nothing else in it but dead grass?”
“Wyoming, I think.”
“Yes! That’s what I’m trying to say. Even space has a Wyoming. And we’re in it, right now. We’re driving through the space equivalent of Wyoming. And it’s long and the scenery hasn’t changed in days and we’re all starting to get a little bit restless. And that’s very, unexpectedly, mundane. Isn’t it?”
Koushi feels Daichi smile against his neck. Feels lips press gently to his skin before Daichi answers. “I suppose.”
Better, Koushi thinks. He sounds more like himself. Feels less tense, too, where Koushi’s hands are kneading and massaging his neck and shoulders and the places they connect.
“You know,” Koushi says, “I used to hate traveling.”
“Oh?” He feels, more than hears, Daichi’s response. A low rumble in his chest where they’re pressed together.
“Hated it. Tried everything to get out of road trips.”
“Because my parents tried to turn them into therapy sessions.”
And there it is again, Daichi’s laugh. Koushi loves that laugh. Can’t help but smile when he hears it. “Oh really?”
“Yeah. I was a pretty stubborn kid. Angsty, too, but I hated talking about my feelings. So my parents, desperate to understand their teenage son, liked to plan long road trips over summer break and wait until we were trapped in the car together for hours, when I couldn’t escape. And then they’d refuse to talk about anything but my problems.”
“You must’ve had a lot of problems.”
“Oh yeah. All kinds. School problems, girl problems, boy problems, sports problems, you name it. Some summers it took multiple road trips to get through them all.”
“Teenage you must have been a mess,” Daichi says.
“Oh, you have no idea.” Koushi laughed. “It helped, though. Talking about it. Even though the conditions weren’t ideal. Even though my parents weren’t my favorite people to talk to. Or even people I wanted to talk to at all. In fact, they were probably the last people I wanted to talk to about any of it.”
Daichi pulls back, then. Leans back in his captain’s chair and takes a big, deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Koushi can’t help but relax a little along with him, sagging against the back of the chair with him.
“Is this your way of trying to get me to talk?”
Koushi smiles. “Maybe.” He runs a finger along Daichi’s arm where it’s still loosely draped around his waist. “I know I’m not the person you’d choose to open up to. That’s okay. But I’ll still be a good listener.” He tries to keep the tremble out of his voice when he says, “I’ll be here for you when you can’t be with the people you love.”
Because that’s the kind of friends that he and Daichi are. Koushi may have been desperately in love with Daichi since at least their second year on crew, but Daichi doesn’t feel the same and that’s okay. It’s okay because Koushi decided it was okay, back when this whole thing started.
Koushi doesn’t mind being a distraction, a substitute, a replacement. As long as he gets to be close to Daichi in some way. He’ll take what he can get, honestly. He’s not proud of that, but the things people do for love don’t always make sense.
“You can talk to me,” Koushi says, when Daichi still hasn’t said anything. “You can tell me what’s wrong.”
“You don’t think I love you?” is what Daichi finally says.
“You said, you would be there when I can’t be with the people I love. What about you?”
“What about me?”
Daichi huffs. “You,”he says, like saying it with more emphasis makes his meaning any clearer. “You think I don’t love you?”
Koushi blinks. “You’ve never given me the impression that you did,” he says, delicately. The look on Daichi’s face is, honestly, a bit concerning. Does he have a fever, or something? Koushi places the back of his hand against Daichi’s forehead, but it doesn’t feel any warmer than usual.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for a fever.”
“You really—” Daichi abruptly lets go of Koushi in favor of clamping both hands over his face. The movement sends Koushi sprawling to the floor, which is completely undignified. “Okay, I really did think that between the two of us, I was the dumbass, but I may have been mistaken. It’s you. You’re the dumbass.” Koushi clambers to his feet, using Daichi’s knees as leverage.
“Excuse me?” Koushi punches him in the arm.
“Ow! Suga, what the fuck?”
“Why am I the dumbass in this situation?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“Doesn’t that make you the dumbass, then, for falling for me?” Koushi’s not sure what he means by that, exactly, except that if Daichi thinks he was somehow obvious about loving Koushi, he’s got another thing coming. That man is about as easy to read as a foreign dictionary soaked in water.
“You really had no idea?”
“No!” Koushi stands, paces, watches Daichi’s hands fall from his face to reveal a truly, honestly, exasperated expression. “I was so sure it was one-sided!” And then Daichi’s expression twists into one of pure confusion.
“One-sided?” Daichi sputters.
“Oh my god,” Koushi gasps. “You’re worse than me.”
“No. You? No.”
“Yes! How could you not notice that I caught feelings for you! I’ve been throwing myself all over you! Like literally all of the time. I am constantly trying to romance you. I grew flowers for you in the greenhouse wing.”
“I thought that was part of the benefits?” Daichi says. “You said you wanted to be friends with benefits. That seemed like a benefit!”
“Romance, Daichi, romance. I was romancing you. That was separate! The benefits included the wild and very satisfying sex we’ve been having. The rest was me trying to convince you to want to keep me around for more than that.”
“I do want to keep you around for more than that. I have. For a very long time now.”
“Since the beginning!”
“Well I know that now.” Overwhelmed, Koushi turns to face the viewport, crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the stars. He hears Daichi move, and then a pair of arms are wrapped around him from behind, holding him close. He sighs and relaxes back into Daichi’s embrace. “So,” Koushi says, “if you want more, and I want more, are we dating now?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. So now will you talk to me about whatever it was you were upset about?”
“I just did,” Daichi says, and hugs Koushi a little tighter. “Seems like we resolved it.”
Koushi sees his smile reflected in the viewport, the two of them silhouetted by the stars. They look good together, Captain and Vice Captain, Koushi thinks, and smiles back.
Dating Kate Bishop Would Include:
A/N: I just watched the first two episodes of Hawkeye and I’m in LOVE with it and how they’ve brought the comics to life. If you haven’t seen it - go, now, do it! I’m also in love with Kate Bishop so this kind of flowed out XD
If you’re dating Kate Bishop then you should expect to be spoiled absolutely rotten by her. Whether it’s spending some of her extortionate wealth on something you’ve been wanting, or performing some super cheesy gesture like doing laundry so you have clean sheets to crawl under after a long day at work.
She’d consider you her best friend first (even if Clint insists he owns that title) and partner second
She’d make sure she’s the first person you see or speak to every morning, and the last person you think about before going to bed.
She’s always sending you texts and tagging you in dumb memes she thinks you’ll enjoy or that have her howling like a crazy person.
“But look! The dog has a tiny hat! And he’s dancing!”
You knew making her get TikTok account was a mistake.
You should also expect to have a third person in your relationship as the Hawkeyes come as a pair… as you’ve found out more than once. As it is you’re basically a member of team, rotating between being their medic, therapist, and general voice of reason.
That, and apparently you make the best coffee in the city which means they’re always swinging by for a cup
“No, Kate. Pizza is not a good group and I swear if you don’t drink some water soon your body is going to shrivel up and die.”
“Coffee has water in it though.”
You get pretty good at giving her your best unimpressed stare and are relieved that it works like a charm. (You can thank Natasha for teaching you that one at your next ‘my best friend is Hawkeye, an idiot, but I love them’ support group).
In fact, most nights are spent with the dopey loveable idiots you’ve somehow adopted as your own. Kate crawls into bed with you and there’s a perfect Clint sized crater on your couch. So, you do your best to remember to pull on clothes before walking into the living room most mornings just in case. (No one needed a repeat of the one time you’d gone to make breakfast in a t-shirt and basically blinded Clint after he’d crashed on the couch for the night)
Dating Kate means lots of laughter
It also means dates spent hitting the town, enjoying the best and craziest New York has to offer.
Although, as much as you enjoy the odd tickets to Broadway shows or tables at exclusive clubs, you’re both happiest when you’re cuddled up on the couch, armed with take out and whatever box set you haven’t seen yet.
She also enjoys taking you up to the rooftop of her building and watching the city lights at night.
“It’s just peaceful up here, you know?” she explains the first time she takes you there, armed with blankets.
Being Kate’s partner also means plenty of phone calls too at odd hours from Kate to come help her get out of whatever mess or dumpster she’s in.
You’ve lost track of how many pairs of pants you’ve had to toss after getting garbage juice on them.
However Kate is always quick to replace them, or even lend you pairs of her own. You can tell she really enjoys seeing you in her clothes and loves stealing your hoodies as payback to wear when she’s cold.
Kate texting when she’s super embarrassed or knows you’re gonna hit the roof when you find out what idiotic situation she’s in now.
You live in fear of those bubbles on your phone showing she’s typing a message.
“You know I don’t think Captain America ever gets hauled out of dumpsters. Nor does he ever piss off Russian mobsters without checking he had arrows first.”
“Then he’s missing out. My step count is through the roof lately from all this running. No wonder my ass looks great.”
It does but you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of telling her.
You really love seeing Kate when she gets dressed up. Like. A suit was sexy before but Kate wearing one is enough to melt you in to a puddle. Hence you rather enjoy it when Clint or Kate’s mother drags you both to formal events.
Kate can be a hot head at times too, which drives you insane but only because you care about her so much.
At least she can use her anger for good though, and is quick to defend you from any and all threats, no matter how big or small.
You’ve had to stop her from going after a dickhead ex, a grumpy mail man, and even a bird that decided to swoop at you for your hotdog.
She also thinks emojis are a language in them self
“What the hell does that even mean, Kate? A middle finger, a crying face and a coffee cup?”
“It means I’m sad and mad and need coffee? Duh.”
You would also dog sit Lucky so regularly that you basically considered him yours now and have told Kate as much.
You’ve even warned her that if you two ever break up you will be suing her for custody of your fur baby.
Kate swears that would never happen though, simply because Lucky liked you and he’s a great judge of character. If he approves of you then that was it. You were one of them for life.
Basically the two of you are like the epitome of ‘stay, stay, stay’ by Taylor Swift and have a relationship most people would be envious of full of thrills, spills and memories that will last a lifetime.
Thanks can you write something about one of the kids getting hate online from jealous people and how it affects them and what Harry and Y/N do
hello!! so this one is going to be about isabelle getting hate (😔), which you will find out why. i’m also changing the age gaps between them because it’s so hard to write with larger age gaps. so here isabelle is 16, felix is 19 and oli is 21!!
You had been busy ironing the clothes downstairs, whilst watching ‘Call the Midwife’ on the TV, when you heard Felix shouting you from upstairs.
“What?” You shouted back, moving from the lounge to the bottom of the stairs to hear better.
“I think you should see this.”
When your children say things like this you either roll your eyes when you find out they wanted to show you a meme, or panic because some rumour has been spread all over the internet of them.
“Just hang on a minute!” Your attention diverted to the front door being opened harshly. Everyone else was already home but Belle, so it must’ve been her. It was a Wednesday today and Belle always had study group in the library after-school on a Wednesday, although today she was back a little earlier than normal.
You moved the latch off the porch door and opened it to welcome Belle home, watching as she threw off her high-top converse aggressively.
“Hiya love, you alr—” You didn’t get to finish before you saw that her eyes were red and puffy, tears streaming down her face like a cascading waterfall. Her mascara was smudged and made it look like she hadn’t slept for weeks. “Woah, hey, Belle?”
Belle didn’t listen to you though, instead she stormed past and ran up the stairs and a minute later you heard her bedroom door slam shut.
What the fuck was that about?
“Minute too late mum!” Felix shouted again, making you roll your eyes in annoyance. However, it did confirm that something had happened to Belle on social media or over the internet and you had to get Harry on top of this now.
You walked down the stairs, into your basement - which Harry had converted into a sound-proof studio - and saw him sat with a guitar on his lap and pencil between his teeth, playing around with chords on repeat.
“Babe?” You knocked on the door as you spoke, Harry looking up from where he was sat to you and smiling as bright as ever.
“You alright love?” He asked sweetly, taking the pencil out of his mouth first.
“I am yeah, but Belle’s just come home crying and shut herself in her room.” You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to work through everything that had happened and wondering whether you’d done something or not done something.
Harry instantly got to his feet, putting everything down so that he could come over to you. He placed his warm hands on your cheeks and kissed your lips once just because, “I know what you’re thinking, so stop it. Something’s probably happened at school. Let me go talk to her, okay?��� You nodded in agreement and sighed in thanks.
Belle had always been more of a daddy’s girl than a mommy’s girl, and that was okay. It just meant that she was more open to her feelings and her heart with her dad than you, not to say she never talked to you about things like that. Harry always filled you in on things, though, and would prompt you to talk to her if he thought extremely necessary. Belle liked to work things out by herself normally, not liking to be a burden to anyone - a lot like you actually.
Harry walked out of the room and climbed the stairs two at a time until he made it outside Belle’s room. He knocked before entering, but Belle made no sound for him to enter.
“Belles?” Harry asked softly, shutting the door and walking over to her bed which she was curled up on. She had obviously flopped on the bed and began crying, because there was no sign of effort to get under the covers or get comfortable.
“D-dad?” She mumbled roughly, her choked sobs holding her back.
“Yes sweetheart, i’m here.” Harry sat down on the edge of her bed and sat their patiently. He didn’t want to invade her space or make her feel claustrophobic, so he waited for her to come to him and that didn’t take long. She sprang up and hugged him with her head buried against her dad’s chest, sobbing so violently that Harry’s heart cracked in two. He hated to see his baby cry. It was his biggest weakness.
Belle made an attempt to speak but Harry couldn’t understand due to the shear heaviness of her cries.
“Belles, y’gotta calm down for me, my heart. Gotta breathe it out before you make yourself sick.” He smoothed his hand over the back of her hair, like he’d always done. Her breathing ever-so-slowly coming back down to a normal and healthy pace. “That’s it, thank you.” He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly still.
“Dad?” She shakily started.
“Do y-you know?” She sat up so she could face her dad, bur Harry didn’t let his hands leave hers.
“Know what, sweetheart?”
Harry genuinely didn’t know and Belle could see that in his honest, kind, eyes.
“T-that…” Belle started tearing up again, her bottom lip wobbling like sailors legs.
“Hey, calm down. You’re okay. Breathe and then talk to me, okay?” Harry ordered her, not caring if this took all night. He was here for his baby girl whenever and wherever, no exceptions. If she didn’t ever tell him, that was okay as long as he helped her build up her happiness again. A few deep breaths later and she was feeling more comfortable.
“I..,” she paused momentarily to collect her words before letting them flow out beautifully, “i’m gay dad.”
Warmth spread through Harry’s heart as if he were torch that’d just been set alight. He could only put the way he felt into one word; proud. He was so proud that his daughter was turning into the loving and open and beautiful woman she was always born to be. He was also just so happy that she had the confidence in him to tell him something so important to her.
“I’m so proud of you, Belle.”
“Really?” She sounded surprised, which made Harry take a step back in confusion.
“Yes of course,” Harry squeezed her hand just a little tighter, “have I ever given you a reason to think otherwise?”
“Then where’s this doubt coming from hey?”
Belle began to cry again at his question.
“T-the media found out and i-it’s been published everywhere a-and I w-was worried I wouldn’t b-be able to tell you myself b-before they could. They’re being s-so rude too.” Her cries broke Harry all over again. As much as he was proud of her for coming out so bravely, he was incredibly pissed off that the media thought it was there business to pass around before Belle was even comfortable admitting it first. It’s Belle’s right to come out when she wants and how she wants and Harry could understand how frustrating and upsetting that must be to have it all taken away. He had to keep calm for Belle though, pulling her back into his chest to hold her safely.
“What are they saying?”
Anger bubbled through Harry’s veins as she began to speak.
“That i’m only gay to promote the values you stand for or that you’ll be disappointed that not all your children are straight.”
Harry’s fingers curled at her words, not understanding how much of a low-life you have to be to genuinely type and publish these things about a child, let alone his child. He was furious and he was going to burn - metaphorically - the people responsible for this abuse.
“How did they find out?”
Instead of her saying anything she pulled up a picture of the article online - released by ‘The Sun’ unsurprisingly as they were the worst for paparazzi stalking - and it all started to piece together.
The article headlined a picture of Belle and another girl, kissing outside of school. The study group mustn’t have been exclusively studying. Harry didn’t focus on the shitty article, he instead focused on how the smile on Belle’s face was the widest he’d ever seen.
“You look very happy.” Harry tried to make light of the situation for his daughter.
“I am. They make me very happy.” Belle blushed and Harry caught on.
“And they’re called?”
“Megan,” Harry repeated the name, getting a feel for the way it sounded for future use, “well they seem lovely.”
“Dad you’ve only seen them through a picture of us kissing.” Belle rolled her eyes and Harry reached out to dab the tears away, not minding that his sleeve was becoming heavily damp.
“Shut up you,” he laughed causing a smile to leap onto Belles face too, “do we get to meet them?”
“Hopefully,” Belle smiles, before looking down to her lap with furrowed brows, “that is, if they still like me after this whole media shambles.” Belle let out a breathe of shaky air and Harry caught her anxiety before she could let herself run off with it.
“Let me take care of that, don’t worry yourself over it, okay?” Belle nodded.
“Do I have to make like a statement or anything?”
“You do whatever you want to, Belles, and i’ll love you no matter what.”
And with that Harry left the room, a smile on his face for feeling like the proudest most happiest parent on the planet. It only lasted a few minutes though, because now it was time to make some phone calls and sue a few people.