#also the way all three of them never bothered to try to convince her to stay

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

thinking about the ring at the funeral (did he leave it behind for her was he waiting for her) the way he complains to people about how she never visits (he was definitely hoping), the way so many scenes where he shows up are so tender and soft, "collecting strange magic is my hobby (what i spend all my time doing) because someone was happy to see it", the flower crown at the end of the OP, "I WANTED TO SEE UNDER HER SKIRT TOO!!" (?!?!?!!!?!??), "i wanted to see the sunrise with all of us together"

[lemonlover1110]

Double Trouble

Dad Series

Toji Fushiguro

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“I want a baby sister!” Koemi randomly spurts out one faithful morning. It makes Toji choke on his breakfast, hitting his chest a couple of times to cough up the bit of food that’s in his throat. There’s no way that Toji will agree to that, especially after he got them into a preschool and he has his life back.

Toji has never glared at Koemi before, but for the first time in his life he does. You agreed you don’t want more kids because twins are more than enough. Toji looks at you, and you’re taken back just as he is. You shake your head, and Toji says, “Never in a million years.”

“It’s not fair! Kisho has Megumi and I have no one.” Koemi yells, and Toji decides that he won’t start his day by arguing with someone that still has their baby teeth.

“You have your brothers, honey. You don’t need a baby sister.” You assure her, but that isn’t enough to convince her tiny brain. She’s stubborn, just like her father.

Koemi is smart, she knows how to convince you. She sneaks and takes the photo album that you have for the twins, leaving it on the coffee table. She runs to you when you notice it and pick it up, looking innocently as she asks, “What’s that, mommy?”

“Oh, nothing, baby. Just photos from when you and your brother were babies– When you couldn’t properly talk since you two are still babies in my eyes.” You tell her, and you decide to take a seat on the couch and look through the album, making Koemi join you.

You look at pictures of the twins from the first ultrasound to their first steps. Newborn babies aren’t all that cute but you had the cutest babies. They cried a lot, but you always managed to take pictures because they were too adorable. The biggest smile comes to your lips seeing a picture of Megumi with the twins, he holds Kisho while Koemi is on the couch, trying to reach her twin brother. Then a picture of Megumi who manages to hold both of the twins on the couch, who look to be around five months old.

You keep going back to this one picture that’s three pages in, it’s what gets you. Toji smiling at his newborn babies. Toji has many more pictures in the book, but that has to be the best one because you had never seen Toji so happy before. Sure, he was over the moon when he married you, but this was a level of happiness that only his kids could achieve.

“What are you–” Toji approaches you, and his eyes fall on the photo album. For the second time, he glares at Koemi. Given the tears that are welled up in your eyes, she’s convinced you. She’s a sly one. She’s his daughter after all. He has to think of some way to get her to back down. What’s something that’ll make her stop wanting a sibling? And then it dawns on him.

“Koemi, since you want a baby sister so bad, you’re going to learn how to share your toys. Mommy and I will call the stork if you’re willing to share all your toys.” He says, knowing that Koemi hates sharing. Toji makes sure to get two toys each for the twins since it’s a never ending fight with them, because of her. That’s something he doesn’t bother correcting because Toji also hates sharing. “Even with Kisho.”

She furrows her brows and ponders on it. She shakes her head, and Toji takes it as her backing down. She’s not willing to share her toys. “I don’t want a sister anymore.”

She ends up standing up and walking away, but that doesn’t fix the mess that she caused. Toji doesn’t have to think much about convincing you though, he only has to mention, “Morning sickness.”

“She’s right, she doesn’t need a sister.”

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement. 

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality’ on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

[strwberri-milk]

MC and Xavier/Zayne/Rafayel have a unplanned kid (or kids, i like the idea of twins too)

They are dating for only some months now, having a unplanned kid now would be a problem?

How would she talk about it with them? Or, would them be the one to notice first that something is strange? (I mean zayne is her doctor and ask for regular exams, you doctor is always the first to know the results right?)

They are just dating and never talked about marriage, would a baby change it? (I think rafayel is the romantic one who would want to marry before the baby is born)

How would them act while mc is pregnant? (Not to mention she tecnically have health problems)

Would them be extra carefull about her health?

What about her job as a hunter?

When its birth time, how would them react? (Maybe rafayel would freak out a bit?)

Besides that, what about the fluffynes, or feelings?

.

Also already leaving this here for another post (not that i would mind if you want to do it all in the same one): what about them as dads?

Starting at birth, how would be see their kid/kids the first time?

Would they take care of mc so she can recover after birth? (My friend had a 28h birth and breastfeeding was painfull, it was nothing like the in movies yk)

How would the kids be like? And what they would have in common with their parents?

.

Thank you very much since now ♡

nothing personal against you but this is a quick reminder to anybody whos new here to please please please check out my rules before requesting! I will be doing the dad hcs section and ONLY the dad hcs - nothing about pregnancy, pregnancy recovery, etc. etc. because i do not write for pregnancy - i can see youve put a lot of energy into this ask and i appreciate it but just as a heads up for the future please check my rules first!

Zayne is a great father. He isn't able to be as active as he would like to be in the earlier years of childhood because he wants to make sure that the child has enough money to be provided for for their entire life. He doesn't throw himself fully into work but he also is just as busy now as he was before the arrival of the child.

Once things settle and he gets used to a rhythm he might start taking less odd hours at the hospital. He's been interviewing for another surgeon or three that can replace his manpower when needed, not wanting to be the absolute backbone for the hospital anymore so he can be home as often as needed.

He can't totally get rid of those odd hours or being on call because it wouldn't be fair to the other staff as he isn't the only parent that works there but the load is definitely lessened with the way that he's worked things out. He wants to be as present as possible and he always does his best to get days off for any special events in the child's life, or just for the family in general.

He will definitely broach the idea of you being an at home parent. He wants there to be someone who can be there for the child at any given time and if you refuse he'll respect your wishes without saying much. It doesn't bother him too much but it is something he wants to bring up.

Xavier is immediately concerned about your lives as hunters. He's very confident in his ability to keep himself safe and it's not to say that he isn't confident in you, but he does worry about you being reckless. It's simply a case of him not being able to be with you at all times and being nervous about it. He'll try to convince you to take a safer job or consider working in a sector that wouldn't require you to be on the field as often.

In all fairness he also stops going off by himself for missions as often and makes it easy for you to find him or know where he is in case he has to go somewhere more remote. He'll be a little picky about who he works with just because he doesn't want them to impede the way he works. He already started playing it safe when you confided in him how much you worry when he does things dangerously but now with a child in the mix he's more aware of himself.

He is very active in the child's life. Definitely loves doing tummy time with it and cuddling with it. He gives both you and the child so much love and attention - there's no way it'll grow up without knowing how in love its parents are and how much its parents love it. You definitely love watching him interact with your child, finding it so adorable to see how he coos and plays.

Xavier also loves to read to your child. He's got a small collection of space themed children's book and now his nightly routine is reading a few of them to your child as it rests on his chest, pointing out all the little pictures and constellations and teaching it all about them.

Rafayel buys the cutest little outfits for the baby. He's definitely the kind of parent who buys designer clothes that will only fit for the week but the good thing is at least he doesn't pick anything that's overtly designer. He just likes dressing your baby well and he has expensive taste and the money to pay for it.

Rafayel is a little awkward at first being a father. He's used to communal child rearing being standard practise (a headcanon I have from the way he talks about his childhood/how I read interactions during myths) so he's a little out of his element. His Aunt definitely comes over constantly to coo over the new family member and Rafayel wouldn't mind hiring additional staff to help keep the home in order and support child rearing as well. He just doesn't want the nanny becoming a primary parental figure for the child - he thinks that honour should go to you and him.

Since he basically works from home he inadvertently spends a lot of time with the baby. He tries to get you to quit your job, citing that he makes more than enough money for you to either stay at home or find safer work but also won't stop you. However, if you continue actively working as a hunter in the field his anxiety around your absence worsens tenfold. He'll ask you to keep your phone on you as much as possible and with your permission will want the ability to monitor your location. He just wants to make sure you don't get hurt and really has your safety at the forefront of his mind at any given moment.

He's also going to be watching for any signs that your child is going to have any Lemurian traits. He doesn't want anybody to find out about it in case harm befalls your little family and also wants to be able to help your child through those changes the best he can. You'll be seeing a lot of his aunt around now to help the two of you - she never minds even if the child isn't Lemurian like they are because she just finds it adorable.

[romanoffsbish]

A Harsh Lesson to Learn

Pervy Professors!WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Darcy x F!R (Brief interaction)

Warnings: Insecure R, Mentions of Blackmail, Gaslighting.

Smut: Spanking(R/Specialty paddle), Strap (R��N), Oral (R—W). Mommy (W), Daddy (N), Degradation.

18+ | Minors DNI

3,925 Words

As Natasha went to fill out the board to map out today's joint lesson with none other than Professor Maximoff—her wife, and close colleague she froze in place at the sound of laughter. Normally the affairs of her students before class began didn't bother her, but since it'd been a week since you last chose to attend she was intrigued, but more so she was furious.

Turning around only made her ten times as such, the sight of you with your hand on the bicep of Darcy Lewis—the campus 'fuckboy,' with your head thrown back as you forced out a laugh at one of her lame jokes was a sight meant to be nonexistent. Not only was she mad that you even dared taunt them with another, but you were also breaking one of their core rules by showing up in such a reserved outfit. They didn't make you go out shopping for all of those low cut crop tops, and mini skirts for you to wear a turtle neck and slacks to their class.

———

Natasha and Wanda were strategic when selecting you to be their precious girl all those years ago when you decidedly chose Russian to meet your university language requirement. It'd been a decision based on a whim, your friend who was a second year advised you to do it because the professor was hot, and the other languages offered were "boring," and "basic." You were sold the moment she said hot, and accompanied her words with the evidence.

As that first semester drew closer to the end you found your school girl fantasy of sleeping with your professor was far more based in reality when she bent you over her desk during your 'mandatory' meeting about your future in her department. With your mind in a haze, she'd actually managed to convince you—an Economics major, to minor in Russian studies.

Which is how you found yourself stuck in this dreadful hybrid class with the women. Wanda taught Russian Literature, while Natasha taught every language course offered, and the university allowed them to combine courses. Every Monday you would go to Russian 4, where Natasha taught that weeks vocabulary. On Wednesday's you'd review the literature that corresponded well with Natasha's lessons piece by piece with Wanda. Then come Friday you'd spend three hours being taunted by the both of them as they connected their lessons, then gave a corresponding quiz or assignment.

These beautiful women who managed to rock your world on a regular basis, while also being absolute nightmares to deal with have trapped you in their intricate web of thought out lies. For two years now they'd promised to take you on a proper date, to show you their whispered words during sex were true, but they always found a way to evade your requests, and it usually ended with them fucking you senseless enough to momentarily forget your woes.

They had every intention to take you out, but then they received an anonymous photo of the three of you leaving class together. Innocent in nature, but the sender clearly had an eye for subtext because the "😉" attached wasn't an accident. If they were to take you out now they run the risk of losing their jobs, which to them wasn't even the main concern; if you were to all be outed you'd be bumped from the university.

Funny enough, your relationship isn't even a forbidden one, it's highly frowned upon sure, but with the proper paperwork submitted, and the lack of campus based fraternization—like taking a class, it can be done without penalty. However, the women never wanted to tell their employer—the university, of their private business, and now it's too late to try. Leaving them in a position where they have to keep you in the shadows of their life instead of showing you off to the world like they truly wanted to.

Because, if they could do that, then that bitch Darcy wouldn't be leaning in to kiss your cheek, and you wouldn't be giggling, humoring the girl, but really doing it as you stared back at your perverse professor who was staring daggers into your classmates head., "Ladies, take your seats, this isn't the proper space for such delinquent behaviors, or have you confused my class for the likes of Mr. Stark's?"

Darcy, suave as could be took her seat, but in doing so she brought you down with her, and the involuntary whimper you let out drew the redheads attention back to you immediately. The brunette beneath you was packing, that much was obvious to her, and it enraged her to see her obvious intentions personified. Judging by the look on your face you were shocked, but she could also see the clear regret in your eyes.

Firstly, you'd only planned to tease the women you adored, because you loved them far too much to step out on them, but as they'd been throwing you to the side for so long you felt they needed to remember you had options. That you wouldn't wait around forever for them to treat you like their partner, and not just a set of holes to fill. Secondly, you were only lazily flirting with Darcy, this wasn't meant to get to such places, and now she's got it in her head that she'll be having her way with you tonight, and that just isn't the case.

Especially not when Wanda walks in to see the tense situation., "Miss Lewis, you're dismissed, maybe come Monday you'll return with sense.," the girl scoffed, but quickly fixed her face once on the end of Wanda's glare, the head tilt adding the extra touch of intimidation needed., "Come on Y/N.," Darcy murmured while lifting the both of you up, but a hand gripped you by the forearm and spun you from the girls hold.

"Please, don't tell me you forgot how to listen, I only dismissed you.," Wanda chillingly relays, her hand subtly tightened around your arm causing you to wince as fingernails dug into the skin through the sleeve of your shirt., "Miss Y/L/N here has already missed a weeks worth of content, plus I saw how you pulled her down, and her face was nothing short of stunned.," the brunette, for the sake of professionalism, held back her smirk at Darcy's fallen features.

Darcy stormed off out of the classroom, and as soon as she was out you saw Natasha heading towards the door with a paper in her hand. You gulped as soon as she taped it to the outside of the classroom, following it up by pulling the curtains, and locking the door tightly shut., "Miss. Romanoff, wh-what are you doing?," you feigned cluelessness, but the mask slipped once Wanda's hand collided with your face, and you groaned when your knees hit the floor.

"Cute stunt you tried to pull kotenok.," Nat chuckled darkly, you knew better than to lift your gaze from the floor, but you were more than intrigued by the sounds of shuffling., "Didn't think we'd embarrass you, hm?," you chuckled dangerously., "I knew you would."

Wanda's fingers curled around your chin, harshly digging into the flesh as she lifted your mischievous gaze up to hers., "Oh?," she smiled down at you devilishly., "The whore was testing us, and it seems she underestimated us Natty."

A loud whirring noise came from your left, you tried to shift to see it but Wanda's grip never relented, the hairs on your entire body stood as the fear of the unknown descended over you., "What a silly little thing she is Wands.," she entered your eye line as she spoke and your body desperately tried to back away upon seeing her smirk, but she held you tightly by your shoulder while passionately kissing her wife for an unnecessarily long period of time.

"She must've been desperate to be ruined.," the redhead carelessly lifted you by your shoulder, then spun you around and slammed your front to the desk. Surveying your clothes she once again found herself enraged at the modesty., "Breaking all our rules.," she growled, using her ungodly strength she tore your turtle neck in half, tossing the fabric in her hands away as the front of it fell off your shoulders., "Better."

"Would be even better if these were gone too.," Wanda grimaced, her distaste for your brown slacks clear as day., "They're hideous, and have no business hiding our precious cunt from us."

Natasha wordlessly agreed with her, and rather aggressively showed as such by wrapping her hands around the sides of the fabric, yanking it down and ensuring that her sharp nails dug into the skin harshly enough to draw blood.

It was moments like these that confused you the most, because a huge part of you found this painfully arousing; the way they spoke of you like you were nothing more than an avenue to their pleasure turned you on immeasurably. The other part of you found it disheartening, as if all their whispered reassurances of love go down the drain with their heartless actions.

"Now listen up brat.," Wanda seethed, her hand was quick to yank your face up to meet hers by the roots of your hair. You gulped too once meeting her fiery gaze, anger and hurt prevalent., "It's about time you finally received a punishment for your recent behaviors."

The loud whirring was back, a sickening smile gracing Wanda's face as it sounds behind you., "Daddy had these custom made.," she giggles, but the humor is more so daunting as you feel a cooled leather against the back of your thighs.

"If you behave, this will be quick, and painful.," she smirks when your eyes widen., "Misbehave and the process will be tedious, and twice as painful.," and with a wink she was forcing your head back down and standing back upright.

"Thirty sound good to you moya lyubov'?," Natasha loudly asked her wife as she hovered above your ass, the leather pressed firmly against your thigh as she leaned into you.

"Thirty could work, but only if the results are deep enough.," you whimpered at the vaguely aired out words, the leather now stuck between Wanda's body and your thigh telling you this isn't the taunting, and spanking you're used to.

Natasha and Wanda shared a sloppy kiss, your body trembled with need as their lips smacked loudly, leaving you to crave a similar affection., "None of that, you knew what you were doing.," Natasha growled, their hands harshly yanked your thighs apart so you couldn't alleviate the ache in your core., "Don't forget to count and thank your mommy and daddy for each smack; mommy will be the odd hits, I'll be the even."

With a contrasting touch Wanda's hand softly ran across the swell of your ass, her fingers dipping down and teasing your entrance just enough to get you to squirm in desperation., "Maybe if you can fucking listen to the rules you'll get your pretty little pussy attended to.," she chuckled when you whined., "Hush now."

Natasha nodded at her wife, they'd decided to wait a second, leaving you in suspense for the first hit. Your body lurched at the harshness, and you cried out at the abrasive feel of the whip, it was like nothing you'd ever felt before; you couldn't place if it was pleasurable or not.

"One, thank you mommy.," you managed to get the words out, and as a reward you were met with another, much harsher smack that brought you to tears., "Two, thank you daddy."

Each hit was methodically executed, the ridges of the leather would only take to the unmarred skin if the hit was made in the same precise spot on your butt cheek every time. Normally the women would oscillate the whip between handlers, painting your backside in a gorgeous array of slashes, without any need for control. This time however required precision to ensure the word etched into your backside rose up.

They laughed with every cry that emerged from your throat, there was immense joy taken in your pain here, a punishment that fit the crime.

"Twenty-one, th-thank you mommy.," you pitifully hiccuped, and the women almost felt bad enough to stop, but the memory of Darcy's lips on you flashed through the redheads mind and the paddle came down with a sickening echo., "Twenty-two, thank you daddy.," you sobbed uncontrollably as the pain spread through your body., "I-I'm sorry, please stop..."

"Aww, we know you are baby.," Wanda gently kissed your cheek to offer you a fleeting sense of comfort., "But that's not how this works, take your punishment and stop whining."

"Twenty-nine.," you barely managed to grit out., "Ah-ah.," Wanda tutted, and you softly whispered your faux gratitude, the wives shared a smile, deciding to let you off for it., "Thirty, thank you daddy.," your body wracked with violent sobs as relief flooded your mind.

It was over, thirty painful paddling's later and your backside was no longer under attack, or so you thought, because the women shared a sick set of smiles that you couldn't see before they were rearing their arms back in sync., "3, 2, 1.," your body tensed at their cryptic countdown, then it jerked so violently forward that your abdomen met the desk, effectively knocking the wind from your lungs, and leaving you gasping.

Natasha and Wanda stepped away from your sides, smiles gracing their faces at your whines of dissatisfaction. Even with their perverse ministrations you still craved to have them close, and that delighted them beyond belief. They'd been worried they were losing you, but you just remedied their hearts greatest fears.

While you basically hyperventilated against the desk the women ogled your backside, watching in real time as their hard work slowly came to fruition. The welting process was already well underway, and it made them feel rather giddy.

Once your breathing returned to a normal enough state they returned to your side, both of them laid soft kisses to your exposed hips, and their hearts fluttered when your body relaxed.

"Pay close attention now, say the letter that I'm tracing.," Wanda softly murmured, but it was a false sense of serenity because as soon as her finger lightly trailed over the irritated skin of your ass you were a whimpering disaster., "Stay still.," she commanded through gritted teeth then began to trace over the welting skin.

"What is it baby?," you whimpered., "B"

"Good girl, so smart and so pretty.," she coo'd, then her finger slipped over to the next letter., "R.," she hummed in satisfaction, then she harshly squeezed the raw ass cheek, making your body lurch away and for you to cry out.

"Daddy's turn...," she smirked as you tensed.

Natasha wasn't nearly as nice, whereas Wanda simply used the pads of her fingers, Natasha grazed her nail over the torn up skin., "A.," she smirked devilishly at your pained response.

"Mhm.," her finger moved to the last letter, she drug it across, then down ever so slowly, making you cry with every bit of pressure she would suddenly inflict upon your skin., "T."

"Yes, and what does that spell, hm?," Wanda asked in a condescending manner, the couple chuckling softly from behind as you struggled tremendously to use your voice., "Brat..."

"Look at that Natty, she missed a week of school but she still manages to use her brain."

"All hope isn't lost.," Natasha taunts, then in an unexpected move she lifts you off the desk until your back is flush to her front, you groaned as your ass rubbed against her skirt's fabric, but a squeak of need followed when her strap was pressing into your backside just the same.

"You did so good for us kotenok.," her lips nip at the thin skin of your jaw., "You ready for a reward?," she smirked against your neck as your head bobbed above hers., "Words baby."

"Yes daddy, I-I'm ready, please...," she gripped your hips even tighter as a wave of arousal ran through her at your breathless begging., "Shh.," Wanda pressed her lips to yours., "No need to beg us now love, we'll take good care of you."

"You always do.," your soft muttering only made them more desperate to please you, the brunette dropped to her knees, using her hand she guided her wife's strap to your entrance then as Natasha entered you from behind her tongue teasingly licked at your spasming clit.

Their pace was slow, a stark contrast to their earlier ministrations, in this moment they wanted to make you tremble, to remind you that nobody else could ever love you so well. Nobody would ever know every precise angle that made you scream for more as your body racked in a sort of silent plead for it to stop.

"Are you sorry kotenok?," Natasha grunted as she thrusted a fair bit harsher into you, the leather of her top dragging over the throbbing welts on your ass, making you moan brokenly., "I'm very sorry daddy, please forgive me.," your hand fell into Wanda's hair as she began to speak into you, causing the build up within you to reach a blinding level., "'m sorry mommy, I-I love you so much, please forgive—Oh."

Wanda cut your pleading off with a harsh suck to your clit that paired with her wife's thrust., "Let go brat, it's now or never.," the redhead threatened from behind, her voice thick with rasp telling you she was on the verge of bliss herself. Something about that knowledge, and the sight of Wanda rutting against her hand as she ate you out alongside her wife sent you head first into your earth shattering orgasm.

Screams of pleasure tore from your throat, but were quickly muffled behind Natasha's hand. Your slick soon drenched Wanda's lower face, and the maroon strap between Natasha's legs, leaving the woman in awe. Natasha bit into your shoulder not even a second later as the coil within her snapped, her rutting into you only ever increased as she desperately chased that high. Wanda's ministrations never ended either as she chased her own, so as she moaned against your sensitive clit upon her own release you were thrown head first into a second one.

Natasha slowed her thrusts down as your body began to tremble uncontrollably, the second wave crashing over you thrice as hard, and it showed in the way that your slick now covered Wanda's breasts, and ran down Nat's thighs.

"Fucking hell detka, you made quite a mess.," Wanda panted as she gazed up at your face, your eyes were the type of hazy they preferred. You were always so pliant when they fucked you dumb enough, and that was today's plan.

To make you forget why you were mad in the first place, so that they can spend all weekend long reacquainting themselves with your body. Then come next weekend, if you were their good girl again they'd drive you two towns over, and treat you like the princess you are.

"What a shame detka.," Natasha breaks the silence with a pout to feign sympathy., "Had you not acted out like this all week, you'd be able to sit, and we wouldn't have had to cancel the dinner reservations at Benihana tonight."

"I-I can sit.," you tried, but whimpered just as soon as Wanda slid the tight, red leather skirt over your bare ass, it barely reached mid thigh, and you were beyond mortified at the thought of your fellow students seeing your nudity.

Natasha chuckled as her hands slid beneath your skirt just to prove your words wrong, she kneaded at the sensitive flesh, then pressed her lips to yours to catch your groans, they were this perfect balance between pained and pleasurable that left the women desperate to get you back home to destroy you further.

"No need to lie detka.," Wanda giggled from behind you, she swatted her lovers hands away from you, then in a show of genuine affection she cleaned the welting skin, then afterwards she gently applied a numbing cream to the skin, and you thanked her with soft moans.

"Feel nice detka?," she lowered your skirt, then placed a few kisses to your shoulder blades., "Mhm, thank you mommy, I love you."

“We love you too detka.,” she whispered, then softly tilted your face to the side so she could kiss you with feeling., “More than you know.,” Natasha added, her lips quick to take Wanda’s place as you naturally returned to look at her.

Your panties had been drenched, and therefore stuffed into Natasha's briefcase with a glare to hedge off your weak protests, because in the end their twisted obsession with you aroused you plenty more than it ever frustrated you.

That being said, normally you would put up a fuss for the sake of being a brat, but Natasha's eyes lit up when she saw the fight in you hardly existed., "Good girl.," she beamed, then pecked your lips with genuine affection. These marks that now adorned your once smooth skin were like badges of honor really, painful as they were you morbidly cherished them.

"Keep acting like this and we'll be able to make that dinner happen soon detka.," Wanda said from behind, sandwiching you between her and her wife once again., "We swear to it."

"No more excuses, you'll be ours to show off."

Natasha held your face to her chest, allowing you the moment to cry out all of your pent up feelings. The couple lightly swayed you, and whispered the sweetest of assurances to you, and pressed their lips to your skin in the hopes of comforting you as you let it all out.

"Head to your next class moya lyubov'.," you whimper at the command, your legs felt heavy, and the idea of sitting in one of those hard plastic desk chairs felt daunting, but you knew better than to argue with the brunette, so you savored her parting kiss, and turned back to Natasha when Wanda's warmth left you.

Natasha too kisses you rather passionately., "We'll be at home waiting for you detka, this was our only class today, don’t be late.,” she slapped your ass, laughing maniacally as you groaned and glared at her retreating form.

“Leave that attitude behind detka, we have an arsenal of new toys back at home, don’t give mommy and daddy a reason to punish you.,” she winked at you, then left through the door as her wife had just done seconds prior.

“These women are going to be the death of me…,” you whispered in faux annoyance, then after waiting an appropriate amount of time you left the classroom with a prominent limp, and a festering need in the pit of your stomach.

Natasha and Wanda still weren't going to come clean to the university, no, because that would discredit all of your hard work thus far in your minor studies, and they'd have to miss seeing your sweet face in their classes going forward.

Instead they chose to use their free time this week, that normally would've been devoted to doting on you, to find that Darcy was not only the one blackmailing the three of you, but that she was also regularly sleeping with an advisor. This is more than enough evidence to ensure your relationship stays under wraps for good.

———

[nuitnotions]

Just came across and your writing is impeccable 😩, I was wondering if you could please do Captain Price spending time with 5 of his daughters while mom is away for a girls vacation with her friends! I would like to imagine it would be chaotic as hell and he would not manage despite him being a SAS Captain😭

hi sweetness, this is incredibly kind of you!! as per usual, this will be sfw due to me not being able to confirm your age but i do hope it sates this thought of yours mhm <3

[ teeth rotting fluff ; afab reader ; no gendered terms ]

John knew it was time to slow down by baby number three. It was a reluctant thought really, the glow of you holding your newborn in your arms after that first cry into their new world warmed his skin in a way the sun never could. You twisted his arm (that’s how he likes to believe it happened) into trying once more, very much eager for a boy with his father’s eyes.

The fifth had been a girl too. At that rate, he could see the exhaustion on your body and had to really sit you down for a long and needed talk. He sat you across his lap, of course, it always made you slightly more agreeable.

His age never bothered him, he was fit and he would keep at it for the sake of you and all of your princesses, a perfect motive. That was his selling point, your biological clock and the risks that followed if you were to keep trying. Well, that along with having the need for a new house for more room if the two of you were that determined to have a boy.

Money never placed above his children, but the two of you also had to be wise about it if you were to give the best you could to your girls. You listened, you were reasonable and you were more than content with the joys you two had created together thus far. No contradictory statement to that existed and so you cupped his jaw, murmured your understanding and kissed his cheek before you laid yourself against him.

The silence that followed was loaded, the reality of a dream weighing heavy in the air and the slight sting of sweetness lingered in the back of your cheeks. It likened to the long sigh after coming home from a long but fulfilling day at work. Not quite bittersweet, but rather a muted sugar diluted down with trickles of warm milk.

And so the pair of you devoted every possible second of your lives to five girls with very much individual demands and personalities. There were learning curves of course, the kind that were sharp enough to be corners, but the two of you remained resilient. Linked arms tightened around each other, feet at shoulder-width and steady on the earth as you stormed through parenthood together. This does not exclude the handful of times that the new endeavours had you crawling, sometimes alongside your 9 month old with John cooing and chuckling at his poppet as he met her pace.

The girls were close in age which quite frankly, was a double edged sword. They had enough company to ensure no tantrums ensued from boredom, but that also meant a good few years where sleep was as scarce as saffron. It also introduced the camaraderie of culprits, however. It was the birth of your fourth that also called John into finally hanging up the tactical gear, locking away his weapons and wading back through years of emotional avoidance with a psychologist. Needless to say, your household had seen a great deal of an adjustment period. It took them entering primary for a good rhythm and flow to emerge, the cog wheels finally smoothened and lubricated in their machinations.

With this, you and John finally emerged once again beyond the singular title of 'parent' and found yourselves becoming reacquainted as lovers and individuals. There were shifts, as one does with a family of seven, to taking some needed time out. It might have taken a number of pep talks from John to convince you that no, you are not being selfish, luv and no, needing a break does not make you negligent. So the former captain had all but shuffled you toward the foyer of the house, gentle kisses at your neck and soft reassurances that he would in fact be alright and yes, he was well aware of their curfew and bed routine and no, cancelling now would be very rude.

You swore up and down that you'd be no more than two hours, maybe just an hour and half actually, as your worried eyes shifted from your husband to the giggling group stacked atop each other on the staircase like peas in a pod as they eyed the spectacle. Your friends had all but threatened to kidnap you if you didn't spare them just a few hours of your time to catch up and allow them all an excuse to go out. You hadn't agreed until the literal day before and even as you shrugged on the jacket John held out for you, you second guessed your decision.

But John Price was the type of determined that many likened to a mule, bordering on a word that would cost him a quid to the jar on the kitchen counter. With a lingering kiss to your soft lips that had your kids in a screeching uproar, he finally got you out of the door, winking at the girls behind you as you reminded them all once again to play nice with your father, he's grey enough as it is, girls.

He spared you a quip that had mention of him being a silver fox before he was telling you that he loved you and closed the door as you slid into the car that had some old club tune booming from its speakers.

"Alright luvvies, let's see what we can accomplish before hell's fury comes walking through the front door, yeah?"

No battlefield or amount of PT could have prepared John for his daughters. A dad he was, and that job title doubled for a number of things including but not limited to; model, butler, makeshift jungle gym turned horsie, sous chef, taste tester and also pillow fort architect.

He was in over his head truly, but drowning in daisies had never been found on an autopsy report. Cardiac arrest however, very likely and not impossible. His eldest was nearing 10 and Rhiannon had just discovered the wonders of music and more importantly, singing. The little mic stand the two of you had gotten her took permanent residence in the living room and because the younger generation just took preternaturally to technology, she had figured out much too easily how to connect it to the tv set. Impromptu performances were average in the house, but what was not on schedule was the blaring singing of his eldest as her sisters took liberty in forming a band with very unorthodox instruments. Very much breakable instruments that had John's life flashing before his eyes one too many times in the span of the four minute and thirty nine second performance.

A performance the girls had also deemed appropriate from him to use as background music for his strut down the homemade catwalk. Scarves stripped from the hallway closet, pillow cases for sleeves and two different beanies atop his favorite hat as the high pitch chant sounded for him to strut his stuff and pose for hand-shaped cameras. It was safe to say that his booming march that concluded with a duck face pose was not a crowd pleaser.

Dinner had not gone as smoothly as he had envisioned in his head either; the image of controlled chaos as the six of them prepared a meal together went up in almost literal flames. A number of tantrums, soot coating the kitchen sink and two pizza boxes later had the father and gaggle of girls building a loosely termed pillow fort in front of the television, a Barbie movie playing in the background as John slaved away at keeping makeshift walls standing. The smallest of slouch to the pillows would have his tiny supervisors reprimanding him.

His middle daughter, Penelope at age 8 finally took pity on him, short arms wrapped around his neck as she pouted at her sisters, "Daddy needs to enjoy our castle too!" A benevolent princess, his petal was as he finally allowed his tired body to fall against the couch behind him without consequence, head rolling on the seat as she scrambled onto his lap. John's hand found her long curls, gentle strokes to the dark brown locks as he settled her to his chest, both sighing in tandem.

The man looked across the linen closet state of the living room and let out a huff. You would be sure to use this against him upon arrival. Stray puzzle pieces littered the carpet, a knocked over bowl of popcorn at the foot of the armchair and the nail polish bottle he had to snatch away from his baby during his modeling hours, laid beneath the coffee table. That was all excluding the proper pile of clothes and costumes haphazardly shoved into the corner.

He did not in fact have it all covered but hey, at least the girls were all safe and accounted for in the family space watching one of their movies that he could recite word for word bitterly and- shit, what time was it?

Bringing his wrist to his face, John winced and stifled the groan burning at the walls of his throat. You’d be home much too soon for him to at least keep up pretenses and he knew that getting the girls away from the television midway through the movie would only do more damage than good. So the tired father sagged further back into the floor, and let be.

Pen, much too emotionally attuned to her parents, lifted her head and stared up at him with the eyes of his lifelong lover, lashes long and dark framing them. “Don’t worry, daddy. We’ll make it all better. Nice and clean again, okay?”

He never stood a chance against them, he realized then as his heart went gold and molten beneath her curled up body. A small nod as he kissed her forehead, big palm rubbing at her back and had her falling back against him.

“Alright my petal. I trust you.”

And John did, because he was much too scared to ever imagine a time where he had to second guess the words that came from their little hearts.

It was all of five minutes before Penelope wriggled loose and made her rounds across the living room, tugging and pulling her sisters into motion as they worked quietly, slowly with eyes flicking back to the movie every now and again. He would like to believe that it was helping, the floor was more visible and the piles looked somewhat organized and it made him swell with pride, even if he could barely find the energy to lift himself into a seated position.

You walked in no more than 20 minutes later, eyes wide and bouncing over every nook and cranny of the house as you took it all in. Your daughters barely paid you any mind as they came to settle on and around their father to resume the movie after their attempts of tidying up.

No fury from the scorch of hell greeted them, but rather an amused chuckle as you leaned against the backrest of the three seater to stare down at your family. John spied the warmth in your cheeks that spoke not of alcohol but the relief of being home, the love that embraced you through the threshold. Your eyes were so soft and all he wanted then was to drag you into the pile of bodies that he and his kids made.

“Enjoy your night out, sweetheart?”

You hummed, eyes dancing as your fingers tapped against the cushioning of the couch, “I’m assuming you did too considering you’re all a bag of skin and bones on the floor?”

The grunt he let out resulted in the giggle of more than one of his girls as they felt its rumble against them. Your smile went cotton soft at the combined sounds.

“Told ya I had it under control.”

“Interesting definition of control, Captain considering the time.”

His eyes fell closed as exhaustion coloured the edges of his vision grey, his words half of its usual capacity, “Purely subjective, if you ask me.”

[sparkrls]

set a love alight

MASTERLIST

part of the bandmates! harry x yn au

Summary: in which Y/N makes mistakes and Harry remind her she’s only human

Author’s Note: just needed some emotional Y/N with sweetheart Harry. remember to like and reblog because i crave validation. love ya <3

Word Count: 1.3k

•••

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Y/N cursed, pushing past the mess of wires and equipment backstage and pushing through the door of the emergency exit. The door swung open, slamming against the brick wall before clicking shut again.

Kicking at a small rock in the gravel, Y/N tried to release her fury. A choked sob escaped her raw throat, the burning reminding her of the fatal mistake she’d made that night.

Ambition had been her downfall. She’d let herself be overly confident in her abilities and had reached too high, her wings scorched by the sun.

Y/N fell to the ground. She didn’t bother to sit down gently, simply just letting her knees give out beneath her. She curled her knees up to her chest, hugging them and linking her hands together.

The hem of her skirt rode up, reaching her upper thigh. Usually, she might tug it down, but she was a bit too busy crying to even think about something so trivial like her skirt.

A pair of hands settled on her shoulders. Y/N was startled at the sudden touch. She could’ve sworn she was alone.

Eyeliner and makeup smudged from crying, Y/N looked up to find that Harry was crouched in front of her, his gaze soft and warm. She quickly tried to wipe her tears away, but he caught her wrists and pulled them down to her sides.

Harry’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, “Baby. It’s okay.” He was handling her like shattered glass, doing his best to not slit his hand while picking up the sharp fragments. “I’m here.”

Y/N didn’t like for people to see her cry. Not only was she an ugly crier, but she hated when people saw her so vulnerable. It felt wrong. And she didn’t cry often anyways. But when she did, it was messy and wild.

“I screwed up,” Y/N whispered, hating how her voice broke when she was barely audible. A pool of shame gathered in her stomach, weighing her down and suffocating her.

Harry sat down next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. He leaned forward to meet her eyes. “Yeah. You did. And?”

“And?” She said, her voice raising a bit. “And I humiliated myself. I was so fucking bad.”

“You were nervous and you made a mistake,” Harry said steadily, his voice never raising. “It happens to the best of us.”

“I shouldn’t have taken that solo,” Y/N said with the shake of her head, another tear spilling against her will.

They had decided to perform their new song, ‘Set A Love Alight’. Y/N and Harry had written it just three weeks ago, and they decided to play it at this gig they’d booked at the bar they regularly played at, 17 Black.

After a long time of reluctance and hesitation, Y/N had decided to do the song as a solo. Up until now, Harry was always the one singing. Occasionally, Sarah or Mitch would sing a verse or two, but for the most part, Harry was the vocal powerhouse. Everyone liked it that way, everyone felt comfortable.

And Y/N had never dared to sing anything except backing vocals. And for the last few months, Harry had been trying to convince her to sing at least one verse of a song. He’d hyped her up, encouraging her to do so and telling her how amazing her voice was about a million times.

After a long time of pleading, Harry’d gotten what he wanted and more. Y/N took on the burden of an entire song. And tonight was not only the debut of the new song, but also of her voice.

Weeks of rehearsals had fallen down the drain when Y/N started singing and her voice came out shaky with nerves. Her hands were shaking and she didn’t hit the right chords on the guitar. And her lungs started constricting, making it hard for her to complete the lines without gasping for air. And all of this combined into the messiest performance the band had ever performed.

At the end of the song, Y/N was holding back tears and the small amount of people paying attention to the band clapped politely, but she heard the whispers of judgement. And when she turned to look at the band, the three of them were looking at her with pity in their eyes.

That was how she’d rushed off stage, thrusting her guitar into the hands of someone she passed by, possibly even a bystander just walking by. She didn’t even look at their face before walking out in tears.

“Love, you’re a good singer,” Harry said with a small sigh, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered shut. “You got nervous. It happens to everyone. You just have to learn how to control those nerves, that’s all.”

Y/N took a shaky breath, holding back a sob. “I made everyone look bad.”

Harry let out a small laugh. Y/N opened her eyes to glare at him. He rushed to say, “Baby, I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear. I just… I’ve made countless mistakes on stage. My voice has cracked, I’ve missed high notes, I’ve mixed up verses, I’ve sung off-key. But my mistakes don’t take away from my talent.” He pulled her forward to hug her. “Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a good singer. Because I was persistent and a hard worker. I didn’t give up even when I had moments where I sounded like shit and thought I had humiliated myself to a degree no other human being ever had.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Which part?” Harry asked, curiously. He was ever as bright as always, but so soft and gentle. He was a sweetheart above anything else.

“Getting on stage and giving an amazing as fuck performance each time,” Y/N said. She shook her head. “You’re amazing, H.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s what I know how to do. I’ve done it my entire life. The same way you always play the guitar ‘amazing as fuck’.” He scrunched his nose up at her as he mocked her words. She let out a small chuckle. He smiled, pleased at himself. He always pulled a smile out of her. “It takes time and experience. I promise next time you get on stage to sing you’ll be better. Not perfect, just better. And someday, you won’t even remember tonight as anything more than just another story to tell and laugh at.”

Y/N pursed her lips, silent for a moment in thought. He was right. He always was.

Somehow, Harry always managed to make the tears seem like just another silly hurdle to jump over. The world seemed so much easier to face when he spoke about it so simply.

And with Harry holding her in his arms, who wouldn’t be ready to take on anything the universe threw her way?

Harry let out a small sigh, running his fingers through her hair. “You’ll be okay, love.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Harry always took care of her with love. Not as if she were fractured sharp glass, but as if she were a bouquet of flowers you settled into a vase with care as to not let a single petal drop.

And Y/N wished she were as sweet as him. She wished she could be as good and pure as he was, to give him the affection he needed. The care he gave her was the kind he should be receiving.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered, starting off with something small to remind him of her love.

Harry smiled, as if she’d made some grand declaration of love and hung a star in the night sky for him. “I love you too.”

[vsnyarbll]

the nights when we're alone

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader, Aegon Targaryen x reader

words: 2.605

summary: Aemond invites Aegon to give his wife a different experience in the bedroom.

warnings: smut (exhibition, voyeurism), +18, targcest

a/n: Smut is not very detailed, but there is smut. Enjoy!

"At least let me cum on her!" said Aegon. Aemond grunted and started pounding you faster.

Aegon stood at the side of the bed, watching his brother's every move and how you reacted to them. His right hand was around his cock, and he was speeding up and slowing down his hand with your reactions. You were lying face down and at Aemond's mercy.

Aegon squeezed his cock gently, letting out loud moans as Aemond's hands wrapped around your hips and caused your breathing to quicken.

You never stopped watching Aegon's facial expression. Aemond was always silent, so you were impressed that Aegon made so much noise at your slightest movements.

How did Aemond find himself in this situation? Aemond would ask himself a similar question every night the three of you got together. 'How did I let this happen?'

The answer to both questions was simple.

You two had an arranged marriage. You were the apple of the court's eye. All the lords were ready to accept your father's highest marriage proposal. But with a speed that neither you nor Aemond could understand, your father decided to marry you to Aemond.

Your father was delighted that you had married a prince and that your children would be princes and princesses.

King Viserys was also happy to see his son's wedding. He did not know if his son wanted to marry. Aemond had always been a quiet boy, and he was never one to sit and chat with his father. But all Viserys had to do to convince Aemond to marry a marriage he didn't even know he wanted was to tell him it was his duty.

In less than no time, you were married in a grand wedding. The cake was delicious. All the lords and ladies gathered at the red keep, dressed in their finest, excited to see a royal wedding. You were intimidated by the crowds, but even then, you were calmed by Aemond reaching for your hands and smiling as you exchanged your vows.

Aemond was excited to be married, even if he was afraid to admit it to himself. After many years of feeling like he belonged nowhere, he was relieved to have someone to call home. And eventually, he would have children who would love and accept him for who he was.

Aemond had always been so kind to you. You didn't have intercourse on your wedding night, but Aemond didn't mind. He could see you were worried.

He already had his self-confidence problems. But it wouldn't bother him if he knew it was him you didn't want and not the wedding night. He didn't want to ask you directly. He didn't want to appear weak when he was the one who was supposed to protect and defend you.

He had already accepted some things in his life. His brother's bullying since he was a little boy had changed his outlook on life in a partially positive way. At least, that's what he thought. No one had to love him, after all. He could live with that.

Aemond didn't know what he was doing for the kingdom by marrying you, but duty was duty. And fulfilling it was a prince's highest purpose. As long as it was polite and respectful between you, he didn't care about the rest. It was comforting to know that someone would be there when he returned to his room in the evening.

Then gradually you got used to each other. You all had your meals together. Aemond told you about some of his favorite books. You told him how interested you were in his family history.

You got on well.

Then, you fulfilled your marital duties. It took longer than expected, but neither you nor Aemond cared.

It wasn't bad. Especially when you heard how the other ladies in the castle spent their nights, you thanked each of the seven gods for giving you Aemond.

Aemond was a good man. He was careful not to hurt you. You knew he was trying to be gentle as he ran his hands over your body as if he was afraid you might break.

But there was one fact that Aemond was aware of. Your nights weren't enough for you. You wanted more. More passion. 

You didn't want him to be kind to you at night after everyone was asleep behind the doors of your chambers. 

You never told him that, but Aemond could tell by you averted your eyes every night when he reached up to kiss you. 

You loved kissing him, watching him. 

Aemond wasn't hard to love. 

Even if he didn't realize it, every lady in court would grovel at the king's feet to marry him. 

He was a prince. A good one. 

But you knew something was missing. And it made you feel guilty. 

What more could a woman want in her married life than a husband like Aemond? 

And you were ashamed that your body wanted more. 

It made you feel ashamed that you wanted more, more passion in an act that you were only doing to have children and to make sure your husband was enjoying his time in the marriage bed. 

That was what your Septa taught you. She couldn't have known anything wrong, could she?

Then Aemond caught the way you looked at someone at a family dinner. No one else could have noticed, but Aemond was aware of everything. When you looked at Aegon and locked eyes with him, you turned your head and smiled slightly in a way that others would have interpreted as politeness. Anyone else would have thought you were behaving as you should exactly, but they didn't see what Aemond saw.

The way you turned your head and blushed slightly, the way your chest rose and fell faster, the way you pressed your thighs together… Even then, you looked more excited than any night in bed with Aemond.

It was no surprise you wanted Aegon. He has always had a reputation for exciting women. His callous and uncaring demeanor appealed to most women, even if Aemond couldn't understand it.

Then Aemond thought.

He knew that if he made such an offer to Aegon, he would accept it unconditionally. He also knew his mother or anyone else at the castle would never know this.

He had to convince himself. He did not know if he could bear to see his wife with his brother like that. He put off thinking about it for a while.

Then, one night, you moaned Aegon's name as you came.

Neither of you looked at each other after Aemond pulled out of you.

You held tightly to the sheet that covered your body and turned your back to him. You buried your face in your pillow, almost letting it suffocate you, and waited for sleep to overtake you.

You were sure he would be furious.

And Aemond reconsidered the decision he was about to make a few weeks ago.

He stared at the ceiling for a while and twisted his rings, which made you watch his fingers for longer than necessary when he wore them. Perhaps inviting Aegon to his bed wasn't such a bad thing. The Targaryens had never cared about social norms. Why would Aemond care?

Aegon wasn't hard to set up. Aemond went to his room to ask his opinion on the matter.

Aegon opened the door with a suspiciously sweaty and red face. "Aegon…" he said, and his lips formed a thin line. "I can come back later. I think… you're busy." Aegon shook his head and straightened his trousers, which made Aemond sigh. He considered giving up before it was too late. But when Aegon said, "Nonsense. Come in." he realized how long it had taken him to work up the courage, and he didn't want to waste it.

He briefly told Aegon what he wanted to do. He received it with great excitement, just as Aemond expected. "Your wife… I mean… I don't want to sound disrespectful, but I sometimes wish it was me who married her."

Aemond did not react, but he sank further into his chair.

It took him less time than he expected to convince Aegon. The hard part was convincing you. Because you denied it for days, even crying when Aemond pushed too hard.

You asked what kind of a wife he saw you as with an angry face. "What kind of a wife betrays her husband!" you said several times. Because you never thought he would actually do something like this. You thought he was testing your loyalty.

One evening, you were having dinner together, and you were both sitting calmly. You thought that Aemond had given up the question he had been asking, and you were relieved. You reached for the glass on the table close to Aemond, afraid to look at his face. He took your hand and made you look at him.

Then he said the last thing you wanted him to say. He let out the anger you've been holding in for days. You stood up in anger and caused the chair to fall backward. "Yes! Yes, I want Aegon to fuck me! Are you happy now?!"

Aemond had never seen you so pissed off.

You looked at him, worried about how he would react to your sudden outburst, but you held your head high.

Aemond took a sip of wine and said, "Yes, that's what I wanted to hear." calmly. You nervously gripped the table and looked at his face, not understanding.

A few nights later, you were combing your hair to get ready for bed. You had forgotten or erased from your mind what Aemond had insisted on because you could not imagine Aemond doing such a thing.

Then the door opened, and someone came in. Your back was to the door, but you didn't look at the person because you were sure it was Aemond. No one else would come to your room at that hour. Then you almost jumped as the voice of someone you didn't expect filled your ears. "I'll never understand why women brush their hair before sleep."

You turned around quickly, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. You clenched the comb in your hand, trying to draw strength, and your gaze shifted between your husband and Aegon.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what had happened as Aemond took off the cloak he was wearing over his thin shirt.

At first, the two of you were together, and Aegon watched you. Your face never turned in his direction. But even with such a simple situation, Aemond had realized how you squeezed him more than usual when you came.

After spending a few nights together, you found the courage. You turned your head towards Aegon and began to watch him.

You imagined them both next to your body. You imagined their hands sliding over your body and grasping you together.

Aegon began to run his hand over his trousers as if this was the signal he had been waiting for to do more. When your gaze shifted to between his legs, he pulled his trousers down to his hips and pulled out his cock. It was as if he was always waiting for the slightest sign from you to do more.

This went on for a few months.

During the day, you were ashamed to look at the armchair where Aegon sat. The armchair reminded you of Aegon's eyes that wouldn't leave your face when he came. You even tried to cover it with one of your dresses, but then you gave up. Even without any tangible evidence to remind you, it had happened, and you liked it.

In the evening, both of them came to your room again. Aemond had not allowed him to touch you even with the tip of his finger, and he was determined to continue to do so. Aegon was only a part of the pleasure he wanted to give you. No more was necessary than Aemond had already allowed.

But now that Aegon had seen you in every possible position with every possible ejaculation expression, it was starting to make him angry that he couldn't touch you.

If the choice had been yours, you would have stepped between them the first night they entered the room together.

Aegon had reached his breaking point after begging and being denied all night long to touch you or at least to cup your breast once. "At least let me cum on her!"

Aemond grunted and started pounding you faster. "Fine! But only on her ass." He was tired of hearing Aegon's begging.

You got even more excited when you heard what Aemond said.

Aegon moved closer to the bed. All three of you were about to cum.

Aegon couldn't stop his body from moving as he moved his hand, and the tip of his cock touched your leg with every movement.

Aegon threw his head back but quickly raised it again for fear of missing the sight before him. Your eyes locked as he quickened his hand. Aegon raised his free hand as if to reach for you, but fearing Aemond, he placed it on his leg.

You came first.

Your breathing quickened, but you held back most of your moans. Even though it had been a few months, it was still embarrassing to be exposed in front of more than one person.

Then Aemond pulled out and came on the cloth next to you.

And finally, Aegon got what he had dreamed of for months and came on your ass.

You almost shivered when you felt the warm liquid on you. You let out a loud breath.

He rested his hand on the side of the bed, and you were excited that your hands were almost touching.

Aemond turned around to get dressed, needing privacy as if the three of you hadn't just cum together.

Aegon quickly looked at Aemond, and when he was sure he couldn't see you, he ran his fingers over yours. Your eyes moved from his softened cock to his body.

When he saw that you didn't react negatively to his touch, he moved his hand to your back and stroked you gently. "You did well." he said in a low voice.

You smiled and began to study his face with dreamy eyes.

Aemond turned around and took the cloth he had just used and cleaned you.

Aegon sighed. "You couldn't leave it like that, could you?"

You didn't move. You kept lying face down. You were feeling a little tired, but the main reason for not changing your position was to avoid waking up if you were in a dream. Because if it wasn't a dream, you couldn't understand how these two men could be so interested in you. And if it was a dream, it was a long and satisfying one.

Aemond took the cloth to the bathroom and came back to you. He laid down and pulled you to him. You wore nothing, and both of them would have preferred you to be naked in front of them, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Aegon quickly put on his pants and sat down next to you.

"You do not sleep with us, Aegon," Aemond said without opening his eye. He hugged you tightly- afraid you'd disappear in his arms.

Aegon grinned. "I know, I know," he said as he ran his hands through his hair.

But in the morning, the three of you woke up with your arms around each other.

[notanothermacdennisblog]

i gotta talk about frank v russia cuz i was rewatching it again and whoever said it was a fever dream of an episode is so right, there's just so many implications to dissect i didn't catch them all at first.

the beginning of the episode sets up dennis's motivation to pass the effort of helping everyone around him onto someone else... by him putting an enormous amount of effort into finding normal dates and teaching mac and dee to be normal enough to hold onto normal people (i can't imagine how this would keep mac and dee from bothering him tho cuz they'd just come back to him asking for more relationship help, dating a normal person doesn't make relationship issues go away). the enthusiasm he shows when checking in with them after the dates shows this amount of effort was worth it to him. one could argue it's because deep down he cares about their growth, he mistakenly thinks this will get them to leave him alone, or that he's attracted to the thrill of the ruse. mayb it's some combination of all three, but given that he could have always just ignored them or left, to me his hard on for control and deception points to the latter for the most part.

which further explains his flimsy justification of catfishing mac just to "get him out of the apartment." like if that was his sole goal there's a million other ways to accomplish that. ways that don't include: creating a profile guaranteed to get mac to match with him, chatting long enough to establish an emotional bond (altho that's not the hard part when mac falls for anybody who shows him a modicum of affection), and buying and sending him remote controlled anal beads as some sort of complicated signal system when simply texting "meet me at the motel" would suffice.

we're talking about a man who started a cult just to get mac to stop eating his thin mints. who drugged mac with diet pills, convincing him they were "size pills" just because he was unhappy with mac's weight gain. the exploitation of mac's body dysmorphia serves not only as a means of keeping his self esteem in check so he's more easily pliable ("you've been looking so sexy, so this... this is disappointing, at least to me" in ass kickers united; "mac did you gain some weight?" at the end of the gang makes paddy's great again), but also to mold him into an idealized physique that he's attracted to, and the unnecessary inclusion of anal beads in this ploy is the logical conclusion of obsessing over mac's appearance.

it was never just about getting the apartment to himself, or even just seizing an opportunity to manipulate, even if those both played a role. there's just no heterosexual explanation for the full extent of what this episode is implying.

so it still seems odd that dennis would want to sabotage a system that was working in his favor logistically and emotionally, essentially giving up the thrill (and safety) of inhabiting another man's skin in order to admit things he could never feel secure enough to admit even to himself. was johnny becoming too difficult to maintain? maybe dennis was motivated to pass mac onto someone else because he was running into a wall trying to figure out how to keep mac interested while avoiding the obvious issue of meeting in person. an effort to self sabotage when things started to get too close for comfort, when he could feel a certain loss of control.

the "johnny doesn't love you, he doesn't even like you" was enough to send me reeling that it was too easy for me to pass over all of this the first time, what a red herring. there's not another man as toxically obsessed w his roommate/work husband in crime/life terry mac as dennis is, while also being so self-deluded he has to make up half-assed excuses just to convince himself this is normal behavior.

[ageofevermore]

SO SCARLET IT WAS

REQUEST — can you do a blurb of Wanda and reader? where reader has been sending wanda love letters anonymously. in the end it's revealed it was reader and wanda asks why they would do that when they are already married

WARNINGS — mentions of canon age of ultron events, mentions of canon civil war events, mentions of natasha’s death in endgame although very brief for my own sanity more then yours, parent clint and nat although it’s more nat focused, fluff to the max

AUTHORS NOTE — i don’t wanna talk about how this was supposed to be a blurb. also, for the sake of this timeline, wandavision is genuine not a scripted reality. wanda and reader did everything the right way and found a life together in westview

AGE OF ULTRON

You shouldn't have fallen in love so easily, especially not with her, you were a trained Avenger for thors sake, love was supposed to be at the bottom of your priorities barrel. That was easier said than done, because from the very first time that your eyes met across the battlefield, everything inside of you froze, skipped, and stuttered all at once. You should’ve been alert enough to detonate the blast before it could wound Clint, usually you were steps ahead of it, but her eyes were absorbing all the explosions around you and the soft watercolor green was alight with fireworks so beautiful you couldn’t look away. After that, you stood no chance of ever clearing her from your head. Even if she was supposed to be the enemy, even if you’d never experienced love before. Nat and Clint gave you the benefit of the doubt at first. You never missed your mark on a mission, but the cold temperatures and the fact that Helen said your heart rate was alarmingly high for your average bpm had given them the slightest indication that something was bothering you. That maybe, you hadn’t been so recovered from your history with Hydra as they thought. So, they sent you back to therapy.

Truthfully, therapy distracted you from her for a while, revisiting your past could distract you from anything for a short amount of time, but then you started having dreams. Not the nightmares that tickled your belly and drenched you in sweat and had you knocking on Natashas bedroom door at three in the morning looking for evidence that you really had been saved, but dreams of what ifs that all included her. Dreams where Natasha and Clint weren't the ones who found you barely clinging to life in an abandoned facility in Russia, dreams where it was her. That should’ve been the second indicator that you were never going to escape the curse she laid upon your heart without a single word. But you still tried to convince yourself that you could get over this, that you could see straight with clear judgment.

When she got inside of Natasha’s head the second time you crossed paths, you should’ve been enraged. You should’ve been cured of any delusion you harbored in your heart, but the attack only made you hurt for her. If things had played out differently, if Natasha and Clint had found her like they’d found you, maybe she wouldn’t be the enemy. If Natasha and Clint hadn’t found you, maybe you’d have ended up in her shoes, afraid to go against the only orders you knew. In moments like these, where Natasha’s half unconscious lost in her mind, and Clint is rolling in panic, and Tony is enraged and defeated, you seem to be the only one aware enough to recognize that maybe this is all she knows. That maybe, she’s just trying to not to get hurt again.

Natasha sees your feelings for what they are a few hours after landing at the farm. You had been sorting through your small selection of clothes that Laura organized in the back of the guest room closet while Natasha took a shower. You wanted to find something loose that didn’t irritate the healing wounds on your side from the first mission, but you were so far in your head you’d looked at the same shirt four times without realizing. Natasha had watched the entire event unfold, and like she never could when it came to you, fought feelings of rage and pride. You are the closest thing she’s ever going to have to a daughter, and watching you fall in love with someone so dangerous, she doesn’t know what the appropriate reaction is.

“You like her.” The assassin's tone was even, not giving away if she felt one way or another about the predicament you’ve landed in, but keeping her posture open so you wouldn’t shut down like you had a habit of doing. She and Clint knew you like the back of their hand, how had it taken them this long to realize you weren’t just reeling at the confrontation of your past, but falling in love with the enemy. You hadn’t even noticed she was still in the room with you, and that the shower water hadn’t been running at all. Every muscle in your body tensed, you were caught, and this could only go so many ways.

“I'm sorry.” With wide eyes, you faced your mentor who had become like a mother to you in the last decade. You weren’t a kid with heavy PTSD anymore, you had overcome most of it, not without extensive work and self-reflection, but for the most part, you were just an ordinary teenage girl who saved the world on occasion. That’s what Clint and Natasha saw when they looked at you. That wasn’t the girl Natasha was looking at now. She was staring eye to eye with a child tortured by Hydra. A child without family and without confidence in herself. A child who thought she was about to be hurt.

In that moment, Natasha abandoned the rage she was clinging onto in her belly. At that moment, Natasha decided to lean into her pride, to just be your mother instead of your mentor. You had found somebody you cared about, and as your mother, she would be elated to help you recognize that feeling without holding onto the shame you were undoubtedly forcing yourself to remember. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Malyshka.”

“She’s the enemy! She hurt you, she-she could’ve killed Clint!” You spluttered, trying to reason with yourself that this wasn’t a good thing. That you were insane for trying to redeem a girl who had almost torn apart the only family you have.

Natasha forced herself to see the situation from your shoes, something she admittedly should’ve done from the get. She forced herself to remember that you had been with Hydra for six years of your life, that had she and Clint not found you, you might’ve ended up on the same field with Wanda playing against them. She never wanted to think about that possibility, never wanted to think about how little her life would mean without you, but in another universe, she’s sure that's how it played out. “She’s just a kid who doesn’t want to get hurt. But you didn’t fall in love with the enhanced, did you?” Natasha asked, and your cheeks flushed so violently scarlet they were almost maroon, almost the same deep shade as the magic tendrils that danced between your crushes fingers. “When the blast hit Clint, you were frozen. I thought you were stuck in a flashback, that the cold had brought you back to that abandoned base, that wasn’t it, was it? You were looking at her. You were seeing her as a person, not a weapon. Something we all should’ve done a lot sooner.”

“She has the greenest eyes, Nat. But-but after the blast hit Clint, she-she was so scared. She’s just trying not to get hurt. Something happened to her, I think she’s still scared because of it.” You admitted, tears welling in your eyes at the possibility of her getting hurt at your hands, because at the end of the day, you would never sacrifice Clint and Nat for her. At the end of the day, your side was with the people who raised you.

“Whatever you choose, Clint and I support you.” Natasha hated that her voice shook with tears, she hated that you were growing up, she hated that you were being shoved into a corner where you had to pick between finding out who you were as a person, or being an Avenger.

At the mention of your mentor who was like a father, your chest grew tighter. She almost killed him. She almost took him away from you, from his kids, from his wife. How would he ever forgive you for choosing her? “She almost killed him, Nat.”

“You will never, never lose us. Get that thought out of your head, right now.”

You sniffled, shuffling your feet against the carpeted floors to feel something other than stabs of aching pain in your chest. How did you end up here? “I don’t blame Clint if he doesn’t forgive her. If it comes down to his life or hers. I don’t blame him if he chooses to live.”

“Malyshka, I could’ve shot him the first day I met him. There is not an ounce of self-preservation in his bones. He sees the good in people too easily to just give up on them. Just like you. If it comes down to him or her, he’s choosing the both of them. You know that as well as I do.”

“Nat?” You asked softly after silence had fallen over the two of you for a beat, her words circling your head and your heart on a loop. When your mentor hummed, you spoke again, this time admitting what you’d been trying to deny. “I think I love her.”

CIVIL WAR

You didn’t want to believe what you were hearing. You didn’t want to believe that half of your team and mentors had signed the accords, that they had agreed with Secretary Ross to an extent and therefore fed into the bullshit propaganda that the enhanced were dangerous. You were almost enhanced. If Hydra had succeeded, you would’ve been all the same as Wanda and the new vigilante Spiderman. Had they forgotten that? Did they really only see Wanda for her powers? Not for the teenage girl that had lost her parents and her brother and been manipulated and abused and used as a test-subject? Had they just let that slip their mind so easily?

You hadn’t left Wanda’s side since Natasha broke the news to you. Almost a year had grown between now and the events of Ultron, and the former was trying her best to fit in, to make up for all the red in her ledger at the hands of Hydra. She was making leaps of improvement, but that still wasn’t enough. She was still just another enemy in the eyes of Secretary Ross, and he had asked you to do the impossible. Choose a side. Why was everyone making you choose a side?

Wanda tried not to let you see how much this was upsetting her, but from the moment you saw her across the battlefield you’d been able to read her like she was your favorite book. When she held you at night, you could feel how tense she was. When she walked around the compound, you could see how uncomfortable she felt and how she wanted to just melt away and not exist. It broke your heart, but once again, you’d been put in a situation where you couldn’t do anything to help. A situation where the majority saw you as just a kid unfortunate enough to have no real family.

“Let's run away.” You suggest one night when you’re wrapped up in nothing but a thin blanket and Wanda’s arms, far far away from reality and for this one single moment in time, it’s just the two of you. Just Wanda and Y/N. There aren’t any superpowers, or any Avengers level threats, or United States government officials trying to control them like objects the same way Hydra had. It’s just them. Just two teenagers broken by life and in love.

“To where.” Wanda hummed, her lips flush against your neck as she fought sleep to instead spend this moment with you. The vibration of her voice tickled your belly in the sweetest way you had ever experienced, and a flush spread across your cheeks so scarlet in color it was almost maroon.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Ohio. I hear it’s the best place to create your own reality.” You admit shyly, picking up the cold hand that's draped across your midsection, and beginning to play with her fingers and pull at her knuckles to hear them crack the way she loves, especially after training sessions with Natasha where their main focus had been working on controlling her magic. Secretly, you love the way her muscles contract after her knuckles pop and how she involuntarily squeezes your hand in hers. Secretly, its not a secret at all.

Wanda lets you play your game, knowing your intention but having never shared her knowledge with you. She finds it cute how eager you are to feel her, even in ways as innocent as this moment. And secretly, although it's no secret to you, she loves feeling you all the same. She loves coming up behind you and hugging you tightly, she loves when you just lay against her and shudder every time her breath tickles your neck, she loves when it's just the two of you in a moment as nothing more than girlfriends. “What would we be in this reality?”

“Fiances.”

Wanda snorts, laughing so hard the muscles in her belly tighten and her face goes scarlet. “We’re a little young for that, detka.”

“Childhood lovers. We would’ve been best friends since Kindergarten. You would’ve asked me to be your girlfriend in the fifth grade, after I failed a spelling test and wouldn’t stop crying. I would have said yes without a pause. We would’ve never broken up, and our parents would have loved it. Pietro would’ve teased us, but he would be happy for you. And when we graduated high school, you would’ve gotten down on one knee right then and there. We wouldn’t waste a single moment. And Nat and Clint would be elated. Your parents would call me their daughter. It would be perfect, our life in Ohio. Nobody would bat an eye at how young we are, because love doesn’t know numbers, it just knows feelings.”

Wanda sniffled, wondering how she could get so lucky to have you. “Would we have kids?”

“Two. Twins. I would think they were girls the entire time, and I would ask that we name them Natalia and Lauren, but you would know that they were boys. You never told me that, but when they were born you’d tell me you dreamt it. Two boys, William and Thomas. We’d call them Billy and Tommy. They’d be just like you. Stubborn and silly, but the sweetest angels. Our life would be complete.”

“And we’d raise them in Ohio?”

You shook your head, twisting in Wanda’s arms so you could see her watercolor eyes. Even without explosives lighting up the room, there are fireworks in them. “I would find us the perfect plot in New Jersey. We would build a home for them, where they could just be kids, and we could be the cool moms who host sleepovers and invite the entire town to birthday parties. Nat and Clint would visit on holidays, and they’d be sad that we moved away, but they’d be so happy for us. We would be so happy.”

ENDGAME

How could this be happening? How could you spend five years without the woman you love, and the second you have hope of getting her back, lose the woman who was the closest thing you had to a mother? How could you gain the weight of hope, and lose it in seconds. Five years without Wanda was agonizing, but you never feared for a second that you wouldn’t get her back. You had lost too much to give up, and when Tony had come to the compound, saying he found a way to get everyone back, how did you not know that you would lose everything all over again? How had you let his words sound like a fairytale? Why was the world always sacrificing the things that completed you? Why did you think for a second you could ever be completely happy?

WANDAVISION (wandayn sounded wrong)

“This is the sixth letter I’ve found since Monday!” Wanda was exasperated, coming into the kitchen with her arms full of babies and letters. Her messy red hair was tied back, away from her face, no doubt due to the fact that Billy and Tommy had just entered a phase where they loved to grab and yank at your hair if you left it down and in reach.

“Oh? What’s this one say?” You quizzed, brushing flour off of your hands and grabbing the dishrag. The kitchen was a disaster as you attempted to bake a cake for the twins first birthday, but you couldn’t care less about the mess as you took in the sight of your wife. She looked absolutely ethereal, with hair so red it was almost maroon and love in her eyes so exuberant it was like a never ending firework show.

“Something about how I complete them!” She was completely at her end with these letters, and the anonymous slash at the bottom that gave away nothing about who it could be from. The both of you had come a long way since mourning Natasha and finding a life for yourself in New Jersey, and the last thing Wanda wanted was somebody tearing apart everything that was finally good. That was finally easy. You both deserved this more than anybody else.

Your eyes sparkled mischievously, a glint of something chaotic catching Wanda’s attention. “They’re from you, aren’t they!” She gasped, handing you Tommy when he started to fuss, and adjusting Billy now that her other arm was free. You giggled, looking for an escape route but your moment was short lived as Wanda came closer and her hips pinned you to the island. “Why!”

“I’m in love with you. I thought you should know.” You answered simply, although it was so much more than that. Losing Natasha hadn’t been easy for either of you, leaving the Avengers was almost harder, because it was the last piece of Nat you had left, but you knew that she would’ve wanted this for you. She would’ve wanted you to be happy, to have a family, to find everything she wasn’t able to find because of her past. The life you lived now, as much as it was for yourself and for Wanda, it was for her and all that she had given to you.

“We’re married!” Wanda beamed, “I already knew you loved me!”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss her sweet scarlet lips, but a baby hand kept you from kissing her. “Do you want a kiss, Tommy? Do you want some love?” You giggled, showing his tiny palm in kisses before moving on to do the same thing to Billy, wondering how you had come so far from battlefields in only a decade.

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 5

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N spends the evening with Marshall after avoiding him for weeks.

Tags : -

For the following weeks, you drowned yourself into your work in order to restrain from thinking about Simon or Marshall. The only people you saw were either at university, at home or at meetings. You were especially grateful for the latter, as you found yourself craving relief from either pills or alcohol. Thankfully, going to meetings and therapy kept you sane and you were able to fight the urge. You went to the studio once or twice, as Jamal invited you, but you sort of avoided Marshall. You saw him, but apart from greetings and small talk you didn’t go out of your way to have actual conversations and meaningful exchanges with him. 

Thursday night came and, for the first time ever, you had the house to yourself. Jamal and Talia were celebrating their fifth anniversary by going on a dinner date. Your best friend was so worried for you that she almost cancelled their plans, much to her boyfriend’s dismay. Thankfully, you had convinced her to leave you alone in the house. 

I’ll be fine, you said. You guys deserve a night out. 

Are you going to be ok ? I’ll have my phone with me and you can call me if you need ! She said. 

Babe, you’re worrying too much. She should be fine for a few hours, Jamal said rolling his eyes. 

Yes ! You said. And I promise the house will be intact when you come back. I won’t set it on fire or anything, you added jokingly. 

You sent them off to their date with a smile. Before closing the door, Jamal looked at you and pulled you in for a quick conversation. 

Look, I know you’ll be fine, we trust you and shit, but you know you can also call Marshall if you need, right ? Actually, it might be cool if you did. He asked about you the other day. I think he misses you at the studio, he said with a wink. 

Really ? You asked. 

Yeah. He seems to really like you. I don’t think I have seen him like this with anyone else. And I’m not dumb, you know. 

What do you mean ? 

I know you like him. 

What ? I don’t, you said with embarrassment.

Is there any other reason why you have avoided him like the plague these past three weeks ? Or any conversation about him ? Jamal asked with a grin. 

It’s… complicated. Can we leave it at that ? You pleaded. 

Look, it’s none of my business, but you like him and he cares a lot about you. It’s all I’m saying, he said before leaving. 

You were kind of intrigued by what Jamal had told you. Had Marshall really asked about you ? If so, why hadn’t he called you directly ? 

After giving it a lot of thought, you decided to text him. 

To : M 

Hey. How are you ? 

You felt your phone buzzing almost immediately. It was him calling you. 

Hey, he said. Are you alright ? 

Yes, you said. How are you ? 

I’m good. 

There was a moment of awkward silence. 

Am I bothering you ? You asked. 

I’m the one who called you, he said with a chuckle. 

Right, you said as you blushed in embarrassment. 

I’m not busy anyway. I’m at home just chilling. Do you want to come over and hang out ? He offered. 

Uh… sure. Text me the address and I’ll get a cab. 

Will do. 

He texted you his address and you quickly got ready. You kind of struggled to choose an outfit. You wanted it to send just the right message : “I made an effort because I want you to see what you missed the other night but I also don’t want you to think I am trying too hard”. After a careful examination of your entire closet, you put on a pair of skinny jeans that showed off your figure, a simple tee-shirt and your hoodie from Uni. You knew the jeans showcased your ass perfectly and, since he had already seen you topless, it was just the area to highlight. 

You called a cab and got to his place. You’d never been here before. You found yourself in front of a mansion that was easily five times as big as your childhood home. You rang the doorbell and were greeted by Marshall who just got out of the shower, all dressed but his hair still wet. You were scared it would be awkward, seeing him for the first time in three weeks, but he greeted you in his usual way, by giving you a hug. Only, it felt a little different this time, probably because it was just the two of you, and you could remember the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Thanks for coming, he said as he led you to the living room. 

I’m happy to see you, you confessed. 

Are you ? I’ll be honest, I kind of thought you were avoiding me, he said with a shrug. You were sort of… distant ? 

I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me either. You haven’t called or visited Talia and Jamal like you usually do. 

I was thinking you might need time to think. 

“About what ?”, you almost asked. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to make things awkward. 

I’m a bit better now, you told him. 

Good.  So… do you want to talk about last time or…? 

Do you think we should ? You asked anxiously. 

You weren’t sure there was a need to add anything. And you were sort of embarrassed at the memory that you jumped on him and he pushed you away. 

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, he said. 

It’s fine, Marshall. We’re adults, you said. 

So you understand why I pushed you away ? He asked carefully. 

Look, you don’t like me like that, and that’s ok, you said. I acted on impulse. You were here, I was sad and hurt, I needed to change my mind, I was attracted to you and… well, you were here so you remember what came next… 

I think you’re amazing, he rectified. I didn’t want to take advantage of whatever it is that you felt that night. 

You looked at him, biting your lower lip. It’s true that, as horny as you were, you probably weren’t in your right mind. If anything further had happened between the two of you, it might have added to your confusion. You nodded. 

Also, I’ve had time to think about it some more, he admitted. And I know for sure it would have been a bad idea anyway. 

Yeah, maybe, you said, even though you felt a little disappointed. 

I mean, I’m almost twice your age and you’re recovering, so… 

Yeah, yeah, I know, you cut him. 

Even though you knew he was right, you didn’t really want to hear it.

I’m glad we’re on the same page then, he said with a smile. 

Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to be weird. I just… you started. 

I know. We’re cool, he assured you.  

You stared at each other for a few seconds and chuckled. His smile helped you ease a little, although you couldn’t help but feel a tad disappointed. As right as his arguments were, you were having trouble getting the other night out of your head. 

I was about to watch a movie when you called. Want to do that ? He offered. 

Sure. What are we watching ? 

I’m in the mood for something scary. Why don’t you pick ? 

There’s one I haven’t been able to get through, you admitted. It’s « Us ». Have you seen it ?

Really ? You’re that much of a pussy ? He joked. 

Shut up ! It’s really scary, ok ? I had to stop midway. It gave me nightmares. 

I haven’t seen it, but now, you got me intrigued, he admitted. Come on. 

He got up and waited for you to follow him. You were already in the living room in front of a massive TV. You were confused. 

Aren’t we going to watch it here ? 

No. It’ll be better in the home theater, on the big screen, he explained. 

He led you to his movie room that had a big screen and huge couches. It could easily fit twenty people, with plenty of room to spare. The room was complete with a fridge and every couch had pillows and throws on it. Perks of having a lot of money, you guessed. 

Drinks ? He offered while opening the fridge, which seemed to contain all the sorts of alcohol-free beverages you could think of. 

Yeah, sure. I’ll have a Dr Pepper please. 

You sat next to each other and started the movie. The room was pitch black and the only light was coming from the screen. Every scene seemed to startle you, which never failed to make Marshall laugh. 

Come on !!! You can’t tell me that isn’t scary, you said. 

I don’t have time to be scared, you’re shitting your pants for the both of us, he chuckled. 

Shut up, you pouted. 

One very scary scene came up and you spilled your soda all over yourself and Marshall. 

Shit, I’m sorry 

Relax, he said. 

Your top was soaking wet and so were the tee-shirt underneath and your bra. Thankfully your jeans were intact. 

Marshall got up and brought tee-shirts for the two of you to change. 

Give me your clothes, I'll put them in the wash, he said.

You turned around and took your wet clothes off as he did the same. You put on the tee-shirt he gave you and turned back, only to see him shirtless, which made you blush. Thank god the room was still dark enough. He was staring at you intensely. 

Are you alright ? You asked. 

Yeah, he said as he bit his lip while quickly putting on a clean tee-shirt.  

Had he been staring at your naked back ? You found yourself amused by the idea. You were also slightly aroused by the sight of him half naked, even though it was dark and you couldn’t see much. You knew you shouldn’t be thinking about him that way, but you couldn’t help it.  You sat back and resumed the movie. Once again, you jumped at every scene. 

Thank God you don’t have a drink anymore, my wardrobe wouldn’t be big enough to provide changes of clothes, he laughed. 

Shut up, you said. 

Quit the attitude, he playfully warned you. Or I’ll leave you alone to watch the movie. 

Please don’t, you pleaded.

The only reason you kept watching is because you were with him. You were so scared you wouldn’t be able to watch it on your own. Especially in such a big house. 

What is so scary anyway ? He asked. I mean, it’s kind of creepy but it’s not too bad. 

There’s just something about the atmosphere you know ? You explained. Also, I once got lost in a fun fair when I was four and it reminds me of that time. I thought I’d never find my dad back. My mom had died a couple of years before and I… I thought I would never have a family again.It was super scary. 

He nodded and put his arm around your shoulders. 

Better ? He asked. 

Mmmh, you nodded as you felt yourself blushing. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and watched the rest of the movie. 

God you move so much it’s impossible to focus, Marshall complained. I should tie you up or something. 

You stared at him with your mouth slightly opened as you waited for him to realize what he had just said. 

Not like that. Idiot, he rolled his eyes laughing.  

Perv, you said playfully. 

Don’t start, he warned you with a smile. 

You bit your lip, knowing full well you could be bratty enough to indeed start. However, you decided to be reasonable and not to do anything. 

We have about twenty minutes of movie left. You think you can sit still ? He asked with a grin. 

You rolled your eyes and watched the screen as your only answer. Only you weren’t really watching. Your mind wandered and you thought of Marshall’s touch as his hand grazed your arm. His words came to mind. You wouldn’t be against him tying you… you gnawed on your lip. You were a horny mess. You had been for about three weeks now. You took a look at him, focused on the screen.  It was hard not to stare at his face. His blue eyes, his nose, his perfect lips. You didn’t really believe in God, but if He did exist, Marshall was a fine specimen of His creation. You forced yourself to look at the screen but soon found yourself burying your face in Marshall’s neck as a screamer scene came on. He jumped a bit, probably more startled by you than the movie. 

Pussy, he whispered before laughing. 

You didn’t reply, your face still in his neck, but you still lifted your middle finger in his face. As a response, he firmly grabbed your wrist and put your hand down. He let out a sigh. 

I’m gonna have to teach you some manners, Y/N, he scolded you. 

You started it, you replied. 

Still, you should learn how to respect your elders, he joked. 

Ok grandpa, you whispered in his ear. 

Fuck you, you brat. 

You let out a laugh as the movie came to an end. You were still in Marshall’s arms and, even though you were glad the movie was over, you wanted the moment to last a bit longer. 

So ? You liked the movie ? You asked. 

I did enjoy the few parts I could focus on, he said with a smile. You know, when you weren’t ruining my clothes or jumping on me. 

It was scary ! You defended yourself. 

Some parts were kinda creepy, he admitted. But you’re worse than a kid with ADHD ! 

I’m not ! 

You are. And it’s the last time I’m ever watching a movie with you, he said with a laugh.

You pretended to pout as you crossed your arms to your chest. Marshall proceeded to ignore you as he got up to turn off the movie and turn on the lights. 

Pouting won’t work, he said with a grin. Three kids, remember ? 

You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. 

Behave, Y/N, he said. 

Make me, old man.

Before you could move, he was pinning you to the couch, crushing you with his weight. 

Now, you better apologize to me, he said with a smirk. 

In your dreams, maybe, you replied. 

He proceeded to put even more weight on you, crushing you even more. You could hardly breathe. 

Marshall… you pleaded. 

Apologize, he said playfully yet firmly.  

You ignored his order as you tried to squirm from under him. He did his best to pin you down, grabbing your wrists in his hand and holding your arms over your head. It was not the desired effect but you found the situation extremely hot. To be fair, you didn’t need much. Without really meaning to, you let out a soft moan. 

Y/N… Marshall groaned. 

God, your name in his mouth sounded so hot. You looked at him with so much desire. He closed his eyes and maintained his firm grip on your wrists. 

You’re a brat, he whispered in your ears. 

That’s why you like me, you whispered back. 

Fuck it, he said as his eyes darkened and his face moved closer to yours.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 28

PREVIOUS

FF does not like being on pain medication.

Everything feels floaty and it is so hard to focus on anything around him.

He’s almost glad that his Gran has given him something to focus on that something being helping her sell her lie to the Foxes that she only knows Polish. Coach Wymack must know but the man is a steel trap and FF finds himself envying his Gran that HER secret keeper is Coach Wymack.

“Smithy! My sweet beautiful idiot!” Nicky cries when Gran gives Wymack the OK for them to come back in. FF finds himself on the receiving end of 2 forehead kisses and a kiss to each of his cheeks from Nicky. “Next time you see a crazy mafia hitman looking to kidnap me you just grab me and RUN.” He orders pointedly, “No more cool guy shit where you take ‘em out in the weird sex alley.” He runs his fingers through FF’s hair and…

Yeah it’s okay that Nicky is the one that knows.

Nicky is so nice.

“What about Aaron?” FF asks.

“If Romero could grab Aaron when he is in whacky inflatable tube mode then I don’t think he’d be taken out by you and Andrew.” Nicky says with a watery smile.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is offended.

“Learn to dance at a club already. We’ve been going for years.” Nicky shoots back but never takes his eyes off of FF’s face.

“I dance just fine. I’m better than Kevin.” Aaron argues.

“Hey.” Kevin’s voice is offended.

“You are better than Kevin, but that’s not a real standard of good.” Nicky dismisses, “Regardless, next time grab me and I’ll grab Aaron and the three of us can hide literally anywhere other than the weird sex alley. We could go to the back room with Roland or, if it means you not ending up in the hospital with a stab wound, I would even tolerate hiding down in the straight swingers club in the basement.” Nicky says.

He sees Andrew and Captain Neil tense off to the side.

Oh, that’s right.

Oh fun another lie for him to focus on instead of feeling floaty. Gran always talked about the virtue of telling the truth but the only thing set free would be Nicky in a club that he’s not supposed to know about.

“I wouldn’t ask that of you Nicky.” FF says instead.

Nicky laughs and kisses his cheek one more time. “You’re my favorite family member now. Sorry Aaron, you’ve made me endure the horrors of a heterosexual relationship for too long.” Nicky says stroking  FF’s face as he looks up to where FF assumes Aaron is.

“Hey.” Aaron says in the exact same way he said earlier.

“Andrew-“ Nicky starts but is cut off.

“I don’t care.”

“That’s the spirit.” Nicky says, “Neil-“

“Nicky, I also don’t care.”

“At least you have one another to support each other.”

“Wait, what about me?” Kevin asks.

“You won’t even LEARN the family language Kevin, you were NEVER in the running for my favorite.” Nicky dismisses and doesn’t bother to turn back to the  “So Smithy is my favorite family member now with Aras coming in second.”

Two things strike FF in the wake of family conversation.

First, when in the world did Kevin get here? Why is he here? Is he going to ask the doctors to run tests on FF to figure out stealth mode?

Second, Nicky just used his Gran’s nickname. The nickname that causes FF no small amount of embarrassment. It was a youthful indiscretion! He had thought he understood Lithuanian quite well! He had wanted to impress his Great Gran and his Gran with his knowledge.

“You’re looking pale Smith, do you need more pain medication?” Captain Neil asks.

“No, I’m fine.” He is pretty sure that pain meds can’t numb the psychological pain of his friends hearing about his youthful mistakes and he doesn’t care how bad his stomach is going to hurt he wants to only take the absolute minimum amount of pain meds required to get through this so he can stop floating.

Having friends nearby makes it so much easier.

Conversations go on with him and around him. He’s tired still from everything and when a nurse comes in to try and give him more pain medication he declines. All present in the room except Gran try to convince him to take it but he declines all but the most minor amount to take the edge off.

He finally realizes that Kevin had not been with them and asks why the hell he’s here. He gets an answer that makes him reconsider being on any pain medication at all because it doesn’t really make any sense. Why in the world is Kevin telling him not to trust the nutritionist?

Neil lets him know that the FBI are going to be coming around at some point to talk to him. He says that Agent Browning is a dick but generally fine and that there will be a local agent Iruma Matsumoto stopping by before him, probably today. He looks right at Andrew and says “Yeah, I’ll talk with them about how Romero stabbed me.” Andrew lets out an amused puff of laughter that makes FF feel like he might be doing alright at this friendship thing.

He apologizes to Andrew that he can’t make the pie today and gets a flick to his ear.

He finds out that he slept through all of Saturday and that it is Sunday morning. Finds out that his Gran and Wymack had stayed over at the Columbia house last night and that Wymack has him excused from his classes this week. He also finds out that Nicky has given his grandma a key to the house in Columbia so she could stay there while she’s visiting him.

He apologizes to Nicky for messing up the clothes he’d let him borrow and earns another flick to the ear from Nicky.

Wymack hands him a new phone that Nicky has apparently set up for him. His lip quirks up slightly when he sees that Nicky registered it as ’Smithy’s phone’. Neil shows him some stuff since he has the same phone model but Andrew rolls his eyes.

“You’ve barely figured out how to set anything on your phone Junkie. You still haven’t even set a screen lock.” He says as he pulls Neil back from FF’s space.

“I’ve figured out how to change the notification ping.” Neil argues but lets himself be pulled away and if Andrew keeps his arm around Neil afterwards? No one comments on that.

He translates things for his Gran when it seems important for her to be able to respond to and helps Nicky with some pronunciations.

He falls asleep a couple times and wakes up to his friends and teammates in all sorts of different configurations. Nicky gets him some good sugar-free Jell-O from the nurses while Aaron smacks Kevin upside the head when Kevin complains that it’s not good for him and not part of the diet he’s making to get FF back on the Court ASAP. “He’s gotta be on a clear liquid diet for 24 hours after his surgery.” Aaron hisses.

“Why does it have to be clear? I can put it in a blender but it won’t be clear.” Kevin grumbles.

“He’s not going to be on puree’d food for at least two weeks idiot.” Aaron smacks his head again.

“Stop that.”

He hears from Wymack the other Freshman Dealer won’t be returning and that Sheena is now their only Dealer and she does not do defense well. Kevin’s disapproval for the Jell-O cups only grows stronger in light of this news. His grumbling only stops when Gran looks at him and says “Maybe someone should help you pull that stick out of your ass young man.” In her nicest most grandmotherly voice.

When Kevin turns to FF for a translation Nicky beats him to it, “She said a handsome young man like you shouldn’t ruin your face with worries.” He says without a hint that he’s lying.

Kevin preens at the grandmotherly approval of his looks and FF gets to know that he, Nicky and his grandma all have lying in common.

Eventually it’s lunch time and the natural hunger of college athlete boys trumps anything else. Kevin won’t eat anything at the cafeteria since he doesn’t trust the nutritionist so they agree to head out of the hospital to grab food. He’s more tired than hungry so he tells his Gran to go with them. She pats his face and promises she’ll be back with some clear soup for him per the Doctor’s order and despite Kevin’s grumbling that he could make a clear protein shake.

His Gran kisses his forehead and tells him that she’ll be back soon and that he should rest as much as he can.

***

FF can’t sleep.

He tried.

He really did.

But without the noise of everyone else his mind keeps going back to the last time he was in a hospital. He closes his eyes and he can see Gran’s pale face when she tells him that his dad didn’t make it and the tears when she tells him neither-

He can’t sleep.

So he gets up against medical advice and decides to go on a walk. He’s not been connected to any of the monitoring equipment since he had first woken up, just the IV keeping him hydrated. FF decides he wants to get his dad’s leather back because it would make him feel better. The leather jacket has weight that would keep his feet strictly on the ground and it’s something his Gran had given to him when he went off to college so that he could keep his dad close. He could call a nurse but it feels like he shouldn’t distract them with something as stupid as getting him his dad’s jacket so he doesn’t have a panic attack.

So he lets himself slip into the background and heads towards the nurse station. He thinks that might be where they’re holding his belongings. It’s a good first stop if nothing else.

He can’t help but notice a strange number of men in suits but figures that maybe they’re just there to talk to people who seem to have gotten caught up in some sort of mass casualty incident.

He makes it to the nurse station and when a whole 5 minutes goes by without a single nurse clocking that he exists he considers speaking up until he sees a nurse bagging up some clothes, slapping on a label, and heading away.

It’s nice when things work out for him.

Another suit wearing man comes up and a different nurse sees him there immediately and comes up, “What can I help you with?” She asks.

“I’m looking for someone with the last name Smith, he has a stab wound?” The man asks.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” The nurse responds with exasperation but FF is already almost out of earshot when he hears it because he’s following the nurse with the bag.

He follows her down the hallway and she thankfully takes an elevator instead of going down the stairs because FF doesn’t know how he would have gotten his IV stand down with him.

FF walks in with her and he watches her slump as the doors slide close. Relaxing like most people do when they think they’re alone. Her shoulders go straight back when the elevator opens again and he follows after her.

He follows her to a door that she unlocks and proceeds to enter and FF sees a room full of the same bags with belongs all tagged with a last name and a room number. “Christ, why are there so many fucking Smiths in here right now?” She grumbles but takes him straight to the S section and he sees his own ‘Smith’ and room number.

He grabs it and heads out the door before the nurse and heads into the elevator.

His phone pings with a text message. He opens it and sees a text from an unknown number.

“Come to the Cafeteria. - IM”

FF stares at his phone for a few minutes before the initials click.

Iruma Matsumoto, the local FBI agent who was coming to talk to him today according to Captain Neil. It’s weird to be texted like this but this is the first time he’s ever had to talk to the FBI. Maybe it’s normal? He doesn’t really want to bother Captain Neil about what getting interrogated by the FBI is like since Captain Neil is out at lunch.

He decides to go to the Cafeteria.

FF follows the directory in the elevator and then the arrows that point him towards the cafeteria. He takes a moment to pull his dad’s jacket out and it does help him feel better. He realizes the McDonald’s toy is still in his pocket and thinks that he really should probably turn that over to Agent Matsumoto.

When he gets to the cafeteria he sees even more of those guys in suits and then he sees a well dressed Japanese man sitting by himself at a table. FF has a moment where he thinks ‘Wow that FBI agent sure does look like a member of the Yakuza.’ Before he squashes it because ‘OMG that’s such a fucking racist thing to think. Thoughts from the abyss are the worst and Agent Matsumoto is probably a perfectly nice guy.’

He takes a seat in front of the man who is surrounded by two other of the men in black he’s seen. Oh that guy was probably looking for him to bring him here so they could have the talk.

None of the men seem to notice him and FF realizes that he’s still in stealth mode. He sets the bag with the rest of his clothes to the side and clears his throat.

Three sets of eyes are on him immediately and FF breathes through the anxiety as the two men at either side of Agent Matsumoto seem to reach for something at their holsters.

“Captain Neil said you wanted to talk to me.” He says.

Captain Matsumoto raises a hand and the two men on either side of him return to an at ease position.

***

Ichirou Moriyama could admit to himself that he had been startled when a young man seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of him without any warning. He sees a bulge in the man’s pocket that says that he’s armed and he could have done anything before bringing attention to himself. He had men throughout the hospital and no one has spotted Wesninski or any of his cohorts but they had their eyes peeled for the uninvolved civilian who had taken out Jackson on his own and had assisted Wesninski’s guard dog in taking out Romero.

Interesting.

Ichirou clasps his hands together in over the cafeteria table.

“Yes, let’s talk.” He agrees.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themundanemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupandfries​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​ @lesbian-blackbeard​ @lesbiansupernatural​ @silvermasquerade​ @thepeachfuzz​ @minniemariex​ @kazoo-the-demjin​ @gaypomegranate​ @ji-nk-ies​ @neilimfinejosten​ @omgrubelangel​ @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice​ @percabethotplove​ @cozyrosykay​ @foxyatlas​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @cindersapsecrets​

The  requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few  different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I  promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be  something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

If you didn’t get notified on the last part it’s probably because I used tumblr mobile to post and our most beloved garbage fire site just didn’t like that.

[hqbaby]

two — you’re so pretty

tag, ur it! — sakusa ? iwaizumi ? osamu ? 

*ੈ✩‧ love is a losing game your roommate, your ex, or the guy you totally haven’t been seeing—the choice should be simple, right? right?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.2k content. mentions of sex, alcohol consumption, profanity

It’s these moments that Sakusa loves best.

It’s late at night and the two of you are in his room. He’s on his bed, reading some book or other (he’ll totally forget the plot and have to reread it later), and you’re by his window, standing in front of his easel. From the bed, he can watch you paint, your body covered by an old shirt of his, drowned in the moonlight.

“You know, you could make the colors—”

“Are you really micromanaging my art right now?” you ask, but he can hear the smile through your voice.

You turn back to see him grinning at you and you drop your brush, launching yourself onto the bed beside him. He laughs as you start trailing kisses across his neck and down his chest.

Sakusa’s never been this happy before, it’s getting to be a little silly at this point.

“You’re so pathetic,” you tell him, burying your face in his chest to hide your smile.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he says. “Like so pathetic. You wouldn’t believe it.”

He places a finger on your chin and tilts your head up. He swears you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You scrunch your nose up, growing a little self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze. “You know, people are gonna start catching onto us.”

He kisses your forehead. “And would that be so bad?”

Your face drops a little at that. You probably think he doesn’t notice, but he does. The way your eyes lose focus, the way your smile falters.

You’ve never told him why you’re so keen on keeping this all hush-hush. It never used to bother him, especially when things between the two of you were just starting. But he can’t help the nagging feeling that he won’t like whatever it is when he finds out.

So he doesn’t ask.

“I should head home,” you say quietly. You’re still smiling at him, as if convincing him that everything is fine.

“Oh, right,” he says, holding back his disappointment. “Sure.”

You kiss him one last time and get up.

And just like that, the moment ends.

You really should’ve read the group chat. It was blowing up a few hours ago, but you were too busy getting railed to even notice. If you had just checked your damn phone.

“Drink up, drink up,” Oikawa insists, handing you a shot glass of vodka. “I’m peer pressuring you. You have no choice.”

You roll your eyes as you down the drink. “How much have you had?” you ask, looking over at the other boys gathered in your living room. There are at least three other bottles of alcohol on the coffee table, all of them empty.

“Not a lot,” Hanamaki slurs. His head drops onto the table and Matsukawa forces it back up. “Quite a bit.”

You chuckle, dropping your bag on the couch and sitting down between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. You look over at your roommate. “Why are we doing this?”

Iwaizumi—also wasted, but trying to hide it—nods at Matsukawa. “Girlfriend dumped him.”

You grimace and reach over to pat your fallen comrade on the back. “Sorry, bro,” you say, taking the bottle of vodka and filling everyone’s glasses up. “Why’d she do it?”

Matsukawa lets out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t answer her calls,” he tells you. “In my defense, I was just taking a shower. She’s the one who called like fifty times.”

“What did I say?” You tut. “Always—”

“—answer your girl’s calls,” he finishes for you. “I know. She just gets fucking insane sometimes, you know?”

You take another shot and nod. You know what he means. You only met his girlfriend a few times, but you could tell she wasn’t going to stick around for too long. She was a regular college kid, insecure and needy, just like the rest of you. 

You figure that’s why a lot of relationships at this age don’t last. Speaking from experience.

“So where were you?” Oikawa asks, his head falling on your shoulder. He’s all red and woozy, almost like he’s the one that has to drink his heartbreak away.

You frown. “Nowhere,” you tell him. “Library.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit.”

“No, no,” Hanamaki chimes in. “Bullshit, baby, bullshit.”

You groan as all three boys now turn to you for a proper answer. “I was just visiting a friend.”

Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows and presses himself further against you. “A ‘friend,’ huh?”

“For fuck’s sake.” You reach over and drink his shot for him. “It’s nothing!”

Matsukawa leans over the table and moves his face right in front of yours. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you put your palm on his face to push it away.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims when he drops back down in his place. “Were you visiting him?”

Hanamaki gags. “I thought you were over this!”

Oikawa turns to you with a disappointed look on his face. “You were with him?”

You shake your head urgently. “Fuck no!” you exclaim. “I’m done with that.”

“Sure,” he says, unconvinced. “So you’ve just been sneaking around with some random friend.”

“Do you guys want chips?” you ask loudly, trying to distract them. You get up. “I’m getting chips.”

“I’ll help,” Iwaizumi says, dragging himself up and following you to the kitchen.

There’s a strange tension between you and your roommate as you both look through the cabinets to find something. You don't know what it is.

You’re grabbing a bag of chips when you hear a thud behind you. You turn to find Iwaizumi on the floor, a stunned look on his face.

“What the fuck happened to you?” you say, laughing as you go to check and see if he’s hurt himself.

He shakes his head and starts laughing. “I dunno,” he tells you. “Room is spinning.”

“You’re so drunk,” you say, joining in on his laughter.

It’s not every day that you get to see Iwaizumi like this, plastered out of his mind. He’s usually the one who keeps all of you in check, managing his liquor so he can make sure you don’t do something illegal or get yourselves killed. It’s refreshing to see him let loose every once in a while.

“Don’t tell me your girlfriend dumped you too,” you tell him, grabbing him a glass of water. You sit down beside him as he takes steady gulps.

“Don’t have a girlfriend, you know that,” he grumbles, placing the glass on the floor beside him. His eyes land on yours and he tilts his head to the side. “So you’re really not seeing him again?”

You furrow your brows. “No,” you say, then, “Would it bother you if I was?”

He hums, still staring at you. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from your face. His hands linger on the side of your face. It’s a drunken action, you’re sure, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you.

And nothing prepares you for what he says next.

“I don’t want you to be with someone else.”

Your eyes widen. It’s the alcohol talking, you remind yourself. But, then again, a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind.

“Why?” you find yourself asking. Your voice is quiet. When he doesn’t answer you, you find it in yourself to press him. “Why don’t you want me with someone else?”

You become acutely aware of his hand still touching your face.

“Because,” he says, eyelids drooping a little, “you’re so pretty.”

notes. 🫣

[steviewashere]

A Relief

Rating: General CW: Whole Thing is About Bipolar Disorder, Mention of Taking Medication for Mental Health Tags: Post-Canon, Mild Angst (so mild you barely taste it), Comfort, Mental Health, Steve Harrington Has Bipolar Disorder, Steve Harrington Goes to Therapy, No Actual Therapy Session Depicted, Relief, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Gets a Hug, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Robin Buckley Goes to Therapy, (But that's sort of background here), Roommates Pairings: Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (Pre-Relationship)

Based on experience. And also this is such a half-assed thing, but I'm fighting my way out of a really low point right now and I will not let myself succumb, so. <3

🫂—————🫂 The therapy was his choice. He’d hear about it from time to time; mostly from Max and Nancy showcasing how it’s really helped them process grief from the last decade or so. But it had never been something he was entirely intrigued by. There were unsettled issues he had, that he was one hundred percent aware of. But a guy going to therapy? That seemed as folklore as Bigfoot disappearing behind trees.

It wasn’t until Robin began to go that he was convinced.

“She walked me through these breathing exercises, Steve,” she had murmured late one night. They were living just outside of Chicago at the time. He was twenty-six, no longer baby-faced and finally settled in what was normalcy for him. She was just a year younger. Still talkative and mouth far away from her brain, but the way she began to carry herself in the middle of that year—things were changing and Steve began to realize why. “I’ve never felt so calm. So…in tune with my own brain. For once, it felt like the world wasn’t going to end with every sentence I spoke. Who knew that there was mellow under all my marsh?”

He snorted at that. “Don’t tell me this is the end of Robin’s Ramblings.”

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Robin had tutted. “You and I both know that that’s going to continue regardless. Maybe it’ll be like torture now since I’ll be all slow about it.” There was a slow lull of silence. Then, realizing what she had just said, Robin hissed. “Too soon?” They had cackled themselves into a new noise compliant from their downstairs neighbor—and Robin, in that way that she does, convinced him to try therapy out.

It wasn’t until a few years later that he’d go. Both due to insurance reasons and his impoverished motivation. But he was going now, that’s what’s most important.

There was a certain doe-like awkwardness to therapy, he was realizing. He was walking into his appointment with shaky legs and leaving with the first few bumps of his antlers coming in. Sometimes, he went having shaved his antlers down. And other times, they remained. Steve thought that by this session, what had to have been his seventh or eighth time, that he’d stop realizing new things about himself, his family, the growing up before the apocalyptic growing up.

“Your lore,” so Eddie had eloquently put it.

That was a new thing, too. With these last few years brought on a lot of change. Everybody was aging, expectedly so. Their dreams shifting and new ones taking place. And somewhere within all that, between therapy sessions and failed dates and three minimum wage jobs that Steve didn’t bother trying to fight for, Eddie Munson became more persistent in his day to day life than ever. Especially when Robin wanted to move apartments, so Steve went, and Eddie came from the shadows of Hawkins to ask, “Is there room for one more?” Not that his presence was unwelcome, but there was definitely a trace amount of surprise Steve put himself through every morning.

It was coming out of his bedroom crusted with drool and slow with waking, spotting Eddie at the dining table with a chapter book laid out in front of him, humming something warm, clearly lost in some sort of far world. Sometimes, it was coming home with takeout in his hands, knowing one of the lo mein containers was Eddie’s. Or taking his shoes off at the front door and placing them on a low-level wire rack, those scuffed Reeboks unlaced and still warm from wherever Eddie had gone. And, the biggest surprise, was the way Steve knew he was drifting more and more into Eddie’s side—wanting to place his head on his bony shoulders, or willingly listen to a dramatic retelling of some four hour argument he had with Dustin, and the way he had to physically pull himself away so he didn’t do an oddball thing like run his nose against the softness of Eddie’s jaw, or even kiss him below the ear where he knew Eddie’s ticklish.

But aside from all of…that, a later thing for his lurching heart but assured bisexual brain to figure out, there was another thing that consumed him more than Eddie. And it was neither a pleasant nor wanted thing.

He began to have these “episodes”, that feels like the most appropriate word to him, where he’d switch between drawn out days of endless exhaustion and something entirely else. Sleep a full eight hours, wake up even more tired, become unmotivated to do anything—not even eat, not even to go to the bathroom—and then he’d take a nap, or two, fall asleep at the same time he did previously, and then the cycle would restart. The alternative to this was annoying, possibly even more annoying than the unmitigated tiredness. It was sleeping three hours at night. It was getting up wide-eyed and crystal clear, going and going and going, without stopping, without that need to stop. And it was eating him alive. This whole back and forth between the weeks of sleeping and the weeks of going because he can, it was wearing him thin and thinner and now he’s at his thinnest.

It’s his ninth appointment that he leaves with an answer.

And in his car, idling in the parking lot, radio silenced and windows rolled all the way up, he grips to the only thing tethering him to the cushion of his seat. The diagnosis, written in cursive scribbling, black ballpoint pen that caught between the hump of a ‘D’ and the dot of a lowercase ‘I’. His thumbnail presses hard into the blank white space below the written text, indenting and pinching the paper. And he tightens his left hand on the lower half of his steering wheel, leather unreasonably warm for a sunny mid-September morning.

Bipolar Disorder, the paper reads.

He knows that’s what it says. Has read it again and again and again and…again before he could even check-out at the receptionist desk. And it’s not like he’d be unable to read it now. There were glasses perched on his nose, smudged on the upper right corner of the left lens, prescription grade and anti-glare. He can read pretty damn clear.

Yet, for some odd reason, he’s not upset by what he’s looking at. The very first thought he had since hearing his therapist say, “It’s clear to me what’s going on. Have you heard of something called bipolar disorder? Maybe manic depression?”, was that he couldn’t be angry. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry that these are the cards he was dealt. Not even an aching.

Breathing slow in his car, like Robin had showed him a few years ago, he finds the only emotion he can place is relief. A deep, raw, freshly sourced like gold found in a pan, relief.

Steve couldn’t be happier with these words, oddly enough.

The next step was going home and thinking on it.

And the one after that was returning to his therapist to talk about treatment options. There were treatment options, he now realizes, and that brings forth some other pulsing emotion through him. But he doesn’t think he can feel it right now, not entirely, at least if he wants to make it home safely.

So he folds the paper up over itself three times, small enough to fit in his flannel shirt pocket. Turns the keys. Puts himself in reverse. And he goes home.

——— “I’m home!” Steve calls out, shutting the door with his foot. He chucks his keys into the dish by the door, slips his sneakers off by stepping on the heels, begins to wrestle with the sleeves of his flannel—not before taking out that sheet of paper. “I brought back some Chinese,” he mock-shouts, setting the bag down on the floor to hang up his shirt, and he picks it up to head into the dining area.

As he’s unloading their lunch haul, Eddie and Robin noisily enter from down the hall, careening into the dining room like two roadrunners. “Stevie, you’re a freaking lifesaver,” Robin moans behind him. She settles into her usual spot, the left most spot, Eddie across from her, and Steve between them. He pushes a few of the takeout boxes towards her.

“Sweet and sour chicken, pork fried rice, and fried shrimp for Robbie,” he says, “and lo mein, braised pork ribs, and an egg roll for Eds.” For himself, he pulls out a container of beef and broccoli, another box of lo mein, and orange chicken. And of course, a few plastic forks.

Eddie drags his containers towards himself. “Thanks, Stevie,” he says softly, “how’d your appointment go today?”

He hums, settling into his chair. “It went pretty good, actually. There’s something I wanted to share with you guys.” Instead of continuing to eat, Eddie and Robin look to him expectedly. Putting their full attention on him. In the past, it would make him want to slither out of his skin with this kind of attention, but this soft focus is nice now. He’ll actually be heard like this. He gets up to quickly grab the paper from by the door and then brings it back to the table, unfolding it carefully. “My, uh, my therapist listened to me about those episodes I get where I’m really tired all the time. And then, y’know, where it seems like I get stir-crazy or whatever. And she told me today that she knows what’s been going on,” he explains, cautious to not miss a word. Steve presents the paper slowly, laying it out flat between all three of them, text-up for them to read.

“Bipolar disorder?” Robin questions softly, looking up at him, “you think she got it figured out?”

“Yeah, I have full confidence in this,” he states. Sniffles, too. Which, that’s the thing that wanted to come undone in the car. With the relief came the overwhelming need to cry, and he supposes with the people he feels safest, he can do just that. So he does. His voice is strained, choked when he continues, “I thought I’d have to like search forever, guys. Thought that maybe it was some side effect from that demobat attack, y’know? But it’s not. It’s…there’s words for what’s been going on with me, can you believe that?”

Gently, Eddie reaches out to him. A hand on his right forearm. A soothing thumb over his exposed skin. “And how are you feeling about that, sweetheart?”

Laughing a half-sob sort of thing, he dislodges Eddie’s hand, only to scoop up both his and Robin’s palms into his own. Holding them tightly, knocking all of their knuckles against the table as he jostles them slightly. “I’m so relieved, you have no idea! Like I…I knew my mom had something, y’know? She’s like me and I knew she was taking medicine for something, I just never thought there was a term for it. There’s a term—a term!”

Taking care of him, Eddie and Robin move from their seats. His head is tucked into Eddie’s chest. And Robin wraps herself along his left side. But all in all, in their arms, he’s held, comforted. There are fingers running through his hair. Nails dragging gently up and down his forearm. He’s warm.

When he’s pulled back, Eddie holds his face between his hands. Thumbs tapping away at the tacky tracks of tears down his cheeks. Gentle to not jostle his glasses clear off his face. “What’s the next step, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Robin adds on, “what can we do?”

“Well, I go back next week for my regular session. She wants to speak with me about ways to manage the disorder. Mentioned something about mood stabilizers. Which…” he trails, lets Robin squeeze him tighter. After a moment of careful, slow breaths, he adds, “I think I’m going to go ahead with the medication. With how low my lows get, I think that’s best.”

“Whatever you do, Steve-O, we’ll be here to support you,” Robin murmurs.

“Yeah, dude, we’ve got you,” Eddie agrees just as softly.

He sniffs again. “Thanks guys, I’m glad I have you both. Now, eat your food before it gets cold. I don’t want to hear you guys complain about how it congealed in the fridge.”

They laugh at that, brightly and warmly. And after such a daunting several years, Steve feels a little less heavy. Even has a new spark of hope in his chest for a future that he is looking forward to navigate, but not without his best friends at his sides.

🫂—————🫂

[huckleberrykai]

choi soobin ~ fight for you

pairing: knight!soobin x princess!reader summary: on your 21st birthday coronation day, you finally get to meet the knight you've been admiring for so long. genre: royal au warnings: uhm. swords? weapons in general, creepy men, girlboss princess Y/N hell yeah word count: 2.4k click here for my masterlist!

the night was cold. the bitter air nipped at your nose, exposed arms growing goosebumps as you ran out of the heavy wooden doors and away from the warm castle. you were headed to the rose gardens - hoping the sweet smells and beautiful blooms would distract you from the hustle and bustle of the loud party inside.

you loved the music and the pretty decorations, banners hung in your favourite colours to celebrate the occasion. it was your 21st birthday, and as princess of your kingdom that also meant official coronation day - initiating you into your full royal duties. "no more lounging around as a child, princess!" your father had told you in jest.

you never were one to just lounge around though, quietly training with your father's old second-in-command for years. your bedroom faced out onto the knight's training grounds, and so from being a young girl stuck in your room you learned to admire the knights - aspiring to fight just like them. you were very strong, and once you finally got your title you convinced your father to leave the army to you. being his only heir, he didn't have much choice. you had fought before, but only with the rank three knights which you quickly came to realise were better equipped than even rank one.

the king was kind, yet irresponsible to say the least. you knew some of the knights - most having been sent to guard you at least a few times - and the top rank was filled with only his friends. he wanted to reward the people he trusted, which wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't such horrible fighters with huge egos - most being old unreliable drunkards.

they weren't a fan of the idea of you taking over either, spewing the odd, "that little girl? head knight?" and "pretty princess should stick to her day job." you knew better than to take it to heart. besides, once tomorrow comes they'll be back to rank three where they started.

the coronation on the morning of your birthday went well. you received your official sparkling crown - heavy on your head but still delicate, as well as receiving the ancient sword - bestowed upon only the royal army leader. you watched with a smug smirk as the knights laughed at you, but you knew you could take them all to the ground in one swing. no sweat.

the day of celebrations and good cheer continued on, leading you to the party in the evening. dinner was eaten and drinks were flowing, melodic classical music flowing throughout the palace filling it with a magical feeling. you just wished it would have been easier to bask in your celebrations.

all throughout the night you'd been chased by creepy knights, princes and court officials who were desperate for your hand in marriage - seeing you as nothing but a naive girl who needed a husband. you knew they had no interest in you, only seeing you as a piece of meat with money.

your mother was concerned for you, trying to find a suitable husband to help you rule when you become queen one day. she kept pestering until you snapped, feeling unable to enjoy your own party with all of these people she invited.

"mother i am perfectly capable of ruling myself. you'll see. and if i do marry it will be to someone who i choose. not for money, not for land, my choice." you spat. and that was how you ended up in the rose gardens.

you ran to the musicians, thanking them for their beautiful work, and bowed to the maids kindly on your way out, strapping your sword to your waist and running. the cool night air was less of a bother than the sleazy old men trying to woo you. wandering through the gardens and sniffing the petals you finally felt peace seep into your bones, the faint music from the castle wandering into the gardens and echoing around you.

holding a rose between your fingers that had fallen to the floor, you noticed a figure standing at the garden gates. he was clearly a knight, dressed in the royal uniform, so you risked a peek to see if you recognised him. he was one of the rank threes you had fought with before. he was around your age, and you recalled seeing him from your window - always spending extra hours training and becoming stronger. he had excellent form and strength, physique perfect. you had to admit, he was cute too. you honestly didn't understand why he wasn't in rank one already.

"good evening!" you called out to him, walking forwards to see the blank expression on his face. hm, he truly is a professional.

"hello?" you asked, softly but sternly. still no response. you could see he seemed flustered, eyes pointing straight forwards and avoiding your own. "hello." you tried again, clicking your fingers in his face.

"you dare disrespect your princess?" you teased, causing his panicked eyes to meet yours finally. "no! i- i'm sorry but i uh.. i really don't think i'm allowed to talk to you your highness." he rushed, posture still rigid in place. you let out a giggle, your sweet smile making the man in front of you very flustered.

"says who? i'm your ruler~"

his heart was thumping now, but he didn't let it show. his posture was still straight, but you noticed his broad shoulders loosen up a little as he nodded.

"i- uh.. yeah. yeah that's right. forgive me, princess. my sincere apologies." he bowed deeply to you, returning to his stance and meeting your eyes once more. "ah that's all right. you can call me Y/N."

his eyes blew wide at your casual tone. "follow me will you? i'd like someone to talk to." you commented, pointing him to a bench overlooking the gardens.

"but- my duty-" you cut him off quickly. "is to follow the orders of your commander. correct?" he swallowed thickly at your quirked eyebrow and pretty smirk, intimidated yet entranced by your demeanour. he nodded wordlessly, following you to the bench and sitting beside you, albeit not too close.

"i don't mean to impose but shouldn't you be inside princess? oh! congratulations on your coronation, i look forward to you leading our troops." he rambled quickly. you smiled softly at his charm. you'd never have expected a knight as strong as him to be so shy.

"thank you soobin."

he felt like his heart was going to fall out when you addressed him by name. he found himself stuttering over his words. "you- you know my name?"

truth be told, soobin had always admired you. when he first became a knight he was inspired by you - so put down by other people, belittled and called weak - but you got right back up after every blow. strength, beauty, knowledge, skills, he was completely enthralled by you. he never thought he'd even have the chance to speak to you, this surprise encounter rendering him overwhelmed and enchanted.

the moonlight shone on the gems of your crown, but he thought nothing of those compared to the way your eyes sparkled. not even a thousand rubies and diamonds could rival your beauty to him.

"of course i do!" you beamed, pulling him back to reality. "i've seen you around the castle before.. i saw you sneaking sweets to the village children last week," you commented with a giggle. "you have a kind heart soobin."

he smiled warmly, cheeks hot and blushing furiously at the thought of you noticing him. "i'm glad you think so princ- uh Y/N."

a comfortable silence washed over you as the song the musicians were playing came to an end. the next song started, smooth notes relaxing you - causing you to let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding.

"so.. why are you out here? the celebrations are in your honour," soobin wondered, breaking the calm silence with his smooth deep voice, lingering on your mind like honey.

"nobody in there truly cares for me. only my mother's friends and disgusting perverts begging for my hand." you admitted. "i was tired of being chased around like a toy between a pack of dogs." soobin nodded from beside you. he'd noticed your struggle to get your mother off your back, but he was only a knight. he wasn't supposed to interfere with royal business. "all i want to do is train and lead the knights well. it's been my dream for so long... and now i can finally do it so long as my mother doesn't marry me off to some old man across the country."

"if you need help with anything.. i'm here for you princess. i'll do my best to protect you!" he exclaimed. "not that you need my protection. you're a warrior. but- but if you need me i'm here to serve you."

another smile tugged at your lips as you played with the rose between your fingers, still holding it from earlier. "your kindness and loyalty mean a lot to me soobin. and to this kingdom. thank you." your eyes turned away from the delicate pink rose to look at the man beside you. his cheeks were the same colour as the cute flower.

"i admire your strength and skills. my father is a fool." his heart-shaped lips formed a pout and his brows furrowed. gosh he was cute. "how so?" he asked politely.

"when i say i've seen you before, i mean it." you began. "whenever i'm training you're always there at the grounds too. my bedroom window overlooks the area and whenever i look out.. there you are. you work so hard... you're incredible soobin." you told him sincerely. "i truly don't understand how you're only rank three while my father keeps the top ranks for his pigs." you turned back to the flower, twirling it restlessly. "excuse me if i sound like a creep.. but it's a pleasure to watch you train. you're much stronger than you let on. my father is ignorant to knights when they aren't his friends or descendants of his friends, all the rank one soldiers are imbeciles and drunks. you could take them down in one go and look great while doing it. ~"

soobin's jaw hung open at your rant, heart beating even faster and cheeks burning even hotter. his neck was warm and he shuffled in his seat. "th- that's.. thank you- i-" he swallowed nervously.

his brain short-circuited when you reached out to hold the back of his hand which rested atop his knee. "thank you for speaking with me. i should return before my parents send out a search party." you squeezed his hand gently before letting go and standing up, him following quickly. "here." you held out the rose to him.

he searched your face confused, but reached out for it anyway - long slender fingers wrapping around the stem and brushing against your own, sending your heart fluttering. he really was charming.

"i hope to see you again soon Y/N." he muttered quietly, bringing the rose to his cute button nose to inhale the scent. you grinned at his precious bunny-like appearance.

"you will. i promise." your smile was cheeky, and he thought you looked adorable. you reached out to grab his hand properly, giving it a firm squeeze before you ran back to the castle. "goodnight soobin!" you yelled behind you, bolting off through the rose gardens on the trail back up to the castle, leaving behind a very flustered and red knight holding the rose. "goodnight princess!" he yelled back with a wave, praying you heard before returning to his position at the gates.

you had him wrapped around your finger already.

so much so, that when he returned to his chambers that night, he pressed the petals of the rose you'd given him between the pages of his diary for safekeeping.

you spent the night in your room after returning to your parents, excusing yourself for the night quickly. you decided to reorganise the ranks, since tomorrow would be your first official day as commander.

your thoughts of soobin lingered while you drafted up lists of the new ranks - safe to say his name made the number one spot, as well as some other great fighters who'd been disregarded right alongside him. he seemed to remain in your thoughts the whole night, even as you brushed your teeth. sure, he was attractive and a great warrior, but it was his shy demeanour that you weren't expecting. you had seen his kindness, especially towards the children and elderly around the town - and you couldn't help but coo at the thoughts of his sweet personality. hopping into your smooth silk sheets, you drifted off thinking about his confused pout, slender hands and kind words. oh how you'd like to know him more~

the morning came quickly, and you finally got to face your troops. some did not look pleased at the changes you'd made overnight, groaning about how horrible your decisions were, but you knew you were right to demote them. your knights formed into lines, and your eyes wandered - subconsciously looking for soobin. his breath hitched the second your eyes met.

you stood there looking so powerful - heavy armour and bright sword in hand, yet your delicate tiara still sat atop your meticulously styled hair. the contrast between your sweet innocence and powerful strength awakened something inside him in that moment.

yeah, he was done for.

he zoned out a little while you were making your announcements, assigning leaders to each rank and explaining how things would be working from then on.

"now for rank one. your commander is me, of course," you grinned. "and for my second in command.. choi soobin. he'll also be in command when i'm away on royal duties." you explained, staring straight at him. he felt like a deer in the headlights. him? commander? he swallowed nervously and stepped forwards with the other rank leaders. "thank you your highness." he bowed, making you smile softly. "serve me well hm?" you whispered, only for him to hear, resting a hand on his shoulder while you continued your speech.

yeah, he really was done for.

sfw taglist: @fairy-of-sugar @subbyjvnnie @mazeinthemoon @n0-thisispatrick @strawberry-kirby @majestyjun @bibibinnie @beom-pyu

[dairy-farmer]

(You are absolutely spectacular, love all your stuff)

I feel like Bruce would quote literally be insane enough to find a concoction to permanently de-age the rest of the bats to young children, stage an accident, and convince Tim that in order for them all to be a “true” family, he needs to be their mother and Bruce’s wife. Or maybe it happens by actual accident on a mission and Bruce takes advantage.. Even better if eventually, a new little sibling was on the way .

👀👀👀👀👀!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim returns to the manor following a long mission and is greeted by the sight of a todder dick and cass, a baby jason who has only barely started to crawl, and damian who can't be more than a month or two old. all along with bruce who looks gray and haggard with an unshaved face and clear exhaustion painting him. bruce tells him about some dimension traveling magician that tore through gotham while he was away. that bruce had been scrambling to catch all the falling babies from falling off a roof to send out an alert. he tells tim about how the magic user had already flickered away and that the magic consultants they kept on retainer couldn't fix this, the magic was too archaic for one. for two it was done by an outerverser and the possible complications of trying to undo it were too high risk. and so, on the suggestion of three different consultants... the safest thing to do was to just...let them all grow up again. it was the only was to make sure they didn't suffer some horrible blowback from the magic in them which included mind wipes, changes at the cellular level, chronal element level time magic.

tim is thrown for a loop. devastated and horrified for his siblings because they've lost their friends, their lives, the things they went through. dick and jason will no longer have memories of their biological parents only of bruce. both cass and damian...have lost the traumatic childhoods that carved them into the people they were. and...tim tries to ignore how part of him believes that's not quite a bad thing.

he watches as cass loudly giggles at a barbie movie playing on tv and tim just stares at her from where he's carefully holding a fussy jason while she's being bounced on bruce's knee in a puffy tutu and hairclips galore.

dick is napping in a playpen on the floor between him and bruce while surrounded by blocks and soft toys that he joyfully chucks out before wearing himself out and nearly falling asleep while sitting up on his little diaper clad tush.

damian is upstairs in his nursery napping and awaiting another bottle feeding that bruce has a timer for to wake him up for. there's a baby monitor on the coffee table between them tuned so finely that tim can hear the slow and soft inhale and exhale of an infant. he knows that the moment damian makes the slightest cry he'll be up and racing up the steps with bruce close behind him.

tim has been helping for a few days now, helping relieve bruce of the various duties he has shouldered all by himself. alfred is still out of the country on his month long vacation he takes every year. it's a silent rule to never call and bother alfred during his recharge time and its only bad luck that all this happened while he was out of the manor. bruce had struggled those first few nights, tim knew that much. he'd seen the desperate searches on the batcomputer and the inquiries about how to change a diaper, how to hold a baby, how to rock a baby, what do babies eat, how to burp a baby. then the rapid purchases for diapers, clothing, bibs, binkies, and various other supplies that were delivered to the door of the manor within the hour.

batman has taken a temporary leave of absence from the justice league and tim is going to be sending a similar notice to the titans because the family needs them both more.

tim can see the exhaustion lining bruce's face but also the small bit of happiness every time he picks up one of the babies. tim has to admit that once the shock wore off, his siblings were all rather cute. they're small and chubby. dick is a darling child...when he's asleep. awake is when he's constantly toddling away and giggling with glee while he's chased. cass is deeply enthralled with the tv and the most well behaved so long as there's a movie or show on. jason is a lethargic baby. always sleepy and tired to the point that tim was concerned something was wrong because when jason wasn't asleep he was crying or clearly in great discomfort. bruce has an appointment for him with a discrete pediatrician in a few days (along with another for the other children) and so tim does his best to comfort him, holding, and kissing him until they can figure out how to make him feel better.

still. it's hard coming to terms with everything knowing that his siblings, as he knew them, were now no longer the people they'd grow to be. tim was scared, worried that they'd grow up and hate him or hate bruce because of what they did or didn't do.

bruce seems to think the same because he brings tim into his room after they've all been put to bed. he talks about how all of the kids need structure. they need parents. reliable parents who love and care for them and can give them what they need to grow up happy and healthy. bruce has been studying and he tells tim the statistics and the studies about the effects of growing up with a single parent. about the impact of different parental authority figures. about the effects of all the parenting styles.

they need stability, they need parents who will care for them, and bruce says he knows he's asking for a lot but he just needs to ask- can tim be there for them.

bruce can't do it alone. he knows he can't give them everything they need from a loving parent he's too...broken. but tim...tim can. he can fill the gaps- he can make sure the children never have anything to want for. bruce will take care of them all but he needs help....he needs tim.

bruce asking him to be the other parent...the be the....mother...it makes tim stop. makes him consider the needs of his siblings of his...children.

he knows bruce is right. tim knows he'll feel better if he's there to help bruce learn and to make sure all the mistakes he made while raising them aren't repeated again.

and...he sees the potential. the potential lives the children can lead. happier, better adjusted, more fulfilled, less timid, less scared of disappointing bruce. tim knows its a lot. becoming a parent is a huge sacrifice but...if it's him and bruce in it together....then there's nothing batman and robin can't do.