#'you can wash things. and then they will be clean again. there are very few exceptions to this rule.'

[themme--fatale]

I'm not a psychologist, but if I were I would be chomping at the bit to run a study on how the trauma of the pandemic has normalized a lot of disordered thinking around hygiene and cleanliness. the number of people I've seen on tiktok spouting opinions that are just straight up contamination OCD to the near-unanimous support of the comment sections makes me scream. Accept a little grime into your world. it's okay.

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[tightwadspoonies]

How to Shop at an Asian (or other ethnic) Grocery Store

Do you live in or near a city in the US?

Need to save some money on groceries?

Might I introduce you to... shopping at the local Asian grocery?

Asian grocery stores aimed at an Asian-American customer base almost always beat the prices of their western (or for-western) counterparts. Often by a significant amount, especially in categories like produce, meat, rice, and spices. Plus in addition to lower prices, you get the satisfaction of supporting a small, local business instead of a larger chain store.

(Note that a lot of this information applies to other ethnic grocery stores as well, but we're using Asian because they're common in many cities, and have particularly good prices on produce.)

But it can be a little bit of a learning curve when you first start to shop at them. This post will give you the information you need to navigate them.

So how do you find a good Asian grocery store?

First, go on google maps and search "grocery".

Note that you are NOT googling "Asian Grocery" or "Cheap Grocery". If you search "Asian Grocery" you will get results for Asian stores marketing toward a western audience, and because of this, will be neat, shiny, and very pricey. If you search "Cheap Grocery" you will get stores marketing themselves as cheap, which generally are only slightly less expensive than their "expensive" counterparts (think Aldi). Okay in a pinch, but you can do better.

Second, look at the pictures of all the stores you can easily get to.

Here's what you want: not a lot of printed ads, pictures of hand-written signs (especially in languages other than English), food in cardboard bins, and you want it to look kind of "junky". Bonus points if you can see prices listed in the pictures or the people shopping there are mostly older, ethnic women.

Third, If you couldn't find anything like this, go on your city's subreddit.

Search "cheap", "cheap grocery" and "expensive grocery". Why "expensive grocery"? Because you want to find people complaining about grocery prices, and you want to see the advice they get. Many times, that advice is Asian or ethnic grocery stores.

If you're still not getting anything, google "[city name] cheap grocery" and "[city name] expensive grocery" (see above). Scroll until you get to FORUMS discussing groceries in your city. You DO NOT want blogs or articles. Again, you're looking at the advice people are given when they complain about grocery prices.

One of the first questions people ask upon walking into an Asian grocery store of the type discussed in this post is:

"Is the food I'm getting here safe to eat?"

The answer is just as safe as anywhere else you might shop.

You're probably used to very clean, pretty, well-lit, well-organized stores. This will probably not be that, but it will be regulated by the same health department that regulates those stores. They are held to the same standards.

It's a lot of work to keep a store looking like a western consumer expects. It's a lot less work (and thus less money) to keep a store looking like an ethnic career housewife or grandmother expects. That is largely where the savings comes from.

What's a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Produce. You're probably used to things like onions and carrots being the cheapest per pound. Here it's going to be greens, apples, pears, radish, cabbage and maybe squash and sweet potatoes. Check unit prices and prepare to try some new things. Also a pound of greens is a LOT of greens. Keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that you might see a few pieces of produce that are bruised or have mold on them. That's okay. Just don't buy those pieces. The rest of the batch is probably fine. Wash produce when you get home if you're concerned, though you should be doing that anyway.

Rice and dry beans. If you like to buy in bulk, you're in luck. Don't expect to walk away with a pound or two of these. They come in 40lb packages. But if you tailor most of your meals around them, those meals will be cheap af. There are also lots of different types of specialty rice if you want to make your own sushi or mochi. Learn how to soak and sprout beans.

Tofu. Tofu is expensive when you buy it at a health food store. It is not when you buy it at an Asian grocery. It probably won't be in pretty packages, but again, cheap is not going to be super pretty.

Meat and fish. Meat is generally going to be cheaper here, though maybe not by as much as the produce is. Pork will probably be your cheapest option. You may also see cuts you don't normally see, like tongue, intestine, liver, kidneys, blood, etc... "Weird," however, does not automatically mean cheap in this context. Check unit prices and prepare to be adventurous. If you don't know what else to do with them, dried fish and animal organs make fantastic stock when boiled.

Spices. Again with the extremely large quantities here. But very inexpensive compared with their western counterparts.

Candy. This makes a great inexpensive gift if you need one, since the candy sold at these stores is fairly exotic for a western audience.

What isn't a good deal at an Asian grocery?

Dairy. This includes fresh milk, butter, cheese, etc... If they have it, it will be very expensive. Consider buying elsewhere.

Eggs. Again, this will probably be as expensive or more than the eggs you could get at a western supermarket.

Snacks. Pre-made items will be expensive in general, even though they may be tempting because they are different from what you are used to and you don't need to learn to cook a new thing. Do your best to avoid these and make your own if you can. If you can't, frozen pork or vegetable dumplings are probably your best bet for a quick meal.

Bread. It's pricey. A lot of Asian cuisines use rice, noodles, or buns for their starch instead of western-style bread. So if you can find it it will often be a novelty item.

What else do I need to know?

It's okay to be overwhelmed by new ingredients. Look up some YouTube videos on how to cook certain ingredients if you're not familiar with them.

These are not supermarkets. They sell food and sometimes the kitchenware (steamers, woks, chopsticks, etc...) needed to cook it. You will probably need to get your soap and household items somewhere else.

Pay in cash if you can. Most of these are very small businesses and paying them cash makes it so they don't need to pay credit card fees. At the very least, make the minimum purchase before paying with a card.

[ieirism]

intertwined. | preview

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: omegaverse!au, university!au

genre: angst, smut, some fluff

contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so he’s kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo

summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested

-

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Satoru’s cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.

“We never have to talk again afterwards,” you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. “This is just gonna be a one-time thing.”

Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.

“Just a one-time thing,” he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Perhaps if you weren’t so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you would’ve noticed Satoru’s gaze wander—only to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neck’s scent gland. You would’ve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.

“Well then,” he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.

He’s so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.”

You’ve heard stories about what he’s like in bed; it’s inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, he’s gotten around. You don’t expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. You’re waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. You’ve prepared yourself for that.

Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. “Been waitin’ so long for this.” His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re not here to play romance with Satoru—yet, the slow gentle kisses he’s giving you and the gentleness with which he’s holding you are cutting it too close.

“W-Wait,” you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. “What are y—“ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.

“You smell so fuckin’ good…” His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You can’t even pay much attention to that, though, not when—

“Y-You do, too…” The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.

“You’re gonna kill me.” You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you don’t have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.

“N-Not there,” you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.

He’s close, too close—you’re terrified of what he’s capable of, only because you don’t know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. You’re slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingers—you’ve never felt so weak.

You hate how he makes you feel. You’ve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. You’re nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alpha’s obedient mate. You’ve fought back, resisted, protested—yet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.

This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred… with longing.

Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. “Right.” Satoru’s lips quirk into a crooked grin. “This is just a one-time thing, huh?”

You recognize that smile.

It’s the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mama’s favorite vase and blamed the cat. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.

He’s lying.

Far too late, you realize you’d made a big mistake.

-

author’s note: i can’t even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. i’m not even sure if i’ll ever get around to writing a full fic because i’ve been planning this in my head for weeks and there’s so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(

if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.

thank you for reading this far :)

[bookshelf-dust]

gentle fingers, gentler boy

carmen berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,589

warnings: swearing, joking mentions of arson, one donna mention, i don’t think anything else??

synopsis: carmy needs a haircut—desperately. or so natalie tells him. she sends him to you, and it’s safe to say carmy never would’ve expected a trim would turn into the best date he’s ever had in his life.

a/n: hello, my loves! don’t even ask my why this fic has taken me so long to write because i couldn’t tell you. but i do imagine it has something to do with the fact that i have the attention span of a goldfish these days. anyhow, i wrote this as a kind of predecessor to this fic, because something about carmy and his hairdresser gf is so special to me. let me know what you think!! happy reading <33

————

“You really do need a haircut, Bear.”

Sugar leans up against the office door frame. Her younger brother is hunched over the desk, an Igor incarnate, flipping through a pile of papers Cicero left for him. 

Richie’s voice booms throughout the kitchen. “I been tellin’ him that, Sug! It needs a wash, too. He’s startin’ to look like Jack…Jack…” He snaps his fingers, searching for a name. “The psycho asshole from The Shining!”

“Jack Torrence,” Marcus chirps.

“Jack Torrence!” Richie claps, making Sugar roll her eyes. She moves closer to Carmen, leaning against the corner of the desk. She crosses her arms. 

“I told you, Carm, you can go see my girl. She’s never done me wrong.” 

That small, gentle smile she has grows on her lips. Natalie gently pushes her brother’s shoulder. “And hey, she stopped me from getting bangs again a few weeks ago.”

Richie’s hands fly upward, pressing together in a prayer pose. “Thank fuck. Bangs were never your look, babe.”

“Shut up, Richie!” Sugar and Carmen’s voices ring out simultaneously, as if they’d rehearsed for this very moment of synchronization.

Carmy’s clogs drag against the tile floor as he braces his palms against the desktop and pushes himself backwards. He scrubs his face with his hands, leaving it tinged red when he finally relents.

He looks up at his sister, a firm wrinkle formed between her brows. Carmen huffs.

“What did you say her name was?” Carmy asks, eyes darting to the clock, searching for the time only to realize no one ever fixed the damn thing. “Hey, Richie! Can you get some fuckin’ batteries in here?”

Sugar’s eyes squeeze shut at the volume Carm’s voice has just reached. But nevertheless, she pinches her nose and says your name. 

“She’s like, fifteen minutes down the road. She went to school for it, she respects shy people, and I promise–she’s not gonna cut your ear off.”

Richie rounds the corner at that exact moment, a pile of double A’s shoved in his pocket. He pulls the analog clock off the wall and pries open the back panel. “Oh, you mean like that time Mikey snipped the tip of his ear clean–”

“Oh my god, enough, Richard!” Sugar’s hands fly around in front of her face. Unfortunately it only encourages Richie further, laughing to himself as he snaps four batteries into place. He’s still laughing—clapping his hands together because he’s so tickled—when he walks back toward the front of the house. 

Carmen’s fist covers his mouth. He’s tempted to laugh himself, but he at least knows better by now. Natalie sighs loud enough for the people across the street to hear. 

“Look, Carm. I’ll even make the appointment for you if that would help, but it’s gotta happen. You look like shit.”

Carmy snorts, standing up from the wonky office chair. “Thanks, Nat.”

Sugar’s phone is already in her hand. 

“So that’s a yes? What time would be best? Actually, I’ll just tell you when you’re going. Settled.”

————

“You getting off, Leigh?”

Your coworker ties her hair up in an artfully messy bun. “Yeah, babe. I took a half day because it’s date night tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, shimmying her way across the floor so she can plant a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“Your mom got the kids?” You ask, laughing to yourself as you rinse the leftover conditioner from your sink. 

Leigh claps her hands. “All weekend, girl!” 

You toss your gloves in the trash, letting her hug you and bounce up and down in glee. She deserves this. She hasn’t gotten a night out with her husband in months, their three-year-old twins keeping them more than occupied.

“I hope you have fun tonight. Drink something with Irish cream in it for me, will you?” 

Leigh’s hands pat your cheeks gently. “Oh, you know I will. Just wish you were getting out there too.”

You wave her away, and she’s quick to hold up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Is Natalie’s brother still coming in today?”

Your eyes dart to the clock over her head. “Should be here in like, five minutes.”

The doorbell chimes. 

Both yours and Leigh’s heads snap in that direction. 

“Or…now.”

“Oh, fucking Christ.”

Your eyes flick back to each other immediately, having spoken at the exact same time. Leigh is not gonna let your outburst go. 

There’s already a devilish grin growing across her face. “You think he’s hot, don’t you?”

You dart around her. “No. Those words never left my mouth.”

She catches you by the belt loop. “You’re right, I believe your exact words were ‘Oh fucking Christ, he could bend me over right here.’” Leigh’s laughter bubbles up and you fear she might keel over. 

“That is an exaggeration,” you huff. 

Leigh slings her worn out, bright red purse over her shoulder. “Bet you were thinking it though.” She risks a glance over her shoulder. “You’re not wrong though. His arms are huge. And you better go help him before we get a bad Yelp review.”

You start to wave her away. “Yeah, alright.” You follow her towards the front desk. “Have fun tonight,” you shout, “and remember to make sure you have meds for tomorrow’s hangover.”

She fake gasps, pausing just beside where Carmen is standing. “Me? Hungover? Never.” Leigh lowers her sunglasses just slightly and directs her next few words at the man in front of her. “She’ll take real good care of you, youngest Berzatto.”

The doorbell chimes as Leigh makes her way out to her beat up Mustang, leaving you and Carmy alone out front. 

He laughs awkwardly, shuffling towards the front counter to meet you.

“Sorry about her,” you say. “She’s full of it. Anyway, Carmen, right? Natalie told me you’d try and come by today.”

Carmy’s cheeks burn with embarrassment from being put on the spot. But also because you’re so…pretty. He manages to pull together a few coherent words. 

“She really said try?” he asks, the barest of smiles gracing his lips.

You cross your arms and walk over to your station. “No. It was more of ‘He’ll be there at 4:30 tomorrow or else I’m going to burn down The Bear and keep the insurance money for myself.’”

Carmen scratches at his curls. “Yeah, that I believe.”

You gently pat the back of your leather chair. “You can sit whenever you’re ready. I realize I never really introduced myself.” You say your name, and even if it’s a name Carm has heard a hundred times before, it somehow sounds hypnotizing falling off your lips. 

The leather backing is cold through Carmy’s t-shirt. He hopes the shiver that moves down his spine when you thread your fingers through his hair passes off as the coinciding goosebumps. 

“So, what are we thinking today, Carmen?”

His big blue eyes blink at you through the mirror. “Carmy,” he says.

“Hm?” you hum, running a wide-toothed comb carefully through his curls so that nothing snags. 

“You don’t have to call me Carmen. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” A low laugh tumbles over his lips. “Carmy is fine.”

You smile at him. “Okay, Carmy. What would you like me to do with your hair today? Buzz cut? Mohawk?” You walk around to face him head on. “Extensions?”

You notice how nervously he plays with his hands. But you get it. You’re hoping to make him as comfortable as you can, and not just for that good Google review.

Carmy runs a hand over his mouth, hiding the sweet smile that’s growing there. The crinkles by his eyes give it away. You’re so fucking charming he can’t stand it. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking just a trim? It’s kinda long over my eyes, and sometimes it’s good to see things.” You giggle. 

Good god, how’s he gonna get through this?

“Maybe a little shorter on the sides, too.”

“Like a mullet?” You quip.

He snorts. “Nah, not a full mullet. Maybe where it’s barely noticeable that it’s shorter there? I’m also shit at taking care of it, so if you could help with that…”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth. Carmy has to clear his throat, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “How ‘bout this. I’ll take you to the sink and give it a wash, and then we’ll trim it, and I can have you help me style it so it’s easier when you’re at home?”

Carmy nods. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.” 

Your hand slides across the back of his shoulders as you move away and towards the back room full of head-sized basins. “Come on then, Mr. Berzatto. Let’s wash that pretty head of yours.”

————

“That feels so good,” Carmen says, the words leaving his mouth before he has a moment to think them over. “Wait—is that a weird thing to say?”

You laugh from your place behind him. “No, not at all. That’s why I keep my nails a little longer, because my clients always tell me this is the best part.” Your hands are covered in a lavender-scented shampoo, your fingertips massaging the foam into his scalp. “A good head scratch does wonders for the soul.”

You watch Carmy’s lips lift at the corners. His eyes are closed, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he dozed off. You’re always happy to keep a conversation going with clients, but the silence is just as well.

The sounds of foils getting folded in place by your coworker out front, the air conditioner, the radio—it’s all oddly soothing. The radio station Leigh always sets it on has the oddest selection of music choices for one given channel. Not that you mind that either. 

You rinse Carmen’s hair out and apply conditioner to the mids and ends of his curls. You blindly grab a comb, muscle memory putting it in your grasp in seconds.

Carmy swears he’s gonna knock out. He’s trying about as hard as he did in school when he knew he should be paying attention to whatever math lesson but couldn’t keep his eyes open. And when your words reach his ears, he thinks you’ve just read his mind. Sensed the sleep pricking at his eyelids. 

“You do have really nice hair, Carmy. Anyone else in your family have curls?”

You watch the way his brows knit together. “I think my mom? You’d never know it though. She’s straightened it every day since I was a teenager, like even when we weren’t leaving the house.”

You focus on your final rinse of his hair, allowing him to continue. “When I was a kid though, if she showered before bed and I needed her, her hair would be all wet and curly. That’s the only time I saw it like that.”

Carmy sits up when you wrap a thin towel around his head, holding it secure as he follows you back to your station. 

“Leigh, the woman leaving when you came in? She has lots of clients like that. A lot of people weren’t taught how to take care of their curly hair.”

“Is that a hint?” Carmen quips. It makes you snort. 

“Just a gentle one.”

Carmy watches while you cut his hair. Every once in a while your tongue will poke out, or you’ll wiggle your hips to a song on the radio. When you’re almost finished, what Carmen thinks is a Madonna song comes on. 

You start humming, and Carmy knows he’s done for. Richie would call him whipped. He probably will tomorrow morning, just by reading Carm’s face. 

“Out of the sky, I close my eyes…heaven help me.”

Carmy lets out a little laugh because you’re doing this little dance as you sift through his curls. You hear it, and it only encourages you more. 

“Big Madonna fan?” he asks, his hand rubbing over his mouth to hide the boyish grin there. The tattoo on his hand catches your eye. 

“She’s good for the soul.”

You crouch in front of him, rummaging through a cabinet for he doesn’t know what. “Your tattoos are pretty, by the way,” you say. It takes him by surprise. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

You emerge with two bottles. “Do people not usually compliment them?” You spray his hair down with cool water, getting it to the stage of damp you need for the products to work. 

Carmy laughs lowly. Maybe with a little hint of embarrassment. “Nah, they usually ask me what the hell they are or if I was drunk when I got ‘em.”

“Were you?”

He meets your playful gaze. “Only for a few.” Your smile is downright gleeful. 

“M’kay, Carm. Let me give you the rundown.” He straightens and you get a glimpse of the chef he left at The Bear to visit you today. “So this is a leave-in conditioner. After you shower, you put just a little of this in your hands—like this—and kinda run it through your hair all over. Just so it’s in there well.”

You demonstrate, and for the first time, Carmy finally understands how people can look at him and question his ability to cook so seamlessly. That’s the way you do hair. Like it’s as easy as breathing for you. 

“And this is a gel. It’s super lightweight, so it won’t feel gross or anything, and it’s not expensive either. You wanna use a little more of this, but not by much. You can do the same sort of thing, because your hair takes shape really easily since it’s not damaged any. And once that’s distributed, I want you to scrunch it some, just to get any excess product, but also to help any curls that need encouragement.”

You bite your lip because Carmy is nodding along, giving you his complete attention and it’s fucking adorable. 

“And if there’s any curls by your face or anything, you can use your fingers to define them so they look how you want. You think you can do all that?”

Carmy laughs. “Not a chance.” Then you’re both laughing, and it feels so comfortable anyone would think you’d known each other for years. 

“It takes practice. I’m gonna give you these to take home and use.” Your hand disappears in your back pocket for just a moment. “But if you want to put your number in my phone, I can always send you instructions if you need help…”

Carmy pauses. Freezes, even. You look at him nervously, afraid that maybe your ability to read the room has evaporated. Luckily, he proves you wrong. 

“Wow. That was smooth.”

You exhale and laugh into the back of your hand. “I’m never that smooth, I don’t know how I managed that,” you chuckle. Carmy’s fingers fly over your keyboard. 

“Thank you for today, really. I usually avoid the hairdresser at all costs.”

“Sugar did tell me that,” you grin. 

“M-maybe I could make you dinner or something, for putting up with me…?”

Your face warms. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Carmy blinks. His phone goes off where you’ve shot him a text with just your name and a smiley face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, cool. Alright, yeah. What do you like?”

“I wouldn’t say no to pasta. Pasta is good in all forms.”

————

“You can tell me if you hate it. I won’t be offended.”

“I think you might have a nervous breakdown though, and you’re too pretty for that.”

Carmy blushes, shaking his head at you. 

“What?” you laugh. “It’s true.” Your voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know Carmy a bit better. He’s been busy though, so it’s taken longer than expected to have dinner together. 

He made up for it by providing you with pasta and cheesecake for dessert. He’s wearing this thick sweater, your eyes locking on his forearms where he’s rolled up the sleeves. 

Sugar was so excited when you texted her after his hair appointment. 

Natalie B: How’d it go? Was he a total pain in the ass?

You: it went well! got him all sorted out. he offered me dinner as a thank you (after he paid, of course). would that weird you out??

Natalie B: OMG NO!! He’s got such a giant stick up his ass, maybe your charm pulled it out! Go have fun. Leigh was telling me you hadn’t been on a date in forever last time I was in anyhow.

You: brb blocking both of you shitheads ♥️

You hadn’t expected a haircut to lead to any of this, but sitting here, in Carmy’s sparsely furnished apartment, looking at the soft smile on his face and the nervous way he’s fussing with his fingers as you eat the dinner he made you, you’re grateful.

Not that you’ll tell Natalie that. Or Leigh. They don’t need that ego boost. 

You wipe your mouth on a napkin and look up to see that Carmy is gazing at you expectantly. You laugh, his eye contact making you a little nervous. 

“It’s good, Carm. Really good. You can eat.”

He swipes his hand down his face, but when it comes down to grab his fork, he lets you see his smile. “I’m glad you like it. Not too much parsley or anything? I didn’t add lemon because Sugar mentioned you saying you didn’t like pasta with too much lemon juice in it.”

Your mouth drops open. That’s such a small, easy to forget thing. Maybe you will have to give Nat a hug. 

You reach out to touch his hand. Tentatively, just in case it’s too far. “That’s so sweet, Carmy. It’s perfect, really. And honestly the lemon thing is from one very overpowering pasta experience. Maybe whatever you make me will be better.”

Carmen takes a big bite of pasta and a swig of beer so he has time to collect himself. “Maybe we can fix your lemon-related trauma.”

“As long as there’s a backup snack in case the lemon PTSD can’t be fixed.”

You both burst into a fit of giggles. The rest of dinner goes by, filled with conversation about everything and nothing—Carmy’s lack of knowledge about current television, your love of reading and need for someone to share the plots with. 

Carmen is making you a plate to take home with you when he’s finally psyched himself up to ask his question. He says your name and you peer at him from your spot against the counter. 

“I-uh…I’ve been trying to do my hair the way you taught me, but I can’t get it right. I was wonderin’ if you’d show me? Maybe? You don’t have to—”

“Of course I can. All you had to do was ask.” You push off the counter and beam at him. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

You’re lucky you already learned the way to his bathroom so that your streak of confidence would continue working so well. And when you squeeze out some of the hair gel into Carmy’s hands, you know he just needed an excuse. He’s got it down pat. 

He runs his hands through his hair, scrunching clumps together every now and then, finger-curling the pieces up front and by his ears. Now you’re just waiting to see what he really wanted to say. 

You cross your arms, attempting to look serious, but you can’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. 

Carmen looks over at you, drying his hands now that they’re free of product. He’s never been great at reading people, but that look in your eye tells him he’s a shit actor. 

“So, that didn’t fool you, huh?”

You giggle. “Not at all, Berzatto. You couldn’t even fake how well you’ve learned to do your hair.”

Carmy takes a step closer to you, rubbing his nose self-consciously. “I’m very bad at saying what I’m thinking. Or saying what I want.”

“I can see that.”

He squints at you, his lips ticking up just slightly. 

“So what is it you want but are too scared to say?” you start. “Do we need to play hangman?” 

That would normally get a laugh out of him, but he’s too on edge. Inhale. Exhale. Oh, just fucking say it, Carm. 

“I wanna kiss you.”

Your ears burn. You release your bottom lip from where it was pinned between your teeth. “I was hoping you’d say that. Please do.”

You push up on your tiptoes, suddenly bursting with excitement and hoping that’ll convey to Carmen that he doesn’t need to be nervous because you want this just as bad. 

It works. 

You put your hands on Carmy’s collarbones the second his fingers slip into your hair. Your nervous system lights on fire, thoughts of how much surface area his palms cover racing through your mind. He kisses you all shy and hesitant at first, like he’s nervous he won’t do what you’re hoping. 

His lips are warm, and you can feel the spots where he’s chewed them raw. You can’t help but think that kissing him might be a good way to break that habit. His nose presses into your cheek, tickling you and making you giggle.

Carmen pulls away, smiling at you. “What’s so funny?”

“Your nose was tickilin’ my cheek.”

“Oh? Like this?” He starts dragging his nose across your face and then down to your neck when he feels you start to laugh harder. He thinks he’s finally cracked the code. It seems like pasta and nose tickles are the proper way into your heart. 

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner from @steph-speaks

[clockwayswrites]

@redghostbirdy Dick/Danny, skeleton shaped sugar cookies cw blood and stitches

Of course Dick still had to take his trash out after getting back from patrol. He was exhausted and wounded, but the trash had really gotten untenable and now had bio-waste in it. He had to take it down to the dumpster. It was almost a compulsion at that point to get it taken care of, or he knew he wouldn’t sleep well. As much as his family teased him about the state of his apartment he had his limits.

So, Dick tied up the bag, tugged it free of the bin, managed to slip on some shoes after a few attempts, and headed out into the hallway. And right into his neighbor.

His hot, brick wall of a neighbor that could totally bench press Dick in all the meanings of that phrase that Dick had totally been thinking a little too much about for the last few months.

“Whoa, careful there, darlin’,” Danny drawled, steadying Dick with large hands on both of Dick’s shoulders. “What are you doing wandering around out here at this time?”

“Um, trash?” Dick said ineloquently and raised the bag a little. The bag which apparently was leaking because his hand was wet.

Dick looked down at his hand and the red blood that coated it. Did his stitches pop?

“Ah, fuck,” Danny cussed and stepped back a little.

(Embarrassingly, Dick almost swayed after him.)

Danny lifted up the edge of his shirt, which may have killed what was left of Dick’s brain functions, to show blood flaked skin and—

“Is that a menstrual pad covering a wound?!”

Danny shrugged. “It’s just a little knife wound and Jess, the bouncer, hand one handy.”

“Oh my god. Just, come on, we’re getting that stitched up or at least bandaged properly,” Dick said. He set his bag of trash down by the door and grabbed Danny’s hand with his clean one to drag the bemused man into his apartment.

Luckily the first aid kit was still out on the little island counter and Dick all but pushed Danny onto one of the stools. Dick peeled the offending pad off maybe a little more harshly than was necessary and found a plastic bag to drop it into.

“I can’t believe that’s what you were using. And you call that little? How did you even get that? You’re the bartender! You’re supposed to be behind the bar.”

Danny just shrugged, an easy going and not at all repentant grin on his face. “I had to stop someone from being a creep.”

Dick just glared, mildly, at him as he washed his hands. He couldn’t really argue with that. He snapped on some gloves instead and set about cleaning Danny’s wound.

“I think this could use some stitches. I can do them, but I can also just get you patched up enough to go to urgent care if you’d feel more comfortable with that.”

“You can do them.”

“…yeah?” Dick asked just to be sure and glanced up at Danny.

Danny shrugged again. “I mean, you do have a very well stocked first aid kit on your counter already. Why was that?”

“Hush.”

Dick covered the area around the wound with a numbing agent while Danny chuckled at the non answer.

“If I promise to be a better patient than your students, do I get a cute bandage?”

Dick smiled despite himself as he threaded the needle. “All the cute bandages are at the gym. Stay still now.”

“Damn,” Danny said, and then waited until after Dick had started the stitches to ask, “What about a lollipop?”

“I might have some jelly beans still,” Dick said, grinning now. He kept his eyes on his work though, not wanting to give Danny uneven stitches.

Thankfully, Danny didn’t need that many and Dick was soon tying them off and taking a step back.

“No fun bandage, no lollipop,” Danny sighed, “what about a kiss to make it all better?”

Dick’s gaze shot up to look at Danny and his cheeky little smirk.

“Or did I miss read things completely?”

Dick rolled his eyes at Danny’s confidence, though it made him smile. “I think a kiss to make it better I can do.”

Danny’s smile turned into a full on grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dick said and leaned in to press his lips to Danny’s.

He tasted like spice, lime, and sugar.

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[moyazaika]

squeaky clean; yandere. non/dub-con. heavily implied nsfw. mdni.

“i’m sorry– m’sorry, please! swear i won’t–!” your thighs ache, pressed painfully against the edge of the bathtub, held in place by cold, firm hands that refuse to relent, despite your very best efforts. “i won’t do it again. promise.”

“oh, yeah?” you feel the tug of his lips; a cruel smile against your bare shoulders, which shake with sobs that wrack your whole body. he can feel them, you know he can. he’s got your back pressed right up against his chest; he just doesn’t care. “how sorry are you, baby?”

“very very sorry, i swear!” with wide teary eyes, you turn to face the apathetic man behind you. he only looks down at you levelly, appraisal in those eyes, crinkled with amusement despite the facsimile of a loving, if not remorseful, boyfriend’s expression on his features–when he is anything but. 

not loving. not remorseful. and certainly, if the way he keeps you all locked up and confined to the halls of his home serves as any indication of how little your opinion of his unwanted, unrequited affection matters; not your boyfriend.

and yet, you bend over backwards in an attempt to keep him satisfied. how unfortunate it is that all your efforts were undone by a single moment of carelessness; the cathartic release of a convoluted, complicated rage; hard work and pandering and pliant disposition rendered void by a few stupid tumbling past your lips before you could stop to just fucking think.

but you don’t voice any of that to him. it’s not what he would want or care to hear. “i didn’t mean to–to be so rude. please, please, please don’t make me do this…”

a noncommittal hum; “you can do better than that, surely.”

“i’ll never do it again–promise, promise i won’t.” your pleas inevitably fall on deaf ears, breathy voice echoing within the vast, bleak bathroom you’ve ended up in; awaiting the punishment your captor intends to dole out, begging in a lovely little futile attempt for a compassion that the both of you know he does not possess. “i didn’t mean to, i swear! m’so sorry, i’ll be good from now on. i-i love you. i love you.”

lithe fingers dig into your jaw almost painfully, as he kisses his teeth in mock sympathy. “oh, baby. you poor thing, i know you're sorry.”

hope, unfurling in your chest as you allow yourself to let out a relieved sob, mercy—

“but it’s just no good now, is it?” 

you freeze, rooted to the spot. your heart physically drops; a weight that sits low in your belly, alongside the fear of how he’s going to make you pay for your mistake.

“should’ve thoughta that before ‘ya called me ‘psychopathic bastard' you wish would 'do the world a favour by dying.'” he recites your words gleefully, a light and playful tone that contrats his far more forceful hand, as he angles your face forward; the hand that was at the back of your thighs reaching out, muscles taut, you realise–terrified all over again, with restraint. “but no matter. we can fix that.”

you shake your head, curl away from the soap; and right back up against his hard chest. “please don’t”

“hush now, sweet thing. i’ll show you what happens next time you run your little mouth like that later. first,” he reaches for the silky pink bar of soap that rests on the bath caddy, and you hear the sound of mellifluous laughter, low in the back of his throat. “let’s wash that dirty mouth of yours out with some soap.”

“i’m sorry.” it’s a pathetic, useless apology that carries no weight. you know it as much as he does, and yet, you're still a mess of nerves before him, "i love you."

“you weren’t so sorry and sweet when you told me to go ‘suck a dick.’” he grins cruelly. “now how ‘bout you quit whining and get some of these suds in your mouth, so you can think twice next time ‘bout tellin’ me what to put in mine.”

and you've always been good; so why should this time be any different?

it's the oddest thing, though; even after the mortifying ordeal, the overwhelming aftertaste of the soap doesn't make you feel cleaner, so much as it makes you feel dirtier than before.

even more so than when he will place something far less sweeter against your lips hours later, repeating your own words back to you whilst you look up at him helplessly through long lashes, weighed down by your tears.

"'ts not there to stare at, baby. you wanna prove just how sorry you are?" he runs a hand through your hair when you only nod in response; words failing you, mouth squeaky-clean. "good. you've already shown me what a dirty mouth you have today..."

"now," he mockingly taps the side of your face with a single finger, looking down at you a pleased little smile that has lingered on his lips since his fingers were in your mouth, hours ago, forcing the bar of soap onto your tongue. "let's see you put it to work."

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Frat Rafe Headcanons

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 warnings: Pet names, unprotected p in v, mentions of oral sex, public sex, choking, jealousy, ownership kink, perv Rafe, recording sex, possessive, mentions of fighting, degradation

⭐️ republished ⭐️

Meeting Him…

Frat Rafe – Who first noticed you from across the lecture hall. Luckily for him, you were sitting next to a pledge who quickly switched seats the second Rafe gave him a hard look. He didn’t say a whole lot at first, chuckling to himself as he watched a little blush creep across the apples of your cheeks when he spread his thighs slightly brushing his knee against yours.

Frat Rafe – Who couldn’t take his eyes off of you through the soapy glass at the Fraternity Car Wash. You shamelessly recorded the show, giggling and smiling as he and his brothers washed cars between slow grinds and finger-drawn hearts. A very wet Rafe Cameron somehow made it through the car window, his tall frame barely fitting inside the cab as he continued to work for your cash. He danced to the music blaring through the speakers, smiling cheekily as you tucked a few extra dollars in his short red trunks.

Frat Rafe – Who waved you down before you could pull out of the lot, jogging up to your freshly cleaned car, asking you to come out to the bar that night.

Frat Rafe – Who sent three back-to-back text messages before you could pull away, the third making your mouth fall open. You looked through the window, watching Rafe chuckle and smirk, pretty proud of himself at the reaction that he got from you and the smile you couldn’t take off your lips.

Frat Rafe – Who you fucked after the first date. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after the carwash, his tanned, toned skin glistening in the sun. It was unclear just how many times you watched that fucking video, but it was a lot. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. Rafe Cameron lived up to every one of the rumors. The sex was amazing, the best you ever had, rough and slow, fast when you needed it. His long thick cock filled you deliciously. It seemed like he was always one step ahead of you; like he knew what you wanted before you even asked. His beautiful blue eyes were always on you, hazed with sex. His soft lips and tongue pleased you again and again ‘til you were a babbling mess.

Dating Frat!Rafe…

Frat Rafe – Who’s affectionate and gentle with you. Only you get to see that side of him, Rafe, reserving all his sweetness for you.

Frat Rafe – Who loves to wrap his strong arm around your neck in doggy, tugging you as close as possible, ‘til you’re begging him to let you cum.

Frat Rafe – Who went absolutely crazy the first time you called him daddy. The petname quickly became his favorite.

Frat Rafe – Who loves to brag about you to his frat brothers, especially when he’s drunk. The blonde, quick to remind them how much better you are than the girls they are hitting on to the point where it’s downright rude. You’ll scold his tipsy ass, and he’ll sass you as he continues to dog his friend until you have no choice but to smash your lips against his and steal the words off his lips.

Frat Rafe – Who sent you this message just a few days after you started talking:

Little did you know how much it was on his mind. He hated that you weren’t official. A much as Rafe wanted you to belong to him, he wanted to belong to you.

Frat Rafe – Who asked you out that night ‘cause he couldn’t wait any longer.

Frat Rafe – Who loves sneaking away with you at parties. Sure, he loves showing you off, but his favorite thing to do is chill in his truck, listening to music while the two of you share a joint and talk.

Frat Rafe – Who would rather spend every night at your place than the frat house because he can actually relax. Some nights you go to sleep alone and wake up with Rafe’s strong body hugging you from behind after he let himself in with the key you had cut just for him. He couldn’t sleep and needed you.

Frat Rafe – Who lives in weathered fraternity t-shirts and snapbacks if he’s not rocking a crisp polo. At any function, Rafe’s hat usually ends up on your head, one way or another, left on from time to time when you suck him off or ride his cock.

Frat Rafe – Who doesn’t trust any of his frat brothers around you but Top. If you’re coming over to hang out he’s meeting you out at your car to walk you in. If you’re at a party his hand is in yours, resting on your back, draped over your shoulder, or wrapped around your waist. He loves the contact just as much as he loves keeping you safe.

Frat Rafe – Who texts you cute/horny shit when he’s drunk and you’re away.

He often questions how he got so lucky or why are you dating me again? Rafe knows you love him, he just loves hearing it. His frat brothers also know when you’re gone for the weekend because Rafe turns into an absolute dick, bitching about everything until you’re back.

Frat Rafe – Who doesn’t care if people can hear the two of you having sex in fact he loves it. Rafe coaches you through each orgasm, trying hard to get you screaming for him.

“C’mon, princess… Let these boys hear how good daddy’s givin’ it to you.”

“Shh… Baby, I’d hate for all these guys to hear what a filthy fuckin’ slut you are f’me.”

“Bet he didn’t think I was fuckin’ you right. What do you think he thinkin’ now huh?”

He also loves watching you walk back into the party all flushed and wobbly knowing that he was the reason you were weak in the knees. Rafe loves to mark you with love bites, and hand prints, dark hickies on your cleavage that peek out of your low-cut dress, pairing beautifully with the sparkly little R pendant around your neck.

Frat Rafe – Who dedicates every Wednesday night for date night and will never let a frat meeting or function interfere.

Frat Rafe – Who’s a surprisingly good dancer. He’ll only dance at the bar if he’s wasted, but when he does, your ass is pressed up against him with his strong hands clutching your hips. It doesn’t take long until you’re dress is bunched up around your waist, panties pushed to the side, with Rafe’s pants in a puddle around his ankles as he fills you up in the dingy bar bathroom. On the other hand, if you’re at the frat house, it only takes a song or two until your bent over the bathroom sink or pressed up against the hallway wall.

Frat Rafe – Who couldn’t wait for Spring Break. Each drunken day was spent at the beach with his frat brothers and your friends – each night, a different bar. But Rafe made sure you still had some moments alone whether it be to take you shopping, share a beer, or watch the sunset.

Frat Rafe – Who got rid of his dirt bike and bought a motorcycle instead. Of course, making sure he bought a helmet for you so he could bring you to class or for a cruise around campus.

Frat Rafe – Who fell in love with you all over again when you made him a beer poster with yourself as the model. You had no idea how much he loved it until you showed up to the next frat party and saw it framed on the wall.

Frat Rafe – Who’s gotten in trouble with the law a few times for fighting. Rafe, no stranger to a fight on account of you when someone tries to start shit or gets handsy. He never ends up making it to jail, usually talking or paying his way out of it.

Frat Rafe – Who knows your class schedule like the back of his hand. Whenever he’s at the library he’ll text you and ask if you need a study break which is code for stuffing you full of his cock in study room D.

Frat Rafe – Who jealously gets the better of him, and when he pisses you off, all it takes is a flirty smile and a wave at one of his frat brothers or a hockey player to set him off. The rest of the night consists of rough, possessive sex, and punishment which somehow turns into sweet, slow passionate sex where’s he’s mumbling I love you’s and I’m sorry’s between deep strokes and kisses.

Frat Rafe – Who loves it when you wear his clothes, especially his oversized frat t-shirts paired with your cute little panties.

Frat Rafe – Who sends you gym selfies because he knows how crazy they make you, especially post-workout shots.

Frat Rafe – Who couldn’t keep his hands or eyes off you at the frat formal. It was hard not to think about the future when you looked so pretty in your white sparkly dress.

Frat Rafe – Who’s fiercely loyal. You never need to worry about other girls around him, but the sight of it still makes you jealous. Rafe is quick to assure you you’re all he wants and needs.

Frat Rafe – Who has a thing for your panties. The lacey and prettier the better; wrapped around the shift of his truck, looped over the hand of his bedroom door, the rung of his bedpost, anywhere and everywhere. He loves to wrap them around the base of his cock when you ride him or knot them around your wrists when he ties you to his headboard. But his eyes roll back in his skull when you stuff them in his mouth because he loves how you taste.

Frat!Rafe – Who loves recording the two of you having sex and frequently snaps pictures of you just ‘cause.

Frat!Rafe – Who won’t just send you dick pics when you ask, but videos with the sounds on, usually moaning your name until he’s spilling onto his hand, using the pictures or videos the two of you took as porn.

Frat!Rafe – Who had to change his lock screen when you took him home for the holidays because it was a picture of you in his favorite lingerie.

Frat!Rafe – Who has pictures of you everywhere and he doesn’t care who sees because don’t you wish you had a girl like mine.

[kitashousewife]

“yes, rintaro?”

“hi-jesus, a warning next time would be nice,”

“you called me,” you huff, picking at the now dried mask on your face in the small reflection of the facetime. “what do you want, rin?”

suna is outside, walking rather quickly as the background is blurred around him. he lets out an airy laugh before looking at the screen.

“i’m drunk;” he smirks, continuing to walk but tripping a little, shaking the camera. you raise your eyebrows at him to continue. he sniffs. “and i’m coming over.”

“is your house broken or something?”

he giggles, then shakes his head. “nah, yours is closer though.”

you sigh and accept defeat. you knew your best friend was in the neighborhood from his social media posts, so it’s no surprise he’s deciding to drop in. it’s late though, well past midnight. you shuffle into your bathroom to rinse off the mask, setting your phone on the counter.

“when will you be here?”

he clears his throat and swallows. “i’m walking up the stairs, so 2 min-fuck-minutes,” he trips up the steps and groans.

“what? okay give me a minute, i’ll be right there,” you wash off your mask quickly and run to the door, realizing too late as you slide on your socked feet that you’re only in a t shirt, suna’s t shirt. you open the door to find a very intoxicated suna, leaning against your with heavy eyes and a smile, which turns to a frown when he sees you.

“hey, that’s mine,” he taps the collar of your shirt before pushing past you, slipping off his shoes and throwing his coat on the floor.

“you reek, rin. god, where were you?”

he smirks. now making himself comfy on the couch despite your protesting glares.

“the club a few blocks away, it was packed and-“ he hiccups. “y-yeah it was just busy. aran was there,”

“don’t fall asleep on my couch,” you tap his leg as you walk past, tidying up a little. he opens his eyes and sits up, slumped into the cushions. “how do you feel?”

suna doesn’t answer. he scrolls on his phone at full volume, completely ignoring you while chuckling at the different videos he comes across.

one of the worst things about your best friend was how stubborn he is normally, but that stubbornness triples when he’s had enough to drink.

you stand in front of him with your arms crossed for a few more seconds before you clear your throat. he finally looks up and waves.

“rin, why don’t you-“

“so yeah, aran was there and-“ he laughs at something on his phone, losing his train of thought.

“how about you take a shower?”

“no,” he pouts again. “why don’t you take a shower?”

you huff. “i’m calling aran to get y-“

“i think i’m going to take a shower,” he grunts, standing up and following you to the bathroom while you grab towels for him. when you finish turning the water, he begins to lift up his shirt.

“uh-uh,” you laugh to yourself and slip out the door, pulling it shut. “you can do that in private. take your time, i’m going to bed.”

“but what if i wanted you to see?”

you stutter. “y-you’re drunk, rin. just shower, please.”

you hear him clamber into the shower soon after and retreat to your bed. as you settle in, suna’s comment continues to nag at you. sure, he jokes around and has his fun with you. but in the many years being his best friend, he’s never made any sort of effort to make a move on you.

you feel dizzy, suddenly picturing suna in a way you had never before. it felt like jumping off the high dive and into water all at once.

“what am i supposed to wear?” a very wet suna waltzes into your room with a towel on his waist, and you wish you could jump into that pool right now. you can’t take your eyes off his torso, eyeing the defined muscle as they flex with every step.

“there’s s-some of your clothes here from last time, they’re clean i just forgot to give them to you,” you jump out of bed and rummage through your closet before handing him his belongings.

“oh cool,” he walks back to the bathroom, bumping into the wall on the way. you slink back to bed without another word.

just as you’re drifting off to sleep, your mattress dips.

“hi,” suna breathes, getting under your covers with you.

“what are you doing?” you hiss, voice a whisper. he stares back at you with an irritated look.

“painting a picture, what does it look like? i’m going to bed,” he huffs, pulling your covers over him and leaving your legs exposed to the cold air.

“rintaro,” you pull the covers back over you and he groans. “i don’t want to hear it! if you’re going to sleep in my bed at least share.”

he remains quiet, making himself comfortable on the other side of the bed. meanwhile, your heart is racing and your mind is fighting between being bothered and pining over your best friend.

“did you use my shampoo?”

“of course i did,” suna’s voice is tired as he finally settles in. “the extra stuff you gave me sucks. and you smell good so thought i’d use it,”

your heart skips a beat. you don’t say anything, though.

your eyes get a little heavy, mind finally relaxing as the heavy sounds of suna’s breathing lull you to sleep.

the next morning you wake up next to your best friend, blinking a few times before you get a good look at him. he’s resting against the pillow, your blanket pulled up to his bare chest while he scrolls on his phone.

“good morning rin,” you mumble, yawning and sitting up. “did you sleep okay? are you feeling today today?”

“slept great,” he mumbles, eyes not leaving his screen. “i feel okay. head hurts,”

you nod, handing him your water bottle and an aspirin from your bedside table which he happily takes.

“thanks for letting me stay here by he way,”

“of course,” you watch as he sits up, blankets falling to his hips and showcasing his muscles once more.

“i feel bad that you had to deal with me,” he looks you in your eyes and for some reason, it feels different from normal. you shrug.

“i don’t mind.”

he smirks and gets comfortable once more, but begins typing on his phone with a giggle.

“what’s so funny?”

“nothing,” he smirks at the screen. “i just told aran we slept together, though.

“rintaro!”

[pomefioredove]

Hii! Can I request for Jamil where his s/o helps him with cleaning dishes after Kalim made another big party? My boy needs some support</3

SO I didn't read the s/o part until after I'd finished but you can imagine that I think? Jamil is reseved and wary enough for it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a white lie

type of post: fic characters: jamil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread

Suffice to say that Jamil had not enjoyed the party.

If he ever enjoys Kalim's parties is another question, but there were a few things that made this one particularly insufferable:

#1 Jamil had explicitly told Kalim not to have this party, since he had failed his last alchemy lab and needed to study before the retake #2 Kalim had agreed to not have this party and Jamil was already in bed when Kalim threw his door open to announce the party was back on #3 unprepared for this party that Kalim was not going to have, Jamil had run across campus in the cold to pick up food from Sam's before it closed #4 on the way back, one of those weird nocturnal bugs scuttered across the path in front of him

...And so now, at half past one in the morning, with all of the confetti vacuumed and glitter still stuck to his skin, Jamil was washing dishes.

He's fantasizing about the sad look on Kalim's face when he would inevitably fail the alchemy lab on Monday. Again.

Just a little something to keep him awake.

A squeak of the door. Jamil tenses, praying to any god that would listen, that that is not Kalim, come to ask for milk and cookies.

"You're still up?"

Your soft voice releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

Jamil sighs. "Yes. Is it late?"

He asks that as if he doesn't know. Better to play dumb than to look pitiful. He doesn't need your sympathy, after all.

"Yeah," you say, letting the door squeak shut behind you. "Why're you still here?"

He shrugs. "I don't know the time. I suppose I lost track,"

Which is a little white lie. He's been counting every minute.

Without asking, which is so insufferably like you, you stand beside him at the sink and begin washing dishes.

"You don't need to do that," Jamil says. "I'm almost done."

Which is another white lie. There's still dishes in the lounge he hasn't even collected yet.

"Then you'll be done faster,"

An almost intolerable act of kindness, but with that knowing look in your eye. He hates that you can tell when he's lying.

"...Very well," At least you're competent.

He knows you won't break anything. And you might even wash something, too. Much different from Kalim.

"...Did you enjoy the party?" he asks.

"I didn't go,"

"Didn't you?"

You respond to everything he says with this calm, soft voice, so unassuming, so innocent, but the way you look at him says something much different.

"I didn't," you repeat. "I didn't want to."

Jamil almost smiles. "So, then, may I ask what you're doing here? You surely didn't just decide to take a stroll through Scarabia at one-forty in the morning,"

"You know the time, now?"

Damn it. How do you manage to get him so tongue-tied???

Jamil steps away from the sink and dries off his hands just to put them on his hips.

"What do you want?"

"I want to help,"

And there's that cuteness again. You must have an angle here, something you need from him, but what could he possibly have to give?

He scoffs. "Surely, you'd have better results sucking up to Kalim. Or perhaps Azul. Or anyone but me,"

Your hands never stop working, shining each dish with a gentle efficiency he almost admires.

"But I want to suck up to you,"

Jamil crosses his arms and glares. It's frustrating just how good you are at this. Playing cute. You already have everyone on campus wrapped around your finger, don't you? The housewardens, the vice housewardens, the princes, the celebrities.

What would you want out of him? What good would being in his favor do you?

"What exactly are you implying?"

You look back into the murky depths of the sink. "I like you,"

"You like me?" As if he'd believe that.

But Jamil can't deny how honest you had sounded. And from what he knew, you hardly went around saying such things in such ways. Even to your friends.

"Why?"

You hesitate. As if you genuinely don't have an answer for that. An answer he'd like to hear, anyway.

"Because... you're like me, I suppose,"

Jamil's eyes widen. A lot of feelings suddenly go through him in hot flashes- shock, anger, resentment, jealousy- but mostly...

Confusion.

You continue. "Not in a literal sense. Just that... well, you know. No one helps me, either. They look to me for support and I'm expected to just... coddle them. I can't ever be upset or angry or resentful,"

He has no response. That's...

...Not untrue.

Jamil says nothing, letting the silence be broken only by his own loud, restless, thoughts, and then he slowly returns to the sink.

He takes each plate and glass from you with trained silence, rinsing each before setting them to dry.

And he looks only at the water. He doesn't want you to see how his expression has softened.

When you're done with everything, lounge and all, he walks you to the door.

"You're fine walking home on your own?"

You nod. Jamil isn't exactly sure why he asked that, but it felt like the right thing to say.

You both linger at the door. Looking at each other. Saying nothing.

"Thank you," he finally says. "For your help. It... meant a lot to me. I probably wouldn't have finished before sunrise without you."

Again, he's not sure why he said that. It felt right. It felt good to be good to you, he supposes. And his intentions were honest, even if his words were not. He certainly wouldn't have taken that long on his own.

But a white lie has never hurt anyone.

[triptuckers]

nothing without you - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x reader Summary:  remy loses his beloved cards and you figure something out about him Warnings:  mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood/wounds (nothing big), remy is a lil sad :( Word count: 1.5K A/N: do I know anything about gambit or his lore? no. I do know I went to see deadpool & wolverine again and now I need him to call me chéri. enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you knew remy loved his cards. after a while you'd lost track trying to count them. in every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned, you'd find a deck of cards. it was an entire chore to empty all of his pockets before doing laundry. and still some of them would end up in the washing machine, and they'd come out all soggy and messed up.

if he would round them all up, you're sure he'd be able to fill an entire storage box. he always had at least one pack of cards on him.

but there was always that one favorite pack of cards. the one he took with him on missions, the one he always had on him "just in case".

and now it's missing.

ever since he found out he lost it, remy has been heartbroken.

you helped him search for it, turning the whole place upside down. remy was the first to give up the search. he told you he'd accepted the fact he lost them, but you knew he was just too sad to have lost them to keep on searching.

his powers didn't have anything to do with that specific deck of cards, they were simply his favorite. he'd had them since he was a kid, learned all of his skills with them. of course they were special to him.

you tried to cheer him up by getting him a new deck and talking about his other decks, but nothing seemed to help.

you'd noticed he'd grown more restless since losing the cards.

from the moment you met him, you had only ever seen him with a deck of cards in his hand. safe for the moments where he was doing something that required both of his hands. but his fingers were never far from the cards.

now that he's lost them, he's constantly holding on to other things. you'd never really considered remy to be a very anxious person, but he's fidgeting constantly now.

if you're sitting next to him he's playing with your fingers or the hem of your shirt. he's tapping patterns that make no sense to you on your thigh. he'd repeatedly tap his own fingertips against each other.

right now, he's sitting on the couch after getting back from a mission. he got a nasty cut on his forehead but otherwise he was fine. you just got back from fetching the first aid kit from the kitchen when you see him staring off into space while rapidly tapping his fingers on his leg.

'hey.' you say, sitting on the salon table in front of him.

he blinks a few times before his eyes settle on yours.

'you okay?' you ask.

remy nods, but you can tell something's bothering him. you decide to let it rest until after you take care of him. it can wait.

you scoot closer to him, opening the first aid kid.

'I'll need to clean it first, before I can bandage it.' you say softly. 'it might sting a little.'

'it's okay, chéri.' he says.

you carefully put some rubbing alcohol on a cotton wad and lean in. as you gently press it on his forehead, remy sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

'sorry.' you say, as you start to slowly wipe the cotton wad over the wound to get rid of the dirt and blood.

you feel something on your leg and when you briefly glance down, you see remy is fidgeting with a loose thread of your pants. they were really his, but you stole them so long ago they're basically yours now. you always had to roll them up a couple of times before you could wear them, otherwise they were too long.

as you get out a fresh cotton wad, you notice remy still has his eyes closed. he really hasn't been the same since he lost his favorite deck of cards, and you're worried about him.

'remy?' you say.

he hums in response as you lean in to finish cleaning the wound on his forehead. you put the bloody cotton wad on the ground next to you so you can throw it away later.

'talk to me. what's going on?' you say.

'I didn't look where I was going, the knife barely missed me but it nicked me. I should-'

'I'm not talking about today's mission, love.'

remy opens his eyes and looks at you with a slight frown on his face. you give him a soft smile.

'you've been... different. and it's okay, I just want to know how I can help you. you haven't been yourself since you lost your favorite cards.'

he closes his eyes again and leans into your touch as you bandage his forehead. his fingers are still playing with your pants.

'they keep my mind off of things.' he says eventually.

'the cards?' you say.

remy nods. 'I've got something to do with my hands. I can think about the cards. not about... other stuff.'

'all done, my love.' you say, when you finish bandaging him up. you press a soft kiss to the bandage and look down to find remy looking up at you.

'thank you, mon amour.'

'you're welcome.'

you get up to put the first aid kit away and throw the trash out. then you get back to join remy on the couch.

his fingers immediately take a hold of yours as he starts to play around with them.

'you know, I never figured you for a very anxious person.' you say.

'I'm not.'

'baby, you can't keep your finger still. and when you're doing something with both of your hands, your leg is always bouncing up and down.'

remy frowns. 'I do that?'

'it's usually something people do subconsciously. then again, being the gambit is a pretty stressful job.'

'I guess.'

you turn to look at remy. 'you really miss your cards, huh?'

'chéri, you have no idea.' sighs remy.

'I'm sorry we didn't find them.' you say.

'it's not your fault.' says remy, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. he knows it's not anyone's fault but his own. he probably lost them somewhere outside, because they did search the entire house. every cabinet and under every piece of furniture.

'how about we watch a movie? try to get your mind off of it for at least an hour or two?' you suggest.

'sure, alright.' says remy.

'you pick the movie, I'll get the snacks.' you say, getting up to go to the kitchen.

you get out a bowl and half a bag of popcorn. you dump it in the bowl and stuff the empty package in the trash, which is nearly overflowing. knowing it'll only annoy you in the morning, you let out a sigh as you take it out.

after taking it out of the bin - which took more effort than you would have liked - you close it and take it out the backdoor. just as you throw it in the larger bin outside, something purple catches your eye.

you walk over to where it is sticking out from under the bin. as you drag the bin away so you can take a closer look, you see a familiar rectangular box.

remy's beloved cards. his very favorite deck.

you quickly snatch it up and head back inside.

when you get back to the living room you see remy has picked one of your favorite movies.

'hey.' he says, glancing over his shoulder at you. 'no snacks?'

'I've got something better.' you say.

remy looks over his shoulder again and his eyes land on your bright smile, then drop to your hands.

'tada!' you say. 'found them outside under the bin! I knew we didn't lose them and they had to be around somewhere so I-'

you're cut off when remy grabs your face and kisses you. you hadn't even noticed him getting up and walking to you in two quick and long strides.

'mon amour, you're the best!' he says, smiling at you. he kisses you again and you can feel he's still smiling.

he pulls back and takes the deck of cards you're holding up for him. instantly, he takes them out of the case and twirls them around, throwing them in the air and catching them again.

you watch as his face lights up. you're so glad he's got his favorite cards and he looks like your remy again. you watch him for a while, following the cards with your eyes.

eventually, he puts them away and pulls you against his chest, making you laugh as he hugs you tight.

'oh, what would I do without you?' he says as he pulls back slightly so he can look at you.

'well you'd have to find someone new to fix you up after a fight. and to find your cards. and take care of-'

'alright, alright, I get it, I'm nothing without you.'

'and don't you forget it.'

'I won't, chéri, I promise you I never will.'

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[cupcakeinat0r]

Your middle-aged, loser Genetics professor who has a dad bod <3

Part 8

Miguel usually starts his day off by preparing a dark cup of coffee immediately after finally peeling himself out the bed. With droopy eyes and a five o’clock shadow, his husky figure stumbles into the kitchen, thirsty for caffeine. As he waits for the machine to do its magic, he’ll maybe run his hand through his dark, peppered, slept-on hair or take a moment to clean his glasses with the fibers of his sweats. Once the cup is prepared, the fresh scent of grinded coffee beans in the air, he’ll lean against his kitchen counter, sipping happily from his world’s best brain mug. He’ll relax for a moment, thinking about the material he’s planned for the day. Once he’s done, he’ll wash his cup, and start getting ready.

He left the suit about three years ago, taking up the job as professor of genetics and biochemistry at around the same time.

He’s been happy with his life here. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s simple. Everything he wanted. All the domesticity that was missing in his life had been rediscovered once he hung the mask. It’s been the best decision he’s ever made.

He didn’t think things could get better until you came along. This gorgeous, smart, funny, sweet person that had him wrapped around their finger. And given his stature and age, he never would have thought you’d fallen, too.

So this morning looks a little different, and every morning since he’s met you, for that matter.

Miguel gets up from bed faster now, with you on his mind. Once he makes his way into the kitchen for his fix of coffee, he’s reminded of the dream, possibly a pornographic one, he had about you. He’s like a horny teenager all over again, with an ache between his legs that, now, only you can inflict on him, and it’s there every morning.

Miguel now uses the time that it takes for the coffee to drip to shoot you a good morning text, accompanied by multiple heart emojis. And of course, he takes a little longer to get ready in the mornings just because he wants to make sure he looks his absolute best for you.

Today, while sipping on his café, he remembers the conversation you two had. It was when you two had gone to his office after the library. And then he remembered the things he shared with you about his past life; how amazingly you took the dump of lore. Only a higher power would know what anyone else would’ve done or said after hearing things like that. He smiles to himself as he thinks about your one and only question/response to it all:

“Are you happy?”

The response itself was all that he needed to see if his feelings for you were valid, and these feelings have become the strongest thus far. Miguel doesn’t want to jinx it, but he thinks what he’s feeling is something a tad bit more serious than a simple crush, and that both excites and terrifies him.

While he gets ready for the day, he then thinks about the conversation prior to that. He meant everything he said last night about not having sex, but at the same time, he would want nothing more than to show you how much of a good man he can be to you, both in daily life and in bed. Even though he’s hard at the very thought of you, he also wants you to feel safe more than anything. Being with you is far more important than the needs of his dick.

The fact that you’re his student also sort of weighs in as well. Getting caught in a professor/student scandal on the last week of classes before you receive your masters would be disastrous. Thankfully (and surprisingly), no one has been suspicious of y’all this semester.

Honestly, Miguel is just looking forward to Summer, because for him, that means he gets to take you out and enjoy you every chance he gets.

<3

For the last few days of classes, you tend to your exams and Miguel busies himself with his own work. You guys haven’t really been with each other, with the exception of passing each other in the halls. It hasn’t been easy on you at all, and even more so on Miguel. Let’s just say his office door has been spending more time locked than unlocked, and not to score papers. Thankfully, the walls are thick.

The day you take Miguel’s exam is the very last day of classes, and at this point, both of you are antsy to not only see but just feel each other. The tension in the air is thick, the text messages have become spicier, and on multiple occasions have the phone calls been so close to just becoming pure phone sex, but you and Miguel had to keep your distance. Just for this week, and afterward, y’all can do anything you desired. For now, you have to settle for the small touches and occasional eye contact during the exam.

That night when he dropped you off at your place, you half joked about him giving you a perfect score purely out of bias.

“I would never. I take my exams very seriously, for your information.” He responded smugly, his hairy forearm on the door of his car where the window would be. “Besides, you’re far too smart for that.“ His voice softens toward the end of his sentence, that lovesick smile he always gawks at you with on his face.

“I’m serious, Mig. I want an accurate grade.” You match his volume, leaning down onto the car window, face to face with him.

“Mama, I promise. I’m sure you’ll get a perfect score anyways, but on the off chance that you don’t,” he leans closer to, his breath on yours, “Maybe I’ll just have to give you more private sessions during the Summer.” You chuckle against his lips once they meet yours.

“You’re such a horndog.” The words are muffled by his lips and tongue. “Only for you.” He mumbles, unable to keep his mouth off of yours. Miguel really was hot n bothered by you all the time, but honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s your little loser after all.

The glances and “accidental” brushing of hands had definitely occurred before and during the exam. Emotionally, it kind of took y’all back to the beginning of the semester, when the feelings were first bubbling. Alas, you had to stay focused. Compared to your peers, you practically flying through it. Even though you spent half the time mingling during them (and making out), the tutoring actually helped in the end.

When it was time to submit your exam, you gave him a knowing look. All Miguel does is give you a smile, but one that was genuine and sweet. One that reassured you in the sentiment that he was going to score you accurately.

At the end of the day, you didn’t even care about what score you got, as long as Miguel nor you get in trouble. That’s all that mattered to you.

<3

It’s later in the day, and you’re in your dorm. Tomorrow is your big day. The day you walk along the stage and take your master’s in your hand; physical proof of your knowledge and hardwork. You were also thinking about Miguel and what he’s up to, but what’s new.

You were thinking about how after your graduation, Miguel will no longer be your professor and you his student. You would just be two people who were absolutely crazy about each other, and you were looking forward to that.

You get a text from Miguel.

Missing my baby. Just thinking of you.

Aw, I miss my big teddy bear, too. What you up to?

Finished about 30% of these papers. Need to take a break, though. What if I came and picked you up?

And go where?

Home

I’m already at home, ya goof

I mean my home, but you absolutely don’t have to. We could go to the library or whatever you want.

No! I’d love to come over.

You sure?

Of course, I wanna see what other books I can steal from you

Only in this for the books, I see. Ouch.

Don’t be dramatic, you know that’s not true

Do I?

You gonna pick me up or not?

Putting my shoes on.

He had you kicking your feet. You were unsure if it was a good idea, but that didn’t stop it from being an extremely enticing one. You were just worried about someone seeing you enter his home, but otherwise, you would love to see where he lives, despite making the deal about not seeing each other until after graduation. This whole time, you’ve only gotten familiar with his office, and that’s only one small part of him. You just couldn’t wait any longer to be near him, and besides, classes are technically over.

<3

“So you’re half spider?” You and Miguel relax in his living room. You scour his book shelves while he makes you a drink. His place is exactly how you imagined it. It’s a balance of sharp and cozy, like him.

“I know, not the most exciting of confessions.” Miguel’s sarcasm seeps through his speech and it makes you huff. Such a sass master.

“I’m being for real. I think that’s amazing and all, but I’m glad you chose to leave that life.” Your eyes are still on the spines of his books when you start to hear heavy footsteps coming your way. He’s just as excited to be near you as you are, if not, more.

“Me, too,” Miguel wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss on your head, “or else I would’ve never met you.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” You playfully comment, getting on your tip toes to kiss him, his pouch rumbling against your torso from his chuckling. “Definitely. Without you, I was starting to lead on a pretty lame life.” Miguel humored at himself. He knew that although going to teach classes, returning back home, and repeat was a pretty peaceful routine, he also knew it could be a boring one at times.

You lean your head back in exaggerated astonishment, “Why would you say that? You’re the coolest person I know, and not because you were spider-man,” you run your hands up and down his chest as you list off his cool factors, “You’re a genius, you’re a family man, you’re funny, you’re also an Austen man, what more could I ask for?”

Miguel looks down at you, his muse, his angel, his everything. “Thanks, mamita. I’m proud to be your choice. Making me feel like the luckiest man in the universe.” You’re enjoying this little romantic banter between you two, and Miguel loves it.

“However, that last one is a secret between us. Can’t have people knowing that their exSpider-Man enjoys classic literature.”

“Speaking of which, have you gotten to the end of pride and prejudice?” You take his hand and lead him to the couch where you both plop down and find a good cuddle position. Miguel is the perfect amount of warmth even though he wore nothing but sweats, meaning his dad build was out in all of its glory. It took everything in you not to pounce on him. Miguel wasn’t much help either. When he’s sitting down and you’re sitting in between his legs and he brings you in close to him to hug you. He’s all kissing your neck and playing with the waistband of your pants with his hand because truly he wants to eat you out so so so bad and is extremely so hard by the intimacy, but he knows tonight is not the night, and so did you.

“I’m not finished yet, but I’m close.” He mumbles against your skin. Miguel was always a master of flipping your switch, this time using the smacking of his plump lips against your supple skin, claiming your neck, shoulders, and jaw as his.

“Mm… y’know what would be a great idea?” you manage to get out.

Miguel stops what he’s doing and braces himself. “Oh God. What?”

“If you read whatever you have left of the book to me.”

“You want me to read it? Out loud?” Miguel finds this cute. You nod your head eagerly, and Miguel was absolutely cooed by the request. “Like I’ve said millions of times before, I love the sound of your voice.”

“Para ti? Claro Que si, mi vida.” And so he went and grabbed the book and his glasses, settling back into his position under you, and began reading in his soft, silky voice. You listened intently, the words falling right out of his mouth, making music to your ears. For Miguel, this was an honor. He’ll take glances down at you and see that you’re in total awe of him, latching onto every word he recites. He hadn’t done something like this since, well, Gabriella.

This is the life he wanted. The life he had been living the past three years had served him well, but Miguel felt it. He felt it was time for another chapter. He was so certain. He’s decided he wants this every night.

Miguel reads on, simultaneously rehearsing what he’ll say in his head. The themes of newfound love and romance of the book was inspiring him. It made the scene all too perfect for the both of you. He then takes a long pause on a page. You can feel his belly hitch. “Everything alright?” You ask softly. “I’m okay. More than okay.” He sounds as though he might get emotional.

Miguel looks away from the book and into your eyes, putting the novel down. You two are in his home, on his couch, cuddling with a book, and the school year has come to an end. Miguel needs to say something and feels it’s time to share it. It’s now or never.

“You,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes shining, breath steadying,

“I love you.”

The words send your heart rate to oblivion.

“W-what?”

“I love you.” Miguel says this so matter of factly, like he’s never been so sure of something in his life.

You had to make sure what you heard matched what he said and it did. You’ve wondered when he would say it. You would’ve been fine had he done so on the first date! You only have one response to this, and tears well up in your eyes before you can say it, “I love you, too.” You attack Miguel with kisses, and both of you relish in this monumental moment in your blossoming relationship. You’ve finally found the prince to your fairytale.

“I adore you”, “I worship you”, “I’m so proud of you,” and more “I love you”s fall from Miguel’s lips, making the tears well up in your eyes again and your heart swell even more.

Miguel continues to read for you, savoring the special memory you both will now share for a very long time. Sometimes, he’ll just stop mid paragraph just to say it to you again, that he loves you, and you say it back. Both of you are giddy little kids, telling each other how much you love the other, trying to one up each other like it’s a contest. At some point, you can feel yourself start to fall, and Miguel sees it, but he proceeds with the story. The mixture of his lulling voice and the soothing sensation of his rising and falling tummy was the perfect combo for sleep. Once you’re completely out, Miguel turns off the lights by voice command, and lays a blanket over you. He holds you tight against him, as if you could disappear at any moment, and plants a kiss lovingly on your forehead. He whispers ‘te amo, mi vida’ before slumber takes him over as well.

<3

You can feel a light gently shed on your eyelids. You’re not fully conscious yet, drifting between the states of awake and asleep.

Your fingers flicker with life, and you think you feel something rough. Your eyes crack and you’re met with a blurred figure. Your vision focuses and you make out a face, your fingers lingering on the jaw. Your lips curl at this face. The closest thing in view is a pair of dark lips, parted and inspiring deep, low snores. Taking account of their breath, you feel the inhaling and exhaling of his stomach against your front side. You lift your head slightly to get a better view of the person you currently lay on top of. Tousled black hair, dark eye lashes that ornament sleeping eyes, thick brows lacking the tension creases that would otherwise be there, and some missing glasses, which now sit on a side table. The sight was sweet enough to make the coldest heart melt. You take a moment to just observe his breathing, his relaxed state, and start leaving small, ghostly caresses on his face, absorbing each line and shape of his rugged complexion. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. You wanna stay in it forever. The outside world finally makes its presence known with a few chirps of birds, and your attention goes to a window and that’s when it hits you: you’re still in Miguel’s place, and you both had fallen asleep on his couch. At last, you gain enough consciousness to realize that, for the entirety of the night, you had been held the same way a child holds their most beloved teddy bear by your exprofessor, now lover.

No, you two didn’t have sex, just like how it had been discussed a few days ago. You were both still clothed, yet, somehow, this feels even more intimate than when y’all eat each other’s faces.

Your attention is stolen back by the snores of the man below you, which makes you stifle laughter. You could honestly lay there watching him for hours. Your eyes glazed over every inch to ingrain the perfect mental image of this soft moment.

A few more seconds pass by before his snoring pattern comes to an abrupt halt and his eyes flutter open, landing on you. His watch goes off in a small, irritable beep. His tired eyes lift as he smiles at the view, despite the noise. This was something that he’s dreamt of waking up to every day.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty,” you softly speak, leaning down for a kiss on his forehead, “You sleep good?” Your voice is sweet, the moment seconds before leaving it honey-like.

“Morning,” his hands that wrapped around your waist unravel and rub your back, “Mhm. like a baby. Don’t think I’ve slept like that in… well, ever.” An early raspiness spills from his lips and its deep enough to make your insides flutter. “Me too.” You reply, gazing into each other’s eyes before sharing one or two good morning kisses on the lips, the second one lingering a couple seconds longer.

“Can you confirm something for me?” You continue, and Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Was I dreaming or did you say the L-word to me last night?” A giggle leaves Miguel’s mouth. “Yeah, I did, and I’ll say it again.” He says in his low voice. You grin ear to ear, bodies glued together as if they were merging into one. His hands come up to your face tenderly, and with pride, he confesses again,

“I love you.”

A/n: I’m back girlies, did u miss me?

<3Taggies<3

@safixiovi @mukeovernetflix @mochikisses @miguels-cock-piercings @miranexx @bunnibitez @deepdiveintothedeephive @faretheeoscar @sillygardeneggperson @librababe99 @sariespi @little-lovelace @monstersimp @oharasfilipinawife @obi-mom-kenobi @hyjionie @maomaimao @pomakori @pinkhelados @mochimoqa @princesatracionera @queerponcho @walmaerts @froggygal @yaysposts @koko-1025 @kikaaauu @lauraolar14 @anotherprettyprincess @kaidxra @farrowroyale @pigeonmama @exactlyyoungchaos @fayeofthenightingale @s4dow

@hartsucks @amberbalcom14 @wait2nourh @tatooieve @helen-j-magnus @cl3stevu

@mintssanctuary @ghost-lantern @snails-doodles22 @tinythebunni

[charliemwrites]

Awooooooo!

Content: Voyeurism, Dog Urination, Implied Non-Con Touching

Your dog is weird. Just.. just weird. Like, all dogs are weird. They have their quirks and their oddities, silly babies in fluffy bodies.

Johnny though…

He snuggles up in your bed every night; you don’t even bother trying to kick him out. He’s presses up tight against you, head almost on your pillow. Have to start sleeping in a shirt because one too many unfortunately placed cold nose bumps…. Yeah. But that’s fine. The fuzzy space heater is worth it.

(So what if you sort of wake up sometimes and half-dream its skin you’re snuggled up to. If you imagine a more human rasp to the quiet snores by your ear. If the tongue on your cheek is softer and smaller than you’re used to….

Your dating life has been dry for some time.)

Johnny pees in every room of your house at least once, but that’s not entirely surprising - he’s an intact male, after all. (Something you’re trying to, heh, fix. Though the appointment mysteriously keeps getting moved or cancelled.) thankfully, though, once he’s “marked his territory” he starts asking to go outside.

And that’s where the weirdness begins.

The first time you let him out off leash, he shoots off into the woods and only returns once he’s done. You panic, feel so stupid and irresponsible, near tears by the time he gets back. When he sees you upset, say on the porch steps, he darts to your side and leans into you until you calm down.

You stop worrying so much about his little “trips”. Means you dont have to clean up after him to keep the yard tidy after all.

The first time he bounds off into the woods and doesn’t come back after a few minutes, you almost go searching. But.., but well he’s a good boy. An hour later he comes back, scratching at the door.

You’re not sure what he’s up to and it makes you anxious. Don’t like the idea of an “outdoor” dog. All of yours have been in-home pets kept in sight at all times. You’re scared Johnny’s going to get hurt or bitten or hit by a car.

But he always comes back healthy whole.

One hour turns into two, then three. Entire mornings, only returning in the evening to climb into bed. Eventually a whole day. You have someone install a doggy door big enough for Johnny to slip through so that he can come and go as he pleases.

You get used to having a pet that’s only around sometimes, though you sniffle that you miss him when he’s gone. As if understanding, he’ll always lick at you, comforting.

The other weird thing - he demands to climb into bed while you’re doing “self care”. Again, dogs don’t get human social boundaries. He’s allowed on the bed so why is it that he wouldn’t be allowed up even if it’s not bedtime? It’s understandable dog logic, even if you have to stop the first several times it happens.

Keeping him out isn’t an option. Even if you manage to shut the bedroom door on him before he wriggles inside, he makes such a ruckus. Barking, howling, knocking over the trash and scratching at the door. You almost step directly into a puddle of pee once.

You just keep the lights off, close your eyes, and try to ignore the odd brush of fur or gust of air from his nose. Pretend he’s not there at all; and not staring the way he tends to.

Not getting off just isn’t an option. You make your peace with your dog too dumb to even turn away.

(You also learn very quickly to wash your toys as soon as you’re done. Can’t even wait to catch your breath. Calling him nasty makes his tail wag. You know it’s not reasonable to think he’s doing it on purpose.)

“Johnny, drop it!”

Instead of doing that, he drops his front half low, a lacy black pair of underwear in his teeth. He snatched it right out of your laundry basket while you were trying to start the washer.

“I’m going to turn you into a pair of boots. Put those down!”

Chasing a giant wolf-dog for your panties is ill-advised but what are you gonna do? Let him shred your underwear?

“I wanted to wear those out tonight, you bastard!”

You’re supposed to have a date. At this rate, you won’t even be able to shower, never mind get ready. Johnny’s been a nuisance all day, ever since you got off the phone with your mom this morning, updating her about your life and plans for the evening.

Determined, you give up and go to finish the laundry - only to hear a crash and a yelp. Johnny’s knocked over the mirror and stepped in the glass.

“Oh, baby boy,” you groan. “Dammit, John-Bon.”

You text your date for a rain check, then call ahead for the emergency vet. Huh… your first aid kit is much better stocked than you remember.

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Masterlist

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured IV

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: Olga has the baby

Mami and Olga get pregnant a few months after your discussion. Olga moves in full time too and you get to be very helpful and do things like give her food or cuddle her on the sofa.

She gets very round very quickly and that confuses you until Mami points out it's because Olga's growing your baby brother or sister. Olga cries a lot too and everyone blames that on hormones but can't actually really give you an explanation about what hormones are so you're not entirely sure why but giving her cuddles and kisses seems to make her not cry as much so you do that.

Soon enough though, the crying stops and she can move around properly again because she's had your baby brother.

He's kind of ugly, you think when you first see him. He's all red and wrinkly and he cries all the time. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night because he's crying and look through the gap between your door and the frame to see Mami and Olga get up to soothe him.

He's named after Abuelo, who you've never met because he died before you were born. Baby Jaume is alright sometimes when he's quiet and when he first came home, Mami took a lot of pictures of your holding him and put most of them up in the house somewhere.

Jaume was fun to have at the start. He did silly things like not being able to hold up his head or puke all down Tia Alba's back when they first met.

Now though, the allure of Jaume has dimmed a little.

He's just there now, just another person in your life that you didn't quite understand.

"There he is," Mami coos as soon as she comes in the door, arms already out to pick up the baby.

Something icky makes your tummy hurt when she picks him and completely bypasses you on her way to the kitchen where Olga's cleaning up from lunch.

You hadn't eaten much, just a few bites of your sandwich, but Jaume had spit up some of his milk again so Olga was washing everything again.

You wait a little bit for Mami to notice her mistake, to notice you, but she doesn't. You can hear her laughing in the kitchen with Olga and Jaume.

You look back at your trains, dropping them as you wedge yourself under the coffee table.

Maybe when Mami can't find you anywhere, she'll notice you again.

The carpet is a little rough under your cheek but you're determined to stay where you are so Mami can find you like she did when you were much littler.

She never does though because you lay there for a long while.

Jaume is crying again. You can hear him and that makes you not want to leave your hidey hole either. Everyone goes to Jaume if he cries even if Mami is already holding him.

He cries and he cries and he cries and you cry too, hidden under the table as you wait for Mami to come find you.

You wished that she wanted to see you as much as she wanted to see Jaume. She's always smiling at him and giving him kisses and cuddles.

You get your bedtime kiss at the end of the day but that's it. Mami's busy at work and Olga's busy with Jaume and you wish you weren't here anymore.

You sniffle, more tears rolling down your cheeks even as Jaume's stop.

Mami and Olga are talking at him, you can hear them. They talk to Jaume a lot even though he can't talk back. You wished they'd talk to you more.

Sometimes, if Jaume is very good, Mami will sit with you and read you a bedtime story. If Jaume isn't very good, she sends you to bed without one because it's more important that Jaume learns to be good instead of reading you your bedtime story.

Like today.

You know you won't get a bedtime story today because all Jaume seems to do is cry.

You don't see Mami much the day after too. She goes to training before you wake up and you spend most of the day at nursery so you don't see her when she comes home for lunch too.

You don't go to nursery a lot, especially not now that Jaume is born but you go often enough that Mami and Olga shouldn't forget you.

But they do.

You sit in the office, fighting back tears as the woman hurriedly goes through everyone in your contact book. Mami and Olga have never been late to pick you up before.

You clutch a picture in your hand. You did painting today and you did one of you and Mami and Olga and baby Jaume. You want to show Mami and Olga and put it up on the fridge when you get home but the sky is getting darker and you're still waiting for someone to collect you.

Your bottom lip wobbles and you start to cry.

You're good at crying quietly now. One time you started to cry loudly at the same time as Jaume and Mami yelled at you. She apologised afterwards, saying that she was stressed and sorry but you haven't cried loudly since.

You're still crying when the door opens.

You wish it was Mami or even Miss Olga but it's not.

Tia Alba pulls you into a hug.

"We couldn't get in contact with Alexia or Olga," The reception woman says solemnly.

"Right, yes," Tia Alba says, shaking her head," I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sure there was just a miscommunication. I'll sort it out."

Tia Alba drives you home but it's dark.

There's no Mami or Miss Olga waiting for you.

"I...I drew a picture," You say softly, holding it up for Tia Alba to see," The teacher said to draw a picture of our families, so I did."

"It's beautiful, bambi," Tia Alba assures you," Very pretty. Shall we put it on the fridge?"

The fridge is different now. It used to be full of a lot of your paintings but it's mostly bare now. There's a big picture of Miss Olga and Mami at the very centre with baby Jaume a few hours after he was born.

Tia Alba hands you a magnet and you put your picture on the side of the fridge, away from the picture.

"When is my Mami coming home?" You ask.

"Soon," Tia Alba says though she glances uncertainly at the door," Hey, how about we play with your new trains?"

You shake your head. "I don't have new trains."

"What? Of course you do! Your Mami gets you a new train every week!"

You shake your head again. "Mami's busy now. I've got my old trains. Are we still allowed to play even if it's with my old ones?"

"Of course, bambi. Why don't you set up the track?"

You do so gladly and wait for Tia Alba as she speaks quickly into the phone. She turns on the tv for background noise as you both play a train game, loading and unloading resources into the back and making them zoom across the track.

There's a Barcelona match playing.

Mami plays for Barcelona. It's the very end and the team is celebrating, holding up a trophy and cheering. Mami's got the trophy in one hand and baby Jaume in the other.

"Mami isn't coming home soon," You say plainly, staring at the tv as someone takes a picture of Jaume sitting in the cup.

"Bambi-"

You look back at your trains. "I...I don't want my painting up on the fridge anymore."

"Are you sure, bambi? I'm sure your Mami will be very happy to see it there."

Mami is on the screen again, smiling with Miss Olga and baby Jaume.

"I don't want the picture anymore," You say, getting up and pushing away your trains," You should put it in the bin, Tia."

"Are you sure?" Tia Alba takes it down from the fridge and gives it to you. "But it's so pretty."

You rip it straight down the middle. "It's not real." You shut yourself in your room, pushing as many of your things behind it so Alba can't get in.

She can't get you to come out either, no matter what she promises or how much she begs. She had been getting ready for a night out with her friends when she'd got the call from your nursery teacher saying that no one had come to pick you up.

She had assumed that Alexia and Olga were running late until there had been an update on the Barcelona Instagram proclaiming that the team were meeting their youngest teammate.

You'd been withdrawn the moment she saw you. The most excited you got was when showing her your drawing and even calling that excitement was pushing it.

You'd been on the verge of shutting down for a while now but Alba can't even get into the room you've barricaded and it's all so much worse.

"Alba?" Alexia says in amusement," Why are you sitting on the floor?"

It's been hours since you originally hidden yourself away in your room. You've put yourself to bed with no bath and no dinner and Alba just sees red.

The last time she put hands on Alexia was when they were kids and Alexia had thrown her favourite playdoh colour over the fence. She could probably count the days it's been since an actual physical fight but the counter goes back down to zero the moment she shoves Alexia against the wall.

"You selfish fuck!" She says," God, I thought you were better than this!"

"Hey! Get off! What the hell?! I haven't done anything!"

"Exactly! You haven't done anything! I hope you're happy! I hope showing off your son and winning trophies is worth it!"

"Alba, what are you going on about? Are you drunk? Get off!"

"Because you're never seeing that little girl again!"

Alexia freezes like someone's just injected ice into her veins. She looks around Alba's head. Your bedroom is door shut.

"What are you talking about? Bambi? You can't take Bambi!"

"Oh, so you do know who she is? I'd say better late than never but I don't think it really applies!"

Alexia's confused. "What's going on? What's wrong with Bambi?"

"God." Alba bursts into uncontrollable laughter. "Have you always been this stupid? What's wrong with Bambi? How about you ask where Bambi was all day? Where was Bambi while you were showing Jaume off to your team and winning another stupid medal?"

Alexia thinks it over for a moment. "Oh."

"Oh," Alba mocks, face twisting up into a sneer as she shoves Alexia back into the wall again," She drew you a picture today, you know. You and her and Olga and Jaume."

"I..."

"Don't bother trying to look for it. She says that it's a lie and I can see why."

"Get off!" Alexia shoves her back, going to turn your door handle but it just won't open. She swears. She'd taught you how to put your chair under the handle in case an intruder ever broke in and how to push all of your belongings up against it in case the chair ever fell.

She knocks on the door.

"Bambi? Bambi, baby, open the door."

There's no answer and she knocks louder.

"Bambi! Come on. Open the door for Mami. I'm...I'm really excited to see your picture. Why don't we put it on the fridge, huh? Wouldn't that be fun?"

There's still nothing and Alexia feels herself grow a bit more desperate when Olga comes around the corner with Jaume.

"What's going on?" She asks.

Alexia can't answer as she slams her fist against your door, rattling the door handle.

"I'll be back tomorrow at midday," Alba says to Olga," Make sure she's got overnight clothes packed."

Alexia can't even hear her, desperate to force the door open.

"Bambi, please!"

[reidmania]

hi! i’d love a spencer bath/shower comfort fic

pebble proposal | Spencer reid

summary; when sick and sore, Spencer is there to wash away all your pain.

warnings; bathing together, not in a sexual way, talks of proposals but at the very end; mentions being sick, no specific gender mentioned but he does wash your hair and it kinda references longer hair.?? This is just a really really comforting fic tbh its all sweet and fluffy

an/ There wasn’t much detail in this request so i hope i did it justice, but if not feel free to let me know and request again in more detail of what you want so i can get it as close to perfect for you as possible!!

your body ached as you walked up the stairs of your apartment complex, you could feel your muscles tightening with every painful step you took. You felt like your knees were going to give out on you any moment.

Your hands fumbled with your keys, trying to find the one to your apartment as you approached the door. You felt your head throb as the jingle of the keys clashing together ran through your ears.

Work sucked — there was no better way to put it. Everything was going wrong, papers were put in the wrong spot, things were going missing, you found yourself running around all day trying to fix things and clean up after your coworkers — all while sick.

You knew you were getting sick as much as you tried to ignore it, you were coughing and blowing your nose every five minutes — the headache that didn’t go away no matter how many pain meds you took wasn’t helpful either.

All you wanted to do was curl up in one of Spencer’s hoodies and lay in bed for the entirety of the weekend

The minute the door closed behind you as you stepped into the apartment, your back was pressed against it. Your eyes closed tightly as a heavy sigh left your mouth, melting into the warmth of your home.

“Angel?” Your eyes snapped open to see Spencer staring at you, concern lacing his features. Your lips parted slightly — you didn’t know he would be home, as far as you were concerned he was supposed to be away on a case for the next few days.

“Hi” You murmured tiredly as you dropped your bag to the floor. You wanted nothing more than to walk over and bury yourself in his grasp — but even just the idea of walking just a couple of steps made the ache more.

He opened his mouth to talk before he was cut off by you bursting into a coughing fit, instantly bringing your arms up to cough into the elbow. He frowned.

“Are you sick honey?” He asked, taking a few steps towards you once your coughing relaxed. You sighed again, nodding.

“Why are you home” You asked as he wrapped his arms around your body, you instantly sunk into his embrace, his hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back gently. “Easy case, we got done early” He said softly.

“Im gonna get you sick” You muttered into his shirt, making him hum. You knew about his hypersensitivity to germs. He didn’t say anything or pull away from you, he stayed right in place, holding you comfortably against him.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, you shook your head. The idea of eating right now made you feel nauseous. “I don’t t think I can move” You said. Everything about your tone showed how exhausted you were — not just physically.

“Sore baby?” He cooed slightly, pulling away from the hug to get a look at your face. You nodded as a frown adorned your lips.

“How about I run you a nice warm bath yeah? The steam will help you feel better and the hot water will help your muscles relax” He said, hand falling out of your shirt, making you instantly miss the warmth it provided.

You agreed, letting him wrap his arms around your waist to pick you up — normally you would argue and tell him to put you down, but you couldn’t fine the energy to, one ; argue. Two; walk if he wasn’t carrying you.

He placed you on the bathroom counter, letting you press your back against the wall as he ran the bath, he ran his hand under the water checking the temperature before adjusting it slightly and letting it run.

He lit a few candles, each a basic simple scent that was easy on the senses, as well as setting up the diffuser, you watched him grab the peppermint drops, making you shake your head. “I dont want peppermint” You muttered.

“Yeah? Peppermint helps reducing coughs and throat infections so it might help you feel better” He said softly, not really pressuring you to use it — moreso encouraging you with factual information.

“What does lavender do?” You asked. He chuckled, grabbing the lavender essentials oil out. “Well, lavender could also be good. It helps relieve stress and fatigue, can help with headaches, eucalyptus is good too” He said softly, hand placed on your knee.

“We don’t have eucalyptus” You murmured, he nodded, “We don’t” He confirmed, looking over the essential oils the two of you had. you remembered you had used it all when Spencer was last sick, he was picky about which essential oils he wanted.

“Lavender or peppermint?” He asked, now knowing the information of what each did, you half smiled. “Lavender” Your answer didn’t change.

He chuckled as he continued setting up the bath after dropping the oils into the diffuser. After that while waiting for the bath to finish filling up — Spencer stood between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist, just hugging you.

It was nice.

You were half asleep when he turned off the tap, helping you down from the counter and helping you undress — you instantly sighed as you felt the warm water over your body.

You could see the steam from the condensation it left on the bathroom mirror. Spencer didn’t leave the bathroom as his hands rested softly on your shoulders as you sat up in the bath.

“That okay?” He asked, you did nothing more than nod, letting the warm water rush away the tightness in your body as you let out a soft sigh of content.

“Can you come in with me?” You asked, lifting your head to look up at him, he was standing behind you. His eyebrows clocked softly before he nodded — how could he say no.

He undressed himself before sinking in the bath behind you, his legs on either side of you as you rested between his legs — he was glad the apartment had a large bath.

Your back was resting against his chest as your head fell onto his shoulder, closing your eyes. He smiled softly to himself as he lifted his arm behind him to grab the body wash and your loofah.

You hardly noticed what he was doing as you laid, just appreciating the comfort of his body against yours and the warm water until you felt the slight cold pressed against your shoulders as he began running the loofah over your skin.

His pressure was so gently as he began washing your body, “Sit up a bit angel” He muttered quietly, you did so without question. Letting his hand gently lead the loofah over your back, arms and shoulders before it wrapped around your body gently, rubbing over your collarbones gently, then over your chest with nothing but sweetness in his touch.

“I missed you” You said quietly.

He smiled — you couldn’t see it but you could hear it in his tone. “I missed you too, so much” He said. He grabbed the small plastic cup the two of you kept on the side of the bath, filling it with water before gently pouring it over your shoulders and back — washing away the soap.

Once the soap had been washed away. His hands reached out for the shampoo. “Spence?” You said softly, making him turn his head to find you looking at him with tired eyes, making his head ache in his chest — wanting nothing more than to take away all the bad in your life and keep it for himself, he would be fine with it all as long as he had you.

“Yeah angel?” He said softly, squeezing shampoo into his hands gently, before making a ‘come here’ motive with his finger, which you obliged to, turning your head back around as you shuffled backwards slightly closer to him.

“Can you talk” You asked.

He hummed, “About what baby?“ He asked as his hands began massaging the shampoo into your scalp gently. you shrugged as your head subconsciously leaned back into his touch. “Anything— I just wanna listen to you talk.” You said.

He smiled fondly, he continued massaging the shampoo into your hair. “When an adelie and gentoo male penguin falls in love with a female” He started softly, grabbing the cup filling it with water as he tapped the top of your head softly, encouraging you to lean your head back, which you did.

“He will search the entire land to find the smoothest rock he possible can” He tipped the water gently over your hair, hand pressed against your forehead lightly to stop water from getting into your eyes.

He refilled the cup and poured it over the ends of your hair — making sure the shampoo was completely washed out. “And he will give it to her as a proposal. Its called a pebble proposal” He said softly.

“Really?” You cooed softly.

“Really” He nodded, His hand left your hair briefly as he filled it with conditioner, before working it through your scalp and ends of your hair. “and If the female approves of the rock, they will began their pebble collection — which they call a pebble mound, in preparation for their eggs” He said.

He washed out the conditioner from your hair softly, before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you gently to his chest. “Well If you ever propose, i expect a perfectly smooth pebble” You joked softly, your eyes closing as your head returned to its original place on his shoulder.

He chuckled as he turned his head pressing a soft kiss to the side of yours. “When I propose”

You hummed in confusion, “Hm?”

“You said If i propose, as if theres a chance of it not happening.” He said gently into your ear, “When I propose; you will get a perfectly smooth pebble and a perfect ring.” He muttered, finger tip drawing lines up and down your stomach gently, sending light ripples through the water.

You smiled. “Okay, When you propose”