#Imagine someone saying to you “but you don't have kids” after you've been caring for your stepchildren for ten years. Just sickening.

[ffcrazy15]

Harris: "Cole and Ella [her stepkids] could not have been more welcoming. They are brilliant, talented, funny kids who have grown to be remarkable adults. I was already hooked on Doug, but I believe it was Cole and Ella who reeled me in."

Source

This is so sweet

[yndrgrl]

katsuki bakugo is the only man who can help bunnygirl! you during heat.

established relationship. normal! au. first time as a couple.

warnings: nsfw, lowkey angst ngl, fellatio, praise, slight degradation, creampie

if you're here for the nsfw part, i marked it >:)

a/n: dude, idk why my last fic has that "mature" label 😭 also is this a hypersexual comfort fic? yeah.

---

"are you okay? you look hot?"

"your forehead is on fire!"

"you look red. drink some water."

you've been hearing that non-stop all day. of course, you know that everyone has good intentions, but it was so annoying.

no, you didn't feel fine, nor did you feel sick. it was a strange, embarrassing thing to admit. in a world full of truly remarkable quirks, you just had to get a basic one. your quirk was rabbit. you know mirko? yeah, well you two are in the same boat.

you have floppy bunny ears the same color as your hair, a puff ball of a bunny tail, & muscular legs. all so cutesy & alright to deal with. the behavioral traits were what got you though. increased hearing, jittery/easily scared, & most annoying of all, the heat that came with it.

though it wasn't unusual to have heat, it was definitely not something you mention in a passing conversation. heat made it hard to focus on anything except for breeding & sex. your senses are enhanced, making clothes feel itchy at all times. your train of thought always derailed to live making. that's why you were prescribed heat repressant.

no side affects & it worked like a charm.

however, this month you forgot to stock up on them, & you just so happened to run out. you would've just skipped school to get some, but it was midterms, which comes with tests & presentations that simply could not be made up. it was either fail your classes or bite the bullet.

"oi! what's your deal?" someone barked at you. ah yes, your boyfriend of six months, katsuki bakugo.

"nothing," you said with annoyance. another thing about your heat is that you get irritable because of the overwhelming feeling of needing to do a certain activity. "don't worry about it."

taken aback, katsuki reached out for you & spun you around. your eyes welled with tears of frustration & utter embarrassment, the tips of your ears were red, & every thread of your clothes made your skin crawl. "hey, what's going on?"

"i-it's nothing, just leave me alone. class is about to start." you understood how much katsuki prides himself in his academics. you're not gonna be the one to drag him down; that's not very amazing-cool-awesome girlfriend of you, after all.

he wanted to say that he didn't care & let's just ditch class, but you both knew you couldn't. the exams were too important. luckily for the both of you, the last period of the day was study hall. most kids just skip it, starting their free time early.

just a few classes, then i can go get medication, that's not bad at all, i've been through worse, you thought in attempts to calm yourself.

yeah, but imagine how could it would feel to be absolutely railed, oh fuck, imagine katsuki-

you had to cut yourself off, he was standing right beside you after all.

your relationship with katsuki has been slow, healthy, & true. the most you two have done in the span of six months is make out, grind, & grope each other clothed. both of you saw a future together so having sex didn't have to happen right then & there. if it happens, it happens, but there was no need to have it to connect.

you didn't want you first time with the love of your life to be because of your current circumstances.

"did i do something?" he asked, making your ears twitch.

"no, it's not you," you reassured, "there's nothing going on." you both entered the classroom, & you could feel katsuki's worried stare focused on you the entire time.

you took exam after exam, which, in of itself, is a long, stressful process. the bell rang throughout the school, & your classmates shuffled out of the room to go to their last period. finally, it was study hall. you threw everything into your backpack without a care. you were practically panting.

throughout the school day, the pressure building inside of you only gotten worse. you couldn't stop thinking about katsuki. his god-sent body, his perfect face, his rugged voice. god, he turned you on so much-- too much, actually.

you felt bad for ignoring all of his texts throughout the day. if you didn't, however, you had a feeling you would've sent some embarrassing messages.

as you exited your class, someone grasped your wrist, dragging you out of the school. their touch lit you on fire. you knew exactly who it was. "let me go, katsuki."

"no, not until you tell me what i did!" he growled at you. he doesn't even realize how wet i am for him-

you had to shut off your thoughts, but that's easier said than done.

"i told you already. you didn't do anything."

"well something is going on with you. tell me what's happening," he raised his voice, a vice grip still hanging onto your wrist. you were getting overstimulated & overwhelmed. once again, you couldn't help the angry tears from forming. you couldn't help but hyperfixate on your panties brushing against your sensitive clit. you couldn't help that your nipples were painfully perked.

you can't just admit that though. it's such a stupid problem to you. you felt so wrong & disgusting for thinking about sex all day. "you wouldn't understand!" you finally yelled back. "you wouldn't get it."

he didn't respond. katsuki continued to drag you throughout campus, leaving you with your thoughts.

god, i made him mad, you mentally cried out. hopefully he'll hate fuck you then-

you want to rip out your own brain & throw it on the concrete. it was a constant cycle of that the entire walk.

a few moments later, you realized you were in his dorm, sitting on his bed with him across from you in his desk chair. both of your hands were in his as he brushed his thumbs against your knuckles. that alone gave you goosebumps. "please tell me what's wrong, baby," he said in a hushed near-whimper. "i'm worried about you."

"you really wouldn't get it, katsuki," you whispered, finally letting a few tears roll down your cheek.

he placed his index finger underneath your chin. he gently raised your head, your gaze following suit. the two of you locked eyes, his swirling with worry & yours sprawling in uncertainty. "then make me understand."

"it's my stupid quirk," you exasperated. you tried coming up with ways of how to say what you want to say without scaring him off.

"what about it?" he asked.

"you have such a nice quirk, you know," you started, avoiding his question. "it's just so much flashier & cooler than mine. there's already a rabbit hero!"

"what are you talking about? you do have a cool quirk."

"i'm a bunnygirl. nothing more. people already know what to expect-"

"what is this really about? you brag all the time how you get to come up with new ways to make your quirk yours," he countered, not convinced with your answer. "there's something more, isn't there?"

katsuki was so good at reading people-- at reading you. the other times you've confided in him, your voice lacked clarity, stability. why would it be different now? it wouldn't, that's why.

"yeah, there is," you admitted, tugging on his hands so he'd get closer. "i just don't know how you'll react or how to even say it-"

"it's fine. just tell me, i won't get mad or judge you or whatever," he assured. you began to cry even more, staining his dress shirt.

he smelt so good, i can feel his muscles through his shirt, he's so sexy-

"i need you," you muttered into his chest.

"what was that, baby?"

you glanced up at him, eyes glossy, lips pouted. "i need you."

katsuki's breath hitched, "what are you talking about?" yes, he's had theories about your quirk & its drawbacks. was this it? was his theory correct?

more tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks as you tried to explained, "i have... you know."

his cock stirred, scolding himself mentally for getting hard during a time like this. "have what?" he wanted you to say it, confirm his suspicions.

you took a deep breath. "i have this thing every month or so, & it just makes things so much harder."

"tell me." his stern voice sent shockwaves through you.

it made you obey him automatically, robotically. "i'm going through heat." a silence followed. "it's normal for people with quirks like mine to go through this. i usually have repressants! & i know this probably makes you so uncomfortable; i understand if you don't want to be-"

-- nsfw starts here --

katsuki cut off your rambling, almost offended. "don't ever say that. i want you, all of you."

"p-please don't say such things," you begged him as you felt your pussy throb. "i'm r-really trying to hold back-"

"let me take care of you, princess," katsuki purred, finger tips ghosting over your exposed thighs. he buried his face into the crook of your neck. "do you want this, y/n? because i want you right now. if you tell me you don't want this, i'll stop."

all you could do is nod, your breath turning uneven.

"say it, y/n."

"i need you so bad. please, katsuki," you cried out as you rubbed your legs together.

he smirked into your neck before he started kissing your neck. you couldn't help but whimper. he noticed you holding back, so he bit your neck. he sucked hickeys all over your neck. your unsteady breathes turned into needy moans.

"t-take off my shirt, please-"

katsuki took in your demand by ripping it off your skin as if it were poison. he unhooked your bra, throwing it on the floor. "ah fuck," he groaned, cupping your breasts.

"are they o-okay?"

"you're fuckin' perfect, baby."

with one, he replaced his rough, calloused hand with his mouth. you grinder against his thigh as flicked your nipple with his tongue. "k-katsuki~"

he switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment. "all mine," he growled in between. he nipped at the skin around your nipples. your neck & chest were soon littered with purple marks & bites.

"let me touch you," you begged & you began to fidget with the buttons of his shirt. "take this off~"

"so needy, aren't you, princess," katsuki teased, yet he gave into you. he threw off his shirt, looming over you. goosebumps pricked at your skin, all over your arms down to your legs. you found yourself trailing your hands all over his abs, his muscular arms, around his back. it was like your hands had a mind of their own.

you flipped the two of you around, so now he was under you. "c-can i please mark you?"

he let out a laugh of amusement, making your face turn a deep red. "you don't have to ask, baby," he told you. as a response, you mimicked his actions from earlier. your lips kissed all over his neck, leaving marks in its wake. you trailed down to his chest, then his abs then his v-line until you reached the band of his pants.

the entire time, he was groaning, feeding you praises that shot straight through your core. when you stopped, he looked down at you, & there you were, staring back at him with eager, wide eyes. he could read you so well. "go ahead, y/n. pull them down."

to which you did. you hands hooked both his uniform pants & his boxers. you pulled them down, & your mouth watered when his cock sprung out. "i-it's so big," you moaned; you meant to only think that, but you couldn't help it.

his mushroom tip beaded precum, his veiny shaft twitched in anticipation. "you see how hard i am for you? all for you," katsuki told you, watching your eyes dart to his then back down to his cock.

you started licking him to test the waters. you saw as his eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth agape, narrowed eyes. your licks evolved into you sticking his tip into your mouth. your tongue flicked around his cock. you crossed your eyes & whined when you tasted his precum. thanks to his quirk, it tasted almost sweet, salty, & god, was it addicting.

you bobbed your head up & down his thick rod. the tip hit the back of your throat while spit flooded your mouth. it was hard to breath, but you didn't care. having katsuki inside of you was more important than breathing. "slow down. you're gonna make me cum, good girl."

that was enough inspiration for you. you needed his cum. you forced your head all the way down his cock, your nose buried in his pubes. your eyes watered (for the fifth time today), & you stared into katsuki's eyes. both of his hands tangled themselves into your hair. "i'm gonna fuck that slutty, little throat, okay? just tap if it's too much," he informed, but he had a feeling you were going let him do whatever he wanted.

you moaned as a way to let him know that you heard him. the vibrations quivered his tip. "mmm, fuck. you're doing so good," he praised, jutting his hips forward the drawing them back.

his thrusts at first were small, in fear he was hurting you. however, as he looked down at you, your eyes rolled back, drool spilling out of your mouth, rubbing your aching clit for some sort of release, he couldn't hold back. he started using your throat as a fuck toy.

fast & rough, & all you could do was take it. take it, even though you're crying & it's hard to breath. "i'm close," he uttered out in between moans. his sultry voice turned a pitch higher in a humiliating tease, "you want my cum, baby? huh? c'mon, tell me you want it."

you choked out muffled, "yes please" & "cum down my throat please." he laughed at you trying to form sentences with your mouth stuffed. "such an eager bitch. fine, i'll give you what you want."

he thrusted his hips forwards, keeping your head in place. you face smushed against his hips. his cock twitched as he unloaded spurts of cum down your throat.

he pulled away, & strings of saliva mixed with his semen leaked onto your skirt. you looked back up at him, finding his cock still erect. "you look so surprised," katsuki said as he caught his breath. "i'm still so hard for you. after all, i told you i was going to take care of you."

"p-please have sex with me," you barely even whispered.

"what was that?"

"please-"

"i still can't hear you," katsuki told you, stroking his dick. he really knew how to push your buttons

"please fuck me, katsuki! i need it, i need you so bad~ i need your big cock inside of me," you blurted out. you finally let you stupid, nasty fantasies get the better of you.

judging from katsuki's smug expression, he wanted you to indulge in them. "alright, alright. you've been such a good girl for me. it's the least i could do," he shrugged before flipping you over so you were trapped under him. even in your most intimate moments, he was cocky. & god, did it make your pussy wet.

as he started to pull your skirt down, your hands shot to grab his wrists. "no, fuck me now, i can't wait. it hurts too bad," you whined, your glossy lips pouting.

"of course, princess," he said with a smirk. "whatever you want." katsuki's fingers dove under your skirt to push your panties out of the way. he held your legs up, placing your calves over his shoulders.

he lubed the tip of his dick with your juices by running it through your folds. "you're so wet for me, good girl."

"it's all for you, katsuki~" you purred, anticipation practically killing you. you felt pride as he turned his head to kiss the meat of your calf in approval.

"can't let it go to waste," he told you. he lined his thick, heavy cock with your entrance. something must've taken over you because, the moment it lined up with your hole, you shoved your hips forward with your entire body.

you let out a squeal of pleasure, your pussy stretching to accommodate for katsuki's lengthy cock. "shit, baby, you almost knocked me over," he chuckled as he readjusted. both of his hands were on your hips.

"shut up & fuck me," you growled at him. his cock twitched, brow raised in amusement.

"yes ma'am," he replied, "but remember you said that." from the get-go, his thrusts were powerful, immediately finding the cervix. your nails dug into his biceps down to his wrists. moans, whimpers, & screams spilled out of your lips.

katsuki took his fingers to your mouth & demanded in a low voice, "suck."

the action made you quiet down. he found your g-spot soon after, & you felt lightheaded. with his fingers down your throat, his cock abusing your most sensitive spot, & katsuki whispering dirty nothings into your ears, you shut your eyes & released all the tension building up.

"f-f-fuck, i-i'm cumming, katsuki," you rasped, voice having a small lisp thanks to his fingers. you squirted all over his abdomen, breath heavy & uneven.

he didn't stop though. he still rammed his big fuckin' dick in & out of you, not letting you calm down from your euphoric high. in fact, his hand that you slobbered all over found their way to your clit. he drew small circles around it. "ah, katsuki!" you moaned. "it's too much!"

"you'll be a good girl, & take it, won't you? i haven't cum inside you yet," he responded while his other hand pinched your nipples.

"i-i-i'll be a good girl, katsuki~" you slurred, speaking on beat with his thrusts. he made you cum three more times then you felt as his hips became more robotic, shorter, uncalculated.

"i'm cumming," he groaned through gritted teeth. "i'm cumming. fuckin' take all of it." thick jets of hot, white cum stained your walls. his dick pulsated inside of you. you came again; who could blame you?

he took a few deep breaths, collapsing on top of you as he pulled out of your pussy. cum spilled out of you & onto his sheets. he embraced you, whispering, "round two?"

[evasive-anon]

Jason Attacking Tim at Titans Tower

Fanon vs Canon

We've all seen the versions in fanfiction but I'm not so sure everyone's seen the original so if you're one of those batfam fans who doesn't want to read the comics (regardless of reasons) but you are curious about how it actually went this is for you.

What I'm addressing:

What does Jason actually say to Tim during the attack?

Did Jason drug all the other Titans?

Did Jason really wear a Robin costume?

Did Jason slit Tim's throat or call him replacement?

Did Jason actually break Tim's bo staff?

Was Tim crying or scared?

Did Jason write a message on the wall in Tim's blood?

Did Jason's eyes glow green?/Did he follow pit rage mechanics?

Panels and details below. This is a LONG one.

What did Jason actually say to Tim during the attack?

Dialogue in fanfiction during the Titans Tower attack varies based on what kind of fic you're reading but usually its either 'time to clip Replacement's wings' if its staying a beatdown whump 'or oh no precious lil bby why is no one watching you' if its an accidental child acquisition. Not judging either option, but this ain't about them its about the real shit.

Look at these opening lines:

Hey, Tim. I was here first.You're the Red Hood. You've been cleaning up Gotham the easy way. Easy? What do you know about easy, Tim? You had a father that looked after you. You went to a private school, right? You slept in a bed. I slept on the streets, I lived in the alleyways in Gotham. Trying to survive. Until Bruce took me in. I trained as hard as I could. I did whatever he asked. . . at least at first. But it didn't matter. They said I wasn't tough enough to be robin. But today, they say you are. Show me, Tim. Show me what you have that I didn't.

Jason really puts himself out there in all of his dialogue in this encounter, the struggle of having to fight for anything and everything he got in life, even the things that came to everyone else for free, and then being told he wasn't even good enough for the things he fought for.

There's a trope in fanfics that if Jason knew Tim stalked Batman and forced his way into being Robin that it would change how Jason felt about the situation but that's even addressed in this comic:

You were a kid, worried about how Batman was spiraling down into darkness. You spent weeks tracking the dark knight. Solving a mystery no one else could. You discovered who he was behind that mask. Millionaire Bruce Wayne. You were so pleased with yourself, I'm sure that you forgot who you were really dealing with. I know Bruce Wayne. And let me tell you, Tim if someone was trying to find out who Batman really was. If someone was stalking him for weeks. He'd know about it. You can't be that good. I am. He let you find him. And I bet he said the same thing to you as he did to me, didn't he? That you had a talent to make a difference in Gotham. That he needed someone he could trust in war on crime. That you were one of a kind. The light to his darkness. Robin, the Boy Wonder.

Tim saying 'I am' is really such a moment that doesn't come through in text because he is right that he really did do that but I also completely understand why Jason wouldn't believe it.

TBH my favorite part is how done Tim honestly sounds with Jason thoughout all his trauma dumping. Like imagine a grown man who used to work the same part time job as you breaking into your house, dressing up in your work uniform, ranting about how much the job ruined his life while he beats your ass??? God, and he probably had to write a fucking report about it after. RIP Timmy.

What do you want? Do you want to be Robin again? Is that it? You... want to take it away from me? Why in the hell would I ever want that? Don't you get it? When I died no one cared! No one remembered me. Are you completely insane? No one could forget you. I've spent my entire career wearing this mask under your shadow. I had to convince Batman to let me try this. All because he'll never stop blaming himself for what happened to you. You ask me, that's the only reason he hasn't taken you down. He's holding back. But me? No freakin' way. That's the Robin I wanted to see. Still. You do realize the whole idea of training a teenager to fight against something he'll never eradicate is a mistake. It didn't even surprise anyone when I died. When I failed. I failed-- but I'm still beating you. Do you think you're that good now?! Do you really, Tim? Yes.

Tim bashing Jason across the face as he says 'no freakin' way'? *chefs kiss*

Jason drugging the other Titans to knock them out?

Little bit true, Kory was actually just already away from the tower and BB and Cyborg were about to bounce because of the drama going on with Donna's return but Jason like super tazes them and then drugs Raven who he thought already went through enough shit without him knocking her out violently.

Note: Jason says in the text here that he never rolled with Cyborg or BB but like he actually did in some comics so?? The continuity is lie I guess idk.

Did he show up in Red Hood gear or a Robin costume?

Both tbh but he spent most of the time in the Robin costume but bro actually made a stripper rip away version of his Red Hood gear so he could dramatically reveal the Robin costume underneath. I can't believe no one ever includes that in their fics its so fucking funny.

Does he call Tim 'replacement' or slit his throat?

No, this came from a Batman comic with Hush not Teen Titans. That incident takes place in a graveyard not Titans Tower and he calls Tim pretender not replacement.

Does Jason break Tim's staff?

Tragically, no. The bo staff snap would have been iconic. Instead he just takes Tim's staff and beats Tim up with it and breaks stuff. BUT!! He uses it to bust a statue in the TITANS MEMORIAL ROOM which is a place in Titans Tower just for having statues of dead previous titans and Jason is rightfully pissed he didn't get one. Like Tim is correct in saying no one forgot him still but like I would be hurt too if all my friends made cool statues of friends that died and then just left my zombie ass out, like wtf.

Note: I am seriously losing my shit that I have never seen someone bring up the memorial room in a fanfic. That is so much angst material. 😭

Tim crying/ being scared?

Hell no. He's a fucking Robin you know he's being a sassy boy the whole time, even towards the end when he's about done he's still saying he's her and I love Tim for that.

Note: There are a few different times where Tim does a flippy Robin move and then Jason just fucking copies it like flexing that he can do it too, and its just so petty and stupid he's trying so hard to be better than an actual child. 💀I get why in the context of the situation but its still so ridiculous.

Message on the wall in Tim's blood?

TBH I really don't know for sure on this one?? Like its implied that he did but Tim isn't bleeding all that much throughout this beatdown and like we don't see Jason do it just the Titans reacting to seeing it after. It could be Tim's blood, it could be red paint, and it could even be that Jason packed an actual bucket of blood to bring with him to write a message with after he finished. TBH the world is your oyster on this one.

Note: If anyone can find another comic where this event was brought up where they actually clarify it was Tim's blood hmu and I'll update this but I couldn't find any.

Pit rage/ glowing green eyes?

Fanon only at this point in the comics. Jason is seems to be himself and even thinks Tim and his friends are pretty cool at the end, and he's just like reflecting on if he had good friends if he would have turned out better as he leaves.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Logan as your teacher.

You're one of the senior students, experienced, sometimes going out on missions with them. His class is mostly about control. Learning to control your powers, your emotions, making sure you're as focused on the job as possible.

The last thing you're doing is focusing.

How the fuck are you supposed to focus on class when Logan's standing there? In his plaid shirt, jeans, those dangerous eyes flicking across the class and occasionally landing on you.

You're distracted, not listening to anything he says. You're just imagining him fucking you. Dragging you into his office and making you suck his cock if you want an A. Imagine him letting you kiss him all over, touch him, fuck him...

It's legal, you think to yourself. I'm twenty. It's legal...

Not like anything is gonna happen.

The class ends. You realize it because everyone stands up to leave and you're pulled back to reality. You hastily gather your stuff and start walking when Logan calls out your name. You turn to him.

“Stay for a while, we need to talk,” he tells you, crossing his arms as he leans back against his desk.

You sigh softly. You've been...barely passing his class. In fact, you're not even sure you're passing anymore. The weird thing is you don't care. As long as you get to see him, you really don't care if you have to repeat this class again and again and again.

You walk towards him, the last student that leaves closing the door after himself. You stand in front of him, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Yeah?”

-

Logan eyes you. He's trying his best to control himself. To be the adult here. You're just twenty. Just a kid.

And he sees how you look at him. He's been alive for two centuries. He knows what lust looks like, he knows when someone wants him. And you want him.

You want him bad.

He can smell your arousal as his eyes study your body. His cock twitches in his pants, alert, and he suppresses the need.

“Are you aware that you've got a C in my class?” he asks.

You blink. “Wh—Why? What?” you stutter. He can hear your heart beating faster. He's got you.

“Yeah. C, kid. C. You're not gonna pass my class with a C. The minimum is a B.”

You sigh, glancing down at the floor. “I'm...I'm sorry. I just...I guess I've been a little distracted lately.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Is something goin' on, kid?”

“...no,” you murmur.

He hears the spike in your heartbeat. He knows you're lying.

“Kid,” he says in warning. “Look, it's okay. You can tell me.”

When you continue to avoid his gaze, he puts a hand under your chin and tilts your head up so you look at him. “Come on. What's wrong?”

You swallow thickly. He can see it in your eyes, you want to tell him. You're so close to tell him.

You shake your head again. “I—I'm sorry, I can't. You'd...you wouldn't understand.”

He sighs. “Kid, I know,” he says quietly. “I was asking you to give you the chance to tell me.”

Your eyes widen. You're confused. “Huh?”

“I know why you're distracted. You think I can't smell it? Think I can't feel it?”

You blush bright red, your eyes darting around the room as you look for a way out. “I...I...”

He cups your face, caresses your cheek with his thumb. “It's alright. I'm not mad. I'm disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you echo, staring up at him with those gorgeous, innocent eyes.

“Disappointed you haven't done anything about it,” he says quietly and grins.

Your heart rate picks up, your eyes widen. He grins. “Logan—Professor Howlett, I...I'm sorry. I'm...”

“Kid, it's okay. It's fine. You think I'd call you out on it if I didn't want something to happen? Hm?”

You blink up at him and he smiles. “You know what? I'll help you pass the class. Meet me in my office at four, okay? Not a second later.” He pauses, a sly smirk forms on his lips. “Otherwise I'll have to give you extra credit assignments to make up for lost time. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” you reply nervously.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” You blush a little. The way you say it is different from the way you usually call him sir. You're flirting with him and he's loving it.

“That's a good girl.”

-

I'M SO SORRY this was totally inspired on this teacher I have a crush on and I was like...what if Logan was your teacher??? So yeah 😭

Blog masterlist

[luveline]

hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home. 

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.” 

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets. 

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased. 

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too. 

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask. 

“No, he's probably just talking to Jane.” 

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher. 

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.” 

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?” 

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?” 

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.” 

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over. 

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur. 

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.” 

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.” 

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew. 

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too. 

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before. 

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest. 

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks. 

You shrug. “For what?” 

“To tell me what you're not telling me.” 

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder. 

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut. 

“What do you think it is?” you ask. 

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow. 

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head. 

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.” 

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?” 

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say. 

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks. 

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?” 

“Happy about what?” 

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.” 

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm. 

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.” 

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says. 

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back. 

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say. 

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?” 

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands. 

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?” 

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.” 

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?” 

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.” 

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?” 

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest. 

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?” 

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.” 

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.” 

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise. 

[whateversawesome]

Some Theories about Anya's Name

Who would have thought a short chapter would bring so much information and discussion? But then again, we're talking about Anya, agent of chaos (according to her papa).

After that chapter, there's plenty of theories flying around, so I decided to make this post to compile, explain and expand these theories 😉

Ready?

Anya is an acronym: This one is pretty clear has been a popular general theory. It means that the letters of her name stand for something else. What exactly? We don't know yet, but it probably has to do with Project Apple and the infamous lab Anya was created.

Anya...Ania...OstANIA: If you live near small children, you probably know that when they are learning how to talk, they do it by picking up words adults say and many times they say those words wrong. While discussing with some friends, I imagined those scientists constantly saying the word Ostania in front of that little girl. Maybe baby Anya thought that was her name because she heard the word OstANIA all the time, but she couldn't say it right.

Anya, the foreign princess: This one is very simple. It means that her name was spelled differently in her country of origin. This theory is vague, but I do believe a third country could be involved in all this mess. Also, it would make sense for Anya to be hiding in Ostania, if she was born and kept captive in a different country.

Anya...A N/A: This one is one of the most interesting theories! A N/A would mean something like "Non-applicable". You probably think this doesn't say much, but it really does. In the first few chapters of the story we learned that Anya was adopted and returned 4 times. Instead of a child, she was returned as if she was a piece of clothing. Even though it's been barely mentioned, we've also learned that people that participated in Project Apple didn't treat the subjects nicely (see how they treated Bond). Those people called Anya "subject 007". They didn't even give her a name. If we think about it, Anya is very "non-applicable". She was created in a lab, she has a strange power, so she's not like the other kids, she's been adopted and returned 4 times...

The A N/A and Anya being treated like an object instead of a human being fits the Spy x Family premise of the story, which is: Humans like Twilight, Yor, and Anya are used as weapons instead of being treated like humans. The story is about them regaining their humanity through love and family.

So even if A N/A says nothing about Anya, it says a lot about the story.

Look at this little girl. This illustration was heartbreaking. Do you know when it takes place? It's right before he meets Twilight. We see that it's the same filthy orphanage Twilight visited on chapter 1 and this is not Anya's first orphanage, so that means this illustration happened after she was returned again. The way she's facing the door, her body language, the way she holds Mr. Chimera by the hand is so sad. Here she is, once again, in a place she doesn't want to be, where nobody will take care of her...alone 😭

Enough of that or we'll end up crying...🤧

Some other things to take into consideration about her name:

Mr. Chimera: Since this is a visual story, that panel of Mr. Chimera tells us that this plushie is involved in Anya's name. If you've read certain fic, you know where I stand on that. In this case, I think that yes, the person who helped Anya escape gave Mr. Chimera to her. However, I don't think it was exactly that character (you know who). It probably was someone else, maybe even a new character we don't know yet. It could also be a scientist who took pity on Anya or disagreed with the use of children as lab rats, and helped her escape. We don't know yet.

Twilight: One of the most beautiful panels on that short chapter was seeing Anya's eyes lit up when her papa told her the correct spelling of her name. Did you see it? Those were the eyes of someone who had just learned something new about herself and by doing this, Twilight made her even more human.

One more thing...I've seen speculations about the next arc of the manga being about Anya's past because of this short mission. In my opinion...I don't think it'll happen yet. Why? If it was the case, this would have been a longer chapter and the actual beginning of the arc.

I believe Anya's past will be one of the last things we learn, because there's plenty of things to resolve and a lot of information we don't have. Stories are like puzzles; this chapter was an important piece, but we're not working on that part yet.

[literaila]

eavesdropping

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: seriously, the door was already open

warnings: satoru is an idiot, as per usual, sad tsumiki :(

last part | next part

*

year one.

satoru approaches the door to tsumiki’s room and he pauses. 

after two weeks straight with the kids, you’d finally returned back to work--leaving the three of them to fend for themselves for the day--but you'd insisted on coming over for dinner. 

to which satoru suggested, for the twentieth time, that you might as well stay the night. might as well move in already. 

really, there's plenty of space. 

but you'd pinched his arm and pushed past him at the door, telling the kids that you brought dinner. you didn't stay behind to watch satoru cradle his arm or smile at the back of your head. 

and, seriously, he doesn't mean to eavesdrop (if he meant to he would've planned out something much more sophisticated than this) but the door is already slightly cracked. 

“—but megumi doesn’t like it," he hears tsumiki say, soft and concerned. her tiny voice is a whisper through the opened door, so satoru takes another step towards it. 

“that’s okay," he hears your voice saying, "you can talk about it if you want.”

one eye appears through the crack and he can see you and tsumiki, curled up on the bed, her eyes looking up at yours, tear stains an obvious sin. 

satoru is quiet as he pushes the door, ever so slightly.

“he always ignores me when i talk about my mom or his dad, or he says something mean about them. sometimes he won’t talk to me for the rest of the day.”

this seems plausible. just five minutes ago satoru had witnessed an influx of cursed energy coming from megumi when tsumiki merely mentioned their old house and the dolls she kept on her windowsill. 

he can still feel that anger brewing now, but megumi, so you’ve said to him, needs to breathe. you didn't exactly tell him to exit the table and leave the little boy alone, or come to tsumiki's room to check on the two of you, but, he knows that's what you meant. you don't have to say something for satoru to help out. he’s just doing what’s best for all of you.

honestly, you probably wouldn't even mind that he's listening in on this conversation. 

you tilt your head at her. “did you ask him why?” 

tsumiki sniffles, she pushes a sticky hand at the hair matted to her head, so you gently push it away and move it for her instead, much gentler with her than you've ever been with him. satoru almost complains, before he remembers that he's not even there.

“he thinks that they don’t care about us,” tsumiki answers, the hurt obvious in her voice, "he—he can’t remember everything that i can, but he doesn’t care. he doesn't want to.” 

you coo at her softly, nodding your head with every word. 

satoru has never heard the little girl so sad--he's used to her smiling face and bright energy. honestly, if there's an opposite to cursed energy, it would be tsumiki. 

you must feel as disturbed by the difference in the little girl as he does because he watches as you try to restrain a frown. 

satoru's eyes are wide through the crack as you attempt a smile. “it’s okay to not feel the same,” you tell her, “wanting to remember your parents isn’t going to make megumi hate you.” 

“but it upsets him.” 

“well not talking about it upsets you, right?” you say this the same way you chide satoru. and, yeah, you typically know best. 

not that he'll ever admit that. 

but tsumiki nods.

“then you should talk about it. don’t worry about megumi. you can tell me about them, or satoru.” 

he wants to open the door completely just at the sound of his name. 

“really?” 

“you can talk about whatever you want with us. we’ll always listen," your smile is genuine now. 

satoru tries to imagine you as a little girl, with someone wiping your tears away. but he doesn't quite believe that you were ever as small as tsumiki looks now. you'll always be this to him, he supposes, safe and infallible. 

even when you were younger, blinking idly at him as he introduced himself to his new underclassmen, you were certain. he's always been sure about that. 

tsumiki frowns, her eyes wide. “gojo put his hands over his ears and started singing yesterday when you asked him to take the trash out.” 

he has to catch a laugh. you shift around on the bed, your face is stern but satoru can see you about to laugh. 

you nudge her with your head, teasing. “i didn’t say he always listens to me.” 

the little girl laughs as you nuzzle her nose and for a moment, satoru thinks he's invading. 

but how can he walk away when the two of you are cuddled so close, looking so cute together? he should probably take a picture, just so he can always remember this. 

but then again, a camera probably wouldn't capture the supple sound of tsumiki's laugh as you cuddle her, or your smile as you hold her closer. 

so he just stands there, observing. 

you don't say anything as the girl thinks, merely rub your hand up and down on her back, like a reminder that you're still there. 

tsumiki remains quiet for a moment, and then she whispers, “i’m afraid that i’ll forget about my mom." 

satoru is shocked by the statement, little pricks of guilt perusing through his chest. during all of the digging he did about toji zenin, he wasn't sure where the woman was, or if she was worth finding. he hadn't even thought of it, really. he wasn't very good at that. 

and he watches as you pause, feeling kind of eager to see how you'll respond. 

your hand continues its circles, and you smile, gently, knowing. “i used to feel that way too," you tell her, just as softly. 

and maybe that hurts satoru even more.

“really?” 

“yeah. i don’t talk to my mom anymore, but i used to worry that i would forget how she smelled," your nose falls in tsumiki's hair, and you pause for a moment. satoru almost smiles as you close your eyes. "or the way she hugged me," you add, squeezing. 

he's never really heard you talk about your parents before. the vauge comment here and there, sure, but nothing more. he knows the bare bones of when you left home—if only from what yaga told suguru, a million years ago, but nothing more. you don’t talk about that.

or maybe he's just never asked. 

tsumiki nods, her wide eyes kind of amazed at the confession. and satoru is suddenly glad that he let you follow tsumiki to her room, that he knocked on your door that first night when he wasn't sure what to do with either of them. 

you understand this better than he ever could. better than he ever will. 

“did you forget?”

you smile. “no. it’s hard to forget those little things, no matter how long it’s been," you consider it for a second, "i don’t remember a lot about her but i remember hugging her when she got home from work, and the way she said my name.” 

tsumiki's perks up, “do you think it’ll be like that for me?” 

“i don’t know, sweetheart. it could be. you might remember more than i do," you cup her face for a moment, hoping with her. 

“my mom always wore rose perfume,” tsumiki's hands cover your own, and she looks closely at you, like satoru wishes he could. “do you miss your mom?” 

satoru holds his breath for a moment, and your eyes narrow as you think. 

“sometimes," you admit.

“does it make you sad?” 

“every once in a while.“ 

tsumiki swallows, her face falling. “i miss my mom."

you kiss her head. satoru sees your eyes flutter closed as you speak to her, so softly he almost misses it. “it’s okay to be sad without them.” 

satoru closes his eyes with you, for just a moment. 

he thinks about aquariums and trips to abandoned houses and souvenirs that he couldn't keep but covet. 

and his eyes open again. 

“really?” tsumiki asks as if she doubts it.

“yeah. that’s just the way love comes out sometimes. it makes you sad.” 

“will it always?” 

“well, you’ll always love your mom, right?” the girl nods without thinking, and you smile at her. “then being without her will always make you a little sad. and sometimes a lot. but it’ll find its place in your heart, like everything does.” 

tsumiki thinks about this for a moment. 

satoru wants her to ask how many holes you have in your heart, and if you think they could ever be filled. 

and he also wants her to never ask you anything again. he shouldn't be listening to this, but he's stuck at the door. 

“do you think about your parents a lot?” 

“almost every day,” you say, looking away from the girl for a moment. and then you look back. “but i think about how my mom is happy where she is, and how i’m happy where i am.” 

satoru almost falls through the door. 

“you are?” 

“well yeah,” you say, obviously. you squeeze her a bit. “i’ve got you here. and megumi and satoru. how couldn’t i be happy?” 

tsumiki settles into you, she nods in agreement, but considers something, frowning up at you. “i don’t want megumi to be mad at me. he’s my best friend.”

“he’s not really mad,” you tell her--and, well, satoru disagrees. megumi is mad at everything. “and even if he was, he’ll always forgive you. that’s what best friends do. they argue and then make up.”

“who’s your best friend?”

your lip twitches. “satoru. and we fight all the time.” 

“really? gojo?” 

satoru wants to ask the same question. shoko, he might've assumed. nanami, even. if you knew he was there you would probably say that tsumiki was your best friend, just to mess with him. 

but he's there, and you don't know. 

you shake your head, acknowledging how crazy this statement is. “yup. i’m stuck with him.” 

“has he always been your best friend?” 

“oh no,” you laugh at the suggestion. “we met just a couple of years ago, at school. and he always had more friends than i did.” 

“…but now?” 

“he’s been my best friend for a while, i guess, but i haven’t been his for very long.” 

satoru frowns. 

“cause you always fight?” 

you laugh. “something like that.” 

something like what? 

and then you turn to her, eyes on eyes, making sure that she’s looking at you. “tsumiki, you know—“

and satoru thinks that he’s heard enough. he doesn't want any more secrets or any more questions. he closes the door as quietly as possible, letting his ear linger on the wood when he hears the two of you laugh. 

satoru sits for a moment, almost able to see your smile through the door, without all of his eyes, like he really took that picture. 

and then he walks away, into the dining room, where megumi is pushing his dinner around on a plate. 

satoru sits down. 

“what are they doing?” megumi asks, gruffly. he's calmer now, satoru notes, though grumpy as ever. 

“girl stuff.” 

“it’s dinner time.” 

“oh, megumi,” satoru tsks, shaking his head. “you’ve got lots to learn about women.” 

megumi frowns. “i know more than you.” 

“okay, i just came here to have a good time—“

*

later on, you’re unloading the dishwasher, trying to be quiet while the kids get ready for bed, and satoru walks in.

in striped pajamas naturally. no glasses. he is already grinning at you as he leans against the counter, his fingers tapping on the granite. 

you roll your eyes automatically, pushing him a little because he's in your way. 

"what, satoru?" 

“so, i’m your best friend, huh?” 

you turn. “i knew that door was open—“ 

*

next part

[brucewaynehater101]

Hello, I am the person from a few days ago that mentioned House MD. .y idea for it is very simple and very funny. Tim ends up in House's hospital with House as his doctor. He was found unconscious on the side of the road with 3 stab wounds, two broken ribs, and a broken leg.

Tim is Knocked Out and in Civilian Clothes with No Wallet. Which means No ID. They call him John Doe for now and move on to stitching him up and doing an xray of his chest so they can fix up his ribs and check for internal bleeding from the stabs. They are having some kind of debate about how the kid has clearly had his ribs shattered many, many times and how they healed when House suddenly stands up and says, "all of you are missing the forest for the tree. Ignore the ribs for a second before the kid dies." He then leaves the room to the confusion of all the assistants. It takes almost ten seconds for one of them to yell, "WHERES HIS SPLEEN"

Within an hour Tim has been put in one if their Anti Germ Bubbles for the Immuno Compromised. Oh the bright side he 100% has a room all to himself! Tim wakes up in the bubble, very confused with House looming over him. Tim is Baffled and says, "who send you? What info are you after?" And House just says, "im your doctor. What's your name so we can stop calling you John Doe The Spleenless Wonder."

Tim and House verbally joust almost constantly for Tim's entire stay and honestly? Most relaxed he's been in *years*. However it takes *days* for them to pry him name out of him and it's not even *from* him. Someone saw his face on a magazine in the grocery store check out and went "that's out John Doe!!" And when Tim tells them that he is Tim Drake he simply says, "I didn't tell you for a very simple reason. If word got out it was The Tim Drake in your hospital, which is outside Gothem, could you imagine the Paparazzi? And what would happen? I can garentee you at least one person would show up trying to kill me. Why do you think I was outside gothem beat up? Assassins, obviously." House's boss is terrified this guy is gunna sue them into the ground for how House has been jabbing at him constantly.

House simply asks why his bones look like Swiss Cheese and Tim simply raises an eyebrow at him and says, "I live in Gothem."

Later on after Tim gets released, he buys the entire hospital, becomes its new boss, goes to House's boss who actually runs the hospital and says, "I do not care about running this hospital. It's all up to you, I want No Power here. I am simply here to triple your budget, no quadruple it. And you remain completely in power on one condition. I want House to be my Primary Doctor. He's fun."

Oh and if you want some Angst, House asking if Tim wants to call someone to pick him up and Tim says, "oh, I have a tracker on me. Someone will show up to check me out once they notice I'm missing." House squinting at him and says, "you've been here two weeks. So I don't believe you." But Tim is telling the truth. His tracker has said he's been at an out of city hospital for weeks and no one really noticed he was even gone.

Fuck yeah. I've seen some clips of House and, despite the large amounts of medical malpractice they should be sued for, Tim would absolutely enjoy House's banter.

Also, I'd so live for House and Tim trying to trick each other. Tim realizes quickly that House doesn't believe a word about what Tim says about how he got his injuries. House keeps trying to pull one over on Tim so that Tim actually receives medical treatment (especially because Tim keeps going back out on field with injuries). It becomes a somewhat friendly game

Fair warning, I'm probably about to butcher House's character. Idk enough about him, but here's what I think. Tim would prefer House as his main doctor for two reasons:

How House cares

House isn't Batman/Bat affiliated

For the first point, House does care but not in the way most others do. I think Tim will eventually start telling House the truth about how he gets his injuries because of how House reacts. House isn't going to be overly sympathetic, pity Tim, or try to mother hen him. Tim will stroll up, say he's been held without food for a week and has 3 broken bones, and House will just banter with Tim.

If Tim's being an idiot (like not resting), House won't try to tell him off. He won't yell or undermine Tim. He'll just point blank tell Tim he deserves whatever injury he got for being an idiot while helping the vigilante treat it.

Tim will never admit to being a cape, but he eventually trusts House enough not to hide it.

Then there's House not being a Bat doctor. Leslie may or may not inform Bruce of any injuries Tim gets that Leslie deems is important for Bruce to know about. Alfred for sure won't hide that shit. Either way, whether founded or not, Tim can't trust those doctors to give away his information "for his own good."

House probably wouldn't go out of his way to inform Bruce (especially if we add on your angst angle).

Probably fucked up House's characterization, but let me know what ya think! Feel free to send another ask or reblog or whatever with changes ya think I need to add

[sorcerous-caress]

So fun fact about me irl I work with children but often my teacher language slips out like telling my friends to say “bye bye bus”, telling another person in my lecture writing to “be nice to the pencil, it’s your friend.” And greeting a roomful of grown as adults with good morning boys and girls. It’s mortifying but How do you think the companions would react to having a teacher!tav slip up like that.

Dealing with a Teacher Tav

[Bg3, fluff, platonic kinda, nb!reader]

[Gale, Shadowheart, Laezel, Wyll, Karlach, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Jaheira, Minsc]

Gale

He delightfully plays along whenever you tell him to thank a stranger or say goodbye to an inanimate object. He thinks it's very silly and joyous.

Teachers have always been a big part of his life, it doesn't phase him in the slightest when you unawarly awake the deep memories of being in wizards pre-school for him.

Says good morning to you back, adding a teacher honorific at the end for the sake of being playful while asking if you've finally graded the homework he handed in.

He gives you an apple occasionally. He thinks he is very hilarious.

Shadowheart

She freezes in awkwardness whenever it happens, not sure if you’re being serious or just playing around. Sometimes, you don't even register slipping up as go on with your day, leaving her wondering if she's imagining things.

She has zero experience with the school system, completely confused by the need to say thank you for carriage after it arrived. It's just a carriage, why should she?

One time while her and Laezel were arguing, you used the same call you'd use in the classroom to get the kids to quiet down and it completely caught them both off guard. They just stood there baffled, forgetting their original argument.

Laezel

Why, yes, she is very familiar with teachers. In fact, she was the best out of her class, ask any githyanki teacher, and they'd tell you endless praise about her throat cutting techniques and sword welding stances.

You, whoever, use very unusual teaching techniques. How would learning a song about washing your hand and brushing your teeth help her in slaying her enemies?

Intriguing, so you take advantage of the brain's tendency to latch on to phrases that rhyme, which makes them easier to remember? And you encode your melodies with instructions to embed them into the impressionable youth?

Huh. She actually is impressed. She made her decision, you will lend your teaching skills to help her embed the most effect way of fracturing someone's spine into a melody to spread to the githyanki children.

Wyll

As someone who has been an unofficial teacher for so many kids throughout his years, he can relate to your struggle a lot. He slips up more than he cares to admit.

The both of you meeting early in the morning while still groggy and tired, your brains working on automatic mods as you greet each other with the same high pitched enthusiastic voice you use to greet a toddler.

Then just stare at each other, complete understanding between the two of you. Like two people accidentally using their customer service voice in front of the other.

You struggle to tie your boots once, and he unconsciously bends down to tie them for you while using the rabbit loop euphemism, only to stop in his tracks as he realises what he's doing.

He uses a curse word once, and you immediately use your teachers voice and say, "we don't speak like that here, that's wasn't very nice."

You're both tired, you both need a nap and neither of you brings it up when the other slips.

Karlach

Much like Gale, she finds it extremely amusing. Top tier comedy to her. Unlike Gale, she hasn't been to any proper schooling system, so she doesn't exactly know what most of these phrases mean or imply.

In a way, it lets her pretend she was a part of something like a school in her youth, like she could've had a normal childhood like everyone else.

She'd indulge you, saying goodbye and thank you to the pigeon that delivered her a letter, or overhearing Wyll's rabbit loop ryhme and whispering it under her breath as she ties her own boots. Who knew this could've been so easy?

Astarion

You remind him of how Leon was with his daughter back in Cazador's manor. Astarion never was close with any of them, but still, he sometimes overheard him attempting to give his daughter a semblance of a normal childhood and growth.

It's endearing when you accidentally use your teaching ways while dealing with the owlbear cub, but he'll never admit it.

Doesn't indulge you with it, he has appearance to keep. Well, unless he has a chance to twist your innocent meaning words into a sex or gorey joke like the 12y old humour that he has.

Ah, the scrowl on your face is the exact same one Leon had around him, such fond memories.

Halsin

Ah, you bring him back to his old days of having to deal with the children at the grove. Although his methods focused more on showing them that nature is a friend rather than inanimate objects.

But who is he to judge your ways? If anything he could learn a thing or two from you to add to his skillset.

Tells you about the fables that were passed down from elf to elf throughout the generations, animal stories have always done a great part in teaching him morality.

Do you happen to have any? Maybe you could tell it to the children of the grove, they are good kids.

Minthara

As a noble, she was only given the best and most prestigious of teachers while growing up. Even the ones that weren't a drow would still be considered the best of the best, crème de la crème.

Yet not a single one of them applied such...childish methods. etiquette and discipline were taught by the lash and threat of punishment, not lullabies and gentle guidance.

....it's not as bad as she imagined.

She doesn't get why some of your companions find it amusing. She doesn't bother indulging either.

But sometimes, sometimes, when it's just the two of you, and she is sure not a single soul is around, she will reply with a pun with the most deadpan face expression you've seen.

Jaheira

Despite what most would think, she actually integrated the same methods into her teachings back when her kids were little, it just happened to be weaved with her more dangerous lifestyle ascept.

Here comes the plane, with the airplane usual holding a good dosage amount of poison to build resistance.

A short rhyme about what to check before leaving the house, except the list has a suspicious amount of daggers and trap disarm kits in it.

If it works, it works, so what if she had to alter a kid's book about a honey loving yellow bear into one with decipherable texts to teach them Harpers' secret communication language.

Minsc

Ah! Boo does use the same method on him sometimes, the two of you have a lot in common. Although Boo's methods do involve a bit of biting every now and then.

Say, how about he teaches you some fables from Rashemen, a lot of them are about a rabbit who got lost after not listening to his witch frog companion.

You could use it in your teachings later! Show the youth the importance of good teamwork. Yes, he is aware of the fact he didn't listen to Jaheira and got captured by the cult. No, he doesn't see why this is relevant? Why is Boo suddenly agreeing with you? He is supposed to be on his side.

[positively-mine]

Alternate way of Leona finding out you’re a female

original post, & credits to @y2ashlee for their idea!

tags: slightly ooc Leona, afab reader, I think that's all lmk if there are others!

a/n: I'm finally back and writing YAYYYYY

ok firstly let’s establish some context, since you and jack are both first years and spend time together, Leona can smell your scent on jack when he returns to the dorm

doesn’t take much notice to it

not for long though because he recognises that scent when he’s rudely awakened from his relaxing nap by someone stepping on his tail 😒

and he takes a serious offence to it, like a personal vendetta (I take him as someone who likes to be/ is petty)

so whenever he sees you expect some snarky comment like “hey, it’s the magicless herbivore” or “it’s the trouble maker with the little kitty” and blah blah blah just Leona things

and sometimes when he’s realllly in a bad mood he’ll threaten you with “move before I send you running away with your tail tucked between your legs 😾”

yea…but keep in mind this all before he knew that you are a girl, just him being a pissy little kitty

so when he finally overblots and you swoop in to save the day does he start being a little more nicer to you

Which means less nasty comments and more sarcasm

A win is a win

but imagine to his surprise when one day he overheard from one of his underclassmen (jack) that you’re a girl

he probably overheard the both of you talking in the garden as he was within earshot

why wasn’t he at his normal spot you ask?

well a group of students started walking around his territory to look for ingredients obviously

and they wouldn't shut up so instead he decided to move and save the trouble of talking to them

but you didn't know that, certainly not when Jack came over to tell you to be careful (again) as you've been letting your guard down

else you want MORE people to find out you're girl

too late because Leona's in the bush behind you but hey

and I kid you not when I say his eyes almost bulge out

wait so you've been a girl all along??

every single interaction that you've had had together crosses his mind immediately

and all of them are his not so pleasant behavior towards you

a shiver immediately runs down his spine

if Farena and his wife finds out how he has been treating you he's sure they would give him an ear full

yea no way he can fall asleep now

so now he's just awkwardly laying in the grass waiting for you and Jack to leave

and the next time you see him he's so very docile

he simply nods his head at you and keeps quiet

I mean you and the others definitely find it strange and suspicious but don't comment further on it

and now he's not sure how to treat you because WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO AFTER TREATING YOU SO BADLY

so now you have to deal with Leona's sudden change in behavior and awkwardness until he gets used to you again

[rhey-007]

The Mystery of Love

Fernando Alonso family fluff

|| P8 of Fernando Alonso x goth mommy!reader

• | social media au

Summary: You and Fernando prepared some surprises for the F1 world.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, family fluff, female reader, pregnancy

A/N: Another part! Yaaay! :3 Enjoy ❤

Masterlist

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ F1 NEWS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Another win snatched by Fernando Alonso, followed but a little surprise on the podium.

Our two time World Champion just proposed to the love of his life! On the podium! F1 fans had never seen such an emotional moment in the driver's life ever before.

Some people are outraged by the quick decision, as the pair had been together only for a year, but neither the driver nor his fiancee seem to care. And good for them!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ INSTAGRAM ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ INSTAGRAM ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

liked by y/n._.l/n, aussiegrit, oscarpiastri and 305,824 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n

•fernandoalo_oficial: SHE SAID YES 🥳🎉

•kl.au_s: still can't believe she said yes 😵‍💫

→ •lance_stroll: me neither... Still can't believe how she can stand him and now this?! But congrats, still, congrats 😗

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: you're just jealous 🙄

→ •y/n._.l/n: Fernando! >:(

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: sorry Lance...

•aussiegrit: HELL YES! 😈🎉

→ •jensonbutton: PARTY TIME! 👽🎊

→ •aussiegrit: 😎

•sebastianvettel: congratulations brother! ❤

•landonorris: LET'S GOOO PEEPAW! 🥳

•user1: peepaw right now:

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"I still can't believe it... "

You sighed admiring the gorgeous ring gracing your finger, while Fernando squeezed your other hand when you waited for your food to come. The moment the debrief finished, you two were on your way to a fancy restaurant for a romantic dinner, to celebrate Fernando's win and your engagement.

Although you've assured your fiance you could do it the next day, as the man was visibly very tired, Alonso insisted and you couldn't say no to those big, puppy eyes of his.

"Me neither. You can't imagine how happy I am that you said yes, mi amor~ I was so nervous you would reject it... "

He admitted sheepishly.

"Why would I? "

Asking confused you gave him a worried look.

"You know... It's been just a year... "

"Oh but that doesn't matter liebling. I love you and I know well I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew that the day we met, I knew that the next day when you didn't get scared of my kids, I knew that when you caught great contact with both Benny AND Klaus... I couldn't wish for a better husband and father to my children"

Smiling sweetly you placed a kiss to Fernando's palm, just before your food arrived.

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"I have a surprise for you~"

You bit your finger, catching Fernando's full attention, as earlier he was working out while talking with you. He stepped out of the treadmill then wiped the sweat out of his forehead, flexing his neck. Oh how you wanted to sink your sharp teeth in that beautiful skin of his... Instead you layed on your couch bored, waiting for him to come back home for the break between race weeks...

"You do? What is it? "

He asked curiously, excitement and impatience painted on his face.

"You'll see when you come back home~"

You said teasingly.

"I'll be there tomorrow. Te Amo! "

Fernando quickly hung up after blowing you a kiss then run back to his hotel room to pack his bags. And as he said, so he did. The next day late at night, you heard your buttler let someone in. Before you've managed to leave your office, Fernando burst in, picking you up happily and hugging tightly. He put you down, kissing you passionately then grabbed your hands and asked.

"What is it? What's the surprise? And why are you up so late?! "

Placing a chaste kiss to his lips, you made him go quiet.

"Mon cher, the kids are asleep"

You reminded.

"I had something important to finish, don't be mad"

"I'm not mad, just worried"

He admitted. It seemed that he took a way better care of your health than you yourself did, as whenever he was gone you stayed up late almost every night.

"Soo... What's the surprise?"

The man asked one last time. You smiled softly, then took out a present bag from underneath your desk and handed it to him. Looking inside he noticed an envelope and a black piece of fabric.

The moment Fernando took a T-shirt out of the bag and saw the print on it, he quickly ripped the envelope open. Tears started running down his cheeks as he read the content.

"I-Is it.. Real?... "

He asked, voice shaky, as you wiped his tears away and cupped his cheek lovingly.

"It is... You're going to be a father"

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ INSTAGRAM ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton, maxverstappen and 105,824 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

•y/n._.l/n: we might or might not have been veeery busy 🤭

•landonorris: IT'S YOUR FIRST TIME AND YOU ALREADY LANDED TWO???

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: I'm a real man after all 😎

→ •landonorris: says who? 🤨

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: everyone.

•kl.au_s: another two weeping angels... Great...

→ •y/n._.l/n: meanwhile you the moment they are born:

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: exactly 🧍‍♀️

→ •user2: poor bro's been exposed by his own mother...

•jensonbutton: •aussiegrit WE'RE GONNA BE UNCLES! JDBSSNSKMZMS

→ •aussiegrit: fucking finally 🙏

→ •frnandoalo_oficial: says the childless one - _ -

→ •aussiegrit: I have Oscar alright? He's more than enough ❤

→ •y/n._.l/n: that's so cute 🥰💕

•susie_wolff: I admire that you have so much strength to welcome 2 more kids while you already have 3, good luck and congratulations honey! ❤

→ •y/n._.l/n: thank you Schatz! (Darling)

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: 3? 🤨

→ •lance_stroll: she's talking bout you grandpa

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: 😲 •susie_wolff you did NOT

→ •susie_wolff: 😁

•user: does Benny know tho? 🤔

→ •y/n._.l/n: not yet 😉

→ •user: reaction video incoming??? PLEASE!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ INSTAGRAM ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

liked by y/n._.l/n, lance_stroll, landonorris and 405,824 others

tagged: y/n._.l/n

•fernandoalo_oficial: this one's for the kids 💪😎 (all 4)

•user: so glad Fernando doesn't forget about the ogs now that Y/N's expecting 💪

→ •user: that's what true parents do, and our champ is ready to become one!

•maxverstappen1: another luck charms! You're too lucky! 😉

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: I'm just better 😝

•oscarpiastri: damn... leave something for us pops...

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: no, thank you 😚 3rd WDC incoming! 😈

→ •maxverstappen1: you wish!

→ •landonorris: YOU wish!

→ •charles_leclerc: you both wish 🤭

•lewishamilton: surprises after surprises... Chill brother, chill

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: nahh, I'm gonna snatch another win next weekend 😎

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ INSTAGRAM ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Just after Fernando finished filming and him and Klaus left the room, Benny's smile dropped. He tugged on your sleeve then whispered.

"Mommy? "

"Yes honey? "

"I'm so happy I'll be a big brother but... Doesn't that mean you and papa are gonna forget about me and Klausie?... "

You sighed heavily, sitting down next to your son and tugging him to your side.

"Oh baby... Of course not. We're not gonna forget about anyone, no one is going to be left out, you don't have to worry about that. We're going to divide our love and attention equally between you two. Sure, the babys' will need then more sometimes, but it won't change anything. I promise"

You said placing a kiss to Benny's head while he hugged your side.

"Okay. I believe you mom"

. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🥀 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Tag list: @morgan-getty @lichterfee @ashy-kit @champomiel

[slightlypossessed]

Synopsis – Steve let's someone take care of him, for once in his fucking life

Who? – Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

18+ content – MDNI // handjob, thigh riding, marking and kissing.

4.05k – 17 mins

words are lost on him

it's not that there are none coming to mind — they are, they're just not sticking: light flash-bangs that don't last enough to know if he's really seen or imagined them.

the words are too quick for him to grasp onto, nerve endings fried as they spark alight with every stroke of your hand.

The movements you so torturously inflict on him are gentle, yet cruel. ministrations calculated and precise to ensure the most damage to his mind and fragile, vulnerable, state as he lies bare beneath you.

Body bare and soul rested on a silver platter for you, laid prettily at your feat for you to take as much as your heart, and lust, desire.

"Baby..." his whisper is husky, voice wrecked and all scratching-on-metal as he tries not, but fails, to beg.

Cognitive dissonance is a killer thing, Steve decides as you give a particular rough tug to his straining cock, more so than he's realised now that he's in the deep cusps of it. On one hand he's trying to hold himself together, trying to be man — in his mind, he's made to please, to be a caretaker — it's why he puts up with the bloody kids that he knows will make his hair go gret by the time he's 32, it's why he's there after every argument max has with her father, every time dustin feels lonely, every time Lucas has a falling out with the rest of the boys — always there, an invisible hand on the back, guiding, cautious, caring.

And it's why it's typically the other way around with you two than it is now. Steve's gotten comfortable with the unintentional routine: you beneath him, mouth and sex hot as you beg and scratch while he wrecks you piece by piece. He's your boyfriend, he's yours, and it's his job to please you. He's gotta care for you, for your pleasure — because he's your man, and because he goddamn wants to.

But as his darned luck would have it, your hands feel too good on his cock for him to push you away: far too gentle to push him over, but determined to press all the delicate parts of him, your fingers deft and rubbing down the areas you know to be sensitive — just enough times with every stroke to keep him constantly on edge.

He's lost time, how long it's been: maybe five minutes? ten? fifteen? maybe just the one? a torturously slow minute of pure ecstatic and exhilirating agony? He's doesn't know, all he knows is that he's at your mercy to grant him what he most needs.

And right now he needs more of what you're giving, just – god, please, more – enough to quiet the voice in his head telling him he's failing... something. Your pleasure? His supposed boyfriend duty? he doesn't know, but he wants it quiet — you've already told him you want to take care of him.

However long it was ago, his brain is half-mush and he can't quite remember, you took in your arms mid make out session and told him you wanted him, your tone different than every other time you've said those words, your hold on him more tender and enveloping.

"let me take care of you," you'd whispered against his lips, your hands on his chest and steadily caressing lower, "please."

He couldn't say no to you then, can't say no to you ever — his sweet girl, whatever you want, you'd get — and he's decided then that he'll be most compliant for you, he'll relent underneath you as you take care of him, in whatever way you'd wished to do that.

and fuck, he wasn't prepared – doesn't think his brain has relaxed ever since you pushed him against the headboard and straddled his legs and fucking told him to just relax.

How can he? when the prettiest girl he's ever seen is on top of him looking so pretty with earnest eyes tracking every emotion and expression that passes over his face. You're so keen, attention completely tuned in on him.

Nerves firing blast rapidly, blinding white light behind his eyes, whether his eyes are closed or not.

He's not even sure anymore if they're open or closed, there's just glimpses of you, and he's not even sure if his short-circuiting brain is catching up a moment late, doesn't know if by the time he's caught to the beautiful sight of you as you stoke more heat in his belly, he might've already drifted in another mini ecstasy and closed his eyes again.

Fuck, he needs more — he's not sure he can handle it — so much going on in his brain, so much pleasure emitting from your soft hands on his hard cock, but he needs more. Maybe it'll quiet his mind, maybe it'll ramp up the frequency to a million, maybe he'll completely lose it and go insane by your hands — but he craves what you give.

"Please," his voice is foreign to his own ears, broken and pleading. If he were to really think about it, you haven't even done that much to warrant his half-wrecked state. But he's there, and he seems relenting to the idea of you completely breaking him.

Maybe the idea of you taking care of him has done more to him than he thought it would.

A low moan escapes his throat as his hand previously gripping the sheet moves to anchor itself to your hips.

"Fuck," another broken sound, "please, honey, more." He isn't sure more what, faster? harder? both? he just needs your hands on him and to forget all his thoughts before he even has them.

"shh," you soothe as your hand tightens around the tip of him– and by god, you're evil, a wicked little thing— you know he's most sensitive there, and if you'd had any doubts about that, they were now for sure quelled by the debauched moan that escapes his throat. "I've got you, sweetheart, just relax for me."

But he can't relax, oh god, what are you doing to him?

Evil, he's decided.

Heavenly, his heart argues, as you lean down to give him a saccharine kiss on his parted lips, your tongue swirling with his.

Deep down, you're aware that your torturous and slow pace over the last few minutes has built him yet kept him consistently at bay, kept him all achy and squirmy underneath you – all because of you, for you.

He whimpers quietly, the sound low and vulnerable against your lips, and you pull back to hear his sweet sounds better – and immediately he gifts you another desperate sound as he chases your lips.

Usually, hand jobs are quick business in your relationship. Quick things done in foreplay before Steve's putting his tongue on you and making you cum a few times as he gets hard again to fuck you – sometimes he's even pushing your hand off him before he cums, choosing to sink himself deep inside you instead.

But it's been on your mind for a while now, this urge to just take care of him. You're brain constantly wandering to how he'd look like, sound like, if lets himself loose and handed over the reigns of his pleasure to you. He's stretching himself too thin everyday — acting as a brother, a father and a friend to a group of 15-year-old kids united by other-worldly trauma. He's the perfect boyfriend 24/7, small gifts every now and then, dates every week, fucking you silly almost every night – and on top, he's got a full-time nine-to-five.

You want to do something for him, get his mind of off everything for a while. And maybe this opens the door for more later – it's not that Steve doesn't let you take charge often, but even then he's still very much a giver rather than a taker, and this time you want him to just take and be as selfish with you as he'd wish to for once.

And so you stroke him faster in your hand again, your grip tighter this time.

A low groan sounds from his throat when your hand squeezes him at the base. Electric shocks from the centre of him to his brain.

You can't deny him what you want, can't ignore his pleas for more pleasure, not when he's so pretty underneath you, face red and flush, and his hair a mess all over a place with a few strands down his forehead.

Beautiful, in every sense. Debauched facial expression: eyes heavy-lidded and mouth agape, heavy pants in and out.

So pretty, and so you really can't even think to deny him what he aches for. Your hand moves faster without meaning to, just wanting to see more of him in this state. He rewards you with another groan, his hand tightening on your waist.

faster and faster, the sudden change of pace makes his back arch of the headboard bringing his chest closer to yours and he can feel your hardened nipples from beneath your thin shirt. The feel of it makes him shudder and he feels the need to be closer to you.

He can't think to even lift hands to take the shirt you're wearing of you, feel you closer to his skin, his heart – but he can lean his face up towards you and hope you understand his polite request.

And you do, instantly, because you were already halfway down to laying another kiss on his soft, pink lips.

Your lips meet his, gentle and tender as you feel his soft lips between your own. Your hand moves even quicker now, your thumb pressing down on the on spot you know makes him keen — and his reaction is instant. His mouth opens mid-kiss as he moans unabashedly against your lips as you continue to press over that one spot over and over again.

He's going to go insane, by god, you're going to drive him to the crazy house, because the things you're doing to him are effectively frying his brain.

You leave his mouth, and choose to kiss his exposed neck instead.

He's welcoming of it; without meaning to, he tilts his head to give you more access to suck and bite all kinds of marks along his neck – and he'd wear them with pride, let everyone now how good his girl takes care of him, how good she makes him feel. Fuck, he just wants you all around him, your soft lips on his neck and hands on his cock. He can feel your thighs against his, your calves rubbing against his knees – with every brush of your skin against his the fire in his belly grows warmer, moving from his core and spreading to his chest, his head, his limbs – rendering him tingly all over and loose beneath you.

Your hand move down as you caress his balls in slow circles as your other hand moves to continue stroking his cock.

And Steve keens, whimpers uncontrolled rolling out of his lips. And you time your hand encircling and tightening against his taut balls as you bite down on his neck, your lips suck on the tender flesh of his neck, suck and bite on a tender point on his neck.

And Steve? fuck

Steve's mind goes blank.

No thoughts, no words, nothing.

Just pleasure.

White, hot, blinding pleasure.

He feels it deep within him, a feeling like hot, melted honey so visceral it moves along from his center to spread all over him in intense waves.

In a haze, he's aware his thighs have begun to shake, his sartorius muscle clenching and rippling underneath his skin as the feeling begs to claw out of bones and release.

He's keening, hot moans and whimpers flowing through his lips in a steady flow. You can feel the sounds before you hear them, your lips still pressed to the length of throat.

Both of his arms are now gripping your hips hard, urging you closer to him. He wants– no, needs you closer. There's some part kf him that feels like he can't handle anything else, that if you were to repeat the same movements you've just done, of you were to press down on that spot along his tip, he might just go insane. Maybe lose all cognitive ability as your constant infliction of pleasure fries his nerve endings.

But these thoughts don't last, nerves frayed and through barely able to keep grip as your hands continue to jerk him quick8and quicker, unaware of how intensely you've just wrecked him.

— it's quiet and yet he can't think.

"Please," a voice he doesn't even register as his own, "please, baby, I lov- fuck, love you —oh – fuck, oh, honey–"

He's not sure what words he's saying, not even sure if he's speaking or thinking them, but the desired effect comes anyway.

The precum on your fingers help keep your movements quick, and you continue to move your fingers up and down as your other hand massages his balls.

On one particularly hard jerk, his legs twitchs beneath you, resulting in his thigh rubbing hard against your center, brushing your clit the way you've been abstaining of doing for the past god knows how long now.

shit, you might just come from this slight touch. You hadn't even realised how hot and wet you've become over the duration of pleasuring your boyfriend.

He's always been so hot to you (to everyone really, if his reputation so implies), and one look from him would've been enough to have your underwear ruined.

But, god, he's given more than just a look. He's given you his pleasure, his bare form against yours – he's given you his moans and mewls, his vulnerability. He's given you full control over his body and his pleasure – hadn't even tried once to flip you over and switch roles (not that he'd even be able to with how week in the knees you've rendered him)

So, how can you not be all hot and bothered by this? by the lascivious site of him beneath you as he desperate and weak cries fill the room around you?

Without meaning to, your hips rock against his thighs, moving in tandem with the rhythm you've set with your hand against his cock.

The feel of your dripping centre against him weakens him further, his eyes closed and head burying in the pillow. To know that his pleasure affects you that much makes his cock twitch in your fingers, makes his heart swell with an affection that is so foreign to him.

He's felt it before with you, with his tongue on your center and fingers buried deep – he's cum many times as he ate you out, unable to control himself from letting go as your pretty sounds spurred him on.

But it feels weird for the script to flip, for his immense pleasure be reason for your own, even as you remain untouched above him.

Your lips move from one spot on his neck to the other, biting and sucking as you go, feeling the vibrations of his throat down to even your core as you steadily grind yourself back and forth along the thick expanse of his muscular thighs – feeling every bulge of his muscles, every twitch of his form against the folds of your pussy, the curve of your clitoris.

His voice gruff and broken as he whimpers for you.

And despite the oath you took to only focus on him tonight, you can't stop your hips from moving even faster, motivated by lewd noise he makes.

You are human after all, and the intimacy of the atmosphere around you can't be ignored. The sight of his heaving chest gone red from blush of pleasure tempts you to feel him against your skin – to feel more of him as you make him (and yourself) cum.

You can feel it now, the shift in the atmosphere as your fingers keep moving and your hips keep rocking – it's all coming to a crescendo.

Maybe when your done milking him till you're both reasonably satisfied, you'll kiss him stupid as he recovers and then ride him till he's coming inside of you — maybe he'll sound even prettier then, cock deep in your cunt as you bounce up and down the length of him. You'll kiss his pretty neck all over then, too, feel the whimpers as they form his throat and kiss his lips as he moans for you.

or maybe you'll let yourself go now, core molten against his thighs as he cums for you spurt after spurt.

You can already feel yourself growing weak and weightless with euphoria, filled with a fever-like weakness that pulls you lower and lower to the throes of passion.

Before you can register your movements, you're pulling your hands away from Steve and ripping his shirt that still on your body off you.

The moment of reprieve, or perhaps frustration, shocks Steve, and he mewls against your throat for more.

"so close, bab– oh god–" his pleas are cut short as your hands resume their earlier position, moving faster and harsher now, more determined to get him to his high before you lose it yourself.

Your thumb drags over his slit and down to his pleasure points, up and down gripping the base. Up and down and a squeeze to his balls. Faster, gentler, more – Steve can't think, can't hold it together anymore. It's too much, please, oh please– too much yet he needs more, needs that final push to euphoria. Needs it, fuck– wants it and can't take anymore.

You lean down to kiss him on the lips again, and your nipples bush against his chest – the feeling making you both keen against each other. The soft curve of your breasts rubs against the peaks of nipples. Each rock of your hips against his thigh moving your body against him, electrifying touches all over his body and your chest rubs against his.

You bite his lips as you kiss, taking his plush bottom lip between your own and awarding it a slight tug, before letting go and soothing his tender lips with your lips.

You pull back a moment to admire your handiwork. His lips are red and kiss-bruised. His eyes are heavy lidded and you can see the dreamy and half-present look in the crescents of his eyes. He pants against your lips and tilts his head upward to kiss your lips and intertwine your tongue with his own. You watch his eyes fully close before your own do and you kiss him back.

And it appears that Steve's torture has gotten the best of him, because beneath you his chest hitches as his back begins to arch the way it always does before he cums. The sounds escaping his throat and vibrating against your lips are sporadic and disjointed. He's less kissing you now, more letting you kiss and suck at his parted lips.

His muscle tense and twitch against you, and you know all you need to do is just give him a little more, an extra nudge, and he'll topple over.

Your thumb presses against his slit as you jerk him, and your other hand massages and circles his balls just a tad bit harder.

And Steve feels himself fall.

He's not sure if the sounds he hears are his own or yours — pitches and tones melting into one, sounds coming in and out of focus as his eyes roll back and his body breaks out into tremors.

The feeling is intense, hot and burning and too much, spreading from his cock to his guts to his chest and head.

Steve shakes beneath you, body vibrating as shot after shot of hot cum fills your fist and releases over your hands and onto the sheets.

His abdominal muscles twitch as you milk him for all he's worth, your hands continuing to move as he experiences his high. Your hips rock harder and harder against his thighs, clit brushing faster as your wetness soaks his thighs.

You only slow your hand when Steve begins to thrash beneath you, his silent scream turning to aching cries.

"Steve," you moan against his lips as you rock harder, electricity filling you as your head begins to buzz and your eyes roll.

"Fuck," his whisper is quiet and rough with use, "cum for me, baby, come on," his hands, despite weak with euphoria, grip your hips with all his might to help rock your hips faster against him. "cum, honey. I love you– come on."

Steve, despite barely able to even blink his eyes open or keep his head straight, moves a hand to the back of your head to bring you closer, granting you the same intimacy you'd given him for his own orgasm.

He pulls your face to his lips, biting your plush lips in the same manner you did to his lips moments prior.

Despite the fact that Steve's brain is so euphoria-riddled that everything he experiences feels as if through a haze, he's completely and acutely in tune to your pleasure – to the hitch in your throat as your whimpers grow breathier, to the jerk of your hips against him, to how you seem to burrow yourself closer to him as you approach your own high.

Desperate and nerves frazzled to meet your own high, your hand moves to your own centre.

You bow your back as you begin to circle your clit, using Steve's sticky cum to intensify the feeling.

As your hand moves, Steve pulls back from kissing your neck, tilting his head to watch you make yourself cum with his own spend.

"oh, steve– I love you, fuck, baby–gonna cum fo'you," your words are just ramblings, breathless and desperate as you near your high.

A whimper releases from his throat as he watches your fingers circle your clit – one, two, three tugs before your body tips forward, tremors and twitches racking through your body. Your front presses against your boyfriend's chest as soft, gentle pressure fills your core and your body, leaving you weightless and pliant in the aftermath.

Those gentle waves of euphoria render you speechless against Steve, your limbs are jelly as you melt against your lover.

If Steve wasn't so spent, if his head wasn't already far too high in the clouds of venus, he might've gotten hard all over again and fucked the mix of yours and his cum deeper into your cunt.

But that'll wait, maybe a few minutes, or an hour – maybe...

His eyes are already closing.

Bone-deep euphoria induced exhaustion pulls him deep into a restful slumber.

He'll clean you both up later. You know he'll repay the pleasure you've given him with a hundred acts of care and praise. But for now you'll let him pull you down again him, let him bask in the intoxicating feeling of intimacy that comes after your love making. He settles you close, his hips against your own as you lay over like a weighted blanket.

A soft, comforting, supple blanket.

His hands fumble next to him as he reaches for the tissue box on his bedside and hands you one to wipe your fingers, eyes still closed. The rest of you can be cleaned...later, in the shower, or with his tongue; he'll decide later.

Right now, he just needs you against him.

As a final act of love before he's out, his hand moves to the back of your head and kisses your lips one last time, slow and tender, and another against each eyelid, before coming back again to your lips.

"Steve..." you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, "you gotta let me take care of you often." your words barely even a slur. Despite your love-drunk state and sensitivity, you already know that you want a repeat of this night; of the gratifying feeling as you give your lover pleasure.

Before you can respond to his weak chuckle, you're both out like light, his arms wrapped tight against you as yours rest around his neck, keeping him close to you as you bask in the post-euphoria quiet intimacy.

Like it? >> Give this a go

A/N – wasn't really sure how to end this. It's been almost two years since I've written anything at all so it feels great to get back into it. Feel like I've forgotten how to describe things??? but oh well Feedback is always wanted and appreciated

Requests are open <3

[mercillery]

CROSS GUILD WITH A CHILD READER

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD + I MOSTLY TALK ABOUT BUGGY OOPS

NOTES: A clown, a swordsman, and a sandman. My favorite trio. Everything written here is so random, so please buckle up. 🫨

You've got Crocodile and Mihawk, both big shots in their own right, and they've got a ton of stuff going on, right? They're busy dealing with all sorts of important things, and suddenly, you come into the picture needing someone to look after you. Now, it's not that they don't care about you or anything, but they're not exactly equipped to handle a kid at the moment. So, what do they do? They look around and think, "Hey, who can we pawn this kid off to?" And guess who they settle on? Buggy. They're both kind of on the same page about Buggy being, well, pretty useless most of the time. But hey, he can at least handle babysitting duty, right? It's like the least he can do to make himself a bit more tolerable to Mihawk and Crocodile. And eventually, you end up in Buggy's care, and who knows, maybe he surprises everyone by not completely messing it up. It's like a little test for him to see if he can step up and actually contribute something meaningful to the Cross Guild, while also maybe earning a bit of respect from the big bosses themselves—Crocodile and Mihawk. Plus, it might even help smooth things over between them all, make things a bit less tense in the Cross Guild. It's kind of like Buggy's chance to step up and show he's not totally useless after all.

Spoiler alert: Buggy is, in fact, useless, even when it comes to babysitting.

While under Buggy’s care, think of that one audio that goes like, “You want a beer?” “He’s four!” “I DONT KNOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HIM?!” Buggy is the one offering you a beer, and it’s probably Alvida scolding him for offering you a beer. He’s trying, okay—and it’s the thought that counts. When Mihawk and Crocodile first told him he'd be looking after you, Buggy's gut reaction was to grumble and complain. But then he saw the looks they gave him—those death stares that could silence any king—and he quickly shut his mouth. Just like that, he accepted his new role with a resigned, "Okay, I am now a babysitter." Sure, he's skeptical about the whole thing. I mean, Buggy and babysitting? But he knows better than to argue. So here he is, awkwardly navigating this whole childcare thing, making blunders but genuinely trying his best. It's a weird situation for everyone.

I imagine that you have been with the Cross Guild for some time already, so this likely isn’t Buggy’s first time taking care of you. Yet every time feels like the first time for him. He's just not a natural with kids. It's like he's constantly second-guessing himself, unsure of what to do or how to act. But you know what really lights a fire under him? Compliments. Especially when they're about how cool he is. Seriously, mention anything about his awesomeness, and suddenly, he's walking on air. You can practically see the confidence oozing out of him. "Oh, you think I'm cool?" he'll say, grinning from ear to ear, soaking up every bit of praise you throw his way. And if you really want to see him shine, just keep the compliments coming. Tell him how flashy and impressive he is, and watch as he practically transforms before your eyes. Suddenly, he's not just awkwardly babysitting; he's putting on a show, trying to impress you with his swagger and style. After that, you'll probably notice a change in him. He'll start to relax a bit and maybe even start looking forward to spending time with you. Buggy the babysitter isn't such a wild idea after all.

And if for some reason Buggy isn’t the one taking care of you, it’s most likely Mihawk who steps up. Crocodile's usually buried under a mountain of responsibilities, so Mihawk takes it upon himself to keep an eye on you. Now, unlike Buggy, Mihawk's not exactly awkward around kids. He's just... well, himself. You know, all serious and stoic, like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders. He doesn't really have much experience with children, so he kinda just treats you like a mini-adult. No baby talk or anything like that, he just sees you as a little human being. But don't worry, he's not some mean old grump or anything. He's just firm. Firm as in he won't tolerate any disrespect or nonsense from you, but he's not gonna yell or anything like that. His gaze alone is usually enough to keep you in line. Oh, and whatever you do, don't even think about touching his sword. Seriously, that thing's like his baby—the last thing he wants is a crying kid with a cut because they were being too clumsy. He might let you take a good look at it though. So look all you want, but keep those small hands off. But you know what he will let you have? His hat. If you beg ask him nicely enough, he might just let you borrow it for a little while. So go ahead, give it a try. Who knows, maybe wearing Mihawk's hat will make you feel like a little pirate captain or something.

And then there's Crocodile. When it's his turn to take care of you, his approach is pretty straightforward. He'll plop you down somewhere near him and tell you to behave and stay out of his way while he works on stuff. But what kind of kid is just going to sit there quietly and stare at their dad work on a bunch of boring papers? None. Exactly. So naturally, you start to get a bit antsy. At first, you try to be subtle. You scoot over a bit closer and peek over his shoulder, trying to see what he's so engrossed in. And what do you find? Boring paperwork. You sigh, plopping back into your seat, feeling utterly defeated by the sheer dullness of it all. Then the questions start. "Crocodile," you call out. He doesn't look at you, but you know he's listening. "What are you working on?" "Work," he replies, his voice flat and uninterested. "Crocodile," you try again. "Hmm?" he grunts. "Why are you so tall?" "Why are you so talkative?" "Crocodile," you persist. "What?" "Can I have one of your rings?" "No." He goes silent again, but you're not giving up that easily. "Crocodile," you say once more. This time, he finally glances over at you, annoyance etched across his face. Perfect, you think—this is your chance to unload all those burning questions. So you start firing away. "Why are you called Crocodile? Are you a crocodile? How did you get that scar on your face? Can you make a sandcastle? Can I have your hook? Can I have your coat? Can you make my hair like yours? Can you make me cool like you?" He listens in silence as the barrage of questions comes his way, his eyebrow quirking slightly at the rapid-fire interrogation. "Kid, where are all these questions coming from?" he finally asks, unable to hide the hint of exasperation in his voice. “My head," you say innocently, flashing him a wide-eyed look. It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at your annoyingly cute innocence.

Now, when it's the three of them—Mihawk, Crocodile, and Buggy—all tasked with taking care of you at the same time, things can get pretty complicated. On one hand, you have the stern swordsman and the no-nonsense sandman keeping a close eye on you while you and Buggy play patty cake. It's a weird dynamic. Buggy's usual strategy in this situation is to dive headfirst into playing kids' games with you, trying his best to act like he's fully engrossed in the fun. But you can tell he's a bit on edge, especially when you notice him glancing nervously over his shoulder, feeling the burning stares of Mihawk and Crocodile boring into the back of his head. Sometimes, the tension gets to be too much, and Mihawk and Crocodile can't resist giving Buggy a hard time, even in front of you. It's like one of those awkward moments when you're watching your sibling get scolded by your parents. You can see Buggy's face go pale, and he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. But then there are those moments when you step in to defend him. Buggy has never felt more grateful and relieved in his entire life than when you stand up for him like the little knight in shining armor you are. And believe it or not, your defense actually does make somewhat of a difference. Mihawk and Crocodile are way too mature to start bullying a child for defending Buggy, no matter how much they can't stand him. Plus, the last thing they want to deal with is a full-blown crying session from a grown man and child. Sure, your defense might earn Buggy even more glares from the two men, but it also makes them back off a bit. You can imagine Buggy clinging to you like a damsel in distress while you stand there, fierce and determined, protecting him with everything you've got. It's a sight that definitely annoys Mihawk and Crocodile. But hey, at least Buggy's got someone in his corner.

It’s pretty much a given that with Crocodile and Mihawk watching over you, you're practically untouchable. Even Buggy, despite his penchant for getting into trouble, wouldn't intentionally put you in harm's way. Sure, he may accidentally stumble into dangerous situations from time to time, but deep down, all three of them care about you—even if they don't always show it. Since you often spend the most time with Buggy, it's not uncommon for him to inadvertently lead you into precarious predicaments. Take, for example, that time you found yourselves perched on a rocky hillside, with Buggy enthusiastically rambling on about how cool and flashy he is. But then, in a classic Buggy move, he trips and starts tumbling down the hill—with you in tow. You’d think your life would flash before your eyes in a moment like that, right? Wrong. Instead, it's Buggy's life and yours flashing before his very eyes. The panic he's feeling right now is like when Crocodile and Mihawk are giving him those death glares, except multiplied by a thousand. But here's the thing: Buggy's luck? It seems to have rubbed off on you because, miraculously, you came out of this whole ordeal without a scratch. Meanwhile, poor Buggy's got a bloody nose, a bruised face, and who knows what else. But the moment he sees that you're okay, it's like a floodgate of relief and joy bursts open. He's screaming at the top of his lungs, cradling you like you're some precious treasure he's just unearthed. You can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. And it's not just because of the screaming clown in front of you—it's also because you know he's genuinely relieved that you're okay. (Think of that one part in the movie The Lion King when Rafiki just holds Simba high up—except in this situation it’s Buggy holding you high up and screaming out of joy like some madman. I legit had to search for this scene on YouTube because I forgot that dang monkey's name.) The only problem now is that Buggy's got to come up with a good explanation for those injuries he’s got when Crocodile and Mihawk inevitably catch sight of him. 

When hunger strikes, Mihawk is usually your go-to guy. He's not just the world's greatest swordsman; he's also a fantastic cook. If he ever decided to retire or whatever, he could easily become a top-notch chef. Or he could be the world's greatest swordsman and chef at once, who knows. On the other hand, if you asked Buggy to cook, you'd probably end up with something burnt. And Crocodile? He'd just brush you off with a classic "go ask your dad" line, where "dad" in this case is Mihawk. Of course, Crocodile never actually calls Mihawk your dad, but you get the joke. Anyway, Mihawk takes his cooking duties seriously when it comes to you. He doesn't cook for you throughout the day. Instead, he wakes up at the crack of dawn and prepares enough food to last you the entire day. By the time you wake up, your meal is already waiting for you, perfectly packed and ready to go. And the impressive part is that Mihawk always packs just the right amount of food, ensuring that you're never left hungry or stuffed. It's like he has some kind of sixth sense for portion control. If, by the end of the day, you haven't seen Mihawk at all, you make a point to find him at night just to say thank you. Mihawk, with his usual stoic demeanor, nods at you and sends you off to bed. It's a small ritual, but it means a lot to both of you. Another thing about Mihawk is that he's meticulous about your diet. He makes sure you're eating healthy, well-balanced meals. Sure, he lets you have sweets now and then, but he's always careful to remind you about moderation. He'll explain how too many sweets can be bad for you—not to scare you off sweets entirely, but just to make sure you're aware. He doesn't want you polishing off your fourth chocolate bar of the day, especially since Buggy is probably sneaking them to you because he thinks you're the cutest thing ever. Overall, Mihawk's attention to your diet and well-being shows how much he cares, even if he's not the most expressive guy. He might be stern and serious, but his actions speak volumes.

You have this cute habit of constantly asking Crocodile to pick you up. Honestly, who wouldn't want to be hoisted high up by the tallest guy around? For a kid, it's like an instant rollercoaster ride that's thrilling and fun. At first, Crocodile's pretty reluctant. He’s not exactly the most nurturing figure, and he's out of practice handling kids. But you, with your endless persistence, your pleading eyes, and that adorable pout, eventually wear him down. The first time he gives in is pretty comical. He picks you up with a heavy sigh, clearly unsure of himself. For a moment, he just stares at you, probably wondering what he’s gotten himself into and debating whether he should put you back down or not. But then you flash him your brightest, most radiant smile, and he knows he’s stuck. He figures that if he puts you down now, the cycle of begging and pleading will start all over again. So he resigns himself to carrying you around as he goes about his day. Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose where he takes you. Crocodile decides the route and destination, and that’s non-negotiable. If you start to complain about it, he'll fix you with a stern look and threaten to put you down and never carry you again. That usually gets you to pipe down pretty quickly. But all that aside, being carried by him is an absolute blast. He's so tall that you get an amazing bird's-eye view of everything around you. There's a thrill in being up high, combined with a comforting sense of security, knowing that Crocodile’s got you firmly in his grasp and won't let you fall. As for the way he carries you, it’s always in his arms. On very rare occasions, he’ll let you sit on his shoulders. But there's one rule: don't mess up his hair. Seriously, he’s adamant about that. So there you are, perched up high on Crocodile's shoulders, looking down at the world with a huge grin on your face. Despite his grumbling and sighs, you know he doesn't really mind. In his own gruff way, he’s grown fond of having you around.

You may be a handful, but you're their handful.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

1. TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: if you're seeing this for the first time, welcome! If not, and you were following my other blog, welcome back! Either way, I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire brought to you by my imagination ✨️

Summary: In the town of Agua Fria lived a shooter called Texas Red. Many men had tried to take him, and that many men were dead. A duelist and potential outlaw, with a secret no one knows. The perfect recruit for Dutch Van Der Linde to sweet talk into joining up.

Warnings: game typical violence, gun violence, dueling, old fashioned ways of thinking (no racism depicted in this chapter, but misogyny is mentioned) mild language, Arthur is a grump but also a sweetheart.

WC: 6.5k

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair? “Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Javier, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are here,” 

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

TAGS: @sheepdogchick3

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Michael Kaiser's significant other.

Imagine it was one of those nights where you find yourself missing the warmth of your lover. He had a big game tonight, having your own things to do and take care of, you cannot afford to go all the way from overseas to see his game as much to his disappointment in which of course, he would never show you, not wanting to make you feel bad. Believe it or not, he does actually care a lot about you.

Imagine going through his side of the bed hoping to feel his warmth but who are you kidding? Only his smells lingers in it. But that was enough.

Imagine it was one of those nights were you find yourself just.. Nothing, feeling but overall overwhelmed with some feelings you can't seem to put up. Maybe it's because it's been a long time since you've seen and be with him, it wasn't enough just to see him in the screen. Funny because when he was around, all you ever did was to cringe at him for being so overbearing, but truthfully, you really love it.

Imagine missing him, badly missing him to the point where you find yourself unconsciously tearing up, staining his pillow. You just want him right beside you, you miss him so much. You can't even remember when was the last time you've seen him in person after all the works, practice, games and tight schedules on your side.

Imagine falling asleep on his side of the bed, not hearing the sound of the keys giggling and the door unlocking.

Imagine upon entering his your shared penthouse for five years, the first thing he noticed was the silence around the place, plus all the nights were turn off. Letting of a sigh, he took a glance at his wrist watch. It was 2 in the morning already. It course you'll be asleep. Honestly he could have gone a little bit earlier, he did not even attended the after party of their victory, all he wanted was his real price for victory, you. But damn it all for as soon as he arrived at the airport, what greeted him was a 12 hours delay of flight causing him to get all pissed off as he went back to celebrate with his team for a short period of time until it was time go back back again at the airport.

Imagine as soon as he entered in your shared room, the first thing he noticed upon turning on the dim lights on the corner of the room was your sleeping figure. Carefully and quietly putting down his bag on the floor as he went towards your sleeping figure quietly.

Imagine the first thing he noticed was the blue rose tattoo on the back of your neck that was matching with his. Making him remember of that time where he wanted to get a tattoo and you were the only who supported him, you were the one who came up with the idea of his tattoo in the first place, and not too long after he had one, you get one too, saying you two were a match. How long has it been?

Imagine upon caressing the tattoo on the back of your neck, you stir up on your sleep, groaning before turning. And there he notice another thing. A trace of tear on your cheeks earning a frown on his forehead and before he could even do a thing, only when did he notice you were on his side of the bed. Then he chuckle.

"Alright, that was my bad. Meine Liebe." He spoke with a smile, brushing back the lost strand of your (hair color) lock away from your face. "Must have been so lonely with me humm?" Stroking your cheeks, brushing off the tears away, he lean down and gave you a kiss on your forehead. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving anywhere without you now." He spoke, for if he was being honest with himself, he missed you so much these days.

Imagine in contrast of how everyone expected him when it comes to being in a relationship with is someone which is someone who can't seem to settle down. He treasures you so much, you who have always been their by his side despite his sometimes nasty attitude. You never gave up on him, even in the most crucial part of your relationship, you never did.

Imagine, loving you was one of the best thing ever happened and could bring him happiness and satisfaction aside from football. So just imagine the weight of feelings the ring he have bought was giving him. With a sigh of contentment, after doing his routine, he laid down right beside you where he pull you in his arms and as if your body knowing it was him, you immediately relax and snuggle close to him.

Imagine the day after, with no alarms waking you up due to having a day off at work. You woke up late but refreshed. Stretching your arms as you get up with a yawn, you failed to notice the presence of your lover looking at you from his spot at the balcony. Well more like ignoring him thinking he was nothing but an illusion caused by your yet to be awake mind.

"Did you have a good sleep meine liebe?" "Yeah, I had a dream you came home earlier this morning.." You spoke, eventually yawning afterwards as you turn to face him and to halt as you were about to get out of the bed. "Verdammt." You curse on his native language with a gasp as your eyes widen. "Bastard! You actually went home this early morning!" You spoke in delight as you hurriedly went towards him out the balcony of your shared room. "You should have waken me up!" You spoke as you hug him real tight, earning a chuckle from your lover.

"You were sleeping soundly, how could I afford to disturb the sleep of meine liebe?" "Fuck that, you know I wouldn't mind that." "Yeah I know." He chuckle, his tattooed hand running up and down on your back as he breath in your scent. Fuck, he miss you, really. "Meine liebe?" "Yeah?" "I've thought about it." "Hmm? What's it 'bout?" "We'll be having a match on your dream country." "Yeah so?" "Come with me." "Well that dep-" "Let's get married in there like you always dreamed of."

Imagine the way your jaw dropped, and then you close your mouth and gulp really hard. "Do you have a ring?" "Yeah. Which one? Engagement or for our marriage? I got both." "Scheiße" You cursed once again earning a flick on the forehead. "So is that a yes or a no?" He spoke, one hand warped around you, he other resting on his waist, one brow raised at you he waited for your reply.

Imagine making Kaiser nervous, the hell are you taking so long to answer? Do you per- "Alright." You raised up a hand to place it on his cheek, gaining his attention once again. "You were nervous aren't you?" As soon as you said that, you burst out laughing as if waiting for this exact moment.

Imagine instead of replying, he just stare at you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you seems to glow up naturally under the sun or was it just him? So he smile, then he chuckle, letting out a sigh of relief as he starts to chase after you for messing with him. "You're not getting up till tomorrow once I caught you."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2022°

[fatuismooches]

Babey Zandy not knowing fragile reader is so precious.

He hears all about this mysterious person that all of his older versions adore, but he has no clue what they are going on about. He tends to avoid the mystery person's room to avoid tripping on something, so he's never seen them. He's never heard their voice. What's so great about some sleeping grown up?

But then he sees them. The one time he's allowed to go into the room, he's instantly starstruck. He's reminded of the fairytale he'd read about a royal that was cursed to sleep for a thousand years, and he figures that this person was what that royal must have looked like.

A few of the segments chuckle at the reaction the child has. Wide eyes, slack jaw, it's cute. But then Zandy turns and asks,

"This is who we marry when we grow up? Did we finally do something good?"

The segments collectively think that no, they hadn't done anything good. Not enough to deserve their lover, anyway. But the sleeping beauty still chose to love them. That was more than enough for the blue haired maniacs.

MY HEART BRO... MY HEART. THIS IS SO PERFECT. AMAZING. CUTE. I LOVE IT SM.

Little Zandy tends to be left out of the loop quite often. It's due to various reasons - the older segments not wanting to have to deal with him, or having to take the time to explain, or perhaps the topic matter isn't very kid-friendly (considering the kind of work they do). So, the little one is used to finding out things after the fact, unfortunately. You happen to be one of these topics.

What really interests Zandy is how the segments say your name. The boy is used to hearing them speak about others in contempt (that damn Regrator, wicked Damslette) or with no regard/care at all (test subjects) but you? You don't get either of those. Rather, you get your name spoken with affection. Like how his parents spoke to each other (only that he wasn't afforded that same treatment). So naturally he's intrigued, but confused. You've been sleeping for so long! How could someone who's sleeping be interesting? You can't even talk! But it seems that the segments don't mind, although they are quite sad, they're willing to wait, which is strange. And Prime is willing to talk enough for the two of you. Zandy hears him from the room sometimes. Still, the boy fails to understand what sort of appeal you have. But he is a curious one, so he begs and begs to be able to see you. And when he does, well, everything makes sense.

You're just so pretty! Right of out a fairytale! He can't help but run up to you and hold your hand, in awe. And though normally the segments would scold him for "getting in their way" but they don't this time. Because even though the brat can be annoying his reaction is rather amusing. And they don't want to raise their voices in your presence.

I imagine, when you do finally wake up, he begs for you to read that story for him 😭💗 he definitely reads the voice for the prince that saves the sleeping royal (you) and beats up the bad guys (celestia) 🥺

THEM BEING THANKFUL FOR YOU LOVING THEM... sobs