#if anyone has suggestions im down to hear em

[size-two-shrimp]

At 100 followers I'll post baby fish pics.

[rolling-storm-writing]

uhhhhh 18+ MDNI

Miguel O'hara/GN reader

uhhhhh A-D sorry im lazy.

A- aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Miguel is nothing more than a big house cat curling up to you. It would take some time to get to that point after so many years of anger and loneliness but eventually he’d get there. The man is afraid of losing you and possibly being hurt again himself, despite his fears he learns to cherish you. Grabbing a rag to clean you off then curl up into you. Desperate to feel your warm breath on his skin. And to hear your heartbeat to make sure you were still there.

B- body part (their favorite part of both of your bodies)

Miguel O'hara by my standard is a boob and thigh man 100% It don't matter if you’ve only got some small pecs or mommy milkers he wants em. This man will bury his face between them and just lay there while you run your fingers through his hair. Now them thighs he just loves them. If you both are sitting in a meeting you bet this man is squeezing em. This man has awful anger issues and maybe a hint of paranoia, so anytime hes feeling particularly stressed a quick squeeze of your thigh will help soothe him.

C- cum (anything to do with it) Cum should be this man’s middle name in my opinion. If he’s fucking you prepare to be bent and folded like some origami. When he cums he CUMS. Filling you up and holding you down as his seed paints your insides. Pumping you full until its spilling out and drippin down your thighs. NOW- if youre fucking him this man will beg and plead. Your cock, dildo, fingers, tongue it dont matter. He wants you to stuff him full and ruin him for the next few hours no debate. (I’m gonna have to write a whole new fic to convince ya’ll-)

D- dirty secret (self explanatory) He’s honestly afraid of loosing you and if youre not around he’ll listen to audio of ya’lls lovemaking. Fisting his cock and getting off to the sounds of your moans when anyone could walk in on him. He hopes one day that you do…

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please send suggestions ya'll i need stuff to rite T0T this thing took a month to write and fr fr its straightt ASS- this is a writtig nightmare.

straight BOOTYCHEEKS!!!! i swear ill write a new masterpice- maybe ill write that punisher fic or tat solider boy one...

[furys-mercy]

🌟 = Who is your muse’s favorite family member, why? (Would be interested in this one particularly for Sebastian as well as Mercer!)

Mercer's Answer

"Favorite? Well tha' ain't really fair ta be pickin' an' choosin'. They'd think I didn't love 'em if I did tha', right?" Mercer kicks his feet up on the desk. "An' tha's tha last thin' I'd want. So rather'n do tha' I'll jus' tell ya wha' I like 'bout all'a 'em. Or well... some'a 'em. I can't go through all'a Sari's family. There's too many ta keep track of..." He looks as if he's going down a list of people in his head. "Anyroad, startin' with Sari, she's carin' an' generous an' will take care'a anyone who needs it. Sai's 'er cousin an' she's all sass, but I wouldn't be breathin' if it weren't fer her. I ain't sure if Gizmo wants ta count as family, but... I'd wager he does an' pokin' fun at him's one'a m'favorite thin's ta do... an' he's damned fine with a wrench." He leans back, clearly thinking about who is next. "Gadget makes sure I'm on top'a m'shite. I'd starve without 'im, I swear. Lazne does tha', too, o'course. But she's also real good at pushin' me in tha direction I need ta be goin' in..." He trails off. "Last one's Bash, I 'spose. An't tha's... well... tha' boy could charm tha pants off'a basically anyone. I jus' wish he'd learn ta use tha' fer somethin' better'n wha' he's been usin' it fer. Don't get me wrong, I love 'im. I'd do anythin' 'e needed, but damn does he need ta be brought back down ta size."

Sebastian's Answer

The elezen man sweeps his tailcoat out from under him as he sinks down onto the crimson setee. He only manages a small smirk. "It is almost as if you ask me to tell you which great wrym I would prefer to be consumed by. Though, such a comparison gives my siblings far more credit than either of them deserve. Dacien has the wits of a turnip, which speaks volumes about Marcette, as he is most certainly her better in all things not concerning lace or embroidery." Sebastian crosses his legs and rests his black gloved hands atop his knee. "My mother was, most certainly, the best of us. How she produced the two of them is truly beyond me. Their father must have been an absolute fool." There is something in his tone that suggests he doesn't believe that, but it is gone in the blink of an eye. "Her death was not only a loss to me and the House of Vairemont, but to all of the Holy See, and I will hear no different."

His blue eyes sparkle and he sucks in a deep breath. "It would seem I am still not accustomed to knowing the identity of my father, as I have failed to mention the brother he left me. While not as... plentiful as what my mother bequeathed me, August is not to be ignored. Though, sometimes I wonder if he wishes to be as he spends all of his time hiding his skills away in the dark of that shop. Surely he would be better suited to the Crozier? He won't hear of it, of course." That little smirk grows as he speaks. "I do find it interesting that he lectures me on how I have allowed the nature of my birth to inform my views of life, while he has done the exact same thing. Do you not find that interesting?" With a quick flick of his wrist he waves the conversation away. "But, back to the question at hand. I am sure the answer is quite clear. Were I forced to choose from my living kin, I would name August. In fact, it would seem that there was no need of force. I have made the declaration only moments after being asked." The smirk grows. "Do run along and tell my sister, would you? I would wager I can hear her screams from here."

((Thanks for the ask, @wispofwillow. TLDR; Mercer won't choose because that's just not how he works. Sebastian will absolutely choose and then use his choice to aggravate his other siblings. Dacien won't care and he knows that, but Marcette... there is nothing worse than being cast aside for a filthy brume rat.))

[good-or-bad-luck]

vampire au xid thoughts since im writing my vamp au fic. any thoughts of suggestions lemme hear em

got turned while out doing hero stuff with mint and corsac. has a nasty face scar instead of a traditional vampire bite

sensitivity to bright light and noise when not fed. bad when you are a preformer

instesd of turning into a bat xid can become a swarm of bugs and all sorts if creepy crawlies. centipedes and spiders are her favorite unfortunately

when well fed her teeth appear human with just slightly sharper than normal canines but they quickly grow larger to the point where its uncomfortable to close her mouth

unable to consume food and liquids unless specially made for vampires. learned the hard way

sylvia does know how to make a blood substitute potion! she usually gives them to xid for free but xid doesnt like that so she atleast does her best to gather the ingredients for them

bardic powers increased with turning along with physical fortitude. bite is now a good strategy when staring down an enemy with no mana

she cant turn anyone (yet)

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i did, in fact, finish this xid vampire fic but i didnt realize this was in my drafts (you shoudl read it)

the bug thing doesnt appear in the fic. but i have a feeling vampire xid will return

[jenny-dreadful]

if i can ask a personal question how do you know if you’re bi-aspec (or aspec in general)? i keep spiraling about what if im just a lesbian and thats why i havent had sex or maybe im too introverted. im in my late 20’s so i feel like if i honestly wanted to i would have by now but i almost feel like i HAVE to just be repressed instead and stuff like the lesbian masterdoc has made it way worse :/ i always hear people say like oh go with your gut but thats not good advice for a nervous person and idek if i know what attraction feels like period, is it nervousness? intrusive thoughts? aesthetics? ugh!

lots of pieces to this question! i’m gonna do my best to handle u. pardon the text wall

FIRST: How do I (“how does one”?) know I’m aspec? I can only speak for my own experience, but for me the important pieces were 1) Finding out “some people just don’t experience sexual attraction” was even an option and 2) Realizing/being told that when other people make reference to, like, wanting to fuck a hot stranger, they do actually mean it and it’s not just a crass, jokey exaggeration.

People are cute as hell! I really enjoy checking cute people out! But I’ve never once scoped a hottie and thought/felt “OOOH I’d like my business to get up in their business, physically-speaking,” you know? It’s crazy to me that anyone would. It’s crazy to me to know that most people have not only actually had, like, actual irl physiological responses just to the presence of an appealing person, but that that’s, like, a pretty normal part of life for most people. Like, HUH? Y’all cannot be actually getting blushy n wet n shit…y’all cannot have ACTUALLY needed to hide boners through your whole teens*…please say sike…

It’s not that I’m seeing hot people and going through, like, a thought process of deciding it’d be unsafe or immoral to fuck em and therefore ultimately I don’t want to, or that they’re out of my league, or that I’ve decided I’m uninterested in casual sex in a social sense (although things like that may also apply)—it’s really just. N/A. These concepts just aren’t linked for me.**

So my thought is: To answer “Why haven’t I had sex? Am I ace or am I just introverted?” try assessing: Are you actually, actively attracted to people, but not pursuing that attraction due to shyness? Or maybe: Do you assume on some level that palpable attraction/arousal is something that kicks in Later, If You’re Getting Into It With Somebody, and you’ve just personally failed to get far enough to unlock those feelings? Because that one’s not it, actually—people who aren’t ace Feel Attraction whether they’ve done anything about it or not

As far as the other points of confusion you’ve mentioned, I really can’t nail them down for you, but what I CAN say is that I personally find the questions of “Am I just repressed?” and “Maybe I’m a lesbian and scared to accept it?” to be supremely unhelpful. In this context, they both hinge completely on the idea of ‘Someone suggested I might be lying to myself because I’m not ready to accept [x], and it’s impossible to definitively refute bc the phenomenon described is one where, literally by definition, I would not know I was doing that.’ Genuinely, I think you gotta consciously set those questions aside—you can return to them whenever, if you want, when you have a better handle on your central question.

*Not ENTIRELY literal and black-and-white like this for all aces. Personally I’ve also always been v low-libido, so the “Is this attraction or am I just free-floating nonspecifically horny?” was pretty fuckin easy for me to answer. It might take a little more work for you though, I don’t know your life story

**(This is where we get a little more personal, so be cool, but: When I’m using more specific labels [“bi aspec” usually covers me just fine], I’m demisexual, which for me is like. It’s not that I’m “sexually attracted” to anybody so much as it is that beyond a certain point/type of personal closeness, romanticism etc., sex starts to seem appealingly cozy, I guess? When that applies, I’m still not getting Super Hype about it in the way allos do. I’m not feeling particularly Urged to do anything. I’m still not proactively physically responsive. Just kind of opens it up as an option wrt things that sound kinda nice). I mention this only because, I dunno, if you’re questioning, it’s important to acknowledge that asexuality has a lot of different shapes to it—for very few people is it a total absolute in every dimension.

So ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don’t know if anything in there is helpful to you, but I hope so, and good luck ✨

[sofarsogoodsowhat]

little baby (homo for scale)

[shotorozu]

HELLO! I saw this on tiktok where she opens her mouth to see what hee boyfriend reacts.

This is the link

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSJCaj2no/

Can you do Shoto and Katsuki? I wanna see their reaction😭💀

‘:0’

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns; gender neutral, quirk not specific

headcanon type : fluff, crack, there’s ONE innuendo; not nsfw/spicy (x reader)

note(s) : LMAO denki would totally do what the guy did in the tiktok above 💀 did this because i had some extra time — will post another 3 character hc list later

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

you saw this tiktok and immediately thought of katsuki, so the menace you are went 🌝

plus, there’s not a lot of preparations you need to do for this trend— you just need to go ‘😮’ and wait for a reaction

moving on, katsuki may be an expressive person— regarding anger anyway 💀 but he never actually goes on full fledged rants

like,, he’ll never rant to anyone. you, being the obvious exception, of course. he’ll rant out all of his feelings to you.

so right now, you’re on your phone— 20% scrolling, 80% listening to him rant. therefore, he doesn’t seem to mind your activity.

today, he’s ranting about something that happened in training, just something midoriya did that pissed him off but when is midoriya NOT unintentionally pissing him off

and suddenly, you get an idea— since katsuki wasn’t doing anything TOO urgent

just remembering the tiktok prank, you switch to tiktok— opening the camera. then, you start filming

you open your mouth all the way open— as if you saw something unbelievably shocking, and you’re just waiting for him to notice

after a few seconds, he finally notices.

“just who the fuck does he think he is? that damn deku’s lucky i’m—” taking one brief look at you, katsuki stops talking.

and the two of you just kinda stare at each other like 🤨👁⭕️👁

“what?” you ask, mouth still agape

“the hell are you doing?? close your damn mouth.”

you’re just staring at him, not saying anything in reply— and he sighs, a little peeved “you look like a damn pufferfish like that. were you even listening to me?”

you nod in reply, and the fact that your mouth is still ?? open?? agitates him.

“i’ll literally spit in your mouth AND shove my fingers down your throat, if you don’t close ‘em.”

he wasn’t actually planning on doing either of those things, he just said that to make you close your mouth already 💀

but hearing that just made you open your mouth WIDER 😭 ❓which made him go 🤦‍♂️

‘of course you’d do that, you fucking perv.’ he’d think, while the tips of his ears turned hot RED at the suggestion 🗿

the last option for him was to manually close it himself— he can and WILL use force if he has to, he doesn’t wanna actually hurt you

it doesn’t work, because your jaw is STRONG STRONG, and he’s like internally ‘pleaasseee close your mouth im so done w/ you 😐’

after a struggle, he finally gets your mouth closed— but you only laugh in his face hard directly after

right now, he’s the epitome of 🤨 “what now??” katsuki asks, seconds later

and he takes a peek at your phone, saw that you were filming a tiktok and he went 😐 🙄🤦‍♂️

his expression basically saying ‘tbh what was i expecting here?’

but then he remembers what he said while you were discreetly filming the tiktok, and the color quickly DRAINS from his face

so he tries snatching your phone 💀 he needs to erase it rn

doesn’t work somehow, he doesn’t know how it happened— and you managed to successfully upload the tiktok for EVERYONE to see

AND OF COURSE, HIS LUCK MADE THE VIDEO BLOW UP— now everyone in the comments is talking about the ‘threat’ he made 🧍

because of that, katsuki decides to ghost you for 4 days 😭 only to come back with your favorite meal, and telling you to “shut up and eat it 🙄”

he’s just gonna hope that you’re gonna back off the tiktok trends/pranks for a bit you don’t, he’s not very surprised about that tbh

todoroki shouto

you honestly just wondered what exactly would he do, since there’s a lot of things he could possibly do💀

half of you no pun intended decided to do this out of pure curiosity and the other half just thought it was an easy and funny trend to try on shouto

so like, why not?

this time around, the both of you guys are staying in your room, and shouto’s just preparing the takeout soba he brought over to his room

you wondered why he wanted to eat in your room specifically— instead of the common room, or even the dining room

and he was just like “hm,, i just felt like it.” nah, shouto just wanted to eat his soba with you alone 🗿

he’s still preparing his soba, and you’re just scrolling on tiktok— but then, you remembered the trend you saw on your fyp

now would be the perfect time, since none of you are occupied with anything tedious. so, you immediately switch to the camera, and start filming.

a few seconds past— and nothing special happens 💀 he’s still preparing his meal

but he does notice that you’ve stopped talking, so he takes this as a sign to start talking. “love, w—”

but whatever he was going to say was knocked right out of him, when he catches sight of you going 😮

he’s like ‘hmm..’ but on the outside, he’s just staring at you like 🧍❓

shouto looks down at his takeout soba, and he just assumes you want to be fed 😃❓ so he takes his chopsticks, gathers a bit of soba— and directs it to your open mouth

but you don’t close your mouth, or react at all 😨 so now he’s confused with what’s happening

heterochromatic eyes blink, and he draws his hand back. “love, what are you doing?”

you’re trying SO hard not to laugh right now💀 but you simply raise your shoulders in reply

he’s thinking hard, thinking about what your mouth’s open for, and why exactly is it open

“love, you’re going to hurt your jaw.” he finally says, setting his food down to get even closer to you.

when he finally takes a look at your screen— he’s at first, taken aback at the sight of you just STARING at your camera 💀

then, he basically joins you, mirroring your expression. so the two of you are just staring at each other like 👁⭕️👁 🤳👁🔘👁

BUT HE REALIZES THAT YOU’RE DOING THIS FOR A TIKTOK, SO HE JUST SHUTS HIS MOUTH CLOSED AND GOES 😨

“love, don’t do that,” he says, moving to cover your mouth with his hand, “you can’t let people see the insides of your mouth.” it’s the thought that counts

hearing that made you close your mouth— bursting into laughter 💀

man just smiles, despite being REALLY confused 🧍 i mean, you’re laughing. so, he’s a happy shouto :))

and even through all of that, shouto ends up feeding you some of his soba— since he’s kinda convinced that you wanted him to feed you some soba 💀

you uploaded the tiktok, and it blew up specifically because of everything that happened in the tiktok

shouto trying to feed you, him mimicking your expression— him being protective, and covering your mouth 🤩

the comments were filled with “NOT HIM COPYING YOUR EXPRESSION 😭” “Y’ALL HEARD WHAT HE SAID? ‘you can’t let people see the insides of your mouth’ 🕳🏃‍♀️” “oml since when was your boyfriend so expressive 💀” “this relationship >>> y’all”

i don’t think shouto will ever find himself fully understanding pranks like this— but at least people know that shouto can in fact, get protective 🧎‍♀️and the two of you have an interesting comment section to look at later

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

[h2bakugou]

Could I have a fic or situation where 1-A was hosting a play and it was sleepy beauty? With Bakugo being the Prince and reader being the sleeping princess? I thought it be cute!

a/n: yes yes yes! this is really cute omg im so sorry it took me forever to write this but i hope you enjoy it hun!!

summary: the play was a class project, one for some short school arts festival. the play chosen was sleeping beauty, one that stared you as the princess, and bakugou as the prince.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, some slight competitive nature with class b (i do love them im so sorry for the slander)

word count: 1.9k

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

»»————-　★　————-««

"The school arts festival starts in three weeks. By the end of the week, you'll need to come up with some sort of arts-related project to present as a class." Aizawa stated, handing out small stacks of papers to each of the students at the front of the rows to pass back.

"Another festival?" Kaminari piped up.

"This festival focuses mainly on the arts. You'll have to pick something related to it. No superhero quizzes." Aizawa's gaze drifts to Midoriya.

You begin to feel giddy and excited. The last festival was amazing, the singing, the dancing, hearing the crowd cheer. It was so much fun.

"Let's start coming up with ideas." Iida suggested, ready to stand up at the board and write the ideas down.

"You have twenty minutes." Aizawa sunk down into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes, zipping it up before rolling toward the corner of the room.

"We should do another song!" Mina suggested.

"Or some sort of like mural painting through a song." Kirishima added.

"What about a play?" You suggested. A few heads turned toward you.

"I mean Class B did one and almost beat us in ratings. Think we should show 'em how it's done?" You tease, earning a few scattered cheers.

"I think a play could be lots of fun!" Uraraka agreed, as well as a few others. After listing off some more ideas, the play seemed to be the most popular, outvoting Kaminari's idea to do a maid-cafe-art show.

So after deciding fairly quickly, it left you with plenty of time to get started.

You had all settled on Sleeping Beauty, something that everyone had some sort of role in.

Though through some small auditions, you landed the role of the sleeping princess, and Bakugou, who had originally stated he didn't want to be in the play and rather help on the set, the class thought he would make a good prince.

After the first week of script-reading and assembling the set, you'd practiced enough to no longer need your script at all.

Bakugou, on the other hand, was a little ignorant. He'd practiced his lines over and over again in his room and memorized them within the first three days.

However, he'd pulled you aside on day four and made some rules.

"Listen up dumbass. Just 'cause we're playing some prince and princess don't mean shit." Bakugou stared into your soul, making you feel small under his gaze.

"It's just a play, it's not like they think we're together." You say quietly. Bakugou shook his head.

"It has to be believable idiot! We get married at the end of the fucking play. If I'm gonna be in this stupid thing I'm gonna give it my all." And with that, he walked away, leaving you a bit flustered.

When rehearsals for the kissing scene came up, you were nervous. Not because you had to kiss someone, but because you'd never kissed anyone at all before.

And to do it in front of your classmates, it felt sort of awkward. Maybe even embarrassing if you did it wrong.

"Alright, places!" Sero called from offset, allowing everyone to fall into their set places, you laying on the 'bed' closing your eyes.

"Action!" Sero called.

Bakugou began his role, acting as the prince who was climbing the tower to get to you, the sleeping princess.

You held your breath as he leaned over you, blocking your face from everyone else. You froze as you felt his breath hit against your lips. You jerked away.

"What are you doing?" He hissed quietly.

"You-your breath stinks!" You lie quietly, feeling terrible for making him feel bad. He raises a hand over his mouth and groans, lurching back from you, raising an arm to Sero.

"Cut! What's going on?" Sero asked, a little upset that he didn't actually get to see the two of you kiss. He wanted to tease Bakugou about it.

"I'm taking five." Bakugou wandered off stage, leaving you on the bed, sitting up.

"M-Me too!" You shouted, running off in the same direction.

You'd been practicing in your regular clothes for a while, but dress rehearsals were in a few days.

You got some cool water and splashed it on your face in the bathroom, wiping it all off with a paper towel before staring in the mirror at yourself.

Quickly checking to make sure your breath didn't stink, you were thankful to find it didn't. You felt horrible for possibly embarrassing Bakugou, if it were even possible to do such a thing.

Returning back to the set, you spoke with Shoji, one of the lead costume designers.

"Do I really have to kiss him?" You asked quietly. Shoji's hands stopped measuring your shoulders.

"I suppose not, not if you're not comfortable, I'm sure there's another alternative. Blocking the view would work like how you just rehearsed." Shoji tilted his head to the side.

"It's a little too late to switch leads, though if you're not comfortable, I believe Momo was the one who asked to be your understudy. She's memorized the lines while working on costumes and set design." Shoji spoke softly, understanding that you most likely didn't want the entire set to hear your conversation.

"Thanks." You nodded, walking back to the stage, feeling a little less on edge.

When Bakugou returned, you wanted to pull him aside and apologize, but you got back into your position and waiting for Sero's directions.

It didn't help that your small crush on Bakugou had now festered and grown even more. Doing this might've all been a bad idea, and it was going to result in you most likely locking lips with the explosive blonde in front of a crowd.

"Alright places everyone! Bakugou, (Y/n), let's try not to block the audience's view of the kiss, we want this to be believable! We need the good ratings or Class B wins." Sero encourages Bakugou to not block the view of the kiss from everyone. And now you feel worse.

"Action!" He calls again, awaiting Bakugou, you can hear his footsteps as he approaches, this time he's on the opposite side of you.

Everyone sits in anticipation as he lowers his head down toward yours, his breath, now overwhelmingly minty, ghosting over your lips. You jolt away once more stumbling out of the bed before running off.

"Cut!?" Sero pointed in the direction of where you'd run off.

"I'll handle this." Bakugou groaned. Chasing after you, he found you sitting back in the empty classroom.

"What's going on with you?" Bakugou's loud voice scared you. Lifting your head off of your desk, you peeked over your arm, laying your head back down.

"I just need a few minutes, I'm not feeling good." You lied.

"Bullshit." Bakugou closed the door behind him as he entered the classroom, walking over to you. You wished he would leave and let you be, but you knew he was smart and that he'd probably figured out something was wrong.

"What's your fuckin' deal?" Bakugou's voice was right in front of you now. Refusing to lift your head and look at him, you clenched your fists.

"I-"

"You what?!" Bakugou growled.

"I've never kissed anyone before!" You cried. Refusing to show your face, it had gone silent. Bakugou stood before you, his cheeks turning red.

He'd somehow roped himself into a stupid class play, one that you just so happen to have the lead role in. Admiring you was a challenge at first, refusing to believe that he wanted anything to do with you. But your drive, your passion for heroics, it fired him up.

You were beautiful as well, smart, snarky, but light-hearted and kind. Bakugou waged a war inside him as his own crush on you grew. And now he had to kiss you. And he wanted to, so badly. Desperately. He needed to.

Thinking about being your first kiss made him feel cocky. Your first kiss huh, it was going him. It was going to be him. Not from some stupid boyfriend you might have, or random boy during a cliche game of truth or date.

"Let me kiss you now then." Bakugou spoke quietly, watching you lift your head up.

"Wha-"

"Just shut up and come here. You're thinking too much about it, it's making you nervous. Do you not want to kiss me?" Bakugou questioned, asking for your consent.

"No, I do! I just..." You trailed off, standing up as you moved toward him.

"I'm just worried that I'm gonna mess up and embarrass you on stage or something-"

"Shut up." He cupped your cheek, silencing you as you stared up at him nervously.

"It's just a kiss. Just follow me, it's not rocket science dumbass." He pulled your face toward his, slowly leaning in, his eyes flicking to yours before closing them, eliminating the gap between you and him.

His lips were soft against yours. Still not sure of yourself, you tried to follow him, moving your lips against his in a similar fashion. It was sweet but oddly wet. His lips tasted like mint, and you could tell he'd brushed his teeth. Recently.

"I lied." You pulled away.

"Your breath didn't-"

"Obviously." Bakugou pulled you back into him, your lips colliding with his again, the motion getting smoother as you leaned back against your desk, his free hand finding home on your hip.

You didn't want to stop. His lips felt so nice against yours, you wanted to kiss him for hours.

He pulled away this time, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, grinning.

"Feel better now?" He asked, watching you shake your head.

"Yeah." You mumbled. You were obviously flustered, your cheeks were hot and he could probably feel that while his hand rested on them.

"Can you kiss me on stage now?" He asked, heaving a sigh as he moved his hand away, stepping back.

"I can try. It's kind of weird doing it in front of so many-"

"Pretend it's just us. Block them out. Think we're back here in the classroom."

When the day of the play came around, you were excited. Dress rehearsals had gone amazing, and you'd gotten a little better at kissing Bakugou.

But now, as the audience watched, the show slowly going on, it was time for the kiss.

Bakugou made it up the 'tower' and toward you. Moving hair from your face, you tried your hardest not to smile at him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

It was electric, your lips moved against his, probably more than they should've. Though with some restraint, Bakugou pulled away before you sat up, 'awaking' from his kiss.

The play continued until it was over, the curtain call aligned all your classmates in one, all of you bowing as the audience cheered.

After stepping offstage, Bakugou pulled you aside, slamming his lips on yours.

"Be mine, I'm tired of acting." Bakugou groaned, watching as your eyes lit up.

"Yes please." You smiled, hugging him.

The after-party was a success. The dorm was rather alive that night, especially joking about Bakugou being all soft for you with dozens of photos taken of him kissing you.

"Delete them!" He charged after Kaminari, palms sparking.

"Awe Kacchan! Go smooch up on your princess some more!" He teased, dashing toward the couch.

"Shut the fuck up!" He grabbed your hand and pulled you up to his dorm.

"Guess my play was a good idea after all." You teased.

"Yeah. Guess so, princess."

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[twodimecastle]

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

[aenaxes]

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you��re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

[wienerbarnes]

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

[motherjoel]

hostile (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: after months of trying to get pregnant and a miscarriage, you finally succeed. will you get the chance to tell spencer this time?

a/n: this is my first oneshot in a veryyyy long time so im sorry if im a little rusty! trying to get back into it :) also i know very little about pregnancy so forgive me! (i got the hostile uterus part from greys anatomy lmao)

wc: 2.3k

warnings/includes: lotsa fluff, angst if you squint, criminal minds stuff, pregnancy, miscarriage

-

“Spence, were you even listening in there? I have a hostile uterus. Not only am I feeling incredibly hostile right now, but my uterus?” you yelled as Spencer guided you to your car.

“All I’m suggesting is that we keep trying, Y/N. And I’ve already done plenty of research on adoption and surrogacy, did you know that 140,000 children are adopted by American families each year?” he asked, opening the passengers side door for you and running around to hop in the driver's seat. “And there's always in vitro fertilization,” he suggested as he reached to shut his door and start the car. 

“Of course you wanna keep trying Spence, all you have to do is stick it in and thrust,” you huffed as he winced at your harsh wording, grabbing your hand over the center console. “I’m the one taking hormone shots in my ass and drinking less than 5 cups of coffee a day,” you complained about your attempts at increasing fertility. “Who knew a miscarriage would be the thing to get me to cut down on caffeine.”

Spencer was silent as he drove back to your shared apartment, both of your minds on your struggles to get pregnant in the past year. You thought back to your miscarriage and the impact it had on you both- it had only been a few months since you and Spencer became official. It was new, and this pregnancy was unplanned to say the least. Not telling Spencer about it was the only solution you could think of at the time- until it was too late. 

You remembered the feeling in your chest, your entire body running cold after being tackled by an unsub. You hadn’t told anyone of your pregnancy, not even Spencer, but as the blood ran down your legs it was pretty clear what had just happened. Derek dragged the unsub away in handcuffs as you sat in the open back of the ambulance, a paramedic wrapping your wrist. You barely remembered JJ’s look of pity or Rossi’s concerned gaze. The only thing you remembered was the pale face of your boyfriend as you had been lying on the ground moments before trying to hide the blood. He eventually made his way over to sit next to you after a few minutes of stunned silence.

“Hey, Spence,” you whispered as he sat next to you, the paramedic finishing up and walking away.

“How long?” He looked at your stomach, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Three, um, three months,” you fiddled with the bandage on your wrist.

“And you didn’t… you didn’t think to tell me?” he asked, eyes welling up as he finally made eye contact.

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I just, we never talked about kids before and we haven’t been together for too long… I just needed time. To think.”

He nodded and swallowed thickly before softy taking your hand in his, running his finger over the fabric of your bandage.

“You never have to hide something like this from me, y/n. We’re in this together and... not to be um, too forward, but I love you,” he confessed. You knew you loved him, but neither of you had dared say it. “I love you now and I always will, so you can trust me with this kind of thing.”

Since that day, the two of you had only gotten closer. Now, a year into your marriage, you were actively trying. And after months of trying to no avail, a trip to the obstetrician was called for- the obstetrician who called your uterus hostile, which was likely the reason for your first miscarriage. You could barely fall asleep for a few weeks after your obstetrician appointment, which made this early morning case call all the more difficult. The two of you dragged yourselves out of bed and began your morning routine of getting dressed and making coffee, moving in sync with each other as you prepared for the day. It was a quick drive into the office and before you knew it you were sitting in a room full of your coworkers looking at pictures of human remains. 

“Four men killed in Ohio in the past month, each left with a note written in the same handwriting,” Penelope says as you all look at the case file. You normally had an iron stomach- in the BAU, queasiness wasn’t an option. But for the first time in your career, your face turned green at the pictures of dead bodies.

“It says here that they are all men in long-term relationships?” Emily asks.

“Correction: Were in long-term relationships. Right before they died, it was reported that they left their girlfriends,” Garcia explained.

“That’s important for the victimology, but there has to be something more to set off the unsub,” Spencer commented.

“Yeah, I bet that there was a common reason for them leaving,” you suggested, closing the case file and averting your gaze from the pictures.

“We’ll discuss more on the jet. Wheels up in twenty,” said Hotch.

You all gathered your things and began to leave for the jet, Spencer walking in stride with you.

“You know what, Spence, I’m actually gonna run across the street and grab some tampons before we go, I think i'm gonna need em,” you said. “Go on ahead without me.”

“Are you sure? I can just come with you,” he offered.

“No, no, go brainstorm with the team. I’ll be right there,” you smiled at him as you parted ways. You were going to the convenience store across the street, but it wasn’t for tampons. Your stomach fluttered as the bell jingled at the entrance. The aisle for pregnancy tests was easy to find, and you were on the jet five minutes later.

“Hey, did you find the, um…” Spencer trailed off as you sat down next to him on the jet. He wasn’t one of those men who got weird about menstruation, but you knew he was avoiding the word “tampon” to save you any embarrassment .

“Yup, I’m good,” you smiled and focused on the team who had now gathered around to further discuss the case.

“So, is there any link between the men yet? There has to be a reason that they were all killed soon after leaving their girlfriends,” JJ mused. You thought back to your past fears and your current situation and something suddenly clicked in your brain.

“Wait…” you picked up the case file. “What if… what if they were pregnant?” you asked, looking up to see furrowed brows. “I mean, the handwriting is feminine, so maybe the unsub is a woman who’s getting revenge on men leaving their pregnant girlfriends?” you concluded.

“I’ll call Garcia. We land in 30, keep looking over the files,” Hotch said before you all sat back down in your respective seats, the outside of your thigh pressed against Spencer’s.

You were trying to think of a good time to take the pregnancy test- you couldn’t do it on the jet, it would be really hard to hide on a plane full of profilers. You decided that the best time to take it would be back at the hotel, but after working for hours you found it hard to focus with the pregnancy test in your bag. Excusing yourself to the bathroom in the local precinct, you snuck the test with you. You locked the door behind you and took the test, trying to control your breathing as you waited for the results. As you waited, you got a text from Morgan telling you that there was new information. The moment you finished reading his text, your alarm beeped. Taking a deep breath, you dared a glance at the stick. With shaky hands, you picked up the test and bit your lip to hold back your yelp of joy at the tiny little +. Shoving the test into your bag, you rushed back to the rest of the team to continue working on the case. You would tell Spencer this time, but you decided it would be best to catch a serial killer first.

Garcia confirmed through the phone that all of the girlfriends were pregnant and shared the same obstetrician who was a single mother with a young child. This seemed to be the perfect profile for an unsub killing men who walked out on their families, but something seemed off to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was bugging you about the case. You were on the way to Shelby Meyerson’s, the obstetricians house, with Morgan and Spencer when Garcia called.

“Whats up baby girl,” Morgan answered, one hand on the wheel.

“So I’ve been doing some digging and it turns out that Shelby actually has a boyfriend, Andrew. Recent social media posts show that they started dating a little over a month ago, and it looks like Andrew grew up without a father” she said.

“Right before the killings started,” you looked at Spencer from the back seat.

“Garcia, send his address,” Spencer spoke into the speaker.

“Already on it my loves,” Garcia replied, and you could hear the clacking of her keyboard as she hit send. You looked at the address in your phone.

“Morgan, that's right down the street from where we are right now,” you pointed out. The three of you didn’t waste any time getting there. You hopped out of the car and approached the door, hand instinctively resting on your gun.

“FBI, open up,” you said, rapping on the door. You waited for a moment, but when nobody answered, Derek took matters into his own hands. Within seconds, the door had been kicked down and the three of you spread out around the house, Morgan going upstairs and Spencer going into the basement as you canvassed the ground floor. You took notice of a cup of tea on a coffee table, still warm. Once you cleared the area, you made your way into the basement, gun drawn. Your heart dropped at the sight before you- a man you recognized as missing tied to the radiator in the corner of the room, and your unsub restraining your husband with a gun to his head. You kept your gun pointed at the unsub as you heard Morgan come down the stairs behind you.

“Don’t move!” The unsub, Andrew, yelled. You raised your hands when he pointed his gun at you, dropping your weapon to gain trust.

“Andrew, there’s no way to get out of this, just let him go so we can talk,” you tried to soothe him, his grip on Spencer only tightening.

“No, no, you don’t understand. These men deserve to die for leaving their children, they-they’re terrible people, I’m giving them what they deserve,” he argued, becoming frantic.

“Andrew, if you hurt that agent, you’re just as bad as the men you kill,” you began, taking small steps toward Spencer. “He’s my husband and…” you started, locking eyes with Spencer. “And I’m pregnant with his child,” you confessed. Spencer's eyes went wide, shock overtaking the previous expression of fear. You continued to speak. “If you kill him, you make him leave his child. I know you don’t want that, I know you don’t want someone else to go through what you went through,” you bargained. Thankfully, you seemed to get through to him, as he dropped his gun and collapsed to the ground, his grip on Spencer loosening as Derek moved in to cuff him.

You immediately ran to your husband, throwing your arms around his midsection as he wrapped himself around you, kissing the top of your head and whispering reassurances to you. 

“I was so scared,” you said into his chest, your voice muffled by his kevlar vest. He put his hands on the side of your face and wiped your stray tears, his own falling as he started to smile.

“Were you serious? Are… are we pregnant?” he asked, his hopeful smile spreading wide as ever. You bit your lip and nodded, squealing with joy as he picked you up and twirled you around, not even noticing the rest of the BAU had arrived at the scene.

“Hey, be careful with Y/N! She’s carrying my god child,” Derek smirked as Spencer set you down, his arms still wrapped around your waist. 

“Hold on, why does Morgan get to be the godfather?” Rossi questioned, putting on a mock italian accent, making you all laugh.

“That’s not important, what's important is that we're gonna have a baby genius running around,” JJ smiled as she walked over to hug you both, which turned into a group hug between the entire BAU. You all broke up the hug when Morgan's phone began to ring.

“Yes, baby girl everyone's safe. Actually… Pretty boy and pretty girl have some big news,” he said, putting Garcia on speaker.

“What! Tell me right now, I can't handle this!” she begged. You and Spencer smiled at each other before you began to speak.

“You’re gonna be an aunt,” you said excitedly, receiving the loudest gasp through the phone.

“You mean… you… Spencer… you guys… oh my GOD!” she began to ramble about her excitement as you all laughed, Derek taking the phone off speaker to calm her down.

“Our kid is gonna be so loved,” you smiled, grabbing his hands and standing on your toes to press a kiss on his cheek.

“We got really lucky,” he blushed, pulling you back into another hug, the world around you frozen in that moment.

-

just ask if you wanna be on my taglist! <3

taglist: @rigatonireid​,  @aworldoffandoms, @moonshinerbynight, @averyhotchner, @s1utformgg

[griffintail]

The Start of Something

Summary: It’s the start of a beautiful story on the Dream SMP.

Pairing: Wilbur Soot x F! Reader

Previous | Next

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: So the reader will have a set hair and eye color but I hardly ever mention those facts so it’s not going to be that big a deal. It’s just a point of the plot.

Oh and (Y/U/N) means YOUR USERNAME.

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

(Y/N)’s POV

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

         I spun in my chair, adjusting my beanie as I waited for the exact moment my stream was to start. I hadn’t exactly talked to anyone on the SMP but it was still fun to stream on there. Soon, my timer went off and I fired up the stream.

         “Hello magical people! Welcome back to another wonderful day on the SMP! I have levels today so hopefully we won’t need to bother Mr. Soot. We’re going to actually try and talk to people today if we’re able so, let’s see who’s on!”

         I logged onto the server, hitting tab to see who was on.

         “A new name! Purpled. Something tells me I want to give him the Lilac.”

<(Y/U/N)> Hello good fellows! \o

<Tubbo_> Hello! \o

<WilburSoot> Hello Ms (Y/U/N)

         I smiled at the responses as I went down to my flower chest taking out a lilac as I glanced at chat.

         “Two new names? Oh! Yeah, sorry guys, I already met the Dream team. They gave me a tour offline. I’m sorry. I’ll pop by and maybe say hello to Mr. Sapnap.”

         I asked for Purpled’s coordinates, meeting up with him to give him his flower before going back towards my house.

         “Wait, why is everyone telling me to hide my brewing stands?” I raised an eyebrow as I looked at chat. “I mean, I guess? I’m just confused.”

         I kept my eye on chat trying to figure out was going on as I went home when I saw in-game chat.

<WilburSoot> general 1

         “Is something going on with the gentlemen? Is that why you’re telling me? I’m not going to hop on the discord just yet because they weren’t talking to me.”

         I was very curious though. I came towards Tubbo’s house seeing several of them outside his house. Tubbo threw his brewing stands at Tommy and then they all dashed into his house.

         “Some shady deals going on there don’t you think? Should I check on the children like the good mother that I am?” I asked chat as I hesitated outside the gate.

         There was a resounding yes in the chat and I chuckled as I adjusted my headset, the boys leaving the house.

         “Ok, let’s give them a ring.” I pulled up discord taking a deep breath as I looked at their call before going in as I went back to the game. “Gentlemen?”

         The first thing I heard was one of them scream and laughed as I followed them on the path.

         “WOMAN! You must leave im--" Who I could assume was Tommy start before Wilbur cut in as they stopped in-game.

         “No wait Tommy, remember we need to make sure everyone knows.”

         I raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”

         “Do you have any brewing stands or blaze rods Ms. (Y/U/N)?” Wilbur asked as though it was the most urgent matter.

         “I mean yeah at my house and enderchest…”

         “No, no, that’s not good as soon as we help Tubbo we need to collect yours as well.” Tommy declared and I smiled slightly at his dramatics.

         “And may I ask why gentlemen?” I questioned as we started to walk again.

         “Their code is all wrong! It’s all broken and if you have any you’ll just explosively shit!” Tommy exclaimed and I snorted putting a hand over my mouth.

         “You should probably watch your language Mr. Innit but this is of the upmost concern then! We must help everyone! But what are you gentlemen doing to protect yourself?”

         “We have a disposable sight elsewhere, as soon as we gather everything, we’ll get rid of it!” Wilbur declared.

         “Well then let’s get to the nearest ender chest now!” I nodded in-game before sprinting towards Tommy’s house. “How long until it comes into effect Mr. Soot and Mr. Innit?”

         “Soon, it’s of the upmost urgency that we dispose of them as quickly as possible.” Wilbur said.

         “Actually, I know, I know how I can get there quicker.” Tubbo commented seeing him drinking a potion. “I have a speed pot.”

         “Oh thank, oh thank god! Run, run.” Tommy commanded.

         “That’s good, potions are really, really good. You should always use potions as often as often as possible where ever you can buy them.”

         Now I see where this is going, shaking my head, I still followed all of them towards Tommy’s; Sapnap, Tubbo, and Tommy in front of Wilbur and I as Tubbo let out a confused sputtering.

         “Don’t worry, I’m sure, I’m sure something will come up.” Wilbur brushed it off.

         “I can hear starting to come up we need to get the blazes rods out! Get it out!” Tommy shouted, causing Tubbo to shout, making confused shouting to happen as I walked through the gates of Tommy’s area.

         “Ok! Ok! Ok! I’ve got ‘em! I’ve got ‘em!” Tubbo announced.

         “Ok! Hand them to me! Now! Now!” Tommy demanded.

         “Take it! Take it! Take it!” Tubbo chanted as he threw them but as Wilbur and I stopped in front of them, Sapnap punched Tommy away and took all the blaze rods.

         The shouting quieted as we watched Sapnap in surprise.

         “He’s gonna, he’s gonna shit. Just watch him.” Wilbur told us.

         “Oh boy.” I muttered, crouching as I backed up with the rest of them.

         It became a jumble of words as the boys backed up to what Tommy called the Power Tower but I broke from them, deciding to go around the other building he had called the Cuck Shed, dashing for the ender chest. Sapnap was too focused on them as I went in to see my own gear.

         Grabbing the stack of blaze rods, I hesitated as I hovered over my full netherite set, smirking to myself as I already knew the chat’s answer. I muted on Discord looking at my Twitch chat.

         “Should I be ready to become the goddess chat? I mean, as far as I can tell, Tommy and Wilbur have nothing and Tubbo has iron but Sapnap now has all the cards with enchanted diamond sooooo…”

         Before I had even finished my sentence, the chat spammed yes with the emote of me holding a shield, with a face that meant I was ready for war.

         That’s my chat.

         I grabbed my armor, axe, and sword but didn’t put it on as I sprint to catch up with everyone retreating towards the woods as I unmuted.

         “You tell them why they’re breaking the law Wilbur. Tell them why.” Tommy said as I stood behind Sap and Tubbo.

         “They have the, they have the brewing stands. Aren’t they gonna like shit themselves if they have them?” Sap questioned.

         “Yeah.” Tubbo realized.

         “No, no, no, no, no.” Tommy protested. “We’ve got equipment.”

         Everyone stopped as they started talking over one another.

         “You really can’t follow us.” Wilbur said once it quieted down.

         “What is the disposal system? Can we see it?”

         There was a brief silence before Wilbur spoke.

         “Yes, yes. Come with me.” He sounded hesitant but still lead us further into the woods. “If you come with me, we’ve, uh, got a mobile disposal unit out here. That we’re using to, dispose of it.”

         Over the hill, I could see it and I muted my discord as I snorted once more, a hand over my mouth muffling it. It was an RV, a van.

         “This is all about drugs isn’t it?”

         I unmuted as I listened.

         “I’m going to ask that you don’t come inside.” Wilbur instructed.

         “Yeah, you have to stay on the other side of the river please.” Tommy agreed.

         “It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous.”

         I watched Sap get closer, carefully following behind him as they protested. If anyone was going to fight the, “operation”, going on here, it was him.

         My assumption led to be correct as Sapnap spoke.

         “Wait, Tubbo, (Y/U/N), I don’t think it’s a disposal system.”

         “Wait, it looks like a drug lab or something.” Tubbo went.

         Wilbur started muttering to Tommy as Sapnap sprinted towards the van.

         “Are you guys…? I need to look for myself.” Sap said before going into the van, I quickly following having tried to block him but got pushed in.

         He went into the back room with Tubbo, I being able to see in and see the line of brewing stands.

         “These guys are…”

         “You guys are drug dealers!” Tubbo exclaimed, pulling a sword.

         I looked at Tommy and Wilbur before stepping forward, showing my netherite one, making Tubbo step back.

         “And so, what if they are? What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

         “We have a court house for things like this!” Tubbo reminded us.

         “Who says they’re going to court? You aren’t the law.”

         “Are you with them (Y/U/N)? Have they’ve gotten you addicted to, to this?” Sap questioned.

         “No, I’m not an addict to anything.” I huffed as I typed to Wilbur. “So, I suggest you just hand over those blaze rods.”

You whisper to WilburSoot: Distract him to face away from me.

         “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

         “Tommy, I think, I think we should go.” Wilbur said moving for the door out.

         “Where are you going?” Sap quickly asked following them so they didn’t get away, turning his back to me.

         I smirked as I glanced at the chat seeing the spam of emojis as I equipped my gear, Tubbo retreating further back into the van, terrified of my armor. I shook my head at him in-game before putting a shield on, stepping out.

         “All of you are going to court.” Sapnap declared on the other side of the river.

         I leaned into my mic, putting on my crazy sing song voice. “Think again~!”

         I crit him with my sword, setting him on fire, causing him to scream as he dove for the water. He blocked with his shield but I dove in with no mercy and hit him with my axe before using my punch bow to push him out of the water. He started sprinting away as I ran after him.

         “What are you doing?!” He shouted.

         “Taking back what isn’t yours!” I grinned before critting him three more times before the text appeared in chat.

Sapnap was slain by (Y/U/N) using [The Goddess’s Sword]

         “Mr. Soot. I suggest picking this up.” I said as I leaned back in my chair, everyone silent except for Sapnap protesting.

         “How could you do that?! You’re going to team up with drug dealers?! This isn’t allowed!”

         “Oh yeah? I think the text says it all. You got KOed by the Goddess bitch.” I smirked as the chat shouted out pogs and cheered. “General 2 men!”

         I switched Discord rooms as Wilbur came over picking up Sapnap’s gear getting the respective achievements for the blaze rods and diamond gear. Two pings went off in Discord, I laughing as the silence was filled.

         “Holy shit! That was insane! Holy shit!” Tommy kept shouting. “Sorry mum!”

         My laughs died to giggles as I looked at Wilbur.

         “Soooo, you guys need a little hired help?” I asked. “Because, that was my application Mr. Soot.”

         There was a moment of silence.

         “Fair enough. What’s the price for your services Ms. (Y/U/N)?” Wilbur questioned.

         “Wait Wilbur, a WOMAN helping us?” Tommy questioned now.

         I chuckled as I came towards Tommy, who backed up quickly, leaning into the mic again. “You want to question me?”

         “No! No ma’am! I’m sorry ma’am!” Tommy quickly sputtered.

         “I didn’t think you’d be quite so…intimidating Ms. (Y/U/N). You seemed quite nice after all.” Wilbur spoke up.

         I leaned back again as I noticed Tubbo’s name tag no longer in the van. “It’s all about appearances Mr. Soot! Take a look at your lovely van! Seemingly innocent on the outside but all the excitement in the back. All good business men and women know that you need to have the good exterior but when the time comes, you need to stab a bitch. And I don’t need any payment, just a place in your business and the supply when I need it.”

         He chuckled. “Alright, well welcome to the team Ms. (Y/U/N).”

         “Excellent! Let’s get to work.” I clapped my hands before going into the van with the two of them.

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

Third Person POV

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

         Wilbur had been trying to desperately take the bit back on track. He hadn’t planned for someone to just derail it as such but then (Y/U/N)…She stepped in from nowhere with stacked gear. The psychotic but beautiful sing song voice had given him a shiver as he watched in shock as she slayed Sapnap with ease. As he was stuck in his shocked, silent state and grabbed the gear, he noticed his chat spamming the words, The Goddess.

         Was that another name for her? Was she an expert at PVP the same as Dream and Technoblade? It would explain how Dream might know her. Another highly praised PVPer? He would have talked to her.

         He just hadn’t expected such intimidation from the lady that had brought flowers to every new player on every server she had been on; the same lady that called people Mr. and Ms. and gentlemen. It was quite interesting, Wilbur wondered if she was like that in public, polite and kind until the situation called for another girl.

         Maybe he should get to know the woman himself.

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

[could-have-beens]

miss maam,,, could i ask for some gin n tonic headcanons of yours??? could be from tlocc or just in general. i just love the way you capture and portray their dynamics haha

im prev anon (about gin n tonic) i just realized i didnt know your pronouns!!! sorry that i presumed it!! aaa so sorry about the miss maam part

Thank you so much! I'm happy to hear you like their dynamic in TLOCC! Ginny and Tom's relationship is such a joy to write, and it means a lot that you enjoy reading about them. And no worries, I use she/her 😊

As for headcanons, that's pretty much most of the fic. Why and how Tom opened the Chamber, his dynamic with the other students, how his fear of death began, Ginny dealing with the aftermath of COS, what her interactions with the diary was like, to name a few.

Here are some other headcanons I haven't had the chance to include in TLOCC:

Ginny is a foot shorter than Tom. It was the first thing she noticed about him. Height difference, my beloved ❤️

She's also the shortest person in their year. When Tom found out she was actually older than him, he almost made a joke about her height

But he didn't, because he knew she'd immediately retaliate and roast him without hesitation. While he doesn't mind how tall he is, he can't stand it when people point it out. No, he's not insecure, what the hell are you talking about

Ginny knows more about Tom than she realizes. The diary was honest with her about the little things, like his favorite drink, his fondness for Transfiguration, how much he dislikes the cold, stuff like that. But after everything that went down in COS, Ginny naturally assumed everything the diary told her was a lie and tried to forget about it. For her, Tom's most humanizing moments are seeing those half-forgotten details with her own eyes

Tom covers up his accent by imitating Alphard's. No one knows this but Margot, who only noticed it when she became seatmates with Alphard

Tom dislikes Quidditch, but he likes flying. If it wasn't for Abraxas, Tom would have tried out, if only to see if he was any good at it

Ginny and the diary bonded over their love of flying (and inability to afford their own broom) and magical creatures

Her experience with the diary made her resistant to Legilimency and the Imperius Curse. If you pit her against a more experienced wizard than Tom, she'd have a harder time fighting them, but it's not unlikely she'll be able to throw them off with enough practice

Tom is a natural Legilimens. Not like Queenie in FB (which isn't how I imagine Legilimency at all btw), but in that he's more sensitive to what people are thinking/feeling. It's why he's able to learn how to read people's minds relatively quickly, and why he reacts to Ginny the way he does when they first met

He's surprisingly good with animals, but only with snakes and magical creatures. Ginny strongly suspects Fawkes likes him better than her, and it irks her to no end

Their duel in the Chamber is Tom's first actual duel. The closest he'd ever come to dueling is his practice runs with Margot

He hasn't found his fighting style yet, so he just throws every spell he knows while trying to imitate Dumbledore, Ginny, and other people he admires looks up to tolerates

Remember the whole love triangle story Tom came up with? He got the idea from Margot, who made an offhand joke about Alphard possibly liking Ginny because he stared at her so much after they met. Tom encouraged the idea primarily to mess with Alphard, not Ginny.

Because Tom knows Alphard isn't romantically interested in her. He knows that. But Walburga? Abraxas? Briseis? They sure don't, and Tom knows Alphard isn't going to tell them. Joke's on him though, because look how that turned out

What Tom finds most frustrating about Ginny is how oblivious she is to the impact she has, how little she cares about the image she projects. On the flipside, his hyperawareness about his image, how much he cares about the impact he has on people, is what Ginny hates most about him (besides the whole, you know, Voldemort thing)

Not saying this is going to happen in the story, but assuming they're all alive and getting along post-Hogwarts (aka fics of my fic that I'll never write lol):

Tom briefly works for Borgin and Burkes. Ginny, jobless and not sure what to do with herself, goes and bugs him during his shifts. He pretends to hate it

She never calls him Tom, but she called him Thomas for a whole month, in retaliation for that one time he tried to call her Ginevra

He'll never admit it on the pain of death, but Tom goes to Dumbledore for Ginny-related advice

Ginny and Alphard meet up and get drunk every other weekend, with Tom tagging along as the designated sober friend (boyfriend? chaperone? Alphard knows better than to ask whatever the hell is going on with Ginny and Tom)

At some point, Alphard complains about his family's matchmaking attempts and half-seriously goes fuck it, I'm gonna travel the world to get them off my back. Ginny points out that it won't solve anything, they're still going to badger him about getting married. Alphard, drunk out of his mind, realizes that yes, you're right, we should get married right now, that'll show 'em. Ginny, also drunk out of her mind, agrees. Tom, wishing he was drunk out of his mind, is too busy fuming to convincingly talk them out of it

"What do you mean this is a bad idea? Name one good reason why we shouldn't — why're you twitching?"

Eventually, Ginny remembers that she's supposed to be a half-blood, and that the Blacks would rather have their line die out than marry anyone who wasn't pure-blood. Tom is livid that this, THIS is what stops her from Apparating with Alphard to the altar

Ginny and Alphard laugh about the whole thing the next day. Tom doesn't talk to them for a week

Alphard ends up going on his world tour and signs his letters to Ginny with stuff like "to my dearest bride" "from your handsome fiancee." Tom threatens to murder him every time

The last letter Alphard ever sends to Ginny is signed "my beloved widow"

Ginny also decides to travel, but not with Tom or Alphard or anyone. She checks in on them regularly, sends them souvenirs, but she never asks them to go with her. Tom isn't bitter about it, of course not, why would you even suggest —

Dumbledore insists on monthly family dinners with Ginny, Tom, and Aberforth. It's the most mortifying thing, but Ginny grows to love it, as much as she acts otherwise. Tom has . . . conflicted feelings about it all

Ginny goes to therapy. Tom also goes to therapy. They all go to therapy

[angrylizardjacket]

fit by my side {Machine Gun Kelly}

@bitchylittleredhead said: Okay I hear your MGK x pastel!reader and I raise you MGK x Mother Nature!reader. Hella plants, strong love for animals, heckin soft, v kind, mom friend, sunshine child. (I just really really love soft paired with him, it’s so damn cute) also I love you I hope you are well 🧡 

Also This Concept

A/N: 3177 words. Gender Neutral Reader (they/them) ! im worried kells is OOC. also there’s no smut but it does get M rated, but there’s no genitals specified. gets quite sappy at times. also @url-under-construction i hope u like it and i hope its good.

----

When you meet Colson, he’s famous, but he’s not, you know, famous famous. You meet on the set of The Dirt; he’s one of the stars, you’re a production assistant and stand-in when they need it, and you don’t think for a second that he’ll even remember your name when this is all over. 

But he does; in rehearsals, you’re the one reading the lines for the characters they haven’t cast yet, and the first time the four main cast members see you, in your floaty, floral top, and your gentle aura, and then to hear you say, with absolute sincerity, ‘your mom’s a cunt’, it has them bursting out laughing. You smile, sweet and kind, and you step gently through the blocking that has the character you’re currently standing in for, stabbing Tommy - Colson - with a pen. 

Maybe the juxtaposition of you taking part in this whole production is what intrigues him.

When filming starts, you’re still around, and something about seeing you, amid this performance of debauchery, and yet you’re still sincere and gentle, your choice of attire making you stick out like a sore thumb amid the leather and grime. At first, he tries to play it off, that you look somewhat out of place and it’s eye-catching, but you bring the cast food and water and whatever they need, you go on coffee runs, and take a genuine interest in each of them, and by the time he realises that his mood lifts every time he walks on set and sees you there, he knows he can’t play it off as you catching his eye for completely platonic reasons.

He asks you out the week after Casie leaves from visiting set, having seen you interact with her, entertain her while Colson was in hair, treating her with just as much kindness and respect as you did everyone else on the production. It convinces him that your intentions are true, and he knows that he can’t finish this production without shooting his shot.

By the time the wrap party comes around, you’re calling him your boyfriend, at first tentative, looking to him for confirmation, but then you see the way he beams at how the words sound when you say them, and you grow more confident each time you say it.

It’s met with... confusion.

Really? 

It seems no-one saw that coming - if anyone, I would have expected Douglas - you hear, and frown. 

“What does that mean?” You ask; a frown is rare to see on your face, but you’re wearing it anyhow, and the woman your speaking to splutters her way around a sentence as she’s trying to backpeddle.

“I just- I mean, well, Kells - Colson - he’s so... Doulgas just seems more... refined? Not that Colson not, you know- you’re just -”

“I’m just what?” You ask, not accusing, more curious than anything else, and the woman’s voice dies in her throat as she looks you over; pale blue jeans and a pastel, patterned button-down that would have looked right at home in the eighties. 

“I’m just concerned for you,” she eventually says, laying her hand on yours like she’s trying to do you a favour, “Colson’s intense, I’m just worried you’ll get hurt.” You see what she’s trying to say, but her tone is so painfully condescending. 

“I’m an adult,” you tell her, tone understanding but firm, “and I appreciate your concern, but I promise I can take care of myself.”

The moment you can get out of the conversation, you find Colson, talking animatedly to one of the makeup artists, and you slot yourself into the space by his side. Automatically, without even stopping the conversation, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, and you gratefully take the moment to press your face against him, wrapping your arms around him without saying a word. It’s both strangely intimate and familiar, his thumb rubbing small circles against your side.

As he stops talking, there’s a lull, and you don’t have to look up to know the makeup artist is giving you both a strange look.

“Ignore me,” your voice is muffled against him, using one hand as if to waive off any last bits of hesitation. 

“They’re fine,” Colson assured, tapping you on the hip. He’s still oozing casual confidence

You’ve been together for almost half of filming, which isn’t exactly a short amount of time, but usually you try and keep things professional on set, so it’s nice to be able to be close to him in public. 

The rest of the cast know, of course, you’ve been out with them on several occasions, and they all have come to adore you just as much as you adore them. Something about hearing Daniel drunkenly assure you that if Colson ever hurts you, that there’d be a line of people ready to slap some sense into him. You try to brush him off, endeared by his drunken affection, but he turns suddenly to the rest of the cast.

“Hey, hey, hey - who’d throw down for Y/N?” He asks; without hesitation, Douglas, Iwan, and Colson raise their hands, eyes wide and alert, as if the offer needed to be acted upon immediately. The show of support has your heart swelling in your chest.

You find yourself fitting into his life back in LA easily; while beginning work as an assistant on a Netflix original series, you call into his house in the Hollywood Hills, delighted to be privy to demos and snippets from his next album. 

And you meet his friends, shake their hands and smile and chatter with them. They’re not sure what to make of you at first, no-one really is when you present yourself in conjunction with Colson, but soon they start to see what he sees in you. It’s endearingly genuine and thoughtful and honest and enthusiastic and -

“They’re like sunshine,” it’s Rook’s Instagram live, almost six months into your relationship with Colson, that really cements it to the public. Rook is smoking in Colson’s living room in the middle of the afternoon between recording sessions, and someone asked what your deal was. 

“I’m so sick of - and I know Kells is, and Y/N too, not that they’d ever say anything. ‘ve never heard them say a bad word ‘bout anyone, you know,” Rook hits the blunt again, his face scrunching up, “but everyone ‘round here’s so fuckin’ sick of people talkin’ shit ‘bout ‘em. For real, Y/N is sunshine, nicer than all of you motherfuckers put together,” and he laughs, but it’s clear he isn’t entirely joking, “- you know what?” He asked, eyes lighting up and standing abruptly, grabbing the phone.

“Baze, man, you seen Y/N?” He calls, and Baze responds from somewhere off-camera that you’re outside. The comments are going off, but he pays them no mind, heading out to the backyard, only to see you by the back fence, peering over into the trees, on your tip toes, one hand straining over the fence, in shorts and a singlet in sunshine yellow.

Rook calls your name.

You shush him loudly, and then, without looking at him, slowly wave him over.

As he approaches, he can hear the telltale sound of a bird chirping, and as soon as he gets close, he hears you whisper -

“I think they’re bluebirds,” you murmur, and finally look back at him, lowering yourself, surprised to see his phone held aloft. He tells you he’s live streaming, you wave awkwardly, which is when he sees the slice of banana you’re holding, “I’m not sure what they eat; do bluebirds eat banana?” You ask, a little helpless, looking at Rook, and then to his phone. 

After a moment, you step aside, and gesture for Rook to take a look over the fence, and sure enough there’s a nest with a single, rather sad looking bluebird with it’s wing bent at a strange angle, calling out pathetically, obscuring a few eggs, just out of arm’s reach. While he’s looking over the fence, also trying to reach them, and also trying to get the phone close enough to see if anyone watching the livestream could identify the bird or offer any suggestion, he hears your footsteps retreating.

“Stay there, I’m going to get Kells,” you call out to him, voice bright, “he’s got long arms!” And Rook bursts out laughing; you weren’t wrong. 

While waiting, he sits against the fence and answers a few more questions, until he looks up and sees you, expression concerned, and Colson uncharacteristically fond as he lets you lead him by the hand.

You show him the nest and ask for him to get it, worried the bird was hurt, and he obligingly reaches over the back fence to gently collect the bird nest, trying his best not to jostle the bird. The bird’s wing appeared to be broken, and Rook ends the live when you mention that you’re going to take the bird to the vet.

Already, the fandom is exploding from what had transpired. 

People are making suggestions as to what the birds should be named, people are claiming your caring and sweet personality is completely fake, people in the live managed to screenshot Colson’s expression as you’d lead him to the birds, how smitten he was with his hand in yours, and have started posting ‘get u a man who looks at u like kells looks at y/n’ all over twitter and tumblr.

“Bird update!” Several hours later, Colson posts a series of videos to his instagram story, “for those of y’all who don’t know, Y/N found a bird with a broken wing in a tree out the back of my place, we rescued it and it’s eggs, and took it to the vet,” and with that he flips the camera around, from a close up on his face, to show a large, cardboard box in the corner of the room. 

Peep Davidson was written in large, black letters on the side of the box.

The rest of the videos are outlining what the vet had told you all, and that the bird should only take about seven days to heal before you could put them all back into the wilderness. 

At that, he pauses.

“You worried about putting the birds back when you saw that cat the other day?” And he angles the camera to reveal you, laying with your head in his lap.

“The orange one?” You ask, voice heavy, as if he’d disturbed you when you’d been right about to fall asleep. You yawn, and he confirms, you give a little, lazy shrug and smile, “not sure where that cat is.”

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” Colson laughs, “you gotta stop finding random animals in my backyard.”

“They find me,” you counter, and shift so you can press your face against his belly, humming contentedly as his free hand begins stroking your back. 

“Snow White-Cinderella-Pied Piper motherfucker,” how that is somehow the softest, most gentle words to ever leave his lips, is utterly baffling, but there’s so much love and adoration but you turn enough for the camera to catch your delighted little smile, “you’re-” he starts, “who’s that dude from that, that My Hero shit we were watching the other night?”

“Koji Koda, you weeb,” you tease him fondly, knowing exactly who he’s referring to, and that’s where the video ends.

That’s the day it’s confirmed for the rest of the world. There’s countless paparazzi photos, and hints, and speculation, but this is the first time he’d called you anything but your name, and they’d all seen you snuggling up to him, your head in his lap.

This also is the day the trend begins on his Instagram story of a photo of you, usually in his backyard, with whatever animal had decided to befriend you that day.

My partner. My backyard. No fucking idea who’s animal that is.

And he still goes out and gets fucked up, and sometimes you’re there, and sometimes you’re not. When you’re out together, it still doesn’t quite make sense; he’s hard partying and over the top, and it seems like it wouldn’t be your scene at all.

But then there’s photos of Colson and a few of his friends standing on the edge of a roof, announcing that they’re Kings, and you’re by his side, smiling and waving at the person taking the photograph. He manages to get himself injured pulling a stunt at a friend’s house party, but you’re in the back of some influencer’s vlog, straddling his lap with tissues in your hand, him holding you secure as you clean up the scrape on his forehead; it’s kind of sickening how in love he looks, as he watches the way you concentrate. When you notice his expression, your own softens, and you lean in to give him a kiss. 

And so you start to make sense, but people still ask why.

So when asked, you tell people that you support each other, and challenge each other, and yeah, that’s absolutely why you’re together, but it’s not the whole reason as to why you make sense.

Because no-one sees the way you hook your finger into his belt loop at the back of his pants at the house party, and you press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he knows exactly what that means. He’s quick to make some flimsy excuse to leave as you step into place by his side, which everyone he’s speaking to immediately sees through. You play at being flustered, tucking your embarrassed expression against him as he slings his arm around your shoulders, and calls an Uber.

The drive back to his place has you both on edge with anticipation, his hands all over you in the back of the car while you try to hold a civil conversation with the driver. It’s killing you not to give in, but you know it’s worth it. 

“You’re such an idiot!” You announced, grinning from ear to ear the moment you get into the house, before the door’s even closed, and he slams it shut to press you against it. Kissing him feels like a cathartic release, but after a moment you shove him back, loudly admonishing him for taking part of a stunt that got him hurt.

“You could have been seriously hurt!” You keep poking him in the chest to punctuate your words, and he steps back each time, expression alight, pupils blown wide. He keeps reaching out, as if to touch you, to snag your clothes, like it’s a game when you smack his hand back every time. 

“Got a gnarly cut though,” he pointed out, as his ass hits the kitchen island. His legs open, making space for you, and you step into it.

“Gnarly cut,” you murmur, tone surprisingly derisive, and you reach up to push his hair back from his forehead. His head tips back, leaning into your touch, the look on his face almost dreamy even as you’ve got a hand on his hips, pushing him back on the counter. 

Then you’re in his lap on the counter, hand fisted in his hair, lips on his neck, leaving bruises and bite marks. He’s trying to get you naked, efficient and desperate, but the moment he gets your shirt off, you push the fruit bowl behind him onto the floor, and push him back against the granite countertop. 

“You were worried about me,” he smirks up at you, admiring you with your hands planted either side of his head. 

“Because you don’t worry about your damn self!”

“Ooh, breaking out damn tonight? Must be serious,” he teased, deliberately riling you up; he loved this side of you just as much as the sweetness. Instead of responding, you reach up under his shirt and rake your nails harshly down his chest and stomach, delighting in the way he arched up at the sudden sensation, eyes falling closed. 

With one hand still flat against his belly, the other comes up to cup his jaw, gentle at first, before your fingers move to caress his throat, and you press yourself against him. 

“If you get yourself killed, I’ll kick your ass,” you whisper, lips inches from his as you press firmer against his throat. He grins, and sighs, the sound content and syrupy and so fucking into it, leaning up, to meet your lips with his, to feel the pressure on his neck just a little more.

And you bite, and you scratch, and you ride him on the kitchen island. The location is new, but the situation isn’t; once he’d discovered the righteous, sexual fury you’d been bottling up, he’d been more than happy to let you unleash it on him. Not to say that he didn’t give as good as he got; there’s been several times he’s had you swearing a blue streak, seeing stars, desperate and blissed out in equal measure.

But then there’s your dominant moments, the mean streak, and the teasing, the sting of your nails and your teeth and the way you push him around, into the mattress, against the wall without hesitation, and that he covets. No-one else is allowed to see you like that. To be tied up or blindfolded or or punished or pushed around, at your mercy, it’s as close to Heaven as he’s ever felt on Earth, because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that your heart is kind, that you’d never really hurt him in a way he wouldn’t like.

You make him feel safe.

And it’s not just the sex, you’re never dismissive of ideas or suggestions, seemingly always ready to help if he ever needs it, rather than judgmental. It makes him want to be there for you too. 

He wants to be better for you.

Which is kind of terrifying to consider.

“I love you,” he tells you in the shower, in the afterglow, soft, pausing where he had been washing your back where you couldn’t reach. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he felt like he needed you to hear them.

“Love you too,” you say around a yawn, though the words are as genuine as they’d always been coming from you, and you lean back against him, leaning your head against his cheek in a moment of quiet intimacy. You try to kiss him like this, but turns your face directly into the shower, and end up spluttering and breaking the moment.

Colson chuckles softly, stepping back and pulling you with him, out of the stream of water and into his arms so he could kiss you properly. You’re still giggling as you’re wiping the water from your eyes, looking at him with fond adoration. When you settle your arms around him, you quiet down and bask in the moment, his forehead coming to rest against yours, warm and safe in his embrace, sensing that, in that moment, he felt the exact same way.