#its exactly how kids play with dolls hes just saying shit and not caring what it means

[soup-child]

Anthony Burch is playing with hermie like children play with dolls and we are just here suffering the consequences

[jack-owo-valentine]

autumnal asks - harvest, jack o lantern, and cider

jack-o-lantern - if you could look like any celebrity, who would you choose?

Idk if he counts but Tim Sutton on god. If not maybe like Ive Spice? I realize these are 2 VERY different answers but different people in here have different answers, main host says either of those tho (they're like a shape shifter)

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

I've grown 2 be much more of a picky eater over the years, more often then not I dislike more foods now than as a child (like veggies, most give me sensory issues now) But, I use 2 LOVE sweets as a kid (couldn't have candy or anything, diabetes and like- a "health" obessed father) So like the rare occasion I could I'd eat any and all, bit anymore a lotta stuff sweets wise I use 2 like just make me sick now or I simply find 2 sweet.

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

Oh. Anon, you poor sweet innocent thing. As Already stated shits fucked and I simply cannot choose one bc I have SO much 2 say.

So, I kin WAY 2 many people, I like lowkey dress them change whole aspects of myself bc of them kinda way of kin. So there's a couple of major ones, also being the most at different times from earliest 2 now:

1. Puppet & Mangle from FNAF

2. Ticci Toby

3. Will Cipher

4. Jack-O' Valentine

I have like 50 kins, it's a lot- these are some of the biggest and most important 2 me tho (also honorary mention 2 Tim Wright from Marble Hornets, I love him sm- why is everyone a coward 2 make bitches fat honestly. Tim Sutton (the actor who played Tim Wright) is so fucking valid and like- thank u sir for ur contributions 2 the world- anyway yea-)

SO, These fictional characters are here for a multitude of reasons,

1. As already stated main host is a shape shifter of sorts, and by that I specifically mean their a mirror that's reflects and refracts, also a doll, meaning they often times just- heavily imprint on characters, and like they can usually sway of its just reflecting vs it altering who they are, they can't likd- choose- but I digress anyway- main host has like lore? way 2 much lore actually- but they're a fictive- its complicated as hell, but they're a fictive of Will Cipher, but they didn't know that originally and a took a HOT minute 2 figure that out, cuz originally the body was way 2 into FNAF, and with how the body is and processes things- robots? fucking dead children souls in robots? a whole mood. Massive mood- especially w/ Puppet being regreful/vengeful and Mangle not rlly being alive in the way everyone else way- very r/iam14andthisisverydeep or whatever but idc, it helped me get through trauma and life and made me happy also the music from the community slaps. So those are the main reasons for mangle & puppet, like the main host literally being a doll (who sometimes has robot limbs, and oops I forgot 2 mention theyre mute and blind- they like have a voice box they just don't always like using it and the blind thing is a whole fucking story-) but yea voice box, being all fucked up physically and mentally? mood 10/10 can't wait for the fnaf movie (Also why those 2 instead of any others is bc like- this was really early on- like what literally only game 2- so maybe 2017? oh my god I'm old- anyway slightly off topic but toy Bonnie is gender as hell)

Ok uhh- Ticci Toby- OH my god the things 2 say, I didn't even mention in the lady part but tics n twitching??? such a thing for us. Especially the host. They cry a lot and generally get overstimmed really easily- and idk what exactly causes it but boy do they tick and twitch, also he's how we found out were trans so oops- um- idk his backstory is a like a mood, we share a decent amount of disorders- and generally his fanon (and maybe canon idk or care, like fuck kastoway) are pretty much a vibe 2 how the main host was for a while- and 2 some degree still is, there's def other reasons tho, like he was the most similar and human in the fandom, he also has a lotta features they really enjoy (curly brown hair, freckles (depending) that like almost sickly white- OH also hachets??? hello??? and his mask??? gender as fuck. Wish I looked that good oh my god. There's just so many reason, he was one of the first pastas I fell in love with, one of the first really I ever even saw. He's like- bi polar like me and idk, I just really enjoy that. He's got enough backstory so that he has a general vibe but hcs can run wild, and still fit. I really hate how childish he's treated tho, I love him as a kin bc he's childish but also not? he's not mature in the slightest but he's not stupid and definitely can hold his own, with lots of character depth. Also his fear of Cars gets more and more relatable (ive been nearly in so many accidents I refuse 2 get a license)

these aren't as on depth as I probably want them 2 be but I don't know I'm comfortable sharing

🖤🖤🎃 Jack-O' Valentine

Silly girl

so gender

so cool, she's got a sort of DID which we love, she's been multiple people and fucked and all these things but in the end she's happy and learning 2 he herself (whatever she decides that is) She fucking blew up Japan tho sorta? gg lore is something else- also Justice her previous form having a massive blue cock is infinitely funny (Justice is a massive mecha, totally pegged sol-) But yea, jacko loves halloween is like 70s inspired is motivating cute and generally such a good character? God. I could not reccomend a character and fandom more, gg is incredibly cool and diverse, and jacko's no different. she's diverse in other ways besides gender, race, identity, I mean she is a white (I think-) woman, probably bisexual idk, but she's got a lot of complexity 2 her w/ having identity issues n shit bc she's part a whole different person, who she was originally meant 2 be, but shit got fucky and ow that's Relatable, her tryna see the best in it all tho? love that- she's so silly as well it's great- and is loved by the person she was supposed 2 be's husband? who loves her for her? goals. also just- her kids so cool lmao I love dizzy-

I'm getting dizzy rn and need my meds hope this was enough for u xx

[anxiouslyextroverted]

How do you feel about gender?

Really complicated.

Basically, I don't know what gender is or the differences and never have. As a kid, my brother wore dresses and did 'feminine things' like played with dolls and stuff. I for one played with trucks and cars and ripped batteries out of dolls. I hated dressing up in fairy princess stuff cuz due to autism i just had this inability to pretend i was someone else yk like i had a shit imagination in that way. if someone said "pretend to be invisible" kid me would be like "but im not invisible." anyway. I really liked the colour pink and saw everything pink. flash forward a bit to like 7-13 i was onn the internet a lot, reguarly stayed up to 7 am hanging with my brother. I was chronically online on multiple social media platforms. So I did see all this shit about 'tomboys' and 'boys vs girls' However I saw it all as satire and fictional. I would see posts showing boys in suits and would be like 'yeah but they can wear dresses too, no one actually is stupid enough to gender clothes' oh little did child me know that society did that 24/7.

One of my quotes I had as a kid was "True tomboys don't give a fuck about wearing "girly" clothing because boys wouldn't care about "girly" clothing because they don't care about clothes" This was my idea, because I knew that boys didn't care about clothes based on stereotypes, I knew that girls cared about clothes. (this was the only gender stereotype I believed to an extent) however child me didn't realize that boys actually did hate feminine stuff especially pink and wearing dresses. So yeah that quote didn't go well. Anway, I also was under the influence of adult cartoons since I watched southpark since 7 and onwards so I just kinda saw myself in the main 4 boys which again further made me seperate to "girl" or whatever. young me just didn't get it. I geneuinly believed girls and boys were exactly the same in everything, I believed girls were biologically as strong as boys, often wondered why i never saw girls fighting boys in wrestling, I believed they topped in all sex same as boy (like switch), I believed boys could have babies, I believed masculine and feminine clothing were for anyone and didn't mean anything, i believed clothes were clothes, I believed boys were not allowed to be shirtless and even told some guy on the stress off for quote on quote showing his breasts ect. so young me just went around thinking that stuff. So then when it got to me being 16 and stuff I had no idea the gender differences, I believed breasts are not girl or boy so when this trans guy said to me that he didn't want breasts , I geneuinly didn't understnad because I didn't gender breasts. same with dicks i didnt gender that either yk. I gendered nothing not even names or pronouns or anything. It was gender equality taken litterally. I vividly remember one of my genderfluid friends getting pissed at me because I refused to wear makeup despite me identifying as a "girl" at the time, I say that cuz all I believed a girl was was the label girl. and i believed boy was just the label boy and nothing else was different between them. I actually rlly was uncomfy with ppl treating me diff based on gender cuz i didnt get why it was so seperated. I sorta realised the social differences over time but it still confuses me to this day. I truly believed all these gender social roles were nothing but memes and satire. Its why I have no idea what my gender is now cuz i dont know what it is, all ik is that i get treated differently based on it. I think I am nonbinary? but idk. and honestly I get really uncomfortable with things like changing my name cuz I never really saw my name as a girl name or a fem or masc thing, i just saw it as what im used to and i like keeping what im used to

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

~~

The Four Lords (+Duke) reaction to the adopted daughter!Reader 

~~

--

--

💎The Duke💎

• The Duke is quite pleased with how well behaved you’re being during the visits to the four Lords. But in the few months he’s cared for you he’d noticed you were a rather well behaved child. More interested in playing with dolls or reading than getting in trouble. Which was a weight off his mind. He’d be panicked if you’d decided to run off while he was working.

• He’d dressed you in a darling little dress in your favorite color, perfect for the weather. And before he spoke with the Lords he’d given you one of the little dolls and some children’s books to keep you occupied. A bored child is a mischievous child after all. 

• The Duke kept an eye on you regardless of how well behaved you were though. He is confident in his abilities but he’s also very aware of the four Lord’s abilities and refuses to risk your safety by being overly confident in himself.

• Though he was happy to realize that none of the lords had given him any issues regarding his new charge. In fact you seem to have charmed your way into their hearts in one way or another. Though he can’t say he’s terribly surprised. You’re a wonderful little darling <3

~~

🍷 Lady Dimitrescu 🍷

• She’s quite surprised by the sudden introduction of a child from the Duke. As far as she knew the Duke had no children, or a wife to give him such a child for that matter. Though she supposed it wasn’t impossible for him to have found himself a little wife and then ended up with a little one. She supposed stranger things had been known to happen.

• And she offered the same courtesy and hospitality to you that she did to the Duke. You were both guests of Castle Dimitrescu after all. It also helped that you were very polite and looked at her in such awe. But that wasn’t surprising, Alcina was aware that she was rather impressive. So it made sense for you to be in awe of her. 

• When it was time for her and the Duke to talk business she noticed you were sat in a chair in the corner behind the Duke playing quietly with a pretty doll. Secretly Alcina thought you were adorable, in your little dress and with the flower clip in your brushed and styled hair. So when she called for a maid to bring her and the Duke a glass of wine she also offhandedly told the maid to bring ‘the little one’, aka you, a cup of something sweet.

• On your way out the Duke thanked the Lord for her kindness, looking down at you and saying, “And what do we say?”. Making you turn to Alcina and the Dimitrescu daughters before dipping into a little curtsy and thanking them for letting you both visit. Lady Dimitrescu couldn’t hide the small smile the action caused, you were very adorable and it left her in a brighter mood. She just chuckled and replied that it was a pleasure having you and the Duke, and you were both welcome back again.

🎎 Donna Beneviento 🎎

• Donna is more surprised than Lady Dimitrescu had been. Though thanks to her veil there’s no way anyone would be able to tell. But Angie is excited, practically wiggling out of her seat at the introduction of a potential new playmate. Its been far too long since Angie got to play with anyone besides Donna and their other doll friends.

• Before any business talk could be started Angie excitedly asked the portly merchant if she could play with you. He glanced down at you and saw you didn’t look scared of the doll girl, just curious. So he said it was up to you. So Angie asked you if you wanted to play. You happily agreed, not having had anyone to play with in a long time. 

• While the Duke and Donna spoke together you, Angie, and a couple other animated porcelain dolls played together. You had a little tea party and Angie even let you brush her hair. You had a wonderful time and were even happier when Donna offered to make everyone some lemonade with cookies. The Duke said that sounded wonderful while they talked business. And all in all the evening was a delight for everyone.

• But all good things must come to an end and after a few hours it was time for you and the Duke to go. Angie was visibly upset, even getting a little bratty about her new playmate having to leave. The Duke however reassured both Angie and Donna that he would be happy to have him and you return for another visit if they wanted. Before he could even finish his offer Angie was all but squealing yes. So needless to say you were going to be visiting again~

🐟 Salvatore Moreau 🐟

• Moreau is shocked by the sudden appearance of a little girl and also incredibly nervous. But he’s always nervous around new people, the fact you’re a child just makes it worse somehow. He’s aware of his... less than pleasing appearance and he doesn’t want to scare a little girl. In fact he braces himself after catching sight of you, fully expecting you to scream or run or even cry.

• But to his surprise you do none of any of those. You don’t even wrinkle your nose in disgust. Instead you just stare up at him with wide curious eyes, which isn’t exactly pleasant for him either but he understands on a level that you’re just a child and merely curious. And honestly you staring in curiosity is far better than you bawling your eyes out..

• Once the introductions are out of the way Moreau is surprised to see you sitting at the Duke’s side, just reading a little fairytale book quietly while he and your father speak of business. And your distracted state gives Moreau the perfect opportunity to observe you. He hasn’t seen a child in... so long. He actually can’t recall the last time he’d seen a child. What with him isolating himself in the Reservoir and only being given adults to experiment on with the Cadou. Being around children hadn’t exactly been something he’d sought out. 

• But he found he didn’t mind you. You were polite and kind and he thought how you called him ‘Mr. Moreau’ was adorable. The Duke kept you close to him while visiting Moreau, not because he thought the fish man would hurt you, but because of how... unsanitary the Reservoir was. He didn’t want you touching any of the slime that was around the place. But he did allow Moreau to gift you little gold trinkets he said he found at the bottom of the lake. 

⚙️ Karl Heisenberg ⚙️

• Heisenberg is... put off by the presence of a child in his domain. He’s not exactly the most ‘child friendly’ person in a 20 mile radius. In fact, if you ask anyone they’d assume with his rough demeanor that he didn’t like kids. And he’d agree with them in a heartbeat too. And he’d site every shitty thing he could think of about kids with a scoff. 

• “They’re loud, they’re annoying, they piss and shit everywhere, and they can’t even fend for themselves on top of all that. They’re like untrained dogs that don’t even have the bonus of being good guards.”

• But what he doesn’t want anyone to know is... he loves kids. Seeing kids with their parents reminds him of a time in his life, one long before now, where he was actually happy. To him kids meant family. Something he’s desperately wanted, but known he couldn’t have with Miranda around. So seeing you made him feel happy and also very sad. Both of which he avoided confronting so he instead settled on irritation, his go-to.

• And when he demanded to know what this little ‘ankle biter’ was doing in his factory the Duke had just smiled and told him you were his daughter. That’d thrown the metal manipulator for a bit of a loop. But after snapping out of it Heisenberg told the Duke that his factory was the last place a KID needed to be running around and messing with shit. The Duke assured him you would be on your best behavior. Heisenberg begrudgingly let you stay, but only on the terms that you’d stay out of his way, not touch anything, and not leave the Duke’s sight. The Duke agreed easily.

• Heisenberg had two outward moods regarding you. Either he acted like he was annoyed with you or he acted like you weren’t even there. But he never actually spoke harshly to you. Even when you kept asking him questions about the stuff in his factory. After answering half a dozen questions he fired one back at you, asking why you had so many questions. You’d been surprised by his question but just giggled and said because his factory was cool. He’d acted like he didn’t care but after that when he’d come talk to the Duke he’d always bring you little metal figurines that you adored. Heisenberg found you to be a cute little punk, but he’d rather saw an arm off before admitting it.

[harryspet]

off to the races (2) s.rogers

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, stripper!reader, ddlg, daddy!steve, abduction/kidnapping, mafia boss steve, bondage, a hint of peter x reader, toxic/abusive relationship, hella angst, little editing 

A/N: im mentally shutting down because of school but at least i have mob!steve :)

In which you don’t want to be Daddy’s secret anymore.

word count: 3.5k

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taglist: @cherienymphe @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes​  @disaster-rose​​ @sexyxseabassx​ @marvelmaree​

“Woah, dude, your room is awesome. Awe, you have all the good movies. I haven’t seen The Jungle Book in forever!” 

“Peter, look!” You waved him over to the window, ignoring his astonishment for the paradise Steve had created for you. Peter stood there dumbly for a moment before walking over to the window beside your bed. 

You heard the loud whirring of helicopter spinning blades echoing through the room even with the window closed. It was landing in the field behind the manor and you were questioning why Steve was making such a grand entrance today. You’d been stuck in this house for three weeks now and nothing this exciting had happened yet, “Who’s helicopter is that?” You looked back at Peter who’d crossed his arm nervously. 

“Uhm … probably … maybe-” You scoffed, before looking back at the view. The helicopter was a sleek, black color and, as you narrowed, your eyes could make out some words written in gold. 

“Stuh …. Stark …. Industries. Stark Industries,” You were calm as you took in the info before the realization hit you, “Stark Industries! Is Tony Stark here? Holy …. pancakes.”

Peter smiled, seemingly amused by your excitement, “Pancakes?”

“Steve doesn’t like it when I-” You stopped yourself from explaining, realizing there was a bigger situation at hand, “We have to go check things out. Get a closer look!”

“No way,” Peter shook his head, “I’m here to make sure you stay in this room.”

You rolled your eyes, “So Tony Stark must be here then, right?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Peter pressed his lips together like he was struggling to hold in all the secrets he knew. 

“How the hell does Steve know Tony Stark? Stark is dirty too? I should’ve known … flipping rich people.”

“Flipping?”

You took a step toward him and despite the fact you were wearing a pair of fairy wings, he still seemed intimidated by you, “What do you want, huh? A raise?”

“Uhm … I don’t think you can do that … can you?”

“Of course I can. Steve is wrapped around my finger.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow, “But he’s Steve Rogers …”

“Look around this room for goodness sake! He does anything I want. If I tell him all about how you’re a great worker, how you’re a good friend to me, he’ll surely be appreciative. Might even give you a promotion and maybe you won't have to play babysitter anymore.”

He considers it just for a moment, “If he does anything you want then why are you locked in this house?”

“Fine, fine, so I don’t have complete control but I have some. I could be helpful to you in the future!” 

“Y/N, if something went wrong he’d probably chop me up into little pieces and send them to my Aunt. Or he’d chop up my aunt and make me watch … depends on the kinda mood he’s in.”

You stared back at him, trying not to let the look on your face falter, “ … I’ll give you my movie collection?” 

“I’m sorry but-”

“It’s my birthday soon?”

“I can’t,” Peter stated, sighing, “I’ve got pressure on me right now, and things have to go right tonight. It’s like a huge deal. I never get to go to stuff and the party is-” He stopped his rambling when he realized he’d said too much. 

“Party?” Peter opened his mouth and closed it again. He turned away from you, eyes wide, and made his way to the door. Of course, you chased after him, placing yourself between him and the door, “What party?”

“Please move,” Peter begged, “I really can’t talk about it.”

“I won’t say anything, I promise!” You were the one begging now, “He doesn’t tell me anything at all. Can you imagine how I’m feeling? I’ll do everything you say, I won’t try anything, I just want to know what's going on …. please?”

“Steve can’t know,” You nodded eagerly and he finally gave in, probably because of your spectacular puppy dog eyes, “Tony Stark is having a party tonight, that’s where Steve’s going, and most of us are going to. A pretty important deal is happening.”

“Why doesn’t Steve want me to go?” You frowned a bit.

“I don’t think he wants anybody to know about you, to keep you safe, that kind of thing.”

“Right,” You nodded, “Even if I go crazy while he does that.”

Peter looked sympathetic, “I’m sorry.”

“I know this thing with me and Steve is not ordinary but is it crazy of me to not want to be a secret? Even after everything …”

You could tell Peter wasn’t expecting a deep question nor did he expect you’d confide in him, “I don’t think so,” Peter was trying to understand, you could see it in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he wasn’t sure, “Obviously … you - uhm - care about him. I wouldn’t want to be the secret of someone I care about.”

He was taken aback when you suddenly hugged him. Unsure if he could hug you back, he awkwardly patted your shoulder which made you giggle, “Can I paint your nails?”

“What? No.”

“I have colors that aren’t girly.” “Hmm … can you do cool stuff like the shapes and sparkles?”

“Of course,” You smiled, “Step into my salon.”

+

“I didn’t get my sticker this week,” You bounced back from your toes to your heels, watching Steve as he got ready in his closet. He was fixing his tie in the mirror, making sure it was absolutely perfect, along with the rest of the look. Freshly trimmed beard and an aftershave that smells intoxicating. He smelt like money and looked like it too. That’s probably exactly how you would want to look in front of Tony Stark. 

“You skipped dinner two days in a row, doll.”

You were frowning but it wasn’t like he was focused on you anyways, “But I did better after that,” You whined.

“I know, baby, you can try again next week.”

“Maybe if you were here then I wouldn’t have missed it,” You whispered, playing with your fingernails, “But I’m stuck here and you get to go out and have your fun.”

“Have my fun?” He questioned, buttoning up his jacket. 

“You get home so late … I’m sure you go to your clubs, booze it up and talk to girls.”

He chuckled a bit, “You think I’m flirting with other women?”

“I don’t think, I know,” You leaned against the doorway, “You’re a guy, aren’t you? That’s what you do.”

He finally turned to you, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was as handsome as ever, like a movie star, “Doll, my days are long because I’m traveling from here to the city every day. I want to fall asleep and wake up with you. There isn’t and never will be anyone who I’d rather do that with.” 

As he came closer, you knew he was going to lift you into his arms. Ever since he took you from the club and you sobbed into his shoulders, you’d find solace in his arms. Even if his hands were causing your hurting, they still felt warm and loving, “You don’t mean that,” You whispered, muffled against his shoulder. 

“What can I do to prove it to you?”

“Take me with you,” You said and you felt him stiffen. 

“It’s not safe,” He tried to explain. 

“Are you embarrassed by me?” 

“No, no,” He rushed out, carrying you out of the closet and into the bedroom. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Because of what I do, what I used to do-”

“No, Y/N. I’ve never felt that way,” His tone was more concerned that it ever had been before, “Look at me, please?”

Begrudgingly, you lifted your head. You hated that you were feeling jealous or inadequate, “You took care of yourself all these years and I know you still can,” He continued, “Let me protect you now.”

“I’m not a baby.”

Steve could sense the small bit of pride still left in you and decided not to push you on it anymore, “Could’ve fooled me,” Steve smiled slightly, bouncing you in his arms, “Let me tuck you in, grumpy.”

“The sun just set!” 

“It wasn’t actually a request,” He was already carrying you away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” You resisted, “Can I sleep in here? I’ll go to sleep right away, I promise.”Steve stopped, thinking it over for a moment, “I like that the … sheets smell like you, Daddy,” You added, knowing that was what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t fully a lie but you had other motives for not wanting to go back to your room. For one, your room locked from the outside and his didn’t. Besides that, you were almost sure that one of your stuffed bears had a camera inside its eye. 

Steve tucked you into his california king-sized bed that night and watched you fall asleep until it was time for him to go. You felt the kiss he pressed to your forehead and, for a brief moment, you thought about changing your plans. 

That feeling didn’t last long. 

+

For such an expensive car, you thought your ride would be a lot smoother and much more comfortable. Turns out, hiding in any trunk, no matter how luxurious, behind big boxes of unknown items, was not a pleasant experience. An hour into the drive, you finally decided that you’d had enough and you needed to get the feeling back into your limbs. Besides that, you needed to check and make sure that your hair and makeup stayed in place. 

When you climbed over the seat from the trunk to the backseat, the car instantly swerved before the driver corrected its path, “Y/N, holy shit!” Peter shouted, obviously frightened out of his mind but you were focused on making sure all the layers of your dress made it safely back into their places, “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

“Oh, calm down,” You said, looking at him through the rearview, “Just keep driving.”

“Are you out of your mind? If Steve sees you he’s going flip his shit!” 

“Peter, you okay in there, kid?” You heard Bucky’s staticky voice over Peter’s radio. The younger man picked it up and answered, his eyes still focused on you. 

You placed a finger over your lips and Peter gave you a death stare, “Yeah, I’m fine … I thought I saw a squirrel.”

A caravan of three cars surrounded Steve’s car as they all drove down this dark, winding road that you assumed would lead to Tony Stark’s mansion, “Did you not comprehend a single word I said?” Peter shouted, “Do you want me to get killed?”

“This is my problem,” You said, “Steve will know that you had nothing to do with it, I promise. But tonight is going to go super well so it won’t even matter. Steve is going to see me and realize he’s crazy not to show me off and then we’re going to go to the party and I’m going to charm everyone with my personality which is going to make him a ton of friends and even more money. Everyone wins.”

Peter was shaking his head the entire time as he listened to your rambling,  “Y/N, I understand that you want to be more to Steve and you don’t want to be in the dark but this isn’t the way! This isn’t some charity event or some art gala, these are dangerous people.”

“But Tony Stark-”

“Is as dirty as it gets,” Your heart began to race a bit, “And Steve cannot just let everyone know his biggest weakness, even if they are his allies.”

His biggest weakness. 

Suddenly, your mind was racing with thoughts of moments with Steve. Meeting him, going on your first dates, the hotel meetings, and the passionate kisses that always left you feeling like he felt more about you than he admitted. You never saw yourself as his weakness. 

I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you. 

When you snapped out of your trance, Peter had his walkie-talkie pressed to his chin, “Guys, uhm, we have a stowaway,” You slumped back in your seat, and when the car eventually came to a stop, you wished you were still tucked away in Steve’s bed. You think Peter was calling your name, probably apologizing and telling you how he had to follow orders but, honestly, you had tuned him out, “I-I don’t know …. I thought I checked everything …”

Your dress was adorable too, covered in pastels, while still remaining elegant. You imagined Steve's heart with flutter at the sight of you, instead, he was fuming. He was always so stoic, so full of composure, that the change frightened you. He grabbed you roughly by your upper arm, pulling you from the backseat, and slamming the door shut. Pressed against the car, you looked into those blue-green eyes that were anything except nice. 

“I didn’t mean to for all this,” Was all you could muster up the courage to say, “I just wanted to come with you-”

He shushed you before you got your words out, “We’ll talk about it later.”

You wished he would just yell at you now. He could bend you over right now and you’d prefer that over his silence and the obvious disappointment in his tone, “Later? But-” He pulled you away from the car and you stumbled in your heels as he pulled you along the dark road. 

He brought you towards the last car in the caravan and Sam stepped out from behind it, closing the trunk, before handing something shiny to Steve, “What are you doing?” You asked shakily, the cold wind of the night blowing your dress. 

“Turn around, face the car,” He ordered you and you feared whatever punishment you were about to receive would be worse if you disobeyed him. Slowly, you turned around and he wasted no time grabbing your wrist. You heard the metal click of handcuffs as they tightened around your wrist. You felt his strong hands on your waist and, as he lifted your dress, you assumed the worst. Your panties slipped down and as Steve lowered himself with them. 

“Steve, please talk to me?”

To your surprise, as you stepped out of your underwear, you felt the click of metal around your ankles. When he stood back up, he grabbed your arm again, pulling you back so you were pressed against his chest, “Daddy will deal with you later,” His breath against your ear sent shivers down your spine, “Don’t worry, doll … open your mouth.”

“If you just let me explain-”

You weren’t sure why you even wanted to. He left your brain scrambled and wondering why you even did the things that you did. 

“I won’t ask you again.”

Your lips parted and you realized he was forcing your panties into your mouth. The next thing that you knew, you were lying in the back seat of that car, your wrist hogtied to your ankles. And you thought sitting in the trunk would be uncomfortable. You were struggling and calling out for him and, as you expected, you were ignored. 

“Get her back as fast as you can. I’ll keep things short with Stark,” Were the last words you heard before the door shut close and all your screaming was muffled. 

+

You weren’t sure at which point you’d fallen asleep. As you laid there tied up, you thought a lot about him since there was nothing else to think about. You weren’t sure how he could love you and be so cruel at the same time.  

That next morning, you awoke to sore limbs and makeup staining your pillow. Even though the car ride back was hell, you knew your punishment wasn’t over. You debated even getting out of bed, knowing what was to come. 

You finally mustered the energy to clean yourself up, washing your face, and brushing your teeth. When you stepped back into your room, you were taken aback by what was sitting in the middle of your room. A giant, life-size brown bear was happily perched before your bed, holding balloons and a Tiffany’s gift bag. 

It was exactly the opposite of what you were expecting today. You approached it cautiously, decided to sit and open up the present. You handled the bag carefully, finding an elegant white card sitting inside. 

For my favorite girl on her birthday.

Love, Daddy. 

You sighed, knowing he probably picked all of this out before you betrayed him and probably ruined any sort of trust he had between you. You hadn’t even realized it was your birthday which was probably due to the fact that you had no phone or any contact with the outside world. There was also a jewelry box inside, a gorgeous, rose-gold tennis bracelet inside. 

As you snapped it around your wrist, covering your bruises, you promised not to ask how much it cost. It would probably make you feel even worse about yesterday. 

You finished getting dressed, deciding to head downstairs for breakfast. You found Steve sitting at a table out by the pool, reading through a newspaper like a grandpa. It seemed like he was expecting you because there were pancakes and eggs waiting on the table, “Morning,” You greeted awkwardly. 

“Good morning, doll. Happy Birthday,” He responded, his eyes still focused on the newspaper. 

“Thanks,” Taking a seat in front of him, you instantly moved to grab the syrup, but the rings on his finger caught your attention. Below, you could see his knuckles were red and purple, bruised like he’d been punching something … or someone. “Your hands …” 

He folded his newspaper, taking a look at them himself. It didn’t seem to faze him as he folded them on his stomach, leaning back in his chair, “Your wrist,” He changed the subject and you wondered if he was amused by the fear in your eyes, “Do you like my gift?”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful, I love it … thank you,” Your mind was elsewhere, “What happened to your hands? Is that from last night?”

“Last night is a blur. I was so angry after your little stunt, I had to have a few drinks to even get through the rest of the night.”

“Really?” You tried to hold in your scoff, “You seem very chipper today.”

“Only because I get to see your beautiful face,” He countered, smirking. 

Your eyes narrowed at him, “What did you do?”

“That’s a broad question-”

“Did you hurt him?”

“Him?” Steve raised an eyebrow, “You mean Peter? I thought about it … I’m still thinking about it actually. If he was smarter, yesterday would have never happened but you must’ve been pretty convincing. Poor kid, he probably thought you liked him.”

“None of it was his fault! I-I was just being stupid, I was using him and he was just trying to be a good guy. Steve, please.”

“If I did, you would probably start to actually listen. You’d never try one of those crazy stunts ever again-”

“I will listen! No more stunts, I’ll be an angel from now on,” You stood up from your chair, moving around the table, “I know you’re just trying to protect me. Peter tried to tell me that and I should’ve listened.” You grabbed a hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“That’s all I want,” He added sincerely and you nodded. 

“I’ll pinky promise,” With your other hand, you held out your pinky. You thought Peter would be your way out but, here you were, begging to stay in order to keep him alive. Your pinkies wrapped around each other and you climbed into his lap. You kissed the sides of his mouth before kissing his lips. 

“Soon, we’ll take a trip together, I know you’re itching to get away.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” You kissed his lips again, “Your hands … what actually happened?”

“Punching bag,” He easily explained although you were expecting a tale of horror. Holding his hand, you brought his fist to your lips, kissing them gently, “That probably wouldn’t have happened a year ago … I think you make me more gentle.”

“That’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think? Turning a beast into a prince.”

“For some reason, I have faith in you.”

+

“Peter!” You perked up as soon as he entered the living room, not realizing how grateful to see that he was still in one piece. Sam, Bucky, and Steve seemed to exchange confused glances from their places on the couch. 

Peter seemed baffled as well, “Am I in trouble or something?”

“No, we’re about to watch Coco. Wanna join?”

“There’s popcorn,” Sam added, stuffing his face.

“And cookies,” Bucky chimed in. 

Peter smiled, unsure, as he looked to Steve for permission, “Join us, son.”

“Awesome,” Peter clapped, making his way over to the couch, “This one always makes me cry.”

“Y/N, I thought you said this one wasn’t sad,” Bucky eyed you. You shrugged, snuggling yourself further into Steve’s side. You tried to hide a mischievous smile and act like you weren’t hoping to see three grown men tear up from a Disney movie. 

“Okay, press play,” You tapped Steve’s chest and he raised the remote. 

“Wait,” Steve paused, “Are all three of your nails painted?”

+

i’m thinking maybe i’ll make a christmas themed part 3, we shall see :)

[lilyofthestyx]

Headcanons about each of the lords (+the Duke if you're writing about him) if they ever happen to adopt a little child?

THANK YOU ANON MY THE UNIVERSE BLESS YOU WITH PILLOWS THAT ARE COLD ON BOTH SIDES

okay okay okay okay this has definitely been on my mind so lets get into the thick of it

Alcina Dimitrescu

(im starting off with alcina for obvious reasons)

Alcina would be on the way to the church with the slimy moron, the demented doll, that disgusting manthing and Mother Miranda

She'd kiss her daughters goodbye and head off through the snow, quietly muttering about how cold her ankles were

while Moreau is literally up to his chin in snow but its fine

as she gets closer to the church she keeps hearing this. thing. it sounded familiar but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.

she strays from the path to find it because it was just so familiar

as she weaves her way through the snow, her dress gets caught on something. she leans down to get her dress unstuck when she realises its this tiny basket.

like seriously. just a little woven basket in the middle of the snow. and it doesn't look like its been there for that long- there's hardly any snow on it

when she tugs at her skirts again, the basket makes the same noise she's been hearing

she stands back up to her full height, staring down at the basket with narrowed eyes

this cannot be a good idea, can it? opening a strange basket in the woods after being lured out here. it's probably some village manthing's trap.

she's about to step away when she hears the sound again- much more intense and much more clear

Alcina leans down and opens the lid of the basket

inside is this tiny thing- all soft and warm in a padding of blankets

a baby

she stands and looks around

who on earth would be so moronic as to leave their baby in the snow? it's much too cold for a baby to survive-

oh

she sighs, getting onto her knees to pull the baby from the blanketed basket

the meeting will have to wait. it's too cold even in the church for this tiny thing.

when she finally makes it back home, she's greeted by her daughters in a swarm of buzzing flies.

as they manifest in their true forms, they're asking what- or who, rather- their mother brought for dinner

Alcina smiles and shakes her head, unwrapping the small bundle clinging to her breast

"this... is your new sibling" she announces, "they'll be staying with us from now on."

and the sisters are ecstatic. a new sibling!

Daniela especially is happy that she is no longer the youngest. she usually is the one to parade around the castle with her sibling on her shoulders, showing them the coolest hiding spots for hide-n-seek and the windows with the best views

Bela is incredibly protective. like. incredibly.

she smelt blood from across the castle and when she found her little sibling sniffling about a skinned knee earned from a game of tag with Angie, she lost her shit and almost broke the damned thing with her sickle

And Cassandra has been caught reading bedtime stories by nightlight multiple times. she tries to play it off but everyone knows that she loves- absolutely adores- her newest sibling

we all know Alcina is such a wonderful mother to the girls so adding another baby to the mix was a guaranteed success

she's so doting and careful (a little overprotective at times but she means well) as she is with her girls

as the child grows into a teen, she panics a bit because "my beautiful baby is growing into such a beautiful, talented adult" so expect a lot of late night visits when she just sits on the edge of her bed and just admires how much you've grown

Salvatore Moreau:

now this one is an easy one too if i'm 100% honest

think Moses type beat

(if you don't know, Moses was found in the riverbank in a little basket)

apparently i really like baskets

anyways

Moreau was so out of his element when he found this tiny, screaming, writhing piece of soft flesh

the first few weeks were rough

but he eventually got the hang of it (with Alcina's help of course)

he would take his child fishing every now and then- just the two of them out on a boat for a few hours

the kid would literally swim more than walk and that little fact would make Moreau so freakin proud

also this kid would be so well-versed in movie and film history it's stupid

like expect this little 4 or 5 year old babbling not about toys or snow or how many sticks they found but instead about the copyright war over the film Nosferatu and the destruction of its copies

Moreau, as the child gets older (like 11 or 12) would have just a tad of trouble trying to keep the kid out of the village

he'd wake up one day and go out onto the lake, expecting his child to be swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water

and when he finds that they were not, in fact, swinging their legs off the dock and watching the sun rise over the water, he p a n i c s

i mean, full blown red alert

all of the lords are summoned to help Moreau look for his missing kid, the lycans are given an article of clothing to help find the scent, Mother Miranda goes to search the village herself- the whole shebang

and when the kid is found playing with the village children, Moreau bursts into tears

needless to say, the kid isn't allowed to go to the village anymore

until they're fifty (Moreau's words, of course)

but the kid sneaks off more and more as they get older, using Alcina or Donna or Karl as an excuse to be away

and Moreau knows but he never says a word

seeing his child happy and free with the kids their age makes him happy, even if he is a tad, a tad, a tad bit nervous

Donna Beneviento:

when Donna found this child huddled up against the base of the stairs leading up to her front door, she at first thought it was a doll of hers

it was only when she actually walked outside that she realised it was this shaking, shriveled child in tattered clothes

she spent a good five minutes just staring, wondering how on earth she's supposed to react

that's when Angie jumped in and pulled at her skirt, telling her to "let the kid inside, already!"

Donna went immediately to work on some clothes- why on earth were they wearing such ragged things?! it's freezing outside!- while Angie entertained in the parlour

honestly, it didn't go well

the kid was a little bit unsettled by the floating doll that moved and spoke on its own FOR GOOD REASON

and when Donna walked back in with her measurement tape and some fabric, the kid backed themselves into a corner of the room with their gangly legs tucked into their chest

Angie sighs from the opposite side of the room, letting her little feet fidget as she gestures to the kid. "they're no fun" she pouts, "wouldn't even let me know their name"

Donna puts her materials down slowly and lifts her veil back before attempting a small smile

it takes a while but upon the offer of food, the kid finally lets Donna make them some clothes while Angie makes conversation

she works in silence, only offering small awkward smiles

Angie finally brings up the topic of where their parents are when the kid's clothes are done

when the child goes silent, Donna nods in understanding before hurrying off to make a room for them

as Angie helped tug the blankets up to the child's ears, they promised they'd be gone in the morning

Angie was the one to tell them off.

"You'll stay as long as you need, you silly goose!"

and the child did

Donna would let them tag along for meetings so long as they promised to keep quiet and help keep Angie out of trouble

most of the time, it didn't work and they both would end up in trouble but Donna let them come nonetheless

and when the other Lords question where on earth this little kid came from- all dressed in black fabric that matched Donna's dress, she just shook her head and let Angie chase them off verbally

she'd spend literal HOURS locked in that workshop making new little friends for her child and when they were old enough, she'd let them into the workshop

and when they were even older, she'd walk them through making their very first doll on their own

she'd just watch with pride as they carefully painted the freckles with a shaky hand while Angie danced around their ankles singing of how excited she was to have another friend

The Duke:

he would be setting up shop near the base of the Dimitrescu castle when he catches a kid trying to steal some his wares

he wouldn't be terribly upset, more concerned

it wasn't something shiny or expensive that they were trying to steal

it was some of the steaming-hot food he had left to cool in the wintry air

he confronted the child gently and with a warm smile

"That's cordon bleu," he says, gesturing to the steaming plate. "I can make you some if you'd like"

and as the child eats, the Duke continues tidying up his shop for any future customers

the child, through a mouthful of food, points to different items and asks their purpose, their price, their possible enhancements

the Duke answers each question with patience, happy for the company

but he doesn't just let the questions go one-way

"How about a trade?" he asks as the child asks about the strange-looking bottle of green liquid. "An answer for an answer."

the child agrees and the Duke starts to peel back layers of why the child was here looking for food

they had been orphaned by the last lycan attack, only barely making it out by fleeing into the woods

they tried to forage off of berry bushes and successfully managed to kill a pig- only for the blood to attract lycans before they could properly eat it

the Duke nods and continues busying himself with his shop, feeding the horse that pulls the wagon

the thought had hit him when he watched the child petting his horse

that horse hated everyone. including him at times.

maybe...

when he offered to take the child in, the kid nearly burst into tears and thanked him repeatedly, swearing to earn their keep

and they did, seven times over

what started off as a purely business venture morphed into something more as time went on

when the child would come back from selling smaller household items like gasoline and the occasional package of bullets, the Duke would have them climb onto the roof of the wagon and watch the sun set together with a plate of food

speaking of which, like Moreau, the Duke would raise the most cultured child

this kid would know how to prepare and identify different dishes and their ingredients just by looking at them or smelling them

and their palate would be far more sophisticated than most adults

the Duke, as the child gets older, would eventually allow them to choose destinations to set up shop- even outside of the village

wherever his child wants, the shop would go

it allows them to see the world and its earthly wares together- something the Duke had lacked in his life before the child was brought into the picture

Karl Heisenberg:

listen to me very very carefully

this man would be the most chaotic father ever to walk this earthly realm

when he finds this kid in the elevator of his factory, he's kinda standing there like 🧍 "what the hell-"

and when the kid starts spamming the button while maintaining eye contact, he kinda snaps out of it and starts chasing after them as they drop down to a different floor

it goes on for a solid twenty minutes before he finally managed to track them down in the corner of his office

and when i say this man is confused, i freaking mean it

i mean

why the HELL would some random kid be in his factory? don't they like... play with ponies or something at this age?

to be fair, this man literally has never been allowed a childhood so

obviously he starts scolding the kid ("what the hell are you doin' in here? it's dangerous and there's some really freaky shit here, kid"), dragging them to a nearby sink because "holy shit kid, you're filthy"

the kid is silent essentially the whole time, just kinda staring into his eyes

and of course Karl's gonna be like "...the fuck're you doin'?"

the kid's face is cleaned off and Karl sends them back out towards the village with a scratchy blanket he pulled out of the bottom of his desk drawer

he's working on his 'equipment' one day when he starts reaching for a wrench, keeping his focus on the body on the table

when i say this man jumps skyhigh at the kid asking a question, i mean it

he drags the kid back out, yelling about how dangerous it is and how "you shouldn't do that! you're gonna get yourself killed! go back home!"

the kid doesn't listen

it becomes a regular thing- Karl finds the kid wandering around the factory, Karl brings the kid out of danger, Karl tells them to get lost

eventually (day thirteen of this) he asks why the child keeps coming back

and he hates the answer he gets

it was something along the lines of "it's warm and there's nowhere else for me to go"

so Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them stay

it's a lot of rules at first (a kid shouldn't be allowed to just wander around a bunch of mindless cyborg killers, let alone a factory) but eventually the child learns to mind Sturm and the others

doesn't mean Karl does not have a fullblown heart attack when he walks into his workspace to find the kid tracing their finger along the center of the battery for the Soldats

after a very long talk (and some deep breathing) Karl reluctantly eagerly lets them sit against the very far wall to watch him work on the machinery- not, under any circumstances, the actual bodies

as the child blossoms into a young adult, they start to help out with certain aspects of Karl's work

exclusively machinery because Karl could not physically handle having his kid watch him get elbow-deep into a corpse

and Karl is so freaking proud of it

when the Soldat is kicked to life, he's got his kid in his arms and cackling like the proud dad he is

yeah. paternal Heisenberg>>>

[notmrskennedy]

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

#

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

#

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

#

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

#

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

#

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

[notquitetwilight]

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART ONE

The Cullanos head to Boston to take care of some business.

“Well?” Carlisle Cullano asked his wife from across the table. “How does Boston pizza compare to Jersey pizza?”

“It doesn’t,” Esme answered her husband automatically. “Especially not ours.”

“Typical Jersey girl,” he smirked. He looked to their daughter beside her. “Rosie?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, looking up at him from the slice she was chewing on. “It’s too thick. I don’t like it. But then again, Jersey pizza doesn’t compare to New York pizza, either.”

Esme gave a deep sigh and threw her daughter a look. “Really?”

“What? You know I’ll always be a Manhattanite.”

“You were born in Jersey City Med,” Esme pointedly reminded her.

“Where I was abandoned,” Rose said slowly. “…To be raised in Manhattan.”

“You weren’t abandoned at the hospital,” Carlisle countered.

“She wasn’t abandoned at all!” Esme hissed before he could continue. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“I know, I know, you were just kids, younger than I am now,” Rose waved the hand that wasn’t holding a pizza slice dismissively. “I’m over it. But I don’t know why you always get mad at me for saying I’m a New Yorker when you’re the ones who chose not to raise me in Jersey. Well, chose not to raise me at all.”

A tense silence fell over them. Rose lowered her eyes to the table of their booth as she continued chewing. Esme glowered out the window, her jaw clenched. Carlisle nudged his foot against her leg in an attempt to comfort her, but she ignored him.

It was a little over a year since the couple had gotten their daughter back. Though she had left her adoptive family and seemed to have settled into their lifestyle, the topic of their lost time together still occasionally raised its head.

The couple had had her at the tender age of 17, unbeknownst to their families. Both of them decided they were too young, too broke and already too involved in the mafia game to raise her themselves. She was adopted by the Hales, a wealthy couple of lawyers who raised her in a Manhattan townhouse and gave her the finest private education New York City had to offer. Carlisle and Esme secretly watched her grow from park benches and the back of school auditoriums. They never interacted with her or allowed her to see them, but watching her grow up safe and happy from a distance filled the void that giving her up had left.

Well, it did, until it didn’t. A year and a half ago, right before the couple finally married, Esme’s sister gave birth to her first child. The family rejoiced in the arrival of the baby boy, with Esme’s mother proudly parading her “first grandchild” around. “Aren’t you jealous, Esme?” Mrs. Platt had asked at the wedding. “You hate it when others have something you don’t.”

“No, mom, I don’t get jealous,” came her answer. Carlisle stifled a laugh at that. The death certificate of his previous wife proved otherwise.

“I always thought you’d be the one to give me my first,” Mrs. Platt continued, causing her daughter to bristle. “But your little sister has beaten you to it.”

Esme’s knuckles went white around the champaign glass she held. “She’s just drunk, baby,” Carlisle muttered in her ear. “Fuggedaboutit.”

But it didn’t matter. Esme’s moods worsened in the weeks that followed as she grieved 17 years’ worth of parenting the daughter they tried to do right by. She stopped parking outside the Hales’ Upper East Side building in hopes of catching a glimpse of the girl, or regularly checking her social media pages for updates on how she was doing. Carlisle knew it had become too difficult for her, particularly when her sister got to be a mother so openly. Mrs. Platt was right; Esme hated going without what others had. And Carlisle could never let her go without.

So one day, he pulled his yellow Alfa Romeo into the garage of the couple’s home and paged Esme to meet him there. “Hey doll,” he greeted her from against the bonnet as she entered and closed the door behind her. “I gotcha somethin’.”

She looked around in confusion. Normally when he asked her to come to the garage it meant he had bought her a new car. “What?” She wondered, but before her husband could respond, she was answered by a chorus of thumping and muffled screaming from the trunk.

“Who’s in there?” Esme asked, bored. Visitors to their home arriving by car trunk wasn’t exactly new. He grinned at her smugly as the thumping continued. “What?” She said again, but he could tell he had piqued her interest. He sauntered over to the trunk and opened it, a flurry of blond immediately lunging at him from inside. Esme instinctively reacted with a raised gun, but as Carlisle restrained the girl, her eyes widened and she lowered her weapon. “Is that…?”

He beamed at her as Rosalie struggled in his arms. Her wrists and ankles were tied, but still she writhed around. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and fear, and duct tape covered her mouth. “Take that thing off of her,” Esme commanded. “I wanna proper look.”

“Hold still or it’ll hurt,” Carlisle told the girl. She stopped wriggling long enough that he could gently remove the tape without ripping her skin. She immediately attempted to bite his hand, but he was too fast. Then came an ear-piercing screech that caused both adults to wince, but Esme was smiling.

“You wait,” Rosalie said once she was finished screaming, her voice hoarse. “Just you wait. If it’s money you want, good luck. You might as well kill me now.”

“She looks just like you,” Esme said as if she hadn’t heard her, though she didn’t take her eyes off the girl. “We knew it already, but up close, it’s crazy. I didn’t get a look-in.”

Rosalie’s face contorted to an expression of both confusion and disgust. “What the fuck…?”

Carlisle laughed at her exaggerated expressiveness; the narrowed eyes, the over-the-top frown, the grimace that caused her cheeks to apple. He had seen Esme pull that face a million times before. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he told her as they both went back to staring at Rosalie — who was attempting to naw at the rope around her wrists — with the kind of fascination people usually reserved for newborn babies.

“Carl, untie her,” Esme instructed. He gave her a hard look, thinking it was a terrible idea. She arched an eyebrow in response, and he knew better than to argue with her.

“Wait ‘til my father hears about this,” Rose grumbled as he began cutting through the thick rope. That amused him, and he couldn’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?” She demanded.

He shook his head. “Nothin’,” he tried, but he heard Esme giggle and he started laughing again.

Rosalie’s face flushed angrily as she looked wildly from her almost-free hands to Esme and then to Carlisle. “I said, what’s. So. Funny?” She said it slowly and punctuated, as if she thought he was stupid. Esme’s laugh was turning into the loud cackle she gave when she was particularly thrilled. He sniffed with a smile and shook his head again.

Rosalie was then red-faced, her eyes flashing with rage. “What the fuck is so funny, you piece of shit?”

The couple collapsed into full belly-laughs for what had to have been at least a full minute as Rosalie could do nothing but glare. “It’s funny—“ Carlisle started, pausing to try and compose himself. “It’s funny that you said ‘wait ‘til my father hears about this,’ because I am your father.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes, irritated. She clearly thought that was his lame attempt at a joke.

“It’s true, saweetie,” Esme tried to turn her amusement into a sincere-looking smile. “Your our daughter. I’m your mommy! Were you ever told you were adopted?”

“What kind of weirdos are you?” Rosalie mused, her eyes still narrowed. “Don’t normal kidnappers just tie someone up and leave them be ‘til they’re paid ransom or get arrested? What is this, some sort of house-play shit? I saw something about that on TLC once.”

“Look, princess,” Carlisle started, struggling to get the blade through another bit of rope. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth. I didn’t bundle you up in my car for money, or to hurt you. I bundled you up in my car to bring ya home, where you belong. We’ve missed you your whole life, and now that you’re a lil’ older, we’d love to make up for lost time.”

She looked silently from one to the other. Carlisle could see that it would take a while to convince her. She was suspicious, defensive, and unyieldingly stubborn. Just like her parents.

“Whadiya say, kid?” He smiled at her. “Wontcha give your ol’ man a hug?”

The last of the rope snapped and Rosalie immediately punched him so hard in the nose that it made a horrible crack. He held it as she tried getting away, having seemingly forgotten about the rope around her ankles.

The pair of them allowed her to hop around the garage as both exits were locked. Esme handed him a tissue for his bloody nose and they stood side-by-side against the car, watching Rosalie noisily hunt for something she could either free her ankles or hurt them with. It took him a second to realise Esme was quietly crying.

“Don’t worry, doll,” he put a consoling arm around her and pulled her into him. “She’ll come round eventually. She just needs time. And maybe a car, or a pony, or whadevathefuck teen girls are into deeze days. Whadeva it takes, we’ll do it.”

“It’s not that,” Esme swiped at her tears and turned to him. He was surprised to see she was smiling.

“Then what? What is it, baby?”

Esme wiped another tear away as she proudly cried, “she’s got my uppercut!”

Getting the three of them to work as a family unit had been no easy feat. After showing her the paperwork that proved they were her biological parents, the couple brought Rosalie back to her adoptive home the same evening they had taken her from it in an attempt to show her they were no danger. She didn’t tell the Hales about what had happened, instead blaming her broken curfew on losing track of time while at a friend’s house. Carlisle knew that this was more out of anger at them for lying to her her whole life than it was out of loyalty to the Cullanos. The couple returned to watching her, but this time it was on a daily basis, and they made sure she saw them either by waving across the street or approaching her if she was alone. They often arrived with bribes, but she rolled her eyes each time.

“Hi, Rosalieeee,” Esme sung one day, the two of them having waited for her to get home at the corner of her block. “How was school?”

“Get lost,” Rose muttered as she went to walk past them as usual. Carlisle caught her arm, so she begrudgingly came to a halt and rounded on them with a glare. “What? What do you want?”

“I bought us matchin’ Birkins!” Esme said excitedly, unfazed by Rosalie’s attitude. She held up her arms, each hand gripping the handles of a bag.

“I already have expensive bags. I don’t need more. You know what? I already have parents, too.”

“Who had about as much of a hand in raisin’ you as we did,” Carlisle said. “Tell me, Rosie, which nanny was it you used to mistake for your motha?”

She flinched for a second before recovering her steely expression. “I told you not to call me that. You don’t get to give me a nickname. You don’t get to ask me how my day was. You don’t get to wait around for me every single day. Seriously, you’re both stalkers. You’re already breaking the law by seeking me out before I’m 18. Stop before I call the police and report you for harassment.”

“I don’t think you will,” Esme said gently.

“Oh yeah? What makes you so confident?”

“If that’s what you wanted, you’d have done it already.”

There was a pause. Esme took her chance to hand Carlisle a bag, freeing a hand to caress Rosalie’s arm. “Look, sweetheart. All we’re askin’ for is for you to get to know us. If you get to know us, and you decide you want nothin’ to do with us, we’ll walk away, no questions asked.”

Rosalie considered this for a moment, then looked back and forth at the two of them. “You swear?”

Carlisle traced the cross-my-heart motion on his chest. “Hope to die.”

“Promise,” Esme said firmly.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. But how will it work? I can’t just disappear to go live with you. I’m in my senior year, and my parents would have the mayor turn the city upside-down looking for me.”

“Well, they work ‘til late, right? So we’ll start pickin’ you up from school, and get you back before they come home,” Carlisle said.

“No, you can’t pick me up. Friends will see me getting into some random car. Plus, I’ll have homework...studying....that kinda thing.”

“Ahrite-ahrite,” he nodded. “Responsible, I like it. Education is very impawtant.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, it seems to have played a huge role in your life.”

“How about we get you a cell that you can use specifically for us?” Esme asked. “And you can call or text us whenever you’re finished with schoolwork? We can take ya out to eat or...well, do whateva you wanna do.”

Rosalie paused again. “Do I get to pick the phone?”

“Of course,” Esme smiled. She had told Carlisle the bribes would pay off eventually.

“What about your...business?” Rosalie asked curiously. They hadn’t explicitly told her what they did, but she was bright enough to guess.

“We do most of our work at night, anyway,” Esme answered.

And so the months that followed were filled with evening family bonding. Rosalie would call or text, they’d go out to eat, do different things around NYC or Jersey City, drop her home, go take care of business, get home either a little before or after dawn, and sleep while she was at school. She seemed to enjoy her time with them; she never said she was happy to continue allowing them to be in her life, but she never again brought up wanting them to leave her alone, either. So they continued the way they were as her 18th birthday drew closer.

One evening, when the family had gone go-karting, Carlisle noticed Rosalie’s ability to drive with extraordinary speed and precision. He decided to test it out in an actual car, just the two of them, and was thrilled to discover this skill was transferable.

“Guess what, baby?” He approached Esme from behind at their kitchen counter the next afternoon, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What?” She smiled sleepily as she prepared breakfast, though it was 1pm.

“I think I’ve found us a driver.”

“Really? Who?”

“Rosie.”

She frowned and pulled away so she could properly look him in the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remember how great she was when we went go-kartin’? Well, I brought her to a track last night and she was amazin’. Turns out she’s actually really into cars — kid knows more about ‘em than me!”

“First of all, drivin’ round an empty racetrack at night is very different from drivin’ the streets when you’re fleein’ a scene or bein’ chased,” Esme said, pulling fully out of his arms and heading for the sink. “Second, Rosie’s goin’ to college.”

“Whadiyamean, she’s goin’ to college?”

“I mean what the fuck I said: she’s goin’ to college!”

“We just got the kid back and now you’re gonna send her off to some otha parta the country to go to college?”

She turned back to him with a glare. “The whole reason we left her in the first place was so that she could have a normal life. College is a normal life.”

“Normal life? She was bounced around from nanny to nanny! We didn’t give her a life with normal parents, we gave her human cash cows and babysitters!”

“Well, at least she was safe.”

“We’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“We couldn’t guarantee that. We still can’t. That’s why she should go to college like the rest of her friends.”

“What, because college is so safe for young girls? Have you neva read a newspaper?”

“Don’t tell me about the dangers young women face,” she practically growled.

“She’d be with us,” he said, his tone much softer. “Where else could possibly be safer for her to be than with the two people who’d die for her?”

She stared at the counter for a moment. “Her 18th is comin’ up,” she said slowly. “That’s her opportunity to decide if she wants to come live with us or not. If she does, she does; if she doesn’t, she goes to college like the private-school kid she is should. But I don’t wanna force her like we did last time. If she chooses us, I want it to be because she chooses us.”

“Okay,” Carlisle smiled, then added, “and she will.”

And she did. She turned 18, deciding to finish out the school year where she had always lived. After graduation, she packed her bags, told the Hales she knew the truth and that she was leaving them for good, and came to live in the Cullano house. The Hales were a little persistent in trying to convince her to come back to them, but it was nothing that couldn’t be solved by sending Emmett, the most intimidating-looking member of the crew, over to their house to smash a couple of things up. As Carlisle had envisioned, Rose started driving for the Cullanos and their team, initially just the occasional, stress-free errand here and there. But she found it brought a certain amount of thrill and excitement her life had been missing, and so she worked her way up to riskier jobs. This trip to Boston would be her riskiest job yet.

“Is everyone done?” Carlisle now asked. Esme still had a slice left over while Rosalie sat with nothing but crust in front of her.

“Mmhmm,” Rose answered. Esme mumbled something about being full.

They gathered their things and headed back to the borrowed Bugatti that Emmett had arranged for them. Though Emmett was a Brooklyn boy, Boston was his father’s city, and he had relatives all around it. Relatives that would be more than happy to see the Cullanos through what they planned to do tonight.

Rosalie set the GPS to their hotel. “How many Ivanovs are there, again?”

“Six— well, 4 Ivanovs, a Petrov and a Ryan,” Esme answered from the back.

“Who’s the head?”

“Mmm, Tatiana. Or at least she thinks she is,” Esme smiled.

“Is she the one who...did she kill Emmett’s dad?” Rosalie met Esme’s eyes in the rear view mirror. She had developed a bit of a soft spot for Emmett over her time with them.

“No,” Carlisle answered instead. “That was Katarina and Garrett.”

“Garrett doesn’t sound very Russian.”

“Garrett is the Ryan. Irish mob, like Emmett’s dad,” Carlisle said.

“They worked together ‘til he fell for Katarina,” Esme added. “So it was a real blow when the two of them killed him. A big betrayal.”

“Then how come no one’s taken them out yet?”

“They’re powerful. Ruthless. Batshit crazy,” Carlisle said.

“Look who’s talking,” Rose said with a slight smile.

“That’s why Emmett’s mother left here and raised him in Brooklyn,” Esme said. “That’s where she grew up, so she knew she’d be safe. The Ivanovs have people everywhere around Boston. And with a target on the back of every McCarthy, stayin’ woulda been a death sentence.”

Rosalie frowned then. “If they’re that bad, what are we doing here? There’s three of us— two, technically, since I’m just the wheels. Those don’t seem like very good odds.”

“There’s also Alice, virtually,” Carlisle reminded. “She’ll be there behind every camera to tell us what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Cool, so she can say, ‘hey guys, you’re about to die’ right before we die. Helpful.”

“It is helpful,” Esme said. “Even the shortest of warnin’s can buy you just enough time to save your life.”

“Besides, we’re not plannin’ a massacre,” Carlisle said. “I’m expectin’ only one to be there. We hit ‘em, we go. Then we’re even for how they fucked us over with the Kiev deal they were supposed to facilitate.”

“So it’s...a blind hit? It doesn’t matter who you get, as long as you get one of them?”

Carlisle nodded. “But it would be...convenient, if it was Tatiana.”

Once they got back to the hotel, they freshened up and changed. The couple pulled out the stuffed bags Emmett had also organised for them. They took only what they needed, a couple of guns and knives each, and shoved the rest back under the bed.

“Don’t forget my favourite,” Carlisle smirked, waving Esme’s thigh holsters in the air.

“Never,” she said, holding up two pistols that were identical to her favourites back home. “Put them on for me?”

He knelt down, lifted up her skirt and strapped one around her right thigh. Then he moved to her left as she slotted her gun into it. After buckling the left one, he ran his hand down her inner thigh, causing her to giggle. Rosalie burst through the door of their adjoining rooms and froze as she registered them, her face immediately screwing up in disgust.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” she said. “Get a room.”

“This is our room,” Carlisle pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you in all-black?”

She was wearing head-to-toe black like they taught her, as she always did. Carlisle was dressed like an office worker from Mad Men, while Esme looked like a housewife from the 50s. Neither of them said anything.

“This isn’t one of your weird sex things, is it? Like, you can’t possibly get off on killing people together?”

The silence continued. “Ugh, don’t answer that.”

They made their way down to the car and Rosalie silently drove them to a street two blocks down from the address they’d given her. As the pair got ready, she drummed her fingers against the wheel.

“You scared?” Carlisle asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully.

Esme leaned forward into the gap between the two front seats and put a hand under Rosalie’s chin, directing her so she could look at her intently. “Remember the plan. Stay inside the car at all times. Stay put here, lights off, engine off. Only turn it on when you see us. Or when you see people who aren’t us carryin’ guns. If that happens, you drive and you drive and you don’t ever stop. Same goes if we’re gone past, mmm, a half hour. Forty minutes, tops. There’s a loaded gun in the glovebox if you need it. Got it?” Rosalie nodded. “Good.”

“Stay safe, princess,” Carlisle kissed her on the cheek, opening his door. “Love ya.”

He closed the door and Esme took her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine. But in case it isn’t, you know what to do. I love you, sweetheart.”

She nodded wordlessly again. She never said it back; it was probably still too weird for her. But she swallowed tightly. Esme brought the hand she held onto up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. She then let go and opened the door.

“Esme?” Rose choked out just as she was about to close it.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Come back to me, like you did before.”

Now Esme was the one who could do nothing but nod. And with that, she closed the door, and the couple walked off into the night.

[magniloquent-raven]

more of my trans billy ficlets here 💕

--

thing is, billy never wanted kids.

he didn't even like playing with the stupid plastic babies that out of touch relatives thought made good christmas gifts. the dolls stayed in a sad creepy little pile in his closet—shoved in the corner behind the laundry hamper—til he was ten, and his father started really cracking down on his be grateful for what you have campaign.

billy still insists that using his mom's hairspray to set them on fire counts as playing with them. but that particular argument ended with billy icing a black eye, peeking through the bathroom window to watch his dad lug what was left of his dresser to the dumpster across the street.

point is, billy's never had any interest in being a parent, not even playing pretend at being one.

and that was never really a problem, no guy stuck around long enough for it to ever be a conversation they'd have to have.

until steve.

and steve...steve was fucking born to be a dad, and billy knows it. even without knowing all about the botched dream of a white picket fence happy ending with his high school sweetheart, without having seen that wistful look in his eye when he talks about how he was going to take a shitty job with his dad and live out his suburban i-peaked-in-high-school fantasy, even without all that, it's still obvious.

because he's happy mothering his rag-tag band of ducklings, even though they're too old to be babysat now. because he lights up with the most precious fucking goofy grin when random babies wave at him in public. because he knows all the ways his parents went wrong, and he's exactly the kind of person who'd do better just to spite them.

but billy doesn't know if he's that kind of person. and he's not sure if he'd ever forgive himself if it turns out he isn't.

he's not sure what he'll do about it if steve ever asks, so he's been doing the only logical thing. avoiding the subject entirely.

which, obviously doesn't last.

they've been together for three years. they share an apartment. marriage and kids and all that normal adult couple shit is what mature people talk about when they're in committed relationships, apparently.

it started with a favour for a friend.

some girl steve works with needed someone to watch her toddler for a couple hours, and of course steve volunteered. would've been fine if he hadn't forgotten something at home and called billy to ask him to drop it off.

and, see, it wasn't like he meant to stay, the kid was just so fucking clingy, and took a shying to billy of all people.

and billy saw the little soft-eyed smiles steve kept throwing his way whenever the kid latched onto his leg or babbled at him in toddler-speak that billy had to pretend to understand. he noticed. he's can't stop noticing. can't stop nervously glancing at steve, anxiety threading itself around his heart, his lungs, til he's all tangled up in it, tied up, stomach lurching when it pulls and tightens. he's tense, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

and it does. in the car on the way home.

"you ever think about having kids?" steve is trying so hard to be nonchalant that it's almost painful. he's tracing patterns on his jean-clad thigh, billy can see him out of the corner of his eye. he keeps his gaze locked on the road.

he should probably ease into it. maybe. he has no idea, actually, this is probably gonna be a shit-show either way. for one, brief, horrifying moment he wonders if steve would break up with him over this and he can't breathe for a second.

and when his lungs expand again what comes tumbling out of his mouth is—

"i'd be a shitty dad, steve."

he winces at his own tone.

"fuck off, you would not." steve's vehemence surprises him enough that he forgets not to look. steve's brow is furrowed, his jaw set in a stubborn pout.

billy chews his lip silently, fingers tight on the steering wheel. "what makes you so sure," he asks quietly.

"you're kidding, right?" steve huffs. there's a pause, and his palm lands on billy's bicep, warm and grounding. "i'm sure because i know you." he squeezes billy's arm, "and...max and i talk," he adds, voice soft.

"knew introducing you two was a bad idea," billy mumbles. "fucking gossiping behind my back"

steve snickers. "all good things, i promise."

"right."

"...mostly good things."

"hm."

"come on, she loves you and you know it."

billy sighs, a half-hearted grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "yeah."

"and so do i."

"...you better." his smile grows when steve slaps his shoulder. "yeah, yeah, love you too, jesus."

"you better," steve echoes sarcastically. after a quiet moment of slowly drawing circles up and down billy's arm he adds, "i doubt myself too, y'know. it's not like i have any idea how to parent, mine weren't around enough to help me figure that shit out." he snorts.

"oh come on, you parent the shit out of those dorky brats of yours."

"nah..." steve shrugs, his hand slipping from billy's shoulder. "i was just. there, i guess. not like they listened to me or anything. which was probably good, 'cause i gave shitty advice and swore too much."

"you must done something right, they're still around." he glances over at steve. he's not looking back, he's got his forearms folded across his stomach, fingers curled around his elbows, slouched in on himself. billy reaches over and slips his hand around one of steve's. "hey. every one of those kids looks up to you, and you fucking earned that."

the rest of the drive is spent in companionable silence. billy knows its not the end of the conversation, not even close. it's going to come up again later, but it feels less looming and terrifying now. it's hard to be too scared of what-ifs when steve is two feet away and fiddling with one of billy's rings with a soft smile on his face.

later turns out to be when they've settled into bed for the night.

when steve rolls over, tugging billy's arm until it's draped around his waist, and he wiggles around trying to get his pillow squished just right. and billy watches him with an amused smile. and steve grins back, for a second, before he bites his lip, and—

"so, i...do want kids. um. just to be clear."

billy sighs. "yeah, i figured."

"i know you'd be great at it, billy," steve says quietly, firm and gentle and so damn sure that billy almost wants to believe him. "and we'd make a real pretty kid"

"jesus, harrington."

"what? it's true."

billy huffs a laugh. "yeah." he shifts, sheets rustling around his legs. "i never wanted kids, you know. always fuckin...freaked me out. the idea of it." steve watches him quietly, a warm hand on his chest, waiting patiently as billy pauses. "still fuckin' freaks me out. but you...it's less terrifying when i think about doing it with you. maybe."

"yeah?" steve's grin is blinding, his whole fucking body curling into it.

"maybe. keep it in your pants, bambi."

steve kisses him, cupping his cheek and leaning in slow and careful. "it's okay if the answer is no. it's okay. i'm just..." he nuzzles a little, eyes falling shut and a soft, contented smile warming his face. "makes me feel all special that you'd even consider it. for me."

yeah it's starting to look like there isn't a whole lot billy wouldn't consider doing for steve.

he snorts, and kisses steve's nose. "yeah well, don't get used to it."

"mm," steve snuggles closer. "wouldn't dream of it."

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick. 

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

2.

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is. 

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in! 

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point. 

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth. 

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it? 

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really. 

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it. 

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well. 

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable. 

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair​ was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something. 

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia. 

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole. 

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan.  we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change. 

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents. 

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it. 

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #2

Because I don’t love myself enough, I guess. Let’s continue.

Recap in case you missed the first part: it’s boring, Jared acts like he stumbled on the set and never heard about it before, Texan law enforcement must wear very pristine shirts and cowboy hats or they will die, I guess, the cinematography wants to be good but I’m not sure it knows how to do it.

The last thing I mentioned in the first post was Jared doing a thing with his mouth but I think you need to see it. It’s basically the extent of Jared’s acting in this show. I had nothing against you, man, I swear. I even got your autograph once. I’m not a hater. I’m just looking at him...

THE TITLE CARD! I had paused the episode riiight before the title card. You have to witness it in all its embarrassing glory

Whose idea was it??

Some shots of the city of Austin. Walker and Martinez (Mexican Lady Cop) are having lunch. She says she’s heard about him, he asks what she’s learnt, she says, I textuallty quote, “I hear you are the edge of the coin”. Again, we are not allowed to have any kind of slight metaphor without the dialogue slapping us in the face with it.

“Not head or tail, just... your way” Jared didn’t even come up with the metaphor in that interview, it was in the script. Unless he came up with that line, which isn’t even a good line.

She basically tells him not to get in the way of her career. Being a Mexican-American cop is hard! Such deep commentary.

They start discussing the case, which I had already forgotten about. The cop who was slightly assaulted and won’t talk about it. “Maybe whatever was in that truck spooked him enough to abandon his oath” maybe it was a monster. god I wish it was a monster so that’d mean I’m watching Supernatural and Jensen is in it. The “oath” thing is kinda icky, like they want to remind us that being a cop is a noble path. It is in some places under some conditions. But we’re talking about Generic American conditions.

He’s like “let’s use the traffic cams to see if we can see something” and he slips right into his Sam tone. Admittedly that’s a Sam kind of thing to say.

It was day, and now it’s night. Walker house. He arrives when his family have already started dinner. Except the daughter isn’t there, she’s out with a friend. “Isabel, some Mexican girl” Walker’s father calls the friend. “Mexican American, dad” the gay brother corrects him, a deep and interesting commentary on ethnicity in the United States, we’re weeping with emotion.

Walker apparently isn’t happy that his mother has enrolled his daughter in a Catholic school, his father snaps back at him. We don’t care. We’re not emotionally invested in any of this.

There’s some awkward dialogue because he mentions the daughter playing basketball, but she’s switched to soccer. Wow, it’s like she’s become an entirely different person in those eleven months he was undercover! Can you believe? Apparently she used to play soccer before, she’s come back to it. Whoa. She’s an utterly unrecognizable person now, it’s going to be so hard for Walker to get to know her again from scratch. Can you believe?

Then he gets a call. He needs to pick up the daughter from the police station. He does some Jared awkward faces and leaves.

The daughter (Stella) was at a party and was arrested for possession. I miss when possession meant demonic possession. Dramatic music plays. She’s there with the Mexican American friend, whose parents arrive and he starts a speech on how they should get to know each other better. It is so not the right context to start making friends. “Epic first meeting” Isabel says. “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing” Stella says. “For who?” Walker quips, like a normal person does.

He’s like, let’s go, and the girls hug, which is the only believable expression of affection I’ve seen so far in the episode. Can’t the story be about Stella and Isabel?

Father-daughter conversation in the truck. Apparently we have emotional moments in cars, which we have never seen on television before.

He asks what she was thinking, she’s like, duh what do people use drugs for. She calls him out for disappearing completely. She mentions how it was bad enough that they didn’t have mom. He says “we both got to stop acting like she’s gonna come back and put us right” which makes absolutely zero sense. It’s like someone wrote it on a note for how to develop the characters and they just decided to slap it into the script of the pilot. Remember these people haven’t seen each other for eleven months, he left shortly after his wife died. They didn’t have the time to process the grief together, why is he even saying that line here?

Meanwhile Martinez get home and we meet her boyfriend, a very cute Black man. They’re cute. Why can’t the story be about them?

He asks her about Walker, she says he’s a mess. Oh god. She says he was a Marine, “signed after 9/11”. Holy shit. He’s a Marine who signed up after asdfghjkl can’t you feel the Manly Trauma here????

He’s a Marine who signed up to fight Muslims after 9/11 and now has a dead wife, he’s exactly the kind of male lead character we need right now.

She says she’s trying to figure him out. Her boyfriend is like “dude stop thinking about that guy, he’s not at home trying to figure you out” and she replies “oh I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows everything about me already”.

This is the first scene that hasn’t felt bad so far.

Meanwhile Jared and his brother go to a bar. It’s very ~Texas Aesthetic~, and they’re wearing cowboy hats, of course. You are not allowed to go to a bar without a cowboy hat in Texas. “The brothers Walker” the flannel-shirt-clad bartender says, coming with drinks. Jensen Ackles makes a face somewhere in the mountains.

The brother goes to call his partner and the bartender starts chatting with Walker. She has a conversation with Jared’s awkward faces and she’s like, I guess you left because I couldn’t answer your questions about what happened yo your wife. This is how people converse in real life.

She asks him if he’s alright and he doesn’t answer, instead is like “let’s have a dance”. He doesn’t say he’s fine, but I think it still counts as a I’m Fine Lie Moment #2 because that’s what it is in spirit.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored.

They dance in the Texan bar, I’m distracted by the pool tables and wish this was Supernatural so we’d see Jensen Ackles play pool.

Obviously the dance is interrupted by work - a text from Ramirez who says she’s got something, “office 8am?” so he leaves because he has to wake up early. I’m not kidding.

I was kind of warmed over by Ramirez and her cute boyfriend and by the bar who was kind of nice as a location, when the next scene at the office immediately starts with Ramirez saying “My mom wouldn’t let me play with dolls when I was a kid, so Iearned about cars instead”. I die a little inside. It’s the second time she’s referred to her mother wanting a son...? So she’s badass because she wasn’t raised to be feminine...? Ew.

So they have this lead thanks to her knowledge of cars. They go investigate. I’m bored.

I shouldn’t have said I was bored, because Walker destroys my boredom by having Jared pick up a cross and start talking to “JC” sarcastically asking him for guidance about his kids going to the Catholic school. “Can you stop” Ramirez says, along with all of us.

By the way they’re in a workshop run by an ex-convict who employs former criminals to make figurines (like that cross). I got a bad feeling about this. Former criminal in cop shows is always code for current criminal.

The investigation leads to two guys who work in the store - “oh I know you,” one immediately says when he spots Walker, “you’re the ranger with the dead wife”. Walker is like, what did you say. And the guy is like oh I heard the story of a ranger’s wife biting a bullet near the border, guess you couldn’t protect her uh~~~

They exchange more provocations - Walker calls him some lowlife something and the guy goes to punch him and Walker beats him up. Violently. I’m uncomfortable. We’re supposed to think he’s exaggerating here but... he does get very violent and should not be a cop. Period.

They go to Ramirez’ house because he cut his hand. Her boyfriend is like “baby there’s a dude bleeding on your couch” I want a season of him, exclusively him.

She scolds Walker. Not because he beat up a guy with more force than needed, but because he acted stupid and that’s bad for her career. I’m uncomfortable.

Also, what’s bad is that they’re supposed to work *together*. He says he has his own way of doing things. Yikes yikes yikes.

She says that her theory is that they put them together because he always break the rules. Apparently she read up his cases and he always break the rules. The main character of the show is a cop who break the rules in half the cases he works. Yikes yikes yikes but also did I mention yikes?

No, wait, he acknowledges that he “bends” the rules, like that’s better! Yikes!

More bad dialogue, then Stella’s school calls him. She hasn’t been at school.

He goes to ask Isabel’s mother, who reveals they haven’t their papers yet, so any criminal activity would mean deportation. He talks about it with Ramirez and mentions that his brother who’s a DA could get in contact with the Feds to speed up the papers. Are we supposed to be like “oh what a good guy”? The thing is just creepy to me.

Well, at least Ramirez says something about it, or actually quotes her mother who used to say that the law doesn’t protect us. That’s why she ~burned bridges~ with her family! Apparently because she became a cop.

Ow. Her mother is not speaking to her because for her, her daughter being a cop is like a betrayal. But for her it’s a way to set things right! We’re supposed to think her mother is exaggerated. #notallcops #individualgoodcopscanchangethesystemfromtheinsideforsuredefinitely

Meanwhile their investigation continues. Remember the cross Walker randomly picked up to mock the concept of Jesus? Ramirez stole it. And now they find out there’s heroin in it. Alright... obviously the business that was supposed to rehabilitate former criminals is a cover for cartel drug dealing. What were we expecting. I’m tired.

Ramirez decides to work the case alone and sends Walker to look for his daughter. “I was that kid once, I always wanted to be found”. The impression you get from the scene is that Walker had forgotten about his daughter missing lol. Ramirez insists he goes. I’m uncomfortable with how many times people put on cowboy hats. Someone should count. We’re only 30 minutes in and it feels like it’s happened 80 times.

Alright, a break now! My laptop’s ventilation is running like crazy, VLC and long tumblr drafts are a bad combination. Or maybe it’s just my laptop being allergic to this show.

[p---ink]

White.

Author’s Note: First Chris Oneshot. It was supposed to be a blurb/drabble, but I think its a bit too long for that now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth. Also you ever get that feeling, where you feel like you've came up with an idea in your head originally, but also feel like you may have seen it somewhere else? Yea that's how I feel about this piece. So if you've read something similar to this, please link it and let me know so I can edit or delete this post altogether.

Summary: Chris greets you after a long day at work, with some TLC.

Word Count: 2.9k.

Warning: Fluff and Smut. Oral (female receiving), fingering, Semi-mean Daddy Chris, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, and I think...maybe that’s it? Please let me know if I forgot something.

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine. 

“The kids are asleep?” You whispered, when he held his finger to his lips upon your arrival. 

“Yea, I just laid Ezra down. That is one rowdy little person.” He said chuckling, leaning down to plant a kiss on your mouth. He held you by your waist to pepper more along your face. 

“Chris baby, you are a God-send.” You sighed, leaning in to his touch. “You will not believe the shitty day I had.”

“Hold that thought and take a seat, doll” he ordered, urging you towards the living room by your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He promised. 

You sighed as you threw your work bag down on the love chair beside you, kicking your shoes off in the process.  When you crossed the room to drop down on the sofa, the weight of today’s events crushed you instantaneously, as you waited for your husband to return. 

You’ve been married for six years, and he’s been good to you for all of them. Great even. He always listened, and almost never complained. How could he when he was usually away, due to his job? 

He was forever busy with filming, press tours and whatnot. It made him feel guilty to leave you and your sons so often. So any time he was at home for a break, he took full advantage. He spent time with his boys, and then the rest with you, spoiling you all with his love. 

Preoccupied with your stress, you almost failed to notice Chris taking a seat in front of you. He took hold of one of your legs, and that’s when you noticed your spa-kit placed next to him. 

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” You cried, scrunching your face in relief when he rubbed your calf in just the right spot.

Chris flashed those pretty baby blues at you, along with that signature smug smirk. “You know I do. And you know I want to.” He said, before dousing his hands with oil. 

As he firmly massaged the coconut into your skin, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. Taking a pillow into your arms to hug, and hide your giddy smile, you reply with, “What I did I do to deserve you?”

“Well I would tell you, but I don’t have enough time, because you’ve got to tell me about what’s got my girl so upset.” He informed you with a stern look that read who do I have to kill? “Before you do that,” he started, placing your newly moisturized leg down before grabbing the other, “Choose a color.” 

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, peering over to take a look into the open basket. It had an assorted amount of different nail polishes and products for nail care. Your favorite color currently decorated the bottom of the basket, and it made you recall the time your oldest son Jeremy spilled its contents over while playing a game of “paint” about a week ago. That boy. You thought, shaking your head playfully. Well I guess I won’t be choosing that one. 

After a moment of close examination, and scrutiny, you chose “White”, which made Chris immediately stop his measures against your legs, to peer up at you through hooded lids. 

“So its one of those days, huh.” He smirked. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned. You hadn’t known he preferred certain colors on you. 

“I’ll tell you later, but first tell me about your day baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You were dying to get it all off your chest.  You spilled out your hearts content, as your husband massaged your legs, then your feet, and in between your toes. As he delicately removed the old paint from your last session, and proceeded to paint your feet, you were almost finished relaying the message. 

“…and its just like they treat me like I’m insane! But you know what? The way i’m always overlooked, and ignored, makes me feel like I am going insane. Every time I suggest an idea, its stupid. But let some asshat say the exact same thing, and they praise him like a god.” You complain, rolling your eyes, at your memories from your work day. 

Chris offered you the occasional nod or two, humming softly at your cries of frustration when needed. And as much as he wanted to offer his two cents on the matter, he knew that what you wanted most was to be heard. You just wanted to be listened to. And while you wouldn’t of minded him beating their asses, he knew you needed his tenderness. His love. His care. And so that’s what he gave you. 

“And you know why they do it right? It’s because I’m a woman! A black one at that. Lord Jesus, it pisses me off so much.” You sigh, finally bringing your eyes down to him, after they had been trained on the air and nothingness around you; you had a habit of re-living stories as you told them. “But honey, this has really helped out a lot.” You say, cupping his chin lovingly. 

“You know I’ll do anything for you doll. And fuck those sons of bitches. They’re idiots if they can’t see how amazing you are. If you quit, like I suggested a while ago, that’ll really show ‘em.” Chris exclaimed, applying a second coat of white.

“Now you know I love what I do. I just wish I was more appreciated is all!” 

He gave you a sympathetic look before saying, “well you know me and the boys appreciate you.”, running his fingers along the ridges of your toes to remove the misapplied dye on your skin. 

“I know you do baby. I mean look at what you’re doing for me now.” You said, gesturing towards the care he took with your feet. 

Chris just smiled in response. He only felt slightly defeated when you rejected his idea to stay at home. You told him many stories about the jerks you worked with. You were among one of the only women at your company, and you paid for that fact daily. You told him, how they would talk to you, and treat you, even though you had the same amount, if not more experience as they did. He didn’t want you to have to put up with that. He wanted you to kick your feet up and enjoy the life he would provide for you and the kids you both created. But, like the supportive husband he was, he honored your wishes to pursue your passions. He knew that was what made you happier at the moment. The time would come, where he could spoil you completely, though. 

“Speaking of this,” You started, motioning towards your feet once more. “What’d you mean when you said “So it’s one of those days, huh”” You asked, putting on your best impression of him. 

Chris put on a smile that could light up a room, as a deep throaty chuckle erupted from his chest, and vibrated through your body via your feet. “Is that what you think I sound like? No matter, I’ll tell you what I meant. I can predict exactly what it is you need, and how you feel, based on the nail polish color you choose.” He said confidently, picking up a clear polish to apply the final coat.

“Is that right?” You ask, failing to take him seriously, even when he flashed that cocky grin and brow twitch that he often used to back his claims. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Seriously. I can. Listen.” He informed you, opening the clear polish, and brushing the access paint along the insides of the bottle. “I can prove it.”

“Fine! Go ahead.” You state, becoming intrigued.

Delicately holding your left foot against his knee, he starts explaining his theory while applying polish. “You see, when you choose a pale blue or orange, I know you just wanna forget about things with a movie or a cuddle session. Forest green or black, when you feel like throwing a couple of shots back with your girls at a bar. Mauve and a nude of any kind are your favorites, and you request them when you need to feel in control, classy, or sophisticated. And you always choose a soft pink, or yellow, when you need a happy reminder, or a burst of energy and inspiration. Lavender, is a color I wish you’d choose more, since it represents your happiness. Gray, is a color I wish you’d choose less, since it means you’re sad. And then there’s plum purple and candy apple red, two colors I can’t get enough of. You want those, when you’re feeling sexy. See, baby I can read you like an open book.” He declared, moving on to your second foot. Feeling quite sure of himself. 

You just stared at him in awe. Then you realized he didn’t mention, the one he just spent  ten minutes applying. “You forgot about white.”

“Oh I didn’t forget angel.” He corrected, smirking as he finally finished painting both feet. “I’m just waiting on your toes to dry.” After he says this, he begins to sensually blow cool air on your toes. 

“Chris! Tell me what it means!” You pout playfully, growing fed up with his secrecy. Also tickled from the air he blew. 

“Fine. But be quiet, you don’t wanna wake those little demons.” He warned, fixing you with a stern look that made you erupt into quiet giggles. He always made you laugh with his juxtaposed funny-seriousness. He was seriously funny. “White is my absolute favorite. You wanna know why? Its simple, and doesn’t drown out your pretty personality. It goes with every outfit, purse, and hairstyle. You wear this color, when you’re frustrated. Exasperated. Annoyed. You choose white, when you need me to wrap those pretty little legs around my neck, so I can make you cum till kingdom come. Or until you see, ‘white’. Whichever comes first”. He finished, staring at you seriously all of the sudden. A thick silence had befallen the two of you, and you almost didn’t know how to escape it. 

After a moment, you break out into a smile, despite Chris’ unmoving features. “Are you sure that’s what I want? Or is it something you want?”

“It’s what you need.” He affirmed, finally matching your expression, only his smile held a lot more lust than yours. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something alright, Chris. I think you paint my nails entirely too much.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, moving to pack up the spa kit, before saying “So in other words I’m right.” He rises to his feet, peering down through his long lashes with a knowing grin, before turning to leave the room. But not without saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.” Leaving you an anxious mess.

You start squirming in your seat, waiting with anticipation for him to return. You try to sit in your sexiest pose, but it makes you feel awkward. Then you start to wonder if you should remove your underwear. But you know he likes doing that. You even wonder if you smell okay, after such a long day at work. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you barely register his presence when reenters the room. You slightly jump, when you feel his warm hands brush against the nape of your neck.

“Shit baby.” Chris laughs, as he rounds the couch. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize how bad. Let daddy, handle this for you.” He says kneeling back in front of you, knees tucked firmly under his person. He smoothes his hands over the expanse of your soft supple skin, leaving a burning trail of desire in his wake. When he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, your breath hitches as the cool air hits your moistened sex. 

You lift your thighs and legs, so he can carefully remove the lace without ruining his handwork on your feet. When Chris surveys your dampened panties and inhales their scent, his grin grows wider. “You’re already this wet for me?” 

He gives you no time to answer as he’s pulling you closer to his face, by your thighs. The sudden movement caused a whimper to escape your throat, soft sound making his cock harden. He’s working his kisses up against your thighs with a quickness, ready to produce more sounds like the last. 

Your head’s position on the couch has you feeling a bit awkward, and you go to say  “This is uncom—” but cut yourself off with a moan, as he dives his thick tongue between your petals, writing love notes against the skin.

“What’s that, doll?” Chris asks, hot breath dangerously close to your bud.

You just mewl in response, wetting his beard with your juices, as he eats you like you’re his last meal. “Right there baby.” You groan, grinding yourself against his mouth when his tongue darts against your nub. 

“Right here?” He questions softly, repeating the same gestures, sending a jolt through your body that makes you buck against his face. 

Your words leave your throat, as he sucks harshly against the problem areas, shocks of pleasure emitting through your person. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he adds his fingers. First two, but then three as he starts fucking your pussy. 

“D-daddy!” You cry, voice coming out shaky as you writhe against his lips and fingers. His actions have you climbing up the couch. 

Then he removes his lips, warning you to keep quiet. “My babies are upstairs, I’m gonna need you to keep your pretty mouth shut.” He commands, placing your soaked panties between your lips. 

As he quickens the pace of his fingers, and makes his tongue dart from left to right relentlessly against your clit, you approach your first orgasm of the night, and he knows it too, when your hole clenches around his fingers. 

He smiles, and tells you how proud of you he is, but he isn’t done with you yet. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your muffled moans ring through your ears, as you clamp your teeth down around your underwear. Your jaw was becoming slack from keeping it open so long, and you were feeling sore.

Chris was still continuing his assault against your sex. He had long moved from his position on the floor, and now sat beside you on the couch. 

He had your legs sprawled open, keeping them from closing with one hand gripped on your thigh, and the other rubbed fast and hard circles against your clit, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“What number was that one, baby? Five, six? I lost count after the third time, when you squirted on daddy’s chest.” He growled, biting his lip, as he quickened his pace against your nub. “Do you think you can do that again?”

You moaned in protest, shaking your head from left to right, as you approached another orgasm. You couldn’t take anymore pleasure, your sensitive bud was going through too much.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” He teased, face as serious as it could be. He was testing you. You knew not to remove the underwear, or you’d be there all night. When you made no moves to pull them out, he did it for you, a string of spit connecting your lips to the fabric.

You immediately pleaded with him to ease up. “Daddy I don’t think I-I can take an-nymore.” You cried, now a blubbering mess.

“You don’t think you can take anymore?” Chris repeated, mocking you. “Well that’s too bad. Daddy thinks his princess looks too pretty when she’s cumming. So suck it up, because I’m not stopping until we have to replace this couch.”

You  felt that familiar coil in your stomach again, threatening to snap, as you threw your head back. You were a sweating mess now. You had hair glued to your face, and neck, and your shirt was drenched, as it clung to your stomach. But still, it wasn’t quite as drenched as your pussy, thighs, and couch cushions were. 

Chris was as hard as a rock, but you knew if you touched him, he’d get angry. He wanted to play with you, until you were begging him to stop.

“What happened today at work again baby? What was it Chad said to you? I bet if I have you fucked out like this every night, I’d be the only man on your mind.” He whispered against your ear.

Your stomach began spasming, as you clenched painfully around nothing. This would be your last one too, before your body gave up. 

Tears streamed down your cheek, as you contorted your face into the sexiest expression Chris had ever seen. And then, just before your screams of pleasure could rip through your chest, he covered his mouth over yours, as you squirted all over his hands, your thighs, and stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, you could only see white, before your vision came back into focus.

Massaging the wet, between your folds, Chris bought his fingers up to your lips and said “open.” And you did, sucking all your juices from his digits without breaking eye contact. “Attagirl.” He praised, wiping your tears away. Feel better now?” He asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod tiredly, throat dry from your previous activities.

He brushes your sweaty hair behind your ears before saying, “Good. Now, let’s paint those pretty pink walls white, too.” 

[tentenpropaganda]

Naruto Characters Ranked On The Quality Of Their Hair

Hashirama. Just look at him.

Kushina. It’s naturally perfect, but she also cares for it when she must, if only to spite the people who mock her hair.

Yamato. The forcibly-experimented-on war orphan doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Neji. You’d better believe that he takes VERY careful care of his hair. If he can’t have social power over the main branch, he can at least be stronger and prettier than them.

Ino. She always smells really nice, too, because she uses these amazing homemade floral shampoos.

Minato. How does he never have a hair out of place or a single tangle despite running around at the speed of sound? No one knows. (ultimate good hair power couple with Kushina)

Shisui. His hair is super cute and he KNOWS it. Too bad he doesn’t have the eyes to see it anymore </3

Choji. Don’t @ me, his hair is BEAUTIFUL and y’all only sleep on his great hair because we don’t appreciate good hair unless it’s on a skinny person. But he can’t be in the top five because his hair is part of his attacks, which means there’s probably some dirt and blood in there. :/

Orochimaru. What’s the point of being immortal if you can’t be beautiful?

Itachi. Can’t slaughter your clan if you don’t have the proper hair care routine.

Sai. Not much going on with his hair, but he takes care of it. It’s probably super soft.

Hinata. Brushing and washing her hair calms her down, so she does it ALL the goddamn time. But she also plays with her hair when she’s nervous, so it’s typically a bit tangled.

Deidara. He takes care of his hair, but I’m taking a few points off for the fact that every time he touches it, he’s getting hairs in his hand-mouths.

Sasuke. No self-respecting Uchiha lets his hair go unkempt, but his clan got slaughtered before they could pass down all the tricks.

Kurenai. Her hair has to be AT LEAST as striking and beautiful as her eyes, or else it’ll look weird, so she really has no choice but to take care of her hair.

Iruka. He doesn’t care much about how his hair looks, but he does care about maintaining personal hygiene, especially in a professional environment.

Kabuto. None of Orochimaru’s henchmen can get away with improperly-maintained hair, and Kabuto took that to its extreme. So soft and fluffy. But after Orochimaru died Kabuto really let himself go. Now it’s full of shredded bits of snake skin probably.

Madara. He’s an Uchiha but you can’t condition properly when you’re presumed dead by most local and international authorities.

Karin. She takes care of her hair, but being on the run with Sasuke means constantly getting tangled up in weird shit that leaves her with tangled hair.

Tobirama. He doesn’t do anything with it but it’s probably SUPER soft.

Tenten. Her hairstyle is cute as hell, but she doesn’t spend much time taking care of it.

Killer Bee. He’s got nice hair, but it probably smells like fish because of Gyuki.

Suigetsu. It’s never dirty because it’s constantly turning into water which is basically a really thorough shower. But like he’s never brushed it once in his life, and probably doesn’t know what a hairbrush is.

Lee. His hairstyle is fine I guess, but he looked so good with the long hair as a kid... bring it back...

Gai. His hairstyle is fine I guess, but he gets points off because, were it not for him, Lee might still have the long hair.

Sakura. She cut off all her hair, realized how little maintenance a short hairstyle requires, and proceeded to never brush her hair again. But it looks cute though.

Konan. Nothing of note, like Obito below, but she looks cuter because she’s got ornamentation.

Obito. Middle-of-the-road; he just washes it when he bathes and brushes it when it gets tangled. Nothing of note.

Jugo. Hard to comb your hair when your hands sometimes grow into huge hard lumps. Poor guy. He does care about his hygiene though.

Gaara. He combs it but it’s full of sand.

Temari. She combs it but it’s full of sand.

Kankuro. He combs it but it’s full of sand and sawdust and he probably has terrible hat hair.

Kakuzu. It looks fine I guess, but points off for those weird hair fibers that come out of his mouth.

Naruto. He has never owned a hairbrush and even if he did he wouldn’t know how to use it. Iruka used to help him with his hair but now he’s on his own.

Hidan. That shit’s SMOTHERED in gel and you know it.

Shikamaru. He washes his hair exactly as often as he needs to in order to keep Ino from yelling at him, but doesn’t brush it unless ABSOLUTELY necessary.

Tsunade. Look, she’s gorgeous, but if you get too close you will realize that her hair badly reeks of alcohol and she probably just sprayed dry shampoo in there after rolling out of bed this morning. At least she can hide it, though.

Asuma. His hair and beard both smell like cigarette smoke 24/7.

Sasori. That shit’s probably full of sawdust and iron powder and if you touch it, it just feels like doll hair.

Kiba. Doesn’t wash his hair, Akamaru just licks his scalp and then he calls it a day.

Kakashi. See above, but at least Kiba cuts his hair. Kakashi just lets stray kunai trim his hair in battle which is also why it’s so lopsided. Looks like a scraggly wet cat, ironically enough.

Shino. He carefully washes and trims it. But it’s full of bugs and, sorry Shino, that loses you a ton of points.

J*raiya. His hair is probably super sweaty and full of dirt and toad slime because he’s a slob and I hate him.

Danzo. Probably has trouble washing his hair without getting soap in his stolen eyes.

H*ruzen. Greasy receding hairline bitch.

Nagato/Pein. He literally doesn’t have any free hands with which to wash his hair, and his bodies are dead. Their hair probably feels awful, greasy and stringy and the scalps are all wrinkly and dry. Ew.

Zetsu. Is that even hair.

[shyneanon]

I don't know what type of prompts you're looking for, but this idea has been on my mind for a while: swap MfSans and Princess. Where Sans is the one who's sick of mafia life and wants to leave, but his bro won't let him. On top of that, this flirty human woman won't leave him alone, even though he's told her a hundred times his bro will kill her if he finds her hitting on Sans.

Ahhhh an AU of my AU fanfic, that sounds so fun! I’ve been wanting to write this but was having a hard time thinking of the details, but I finally have something done. They’re not completely swapped in personalities or anything, mostly just in their roles in the story, but I hope you enjoy it.

---

Sans didn’t like going for walks.

But it was something Paps insisted on. Several times he’d tried shortcutting to cheat, but Paps always caught him. He was smart. So eventually Sans had given up.

Instead, he would head for the park on evenings when he wasn’t on the job (so to speak), sit there awhile, and then come back. Paps always thought he’d been walking all that time. Sometimes he even got nice cream, and Paps was none the wiser.

As usual, he found a park bench— one that he took up most of the room of— and sat. It was nice to be alone with his thoughts for a while. The park was a lot emptier and quieter at night. No kids. Most people at home with their families.

Their peace-loving, law-abiding families.

Sans did more thinking than most people realized. He had a lot of thoughts and opinions on things, he just… wasn’t very good at expressing them. He didn’t like talking— not even with his brother. Sometimes Paps didn’t really listen to him. That was particularly the case with Sans’ suggestions about how they could get out of the mob. He’d hatched several plans, but Paps told him they were too risky. It was best, he said, that they stay where they had money and power and could live comfortably.

Sans didn’t find the mob life particularly comfortable.

Quite the opposite— it felt stifling. And Paps wasn’t helping. He tried to stop Sans from talking to women— or, fun women, at least— because he had his own idea of what kind of girls Sans should be talking to. Girls in the mob, who were raised to be boring and submissive, and to lie through their teeth to avoid bothering their boyfriends. Being with someone who’d basically been trained like a dog to only do what would make him happy would just make him feel like trash.

Besides, if he married some mob boss’s girl, then there would only be more incentive for them to stay. And he didn’t want incentive to stay.

“Sans?”

Oh shit.

Sans would recognize that voice anywhere. It was so… silky. He looked over and sure enough, there you were, a shopping bag in your hand. Probably having bought a dress for one of those fancy parties folks in the mob loved so much.

Sans hated you.

Well, he hated you because he liked you. You were exactly the kind of girl he didn’t want, and yet at the same time, you were everything he wanted in one… really sexy package.

Talking to you was a really bad idea. So he just tipped the brim of his hat slightly, looking away in an attempt to look uninterested. “Heya, doll.”

Much to his dismay, you sat next to him on the bench and smiled. The way you moved drew attention to your curves…. Were you doing it on purpose?

“It’s good to see you,” you told him. A playful smile. “I was feeling bonely.”

Sans tried— and failed— to stop himself from laughing a bit. Fuck, you were funny too….

“So?” You batted your lashes-- it was clearly playful, but it still made his soul flutter slightly, and he inwardly cursed himself for it. “How are you?”

You were smirking. He was pretty sure you reveled in driving him insane.

“Not as good now that you’re here,” he returned, and you snickered. Why was it cute?

“Aww,” you said. “I’m hurt.”

Sans didn’t reply, just forced himself to look away, despite how much he enjoyed looking at you.

“Hey.”

He turned just a little, raising a brow. You had a massive grin on your face.

“Knock knock.”

He blinked and did his best not to look alarmed. Goddammit, no.

Not a knock knock joke.

“You’re supposed to say ‘Who’s there,’” you teased.

Fine. He would indulge you. The joke probably wouldn’t be that funny anyway. “Who’s there?”

“Nana.”

“Nana who?”

“Nana your business.”

Before he could even try to stop himself he snorted loudly, slapping his knee a little. “That was fuckin’ stupid, doll.”

“That’s why it’s funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Aw, c’mon. You agree with me. Admit it.”

Your tone was so smug. Dammit, he was terrible at pretending he didn’t like you, wasn’t he?

“Besides, yours are dumber.” You nudged him. “C’mon, tell me one. You always have some.”

His face grew warm. He wasn’t used to people wanting to hear his jokes. Sure, making people groan was half the fun, but… making you laugh…

After an attempt at a nonchalant shrug, he said, “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Cash.”

“Cash who?”

“Nah thanks, I prefer walnuts.”

You snorted and gave a giggle. Sans didn’t notice his smile soften. What he would give to make you laugh like that more often….

If only you weren’t in the mob.

He was lost enough in thought that he didn’t notice when you began to slip into his lap, only when you were about halfway in it. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but Sans’ mind was the type to go into the gutter easily, and… His face grew hot, and you raised a brow.

“Oh my, someone gets turned on a bit easily, huh?”

His face only got hotter. “S’just a blush,” he protested.

You clearly didn’t believe him, but you shrugged, still smiling. “Oh, alright. My mistake.”

“Yeah,” he said, furious that his face was still warm. “Yer mistake--”

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I do this then.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, giving him a wink, and he could feel himself growing warm… somewhere else.

“Y’know my brother wouldn’ be happy if he saw you here like this.” He kept his own hands from touching you, holding them out so that if Paps did suddenly show up for no discernible reason, he would see that Sans was clearly not reciprocating.

“Well too bad for him.” You leaned up, getting closer. “You can make your own decisions.” With a slight purr in your voice, you added, “You’re a big boy.”

You were close enough now that Sans could hear you even when you spoke softly.

“I’m sure there’s all kinds of things a big boy like you could do to a tiny girl like me….”

Why did everything about you… your voice, your body, your eyes… have to appeal so much to his most base instincts…?

And why’d you have to be so… wonderful?

“Just one kiss?” you whispered.

Sans didn’t protest when you pressed your soft, perfect lips against his teeth. In fact, he wrapped both arms around you, returning the affection. Your hands cupped his face and the touch sent shocks of electricity through him. He growled, his more aggressive instincts beginning to surface.

“Baby,” he purred, and you kissed him again, with more fervor this time. His hands went to your waist, and his mind began to slip into an incredibly racy fantasy. “Baby, I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna what?” you asked, clearly excited.

His mind indulged itself in some very vivid imagery and he thought of a dirty response. He let out a predatory growl again, opening his eyes so he could make eye contact…

And then he realized what he was doing. He paused.

When he didn’t respond, you breathed, “What are you going to do to me, Sans?” and the primal part of him immediately started to dive back into its very explicit daydream, but the logical part of his mind managed to reel the rest of him in.

“I’m gonna… move ya back onto the bench,” he answered lamely, gently pushing you off his lap. Your flushed face (fuck, it was hot) quickly started to return to its usual color and you blinked, looking confused. Still, you complied, and to his surprise, looked away.

“Sorry,” you said. He wanted to tell you that yes, you should be, but instead it took all of his energy not to so much as put a hand on your shoulder. As much as he didn’t want to, he did like you.

Why did he have to like you?

“I, uh… jus’ gotta go, s’all,” he said, standing up. He turned away and tipped the brim of his hat. “See ya, dollface.”

“Actually…”

He looked back over, a brow raised in suspicion, to see that your more mischievous smile had returned. Oh, what now?

“It’s getting dark,” you told him, getting up and picking up your shopping bag. “And I think that, being the small and helpless little lady I am… I could use an escort home?”

Sans felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Yeah? Worried for your safety?”

“Of course. The city’s big, and full of… unsavory characters.” You put a hand over your heart in mock fear. “One of them could get me, and… do things to me.” Another wink, and a sly smile. Sans struggled not to let himself slip into more fantasies. Thankfully, your mock concern was funny enough to keep him more or less grounded.

“Well,” he said, playing along with a shrug. “We can’t have that. I s’pose it would only be gentlemanly of me to take you home.”

“Yes, it would. And we both know you’re quite the gentleman.”

“Always.” His grin had returned-- in fact, he could swear he was grinning even more than usual-- and he held out his arm. “Madame?”

You locked arms with him, beaming. “Merci,” you said, and he laughed. All thoughts of avoiding you were ignored.

He was too busy having fun to care.

[morgana-ren]

my kink is shiggy going absolutely feral and wrecking the pussy

 I am soooo sorry this took so long to respond to. I’ve been working nutty hours and it’s been busier than usual. I’m also sososo sorry the quality sucks. I wrote half of it tonight and I am crazy sick. I’ve got some sort of awful flu and I’m like coughing to the point where I can’t breathe and my mouth tastes like blood and my body feels like I was hit by a train. I hope you like it though :/ (BTW this ended up way longer and weirdly… sweeter than I originally intended? I hope it’s still okay though)

He’s sitting at the bar, and admittedly, he’s had a few more drinks than he usually has. Originally, he just wanted to take the edge off, but now he’s feeling a little bit loose. His inhibitions are definitely lower than they should be, so he’s maintaining his composure by trying to keep to himself. He very rarely allows himself to relax like this, but it’s been one hell of a week, and his pent-up rage and anger is threatening to boil over unless he lets himself decompress. It’s for his sake, and more importantly, for the sake of everyone around him, so he allows himself this one.

There’s only one little problem.

That problem is you.

Even at his most attentive, the absolute height of his prowess, he was starting to realize that there was something a little different about you. Don’t get me wrong, he cared about all of his team. They were his family now and he was content with that. But occasionally he found his eyes lingering on you a little too long, getting a little too lulled by the sound of your voice. He would even go as far as to say he felt something akin to giddiness when you would plop down on the stool next to him at the bar.

Tomura was no fool. He knew what it was. He understood in some capacity that he was attracted to you. He had been since you joined. He figured it was inevitable to some degree. After all, he wasn’t exactly a people person, and the ones he did surround himself with weren’t exactly suited to his sexual tastes. He felt for Toga like a big brother would (not to mention the fact that she was underage and that was definitely not his cup of tea.) And the rest of the team? He’d rather shove a nail in his foot.

But you? You seemed a little too perfect.

He tried to play it off as his loneliness. A young female around his age with a powerful quirk and similar views? Of course nature would take its course and veer his attention toward you. That didn’t mean it had to be genuine, right? Surely it would die with time, fading into the background until it was nothing but a dull echo and eventually nonexistent. He was just touch starved, feeling particularly lonesome and isolated recently. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that you had been running circles around his mind lately. Nope. Not at all.

He didn’t spare you any extra attention, gave you no favors. He didn’t let his libido steer his judgement, letting his rational mind keep control instead. He was the leader after all, and it was his job to refrain from bias toward any member of his team. Favoring one or the other, especially because one had a face and personality partial to his own personal tastes, was not a good look. He was a professional. He needed to act like one.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job.

At least until now.

His grip on the glass is a little too tight, just a bit too strained. He can hear you laughing behind him, at what he doesn’t know, but he knows it was ashtray that made you do it. It had been like this the last half hour. You and Dabi had been playing some sort of drinking game and clearly having one hell of a time. Exchanging stories, bantering, and joking back and forth.

Tomura might as well have been a fly on the wall.

Neither one of you seemed to pay him any mind, letting him drink alone in peace. At least as much peace as he could have while you two were practically rioting behind him. With his back turned, you couldn’t see how unbelievably irritated he was either. He told himself it was the noise. He had a headache and you two really should keep it the fuck down. That’s what he told himself.

“Hey dollface, you ever played ‘never have I ever?”

Dabi’s slurring slightly, clearly already deep in his cups. Whatever bullshit game you had been playing before, you had obviously been winning. You seem essentially sober, and yet you were still humoring this asshole. Shigaraki closes his eyes and rolls them. You two were utterly juvenile.

“Not since I was a kid.” 

“You wanna play?” The suggestiveness in burn-unit’s voice is just a little too palpable. Shigaraki forces down another coming wave of irritation. He didn’t need to be subjected to this. Two of his subordinates acting like fucking baboons. 

“Sure. I hate playing quarters with you anyway. You suck at it, but the quarters you use get too warm and they keep burning my fingers.” 

“Can’t help it. I’m hot.” He raises his arms in a joking prostration, nearly falling off of his chair in the process. You chortle, snorting under your breath at his pathetic display. Shigaraki notes that you don’t disagree, however. 

“Tell you what, if you can keep your ass in that chair, I’ll play it with you.” 

“Ladies first.” Dabi resituates himself on the seat, loudly pulling himself forward several times until he’s level with the table once more. 

“Okay, let me think… Never have I ever…” You pause for a moment, thinking. “Stolen a car.” 

“Fuckin’ seriously? I had you pegged all wrong, doll! You’re definitely more boring than I thought.” 

“Well? Have you?” You seem to already know the answer, but that’s the point. 

Tomura knows the answer too. In fact, Dabi has stolen cars under his orders. Looks like ashtray loses this round. With any luck, he’ll eventually black out soon and maybe things would calm down.

“Yeah, yeah, give me the cup.” There’s the sound of a shot glass being passed across the table, and then a very loud crash that nearly makes Tomura jump. 

“Bottle’s empty.” Dabi says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just knock it to the floor, shattering it on accident. “Go get another one.”

“Yes master.” 

It’s blatantly sarcastic and Shigaraki knows it is, but it still makes him flush slightly. Those words from your lips are not what he needs to hear right now.

You scoot away from the table, walking over behind the bar where Shigaraki is seated. There’s a pair of cabinets hanging overhead above him that you’ve got your eye on. However, as you stand in front of him and reach up to scrounge through the inside of them, he does his best to shake his shaggy hair in front of his eyes, trying to cover his ruddy face. You don’t quite realize it, but as you’re digging around up there, you’re giving him an exceedingly generous view of your cleavage.

He tries to tear his eyes away, trying to look anywhere else butat your overexposed chest. It’s unprofessional. It’s crude. It makes him feellike a dirty pervert, leering at you when you’re so oblivious. He doesn’t want to look. He’s not going to look. He’s going to pick up his drink and go in the next room and…

He’s looking. 

Look, you can’t just do that, okay? I mean, you don’t know what you’re doing but still! He might be the leader, but he’s also a man and he has needs. Wants. Desires. And right now, there’s a pair of tits almost directly in his face, so achingly close that he could touch them if he wanted. His fingers are digging into the skin of his palm, trying to quell all the desperate urges he’s feeling right now, chastising himself in his head for even thinking that way. He holds out, thinking of strategies or games or something, anything to beat off those thoughts. Beat off. Fuck.

Finally, you slam the cupboard shut, apparently not having found what you were looking for. He could have technically told you that there was no liquor up there, but far be it from him to make your life any easier. You opt instead to look behind you in some cupboards lining the wall. He takes another sip of his drink, watching you as you fall to your knees, rifling around in the dusty, cobwebbed enclosure. 

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Dabi pipes up from the back, kicking at the glass shards on the floor. 

“I can’t find any!” You call back, before sparing a glance towards Shigaraki himself. “Hey boss, can we-”

“No.” He curls his hand protectively around his own bottle. Like hell he’s giving his liquor to that drunken moron behind him.

You sigh, returning to your efforts. He watches in slight amusement as you toss shit around on the inside, very clearly growing frustrated with your lack of success. At least until you bend down, practically crawling inside. Your upper half is encased on the inside of the cheap wooden hutch, but your bottom half… 

Your backside is perked out directly toward him. You’re wiggling and worming, smacking things out of your way in your quest for more booze, and it’s definitely not helping. He can see the lines and contours of your ass through your pants, moving and shimmying around so much that he’s subconsciously brought his hand up to his face, biting deeply on a knuckle as he watches. 

He doesn’t want to watch. He wants to close his eyes, to look away, to roll his eyes into his head, anything but ogle you like this. His pants are becoming increasingly tight, straining against his crotch. He’s acutely aware of this, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

Fucking alcohol. It really has been a while.

“Got it!” You maneuver your way out of the alcove, clutching a bottle of musty liquor in your hands, holding it up triumphantly. Shigaraki snaps out of his haze, face blossoming into a deep shade of crimson. Maybe he’s had enough for tonight… 

“Yeah, yeah, hurry it up half-pint. I’m losing my buzz.” Dabi is very blatantly more than ‘buzzed’, and he seems hellbent on getting black out. It’s no skin off Shigaraki’s ass, at least that way he’ll probably fall over and pass out and you two will finally leave him alone and give him time to compose himself and chase away these intrusive thoughts. 

“Here you go, you big lug.” 

He reaches for the bottle in your hands but you pull it away, shaking your head at him and pouring the shot for him. He shoots you a glare, but takes it none the less. His head lulls over as the liquor burns down his throat and Tomura is betting two more and he’ll be on the floor. 

He just has to hold out until then. It’s probably a good thing that Dabi is on the brink of black out, because Shigaraki is rapidly running out of patience, dropping levels lower every time he has to hear Dabi’s goddamn voice. He’s almost always baseline annoyed with patchwork, but something was making him exceedingly irritating tonight. Every time he spoke you to you, Tomura found his lip twitching at the poorly concealed inflection in his voice. He doubted you even noticed it, but he sure as fuck could.

“My turn.” Dabi manages to garble out, leaning forward toward you on the table, smiling deviously. “Never have I ever… Fucked a member of the team.” 

Tomura can barely hear your shock above his own. Heat prickles painfully below his eyes, mouth slightly agape and both his hands curling into fists. He doesn’t understand why he’s so mad, so angry at it, but he doesn’t exactly care enough to analyze it right now. It’s the typical sort of bullshit shenanigan that drunk people get up to, but it sends his rage meter through the roof. He’s at the end of his rope.

“What?” You laugh anxiously, a barely concealed look of discomfort on your face. “I mean like, yeah, neither have I.” 

Dabi leans even more forward, pushing up from his chair and stabilizing himself on the table as he enters your personal space. His eyelids are lowered, either from the drink or his drunken attempt to be seductive, but either way, it’s a bit laughable. “Do you want to?” 

“That’s enough!” 

Tomura has shoved himself off his stool, kicking it aside as he faces you both. You look utterly started, but Dabi seems unsurprised by his outburst, cocking his head over with a bored expression. “Whattaya want, creep? We’re busy over here.” 

Shigaraki opts to ignore Dabi, instead narrowing his eyes on you. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you looked frightened, eyes popped like a deer in headlights, no doubt wondering why it was you getting the brunt of the scolding when it was very clearly Dabi who was crossing boundaries in front of the boss. Right now, he doesn’t care. 

He stalks over to you, harshly wrapping four fingers around your wrist and dragging you off into the nearby hallway. “I need to speak with you. Now.” 

You gulp almost audibly as he yanks you across the room and into the darkened corridor while Dabi rolls his eyes and scoffs, reaching for the bottle again. Tomura can feel your anxious eyes on the back of his head, no doubt wondering what you were in for, and honestly, even he didn’t know. He had acted on impulse, being led entirely by some instinct that had taken over his brain. 

He brings you down deep into the bowels of the building before he finally stops. It’s where you’re certain no one can hear you scream, no matter how many times you tell yourself that this is your leader and he wouldn’t do that to you. He’s got you against a wall as he stares down at you, crimson irises burning into yours. He looks pissed, but he’s just glaring down at you silently, letting the tension build to unbearable levels. 

“Boss?” You squeak, unable to handle not knowing. 

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” He hisses, snarling at you. 

“B-but boss, I didn’t-”

“I said shut up!” He slams his hands on either side of your head, narrowly avoiding decaying the wall behind you. He’s leaning down, face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your cheek, moist and chilling you to the bone. You’re unsure of what exactly is about to happen, and for a moment, he is too. He’s frustrated and flustered and he has no fucking idea what the hell he’s even doing here.

That doesn’t last long. 

Fuck it. 

He crushes his mouth to yours so hard he knows it probably hurts you, but you don’t seem to register it. Your eyes are snapped open, mouth slack and unmoving against his own in your stunned state. To hell with it, he needs to get this out of his system. If you want to hate him later, fine, but he needs to do this. He can’t handle it anymore.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is that after your initial shock wears off, you rake your hands through his hair, pulling him tighter against you, returning his fevered kiss with equally intense fervor. You’re practically devouring him, trying to slip your tongue between his closed lips. While his motions are automatic, his brain practically short circuits.

You’re… kissing him back?

It hits him like a kick in the ass. You’re kissing him back. You are reciprocating. Hell, you’re practically directing at this point. Your hands are clawing at his silver locks, yanking him closer and closer until he can barely breathe. He doesn’t care, he couldn’t care less if he never breathes again as long as you keep yourself pressed against him.

He can feel your body flush against his own, bathing in the warmth of your heat. This is all happening so fast, almost too fast. He never in his wildest dreams would have imagined that you could want him back, and it’s spurring his mind into overdrive. He knows what little self-control he has slipping, and the urge to shove you back further against the wall and take you is becoming a little too overwhelming. He needs to slow down while he still has the ability.

He pulls away if only slightly, just enough that he can croak your name, nails digging into your shoulder in warning. You can see his flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and low. His adam’s apple bobs, swallowing hard against your throat and you can tell he’s doing is best to not envelop you completely in his haze. It’s physically paining him in more ways than one, and you can feel a certain thick hardness worrying between your thighs. Gauging by his facial expression, he’s trying so desperately to communicate to you what’s going through his head without needing to say it.

You get the message. You know he’s trying so hard to keep in check, and no matter how badly he wants it, he’s going to resist. It’s his last defense.

Unfortunately for him, your only desire is to throw gasoline on that fire. You want it, and you want it bad. So, you pull a very unfair move.

You purse your lips in a pout, a simpering little whine emitting from your throat. Your hands make their way down to his narrow hips, gripping him closer between your parted thighs as you roll your body against his overly excitable nether region. Biting your lip, you bring your face close to his ear, whispering.

“Tomura…”

You feel him tense up, seizing as if frozen. His breath is caught in his chest, unable to move or think or breathe. There’s no mistaking the tone in your voice. Your head is in the same space as his. Is he asleep? Dreaming? Alive, even? There’s no way someone like him made it into heaven, so what the fuck was happening?

For the first time since you met him, he looks confused. His thin brows are furrowed, mouth open as if he wants to say something but can’t even find the words. Speechless, for once. He’s not even looking at you anymore, usually thin pupils dilated and switching rapidly between alternate sides of his eyes as if he’s expecting some sort of ambush. He’s utterly lost, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for him. He’s clearly not used to this. He just needs a tiny little push.

“Fuck me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, a small gasp leaving him. All he needed was your permission, and you just gave it to him. Once you opened that door, there was no closing it. He knows it. You know it. And you’re more than okay with that.

“Please?”

He gives you exactly one second to inhale before he’s on you again. Hands clawing down your back as you struggle to undo your pants which seem exponentially more complicated than they did hours ago. As you kick them down your legs, he catches the hint that your clothing is optional, opting to rip and tear at your shirt rather than take the time to undo it properly. You want to scold him for ruining it, but that’s a bit difficult to do when his tongue is so far down your throat that it might as well be your own. You have a feeling he wouldn’t care even if you could.

You try to do him the favor of unbuttoning his pants, tugging them slightly down his hips, but before you can finish, he grabs your wrists, guiding them up to find anchor behind his neck. You can tell he’s trying to be as gentle and careful as he can, but his hands are shaking and stuttering against you, prying his pinkie fingers back so far that you’re sure it’s cramping him. He doesn’t want to risk harming you, but every bone in his body is screaming at him to tear into you like a predator.

You cling to him as he jerks his jeans down just enough and awkwardly frees himself with one hand, eyes never leaving yours. He’s waiting for you to shove him away, push him off, tell him you were kidding and laugh at him, reject him somehow. But you never do. Even as you can feel him against your legs, he pauses, needing some sort of final confirmation before he goes any further.

You let one hand unhinge from behind him, tracing his jawline and then grabbing his face gently in your hands. He looks vulnerable, almost confused, barely holding back whatever overwhelming need he has and it’s for your sake. You do the only thing you can do, the best reassurance you can think of.

You give him a gentle kiss on the lips, and then nod.

The switch flips.

You barely have time to clasp your hands back around his neck before he’s hiking you around up around his waist by your legs. You manage to lock your ankes together before he’s on you like a feral beast, burrowing his head in the crook of your neck, growling and gnashing his teeth on the tender skin of your throat. He’s grinding his erection between your thighs, rubbing against you and teasing your clit until you’re working against him with equal ferocity, practically ripping his hair by the roots.

He’s got you pinned between his lithe body and the wall, his nails digging into the thick skin of your thighs as he groans against your collar bone. He can feel how wet you are and it’s driving him into a frenzy, your little whimpers only serving to harden his already aching cock. The barely controlled undulation of his hips against yours but a taste of what he’s going to give you, and if he makes you wait much longer, you’re going to lose it.

He lets go of one of your legs, letting you steady yourself with your fastened ankles as his hand creeps between your waiting thighs, stroking and rubbing your nub until you’re bucking your body up into his touch. You’re breathing heavy, gyrating your body to try and increase the friction he’s providing you but it’s not enough. Your pleading looks and half formulated sentences coax a small, cruel giggle from him, reveling in the fact that you’re practically as needy as he is.

“You want it?”

His words are deceptively calm, but the truth of the matter is reflected in his eyes. Wide and bulging, blown out in lust. He’s barely even blinking, memorizing every detail of your wanton body on display for him. His fingers are twitching on his cock as he lines himself with your entrance, every single muscle longing to slam into you full force, but he wants to draw this out. Wants you to beg, needs it.

You nod your head vigorously, a pathetic whine all you can vocalize. You’re squirming in his arms, trying to impale yourself on him and failing. A frustrated groan and a pleading look later, and he decides that it’ll suffice.

”Take it.”

He plunges in, bottoming out inside you with one swift motion. The pressure is intense, stinging even with as wet as you are, but the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. He’s always so calculated, so meticulous, but the sheer unadulterated carnality of the sigh that leaves him makes you clench tighter around him. You didn’t think something as simple as a sound could arouse you so much, but something about seeing him so uninhibited makes you hotter than you thought possible.

It takes him a second to adjust to your tightness, but he quickly gets his bearings. Hissing under his breath, he begins thrusting, canting his hips in rhythm as he fucks up into your pliable body. He’s pulling no punches, battering you into the wall until you’re certain there will be bruises. Tenderness is a distant memory but you don’t seem to mind as your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that it’s almost as if you don’t ever want to let go. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair, grabbing onto his shoulders and shredding into his hoodie as you desperately try to stable yourself as he bounces you recklessly on his cock.

Your lecherous moans echo off the walls alongside his huffing and cussing in a cacophony of sin, but neither one of you can muster concern about anyone else hearing you. All you can think about is taking him deeper, rolling your hips in time with his as he pounds into you. He couldn’t give a fuck less if anyone else walks in on it either, even All for One couldn’t command his attention anywhere else but you. The only thing he knows is that he needs to be inside you, needs to feel you and he’ll kill anything that tries to get in the way of that.

Briefly, in the heat of the moment, your eyes meet. Both of you are glossed over, running purely on the fumes of the lustful haze, but there’s something underneath it all that softens you, going beyond pure greed and lasciviousness. He must sense it too, because his free hand comes up to cup your face, puckering your lips with his fingers before he slams his lips to yours once more. There’s a passion to it, an urgency that says something that neither of your words can, and even as you lose yourself moaning into his open mouth, he never lets you go.

Between the frantic pumping and the heated neediness of the kiss, breath is few and far between. You’re both panting in time with each other, desperate for air and each other. You can feel the sweat building on his brow as he rests his forehead against yours, muttering something deep and incomprehensible between consuming you. You’re building up, both reaching your peak and soon his pistoning becomes erratic and broken. You breathe in his ragged, shuddering exhales, swallowing every ounce of himself that he gives you. You never want to let go. You never want to let go.

His cock throbs deep inside you and your orgasm proceeds his. You feel hot ropes of cum coat your insides and your walls milk him even further into completion, clinging fiercely to each other for purchase. Your head is thrown back, practically sobbing as he ushers you into a pleasure so intense that you’re not entirely sure your body can handle it. You’re left drowning and breathless, legs wrapped around him so tightly that it’s cutting off blood flow, arms coiled around his shoulders for dear life.

His mouth is open in a wordless cry, fractured wheezes ripping themselves from his throat as he tries to pull his soul back down to his body. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, can’t feel his extremities, all he can feel is you and your embrace and he decides he never wants to lose it as his lips find yours again, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Even as you both float back down from your bliss, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He knows what’s coming and he’s desperately trying to keep it at bay. He knows he has to let you go eventually, no matter how much he fights it. It’s inevitable, but he’ll draw it out as long as he can.

You don’t stop him.

He kisses you until one of you has no choice but to break it to breathe and he curses the function. With the break, he knows the moment is over.

Gently, he puts you down and does his best to keep you steady on weak, wobbly legs. Your thighs are twitching, already beginning to bruise where his hipbones repeatedly beat into them. He wants to say he feels bad about it, but he doesn’t. It’s a reminder of what you shared. You don’t seem to mind either, even as you nearly fall on your ass trying to gather your pants back up around your legs. Instinctively, you go to button your blouse, but you are quickly reminded that it’s no longer wearable as you realize there’s a gigantic rip through it, and several buttons scattered around on the floor beneath you. You quirk your brow at him, giving him a look of faux annoyance as you take it off and throw it at him.

“Oh.”

He catches the hint but seems lost for a minute. He’s looking around at the walls and the floor as if there’d be a convenient dresser that would pop out of thin air, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. He’s clearly still post-orgasmic delirium, and there’s something just so adorable about seeing such a serious, brooding figure so utterly clueless.

Eventually, he sighs, placing four of his fingers underneath the bottom hem of his hoodie and carelessly yanking it up over his head before chucking it at you in the same manner. He says nothing, but you understand. You look at it for a moment before raising it up over your head, awkwardly trying to maneuver your head and arms into the proper holes in the dark hallway. It takes you a good minute, but you manage.

“I’ll get you a new one.” He’s bashfully scratching the back of your head as he holds your shirt in his hand. He seems embarrassed now, which makes it very hard to resist the urge to giggle at him.

“Don’t even worry about it. I didn’t care about it that much.”

You tuck your hands into the pocket of the hoodie, and you realize just how comfy it is. No wonder he always wears it. You’re probably going to steal it. It definitely, absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that his scent is bombarding you now. Nothing to do at all with the fact that you can still feel the warmth of his body while you wear it. Nope. No chance. No way.

“You should bring that back to me when you change.”

You’ve been foiled.

“I’ll be up. You know where my room is, right?”

Oh.

OH.

You grin cheekily at him, shaking your head. “Yeah, I know where your room is. Give me a few minutes and I’ll drop it by.”

You could swear you see him smile a little when you agree.

“Good. That one’s my favorite.”

You want to make a joke about whether he’s talking about you or the hoodie, but he’s already stalking off. You’re not worried, you’ll see him soon enough.

You have to cross through the kitchen to get back to your room, and you are very surprised to see Dabi still sitting in the same chair where you left him. Well, not surprised to see him, but surprised that he’s not on the floor and is still very much awake. He looks over at you, frowning as he slides a shot glass across the table towards your direction.

“I think you have to take that last shot now.”

[yuulina-vre]

Tony’s little curse

Masterlist

“Y/N. Sweetheart, wake up.” A soft but cold hand runs over her cheek and down her shoulder, lightly shaking it with a desperation she can’t miss in the touch. “Mmm…” Y/N grumbles and turns on her side, away from the annoying voice, dismissively shaking her hand in the air. “Y/N. Please, we need your help.”

“Five minutes.”

“No. Now!” The hands shake her fervently now and Y/N opens her eyes only to glare at Bucky’s face. She had finally managed to nod off after a long day of paperwork and tending to lady. The little shit managed to jump in a puddle on the walk, so Y/N had to shower her and brush her fur. That’s always worse than getting the boys to sleep! Who was he to wake her up? The thought that he just returned from a mission doesn’t even strike her. “Bucky…”

“Come on.”

“What’s up?” She rubs her eyes sleepily before she slowly sits up. “We need your help, doll. Now.”

“Why?” She looks into Bucky’s eyes, yawning, but now notices the panic in them. The urgency. She’s suddenly wide awake. “What happened? Steve?” Her own panic sets in and she looks around, hoping to see Steve, before she looks Bucky up and down to see if he has any injuries. “No, no, no. Y/N, he’s okay, he’s fine.” Bucky cups her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “He’s down in Bruce’s lab. He’s perfectly fine.” She looks into his eyes for a moment longer before she nods shakily. “O-okay, what… What is it then?”

“It’s Tony. We need your help. He won’t listen to us.” A frown slips on her face. Tony won’t listen? “What do you mean? He never listens.”

“I’ll explain on our way, please Y/N. We need to hurry.” Y/N looks for a second longer before she nods and stands up. She whistles shortly for Lady and walks with Bucky to the door while she listens to the dog bolting through the apartment and to them. They hurry through the halls after the elevator stops at its destination. “Buck! Would you- Would you walk slower. Please.” She stumbles after Bucky as he marches through the halls. He takes long hurried strikes and Y/N has a bit of difficulty to hold his pace. “Sorry.” He slows his steps mildly but enough for her to catch up. Lady walks happily beside him. “W-what happened?” She’s a little breathless. “We were on this mission, some people retrieving alien weapons and trying to build something with that and it got out of control. At first we managed just fine.” Bucky rounds a corner on the lab floor and pulls Y/N to his side before she can collide with two assistants carrying some flasks with purple liquid. “But then suddenly one of the weapons started glowing and a woman came up behind it. She showed up out of nowhere. She fired the gun a few times and we had to doge it, but Tony managed to get behind her. He got a few hits on her.” They stop right in front of Bruce’s lab door and Bucky turns to it. “She got pretty angry at that and threw some kind of silver… fog at him. He crumpled to the floor and didn’t respond.”

“What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. He’s a little panicked. We tried to get Pepper here, but she’s in China and says she can’t make it before tomorrow morning, and she has a lot of conferences the whole week. She would reschedule them, but it would cost Stark Industries a lot of money. Before you say something, she’s not concerned about that, but the money they get through the contracts is supposed to go to children hospitals and vet care for injured soldiers. She asked, if we could try something else and suggested you try to talk to him instead. If that doesn’t work, she comes back home.” Y/N frowns at his explanation and throws a curious glance at the door. “But I still don’t understand why he’s not listening to either of you. What exactly is wrong with him?”

“I’ll show you.” Bucky turns around and opens the door to the lab. Loud crying greets them, and Y/N thinks for a second that it could be Steve but then again it sounds different from her little blonde. Lady pushes past Y/N and bolts inside before she even can get a good look into the room. A few steps in, Y/N stops short in her tracks. Bruce crouches in front of Steve, stethoscope around his neck. “What?!” She turns to Bucky with a confused expression.

Like Bucky had said Steve is fine. He sits on Bruce’s couch, surrounded by Sam and Nat, Lady happily sitting in front of him beside Bruce. What really confuses Y/N is the little, shivering brunette that clings to Steve’s arm and hides his face in his upper arm. Lady tries to lick his arms and face, desperate to show how happy she is and that she would like to play with him, but the boy whimpers and shies away each time until Steve orders Lady to lie down and stay. The boy is in clothes too big for him and at first Y/N wonders who he is, but then she recognizes the shirt as one of Tony’s. He doesn’t need the arc reactor anymore, but even without the light illuminating his chest she sees the similarity between Tony and this kid. “Is that Tony?”

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