#knees requests

[kneecapsbelong2me]

Hello! Ok so you don't have to do this if you don't want to but I thought it'd be really cute if you did a oneshot where Natasha and Wanda (or it could be Natasha and Maria no preference) help a fellow Avenger (reader) who has ocd (like intrusive thoughts and having to squeeze eyes shut hard and doing things in a certain rhythm, not cleaning ocd). And the reader stopped taking her meds. Could you do fem reader please if you're comfortable! Thank you! Much love! xoxo 🧡

Loud

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x OCD!fem!Reader (ambiguous relationship)

Summary: when you stop taking your meds, your intrusive thoughts return with a vengeance. Natasha and Wanda notice.

Word Count: ~800

Content Warnings: violent intrusive thoughts (murder, blood), OCD

A/N: sorry this took so long, anon! I don't have OCD, but I have dealt with intrusive thoughts so I tried my best.

Translations: зайчик: bunny; рыбка: little fish; солнышко: sunshine

———————————————————————

Wanda was the first to notice something was wrong. Your thoughts sounded like screamed gibberish instead of their typical cadence and anxiety radiated from you in waves as if it was flowing from your pores.

She didn’t know what was happening, and it scared her. Unsure of what to do, she confided in Nat.

“I’m worried about her, Tasha. Her thoughts have been so loud and messy, and I don’t know what to do. Just being near her makes me start feeling antsy.”

Natasha had also clocked your unrest. For the past month, the number of pills in the bottle on your dresser had remained constant, and Natasha was willing to bet that had something to do with the changes in your behavior.

“I’m concerned too, Wanda. Let’s talk to her the next time we see her, okay?”

“Okay,” Wanda smiled slightly. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

“Of course, зайчик, I want to make sure our girl is okay.”

They waited, but you didn’t come out of your room for days. Finally, at the 72 hour mark, Natasha and Wanda made their way to your room. They were going to help you, and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your thoughts had gotten bad again. Maybe it had started after you stopped taking your meds, but they had made you feel different.

What if you just kill them all. It wouldn’t be hard.

You squeezed your eyes shut as if that would stop the thoughts, rocking back and forth. Three counts forward, three counts back. You tapped your fingers on your leg. Ring, middle, pointer. Ring, middle pointer.

Images flashed in your mind. Your hand wrapped around Natasha’s throat. Blood dripping from the knife you drove into Steve’s heart.

On your next rock backwards, you accidentally hit your head on the wall as you tried to shake yourself free. Pain reverberated through your skull, and you couldn’t help but think you deserved it.

And those were just the thoughts that escaped to your consciousness. There were so many more beneath the surface, trying to claw their way and pierce through your brain.

You shivered, your skin crawling as more thoughts popped into your mind. Your rocking became more frantic as your breaths got shallower and shallower.

The click of your bedroom door unlocking tugged your mind back into your body. You squeezed your eyes tighter, and your finger tapping sped up.

“Рыбка?” Natasha’s voice filtered in like sunlight through a stained-glass window, muddled but warm.

“Солнышко,” Wanda’s voice was much clearer. She was speaking directly into your head, you realized. “Your thoughts are so loud.”

Oh no. Wanda was going to find out how horrible your thoughts were. Terror gripped you as you realized what she would see. There was no way she’d ever look at you the same way again.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” Wanda smiled softly. She had crouched down, and you could sense how badly she wanted to reach out to touch you.

You shook your head, too caught up in your hyperventilation.

Natasha sat on the floor next to you, careful not to touch you or get in the way of your rocking. “Try breathing out for longer than you breathe in,” she murmured. You did as she said, some of the terror leaving you. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe.”

You tried to focus on her words, blocking out everything else until your senses were filled with Natasha and Wanda.

“These thoughts do not make you a bad person, солнышко. The fact that they scare you proves that you’re a good person,” Wanda’s voice washed over you like a wave of calm.

Your breathing evened out a little more, your fingers tapping slower. Ring. Middle. Pointer. Fighting every muscle in your body, you forced your eyes open to look at them.

Guilt wracked your body as you took in their concerned faces. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Natasha spoke gently, but firmly. “Hey, look at me. Please?”

You did as she asked, having to slow your rocking to avoid getting dizzy.

“Is it okay if I touch you right now?”

You nodded, and Natasha pressed her shoulder into yours. The contact was soothing. She was warm against you. Warm and alive.

“Would it help if we just talk for a while?” Wanda sat and leaned into your other side.

You nodded again, words unformed on your tongue.

“Okay. Let me tell you what Steve did the other day.”

Natasha launched into a story and you focused all your energy on her words. You could feel Wanda pushing your anxieties down, and for the first time since you’d stopped your meds, you felt calm.

You laid your head on Wanda’s shoulder. She hummed softly and carded her fingers through your hair. Your eyes fluttered shut, but this time they rested.

You knew they would want to talk about this at some point, but for now you were content to sit in between them and rest.

[ohno-wallace]

Sherlock & Co. fan art because we need more.

Please darling please listen to this podcast <3

[ink-n-shadow]

dollification w/ sugardaddy!price where he thinks for you and dresses you up in all the clothing he spoils you in (in more ways than one ;) ) and whenever you snap out of that fuzzy mindset he's all there to hold you and anchor you back into reality i mean what

no because sugardaddy!price makes me SICKKKK😩

PRETTY DOLL

𝜗𝜚 the one where sugar daddy!price gets his doll ready for a fancy dinner

𝜗𝜚 pairing: sugar daddy!price x reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: no smut but adult themes (minors—DNI), dollification, slight dumbification?, soft dom!price, price just being in complete control, so unedited

sugar daddy!price loves nothing more than dressing his little doll, fingers ghosting up your spine as he zips up dress and sponges gentle kisses up your throat. it’s one of the new ones he had just bought you, expensive price tag laying crumpled on the floor at your feet as he spins you around to face him.

“y’look good, doll,” price murmurs softly and reaches behind him to pick up is still lit cigar the its porcelain ashtray, taking a mouthful of vanilla-tinged smoke and breathing it out across your exposed skin as his hand caresses your hip gently. “think y’should wear the louboutins tonight.”

you don’t even argue, simply dipping your chin down in a demure nod as you lean forward to bury your face into price’s hairy chest. the gesture makes a lithe chuckle leave his lips, his free hand skirting up your body to card through your hair gently. “sit on the bed f’me, doll. i’ll get ‘em for you.”

you let price push you back onto the foot of his expansive king-sized bed, leaning back on the palms of your hands and blinking dumbly as you wait for price to return. when he appears from the walk-in closet, designer heels in hand, you sit up eagerly with a lovesick smile stretched across your lips.

as always, price places his cigar between his teeth as he (rather slowly) falls to his knees between yours, calloused palm dragging up your calf to remind you to put your leg up for him. with practiced ease, price slips the heel onto your foot, adjusting the straps as necessary and sponging more prickly kisses up your leg with a soft hum.

“whatcha think of ‘em, doll? they pretty enough?” price murmurs into the lotioned skin of your other calf as he slips the other shoe onto your other foot, eyes fluttering up to meet your glazed ones. when you simply answer with a dazed nod, he’s clicking his tongue and pushing up onto his knees, one hand continuing to adjust the straps of your heels and the other pushing your cheeks into a soft pout. “c’mon…use y’words, sweetheart.”

john’s words make a soft whine leave your lips, trying halfheartedly to pull away from the grip he has on your cheeks as your glossy eyes flutter down to meet his.

“mhm. really pretty, daddy,” you breathe shyly as you glance down at your feet, admiring the nearly thousand dollar heels now adoring your body. "do you think m'pretty?"

they aren’t the most expensive article of clothing on your body (hell, the dress you’re wearing has to be a couple thousand), but they might be the prettiest, a sleek white with swarovski crystals lining the straps and the classic red bottom sole glinting in the light. not to mention the expensive lingerie hidden beneath your dress, or the diamond jewelry littering your skin.

john brings you out of your floaty headspace by tugging you up to your feet, hands finding the slopes of your hips to stand you upright and push down the skirt of your dress that had ridden up. he moves a hand up to push the stray strands of hair that had fallen into your vision, tucking them behind your ear with a gentle sweep of his calloused thumb.

"mhm—always think you're the prettiest doll in the world. now c'mon, we're late for our dinner reservations."

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[pilkofi]

look at these cutie patooties

cw: blood under the cut

and then look at these not-so cutie patooties /j

[applysome]

Alex Turner on his knees: a collection. Part one

Credit: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

[0bticeo]

alastor | your cracks are showing.

picture this, if you will.

you, having had enough of his antics, finally snapping, telling him you see through him. his mask, that too-wide smile, is imperfect.

"your cracks are showing, alastor."

you spit his name like a curse and he feels his gut twist with something foreign. there you are, you, defiant, arms crossed over your chest, denying him his precious persona.

who the hell do you think you are?

before you know it, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him, until you meet the hard planes of his chest. he's all lean muscles you find out, writhing against him, trying to break free.

he tilts your head back with one gloved hand. the leather is thin enough for you to feel the warmth of him. if you shiver, lips parting, you'll deny it.

"careful, my dear."

with that, he kisses you, sickeningly sweet. too sweet. too much. your eyes widen at the feeling of his lips against yours, of his teeth nipping against your flesh. you taste blood. fucker bit you -

he growls, the sound rich and deep, sinking into your marrow like he does in your mouth, tasting you. you find yourself clinging to him, fingers tangling in his curls, lightly tugging at his scalp.

he lets you go, tongue darting to lick the remnants of your lifeblood on his lips. he chuckles at the sight of you - kiss-swollen, panting, pupils blown wide in furious desire.

his thumb presses against your lower lip, right where he bit you. you hiss, sweet pain settling low in your gut.

"you'll cut yourself on my edges if you get too close."

somehow, you don't mind.

[capquinn]

the world needs more dad!quinn

please please please whatever your thoughts are

how about quinny being a nervous wreck about telling his daughter that there’s another baby on the way?

You were pregnant, and it was beautiful and thrilling, but you both felt a hint of apprehension too — an undercurrent of worry neither of you wanted to admit out loud. The idea of sharing the news with your daughter, your first little love, brought out a nervousness you hadn’t expected. You and Quinn had been carrying the news gently, holding it like something fragile, not ready to break the quiet, precious bubble that was the life you’d built with her.

You’d spent nights together whispering about it, wondering if she’d understand. She was only little, after all, and hadn’t ever asked about a sibling or shown any real curiosity about what it meant to share her world. In her own quiet way, she seemed perfectly content being the center of yours, completely secure in her little life where it was just the three of you. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel overlooked or, even worse, like she was being edged out of her place in the family.

Quinn felt it too. In the quiet hours of the night, he’d lie awake beside you, tracing absent-minded circles on your hand, his brow furrowed, eyes distant with worry. The thought of your daughter, his whole world, feeling even a hint of neglect made him feel almost dizzy. She’d been the center of his life from the moment she was born, the one who turned him from simply Quinn into dad, and now, he couldn’t bear the idea of her ever feeling anything less than cherished.

One night, his voice barely a murmur in the dark, he confessed, “What if she thinks we’re going to love her less?”

You reached out, brushing a hand through his hair, reassuring him softly, though you shared the same unease. He tried to shake it, telling himself she’d feel just as adored, that nothing would change, but the worry still lingered. She was his little Bug, the one he’d stayed up with through endless nights of colic, the one whose first steps he’d recorded with misty eyes. To him, the thought of her feeling anything less than completely cherished was unthinkable.

So every time you had started to tell her, a little voice would hold you back, and you’d both decide, without really saying it, to let it wait.

But then, on a soft Saturday morning, with the three of you cuddled on the couch, her hand found its way to your belly. It was unintentional, or at least, it seemed that way, her small fingers spread gently across your stomach as if she could feel the life growing there, instinctively protective. Quinn noticed it first, his eyes widening slightly as he gave you a nudge, nodding down. You glanced down, heart skipping a beat at the sight, her touch resting over your belly with a gentle certainty, like maybe she knew all along.

It was a sign, one you both took as the moment you’d been waiting for. And as you looked at her, so small and so perfectly at ease, you knew it was time.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you say, voice soft, “can we tell you a little secret?”

She glances up at you, her big eyes wide and calm, curiosity glimmering beneath the sleepy contentment on her face. You can feel Quinn shift closer beside you, his hand squeezing yours in a quiet show of support.

But when you open your mouth, the words won’t come, and there’s a moment of quiet where she’s looking at you, waiting, her gaze expectant and patient. You glance at Quinn, feeling that hesitation rise up again, but he gives you a gentle nod. And then, in his own way, he steps in.

“C’mere, Bug,” he murmurs, reaching over to beckon her closer, patting his lap.

She crawls over to him, and with his help, she settles against his chest, her small head resting over his heart. He wraps his arms around her, one hand rubbing her back, as he leans in close, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur, like he’s letting her in on a secret meant only for the three of you.

“You know how it’s always been you, mommy, and me?” he starts, his tone soft, almost hesitant, and she nods, still wide-eyed and listening. He smiles, glancing at you for reassurance before he continues. “Well… pretty soon, you’re going to have a baby brother or sister to play with.”

She blinks, taking it in, her gaze flicking to your belly for a second as if she’s trying to make sense of it. Then, she looks back at Quinn.

“A baby?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep, and you both nod, watching her with your hearts on edge, waiting.

For a moment, she’s silent, her face thoughtful and serious, and you feel Quinn’s hand tighten around yours, his own anxiety palpable.

But then she just gives a small nod, and in a soft voice, says, “okay.”

It’s the quietest reaction, but it’s enough to make the tension release between you and Quinn. He presses a kiss to her forehead, a small sigh of relief escaping him, but you can see he’s still holding back, waiting for more.

At breakfast, though, her thoughts start to spill out in bursts between bites of toast and fruit.

“Where is the baby going to sleep?” she asks, her little brows furrowing as she looks between you and Quinn, her tone unexpectedly serious.

There’s something in her voice — concern, perhaps — that makes it sound like she’s the responsible parent, the one overseeing this whole arrangement, questioning two teenagers caught in a situation they hadn’t fully thought through. Her question hangs in the air, blunt and practical, with just a hint of wariness that catches you both a little off-guard.

Quinn bites back a laugh, glancing at you, and then clears his throat to compose himself. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Well,” he says gently, trying to match her level of seriousness, “for a while, the baby will sleep in our room. You know, just like you did when you were little.”

She seems to mull that over, a little frown still creasing her forehead, but she nods.

As breakfast continues, her questions come out one by one, and each answer seems to ease her, little by little, until you see that small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

By the end of breakfast, she’s trailing behind Quinn as he tidies up, her little fingers catching on his sleeve, tugging gently. When he glances down, she’s looking up at him with those wide, steady eyes, and there’s a question there that makes his heart catch.

“Can I help with the baby?” she asks, her voice small but sure, and the hesitation you’d both been so afraid of is nowhere to be found. It’s replaced with something that melts every worry in an instant — a gentle curiosity, tinged with a spark of excitement that mirrors your own, like she’s beginning to imagine this new chapter with a mix of wonder and eagerness.

Quinn’s eyes soften, and a wave of quiet relief sweeps over him as he meets your gaze across the kitchen. The tension in his shoulders melts, replaced with a pride that pounds in his chest. Without a second thought, he scoops her up into his arms, holding her close, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Of course you can, Bug,” he murmurs, voice thick with warmth. “You’re going to be the best big sister.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[doctorsiren]

Matrixie is so cute omg

How would ford and Bill raise her? Could you do Maybe a family photo drawing or something?

is this my life now?

[sleepy-edits]

[iceman-soup]

ghost x soap

Of course it's fucking raining now that Soap and Ghost finally on leave. Sure, it's not unusual Scottish weather (they're staying in Johnny's small flat in Glasgow), and it's not like they were gonna do much today anyway, but still. It has them waking up in an already lazy mood, Simon shuffling to cuddle into his boyfriend closer and groaning.

The bed is too comfy and warm to get up, and Si doesn't want to move away from Soap's sleepy embrace. They're both conscious, quietly making incoherent noises of complaint at that fact back and forth at each other. Eventually, Johnny presses his lips to Ghost's forehead and rolls them over, sitting up on Simon's stomach to look out the window like a curious rabbit, then leaning down and littering his unmasked face with pecked kisses.

Simon laughs, running his hands through Soap's mohawk. Raindrops patter against the window as he flips them over again, hugging Soap tight then sitting up opposite him, pulling on a pair of comfy military-issued socks and one of his hoodies. The Sergeant sits up too, also pulling on one of Si's hoodies, and much fluffier socks with little skull prints all over them that Gaz had bought him as a gag gift which he ended up adoring.

"Mornin', love," Soap smiles, voice deep and groggy as he leans forward to rest his head on Ghost's chest, who hums in response and nuzzles his cheek against his hair. After a couple moments just sitting like that, the two reluctantly flop out of bed, padding their way over to the tiny kitchen before realising they barely have a scrap of food in the flat, only just having a few general ingredients and a small selection of tea and coffee.

Simon groans again, scanning the fridge as if something new is about to spawn in, before turning around, picking his boyfriend up and setting him on a counter, then passing him flour, eggs, milk and some oil, and getting out a frying pan for the stove.

"What're we making?" the shorter man asks, swinging his legs and playfully kicking Ghost whenever he gets in range.

"Secret," is the only reply he gets, but it's quickly obvious by the way Si mixes some flour, milk and two eggs together, creating a thin batter which he splashes into the pan, just about remembering to put oil in first so as to not completely fuck it all up. Then Chef Riley takes charge, and suddenly Johnny is being bossed around, ordered to get plates and get cutlery and cut up a lemon and put some caster sugar in a small bowl and set it out all pretty on the tiny dining table. In his own home, he complains lightheartedly.

The first pancake served is happily accepted by the Scot along with a quick kiss. The shit weather had only gotten worse, but that meant a perfect background noise for them to eat (although it did make conversation a little difficult). Once the batter is all used up, Ghost puts Soap on washing up duty, whilst he dries and puts everything away. And then it's essential to curl up on the sofa together, wrapped in one of Johnny's blankets, watching a randomly-selected war film and criticising even the slightest inaccuracies to make each other laugh.

[lgbtqtext]

Requested by watchoutpaul-hemightkickyourhead

[once-more-with-anxiety]

me,slapping both of my hands over everything about the cancellation while kicking the last episode aside with my foot: so, how do you guys think the next season will start? I'm thinking Charles and Edwin go on a date or something, personally.

[lethal-spaceship]

Tumblr sexyman fanart.

[castiels-slinky]

M*A*S*H Headcanons :3

Klinger gets invited to girls' nights.

Hawkeye is the #1 guy to go to if some general is being weird. He can and will pretend to be your bf! (He ends up just flirting with the creep.)

Both Hawkeye and Klinger are Jewish.

Father Mulcahy is unaware of just how built he is. He goes, "Oh, this isn't heavy at all! :)" while carrying a giant stack of files that's most definitely heavy.

Radar hardly responds to his actual name.

Hawkeye is hypersexual, but doesn't talk about it to most people; he just lets them think he's a pervert to avoid opening up about it.

Klinger has made an outfit for each of his friends!

Father Mulcahy wanted to box professionally before he decided that he wanted to be a priest.

They make s'mores together. :)

They also have done little cabaret nights. Hawkeye gets SO INTO IT (he's a theatre kid).

[scruffedknife]

Ello can you please do smore push art the way you draw her is Coolio

pls for the love of god be the right one GHDIFSDF

[bebemoon]

look for the name CASSANDRA (requested by anonymous) | imitation of christ grecian drape front open-sided gown in a stone gray color (s/s 2oo1), { hair } gel-stiffened curled tresses @ yohji yamamoto s/s 2o24, joanne burke handmade hoop earrings, kindred black "rapture in shadow" perfume oil, macabe gadgets "twin moon" crown in gold plate w/ black velour ribbon ties