#like babygirl WHAT are you talking about.

[cherrygarcia-07]

The HR Meeting // Spencer Reid

In which you get called out for your flirting by HR in front of the team (yes it’s the HR meeting scene from season 9)

genre: idk this was just in my head and made me laugh to think about

pairing: spencer reid x (kinda flirty) bau! reader / established relationship

(references to sex)

———————————————————————————🍓—————————————————————————

‘So, let’s talk about sexual harassment.’

You let out a tired sigh as the HR representative continued on. You were trying to pay attention, really you were- it seemed an important topic- but you were just so damn tired and her somehow both shrill and monotone voice was making you zone out. You straightened your posture in an attempt to wake yourself up, shoulders brushing Spencer’s as he stood next to you leaning on the desk behind you both, but it was of no avail. Glancing over at him, you cursed him under your breath- it was his fault you were so worn out this morning in the first place.

‘Sexual harassment isn’t always a quid pro quo arrangement.’ You stifled a yawn. ‘maybe it’s a conversation between two coworkers that makes you feel uncomfortable.’ Curiosity cut off your yawning as you wondered what scandalous conversations you might have missed to warrant this talk, eyebrows raising without you meaning for it.

Looking around the room, you spotted Penelope nodding along to give off the impression she was listening intently but you knew she was wondering the same thing as you. Alex sat next to you to your right, chin resting in her palm as she listened earnestly- ever the professional- whereas JJ beside her seemed more on your wavelength and you flashed her a look of pure nosiness which she reciprocated.

‘Maybe these coworkers use phrases like ‘babygirl-’

No way. You bit back a laugh as you watched Penelope’s eyes widen and her head shoot to Morgan to her left, who mimicked her actions.

‘Chocolate thunder-’

This was too good. Morgan’s eyebrows were raised now too, a wary expression on his usually smug face.

‘Where’s my big black twelve pack?’

She dragged the phrase out, her voice laced with disapproval and quite frankly, disbelief. You had to look away, turning your head towards your shoulder pretending to cough in a desperate attempt to stifle the laughter threatening to spill out. Even Alex’s stoic facade had faltered, an amused look in her eyes as she tilted her head at Penelope who seemed positively mortified whilst Morgan simply shook his head, exhaling with an uncharacteristically embarrassed look taking over him.

‘And that creates a what? Hostile work environment.’ The woman turned to face the board behind her momentarily and you leaned forward to sneak a look at Spencer’s reaction. Despite the things you’d heard him say alone, you knew these types of conversations made him sheepish, but it seemed his not-so-secret affinity with gossip was stronger. He was trying to keep his expression unreadable, neutral but you knew him and you could tell in the way his brows shot up, his eyes narrowing beneath them with that mischievous twinkle, that he was loving this just as much as you were. Your eyes snapped back to the board as she turned back around.

‘So messages like… more cushion for the pushing- NOT appropriate,’ a scattered series of chuckles echoed throughout the room. ‘I’ll be Coco to your Ice-T- NOT appropriate’ oh you were so going to give Penelope shit for this later.

‘Flarpy Blunderguff…’ You couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud laugh escaped you as if beyond your control and your hand shot up to your mouth instinctively to muffle the sound. Across the room Rossi’s lips pursed, a curious look on his face as he stared down at Morgan. A grin stretched across your face as you thought back to Penelope telling you all about ‘flarpy blunderguff’, about the paint and the food and the thought of her being caught discussing this was simply too much for you.

You giggled uncontrollably, and in an attempt to hide your juvenile glee, you leaned over and pressed your face into your boyfriend’s shoulder. Big. Mistake. The woman’s eyes shot to you. She called your name.

‘I wouldn’t get so comfortable if I were you, agent.’

Oh no. Your smile slowly dissipated and your face contorted in a mix of confusion and dread and you slowly pulled yourself up from Spencer’s shoulder, ignoring the highly entertained look he gave as he looked down at you. To your side, you heard a chuckle from JJ.

‘Likewise, phrases like-’ she turned back to the board, clicking a remote that highlighted your shame in big black letters before your coworkers, ‘Doctor Sexy.’ Breathing in, your eyes closed and your lips drew into a thin line, beside you Spencer became annoyingly unreadable. You only called him that as a joke, one time! Or two… or a few…

‘Love to watch you leave, pretty boy.’ Eyes still closed, you thought back to that day. He’d worn pants a little tighter as the result of a joke Morgan had made about him being, quote, ‘flat as a pancake back there’- not that Spencer would ever admit that’s what he was doing or why. You weren’t shy about how you felt about the way they hugged him, about how they made his waist look so pretty and how they made the rest of his lower half look even prettier. You’d been teasing him all day, revelling in the way he squirmed and lost his breath and as he turned to walk away your eyes dropped to his pants once again and you just couldn’t help yourself. Back to the present moment, Penelope’s eyes were now on you, mirroring the look you’d given her only moments ago.

‘Save the handcuffs for later.’ A blush rose on your cheeks and you could feel Morgan’s gaze on you, not needing to look at him to know he was wearing that devilish grin of his and planning a million ways to make fun of you. You hadn’t meant it seriously. Not really, anyway. It was just a joke that spilled out after making an arrest one night as you watched him tuck his handcuffs away, just something to lighten the mood… and maybe set one for later. You risked peeking a look at Spencer next to you and were shocked to find a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his eyes wide and twinkling with amusement, you’d have thought him to be wishing the ground to swallow him whole by now.

‘Talk dirty to me, genius.’ Okay that one was completely out of context. It had been a sarcastic response to one of his infamous spontaneous tangents, only this one had been on the lovely topic of ants and parasitic fungi. To your right, cackles pierced your eardrums and your head snapped around to see JJ burying her head into her desk while Alex covered her face with her hands, eyes giddily darting between the two of you still leaning against the desk. This whole ordeal had turned your team into a bunch of immature school kids, you thought, ignoring the fact you had been acting the exact same way not even 5 minutes ago.

Feeling your embarrassment radiating off of you like heat from a fire, Spencer exhaled the last of his laughter and placed a hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Mistake number two. Exasperated, the HR representative locked her eyes onto him.

‘PDA and physical touching between coworkers also create a what?’ She asked again, her voice shooting through you. ‘Hostile work environment, Doctor Reid.’

He froze, eyes widening even further as his mouth opened and closed until his jaw simply fell open in that way it did so often (‘you’re going to catch flies in there’ you’d tell him before threatening to kiss it shut- an offer which he would happily take you up on). Hastily, he snatched his hand back and placed it in his lap as he felt a flush race up his neck. You turned to him, and despite the humiliation and the scolding and the inevitable endless teasing the two of you had coming, you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as you watched the flush reach his cheeks, his flustered, pink complexion matching yours.

-

[acknowledge-reigns]

Filthy Little Freaks | Roman Reigns x Black Reader | SMUT! 18+

A/N: I wrote ts so fast 😭 it's gotta be a record. He left me no choice!! Roman, My beloved tribal chief, if you run into this online somewhere.. No you didn't! ☝🏾

Description: Roman teaches Y/N what happens when you tease YTC.

Warnings: Degradation, spanking, honorifics, daddy kink, very rough sex, praise, Dom/sub dynamic, teasing, LOTS of dirty talk, petnames, p in v, what could be considered cnc if ya squint and really look for it, unprotected sex, creampie, love bites.

Taglist: @lov3rla03 @reignseclipse @acute-crashout-jeyuso

18+!! MDNI!!

My masterlist can be found here.

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

You and Roman had been in a passionate relationship for a while now, but tonight was different. The tension between you had been building all day, and it had finally reached its boiling point.

You had met up at his place after work, and as soon as the door closed behind you, he had pounced. He had pushed you against the wall, his body pressed tightly against yours, and kissed you with a fierce hunger.

You had teased him all day, sending him scandalous photos while he was out doing various interviews for 2k25.

He had been growing increasingly frustrated and aroused throughout the day, his mind constantly wandering back to the provocative pictures you had sent him. He knew you were doing it on purpose, trying to rile him up and make him lose control. And it had worked. He had tried to focus on his work, but your teasing had distracted him completely. He couldn't stop thinking about you, about how he wanted to have you all to himself. And now he does.

He pulls you away from the wall and leads you to the bedroom, his hand on the small of your back. He shuts the door behind you and turns to face you, a bit of a gleam in his eye.

"Strip," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

You comply without hesitation, slowly undressing in front of him. You can feel his gaze burning into you as he watches, his eyes raking over your body hungrily.

"That's it, baby," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Let me see you."

Roman watches as you reveal yourself to him, his eyes narrowing slightly. He steps closer to you, his hands on your hips once again.

"You think you can tease your tribal chief all day and get away with it?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mixture of annoyance and arousal. "Dirty girl. Such a filthy little freak.. but I love it." He smirks followed by a sharp smack to your ass.

You gasp as his large hand connects with your skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. He chuckles darkly, enjoying the reaction he's getting from you.

"You like that, don't you?" he says, his grip on your hips tightening. "You like being punished, like being put in your place. Such a submissive little slut for daddy."

He pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top of you and pinning you down with his weight. He straddles your waist, his eyes locked onto yours as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"I'm gon fuck you so hard you can't do anything but acknowledge me, babygirl."

He begins to kiss and bite your neck, leaving a trail of marks along your skin. His hands roam over your body, groping and squeezing as he claims you as his own.

He sits back and looks at you, his expression serious. "Get on your hands and knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You obey, rolling over onto your stomach and pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. You can feel the heat of his gaze, making you shiver with anticipation.

Roman takes a moment to admire the view, running his hands over your ass and thighs. "Good girl," he praises, his voice husky with lust. "Now, you're going to be a good little slut and take whatever I give you, understood?"

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. He moves behind you, his large hands gripping your hips firmly. You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and it sends a jolt of excitement through you. "Use your words" he scolds.

"Yes, My tribal chief." You responded

With that, having already shed his sweats, red boxers and "ytc" T-shirt, he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes into you slowly, his thick cock stretching you out as he fills you completely.

You moan loudly as he bottoms out inside you, his size overwhelming your senses. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but quickly picking up speed. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more.

"You feel so good, baby," he growls, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight and wet for me."

As he continues to pound into you, your body instinctively tries to pull away from him, but his grip on your hair keeps you in place. He notices this and chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the struggle.

"Oh no you don't," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "No running. You gon acknowledge me. You gon take this dick. This is what you wanted right? You were home just aching to be used like a good little cocksleeve for your tribal chief."

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back into you with a powerful thrust, causing you to cry out in pleasure. He leans down and whispers in your ear again.

"Such pretty fucking sounds"

He starts to spank you again, each slap punctuated by a deep thrust of his hips. The pain mixes with the pleasure, driving you further into a state of ecstasy. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your orgasm building rapidly.

Roman can sense that you're about to cum, and he speeds up his pace even more, determined to make you scream his name. He grabs your wrists and pulls your arms behind your back, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he asks, his voice strained with his own impending release. "You gonna cum on your tribal chief's dick?"

You can only nod and whimper in response, too lost in the pleasure to form coherent words. He continues to spank you, the stinging pain sending you over the edge. You let out a loud cry as you finally cum, your body shaking uncontrollably as he rides out your orgasm.

He follows closely behind you, his own orgasm crashing over him like a wave. He buries himself deep inside you and groans, his body tensing as he fills you with his hot seed.

He collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily. He releases your wrists and rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so that you're lying on his chest.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he catches his breath.

"You did so good for me, princess," he praises, kissing the top of your head. "So good"

[lostinlovingrevery]

Angst with a very sad reader who is deaf, she wished she could hear Logan, or be able to talk to him with her voice she can’t use, so he comforts his girlfriend

Hands

Logan Howlett X Deaf! F! Reader

Talking to Logan is different for you

A/N: The way this actually made me cry while writing this. A lil self healing. I'm not completely deaf, but I've grown up being left out of conversations, unable to hear or understand people, sounds, music, etc. I've actively worried about what it would be like having a partner having to "put up" with my hearing loss. Also it could be any Logan! I just used DOFP here bc he's so pretty <3 I hope you enjoy nonny!

Warnings: A bit angsty, reader is deaf, and uses ASL to communicate, feelings of loneliness, sadness, being left out, Logan being so babygirl <3

It was the same story as always

You sat next to Logan as you were in another outing with your friends.

It was a new place that opened this past week, a mix of a bar and a cafe. Filled with vibrant colors and pop culture references of the decades. The menus were filled with pun-named drinks and greasy meals.

You quite adored the atmosphere, and you were enjoying the Friday night outing after an incredibly long day. It just that your group of friends and Logan, were knee deep in a conversation that seemed incredibly funny- judging by their laughing faces, and Logan's usual thin-lipped smile when he's amused; and you had no clue what was being said.

He glanced at you, and you gave him a big smile. Reassuring that you were okay. He quirked a brow, about to say something before someone called his attention, turning his head, your smile faded, as you watched him converse with your friends. He finally leaned back to you again, noticing your drink was low. He tapped your knee, grabbing the glass off the table and signing refill?

You smiled and nodded, and he got up, taking his own glass too, as he walked over to the counter. You adjusted where you were sitting, waving for a friends attention. He turns and smiles, and you ask him for the context of the story.

"Oh-" You lipread, while he also signs. "It's not a big deal." He smiles shaking his head. You paused, and then nodded, leaning back into the sofa that looked like it came straight from the set of The Brady Brunch.

Dejected, but not surprised.

Logan came back, handing you your drink, leaning forward to peck you on the cheek, before putting an arm around your shoulder. One of your friends start talking to Logan- and from what you could tell was updating him on the parts of the story he missed.

You looked at Logan instead of bothering trying to pick up what was being told.

You watched his smile lines increase as he grins, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he begins to laugh. Handsome, as always. You leaned into him, feeling the exertion of his chest as he laughs with each breath. You watch his lips move, and wonder for not the first time at what he sounds like.

He's told you that his voice was always described as deep and low. A friend has jokingly told you that it was the sexiest sounding thing ever.

Which both irked, and disappointed you.

You could pick up just by lipreading that he was talking about you. A funny story that happened to the both of you at the grocery store the other day. A small smile on your face, he looked at you. It was like it suddenly occurred to him you didn't hear what was going on. He moved, turning his body towards you, and began talking and signing, telling the story to both you and your other friends.

Your smile grew as you watched him, but the sadness inside you filled deeper, as you watched him sign- remembering the symbols and the placements, while also talking to your friend. He pauses, hesitates, and you help him with certain signs- wishing you could just say that words yourself- that you knew how to say the words yourself.

He's quite good at sign language, but as with learning any new language, there's room for a little inaccuracy here and there.

It isn't always like this, feeling lonely when you're surrounded by people who love you. A lot of the time when you hang out one on one, your friends full focus is on you, the speaking between you and the other is non-stop as you gossip about anything and everything. In outings like this though, you assume that maybe it's just too much, trying to focus on talking to a group- and remembering the words to spell out with your hands and talk to you simulataneously.

You never say anything. Just sit in quiet silence. It's an acceptance you found long ago. Being left out of conversations, or others not wanting to put in the work of including you, conversing with you, even if they already have the ability to do so.

When Logan came around, and you found yourselves entangled in the usual story of romance, you couldn't be happier. He was always patient, worked diligently at learning to communicate with you. He learned how to properly get your attention, to speak directly to you. He never once made you feel left out. Mostly because he wasn't a talker himself- at least with his voice.

You knew better, but you couldn't help but feel like it's work to communicate. Not just for you, but for Logan. Having to always find a way to get each others attention. You watched him struggle to remember certain words, and he'd have to say it to you and you lipread in order to translate properly. Moments you usually thought were cute - but this time felt bittersweet.

On the car ride home, you both sat in silence. Logan's hand rested on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants soothingly. You looked at the radio- noticing it was on. The number you recognized as a talk station Logan has told you he liked to listen to. You turned to look out the window, and noticed street musicians performing on the corner.

The car was stopped at an intersection, so you got Logan's attention, and pointed, before signing,

Music?

He looked at what you pointing at. He nodded, before rolling your window down, and he tilted his head, listening. Then signed back to you.

"Rock." He says, and you make a motion as if you were playing the drums, he smiled and nodded. You turned to look back at the musicians playing. Curious.

He let off the brake and the car began moving. You left the window down, letting air blow over your face. You wondered what the talk show hosts were saying.

When you both got home, he followed you to the bedroom, getting your attention with taps to your shoulder.

"Hey-" He signed. You looked at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't speak- directly to you sometimes. It was loud and a little chaotic in there but I didn't forget you I just..." He shook his head.

Your face fell and you looked away. Then looked back up at him. You responded,

It's okay. I know it can be work to try to communicate with me.

He blinked as he watched your hands and shook his head, he stepped closer.

"It's not work to talk to you." You watched him say. His brows creased. "Not for me."

You purse your lips, as you felt emotion swell up inside you. An ache in your chest, as you let out an exhale.

I just wish I could hear you. That I could speak to you. That we could talk, normally.

He shook his head, "This is normal, baby." He paused, his hands in the air, as he seemed to be searching for his next words. "This." He motions the sign language, "Does not bother me. I like that we can talk like this."

You looked away, but his hand came up to your chin, making you look back at him, his expression firm as he stares into your eyes. For a moment, you softened, the focus and care he held in his hazel eyes for you.

How does it not bother you? You have to put more effort into speak with me. Everyone does. Isn't it tiring?

"No." He shook his head. His hand came up to cup your cheek, a small sigh escaping him. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. A tear left your cheek, and he collected it with his thumb. Stepping back, and returning to signing. "You have given me a way to use my hands without violence. The way we can talk to each other, makes me feel closer to you, than just using my voice to talk to anyone."

Your lip quivered as you watched him play out his words.

"I never been good at talking." He grinned. "This though, I'm good at. I'm glad we can speak like this. It makes us...Connected. More than I ever been with anyone." he continued. "I feel like you and me...We can connect because we don't need words to understand each other. You look at me, and you just know me."

A few more tears escaped, rolling down your cheek as you nodded, you signed.

I wish I knew what you sound like.

His face softened, as he stepped closer again. "I...Know this isn't the same but..."

He reached for your hands, bringing your fingers to his lips, and your other hand to the base of his neck- where his collarbone met. You didn't need him to sign the next words for you to understand.

"I love you"

Tears streamed down you face, as you felt his lips move against your fingers. The muscles of his throat moved and vibrated against your other hand. He repeated it, over and over, allowing you to memorize the feeling of his words on your hands, the vibrations of his throat. It felt warm, and deep. You couldn't imagine sound, but closing your eyes made you picture his leather jacket, the curls of his chestnut hair, the weight of him on top of you. Maybe it wasn't his voice, but it was him you were feeling.

He only stopped saying those words when you reached up to kiss him, but you felt his lips brush over yours as he spoke it again. You moved, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him. He squeezed you in an embrace.

Maybe he was right, maybe this was nice. It still saddened a part of you that you couldn't hear his voice. Yet, another part of you appreciated how Logan still felt connected to you this way. He was right, in your entire relationship, he may have struggled with his hands,

He never struggled communicating with you, though.

[ll7esxs]

Bored so wanna describe cod ghosts characters stans! IN MY OPINION AND VISION!

Logan walker stans:

Funny asf.

Post brain rot memes (hmu logan stans😔).

Probably relate to Logan’s quiet yet loyal nature a little too much.

Defend logan, like they will argue with anyone who disrespect logan.

Yapp and speak what is in their mind even if means fighting society.

"I can fix him"

Sucker for brotherhood The Hesh & Logan sibling dynamic is their favorite thing ever.

Hesh walker stans:

Golden Retriever Boyfriend Seekers, They love an extroverted, funny, protective guy.

Either have big brother or wanna a big brother like hesh

Biggest delulu minders (after keegan stans ofc)

Talkactive

They love to banter and never shut up.

They love the strong sibling bond between him and Logan, and will defend it with their life.

Some of em Will argue he’s the better Walker brother.

"He doesn't deserve this"

Some of em think elias not caring abt him

Keegan russ stans:

A cold, careless man barely speak they're obsessed.

“He’s So Babygirl” A grown ass man.

Love Keegan for his mask, quiet voice, and intimidating aura, but also think he’s secretly soft.

Love that Keegan is a stealth expert and probably smells like gunpowder and pine.

Hear his voice lines at 3 AM.

Put him in mw2 timeline what im playing lol

They would let Keegan ruin their life, no hesitation.

Think he is a green card.

Elias walker stans:

DILF Appreciators– You know why they’re here (and it’s not just because he’s a good leader).

No shame in loving a rugged, experienced leader with dad energy.

Admire Elias for being a great father, a skilled soldier, and a natural leader.

Yeah yeah they will defend anyone says otherwise.

Surprisingly they have no problems with rorke.

Want a whole game or DLC about young Elias and early Ghosts.

Love the fact that he raised two men to be ghosts.

Gabriel rorke stans:

The villians lovers ofc.

I Never understood them tbh

Half of them think elias is already wrong let go of him and half of them liking the fact that he is a vendetta character

Not even sorry about him kidanpped logan.

Also half of them like elias.

Love his accent, and the way he talk.

Think he deserves better.

Thomas merrick:

Love Merrick because he gives off strict but protective vibes.

Enjoys characters who take charge and don’t tolerate nonsense.

50% because of his voice.

They love leadership roles and high respect characters.

Less unhinged, but still down bad.

Kick stans:

There aren’t many of them

Love Kick because he’s tactical, no-nonsense, and cool under pressure.

Loves Underrated Characters – Enjoys the fact that Kick is in the background but still awesome.

Organized people idk.

The "Why Does No One Talk About Him?" Crew – They feel personally responsible for making sure Kick gets love.

“The main guys are cool, but this guy? Criminally underrated.”

Probably Read the Campaign Novelization – Just to find extra Kick content.

Ajax stans:

They are less than kick stans

Still mad that Ajax didn’t get enough screen time.

Love the characters who deserved more but got done dirty.

Have read or written fics where Ajax survives and thrives.

They are also keegan stans?

Riley stans:

The goats.

period.

[catierambles]

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 7

Samantha didn’t know why it had changed, only that it had. As if sleeping with Geralt had removed some kind of mental block she had in place when it came to the others. While she was normally incredibly monogamous, she found herself wanting all of them. Sy had been surprised but had quickly gotten over it when she had kissed him while he had been making breakfast one morning, her nails running through his shorn hair and making him shiver. Walter had held her tightly when she had ambushed him, his eyes closing as he returned her affections. Mike had been almost giddy, pulling her in for another after she had pulled away and making her giggle from his eagerness. August she was already familiar with in that way, but his kisses still made her toes curl from their intensity.

Maybe it was her growing wolf declaring them as Mates as surely as they declared her theirs. Maybe it was the day she had spent with Geralt making love off and on, his whispered praise and reverent devotions chipping away at the armor she had placed around herself. Maybe they weren’t like Jonathan. Maybe, hopefully, they were different.

Her leg was quickly healing, although her wolf had yet to make an appearance. Something that was unusual according to August. She should have shifted by now, but she hadn’t. Geralt was adamant that he had smelled the infection in the wounds and she still swapped between Omega and Alpha subconsciously. If she hadn’t been infected, if Geralt had been wrong, then that wouldn’t be happening.

They were playing it by ear, basically. It would happen when it happened.

The others were talking about...something, but Samantha wasn't paying attention, too much on her mind. Sy laughed at something Walter said, his fingertips drawing light circles on her calves that were resting in his lap.

“I'm married.” She said suddenly, and all conversation stopped.

“What?” Mike asked.

“I'm married.” She said again, “For a few years now.”

“Samantha?” Geralt asked.

“I'm not going back. I can't go back. He'll--he hurts me. If he finds out I'm a wolf now, he'll kill me. I can't--I’m not going back.”

“Damn straight you ain't.” Sy said, “You're stayin’ here, babygirl. With us.”

“Mike, take Samantha upstairs.” August said, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mike said, “Come on, sweetcheeks. They want to have a Super Secret Macho Alpha Meeting.” He took his hand in hers and Sy gave her calf a quick squeeze before she swung her legs off his lap, Mike helping her stand from the couch as she didn’t quite have full strength back in her injured leg. She gave a squeak of surprise as he suddenly scooped her up in his arms, laughing as he carried her up the stairs. He left the door open when he carried her into his room, dumping her on the bed and making her giggle before laying next to her.

“She’s married.” They heard August say downstairs, and he didn’t sound happy. “You said you looked into her. How did you miss this?”

“Walker, she wasn’t wearin’ a ring and we didn’t find one in her stuff.” Sy said, “Walt didn’t find any pictures on her phone of a guy, no contacts givin’ it away. All she had on her was a couple days worth of clothes, her drivers license, health insurance ID, and Social Security card. No bank card, no credits cards, and only a couple hundred in cash in small bills.”

“She doesn’t have any social media profiles.” Geralt said, “Not even a Facebook. GPS was turned off in her phone and car.”

“These aren’t the actions of someone going out on a jaunt of debauchery away from their spouse.” Walter said, “These are the actions of someone going into hiding.”

“She went off the grid, Walker.” Sy said, “You know well as I what that means.”

“Tell people she’ll be out of communication for a couple days and then never go back. She didn’t want to be found.” August said after a moments silence and sighed. “She said he hurts her.”

“Yeah, she did.” Sy said and Mike reached out, brushing her hair out of her face before leaning in and kissing her sweetly.

“Geralt, you said you did a cursory look?” August asked and Geralt must have nodded, “Can you do a deeper one? If it was bad enough to where the police were called, there’d be reports. If she was ever treated for injuries, there’d be hospital records.”

“Lotta ifs.” Sy said, “Can tell ya from experience, there ain’t always a paper trail for this shit.”

“Sam.” August said, “I know you’re listening. Get down here.”

“Please.” Sy added, “You gotta stop bein’ an overbearin’ prick to her, August. Every time you are, she switches and it’s startin’ to give me a damn headache.” Mike helped her to her feet and scooped her up in his arms again making her smile, carrying her from his room and down the stairs. “Babe.”

“I needed to tell you guys.” She said as she went to her feet, “Geralt, I know I should have said something before we slept together but I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Geralt said. “You’re my Mate. I will never be ashamed of or regret being with my Mate.”

“We believe you when you say he hurts you.” Walter said, “We do. Honestly. But we need to verify. Council has rules when it comes to this sort of thing, as horrible and invasive as that sounds. If you had a happy marriage, what happened and everything after could be seen as coercion, a calculated act. Mike didn’t lose control, he infected you on purpose. We know he didn’t, but perception and all that. The fact that your husband is abusive lends weight to the idea that you would want to leave him, not felt compelled to because of your burgeoning wolf. The Council knows that’s not how it all works. You’re our Mate, and we are yours, but human society hasn’t quite grasped the intricacies of that dynamic yet.”

“I understand.” She said.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. You won’t go back to him.” Mike said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “We’ll protect you.”

“Did you ever go the hospital for injuries?” August asked.

“Once. For a concussion.” She said and he nodded.

“What’s his name?” Geralt asked.

“Jonathan.” Samantha said, “Jonathan Graves.”

[arathejedi394]

just a wee thought about this + featuring sound sensitivity bc yesterday i went out to breakfast with my parents at a very unpopular Michelin star-level excellent diner (the best kind of restaurant) and in the middle a bunch of other people came in and started moving the chairs around so loudly and screechily I felt literal physical pain; I literally almost vomited into my plate the sounds were so harsh and loud. i was so busy trying to look polite too that I was just suffering until my mom across the table exaxperatedly said "plug your ears" bc she's tired of me doing uncomfortable shit for the sake of not upsetting people around me. anyway it should be more socially acceptable to slap your hands over your ears and whimper in pain bc something loud just happened. also + the fact that the more your eyebrows touch the more attractive you are. (yes I just said unibrows are more attractive than two brows what world do you live in where two eyebrows are enough when you could have one strong line from brow to brow? think about it. thick bushy dark eyebrow. i mean thick, not artfully plucked into a broad arch, I mean flared out towards the temples like pyramids, a good inch thick at the angle pointing to the temple. you want that one eyebrow creasing in the middle where it already touches to look at you in concern, with affection and the desire to keep you around. don't you see that the shadow that is created when the two halves of that one brow crease together says I love you? don't you see that when one eyebrow pinches together, it is twice the concern as if two unfeeling separated lines draw nearer to one another? exactly. unibrows are far more attractive than individual brows. if you think otherwise, talk to me when you've worshiped frida kahlo properly. and when you're done worshipping frida kahlo take the time to study her politics before you go back to appreciating your whole new sinfully sensual world of bucky barnes with a unibrow.) (look, unibrows are just infinitely more attractive and men with unibrows are just infinitely more daddy; if I've ever written a bucky and you didn't imagine him with a unibrow, I'm sorry you missed the point. just as I'm sorry if you see Bucky as a babygirl or a skinny person when he's so clearly a paternal dom and when he has the opportunity to pack on padding. ultimate bucky barnes has several spare tires and one eyebrow. if you think otherwise, you're watching mere shadows on the walls while bucky with his generous beer gut and thick unibrow is guiding steve in a waltz. plato would be sad for you. but now you know better. the fewer eyebrows you have (the more spare tires bucky has) the more noble the more regal the more powerful and demanding of authority you have.)

A crow suddenly flies into Steve's face and he startles with a yelping gasp, at once flapping his hands at it to bat it away. The crow screeches horribly and flaps its wings right into his eyes. Steve, still crying out in sudden fright and the overwhelming wrongness in his very atoms of the sound of the crow squawking, scrambles back right into the very hedge behind him in his attempts to drive away the agonizing sound. But the crow only follows him, squawking and cawing loudly enough to jar his ears and at once driving an irrational urge to cry and vomit into his very bones with the grating texture of the sound; he hates the sound of crows calling out angrily, it makes his teeth hurt in addition to making him nauseous. The crow screeches deeply once more and Steve just screams back at it, more than overwhelmed by the volume and pitch than its flapping wings and snapping talons or beak, and wishing he were very suddenly deaf, desperate for it to stop crying more than he wants it to stop smacking his face with its sharp wings, feathers almost cutting at his skin.

"Soot!" abruptly cries the voice of another boy.

And the crow at once stops squawking, the sudden absence of the sound washing over Steve like hot water with lavender.

Steve blinks rapidly and repeatedly as the crow darts away from him as quickly as it had appeared; it flies in the opposite direction from him towards a boy with his right arm outstretched, who had appeared as suddenly as the crow, standing in the hedge maze in front of Steve; some village boy in a patched gray and brown tweed jacket over a heavy blue wool waistcoat at least two sizes two big for him with similar but distinctly differently-woven tweed trousers, also mended in several places with fabrics that don't match the weave or color of his pants, most not even tweed, and wearing an equally patched-up, flat, newsboy-style cap on his dark, curly hair; made of gray and brown tweed other than the obvious darnings and yet another patch of unmatching fabric. He hasn't got on a coat even with the occasional snowflakes drifting from the sky, just gloves and a scarf, his ears red from cold under his brown nearly black curls. Steve recognizes him now as Betty's little brother: Bucky.

When he'd first and last seen him, he'd thought Bucky was his age, 12 or so, but looking at his face rather than at the back of him running away to climb up onto an absurdly black large horse, he's probably 13 or 14. It's possible that some might call him handsome, with a strong cleft in his chin, a regally square jaw, and a strong, rather beaked nose that matches the noble line of his browbones above his deeply set eyes, but he still has plenty of baby fat betraying his marked youth in his cheeks, and under his chin, and around his middle, visible even with his too-big waistcoat. He has bushy eyebrows that grow so closely together above his nose one might call them a unibrow, and perhaps as he gets older they will become one properly, yet somehow that adds to his striking features in a complementary factor that bolsters the idea that he'll be properly attractive when he grows up. Plus he has maybe two or three whispy dark hairs on the left half of his clefted chin, and the barest fluff of a mustache, that both betray his young age. And it's clear by his scent that he's a pup Alpha. He's a little bucktoothed, and Steve wonders if that's where he gets his name from.

The crow lands on his shoulder and squawks at Steve as if in reproach. Betty's little brother reaches up with his left hand to touch the crow. He's actually only wearing one glove, only on his right hand, and his left hand is made of sleek black metal lined in gold. Steve tries not to stare at it, far too curious; Betty hadn't mentioned her brother had a prosthetic limb. He's sure it would be rude to even be visibly interested in Bucky's metal hand.

"He doesn't know thee," Bucky says, but he's looking at the bird, even stroking the back of a metal knuckle down the crow's breast as it bobs its head looking at him. "You frightened him," he then says.

"I frightened him?" Steve repeats incredulously. "He's the one that flew right into my bloody face!"

Bucky cracks a lopsided grin, showing a missing canine on his left side. "Don't worry," he says, "he's a nice crow. C'mon, give him a pet. That way next time he sees you, he won't be frightened of thee."

"I don't want to go near that thing," Steve retorts, at once crossing his arms over his chest. "It's filthy, and dirty, and it probably has diseases!"

"He's not got diseases, he's mostly an indoor crow. All his food and water's looked after so as he don't eat nothing he shouldn't," Bucky says, then adds, with an encouraging nod: "He's nice and soft. A crow's feathers, well-cared for, are just like silk."

"How would you know?" Steve asks him sharply.

"I've touched silk," Bucky insists with another nod. "C'mon, don't you want to see if I'm telling the truth? I thought all Omegas liked soft things."

"Just because I'm going to be an Omega doesn't mean I want to feel a crow's feathers!" Steve snaps, stomping a foot in his boot and kicking up the hem of his much nicer Cashmere wool trousers, which look about ten years newer than Bucky's, even though ten years ago Bucky couldn't possibly have fit in the pants he's wearing.

But Bucky shrugs in response. "Unless you're chicken," he says.

"I am not!" Steve retorts again.

He uncrosses his arms and lurches forward the few shuffling steps between him and Bucky and the crow on his shoulder. Bold and refusing to think, Steve reaches up. He briefly touches the crow on Bucky's shoulder with a gloved finger, and then just as quickly pulls back, frightened of the crow's beak and its squawk again. But Bucky chuckles and catches his wrist before Steve draws fully away with his metal hand. It's surprisingly warm. Without a word, he transfers Steve's wrist into his other hand, the gloved one, then using the metal one, he pops Steve's glove off, pinching the tips of the index and middle fingers to tug it off. Then he pulls Steve's hand a bit closer and Steve lets his bare fingers brush over the crow's feathers. They are like silk. Smoother, even. He smiles a little, albeit without meaning to, and takes over the movement to stroke the pads of his fingers down the smooth, blue-black feathers of the bird on Bucky's shoulder.

"You like that, Master Stiofán?" Bucky prompts gently, startling him with the sudden use of his name; particularly as he pronounces it correctly, even with the right emphasis on the fada over the vowel in the second syllable, when so far, no one in Wrexham County has said it right; English or Welsh. "See?" he adds in his thick Welsh accent, now flicking his pale, gray-blue eyes onto Steve's as he smiles and once more shows the missing adult tooth from his upper jaw. "Soot's no harm," he says, his voice soft and still high-pitched with a strong treble from adolescence, and his accent is so thick it's heavier than his older sister's.

Steve pinches his lips together, reluctantly giving Bucky a contrite smile. Soot, the crow, bobs his head and tucks it into Steve's palm, letting him stroke down the bird's sleek back, where he flutters his wings and tail. Steve smiles for real. He's never actually touched an animal before.

"I know you, too," he says, his gaze flicking back up to Bucky's; up, since Bucky is four or five inches taller than him. "You're Elizabeth's little brother."

"That's what the English call her," Bucky answers, gently but clearly affronted. "She's actually called Elisabeta. You ought to understand, sir," he adds, raising his eyebrows.

Steve flushes, scowling for a second, then glances down. "She told me it was Elizabeth," he mutters, even growling as best he can in his defensiveness; even though he's an Omega pup, he actually can growl rather deeply and loudly, people always tell him he sounds too coarse to be a pup Omega, that he sounds like he'll grow to be an Alpha.

He starts to pull away, too, but Bucky grabs his wrist once more, and pulls him back so he's touching the crow once again, his gaze dropping down to look at where he's moving Steve's hand. And Steve lets him, though still maintaining a cross look, since Soot's feathers really are very nice to touch.

"I meant no offense, sir," Bucky then says. "Betty tries to fit in too hard, is all's I think. I reckoned someone from Ireland would know how that feels."

Steve feels even more cross with Bucky, even further because he's quite right. Thick Welsh accents as Betty and Bucky might have, it's clear their ancestors came from somewhere far, far more eastern of continental Europe, and perhaps even further East; they've both got curls in tight ringlets and strong, handsome noses known to be common among Jewish people, and the both of them have a softness to their accents, too, that hint at knowing the language of Travellers beyond the way the Welsh speak English.

"I suppose," Steve mutters, and strokes his palm down Soot's slim back, his lips twitching towards a smile when Soot twitches his spine and all his feathers shift. "Sorry. I didn't think to ask."

"It's alright," Bucky responds. "Betty's been saying your name wrong, anyway," he adds with a bright, crooked grin that betrays his missing tooth. "So I also reckons that turnabout is fair play."

Steve lets out a snort and smiles again. Soot croaks a bit, far kinder and softer than before, and ducks his head, so Steve strokes past it down his back once more.

"There," Bucky says as he looks at the crow on his shoulder again. "You want to hold him?"

Steve bites his lip as he looks Soot in the eye. Soot bobs his head a bit, blinking, then squawks as softly as Bucky had just spoken. Steve hesitantly nods. So Bucky reaches up and nudges a metal finger under Soot's talons, until he hops onto it, then he lifts the crow off his shoulder. Using his right hand, he balances him, and gently shakes him off onto Steve's lifted forearm. Soot's talons grip sharply into his skin even through the layers of his tweed overcoat, Cashmere jacket, and flannel shirt beneath that, but they don't hurt. Instead, they tickle. Steve can't help but giggle and reaches up to pet the backs of his knuckles down Soot's breast, marveling at how cool his feathers feel even in the early winter.

"It's not only Omegas that like soft things," Bucky then says. "I know that. Just so you's know's I'm not rude like that."

Steve glances at him briefly. "You don't look rude," he whispers.

Bucky gives him a warm smile. "I hope not," he says.

Steve bursts into snorting laughter, leaning back on Eight's strong, black back as he still clings to Bucky's patched waistcoat, throwing his head back as he howls with mirth.

"You're such an eejet!" he cackles.

When he drops his chin again to get his breath, Bucky's twisted around on the horse and is looking at him with a bright grin. Steve calms himself to a few giggles, then shifts his arms a bit tighter around Bucky's middle, now locking his hands together. Steve watches Bucky close his eyes and wonders what he's doing.

Then Bucky's lips smack against his briefly. Steve shuts his eyes, too, in surprise, and when he blinks them open again, Bucky's leaned forward in his seat once more, pink in the ears and looking bashful.

"I --" he starts.

Steve gives him an equally fast kiss, but on the cheek that time. Bucky grins again, then faces forward entirely, clicking his tongue at Eight and also knocking his heels into his flanks. Steve wraps a bit tighter around him, smiling into his back so wide it hurts, wide enough to dimple his cheeks, which he hasn't done in years, years even farther back than before his parents died.

[*]

Steve's distracted from his painting by the sudden appearance of a crow, scolding him over something and fluttering its wings in his face.

"Soot!" he snaps angrily as he bats at the bird trying to get his attention so successfully he almost splatters his painting with what is on his brush accidentally. "What the bloody hell is the matter with you!" he demands as he knocks the bird away from him, sending him fluttering into the air.

"Sorry!" Bucky's voice calls.

Soot at last relents his assault on Steve's face, cawing softly, and darts through the air towards where Bucky is jogging into the greenhouse, so he can land on his shoulder and look back reproachfully. Steve brushes his hair out of his eyes and gives the bird a cross look.

"Isn't he too old to be attacking me?" he demands.

"He wasn't attacking you, Master Stiofán," Bucky says, smiling warmly as he nears Steve, seated at his easel in the midst of Aunt Saoirse's garden. "He's excited," he adds, looking nervous for some reason.

"Well, what the ruddy hell for?" Steve snaps, shoving his paintbrush into a jar of thinner as he's been distracted from where he'd next wanted to adjust the texture and color of his oil painting of the roses and Empress of India lilies in front of him, and had thus forgotten the change he'd wanted to make before Soot flew into his face.

"Well," Bucky says, abruptly flushing red in the ears as he looks down and shoves his metal hand into his pocket, just as abruptly feeling around in it for something. "It's not every day you ask a pretty Omega to marry you," he mutters.

Steve blinks rapidly, his lips parting even as he's thrilled to hear those words from this man. Bucky then withdraws a small velvet bag from his pocket, and, very slowly, he lowers himself to one knee beside Steve's easel.

"I haven't got gold," he says, almost like he's shy. "Or rubies, or emeralds, or diamonds. I've got nothing really worth of you, Stiofán Grant Rogers. But I've got this, and I've got real love for you. And I've got a lifetime I'll gladly dedicate to making you happy, Master Stiofán. If you'll have me?"

Steve parts his lips as Bucky shakes out of the little velvet bag a small silver or sterling silver ring, one that looks like it's been resized recently, but thick and engraved with ivy, and centered by small but highly polished garnet in a hexagonal, step-cut shape.

"If you'll have me, Master Stiofán?" Bucky repeats in a pleading whisper.

Steve takes the ring from him. Silently and with a smile, he slips it onto his left ring finger where it belongs. He's been waiting for about four months now for it, ever since his uncle declared he was old enough to start looking for suitors. Bucky, as soon as the ring is settled on Steve's finger, lets out a relieved sound, like he had been nervous that he might get a no; silly of him. Steve looks up at Soot, now reproachful.

"Ought'n't you have told him I would immediately say yes years ago?" he scolds.

Soot squawks softly, just a little bubble of sound that doesn't even raise Steve's hackles. He bobs his head towards Bucky, as if telling Steve that he had tried many times, but had been woefully unsuccessful with each effort.

Beside him, Bucky releases a sound that's both relief and exasperation. Steve looks down to make sure his new engagement ring is settled correctly on his finger.

"You get five, no more," he adds sternly.

"Five what?" Bucky says, now frowning.

"Children," Steve says, then shifts to hold his new engagement ring to the light, smiling as he examines it with more than satisfaction, being far prettier than he'd expected it to be. "And I reserve the right to reduce that number per labor," he adds, not looking away from his newly most prized possession.

"Oh," Bucky says, very suddenly and with wide eyes. "Oh..."

Steve glances at him, then smirks. "I suppose you also reserve the right to attempt to convince me of more," he murmurs.

Bucky's ears go twice as red as his eyes widen so much they go glassy. Steve lets him contemplate and looks at his silver and garnet engagement ring, pleased and quite content. He'd planned to say no to any suitor other than Bucky for a long time now, almost as long as he'd known his Alpha. Then Soot flutters onto his shoulder, and he croaks very softly, hardly a hiccup out of his beak. Steve glances sideways at him, smiling fondly.

"Tell you what," he whispers, "you can carry the rings at the wedding."

Soot croaks again, gentle and kind, then butts the blunt line of his beak into Steve's cheek, following by another little squawk, quiet as a whisper.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve says, rolling his eyes. "Thanks."

"Er," Bucky says next to him, eyes rather glassy as he seems to be imagining things he'd never dared let himself wonder about before. "Does that -- Would five include multiples? If we had them?"

Steve breaks into a grin, looking down at the engagement ring he's really been waiting for for years. "No," he murmurs softly.

"Bloody Jesus Christ, mother of all whores," Bucky whispers reverently, his gaze fixed on Steve's mouth, and Steve chuckles to himself.

the secret garden but it's stucky and aged up a little (think a mild T) steve, somewhere between 12-14 stars as the surly and very rude mary lennox with his spoiled and supposedly crippled cousin anthony stark, and bucky stars as the housemaid's animal whisperer little brother dickon, like 13-15. steve and bucky teach tony how to walk, but they teach steve how to cry. also steve and bucky have a cute little first kiss while on horseback bucky turns around to look at steve while he's laughing about something stupid bucky said and he just darts in and pecks him on the lips once and then steve smiles differently and hugs him then they ride back. obvs get married when they're adults.

[oscargender]

32… all this time I had been assuming that Chu Wanning was AT LEAST 40… probably closer to 50-60, and he just looks young because of his cultivation… 32…

[oneroomjestershow]

when

[crows-of-buckets]

Rook: I'm really worried about Davrin and Lucanis, they keep arguing with one another... Its very bad Varric, what if it effects them in battle?

Varric, remembering that one time Fenris broke Ander's nose then took a knife in the back for him in the same night: I'm sure they'll be fine kid. They're barely even arguing if you ask me

[ceramicbeetle]

Jay's hypocrisy is a little bit endearing to me ngl; he'll go on twitter to bitch about how much totheark stalking/filming him is causing life-ruining paranoia & then turn around and post video footage of himself stalking Alex for months and reading Tim's medical records out loud to an audience with seemingly no conscious thought connecting the two actions as The Same Thing

[httpserb]

tiktok is shutting down

(yes! free from the borderline illiterate fake kagehiners who love bringing up kage saying hoshi is better that Hinata which he was low-key and ppl yapping abt fuckaas a*tuh*na)

(no! my beloved greedy Hinata edits, Brazil Hinata edits, kghn about you edits, kghn musical edits, every single tobio edit I have to headlock, every single tobio video abt him and his grandpa)

[utilitycaster]

the idea that Orym has a death wish has led to some of the most laughable meta I've seen. Orym tells his closest friend - who has a penchant for delightfully wild impulses, is possibly important to the enemy's plot, and is about to see her biological father, about whom she has all kinds of complicated feelings - to not take unnecessary risks and people are handing out pamphlets on "a Treatise on Orym's Belief in Doom; Being an Account of His Deep-seated Hypocritical Actions Regarding The Pact With Morrigan, Hag and Fatestitcher" and it's like. idk man maybe they're going to be separated in a very clearly dangerous scenario and she specifically is in an emotionally charged and tricky one and he is saying "be careful", a normal thing friends might say to each other.

[victorclays]

The moment i started hating Franklin was when Doctor Mcdonald told him David Young needed to stay put and he immediately was like: dont care. Didnt ask. Get that sick little freak to my shitty ass Doctor, stat.

I was like okay cool. He doesn't care about this kids life at all. And then Fitzy in the next fucking scene was like "you love the men more than god loves them sir" and I was like ....oh .... wait what?

[rainbowberriesandcookies]

Pain is being an ulquihime shipper but having to block/avoid most of them because they are weirdly anti-Orihime, anti-bleach ending, or "anti how Kubo wrote Orihime" even though she's one of the most consistently and well-written female characters in Shounen as well as the fact that they try to make Ulquiorra care more about Orihime than he actually did in the manga or even god forbid try to say that Ulquiorra cared more about Orihime than Ichigo did.

[sforzesco]

DECIMATION ROW

Decimation: Myth, Discipline, and Death in the Roman Republic, Michael J. Taylor / Spartacus: War of the Damned, Decimation

[bedforddanes75]

"hannibal is a murderer!" "hes a cannibal!" AND WHAT i would let him do a number on my thigh with that cannibal mouth DO not speak to me