#seeing any of these floating around in fic would make my fucking year

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[springwitch26]

your writing is so fucking hot and perfect! pls can I request a fic where mel ends up getting possessive and jealous after seeing someone hitting on her girlfriend (reader) at abbott and when they get home, melissa makes sure that her girl knows that belongs to her and nobody else.

(featuring a lot of rough sex and some cute aftercare cuz we all love jealous schemmenti. 🤭)

a dangerous emotion (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: when the new substitute teacher hits on you in front of melissa, you face the dirty consequences of her jealousy.

warnings: smut (18+), jealous sex, aggressive male flirting, mel threatens violence (it's melissa), squirting, like one mention of marking

notes: the sleepy witch is back. hope you like this one anon, sorry if i left it in the oven too long. also sorry for any other deficiencies tbh writing is a struggle rn. bonus points to whoever can spot the gay joke 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 friendly fire.

if looks could kill, this fucking guy would be a pile of ash by now.

the teachers' lounge was uncharacteristically quiet. the tv had been muted; nobody cared to watch the morning news. all eyes flickered between you and the new male teacher on one side of the room, and your seething girlfriend on the other.

the redhead was visibly furious from the moment he walked in the door, eyes dragging down your body in your flowery sundress and matching tights.

"happy first day to me," he murmured to himself, thinking nobody would hear it. it took all of melissa's self-control and professionalism not to punch his lights out.

"spring looks good on you, sweetie," he drawled from behind you as you poured coffee from the communal pot into your favorite mug.

the hem of your dress floated up as you spun around to face him, and he licked his lips. you didn't notice it, but melissa did. her hands tightened into fists in her lap.

"thank you," you smiled warmly at the man in an attempt to be polite. he was tall and stocky, probably just a few years older than you. he seemed like the kind of guy who was used to getting whatever he wanted from women—with his handsome yet cocky grin and large arms crossed in front of his chest. "are you new here?"

"yep, and i like what i see already," he threw you a wink and you looked down at the floor. you heard melissa cracking her knuckles in the background. she only did that when she was holding back, either from pouncing on you or swinging at somebody else. "i'm jesse. i'll be teachin' math up on the second floor until ms. summers gets back from maternity leave."

"well, jesse, welcome to abbott," you said sweetly, hoping to escape this conversation and join your girlfriend on the couch. "i'm a first-grade teacher, so i won't be seeing you much. but it's nice to meet y—"

"actually, i was hoping you'd show me around," he cut you off, taking a few steps toward you. "if i get lost in this building, my preteen students will never let me live it down."

"oh, um..."

before you could finish your thought, he leaned in and whispered something in your ear. melissa saw the whole exchange, enraged at this man's audacity to even breathe in your direction. you were her girl. everybody knew that. and it was time for this guy to learn.

but when melissa stood up to confront him, you did something that made her see red: you walked out with him. the other teachers noticed her anger, of course, and tried to calm her down.

"melissa, relax," barbara said, gently pulling on her best friend's hand and guiding her to sit back down. "he's harmless."

"harmless?" melissa repeated indignantly. "barb, he was lookin' at her like he wanted to bend her over the damn table!"

"you look at her like that all the time..." gregory muttered, and melissa raised an eyebrow at him in accusation. he shrugged and averted his gaze.

"i look at her like i love her!" melissa insisted. "and she's my girlfriend. i get to look at her however i want. this jamie—"

"jesse," janine corrected.

"—can't just walk in and start undressin' her with his eyes!"

"if it helps, i can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything untoward," jacob offered. "i'm pretty much the big dog on the second floor these days. i can set him straight if it comes to that."

"you couldn't even set yourself straight," melissa fired back, and jacob gave the camera a defeated look. "what, you think i can't handle this myself?"

"well, it's just that... jealousy is a dangerous emotion on you," jacob answered tentatively.

"jealousy? what am i, some kinda teenager? i don't get jealous."

"i don't know, you seemed pretty jealous at pecsa last year when the keynote speaker gave y/n his room number," gregory pointed out.

"he was just annoying."

"you poured your math-a-rita on his white suit jacket," janine chimed in.

"the jabroni shouldn't have worn white to a bar!"

"melissa, i know you're protective of y/n, but she's a grown woman capable of making her own decisions," barbara said, placing a comforting hand over the redhead's clenched fists. "she doesn't seem to have a problem with the man. at some point, you just need to trust her judgment."

"yeah, she and i are going to have a little conversation about her judgment when she gets back."

"whose judgment?" you asked as you strode back into the break room, jesse following close behind.

when your question was met with silence and anxious looks from your friends, jesse took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips.

"thanks for the tour, cutie," he said after pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand.

"thank you," you replied, shifting uneasily and look over your shoulder in anticipation of melissa's reaction. she didn't keep you waiting long.

"hey, hon," melissa approached the two of you, then hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close. "the kids'll be here in half an hour, do you wanna go prep your classroom for the science lab?"

"i did that last night," you replied, not taking the hint.

"of course you did," mel cooed and planted a kiss behind your ear. jesse quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "maybe i just want some alone time with my lovely girlfriend before i start my day. that okay with you?"

you nodded sheepishly and leaned in to her. you could feel her possessive anger in her tough grip on your waist, could see it in the subtle wild edge to her green eyes. despite being in deep trouble, you still relaxed into the warmth of her casual touch and the familiar scent of patchouli on her skin.

jesse took a step back, opening his mouth as if to say something and sighing instead. as you and melissa exited the breakroom, jesse tried one more time to get your attention.

"hey, if you need any more—"

"i think we're good, janine," melissa cut him off with a dismissive gesture.

"it's jesse," the man sighed with a frustrated look at the camera.

---

"what the hell was that, huh?" melissa had you pinned up against her classroom door before you could even process what was happening. "you're givin' free tours now?"

"n-no!" you stammered frantically, squirming with unease (and excitement) at the fiery confrontation. "not free! i only did it so he would give me the extra chairs from his classroom. you know i've been down a few since the eighth graders tried to make 'chairing' a thing, and i can't let my kids spend another day on the floor. it's not fair!"

"how many times have i told you, i can get you anything you need?"

"yeah, and where's your 'chair guy' now? at least jesse can finish the job!"

oh, you fucked up. you knew it the moment the words left your mouth. melissa eased off of you physically, but her intense glare kept you frozen in place.

"we'll talk about this when we get home. i love you; don't forget it," melissa pecked your cheek and you cocked your head, confused at her sudden tranquility. she moved to whisper in your ear. "because tonight, i'm takin' all my jealousy out on you."

---

you had the misfortune of running into jesse one more time before the day was done. he wolf-whistled from behind you as you walked briskly from your classroom to the lobby, ready to meet melissa and head home.

melissa might have broken his nose if jacob and gregory hadn't been there to hold her back. in fact, she was a split-second away from swinging when jacob took hold of her dominant wrist, shaking his head. gregory followed suit with the other.

the redhead tried to wrench her arms free and glared sternly at the young men when she couldn't. sensing her frustration, you hurried over to her. melissa's gaze softened as soon as she saw you leaning over the counter. you gave jacob and gregory an appreciative nod.

the pair let go of her arms and you took her hands in yours. "let's go home," you said.

the two of you walked out of the building as jacob and gregory approached jesse.

"she's not interested, if you're still wondering," jacob said, patting jesse's shoulder in mock sympathy.

"should be pretty obvious by now," gregory added.

"first day, and you pissed off my scariest teacher and my favorite?" ava said while strutting out of her office. "nice career move, jason," she snarked. the teachers gave her a bewildered look. "what? i pay attention!"

---

once you got home, it all happened in a blur. melissa's possessive rage had you slipping into that fuzzy, pliable headspace before she even slammed the bedroom door behind you.

you couldn't concentrate on much besides her forceful touch, fingers digging into your hips and mouth sucking bruises into your neck. her low voice cut through the static occasionally, but she seemed to be venting to herself rather than you.

"mine..." her fingernails dug into the flesh of your waist. "touchin' my girl..." she spaced out the words between nips to your neck. "gotta mark you up, let the whole world know..." she landed a hard swat on your ass, then shoved you off of her. "on the bed."

---

"remind me again what he said when you spilled coffee on your shirt," melissa growled from above you. you were spread out on her bed, naked with your legs kept apart by turquoise ropes tied to the bedposts.

"he said, 'feel free to take it off. i wouldn't complain about the view,'" you whispered back.

"and you just let that slide, hm? you entertained him knowin' all he wanted was an eyeful of your tits?"

"yes, melissa."

"i'm sorry, does someone need a reminder of who owns her? i'm happy to provide, sweet girl. tell me," she dipped a finger into your folds and stroked you lightly, "who gets you this wet?"

"you do, ah, only you," you whimpered as she caressed you.

"uh-huh," she cooed, sounding unsatisfied still. "that's right, baby. and i'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

she gripped your hips harshly before gliding her hands up to your chest. she kneaded the swollen flesh of your tits and then zeroed in on your nipples, tweaking and tugging on them.

"that fucker," melissa began, breathing heavily. "will never know how soft these are."

you shook your head in frantic agreement as she massaged you. one of her hands slipped down between your legs again.

"he'll never hear how your breath catches in your throat when your clit's touched," she whispered, beginning to rub soft circles into your bundle of nerves. "or—" she withdrew suddenly and gave your pussy a swat, "how you cry at a spanking."

her jealous attitude had you soaked and sensitive. you were already close when she brought two fingers to your entrance and pushed in.

"and if he ever even imagines the face you make when you come, that pretty little lip bite you do," melissa pumped and curled her fingers roughly, "i'll take edith houghton to'm."

her speed quickly picked up and soon she was diving into you with force, bullying your g-spot with her fingertips.

"come. now," she ordered, and you fell over the edge. you spasmed around her fingers as she drove them in and out of you. she smirked with pride as she looked down at you.

but when you got too sensitive and started to squirm away from her touch, she doubled down. she pumped her fingers faster, and dipped down to suckle on your clit. you cried out. it felt like you were on fire, but the burn was oh so delicious.

"and he'll never guess what happens when you get all sensitive..." she picked her head up momentarily to say this before sucking hard on your nub and crooking her fingers inside you.

you felt the burn rise into a hot tidal wave. a flood of warm liquid spilled out of you. melissa helped you through it before withdrawing her touch, her hands retreating to your thighs. she looked down at you fondly, smiling with only a tiny bit of smug satisfaction.

"god, i love when you do that," she mused, smiling at your dazed, pretty, happy face. "it's like a gift just for me."

a gift. happy first day to me, he had said.

now reminded, melissa was pissed again. but the venom of her jealousy had trickled away, and now all that remained was an urgent need to give you the love and care you deserved.

"but you said somethin' earlier about 'finishing the job.' and i just feel like my job isn't finished, sweetheart," she smiled and cupped your cheeks. "how's a bubble bath sound?"

"mm-hmmm," you managed, fucked out and delirious.

---

"i really wasn't jealous, ya know," melissa murmured into your ear as you snuggled into bed, her chest pressed against your back.

"i find that hard to believe. i mentioned his name and you ripped my panties," you teased.

"okay, maybe a little bit."

"30 percent?"

"20."

"25."

"fine."

"then what was the other 75 percent?"

"i guess it just pisses me off when people don't treat you right. you're a beautiful angel, not a sex doll."

"i don't want you to feel... to feel like you have to take care of me all the time."

"baby girl, you know i don't do things i don't wanna do. you're the love of my life. i wanna spend every minute treatin' you like a princess."

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: fighting, brief mentions of injuries & alcohol. murdoc is a warning in himself to be frank

↳ song: rock the house—gorillaz

↳ notes: headcanons about murdoc & you. made to be platonic/a self insert type fic, but could be romantic too. this overall just stemmed from my infatuation and hatred for his green ass

nasterlist | commissions | carrd

• Murdoc is so self-absorbed. It's honestly beyond you how he hasn't floated away into the sun with how inflated his ego's gotten

• It doesn't help that he's regarded as the sole reason for bringing together one of the best bands ever recorded—something that he holds over the entire bands head when he feels like being an asshole

• With that giant persona of his inevitably there comes jealousy. The musician gets unreasonably grumpy if someone, especially you, is ever more excited to see a collaborator over for a recording session instead of him of all people

• "You were just gawking at 'em the entire time like an idiot! Wha', never seen a bloody live recording before?" Murdocs accent clipped his words as his gravely voice spit fire at you one afternoon. You just laughed at his annoyance, not even bothered by his attitude after years of putting up with it

• "Murdoc, it's De La Soul. Of course I'm going to be excited. It's ten times better than waking up to you rummaging around in the fridge with nothing but a thong on."

• "Get fucked you little twat." He barked, stomping off and ending the little spat. You didn't see him the rest of the day, no doubt off brooding in his Winnebago. It didn't bother you. More quiet time to hang out with Noodle for you!

• More than often, the two of you have been recorded in separate interviews talking about the other. Mostly just talking shit

• "So, what's this we've all been hearing about a certain bassist getting in a car accident?" A random reporter asked you one day from over their horn rimmed glasses. 2D, who was currently the only other person besides you that had been able to make it to the questioning, scratched his head absent-mindedly as you cackled in glee

• "Yeah yeah. I ran over Muds with my car one day. Just knocked his sorry ass right over. Pow! He recovered fine, dont worry, but the moment he did, I had to run for my life." You managed to get out through laughter. "Still have no idea how those fucking tabloids got ahold of that story."

• "Wasn't it an accident f'ough? I remember you sayin that." 2D tilted his head with a slight lisp

• You just grinned toothily and said nothing

• "It. It was an accident. Right?" He asked again, this time with more nerves

• The interview was cut off shortly after that

• On the topic of cars, Murdoc's own set of wheels was probably his only pride an joy apart from his bass. And ironically, the van was the bane of the rest of the bands existence

• The amount of times you had to bang on the Winnebago's dented door to tell him to shut up— the smell of cigarettes, sex, and too many air fresheners leaking from the cracks —should be a crime

• And each time without fail, you were always met with a shirtless Murdoc; either inviting you in for his version of a night of fun or just plain flipping you off

• You always found the latter easier to deal with

• Russel has always been the medium for any serious fights you and Murdoc would have. You both fight a lot, sure, but normally over small things like who should run out to get more booze or tune up band equipment. It was only when things got really heated that the drummer would step in

• Nine times out of ten, that just meant he'd pick you up with one arm and place you in a separate room until the two of you could stand to be around each other. It was always you he did that to, too, since the one time he'd tried that on Murdoc, Russel narrowly avoided a black eye and a week's docked pay

• It really was easy to forget that technically Murdoc is your boss. With how much shit he gives out, and vise versa from all of you, it really just felt like he was an annoying roommate. An annoying, rich, and vibrant green roomate

• At the end of the day, though, none of you really hated him. Well, the jury was still out on 2D, but you had a feeling the past few years the singer had been trying to pick himself back up

• Murdoc, however much of a prick he is, is still a key part in the band. Without him, some of the best song you'd all produced would have never happened, and some of your best drinking memories would have never happened. Hell, he even did a pretty good job raising Noodle. With plenty of help from everyone else, of course

• So no matter how many inanimate objects you all chucked at each other's head, at the end of the day you'd never trade him for another bass player

• "You lot getting soft on me now?" He grinned sharply at you, licking the outside of his teeth as you pretended to vomit at the mere thought of being nice to him

• "I'd rather die and be reincarnated as a cockroach." You grimaced dramatically. But the both of you were smiling at each other, breaking up the conversation with playful punches

[avastrasposts]

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice. 

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar. 

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg. 

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf. 

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.” 

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes. 

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.  

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage. 

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat. 

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before. 

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.” 

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.” 

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.” 

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-” 

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist. 

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.” 

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up. 

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.” 

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.” 

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.” 

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging. 

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area. 

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder. 

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull. 

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.” 

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around. 

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar. 

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail. 

“Just hurry up, Daniels.” 

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls. 

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger. 

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. 

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word. 

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.” 

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest. 

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned. 

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.” 

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?” 

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.” 

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.” 

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf. 

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.” 

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.” 

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.” 

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her. 

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again. 

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.” 

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps. 

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them. 

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side. 

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath. 

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command. 

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room. 

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch. 

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her. 

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again. 

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-” 

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room. 

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!” 

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed. 

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled. 

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!” 

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway. 

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.” 

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.  

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan. 

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them. 

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer. 

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.” 

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get. 

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room. 

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily. 

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.” 

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.” 

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?” 

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open. 

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt. 

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.” 

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste. 

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder. 

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.” 

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.” 

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight. 

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her. 

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices. 

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails. 

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-” 

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar. 

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed. 

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.” 

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again. 

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the  waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square. 

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten. 

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead. 

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly. 

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.  

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back. 

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.” 

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason. 

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind. 

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes. 

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette. 

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this. 

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back. 

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…” 

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?” 

[andromedism]

In 2017, I watched “The Gang Tends Bar” as it aired live, and it’s all kind of a blur but I remember three things very clearly:

Sunnyblr was POPPING. To this day, I still see TGTB posts floating around with 10k notes and they are all still so fucking good. My beautiful relics of an absolutely insane time.

Airing A Crickets Tale that very next week is probably one of the most chaotic things that was happening to Tumblr at that time. We were all like, “Mmm, thanks for whatever that was, RCG! So yummy! Now can we have another helping of repressed middle-aged gay men?” and they said, “Okay, sure! Here’s more of that but make it foreboding,” and aired “Dennis’ Double Life” the very next week after THAT.

I didn’t sleep the night TGTB aired. I was a freshman in college and I went to class the next day and just stared at nothing during my lecture because I was so blown away by it. At 18, it was one of the most formative experiences I’ve ever had with television. Raw, emotional moments have always been so much more impactful to me in comedic shows. I still consider it one of the most romantic episodes of any show I’ve ever seen. I’m 25 now, and I have never forgotten the way I felt the first time I saw this episode. My life is entirely different now from February of 2017, but my feelings about TGTB are exactly the same if not intensified.

Bonus Big Feelings:

Once you’ve watched “Dennis’ Double Life,” TGTB reads so differently—it hurts so much more. Because you know how it ends for them and you never get closure. YOU NEVER GET CLOSURE.

Something about Glenn’s hair being outstandingly hot in S12 really brought everything together, that year + heightened the pining. He would do something and we’d all be like “ok work!”

Season 16 is the closest I’ve felt to Season 12 levels of deranged. I think this makes sense since S16, stylistically, reminds me the most of classic Sunny and somehow, also, every macden fic I’ve ever read.

I never had a good reference point for whether other people outside of Sunnyblr read that episode as incredibly queer, or Just Guys Being Dudes, but most of my comms class watched this show, and we were all foaming at the mouth talking about it the next day. Everyone was like, “Oh my god! It’s getting gayer! We won!”

Reflecting on where I was in life when TGTB, and when this most recent season aired, I can’t help but wonder where we’ll all be if they touch noses. Season 24 is our seasons guys.

[growup-thatbeautiful]

bullet proof… i wish i was

Tags: Kid fic, Canon Typical Violence, Ex-husband Tangerine, Ex-Assassin Reader, Getting Back Together, Soft Tangerine, Mutual Pining, Tangerine Bullet Train, Tangerine x Reader, Tangerine x You

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Blood, Violence, Heavy Cursing

Summary: You and Tangerine have been separated for a few years for the sake of your daughter, Jovie, but when trouble comes, there's only one person to turn to.

Word Count: 8k

A/n: if you want to be added to a taglist for this universe, let me know and i will happily oblige! enjoy my tangerine brainrot :))

Bullet Train Masterlist

chapter one: you have turned me into this

Your heels tap against the marble flooring as you make your way through the crowd of guilty people, the chandelier above you casting an ethereal glow over scared faces and expensive clothing. You keep your head down and hope that none of them are looking at your face too closely. The steel countertop of the bar is cool underneath the tips of your fingers when you order a drink and take a careful sip, your eyes flitting around the room for a certain face. Once you have him in your sights, it doesn't take much to convince him to come over and say hello. The way the silk of your dress contours perfectly around your figure can't hurt.

"Hi," you say, your voice floating through clouds and shaking the walls. Or is it just you who's shaking? The man doesn't answer and instead chooses to signal for the bartender, who nods and starts fixing a drink.

"The usual," the man croaks, his voice weak and failing. It makes you want to go home to the family waiting for you, into the arms of someone who loves you. There's a reason that you can't, but you don't remember it. You just know what you have to do now.

“So, angelface, are you going to tell me how you got here? I think I would remember inviting someone like you.” The man doesn’t recognize you, which is good. None of this would work if he knew who you are and what you’re here for.

“I have an invitation,” you lie, glancing around you and shifting your weight. If he’s paying as much attention to your form as he seems to be then he’s going to notice immediately how obvious you’re being.

“Strange, I didn’t take you for a liar.” He runs a greasy hand along the top of your arm and leans in closer to you, a sick smile on his face.

“I didn’t think you were smart enough to notice. Color me impressed, Sir.” You plant a hand on your hip and twirl a finger through your hair, grinning at him like you’re remotely interested in his sad eyes.

“Thanks. Look, hun. You’re way out of your zone here. This isn’t the path for a pretty girl like you.” He brings his hand up to your face, stroking a sweaty hand over your cheek. Like that’s ever calmed you down.

“Oh, sure it is.” you grab his wrist. “There are plenty of pretty girls getting up to no good. And those are only the ones that I know about and the ones you decide are good enough for a second fuck. But there’s a little more to the story this time. See, I’ve always loved my job, but it doesn’t really allow any room for what I need. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard, but I’ve been trying to change that if you would let me. I have a feeling that you’re going to listen to me.” You can feel the bones under his wrist. The way their ancient architecture creaks and groans under strain.

The beautiful snap of his wrist. Pain lit up in his eyes. Surprise written on his face. “Now. You’re never going to underestimate an angry woman or a protective mother again. I recommend you start listening to me closely and looking into my eyes instead of somewhere else.”

You wake up with a sob. Those memories have haunted you since the moment they happened, an error in judgment, an eclipse against the rest of your life. The things you did to protect the little girl sleeping soundly in the room next to you.

It’s half of a memory, not even getting to the worst part of that evening. Or the nights you spent afterward, cradling yourself against the cold spray of the shower and insistently scraping your skin against a washcloth to get the blood off.

It isn’t the violence that haunts you. God knows you’ve seen enough of that to last a lifetime. No, you don’t bat an eye at the blood that was shed that night, that’s never bothered you.

It’s what came afterward. The fighting, the leaving, the tears that you don’t usually shed. You had put your daughter, Jovie, in the backseat and taken her away from one of the two people who loved her to the end of the earth. It’s not like you had a choice, or at least that’s the easier way to think about it. For Jovie’s sake, you had to get out of that life, and you couldn’t have done that any other way.

But the way you hurt Tangerine back then still hurts you every time you think about it. It’s almost unbearable, to know that you’re the reason why he lives alone in a house that was meant to be filled with pictures of you and Jovie that now has impersonal empty white walls.

With a sigh, you throw the sweat-soaked sheets off to the side and walk into the bathroom that’s adjacent to your bedroom. Your hands shake when your turn the sink on you run your sweaty palms underneath the cool water, and you splash some onto your face. From experience, you know you probably won’t get back to sleep anytime soon tonight, so you might as well get some work done. Maybe with the extra time, you can pick up Jovie early from school one day and take her to the ice cream parlor she likes. There’s no better way to spend your time than with her anyway.

You slip some socks onto your feet and make your way across the hardwoods into your kitchen, where your laptop is waiting at the table. Instinctively, you go to the kettle sitting on the stove and start boiling some water, your mind on autopilot. Next, you grab a cup and some sugar, get some milk from the fridge, and try your hardest to calm your heartbeat. The whistling of the kettle is a soothing balm against your racing thoughts.

You don’t know how many times you’ve had the same dream, but usually, you make it further before you wake up. Maybe it’s finally starting to go away, but you doubt it. You’re honestly not sure that it’s something you’ll ever stop terrorizing yourself over.

The kettle’s whistling reaches an insistent point and you carefully pour the tea into the waiting cup. Once it’s cool enough to move, you settle into the kitchen table that’s closest to the window and open your laptop, where emails and research await.

Right when you’ve finally gotten into a good rhythm of your work, a noise from the hallway interrupts your thoughts. The hinges of your front door creak and strain, something you’ve been meaning to fix for a while, but right now you’re happy that you haven’t. Slowly, you reach for the gun that’s sitting behind the plant on the window and load it methodically, glancing over towards Jovie’s room and praying that she’s still asleep. The floorboards creak underneath the person’s feet and you steel yourself for what’s coming, whatever it is.

“Do you ever go anywhere besides your kitchen table, love? Should I be worried about your work addiction?” You see a familiar silhouette against the refrigerator light holding his hands up in the air.

Lowering the gun and putting it off to the side, you say, “Sure. Just let yourself right in. I’m sure Jovie would love to find you here in the middle of the night.”

“Jovie’s still awake?” Tangerine asks hopefully. You roll your eyes against his response, but there’s no actual malice in your actions. It’s endearing, how excited he gets to see her, even when you know he’s been on a mission for at least a week.

“No, she’s asleep, but you can go see her. If you wake her, you’re going to deal with it in the end, though, because she’s supposed to be going over to your house tomorrow anyway,” you warn. You don’t think it sends the right message, though, because he grins and raises his eyebrows at you.

“You still have to deal with her in the morning,” he grins, taking off down the hall. You know better than to try and stop him when he’s trying to go see Jovie, especially when he’s been gone.

He’s never told you, but you know that he misses her when he’s gone, but you imagine that it’s worse than how you miss her. When you’re gone, you know you’ll come back safely most of the time. Sure, what you’re doing for a living is technically illegal, but you’re not in immediate danger as frequently as he is.

So, when he comes over in the middle of the night asking to see Jovie, hardly able to stand with bloodshot eyes, you give him time with her for as long as he needs.

You remember how it used to be, when you were both working. It was hell, trying to balance everything; going on jobs and finding someone to watch Jovie, spending as much time as possible with her when you weren’t on a job, and trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with Tangerine.

At some point, it all just collapsed in on itself. You had to get out of the job, and the only way to do that came with consequences that you’re still facing today.

You don’t think Tangerine can look at you without seeing the person that snuck away in the middle of the night with his daughter. And you can’t blame him one bit, even if he won’t say it to your face. You know if he did that to you, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. Maybe he’s just a better liar than you or a better person. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, sitting at your computer and waiting for Tangerine’s telltale footsteps, but eventually, he comes back and sits down next to you. Silently, without looking up from your laptop, you push your tea across the wooden surface towards him and he accepts it gratefully.

“You still make your tea like shit,” he complains, grimacing at the taste. “It’s like drinking fucking sugar water.”

“Then stop drinking it, Tan,” you sigh, but there’s a fondness that you can’t stop from creeping into your voice. “Just because you like being dark and broody doesn’t mean we all do. Some of us like being happy.”

“I can be perfectly fucking happy without your sugary excuse for caffeine,” Tangerine defends, leaning back into his chair. “Now do you want the information I got you, or not?”

You nod and pull up the folder you’ve been keeping information for your current job in. It’s scarily scarce, and this is one of the hardest assignments you’ve been given in a while. Gathering information on The White Death was hard enough when you could openly travel the world, and now with Jovie, it’s even harder.

Ever since you stopped going on actual jobs where you were part of the physical fight, you’ve been gathering information for the assassins like Tangerine and Lemon before jobs. It comes with perks, like the ability to work from home most of the time, but you can’t deny that you miss the excitement that you used to face almost daily.

For the next hour, Tangerine tells you everything he learned on the job and you carefully take notes. It’s a system you worked out as soon as you realized that the two of you would have to relearn how to coexist with each other for Jovie’s sake. In exchange, you give him everything you have on whatever his next job will entail, because, as scared as he is that he’s not going to come home one day, you’re terrified every time he leaves that he’s going to decide that it isn’t worth it. He’ll realize when he wakes up one morning that he could be anywhere in the world with anyone he wants, and you’re just not worth the effort.

Not that you would ever tell him that. Instead, you keep him through the flimsy excuse of work and information, hoping that, along with Jovie, it’s enough to keep him by your side.

Because you’re unexplainably selfish when it comes to him. Yes, you’re the one who left, but you can’t bear to think about him being happy with someone else.

So, for as long as he lets it continue, you’ll sit at the kitchen table for him in the middle of the night and listen to him talk, his accent lulling you to a sense of false domesticity that will shatter when he gets up to go home.

Tomorrow morning, Jovie will wake up and tell you all about how Tangerine visited her in the middle of the night, and he’ll be gone again, back to his own home where you thought you would raise Jovie with him.

But that’s something to worry about tomorrow. For now, you can sit here and take notes with an excuse to stare at Tangerine while he talks.

And what a sight he is, with his hair falling in front of his eyes, his blue-grey eyes shining in the lowlight of the moon shining through the window. His ringed fingers are drumming against the table as he talks, blood underneath his nails. Before he came in, he must have taken his suit jacket off, because he’s left in a blue pinstriped vest and a white undershirt, both speckled with blood. It outlines the broad expanse of his shoulders and the chain around his neck glints in and out of your sight.

“Do you want to spend the night?” you interrupt, shutting your laptop. Upon seeing the confused look on his face, you start rambling. “I know you probably want to get home- you’ve been gone a while- but it’s late and I’m sure Jovie would love to have you here in the morning. That way you don’t have to come get her later.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he agrees. “And I really don’t want to drive even more tonight, so I might take you up on the offer.”

“Okay,” you say, hiding a smile behind your hand. “You can shower in the guest room, I’ll get sheets on the bed.”

“Don’t go to the trouble, love. I’ll be happy with whatever.” You shake your head and get up, heading for the closet where you keep extra bedding. When you hand a pair of clean, white sheets with red polka dots, he takes them from you with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You lead him to the guest room, flipping light switches on and making sure the bathroom is adequately stocked. “I’ll be right back,” you say, heading to your room and rifling through one of your drawers until you come up with a maroon t-shirt that’s been in the back of your drawer for ages. It’s worn and faded, with holes in the collar and a white stain on the hem. You don’t know if Tangerine has even noticed that you’ve had it all this time, but you haven’t been able to convince yourself to give it back.

Back in the guest room, you hand him the t-shirt and he silently hands you his suit vest and collared shirt, which you take into the laundry room and spray with something to get the stains out. It’s a routine that you two perfected a long time ago, before things were so messed up, so it’s nice to see how some things still stay the same. The sound of the shower starting lets you know that he’ll be out in a few minutes, and a familiar sense of dread fills you. What happens now? Do you tell him goodnight and wait to deal with it in the morning or are you supposed to sit up with him and exchange polite conversation that will only hurt you in the end.

It ends up being neither. You’re sitting back at the kitchen table, pretending to look at your computer, when he shuffles down the hall, wearing boxers and the t-shirt.

“Is this mine?” he asks, gesturing at his shirt. “I’ve been fucking looking for this.” You know he hasn’t because he never liked this shirt, but your ears burn red at the accusation, however well meaning.

“It might be,” you deflect. “Do you need any food?” Tangerine moves to sit across from you at the table. His hair away from his face when he leans back and closes his eyes. He doesn’t look convinced at your defense, but he lets it slide with raised eyebrows.

“No, I stole some crisps on the way home.” You’re not surprised.

“You have a talent, Tan,” you tease lightly, shutting your computer. “You need to teach Jovie one of these days.”

“She can do better than petty thieving, have higher hopes for our girl.” Our girl rings through your mind. You doubt he even knows the impact of what he says, like he usually doesn’t.

You don’t really know what to say, so, “I’m sure she’s got your knack for finding something worthwhile to do,” is what you end up replying.

“A man can dream,” Tangerine sighs. You realize how late it is and how tired he must be, which you can see by the darkness underneath his eyes.

“As much as I would love sitting up with you, I think it might be a proper time to go to bed,” you admit softly. He looks at you with a strange look in his eye and nods slowly, matching your actions when you stand up.

“Goodnight, Tangerine.” You’re standing across from him, unable to cross the distance between the two of you, both physical and mental. It would be so easy, so instinctive, to fold yourself into his arms like you used to all those years ago. It’s alarming how deep the desire to do it runs through you, and you chalk it up to the nightmare that you and earlier.

“Goodnight, love. I’ll see you in the morning.” Those words, from him, are achingly distant to what they used to mean, but they fill the crack in your heart with a blooming flower of some unnamed emotion.

It stays with you when you crawl into bed and it has you looking forward to the morning, whatever it brings.

*

The sound of singing wakes you up much more gently than the nightmare did. It’s loud and boisterous and completely off-key, and you recognize it immediately, just like you would recognize anything about him.

You force yourself out of the warmth of your bed and throw on the first clothes that you find, a pair of black leggings and a deep green sweater with countless holes. A look in the mirror tells you that the bags under your eyes reflect the late hours of last night, but you don’t feel like doing anything about it right now. It can’t be worse than the other states of disarray Tangerine has seen you in before.

The bedroom door closes shut quietly behind you as you walk down the hall, and the sight that you’re met with is both concerning and heartwarming.

Standing at the stove in his now spotless suit from last night is Tangerine, his hair in its usual slick back style. Your kitchen is a mess, with flour all over the cabinets and countertops and a towel is thrown over his shoulder. He’s bent over the stove, watching a pan intently as smoke rises to the ceiling.

Jovie is sitting at the kitchen table watching, her brown curls a messy hall around her head. It’s the same as her father’s, something that he takes great pride in. She has your eyes, but hers are full of hope.

You make your way over to where Tangerine is standing and lean against the counter across from him, watching with amusement as he fiddles with your burner. “Bastard,” he mutters under his breath, trying again to light the stove. “Fucking bastard.”

“Let me help you,” you laugh, sidling up next to him and pushing the knob in before turning it. “It gets stuck sometimes, you just have to force it a tad.”

“S’that right? Well, someone’s going to have to fix that. I wouldn’t want the world deprived of your cooking,” he deadpans, a glint in his eye.

“Fuck off,” you say under your breath, glancing at Jovie to see her utterly occupied with the spoon and bowl. “I haven’t poisoned anyone yet with my cooking.”

“That was on purpose,” he defends easily. “And I don’t think they’re quite the brag you think it is, love. Jovie-“

“-come on, don’t bring the poor girl into this-“

“-how do you think your mom’s cooking is?” His grin is wide and dagger-sharp as he looks at Jovie, who’s staring wide-eyed and helpless at the wills of Tangerine’s smile.

“Mommy makes dinner all the time,” she says, looking at you.

“Thank you, baby,” you sing, smiling at her and sticking your tongue out at Tangerine. He frowns at your childish display and turns his attention to Jovie with soft eyes.

“I beg your pardon, Jovie, but why don’t you tell Mommy the truth?”

You sigh, having accepted your dare a long time ago as someone who’s talents lau outside of the kitchen. “Go ahead.”

“Sometimes your food tastes yucky,” Jovie says slowly, her head tilted to the side as she waits for your reaction.

“Well, I’m trying my best,” you defend, but you don’t take any of it personally. You’re happy, at least, that Jovie’s being honest with you, which is more than a lot of parents can say. This day was bound to come.

“I’m sure you are,” grins Tangerine, giving Jovie a cheesy thumbs up before returning to his cooking. “That’s why I’m going to handle breakfast this morning.”

And he does, without complaint, grinning and cracking jokes the whole time. It feels like he belongs here, sandwiched in your tiny kitchen with Jovie sitting at the table and laughing.

He brings two plates full of various breakfast items and a bowl for Jovie with grilled tomatoes, her favorite. You eat in comfortable silence, filled occasionally by Jovie’s chatter.

“Can I have that?” Tangerine asks, looking hopefully at you. He’s pointing towards your tomato, which you really had planned on eating, but you give in to his pleading eyes.

“So now you’re a gentleman?” you tease, shoveling your food onto his plate.

“Love, I’m always a gentleman.” He takes your food happily and shares with Jovie, talking with her about school and her friends while bringing you into the conversation.

It’s so easy to forget, in moments like these, why you ever left, but things can come crashing down when Tangerine has to leave.

“We should be off,” he admits softly. “I wouldn’t want to take up more of your time.”

“Okay,” you agree, but your smile feels wrong and tight. You want so badly to tell him that you’d rather be here than anywhere else as long as he’s here. “Jovie, baby, are you ready to go to Daddy’s house?”

“I need Murphy to come with me,” Jovie says, and you smile at her before going to her room to grab her favorite stuffed bear. It’s something that Tangerine got her on one of his trips, this time to New York. The stuffed bear is wearing a red guard’s uniform and a top hat, affectionately missing one shoe with faded colors. It’s laying on her bed, shoved beneath her pillows and blankets, and you double check the rest of her room to make sure that there’s nothing else she’ll need.

“Here’s Murphy.” You hand her the bear and Jovie accepts it happily with a hug and a pat on the head. She gives you a hug and a messy kiss on the cheek before going over to stand with Tangerine.

“Jovie-love,” Tangerine says, calling your daughter by his favorite endearment, “Say another goodbye to your mom, you’ll see her again in a few days.” Jovie nods obediently and looks at you again.

“Bye-bye, Mommy.”

“Bye, Jovie. I’ll see you soon, Tan.” Tangerine nods his goodbye to you before taking Jovie’s hand in his own and leading her down the hall and out the front door. You see them out the window as Tangerine buckles Jovie’s seatbelt and taps her on the nose with a soft smile.

You watch his car drive away until you can’t see it anymore.

Days without Jovie go by uneventfully, with not much distinction between the hours, and the next few are no exception.

But now, you have more than Jovie to look forward to. You have Tangerine too, however short your interaction may be. Because he’s always been a bright spot for you, even when you don’t get to bask in his sunlight every day. You’ll take whatever you can get, however small, because anything is more than you deserve.

Especially because you’re the one who ruined all of it in the first place.

*

After a long day of interviews and field work, you just want to go home. Jovie’s with her babysitter Mary because Tangerine had to take care of something with Lemon, which is an unfortunately common occurrence.

The drive home is painful and irritating, and it seems like everything is trying to push you over the edge. You have to keep reminding yourself that Jovie is waiting for you at home; sweet, loving Jovie whose face lights up when she sees you walk into a room. She’s back at your flat now, from when Tangerine dropped her off earlier today, which is good, because you don’t know what you would do if she wasn’t there. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to have much of a conversation with him because everything had been rushed.

Finally, finally you make it to your flat, where you can’t seem to find a parking spot quick enough to satisfy your desire to be finished with today.

When you walk through the door, you’re met with a silence that puts you on edge. There’s no blaring kids television program or the sound of Jovie playing with her toys, or even the soft lull of Mary reading her to sleep.

“Jovie? Baby?” You walk faster through the apartment, paranoia taking over. When you turn the corner, a gasp lodges itself in your throat and your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

It’s a cinematic scene. Your big-eyed Jovie, standing, covered in blood. The homey glow of the broken lamps cast shadows across the mangled corpse in front of her. Jovie isn’t moving, simply standing there, red spreading across her truck pajama pants.

“Jovie, honey, come here.”

“You always say not to get my pajamas messy.”

“I know, love, but this is more important right now. It’s okay, I understand.” You hold out your arms, knees on the ground, soaking in the pool of blood. “Please, baby, just walk towards me and everything will be okay.” She dutifully takes a step, walking straight into the mass of blood.

“Shit, Jovie, stay there, I’m coming to get you.” The blood is warm against your feet as you pass through it. She looks at you with her big eyes and you feel the tears threatening to overflow. You don’t have time for this now; you can always cry about it later in the shower.

“You said a bad word. Daddy says bad words sometimes when he thinks I’m not there.” Despite wariness, Jovie climbs into the waiting arms, holding on. She leaves ripples in the growing mass of blood when she walks.

“Yeah, that sounds just like him. How about we go into the kitchen-“

“For juice pops?” interrupts Jovie, oblivious to the violence around her. You wish that you feel surprised at the continued glimpses of the fight. A broken plate on the floor, a red smear on the white cabinets, and a drawer pulled out of the island.

“For juice pops,” you confirm, opening the freezer for an, ironically, red popsicle. “What color do you want?”

“Blue,” she says decidedly. You grab one of the first ones you see and unwrap it with your teeth, handing it to her. She takes it happily and you push her up higher onto your hip.

“How about we call daddy? I think he can help us.” The thing is, you know how to deal with this on your own. You’ve talked about it with Tan more times than you can count, but this is so much harder than planning for it. “Can you go grab your backpack from the closet? Mommy’s going to go get her own bag and we’ll call him from the car.”

She mumbles okay as you put her down and she heads dutifully down the hall to her room. You would rather be close to her, but time is essential at the moment. The only thing running through your mind is getting Jovie somewhere safe, no matter how you do it.

You rush down the hall and grab the gray duffel bag from the corner of your closet. Quickly, you go through the contents and make sure that you have everything you might need. Yours and Jovie’s passports, some first aid materials, a few extra weapons, and a change of clothes are the main items that you have to make sure are in the bag.

Once you’ve double-checked everything, you throw the duffel onto the bed and grab the extra bullets that you keep in your top drawer, shoving them into your back pocket along with the small gun that you keep in the bathroom.

“Jovie, honey, are you ready to go?” you call, waiting for a reply. She yells a muffled response back at you, which you take as an okay. You don’t really have enough time to contemplate it anyway.

As fast as you can, you scoop up Jovie’s bag from her arms and grab one of her hands in yours. She’s clutching Murphy close to her chest, the bear squished tightly against her. The hallway seems to be clear when you check it for any threats, and, thankfully, Jovie stays silent until she’s safely buckled into her seat. Part of you hopes that she can tell how serious the situation is, how dire it is that you make it to somewhere safer.

The slam of the car door rings in your ears as you pull out of the carpark, as does the heavy sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mommy? Is Mary dead?” asks Jovie, staring at you from the backseat with eyes just like yours. You grip the steering wheel tighter between your fingers and let out a slow exhale.

“Yeah, baby. Mary’s dead.” You don’t know what else to say, so you let silence fill the car. After you’re far enough away, you pull the car to the side of the road and turn the lights off. To anyone passing by, they won’t see you unless they’re looking.

“What are we doing here?” Jovie’s voice is high-pitched and scared, and you brace yourself for the feeling of tears pricking your eyes. When Jovie cries, usually you’re able to be the calm one, but you don’t know if you can be that person right now.

“We’re just resting for a minute.” The words are hard to get out and you lean forward against the steering wheel, taking a breath with your head in your hands.

“Because it’s dark out?” Any other time, you would happily answer all of Jovie’s questions and more, but you need to think right now. But you also don’t think that it’s a good idea to shift Jovie’s mind to anything that could lead to her thinking more about what happened.

“Jovie, honey, do you think you can let me call Daddy? We need to make sure that it’s okay for us to go over to his house.” Jovie nods and looks out the window quietly, tracing the passing houses with her finger.

You pull up your phone and select Tangerine’s name from the top of your contacts, but you don’t connect it to the car speaker. Jovie’s been through enough. While you wait, you pull back onto the road and start heading in the direction of Tangerine’s house.

It feels like the dial tone rings forever while you wait for him to answer. It goes to voicemail and you bang your hand against the steering wheel, biting back a curse and some tears. The beep for a voicemail sounds and you start talking before you can consider anything else. “Tan, we’re heading to your flat now. There’s-there’s a problem. I have Jovie with me now, just- please be home. Please fucking be home, I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Tangerine, and I don’t know how Jovie’s going to cope with this. I came home and there was blood on the floor, and Mary was on the floor. I don’t think we can go back there for a while, maybe ever. I have some things with me, and I have my gun, but I- I don’t think it’s safe still. Just, please answer me whenever you get this. Please, Tan.” You end the call and throw your phone to the side, running a hand through your hair.

When you look back at Jovie through the rear view mirror, she’s fast asleep, her head tucked against the top of her car seat. Your heart melts at the state of her. The curls on her head are rowdy and unruly, and you realize now that she’s still in her pajamas. The blue truck patterned pants are stained at the ankles with deep blood, and you have to fight not to pull over again and clean her up.

From its spot in the passenger seat, your phone rings loudly, and you reach across for it with one hand on the steering wheel. “Hello?”

“Love, are you almost here? I fucking swear, I’m about to drive to you myself. How is Jovie doing?” The tension and the anger in his voice somehow make yours melt away a little. It feels like you can breathe, knowing that he’s there waiting for you.

“I’m five minutes away. And Jovie’s asleep right now.”

“Fuck,” he swears. “Mary’s dead?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that. She doesn’t have any family, and as far as I know Jovie was the only one she sat for, so that’s ideal I guess.” It’s easier like this, to remember how you’re supposed to respond in situations like this. He’s always made things so much easier for you; your focus pinpoints on Jovie’s safety with the help from his voice.

“I’ll get someone to go over there and clean up. I’ll have things ready for you and Jovie when you get here.”

“Okay,” you agree quietly. “We’re pulling into your neighborhood now.” Like clockwork, Jovie's head snaps up when you pull into Tangerine’s driveway. You’ve never made it to his house without her waking up at the very last moment. It’s endearing on good days and frustrating on the rest, but now you’re just happy that she’s still with her normal routine.

The car rolls to a stop in front of the house and you park the car before stepping out and unbuckling Jovie. Both of the bags are carried in your arms, along with Jovie’s little hand in your own. You stop on the edge of the driveway, looking at Tangerine. You honestly don’t know what to do now that you’re standing in front of him, yearning for the safety of his arms but not knowing if you’re allowed.

“Come here,” Tangerine says. You don’t move. There’s an edge to his voice that you haven’t heard before. Something consequential. Something desperate. “Please.” He says it so quietly and with such little conviction. Like he knows you’ll say no.

Jovie goes first. And you have no choice but to follow her little footsteps until your in his arms. Once you’re there, you can’t remember why you ever wanted to be anywhere else. Slowly, like he’s going to let go at any moment, you wrap your arm around him and clutch the back of his suit in your hand, pulling yourself into him.

He’s so warm and solid against you, his suit jacket soft and welcome against your cheek. It makes you think of how things used to be, when you could come home together to this very house and let yourself bask in his presence.

Those days are gone, but the ghost of them remains in this depraved picture of a family hug: Josie’s blood splattered feet, your shaking hands and blood-dyed shirt, Tangerine’s immaculate suit and slick back hair.

Eventually, you have to let go and walk inside, dropping your bags off at the front door and crowding Jovie into the living room. Tangerine tells you that you should go wash up, and dimly, you agree, walking absentmindedly to the bathroom and stripping down.

It’s not until the warm spray of the water is hitting you that you realize you’re in his bathroom, the one that you used to share when Jovie was a baby.

Instinct had taken over and sent you right back to the past, when you were Tangerine's wife and Jovie’s mother at the same time. Strange, how different things are now.

Now, you’re washing blood off, which isn’t necessarily new, but you’re alone and thinking about the similar blood that covers your beautiful Jovie.

*

You’re wearing his shirt when you walk out. It used to be your favorite one, worn thin and soft from use, light blue fabric falling to your thighs. You always forget just how tall he is until you’re forced, in moments like this, to remember.

“Jovie’s asleep. I didn’t put her in her room because of the windows, so she’s in the room next door on the couch. Lemon’s on his way over,” Tangerine explains softly, coming over to hand you a towel for your hair, an old habit that neither of you even acknowledges.

“Thanks,” you reply just as quietly like somehow you’ll wake Jovie up from here. “Is she okay? Did you wash her feet off?” It almost seems trivial, to be asking if your daughter didn't go to sleep with blood-covered feet, but it matters to you.

“Yeah, love, I did. Are- are you okay?”

You let out a laugh that sounds too much like a sob and sit on the corner of the bed. “I came home to find our daughter surrounded by blood, which we have a plan for, a plan that I didn’t follow.”

“You made a judgment call. There’s nothing wrong with that, we have to do it all the time,” he comforts. Before you can reply with more negativity, he comes over and puts his hands on your shoulders, cupping your neck. Carefully, he tilts your head up to look him in the eyes. He’s towering over your sitting figure, but it’s far from intimidating. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in his presence, in his comfort.

He’s always been a source of comfort for you, even when you’re not with him. He’s a safety net to fall into during times like these, and you’re falling hard.

“I think it’s my fault,” you whisper, shutting your eyes. “I should have been there sooner. She’s going to have nightmares now. Tan, what if I’ve fucked her up? This is why I stopped, and now it doesn’t matter, she’s going to have these memories of blood and pain and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

He waits patiently for you to finish before shaking his head against your thoughts. “We knew something like this could happen. It’s as much my fault as it is yours, if it’s your fault at all, You’ve tried your best to protect her from this as long as she’s been alive.”

“I could have done more.”

“So could I, but we didn’t. However,” he continues, “Jovie’s okay. She’s safe now. You know that, right? M’not going to let anything happen to the two of you.”

“Thanks, Tan,” you whisper. There are so many more things you want to say, so much more negativity flying through your head, but it’s easier to let him take a little bit of the burden, like you know he wants to.

“Of course, love. We’ll figure this out together.” Slowly, he kneels down on the floor in front of you so you’re at the same height, bringing your heads together. You close your eyes and get lost in the feel of his hands against you, his breath against your own, his presence all around you. A part of you in the back of your mind reminds you that this could be your normal.

You pull apart and Tangerine wipes the tear from your eye with his thumb, so gentle. “Who did this to you?” There’s an edge to Tangerine’s voice that you’ve never wanted to hear aimed at you. But you don’t think it’s you that he’s mad at.

“It could have been a lot of people,” you start.

“You fucking know who it was. Tell me.” He’s losing patience now, wanting to help in the way he knows how. There’s no way for him to know the way that he’s already helping by being with you. His presence is a comfort, a safety that you can’t get if he’s out there looking for someone.

“Probably White Death’s guys,” you admit, thinking back. You’ve been careful, but there are always people who will talk. “They’ll do whatever to keep their names out of people’s mouths.”

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hands on his hips. The dying light from the hallway casts shadows against his silhouette, the shiny silver signet ring on his pinky and the warm metal against his chest glinting along the hardwoods. “Why would they leave Jovie alive?” It’s a stupid question, one that both of you already know the answer to anyway, but you know why he’s asking. Sometimes it’s easier for other people to say the hard things. It’s not like you’re upset about Jovie being alive, you’re so utterly grateful, but it can’t be for no reason.

“Because they know who Jovie is. They want to scare us because there planning for something worse, something we aren’t expecting.”

“Mommy? Daddy? I’m scared,” Jovie calls from the other room. “There are monsters underneath the bed.” It’s something she’s been scared of for as long as you can remember, but you can’t help the spike of fear that courses through you. You’re not alone though, because Tangerine looks at you with the same panic in his eyes.

“We’re coming, love,” he replies, and you follow him through the door. Jovie’s sitting up in the bed, surrounded by blankets that build up around her and holding her stuffed bear close to her chest.

“Do you know which monster it is this time?” you ask softly, crawling next to her. Dutifully, Tangerine checks under the bed carefully and gives an exaggerated thumbs up that makes Jovie’s giggle beside you.

“It’s Lenny,” she whispers into your ear, and you nod solemnly at her.

“That’s a serious monster problem. Do you think Daddy’s going to have to move out of his house?” For as long as she’s been scared of the monsters under her bed, you and Tangerine have tried to twist it into something better. That’s when you started asking her what the monsters’ names are and what she thinks they're doing under her bed. Usually, you’re able to get her to a point of calm and, on the rare occasion, to a point where she’s no longer afraid of a certain monster. So far, you and Tangerine have been able to convince her that the monsters Polly and Patrick are protecting her, but Lenny has been a challenge since the beginning.

“I will not be moving, ladies. I don’t think Lenny’s here tonight, Jovie-love. And if he is, tell him to piss off because I’m too tired to fight a monster.” For emphasis, he plops face first down on the bed and starts snoring loudly.

“Tan, language,” you chastise lightly, sending a half-hearted glare in his direction. It’s a fruitless task, which you learned a long time ago, but you won’t stop trying, more for your own sanity than for Jovie’s sake.

“Yeah, Daddy, language,” Jovie mimics, crossing her arms over her chest. You laugh and nudge Tangerine, who looks less than thrilled.

“Right, you two are a pair,” he groans into his hands, peeking through to wiggle his eyes at Jovie. “But I think it’s time for my ladies to go to sleep.”

“Thank you for saving me,” Jovie adds sweetly, snuggling further underneath the blanket. Your heart melts at the way she holds her teddy close to her chest. “Will you always come for me?”

“Jovie, baby, there could be dragons and mountains and oceans between us and we would still find a way to you, okay? Daddy and I will never stop looking for you if you’re away from us. Never. Do you understand?” You run a hand over her hair and tuck a stray strand behind her ear.

At that, Jovie opens her eyes and looks at you, blinking slowly.“But you and Daddy don’t love each other.”

“Oh, baby,” you sigh. You can’t look at Tangerine next to you, you can’t bear to see the look on his face. “I’ll always love your dad. I love that he’s the person I get to raise you with. I love that he’s there when I need him. We just…weren't able to love each other together. It’s like that sometimes.” You wish it weren’t, but that’s not a fight that you want to have again.

“Jovie-love, your mom and I have loved each other since before you were born, but it’s easier for us to love each other from separate places,” Tangerine adds, smoothing the side of Jovie’s face. His words ring a painful truth that you’ve known for years.

“But we’ll always come together to be with you, baby. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Promise?” she asks, holding up her pinky. You smile and take it in your own, and Tangerime dutifully does the same.

“Promise,” you echo, holding onto her hand. She nods her acceptance and you let go, as does Tangerine. “Now, it’s time for bed. We’ll be here in the morning, so you just come and wake us up, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy. You’re both going to be here?”

“Yeah, love. We’re having a little sleepover for tonight until your mom’s house is better. Does that sound fun?” Tangerine asks, tucking Jovie further into the blankets and glancing over at you.

“Yes,” Jovie agrees sleepily, snuggling further into her blankets. “Sounds fun.”

“Good,” you smile. “Goodnight, Jovie.” With that, you slowly make your way out of the room, Tangerine on your heels.

Once you’re out of the room and back into his bedroom, you sit down on his bed and he sits next to you, shoulders against each other. “You can sleep in here, I’ll sleep in the living room,” he offers.

You shake your head and respond, “No, I couldn’t do that. It’s your house, Tan.” And you don’t want to slip in the bed you used to share without him,

“It’s alright, love, really. I don’t use that couch enough.”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch in your own house,” you argue back. “It’s rude.”

“Look, you’ve been through a lot today. I’m not going to make it worse by giving you a sore neck and back tomorrow. I know you well enough to know that it would happen, so don’t pull any shot with me,” he warns, and you don’t have a lot of defense against that.

“Fine, I’ll sleep in here, but I’m absolutely not going to have you sleep on the couch. We’re both adults here, we can share a fucking bed for one night.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “If that’s what it takes.”

There’s space in between you when you lay down, but he’s closer than he’s been in a long time.

[ashsimpsalot]

thank you for doing god's work and blessing us with wonderful monkey man fics 🫡

if youre taking requests, id like to make one with a blackwidow!reader, she's undercover at the hotel as well and was confused when someone made an attempt at rana singh then tracks kid down and even helps him train. they go through the fight together and after that they start a new life in the end 🫶

sorry if its too specific, feel free to make any changes however you like and tysm in advance if you decide to do this 🩷✨️

The lack of kid x reader content is killing me. I'm glad you liked my fics though, thank you for reading! THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVER ERM

I've never written action before, hopefully I do this fic justice. Im sorry if it just seem like I'm yapping😭

Hands Up (Kid X Blackwidow!Reader)

Holy Fuck!

You've been undercover in India for almost 2 months and you didn't even know autos could drift like that!

You're hot on their trail, abusing the throttle to its limit.

Whoever this guy is, he's either extremely ballsy, or extremely stupid to go after Rana Singh like that.

The helmet didn't help with the shooting sounds at all, you couldn't take it anymore, drifting away and avoiding to be near but near enough that you could see where the guy was going. Your already ringing ears would go deaf if you trailed them any closer.

Shit he went into an alleyway.

Your eyes trailed around the road.

Bingo

Another alley that links to his spot.

Maybe it took you 5 minutes extra but once you got there, the auto was already flipped onto its side, empty. The policemen were chasing someone who's running on foot.

Running on the fucking roof!

Limping.

You twisted the throttle of the motorbike to chase after him but he ended up falling onto the road after an officer shot his leg

You hit the brakes. Tires screeching loud at how sudden the brake was. Stopping the bike right in front of him.

"get the fuck on! Hurry!"

He looked confused but decided to question it later and hopped on.

You zoomed away from the place, going into an alley an coming out the other, making sure no one sees where you guys were headed.

His grip on your waist loosens.

Oh no he's losing blood.

"man don't pass out on me yet!" you yelled, making sure he heard but his answer was mumbling and gibberish. Before he could limp off of the bike, you reached back and placed one hand on his back.

You sighed and accepted your fate, your arms going to hurt from the weird position but at least he won't fall off.

You zoomed right to the temple, dragging this tall building of a man in with you all by yourself.

You called on Alpha, she almost chuckle at how you struggle to bring the man in.

"I told you, child, if you need help, ask for it," she said like a mother nagging her child while helping you steady the man.

"I am asking for help, help this guy," you reply mumbling like a teenager after being scolded, she let's out a huff and guided the man onto the makeshift bed.

"wait outside, take care of your own wounds, hm? There's food in the kitchen, eat up," she said softly then closes the curtain.

A pang in your heart, she's like a mother to all these people here and to you too. You didn't expect to step foot on the motherland and gain an actual mother figure.

When you hear the man screaming in agony you knew exactly what she was doing as you yourself was on that makeshift bed a month ago.

You chuckled and went to the kitchen.

After indulging in a plate of naan and a cup of coffee, you sighed and lean against the chair, closing your eyes, floating in a food coma. finally taking the well needed rest you've been procrastinating.

That is until a soft pinch on your shoulder startle you.

"I told you to tend to your wounds first, child," Alpha scolded, dragging a chair in front of you with the small medical box in her hands.

25 years of training, nothing could get past you.... except for Alpha. For some reason she has a way to sneak up on you.

You gave a silly smile, letting her tend to your light wounds. "I was hungry," she hummed dismissively.

"the man is alright, he'll need a few hours before he regain consciousness. Who is he?" she asked, eyes still pinned onto the cut on your arm.

"he tried to go after Rana Singh, all by himself, in Queenie's hotel with a small gun. I think he could've succeeded but not sure what made him miss the shot," you said simply.

"why did you help him?"

"he's stupid but I saw how he fought, he's got potential,"

Alpha hums and packs the medical box. "and maybe because he has a pretty face," you joked while grinning at her. She chuckled and shook her head and stood up.

"your bed roll is still unused," she said, some guilt creeps up on you. You left, after staying with them for a month, to go after Queenie.

"thank you,"

You went to take a little nap.

When you open your eyes again, you heard chaotic voices of confusion. The guy had woken up.

"hey, clam down,"

"you? You're... The chef?" he's more confused than ever. You nodded. "look, you're still recovering, take it easy and sit down. I'll explain everything."

He seemed reluctant but sat down on the nearest branch anyway.

"who..are you?" he asked, eyes pinning on his fidgetung hands.

You started with your name and he nodded. Taking a few seconds, wondering where to start.

"I'm a blackwidow, well, was a Blackwidow, after the fall of the red room most widows just work with each other trying to free others who were injected with mind controlling serum."

Blackwidow? His mind flashed to pictures of the only famous widow, Natasha Romanoff, the fucking avenger? He looked confused but try to take in what you said.

"but I didn't do that. I came for revenge."

"revenge? On whom?" he looked up at you, you knew that look in his eyes, you see them in your own everyday, the thirst for revenge, sunk in a sea of violence.

"They ship kids, the red room, they take us in very very young." you started with a heavy voice, you've told this story multiple times but fuck, knowing you're so near to where it happened is just too much.

"and where do you get kids, untraced, unwanted, unregistered kids?" your eyes lifted to look at him, as if quizzing him. He shook his head as a sign that he never thought about that.

"human trafficking rings, prostitution rings and Queenie just happen to have the biggest rings in whole of fucking Asia,"

He furrowed his eyebrows. He's known a fair share of prostitute, most of them keep their kids, at least his mother kept him, but his mother did left to live somewhere else.

"Queenie has a reportation to uphold, she can't have legal cases against her, she can't have her girls die from multiple abortion, the kids will just be threads someone could pull and find out the truth so she cuts em. Take all the kids and ship them for the red room. She got a ton of money for that too,"

He looked horrified, he didn't even know that was a thing people fucking do.

"I want to put a stop to this, maybe there red room is gone but she's still doing something with those kids,"

He looked up at you and nodded, he understood.

"what about you? Going after Rana Singh by yourself like that, in his own slice of heaven,"

He sighed then stared off into the distance, he's eyeing the kids who were giggling and chasing each other in the middle of the temple.

A sense of innocence both of you lost a long time ago.

"he killed my mother," you sucked in a quick breath. Mother, you're both avenging your mothers then. Though he's avenging a woman he knew and you don't event know the name of yours.

"then we better get ready. I saw you, when you were fighting. You fight a lot?"

"at the ring. For money" you nodded, you know of the tiger temple, an excuse to gamble, honestly.

"I realise you let your left hand go idle for too long, we'll work on that," you simply said and stood up.

"though for now, you should rest, I'm going for a shower, Alpha will bag my ears off if she realise I took a nap before showering."

You offered him a smile, half joking.

The next few weeks are dedicated to teaching him, reminding him not to neglect his left hand. Another habit you see is that he sucks in and hold his breath in while throwing a punch, leaving his breathing a little erratic after a long fight.

"there you go, Kid!" you yelled with a smile after he basically torn the makeshift punching bag.

He walked towards you. "was that good?"

You nodded though a silly smile creeped on your lips. "yeah, had the whole temple screaming, I bet it was because your lack of clothing," you teased. Kid smiled, a genuine smile, and thanked you.

One night he went missing, two nights before diwali, a bag of money was hung on one of the branches with a note with his writing on it.

You went to find him and when you did he looked apologetic.

"I told you, we're doing this together," you said, hitting him with a slap on his stupid face. He turned back to look at you. "I'm sorry I... I had to fight in that ring alone."

His voice soft but fuck, his lips looks softer, maybe he saw that desire in your eyes because he had them in his own. He pulled your arms softly, leaning down to kiss you on your lips.

"we stick together, that's the plan," you breathed softly after he pulled away. Kid, being himself, didn't say anything and nodded.

He didn't think he could've kept that promise but he did.

The night of diwali, you dragged him out of the burning hotel, he had passed out after killing Baba Shakti.

He woke up to the same scene he did almost 2 months ago but this time with familiar faces and a heavier feel in his chest, relief. Relief that he's alive, that's new for him.

"you're awake," you said. He looked dreamy, that's also new.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you asked, worried if he had lost too much blood or hit his head too hard somewhere. Your hands carefully trace his face, head even body to inspect if Alpha had missed a wound somewhere.

He shook his head, toon your wandering hands in his and smiled.

Fuck, he's finally home.

With the woman he loves, a sanctuary that might need fixing but filled with pure love, a worried woman that plays a role his mother played years ago.

He had a reason to live.

"I love you," Kid whispered, he trued to think of the last time he's said that but no memory came up.

Your eyes soften and that day he fell deeper.

"I love you too"

A few years later he'd tell the kids that laid on his chest, with his hair and your eyes, a smile on his face, proudly tracing the memory of how the wild monkey finally find his peace with a spider.

The little girl laughed. "amma'a a spider!" she would repeat that again and again as if that's the funniest thing her appa ever said, her brother chasing after her, suddenly it's a game of tag.

"don't run!" Alpha would scold after the two almost bumping into her, scared that she'll accidentally spill the drink she's taken for herself.

Kid laughed.

His life is perfect.

It's perfect.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy28th! Here are all the fics I read and loved this month. I’m probably not saying it enough but all you talented authors in this fandom deserve all the love ♥

Train Tracks and Porcelain | jaerie | [42k] At the first hint of light, Louis was slowly brought back to consciousness by the growing swell of activity around him. It started in the distance with loud clanks and clatters and rose with the hollers of men and thudding of boots against the solid earth. He listened as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to place any sounds he was familiar with. It took him too long to remember that he wasn’t back in his rented room. The energy was what floated to him next, a buzz that made him peek through the leaves to see what was going on. The next moments happened in the strange slow motion of dawn. Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) | lululawrence | [83k] The summer before Louis and Gemma's senior year of college was supposed to be their last big hurrah before they graduate college and become Real Adults in the workforce. They had it all planned and it was going to be filled with mornings skateboarding, afternoons at the pool, and evenings hanging out with as many of the neighborhood kids they grew up with as they can. Of course, Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again. As the summer goes on, the adventures and day to day happenings allow Harry and Louis to spend a lot more time together than either of them ever anticipated and Louis finds it more difficult to keep his growing feelings in check than he ever thought it would be. After all, there wasn't a chance that Harry would ever be interested in Louis... right?

waving to the hard times | beardyboyzx | [80k] “When you took power, you promised the people equality, freedom from any form of discrimination, and the peace we were severely lacking. Today, once again, you're proving yourself to be a fake, a clown who rose to power just to think about himself.” Louis turns to look at the General once again and finds himself staring at the way his face seems scrunched up in pure and unadulterated rage. “But we — the people, have had enough of you and your barbarity.” Taking a step forward, the person raises his carbine and points it at the balcony. The crowd gasps and Louis takes his gun out of its holder and points it right back at them. “We've had enough. We're not gonna ask you to stop anymore. We're gonna make you.” -- Twenty-five years ago, a group of alpha soldiers led a revolution to dispose of the beta oppressive monarchy. Louis Tomlinson, the General’s alpha nephew, is set to follow in his footsteps and eventually lead the Country. When the arrest of a beta brings a silent resistance group to show themselves and threaten The General, Louis finds himself questioning the government's true nature and the equality of the law, in a quest that will change him for good.

I Want You to Linger | InsightfulInsomniac | [7k] Louis swallows, suddenly feeling very caught out. “Those… those are all for Harry.” “Yes.” Niall nods. “For Harry, who does not live here.” “I know he doesn’t, but I —“ Louis sets down his pen with a grimace. “Look, I’ll keep them in a box in my room, yeah? I just want him to feel comfortable when he’s over.” “Hm,” Niall hums, looking entirely unimpressed. “Mate, I’m not worried about the things themselves. The vase is actually really fucking nice; we look like proper adults with flowers on our coffee table. I’m saying we should talk about you courting Harry.” *** A friends-to-lovers fic in which oblivious alpha Louis courts his best friend, nests with the gifts he gets him, and is faced with the reality that sometimes telling someone you love them doesn’t go to plan (but turns out better in the end anyway).

Teach Me Your Ways | elsi_bee | [34k] Based on the following prompt: Omega Harry is the newly appointed sex ed teacher and uptight Alpha Louis does not approve of his very open methods. A rivalry ensues until Harry unravels him behind closed doors.

Captain Cupid | 2tiedships2 | [15k] “Right,” Niall started, finally getting the opportunity to unleash his horrible plan. “Well, as you both know, I’m an excellent matchmaker. A human Cupid.The best of the best at finding one's mate. And I’ve decided it’s time to make money doing it.” “Oh, God no,” Louis groaned, picking up his empty plate and placing it in the sink. He needed to escape as quickly as possible. Or the one where Niall enlists his friends to help start a speed dating side hustle. Things don't go as planned... or maybe they do?

Burning Soul | LarryAlways28 | [39k] MATE. “What?” He whispered to himself. His boots crunched into the dirt as he stepped out of Greyhound bus. The immediate energy he felt was safe, welcoming contentment. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. He squinted as he looked around the small city nestled in the mountains. Or was it a big town? A nearby green sign read “Seven Corners, Population 101,000” ____ Louis is a rogue Omega wolf, all he wants is a new start. Will he allow himself to fully embrace what awaits him, or will he run again, too damaged by past hurt?

You're Not My Type (still I fall) | Imogenlee | [39k] His mum is going to kill him! Well, not kill him. Just give him a right telling off, make him admit she'd been right, then try to confine him to his room until they found a hefty Alpha to look after him and rein him in or something. She wouldn't manage, of course. Harry is only twenty-four and has no inclination to settle down at all, especially not at the behest of an Alpha. But, as his mum would point out, that was the same stubborn attitude that got him here: in his car, in a thunderstorm, on the side of a forsaken lane of some little countryside town in Yorkshire. His mobile's got no signal, his GPS isn't working, and he's running low on petrol, so he can't even use the heater. Oh, and most importantly, his car is stuck in the mud, so even if the GPS was working and he knew where to go, he wouldn’t be able to. He's been in stickier spots; he reminds himself. Way stickier. This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost. But, hey, there won't be any rain, which is something to cheer about.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively ~ Education

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: the taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Devotion

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Steve and Belle had a wonderful honeymoon, visiting England, France and Italy for their honeymoon.  Steve made sure that Belle saw everything she wanted.  Belle made sure to keep Steve satisfied every night and morning.  They woke to each other’s touches and kisses, lazy sex in the mornings, passionate love in the evenings.  As they laid together the morning before their return home, Steve played with her fingers as they drew circles on his bare chest, the sheet covering his lower half.  “Ready to go home?” 

“No,” Belle replied from her position on her side, the sheet covering her chest but her bare legs out.  “Dunno how to be a wife so I’m a little nervous.”  

“Kinda glad you don’t, seeing how I’m your first for everything.” He picked up her fingers to kiss each pad.  

“Hmm, well Mr. Rogers, you don’t know anything about being a husband, so I think for the first time we are on the same playing field.”  

Steve chuckled.  “I guess you’re right.  So, tell me, what do you want to do?” 

Belle looked at him thoughtfully, “would it be wrong that I don’t want to go back to the school?” 

Steve looked shocked but then concerned.  “Why?  Is there a problem?” 

“No, its just.  It’s not my passion, amore. I don’t love it.”  

Steve understood that. When the shield lost it shine, so to speak, he moved on.  “So, what would you like to do?”  

“For now, learn to be a CEO’s wife.  Pepper and Natasha have informed me that there are a lot of things to learn, and I want to take the time to learn it before I do what I really want to do.”  

Steve was curious.  “I mean, sweet pea, you don’t have to stop your career to do that”.  

“I know but, Steve, you are an important person and I want to be helpful in that. When we settle, then I want…” she hesitated.  

“Want what my love?  You can tell me.”  

“I want to see about opening a restaurant. A little café where I can cook and stuff.”  She bit her lip and looked away.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” Steve moved to cage her in. “I remember when you said it was your dream.” He began to kiss her neck and jawline, pulling the sheet away.  “I think I could help with that,” he whispered in her ear as he reached down to let a finger slide in her folds.  She mewled and her hips floated up. “Help with finding you a place.” He kissed lower on her chest. “Taste test. Marketing.” He tugged on one of her nipples. “I think it’s a great idea.” 

“Stevie, please.”  

“Are you distracted princess?  Tell me what you need. Because I love your idea.” He sank a finger in, and she moaned as he moved.  “I think it’s perfect.”  

“Sir, please!  Please!” 

“Please what, Isabella.”  

She looked up at her husband with big eyes.  She leaned up to him.  “I need you to fuck me as hard as you can, my king,” she whispered.  

Steve smirked.  “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my wife.”  He took away his hand and sat on his haunches.  He stroked his cock a few times with the hand covered in her juices. He then lifted her legs to be around his waist as he lined himself to her and pushed in to the hilt.  Belle moaned loudly, and Steve rutted into her slowly but deeply, hitting her spot with every stroke.  Belle grasped his forearms as she tried to ground herself from the intense pleasure. “Feel what you do to me love?” 

“God, yes, it feels so good.”  

Steve slowly dragged his cock in and out, loving how Belle felt around him. “So tight and warm.  My perfect little wife. My princess.”  He thrusted harder. “My queen.”  

“Stevie,” she moaned, getting close to releasing, knowing he wanted her to hang on.  “I can’t.”  

“Yes, you can my love.” He could feel her throbbing around him. He changed the angle of his body, grasping her hands in his, pinning them beside her head. “I love you. Hold on for me.”  

He watches a tear slide, the pure lust in her eye. “I can’t.  Need to… please my king, please.”  

Steve couldn’t stand it any longer. He rolled over, never leaving Belle, placing her on top of him.  “Let go Mrs. Rogers. Let go all over me. Let me feel you,” he grunted as he moved her hips.  

She finally reached the peak and cried out as she followed orders, releasing the most amazing orgasm of her life.  She fell forward as her body went limp and Steve cradled her as he continues to push up, finding his own end and slowing.  He held her close as her breathing calmed, pressing soft kisses to her head.  “I love you Mrs. Rogers.”  

He felt her smile against his neck.  “And I love you, Mr. Rogers,” she whispered, pressing her own kiss into his neck.  

New York in the Spring is supposed to be a magical time in the city.  Still cool enough to wear a coat but warm enough to enjoy fashion week at Bryant Park.  Which is exactly where Belle found herself, mere weeks after she arrived back from her honeymoon.  Having been introduced to other wives of the elite, a couple of them dragged her to this parade of clothes and lunch for the last couple of days. She sighed quietly, bored out of her mind.  

“That gown is simply stunning,” a woman with white hair and immaculate makeup stated as she sat front row next to Belle.  She looked over at Belle.  “You are new to the scene, correct?” 

“Yes, I suppose I am. Isabella Da-err Rogers.”  

“Ah yes, the new wife of Steve Rogers. My, my, your photos do not do you justice, my dear.”  

“Oh,” Belle blushed looking down.  “Thank you.”  

The woman inspected her. “Mrs. Miranda Presley,” she offered with her hand.  “Editor-in-Chief, Runway.”  

“I love Runway,” Belle replied. “Your wedding issue is where I saw my dress originally before I went to Klinefeld’s.  Been reading it for years, although I don’t feel like I have the look for some of the clothes.”  

Miranda glanced at her.  She noted that she was dressed in an Alexander McQueen dress and Manalo boots, a simple yet complimentary Yves Saint Laurent coat around her. “Darling, you have good taste. What is it you are looking for?” 

“Just someone to help with my styling.  Steve insists that I hire a stylist since I’ve been taking on more serious interest in my husband’s work and associates.”  

“Ah, a CEO’s wife.  Yes, well, here,” she handed Belle a business card.  “Call my office and have them arrange an appointment.  I have some names and I could run them by with Nigel, my fashion editor and make sure they are a right fit for you.”  She grasped her chin to turn her face.  “You have exquisite skin and with that eye color, well, you are stunning.”  

Belle blushed at the compliment.  Miranda Presley was not known for her kindness, and she understood that Miranda just wanted to be on the good side of one of the most powerful CEOs in the world.  “Thank you, Mrs. Presley.  I will be in touch.”  

“You don’t have an assistant?”  

“No, not yet. On the list of things to do.”  Belle offered a weak smile.  

“Hmm, well… Emily!”  A young woman standing in the back rushed forward.  “Make a note of available interns that Mrs. Rogers can use.”   

“Oh no, Mrs. Presley…” she was cut off with a look.  

The assistant merely nodded.  “Of course, Miranda.”  She walked away quickly.  

“You will learn, Mrs. Rogers, that whenever someone powerful does a favor, you accept without question.  Just like if I needed something from you.”  The show ended and they clapped as the designer made his way out.  “Pleasure to meet you.”  She rose and walked away with her team following her.  

“Ohmigod, was the Miranda Presley?” Chloe Barber asked. “You are so lucky!” 

“I guess so.”  

“You guess so?” Brandy Levinson snorted.  “Girl, she never speaks to anyone, ever. You have been anointed.”  

Belle held the role of her eyes and just smiled.  “Lunch? Right?” 

“Oh of course.” The girls were leading her out as another called out for her.  “Belle!” 

Belle groaned internally at the sound of the voice.  She rearranged her face into a smile.  “Ms. Carter, what a nice surprise.”  

“Same. But please call me Sharon.”  The blonde flicked her hair over her shoulder and gave a tiny wave to Clint, who had been waiting by the door.  

Belle really rolled her eyes at the gesture but then sweetly talked to her lunch companions.  “Would you ladies mind if I met you at the restaurant?”  

“Of course,” they both nodded quickly and gave air kisses to Belle.  As they left, Belle waited until they were out of earshot before turning back to Sharon.  

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” she said sarcastically.  She caught Clint with the corner of her eye, watching her.  

“Just wanted to know how you were doing, being married and all.  I mean, you did weasel your way into Steve’s life.” She took a sip of the champagne she was holding.  

“I did not weasel my way into anything.  Steve pursued me. I’m sure you don’t know what that feels like.” Belle narrowed her eyes. “From what he has told me, he used you to get where he wanted and then left you as soon as he was done with you.” She smirked at the blonde as her face twisted in anger.  

“Why you little…” Sharon reared her hand back.  

“Ah ah, careful Sharon, we are still amongst the public.” Belle laughed bitterly.  “Now if you’ll excuse me.”  She moved to leave.  Sharon clawed her hand on her arm to stop her.  

“You think you are so special.  Princess to the king.  Listen here, princess, you are nothing special.  Just the orphan of a group of people who no longer exist.”  

“I honestly have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.  Let me go.”  

Sharon smiled sadistically.  She studied Belle’s face.  “You really have no idea, don’t you?  No idea why you were almost taken, why your security was upped.  Why Steve left you for so long?” 

“How… how do you know about that?” 

“I know everything Mrs. Rogers. You should probably speak to your husband about things.  Why your parents were murdered. How your father died.  They are coming for you." She pulled Belle closer.  

“Hail HYDRA.”  

She let Belle go and walked away swiftly.  Clint saw the distress on Belle’s face and rushed over.  

“Belle?  Belle?” 

“Did you know?” she whispered.  

“Know what?” 

“Sharon.  Did you know she was here?” 

“No, I didn’t.  What did she say?” 

“She said to talk to Steve.  That not everything is as it seems.”  Belle looked at him.  “Where is he?” 

“He’s in his office.”  

“I want to see him.  Now.”  

Clint ushered her to the car.  As he drove, Belle got lost in her thoughts.  She knew her parents had been killed in a car accident but were they really murdered?  And her dad, how did he really die.  She had no idea.  How could she, Isabella Davis-Rogers, be the heir to anything when she had no family bar Steve and Bucky.  

“Belle? We’re here.”  

“Thanks Clint.”  She exited the car and went up to her husband’s office.  The elevator ride up felt like ages as she went up.  Questions kept adding up into her head. What didn’t she know?  What didn’t she understand?  The elevators signaled her arrival to Steve’s floor and Devon greeted her. 

“Hi Mrs. Rogers.  Did you need anything?”  

“I just wanted a word with him.  Is he busy?” 

“He’s with Mr. Barnes, Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Romanoff-Wilson.”  

“Perfect.  Can you ask him for just a moment of his time?” 

“Of course.  Would you like me to take your coat?” 

“No, its ok.”  Devon nodded as she entered the office.  She returned a moment later to beckon her inside.  She walked in to see her husband and their friends seated at his conference table.  “Hi.”  

“Hi sweet pea.” Steve went to kiss his wife.  She didn’t reciprocate and he frowned.  “Is everything alright?” 

“No, everything is not alright.”  She squared her shoulders.  “What does Sharon Carter know about me and my past that I don’t seem to know?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Why does Sharon think that I was kidnapped for a reason?  Why does she think I don’t know how my father died?  And why, she took a deep breath, is she saying Hail HYDRA to me?” 

“What? “Bucky breathed out.  

Belle took in all of their faces.  Now she was angry.  

“What don’t I know?” 

A/N: I'm sorry...

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

[katareyoudrilling]

Laminated (✂️ Dieter Bravo x Female Reader)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Summary: Dieter has the receipts

Word count: ~1.4k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Vasectomy kink (aka the opposite of breeding kink), oral (F receiving), PIV, vibrator

A/N: I am as surprised as you are that out of the many fic ideas floating around inside my brain, Dieter is the one that organized his way out first!  All of my vasectomy kink fics are marked with “✂️“ in my Masterlist.  If you would like to join the Vasectomy Kink Club sign up for my Taglist!  The link is in my bio and on my Masterlist.  Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Masterlist

Taglist - link in my bio and on my Masterlist

“Do you want to have sex with me?”  Dieter leans over the table where you’re working.  His large hands grip the edge.

“We’ve been over this, Dieter,” you reply without looking up from your laptop.

“I know,” he hangs his head and scuffs the toe of his slipper against the hotel carpet.  “Just thought you might change your mind.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Dunno,” Dieter shuffles about sadly.

“There are lots of other women, and men, on this set.  I bet one of them will have sex with you.”

“Nope.”  He drops down to his elbows, resting his chin in his hands.  “Asked them all.”

“Well doesn’t that make me feel special.”  You roll your eyes and finally glance over at him.  He looks like his usual disastrous self.  But somehow a ratty bathrobe and holey t-shirt suits him.

“Come on sweet cheeks, you know I asked you first.”  He winks.  Damn him.

It’s true.  He had asked you first.  You hate that you had felt a jolt of excitement when he approached you that first day but getting involved with one of the actors was never a good idea.  So you declined and watched as he seemed to approach anyone with a pulse.  He’s a mess, but it still surprises you that no one said yes.  Did they look at him?

You shrug and keep working, unwilling to meet his puppy dog eyes.

“Oh! Oh! I know!” Dieter exclaims suddenly.  He digs in the pockets of his pajama pants and pulls out a cloth wallet stuffed with bits of paper and cash and held closed by a Velcro tab.  He rips it open and the contents explode across the table.

“Wow, thanks for the mess, Dieter,” you brush some crumpled 100 dollar bills off your keyboard.

“Wait, look,” he unfolds a piece of paper and lays it in front of you.

“Your STI results?” you ask, looking down the list of tests marked negative.

“I’m clean, see?”  He sounds so proud.

“This is from before filming started.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since.”

“Even so, it’s not the problem.  I’m sorry Dieter.”  You hand him back the folded paper, then shove the rest of the mess in his direction.  What looks like a laminated business card catches your attention.  Amongst the scraps of paper and wads of money, it has been kept pristine.

“What’s this?”  You hold up the card.

“The results of my vasectomy,” he answers as he dejectedly re-stuffs his wallet.

You look down at the card in surprise.  Sure enough, it appears to be a portion of a lab printout. His name, the real one, at the top, followed by a date ten years ago and 0.0000 sperm per mL detected.  Laminated.

“Is this real?”

“Of course.  I would never lie about that.”

You believe him.

Dieter Bravo may be a lot of things, but in your experience, he is honest to a fault.  Heat begins to stir in your belly.  You swallow thickly.

“You should have led with this.”

Dieter looks up at you surprised.

“Does that… Do you…” he stutters, his brown eyes wide with hope.

This is probably an incredibly stupid decision.  You will probably regret it.  But at least that regret will be short-lived and not require any medical intervention.  Dieter is a complete disaster, but in a really endearing way that has gotten under your skin this past month.  Fuck it.

“Yes, Dieter, I want to have sex with you.”

“Amazing,” he replies as a huge smile lights up his face and crinkles his eyes.

- - - - - - - - - -

Dieter follows you into your hotel room.  As soon as the door clicks closed behind him, he has you pushed up against it, devouring your mouth.  He tastes surprisingly minty and fresh.  You melt against his plush lips and whimper needily as he explores your mouth with his tongue.

His warm hands glide up your sides and tilt your jaw up to give him access to your neck.  As his lips trail downward, you gather the courage to say the thing that has really been making you hesitate.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you start.

“I’ll still wear a condom, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not that. I trust you. I want you bare.”

“Fuck yes,” Dieter growls as he grinds into your body and nips at your collar bone.  His loose, baggy pants do very little to hide his erection.  You briefly lose your train of thought as he licks his way across the swell of your breasts.

“I can’t cum without a vibrator,” you blurt out.

“Ok,” he replies moving back to taste your mouth again.

You pull back, “What do you mean, ok?”

“If that’s what you need, then ok.”

“But…”

“But what, sweet cheeks?”  He looks deep into your eyes as he traces your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.  His open and earnest expression unwinds your doubts a little bit more.

“That’s not the response I usually get,” you admit quietly.

Dieter exhales through his nose and regards you seriously.  “Fuck those guys. I’ll do whatever you need to make it good for you.”

And he does.

He eats you out like a man starved.  Grabbing handfuls off your ass and hips while he devours you with his mouth.  His glorious tongue circles your clit with warm, firm strokes.  It isn’t enough, but it feels so good that you just give yourself over to the sensation.  You roll your hips into him and tug on his messy curls making him hum his approval against your center.

There’s no judgement or disappointment from him as he kisses up your stomach, not having made you come.  His whiskers tickle against your skin as he attends to each of your breasts before meeting your lips once again.

You feel the fat tip of his cock nudging against your entrance and you open for him, drawing him in with your heels on his non-existent backside.

You both sigh in relief when he is fully sheathed inside you.  It’s been too long.  For both of you.

He feels so good dragging against your walls while he circles your clit with his thumb.  You meet each thrust of his hips with your own and savor every moan that escapes his pouty lips.

Dieter’s breathing intensifies and he pulls out.  “Fuck you feel so good… I don’t want to come yet.”

He reaches for your clit suction vibrator and turns it on before handing it to you.  “Show me, sweet cheeks.”

He settles on his heels between your legs, stroking his cock, as you touch the vibrator to your swollen clit.  You immediately arch off the bed with a gasp.  He has gotten you so aroused that you are most of the way there.

You close your eyes as your walls begin to flutter and tightness builds low in your abdomen.  The deep rumble of Dieter’s voice telling you how beautiful you are, how hot it is to watch you, how he wants to see you come spurs you on.  You feel your orgasm approaching when Dieter surprises you by sliding back into your channel and sending you careening over the edge.

You clench around him and cry out as Dieter strokes deep and hard, syncing with the pulses of your pussy and drawing out your orgasm.  You toss your vibrator to the side and he replaces it with the heel of his hand, grinding down into your clit.  You spasm against his hand and dig your fingers into his broad shoulders as he finds his own release with a groan.

Dieter slips out of you and pulls you into his side.  It doesn’t surprise you at all to find that he’s a cuddler.

“That was amazing,” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Mmhmm,” you agree nuzzling deeper into his side.

“You know what sounds really good right now?” he asks, drawing lazy circles on your skin.

“What?”

“A kitkat.”

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

Masterlist

Vasectomy Kink Club:

@neddrollsdice​ @lovesbiggerthanpride​ @kirsteng42​ @pedrohoe04​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @pagannightwitch​ @kaitieskidmore1​  @alexxavicry​ @mandoblowmybackout​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @nothoughtsjustmeds​ @loonymagizoologist​ @aynsleywalker​ @maievdenoir​ @ruhro7​ @amneris21​ @tionmeh​ @theravenreads​ @bravopeach​  @bport76​ @eppy816​ @harriedandharassed​ @iamskyereads​ @artpoppstar​ @pix-writes​  @littlemisspascal​ @whataperfectwasteoftime​ @just-here-for-the-moment​ @thirsty-flygirl​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @deadhumourist​ @wheresarizona​

[everybodyshusband]

cold love hot blood

dewdrop, dewdrop & mountain (the band ghost)

mature | gen. | 7.2k words | hurt no comfort, self harm, graphic descriptions of blood/injury, dead dove: do not eat, self-hatred, circular narrative, water ghoul dew, unreliable narrator

—i posted this fic to my ao3 almost a year ago then took it down but it's going back up all because three whole people said they'd be interested to see it back up ksdfjsdfj please mind the tags, know your limits and if you're not in a place where it's safe for you to read this fic then please don't. compromising your safety for a work of fiction isn't worth it i promise you. come back later (or not at all if that's what's best for you <3)

*disclaimer that is mostly for the tumblr staff in the event of an(other) attempted nuking of my account: this is NOT "content that urges or encourages others to: cut or injure themselves; or commit suicide rather than, seeking counselling or treatment." i believe in and support recovery and this is a fictional narrative depicting a person who is not yet at that stage, which i believe is an important story to tell in regards to "joining together in supportive conversation with those suffering or recovering from depression or other conditions" as well as opening up a "dialogue about these behaviours" as they are indeed "incredibly important" and i do believe that "online communities can be extraordinarily helpful to people struggling with these difficult conditions." (quotes taken directly from the guidelines you so kindly sent me a few months ago)

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

It takes a while, but when Dewdrop doesn’t respond, Mountain’s voice drops in volume when he next speaks, presumably making sure no one else will be able to hear him. How considerate, Dewdrop thinks, his internal voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re going to be safe, and if that means I have to break this door down to get to you, mark my words, droplet, I will.”

With all the events of today swirling around in his head, Dewdrop barely registers the words; they float into his head, muffled, as if he’s underwater. He doesn’t know what drowning feels like in this body—and he knows he never will, that it’s just not possible for a water ghoul to drown, no matter how much he may wish he could—but he’s sure it can’t be dissimilar to this. He can’t hear. He can’t see.

He can’t breathe.

Everything’s catching up to him again. The emotions from earlier that caused him to do this in the first place—gone for the short while in which he turned his efforts towards self-mutilation are—now returning in full force. And that, along with the sting in his arms and thighs, and Mountain’s apparent concern for him are just too many things for his fucked-up, rotted-through, useless self to handle all at once. Dewdrop knows the earth ghoul doesn’t really care. All he’s doing is dishing out mandated, insincere affections in the hopes that Dewdrop will believe him and Mountain will be able to avoid the trouble of having to deal with the water ghoul properly later on after a reprimand from their Papa. After all, he’s just Dewdrop. Why would Mountain even care anyway?

Dewdrop really doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much happening in his head, and he doesn’t know how to handle any of it. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, raising his arms to dig the palms of his hands as harshly as he can against the sockets. Maybe if he pushes his eyes back into his skull he won’t have to see the messes he’s created; the web of lies that Mountain has been slowly unravelling without Dewdrop’s knowledge, and the crimson glazed tiles he’s standing on. He keeps his eyes closed but removes his palms from where they’re putting pressure on the sockets and fights back the urge to scream. When he finally opens his eyes again, the room spins in front of him and he feels himself slump against the sink, trying and failing to catch himself with weak arms before he falls. He knocks something off the sink in his fruitless effort to keep himself upright, and whatever it is clatters to the floor alongside Dewdrop, smashing everywhere. It must have been the ceramic soap dispenser the new air summon had so painstakingly made barely a week ago. She’d spent hours fussing over every little detail, taking days to create a proper design, never resting until she was sure it was perfect. It’s broken now. Irreparable. Useless. At least we match, Dewdrop thinks, somewhat deliriously. His blade clatters against the broken clay as it falls to the floor alongside him. It’s not of any consequence. It’s only his lifeline after all.

[read the rest on ao3 !!]

[dark-elf-writes]

KOT au is so fucking awesome I'm going through it now.

-(Imagine him with hate in his heart but always willing to split what little he has with the other kids out on the street, wide-eyed and so damn scared but hungry enough to get close to the scary boy with all of his scars.)

Touya would be the best, worst big brother ever. Like prickly as hell until you worm your way under his skin then he would commit many crimes for you, up to and including murder.

-(murderous little ducklings)

this will forever be a favorite line. Like all picture is this ^^^ with knives🤣🤣

-(Imagine a king of the lost and broken.)

OUCH like this whole paragraph is brilliant but you paint such a picture with words I CAN'T. Like 'villains' is appropriate for sure, but like the number of adoption papers floating around UA must be ridiculous, leaving supplies out there my god 🤣🤣

-(Remembers that nothing in life comes free and there are always strings attached.)

For this to be his viewpoint only to be confronted with the actual reality of (Present Mic with the lamest disguise he has ever fucking seen) ghajnvfjallghllnjdklalgjklHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA Fucking perfection!!!!!!!

And Vlad King's inability to whistle is classic, but nothing will ever top Aizawa (omeone who is either an Underground hero Touya has never heard of despite living on the streets for years or an Actual Fucking Demon™️ shoves a backpack full of supplies and cat keychains into Touya’s chest before swinging off into the night like some sort of Sleep Paralysis Spiderman.) The first time I read this I laughed myself to tears and I still cackle every time I go back through this tag.

-(Nezu himself sauntering up with a new notebook and set of pens every time Izuku runs out is any less terrifying.)

Fear! Totally valid fears here.

-Izuku doesn't need the sharps, no sir ma'am mx, noooooo. keep the knives and pointy things away from the green one.

-(t’s in essence one teenager trying to raise three feral children while every hero in the area tries to lure all four of them home like stray cats while also pretending that it is absolutely not what they’re doing.)

I need this. For survival I need this. The pros finally convincing them to go to UA and literal explosions happening minimum twice a day once Izuku finds the support labs. Himiko traumatizing at least one person a day by playing up the creepy factor for funzies. Shoji following suit by deliberately placing limbs in the worst spots just to see people jump. And Touya laughing when the Pros look to him, "You volunteered for this, they found me, I was stuck with them. You dumbasses picked them up with a fucking bear trap, what did you expect?" fully ignoring the fact that he's the only one they listen to and that he has (and will continue to) risk prison for all of them.

-(hat scar is the only one he wears with pride)

I feel like he flash the scar as an intimidation factor whenever he could. Like someone doubts Himiko, show scar 'she did this to me. She likes me. She doesn't like you. Think about it.'

-(Mezou tucks himself behind a dumpster to eat)

BABY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 You deserve all the love you sweet child!!!!! For real though, I feel like Mezou is criminally underutilized in fics and in canon material honestly.

-Every thing about Izuku and how Touya found them hgnreaklfnfdiaeghruaingkdf;ae They need someone and Touya's over protective sibling energy came through like a freight train with no brakes. And the back and forth with the shop owner 🤣🤣🤣 She is 100% grandma energy and I hope there comes a day that Touya shows up with one of the pros and she lectures him for disappearing.

-(keeps threatening to make hawks into fried chicken)

I would actually pay money to see this conversation animated. Like Hawks has gone full birdy, and Touya is desperately trying to escape before completely losing his shit, whether it's burning him alive or busting into laughter, who knows, he'll never admit it.

-Fuyumi and Mirko for the win, no notes, full support. WE STAN THE LESBIANS!!!!

-Fuck Endeavor and Ass Might. That is all.

-(matching a sad blue eyed, white haired child with burn scars to the other sad blue eyed white haired children with burn scars.)

Okay soooooo seeing the reunion of the kids would be heartbreakingly beautiful.

-(I mean Touya if he can’t get his hands on a box of hair dye is pretty obvious)

IF this ain't the truest fucking fact. It's the Clark Kent Effect, but hair.

-Just the discord server. Please! I need an entire series just of that because can you imagine?!?!?!?! The mass parental energy? The conspiracies and 'fuck you' at the Commission. Fuck I'm here for it.

-Fire puppets. Just FIRE PUPPETS!!! Can you imagine the first time Yamada finds the kids together and Izuku and Shoji are giving the big eyes at Touya until he caves and starts doing a fully fleshed out puppet play? Like Aizawa saw it first, but the first time they see it in person???

-*chants* To-ko-de-ku, To-ko-de-ku, To-ko-de-ku. The first interaction being Izuku saving him from bullies and using their ridiculously intimidating siblings as the visual threats they are??? hgaingdmklghiwuopapghi (“I’m telling nii-chan you inherited his bird thing.”) I hope to fuck someone records Touya's (and Keigo's) face(s) when she tells them. It needs to end up in the discord server.

-(he sprawls over some back alley couch that’s definitely infested with something and smells like cat pee.)

Still top tier imagery ,10000000000000000/10 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Plus the gremlin intervention fuck yes!!!

-(Touya is both Gay and Dramatic as personality traits)

Enough said.

-(Aizawa doesn’t feel like either death or retirement can come fast enough.)

This is just canon? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

-The gremlins version of Santa is correct. We support 100%. Touya can stop being a buzzkill

-Pickpocket alllllllll of the villains. ALL of them. AFO has to be the goal though. Just out of spite. It's gotta be him.

-(Mezou stole the bullets out of Snipes gun and the man was so baffled trying to figure out how he did it that he didn’t even fight when the cuffs went on.)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHERHIOJKGNFKABNJ

-(Monoma’s wallet shows up.

In Bakugou’s pocket.)

WHY DO I HAVE ABSOLUTELY ZERO ARTISTIC TALENT?!?!?! I NEED TO SEE THIS!!!!!

-(Touya with head in hands like “we had arson for dinner yesterday choose another felony”)

🤣🤣🤣🤣 Careful what you wish for there 🤣🤣🤣🤣

-(Plausible deniability makes the world go round tbh.)

I feel like that's the entirety of this AU.

I FUCKING LOVE THIS!!!

When the muses return to MHA, I'm so excited to see where some of these ideas go. Like zero pressure, but like I'm waiting like this. very patiently.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I MEANT TO REPLY TO THIS EARLIER I FORGOR

No but King Of Thieves is so special to me. Like Touya who is more morally flexible but still above all else a good brother and his hoard of equally morally flexible younger siblings that can’t keep their hands to themselves is so dear to my heart. Once I can get the words to go for MHA again it’s all over no one will be able to stop me

[storybycorey]

fic stats game!

Saw this floating around the fandom today, and I wanted to play, too!

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most bookmarks, fourth most comments, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words.

(I'm basing these on AO3 stats, but including Tumblr links just for ease)

Most hits: Today

Summary: When things don’t go quite as planned at the infertility clinic, Mulder requires Scully’s “auditory” assistance in order to help him make another donation. Per Manum phone sex with a little angst on the side. (sidenote: I really should go back through and edit this one, it was written so long I ago, I know there's stuff I should clean up!)

Honorable mention to It's Just Pretend, because it's got the most notes by far of any of my fics here on Tumblr!

Summary: “God, Mulder,” she gasps.  “Oh my god.  This is just pretend.  It’s just pretend.”  But then she grinds her ass right back against you, and that’s not pretend at all.  Nosiree.

Second most kudos: Beyond the Strokes of a Typewriter

Summary: “You’re wrong, Scully. You’re so wrong,” he can’t keep the tortured tone from bleeding into his voice, “I see you as a woman.  I see you so much as a goddamn woman, it devastates me.  You take my fucking breath away, Scully.  I HAVE to compartmentalize my view of you, I have to pull back and look at you as my partner, my friend, because if I don’t, it would completely overwhelm me, it would absolutely ruin me every damn time I’m in the same room as you!” (another one that could probably do with some editing!)

Third most bookmarks: Already listed, so I'll do fourth most bookmarks: Once Upon a Time in a Basement

Summary: He smells like sweat and soap and the deodorant she packs into his travel bag every time he forgets it on his hotel bathroom sink.  She’s studied him through the years, knows him the way she knew her Human Anatomy textbook back in 1st year med school, could ace an exam on the intricacies of Fox Mulder with her eyes closed. But she didn’t know this—that when he puts his arm around a woman and tells her a story, his fingers tell one, too—tap tap tapping on her shoulder with each new twist, stroke stroke stroking with each new turn.

Fourth most comments: Already listed, so I'll do third most comments: Stay

Summary:  There are one hundred eighty heaving pounds atop her and tears in her eyes. Spent breaths at her temple, fingertips pressed to her scalp. There’s hard turning soft, and there’s slippery, there’s sticky, there’s slick, coating the insides of her thighs. There’s Mulder. My God, after seven years, there’s Mulder. 

Fifth most words: You Miss Her Everything (final story in my college AU series)

Summary:  “I don’t wanna miss you anymore.  Your hands, your mouth, your…everything, Mulder, I miss your everything…”

Fic with the least amount of words: Perched Upon the Precipice

Summary: He lays her on the bed like she’s a delicate orchid— rare, exotic, so beautiful she steals his breath—as if she could break with even the gentlest of pressure, as if she could wilt from only the slightest errant touch. 

[annwrites]

I know I'm about to disappoint a number of people with this, but I'd rather just put it out there, instead of leaving my readers waiting for something I've now decided isn't going to happen.

I will not be doing the Aemond x SG (reader) happily-ever-after AU.

Reasons why under the cut:

I want to preface by saying I have started a draft of it, which I will be keeping saved on my Google Drive, incase I ever change my mind one day and/or find a way to edit it that will please me.

Now, for the reasons why I've chosen to abandon the one-shot:

There is no feasible way for me to write it which will keep canon events in-place, or keep SG & Aemond both in-character.

I initially wanted the HEA myself, but, at this point, I feel like if I published it, it would be solely for fan-service. Something I myself detest. I hated when GoT did it, & I've hated when HotD has done it.

SG would never be happy in any of the Free Cities, due to slavery. The only one she would ever find a modicum of contentment in would be Braavos—a place most unfit for a dragon to reside, due to most of it being under water.

And please don't suggest I send them to Sothoryos or Yi-To or Leng or something. Bc, just... No.

Aemond is not going to abandon Vhagar so they can go live on a floating island somewhere. Which leaves them with little other possibilities of where to relocate.

And, say I went with my one anon's idea of having them make a pact with the Price of Pentos like Daemon did (he gives them refuge in exchange for Vhagar's protection against the Triarchy). SG would be forced to make slaves answer to her & Aemond would live out his days doing naught. Riding Vhagar, taking long walks on the beach, etc. He'd feel, effectively, useless.

And once the Dance broke out? He'd be chomping at the fucking bit to return to Westeros to go to war. And for him to fight against SG's half of the family? It'd rip them apart.

If he stayed just to make her happy, he'd come to resent her, bc he would feel gelded. Having his dragon, his knowledge of battle-planning, skills with a sword all for nothing.

Say I make it so the Dance never happens. I'm just abandoning canon in such a major way that I don't feel comfortable with. Like. Aemond exists in ASoIaF bc of the Dance—not the other way around.

And I don't see their families not coming after them in some form. Whether that's Jace flying to Essos to try & retrieve his twin, or Aegon or Otto sending men after Aemond, they'd never live in peace. Not for the first few years there, at least.

And Aemond is just... Not a healthy match for her. I'm sorry. I myself have tried to change a toxic male partner & the shit cannot be done. He is obsessed with his niece. If she put a toe too far out of line, he would come to show his true colors & she would permanently live in fear of him for the rest of her days.

And that fear would only further embolden his efforts to keep her. He would see it as her not loving him as she's "meant" to, which, must, by extension, mean she may leave him. Time to batten down the hatches & ensure she has no place left to run.

The phrase "if I can't have you, no one can" comes to mind.

So, that brings me to what I may still eventually write: the tragic ending fic for the two of them.

The events of Sons & Daughters chapters 1-8 would be canon, as well as all of the outtakes, minus perhaps the Cregan pregnant sex one—I'd have to figure that one out. But it would start immediately after the Harrenhal outtake ended. It's why that chapter ended so abruptly: I was setting up for this potential fic.

Make NO mistake: this AU would NOT be canon. Chapter 9 is what is canon.

This fic would simply exist to explore a terribly dark "what if" version of my story. And it will include many triggering scenes. Posts will be tagged accordingly when/if the time comes.

Well, that's all I really had to say about this lol. Feel free to still send me your thoughts/commentary. I'd be surprised if a couple people didn't try to talk me back into the happy fic & out of the dark one, but I think my mind is pretty-well made up about it. Sorry!

[angelsandemons]

LTOLOXA AU

Sixty degrees that come in threes. Watches from within birch trees. Saw his own dimension burn. Misses home and can’t return. Says he’s happy. He’s a liar. Blame the arson for the fire. If he want’s to shirk the blame. He’ll have to invoke my name. One way to absolve his crime. A different form, a different time.

This is an AU that takes place after the conclusion of Gravity Falls, and by extension, after Bill Cipher’s death.  Given the above (very much canon) poem from the Axolotl himself, and the fact that Bill’s very much did invoke his name, I’m taking a few liberties and saying that after some time, he is essentially reincarnated in a human form. That time can be one year or 20 years, it can vary from person to person, I’m not terribly picky. Though I would like to keep it within that range, probably. 

That said, his powers are all but non-existent, and he’s very much stuck in this “meat sack” of his own. And he has all the limitations that come with being a mortal as well, from not being able to float around, to simply needing to eat and sleep. I still hold this fic as basically canon to my blog, so it’s not like Bill hasn’t done this stuff before, but it’s sure been a while. Also, his memories will of certain events depicted in said timeline will likely come back during the course of this. 

Where I go with this AU can vary widely too. This can lead to an actual redemption arch of sorts (long term, don’t expect miracles) or it might just be another way for me to fuck around with Bill. It depends a lot on the things he experiences, the people he meets, and whether he lives long enough to make any real change.

INFO ON HUMAN BILL

Hair: Long, messy blonde hair, usually falls in front of one of his eyes. 

Skin: a dark tan, largely as pictured

Eyes: Pretty much just as pictured – visibly yellow with elliptical pupils, like that of a cat. It’s possible that certain lighting conditions might mask the yellow color though, that’s context-dependent. On rarer occasions, his eyes will turn red when very angry, just as they did in his triangle form, but when that happens it will be indicated by icons, in text, or both. 

Teeth: pointed, sharp, shark-like teeth

Height: 4'11’’

Weight: 100lbs with some minor variation

Age: His true age is still over a trillion years old, that hasn’t changed. This is the same world from before, he’s just reborn. In terms of appearance though, he’s physically somewhat ambiguous. I’d say proportion wise, he just looks like a very short teenager/adult-ish person.  His build is probably more on the scrawny side. 

Faceclaim(s): The icons I make mostly use  edited versions of Viral from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, Lapis Lazuli (pretending to be Amethyst) from Steven Universe, Sucy Manbavaran from Little Witch Academia, and Yuri Katsuki from Yuri on Ice. There are also a few icons I might have that are drawn specifically for Bill by a variety of generous other users, and if I use those, you can be sure you will find the credits here. If for some reason you DON’T see an icon I use there, assume it was made from the previous mentioned sources, with some considerable recoloring/minor editing on my part. Becasue of these variations (as well as some occasional laziness of my part), some icons might have small inconsistencies. When in doubt, refer to the traits described above. That trumps all else. 

Voiceclaim: Human Bill’s voice is very, VERY similar to his canon triangle voice, but without the voice distortion elements. Basically the closest you can possible get to Bill Cipher’s voice without editing software, so something like this. The only exception is any dialouge written in bold – the rule for that still applies as normal. If you see something written like this, read it in his deep, eldritch horror voice he uses when angry. It will happen a lot more seldom in his human form, but it still might happen. 

Additional Notes/Warnings:

Bill is very much mortal in this AU, can be hurt, and CAN die. I do ask that you talk to me before killing him, but I’m not inherently against it. I figure he’s bound to die in at least one of these threads. 

Just as in canon, Bill is prone to sadomasochistic tendencies. In his human form, he most likely WILL attempt to hurt himself for his own amusement, via cutting, burning, etc. Depending on how the AU progresses, he might also get genuinely suicidal, possibly to the point of attempting it. I will, of course, tag all of these things accordingly as they come up, but if you are RPing with me in this AU and are uncomfortable with themes of self-harm or suicide, YOU NEED TO TELL ME.

[darkshrimpemotions]

@valleyg0th Like I said, answering this in a separate post because it's too long-winded for a reply and sort of off the topic of the original post. My comments and yours from that post above for reference.

Also, I'd like to preface this by saying that the ethical and moral considerations around RPS/RPF are massively nuanced and complicated, and something that I'm still working through myself. That being said, I do have some pretty hard and fast ideas about what ISN'T okay, which inform a lot of what I'm getting into below.

But first, I'd like to clarify my statement as it seems from your reply that it did not come across the way I intended. When I say "something Taylor has made it clear she doesn't want to be super public about" I'm not talking about her sexuality. I'm talking about her relationships in general.

She has made it very clear, repeatedly, over the years that she does not appreciate uninvited intrusions into her personal life. That's not really debatable at this point. She wants to be the one to choose what and when and how her personal life is shared with the world. If she has ever asked for anything, anything at all, it's that.

That's part one of why I find the constant spreading and debate and speculation over these still-unconfirmed break-up rumors so distasteful, particularly from people who claim to love Taylor.

Part two of why I find it so distasteful is the way so many people are celebrating this breakup rumor because it validates their theories about Taylor's sexuality, rejoicing that she's "gotten rid of her beard" and such. That's gross regardless of what you think her sexuality is. If people were on here going "oh yay she broke up with Joe this is how Haylor can still win" I would find that despicable, too.

I'm not particularly invested in any of Taylor's relationships beyond being happy that she's happy, but I do participate and get invested heavily in RPS/RPF in other fandoms, and the keys to respectful RPS/RPF are pretty clear, whether the ship in question is het or queer.

1. You do not demonize, villainize, or harass the real life significant others of the people your ship concerns. (It's also generally considered distasteful to float or perpetuate rumors or conspiracy theories about the relationship being fake or forced, but the bare minimum is you don't make whatever you think about the relationship that SO's problem.)

2. You do not involve or bother the children of the people your ship concerns in any way, ever.

3. You do not ever, ever, EVER put your shipping or associated material (i.e. fics, fanart, theorizing, tinhatting) where the real people it concerns are likely to see it.

And that third one is where Swifties, Gaylors in particular, are really fucking failing right now. Now, if a famous person goes onto AO3 and searches for their name, that's one thing. Or they come into any fandom space where they aren't a known presence and start poking around...they went looking for it. But bringing it up at live events or putting it on social media platforms that said celebrity openly frequents in a way they're likely to see it (i.e. by @ing them or putting it under their name's hashtag) is crossing a line.

And yet what is the Taylor Swift tag FULL OF, on tumblr where we all know Taylor has had an account for years and lurks occasionally? People calling Joe an ex-beard, celebrating the end of their relationship, and analyzing her every move and facial expression and song choice in the context of these unconfirmed break-up rumors.

This shit is gross, full stop. And on top of everything else, far too many of the fans in the Gaylor camp are quick to call anyone who has a problem with their behavior in this regard a homophobe, trivializing the very real dangers and struggles faced by queer people to win their stupid little fandom arguments. That's disgusting. It disgusts me as a queer person.

Part three of why I find all the breakup rumor speculation so distasteful is that once again, Taylor is doing the absolute most and completely killing it at her career, but many of her so-called fans only want to focus on her relationship status with some guy. It's all "she's doing so great on tour in spite of the Joe breakup!" or "she's doing so great on tour because of the Joe breakup!" How about we stop attributing anything in this woman's career to the men she's involved with? Are we capable of that? Have we fucking evolved past 2015 yet?

As for Taylor's habit of leaving clues in her albums, I find it wild that people assume because she has left fairly obvious little puzzles and easter eggs for us throughout her career ABOUT her career, i.e. background info about the music on an album or foreshadowing around what's coming next, that means that she's constantly sending us secret coded messages about her private life.

Like...capitalized letters in liner notes that spell out a detail about that song or album that you wouldn't otherwise know, or a numerical code on her instagram that reveals the vault tracks on her next TV re-recording, or even easter eggs in a music video related to very public knowledge that inspired the song and album...are all a pretty far cry from "Taylor has been sending secret, unconfirmed signals that only we can see for over a decade to tell us that she's actually queer and being forced to stay in the closet and have PR relationships with men she doesn't care about."

And finally, I actually don't have a problem with interpreting Ivy or any of Taylor's music as queer. Interpreting art is not the same thing as speculating on the artist's sexuality, and it sure as hell isn't the same thing as celebrating a breakup rumor because it validates that speculation. I myself interpret a LOT of Taylor's music as queer. But I also understand that how I interpret art is just as much about me as it is about the art.

Me finding something in Taylor's music that I resonate with as a queer person doesn't necessarily mean Taylor herself is queer. And even if she is, she hasn't chosen to share that with us, so it's simply none of my goddamn business. "A lot of Taylor Swift's music resonates with me and my queer experiences" and "Taylor Swift's sexuality is none of my business" are ideas that can and should coexist.

As are "I think she might be" and "but that's none of my business" for that matter! Hell, I can even admit that based on my own experiences of being closeted and coming out, I wouldn't be surprised at all if one day Taylor comes out as bi. But that doesn't mean she OWES me or anyone else that disclosure, or that it's okay to be on the internet endlessly speculating on unsubstantiated rumors concerning something we know she specifically likes to be private about in a place we KNOW she's likely to see it! Especially when that speculation gives way to actively celebrating the end of her relationship without knowing a) if it has actually ended, and b) how she feels about it if it has.