#they could be hiding out in the bathroom or just. you know. There.

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

IT'S NOT JUST HAIR!

Platonic yandere Batfam x Weird Black!Reader

It's not just hair; it's never just hair. It's history—years and years of history. It's culture—years and years of culture. It runs in your family, from woman to man, from grandma to grandpa. It's religion; it's family. It was never just hair, and you know that. You can smell the cocoa butter and olive oil being pressed between your braids, feeling the soft, smooth fingers of your mother braiding your hair down to your shoulders. It was never just hair; it was so much more, and you can't even explain it.

"What do you think, baby? Do you like it?" A small mirror was handed to you; a wide smile crossed your face. You moved your head to the side to see a small star on the side of your head. The cornrows were beautiful, with little brown and tan beads at the bottom. It was amazing. You put her face against yours; you two almost looked like siblings.

"I take that as a yes, then," she said, holding back a giggle. You nod your head profusely; a big grin spreads across her face.

"It's beautiful, Mommy! It's amazing!" You were so giddy with joy. Your mother always did your hair; you would complain and cry that it hurt, but the finished product was always worth it. She would put you between her legs, your head on her thigh, as she brushed through the tangles, and the TV would blaze with old Disney movies. You didn't care about the hair of those Disney princesses; your hair was already beautiful, it was already amazing, it was already outstanding because it was yours and it was like no one else's. Sometimes, your mom would bring you to her favorite hair salon, and the lady would let you read old magazines with all different types of hairstyles for Black women from the 80s to the 90s to the 2000s. It would make your little brain go wild with all those colors, and you would hear all the ladies' gossip; it was like your own personal haven. And when your mom was down, your mouth would drop—the woman in front of you was your mother.

"How do I look, baby?" she would say, running her hands through her fresh braids.

"They look amazing!" you yelled, giggling.

But now you're in a manor, and the thing is, no one in this whole family knows anything about your hair, and not even Alfred can help you. So you just wore an afro; you let your hair grow out and picked your hair. You were never embarrassed or insecure about your hair until now, when you saw a news post from a Wayne family page.

"Why is [Name] Wayne's hair so big? It's not fit for galas. I mean, look at it! It's inappropriate for business or the red carpet. They should really get it fixed." There was more posted after that, and the more the Daily Planet made articles about it, the bigger it became. Your hair would always be a topic of discussion, whether at home or at school. You'd tried to hide it, tried to pretend it wasn't there, but how could you? It's always there; it's your hair; it's always yours.

"It's okay, [Name], it's just hair." No, it's not; it's not just hair. The relaxer box was right in front of you, the little Black girls smiling with their straightened hair and bangs. "It's just hair," you thought, and you let it just be hair. You put the white substance in your hair, letting it burn and straighten it. You rinsed your hair and dragged that flat iron along it, the curls going straight. Your hair reached down to your shoulders now; you looked like Barbara and Stephanie and everyone else in the family. Now you looked like you were meant to be here, not just some random child of Bruce Wayne. You looked like a true Wayne, not just a [Last Name]. And people started liking your hair, and you began to like it—love it, even—getting more attention because of it. You brushed that hair out, just to see a clump of your hair... What is this? More hair started to fall out in little clumps.

"AHH!" you cried out, seeing them drop on the bathroom floor. Your eyes started tearing up; you looked up into the mirror, seeing your mother through the glass.

"Oh, baby, you had such beautiful hair. I love it so much. Why would you change it, sweetie? Why would you hide it?" she said, her dead eyes looking so sorrowful.

"It's just hair, Mommy," you whispered, tears running down your face.

"It's not just hair, baby, it's years and years of history, it's culture, it's everything." Her hand touched your scalp, stroking it.

"But the press and the..." you mumbled.

"What do they know? There's nothing like you, and you know that. Why do you care about what they say? It's not their hair; it's yours. It's always been yours! Why would you kill it, baby? It was always yours!" You wiped your face, and that was the day you went back to your old neighborhood and visited that old hair salon. You got to meet the ladies who helped raise you. Your mom was right; it was never just hair. It was community; it was culture; it was family. It was yours, and you're not a Wayne; you're an [Last Name], no matter what.

[darnell-la]

I just saw a post where they mentioned what if Logan mocked your moans while he fingered you, or was doing anything really. It seems like it would feel silly coming from him but also so perfectly degrading

summary: y/n had always had a crush on Logan. not the worst Logan, but her timeline Logan. sadly, he died, and now she was stuck with this variant Wade had brought back home. sharing an apartment with an asshole was bad enough, but sharing one with an attractive, cocky, asshole, was far worse. especially when he knew how he made you feel.

note: this story will be the worst Logan. as always, he’s grumpy, and just an open asshole who thinks he’s better than the people he’s around.

———

“Who do you think you are?” Y/n looked up into the man’s eyes with anger, upset that he wouldn’t let her leave the apartment to go out with her friends. She goes out every weekend, and every weekend, he tries to stop her.

“Wade’s gone, and you’re out again — What are you hiding, y/n?” Logan asked, knowing whatever she did was none of her business. “I’m the legal age to drink and club, and you’re in my business about it? — Let me go,” y/n tried taking her arm away.

“You don’t pay for the bills here. Wade does, and-“ Logan tried making up some story about how disrespectful she would be to do what she wants. “And, Wade doesn’t give a shit. What now? I’m a grown woman. I could have a whole family if I wanted to, and you’re trying to trap me in the apartment like I’m some teen,”

“You don’t need to be out there, y/n,” Logan said, knowing what she goes out there for. He couldn’t stand it. Usually, when he teased women and they played hard to get, they didn’t just go out and party. Y/n did, and he couldn’t handle that.

“Get off of me, or I burn you,” y/n threatened as her body temperature heartened. “I’ll heal, and I don’t think you want to deal with me after I do,” Logan threatened as he moved his face inches from hers.

Within seconds, the man let go of how hot her skin was getting. Y/n instantly turned around and left to get out and away from the man who was trying his best to control her.

Fast-forward several hours, y/n finally returned from the nightclub she had attended with her lady friends. Many hours of drinking and plenty of hours of kissing random men had accrued that night.

That only made Logan’s blood boil as he watched every second of it pass by. He debated on lashing out at her every time she went to the bathroom, but when she went, she was always with a girl-friend.

The older man had to suffer for hours as the woman he’d been dying to have, had been kissing other men.

He couldn’t understand why y/n was so stuck up. Last he checked, women lived them rude and cocky. What happened in this timeline?

“Finally home,” Logan spoke in the corner of the darkroom as y/n stumbled into the apartment. She instantly rolled her eyes and sighed as she kicked off her shoes, barely being able to open her eyes or stand correctly.

“Gonna at least speak to me? Or are you too pissy drunk?” Logan asked, knowing which one it was. “That’s what I thought,” the man shook his head as he got up to walk toward her, but she paid no attention and made her way to her room.

“You didn’t even lock the door!” Logan shouted after her, but she ignored him, barely able to think about anything that was happening around her. Once she left the club with loud music, that was it for her.

Logan locked the front door and straightened up the shoes she kicked off on the front mat before he made his way toward her room. The man went to open her door, but she had locked it to shut him out for the night.

Logan sat in his room for a good hour, thinking about the way he should handle y/n. Should he kick her door down and yell at her? Should he talk to her from outside of her room? Should he wait to bring it up tomorrow? Or should he never speak of tonight?

Through the hour, he also thought about those men she let touch all over her and explore her mouth. He swore he’s never been too pissed off about a woman in his life.

It’s almost like she knew he was there to rub it in his face, and if that was the case, and he were to ever find out, he wouldn’t know how far he’d get upset.

All the men she kissed tonight waited for her, like some dog. It’s like Logan could see them a mile away. Why did she choose them, and not him? Logan was the real man here, not them.

“Fuck that,” Logan growled low as he pushed off of his bed and made his way out of his room. The man walked down the small hall before kicking y/n’s door open, causing her to jolt a bit in her sleep.

“Get up,” Logan demanded, but she barely understood him. She was still drunk, and now half asleep and in her dream. “What?” Y/n asked low as she saw the huge man make his way towards her.

“Up!” Logan demanded again before he ripped her cover off. “Hey-“ y/n went to say before Logan grabbed and pulled her up until she was seated in her bed. “Logan, what’s the deal?” Y/n asked, always irritated as he shifted her bottom to the edge of the bed.

“I want you to tell me if they mattered,” Logan spoke, only confused y/n. “What-“ y/n tried saying before Logan ripped her panties off. She had only worse panties and a bra to sleep in tonight instead of a nightgown like she usually wears. She was far too drunk to go through her drawers and find one.

“Hey,” y/n said as she went to push Logan’s fingers away that she rubbed across her heat. “You’re not even wet — They couldn’t have been that good, then,” Logan’s delusion fully kicked in before he stuck to fingers deep into y/n’s mouth.

Y/n tried pulling away and shaking her head, but Logan continued until his fingers were soaked with her saliva.

“Don’t bitch if it goes in dry then,” Logan said before he pushed two fingers at her entrance. “Hey, no-“ y/n went to stop him, but her voice cracked out as her hands stayed in shock right next to her thighs.

The young lady gripped her sheets as Logan curled his two fingers inside of her. “At least you’re empty — Maybe you’re not such a slut after all,” Logan said as y/n whined at the instant feeling of her stomach tightening.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Am I too big? — Fuck, I haven’t even put my dick in you yet,” Logan chuckled as he began to push his fingers in and out of her heat, focusing on her moans and the way she gripped around him.

“L-Lo-L-Lo,” y/n stuttered as she tried her best to keep herself up. “Lo-Lo-Lo — Fucking pathetic,” Logan mocked the girl as he looked into her eyes. She could barely hold them open as Logan played inside of her.

“No more,” y/n cried low as she felt herself near, upset that she wasn’t pushing the man off. She was strong enough to get rid of Logan, but something in her didn’t want him to stop this.

“You didn’t tell those little boys to stop — What makes you think I’ll fucking stop? Huh? — Ian stoppin’ princess,” Logan assured y/n, only making her roll her eyes, fully turned on by the way he was treating her.

For so long, y/n has been waiting for Logan to show just how cocky and asshole-like he could get. Finally, tonight, he decided to let it out.

With her being drunk, she couldn’t love this even more. There was nothing she could do about the way she was about to gush all over him.

“I’m gonna cum,” y/n said low as she fell back onto her mattress, getting ready to give Logan what he was trying so desperately to get from her. “There you go — Relax that body — Give it to me, Bub,” and with that, she did.

Y/n’s body locked up for a few seconds before shaking. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at her to taunt the way she got because of him. “Look at how I get you,”

Logan licked himself after he pulled out of y/n, making sure to get a treat for himself. That had triggered his mind to pick her up and take her to his room to continue eating her out.

“Get those fucking hands away from me, or I’ll make you count till ten,” Logan threatened after y/n tried pushing his head away from her heat. “No more — Please,” y/n begged the man as she took deep gasps.

All Logan did was chuckle into her heat, knowing he had too many more orgasms to go.

[thebluediner]

part 2

warning: smut

you eyes intently watch her like she's prey. she breaks out in an awkward laugh realising she never even bought you a present.

in her defense she wasn't exactly invited by you but by your sister but still she felt kind of bad. she was about to apologise right when charli started laughing and playfully patting billie.

"she's joking. she's not fond of birthday presents at her parties " charli explained while poking her sister as an attempt warn her about teasing billie.

"doesn't matter what I'm fond of I want one from you" you spoke over the music your eyes still on billie.

"where do you expect her to get it from " charli defends her friend making billie laugh at you sisters

"it's closer than you think. just think outisde the box " you lean forward whispering to billie before putting back your shades and excusing yourself.

billie watches you walk away with a smile that she tries to hide by bitting her lip. she knew what you meant by think outside the box.

so when she tries to find a bathroom but bumps into you, instead ,she knows exactly what to do.

in a matter of seconds your frame was seated on the sink, you legs hanging off, watching billie shut the door and locking it.

your hands tugged at her hair making sure to tighten it as you watched her get on her knees opening your legs wide. your first moan slips out your head tilting back leaning onto the mirror.

your skin was on fire anticipating when her lips were gonna be on your skin. your core was flooding by the second. aching to be touched by her.

the touch you've been anticipating finally happens when she pushes oast the mere fabric you called a miniskirt going to your panties and putting them aside.

her finger draggs between your wet folds making you cry out with your mouth agape.

"your this wet for me already princess " her voice low and mocking states before her face presses onto your pussy outting pressure on it.

you whine squirming with your hips pushing forward wanting all the pressure it can get. the music outisde of the bathroom was fading and only the cries of moans were the focus.

you couldn't help it .you swore you were going to squirt in her face before she even starts. your head tried to narrow it down to the fact that your were high and drunk so you body was just being needy but fuck her touch made you feral.

while you're in a haze you're panties came out fully giving billie access to your needy cunt. her soft lipa meet yours in a frenzy and she latches her tongue onto your clit.

dragging it and prodding the bud making your breath hitch and stammer. your moans sounded like a broken harmony with how it shocked you.

her lips started to suck and lick your plumb folds making you call out all the biblical names you knew , god , jesus and the holy spirit.

her mouth on your pussy felt to otherworldly you were sure it was heavily influenced by the fact you were still intoxicated. you pushed your head against the mirror smudging it with the products of your hair just from the pleasure.

a loud cry comes out when she adds a finger you weren't expecting and another awful one follows when she adds another curling them in you and dragging out the orgasm from you.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck yes " you cry out nodding at her approach of fucking you. god you felt it coming. billie's fingers were moving like crazy along with the sensation of her mouth on your flesh.

your pussy started clenching around her fingers almost a couple of minutes later. she could feel your hole get tighter around her fingers causing her to smile against your cunt making you bang your head against the mirror at the pleasure.

you hips instantly clench shut suffocating billie between them. she hums at your action making it vibrate against your clit . that was all she needed to do for you to come undone.

a harsh cracked cry escape from you the minute your legs start to tremble. the grip you had on her hair gets tighter as you pull her closer riding out your high against her mouth.

it took a while for your legs to weaken and slump down finally releasing billie from your locked hips.

when she appears from below you she had a playful smirk playing on her lips that were glistening with your juices.

"how was that for a birthday present " she asked but doesn't get her answer because you pull her by her neck into a heated kiss.

the same kiss that makes billie whimper at its passionate energy. your legs wrap around around billie's waist locking her close to you. billie's hands grip your waist pulling you closer whole your hands tangle into her hair.

"that was fucking amazing " you confess when the kiss breaks. your eyes lock onto hers watching them crinkle when she smiles at your praise.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone on the news is constantly screaming about how it's my duty as a citizen of Earth to stop working on my little projects, go outside, and kill some of the invading space bugs (from outer space.) And that's not true. Studies actually show that taking breaks makes you more productive when you get back to work. By spending some "me time" for a week or two, I'll be a much better bug-squashing soldier than before.

Which is not to say that my projects don't have value to the defence forces, either. I'm pretty sure that this radar-guided lawnmower could one day be used as a self-driving tank, and not just for YouTube clout. Nobody is really watching, anyway, because they're either enlisted in the military or hiding in one of the relocation camps after the bugs have taken over most of the urbanized world during their first strike. Put a big crimp in my view hours, for sure. My last couple of videos have been total dogshit, and there's some real gold in there.

Now, it is true that I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I just kind of assumed I could nip away for fifteen, twenty minutes tops. Extended bathroom break, can't deny that to someone working so hard. They wouldn't miss me while they were busy defending the outpost from the approaching waves of bugs, just too busy. Then I started to make some progress on the project, and before you know it, it had been a couple of days. Honestly, it would be kind of awkward if I went back there now.

Come to think of it, what has humanity done for me lately anyway? At least the bugs aren't going to bother me once they're done destroying our planet's energy and defence mechanisms, and rounding up most of the population to eat. They won't bother coming way out here for just one dumbass working on painting old Hot Wheels toys. Hey, this spray paint just killed a cockroach in my basement. Guess it's really toxic to bugs. I probably shouldn't be breathing so much of this stuff, but it's how I get my best ideas. What do you mean, "we have to call the president?" And ruin all this fun?

[hellodarling1357]

More Than A Moment: Part 1 - Cassian x Reader (AU!)

What? A post? A whole new fic? After months of broken promises (rip me)?

I sporadically got the inspo to write today and this idea just flowed on out and all but wrote itself!

Is this a stand alone? A multi-part (I hope so)?

Who knows!

Either way, I hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: After a drunken night between friends, just friends, nothing more, Y/N and Cassian’s lives end up changing forever. But maybe not in the way they had originally expected.

Word Count: 1.5k

“Cassian!” You shout through the door, one fist pounding on the wooden frame as the other, hidden away in your coat pocket, held tightly to what had felt like a lifeline since you had raced to the store just over an hour ago.

“Cassian! I swear to god if you don’t open the door right now…” You took a step back as your fist met the air, the words dying in your throat as a girl with sleep mussed hair, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that you knew belonged to Cassian, stared back at you with a look of distaste.

“What?” The girl asked, stifling a yawn as her eyes blatantly looked you up and down, a smirk spreading across her lips as she took in your frazzled appearance. “We’re a little busy here, so…”

You blinked at her before pushing past and making your way inside the small apartment, ignoring the girl’s protest as you beelined for Cassian’s room, stopping momentarily as the door opened before you could reach it.

“Y/N. Hey,” the man in question was straightening out a tight black t-shirt, having clearly put on the closest items of clothing he could reach. “I didn’t expect to see you today, especially not at 8 am on a Sunday morning…”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay, alright. Could this not have waited until a more reasonable time?”

“Cass, please…”

Clearly picking up on the slight plea in your voice, he nodded, a slight furrow to his brow as he studied you a moment longer before turning to the girl who remained bristling by the front door.

“Hey,” he started, beckoning the girl towards him, you cringed as you took a seat on the couch, not wanting to be a part of the scene that was about to unfold. “So last night was fun, yeah? But I think there’s a few things I need to deal with here so we should probably wrap this up for now?”

“Oh? So you want me to leave?” You rolled your eyes as she clung to him, battering her lashes in hopes of changing his mind as he led her back into his room to help her collect her things, not missing the daggers she sent your way when Cassian’s back was turned.

“It’s not that I want you to leave… But I’ll call you. Soon, alright?”

“You better.”

Barely managing to conceal your scoff you busied yourself with your phone as she pulled him down into a lingering kiss.

“Alright, well get home safe and thanks again for last night…” Cassian trailed off and your attention flickered over in disbelief as he clearly tried to scramble for the poor girl’s name.

“Rebecca. My name’s Rebecca.” Her icy tone was a stark contrast as she moved out of his grasp.

“Of course, I know your name. How could I forget? I was just deciding whether I wanted to start calling you babe or baby.”

You didn’t attempt to hide the disgust at your friend as he shot the girl a charming smile that had her swooning as she said her goodbyes - all iciness melting into a flirtatiously shy smile as she stared up at him from under heavy lashes.

“You really can be a pig sometimes, you do realise that?” You said without looking up from your phone once Cassian had shut the door behind the girl.

“What?” He asked, voice laced in indignation as he slumped onto the couch beside you.

“Oh I dunno, do I call you babe or baby? Of course I remember your name, random-girl-I’ll-never-actually-call.” You lowered your voice into a mockery of his own before being met with a pillow to your face as Cassian got up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Hey, I just got rid of a perfectly nice girl for you. No need for the disrespect. What’s so important anyway? You know I love to see you and all that, but usually not at this time.” He leant against the bathroom door, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he stared at you waiting for an answer.

Right.

You had almost forgotten that you were here for a reason other than witnessing one of your closest friends be a complete dick to a girl he’d spent the previous night with.

“Oh… Um yeah it’s all good. Get dressed or whatever then we can chat.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment longer before shrugging and returning to the bathroom. You slumped back as soon as you were out of sight, squashing the pillow Cassian had previously whacked you with against your face as your thoughts raced through your head. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

By the time Cassian was ready, you had had enough time to work yourself into a somewhat frantic state as you paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to even bring up the reason why you had almost knocked down his door on a seemingly normal Sunday.

“Jesus, what’s up with you this morning?” Your head whipped around to face Cassian, freezing mid-pace to stare at him like a deer in headlights. When the only reply you could muster was the very unsubtle opening and closing of your mouth, Cassian let out a sigh as he reached for his shoes. “Well, seeing that you appear to have a whole heap of pent up energy, we’re walking to the cafe down the street. Your shout for waking me up and prematurely ending what was sure to be a very satisfying Sunday morning.”

You scrunched your nose but nodded all the same as you silently headed towards the door, missing the concerned look on Cassian’s face as his eyes trailed your retreating figure before he jumped up to follow you out.

——

The ten minute walk was silent except for the slight crunch of autumn leaves under foot as the pair of you narrowly avoided the early risers who were jogging past along the footpath and manoeuvred around the copious stream of families with young children enjoying the crisp morning air; your heart rate soared as you tried to control your breathing

Cassian managed to score a secluded table tucked away by the window, thanking the waiter for the menus and water as you stared past him in a daze, your mind reeled of how to approach telling him what had happened, what had resulted from…

A large hand waving in front of your face had you blinking in surprise.

“Y/N?”

“Yep. Hi.”

Cassian gave you another quizzical look but was halted from saying anything else as the waiter returned, asking about coffee and food orders.

“Just a long black for me, thanks.”

You could hear your heartbeat and wouldn’t be surprised if everyone around you could as well.

“Y/N?” Cassian gave you a soft kick under the table, pulling your attention to the waiter who was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, um… Just a latte. Thank you,” Shit. Could you even have coffee now? “Wait. I mean, no. Just a tea. Peppermint, please. If you have it. Sorry.” Your voice trailed after the waiter as he nodded and walked off with a shake of his head. So far, this was not going well.

“Alright, what has gotten into you?” The immediate retort of ‘um you?’ was held back by a bite of your tongue. “You better not be here confessing your love for me. I mean we spoke about this, right? It was just a one off, drunken night between two friends who both happen to be very attractive.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders as you offered a small smile in appreciation of Cassian’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“You’re not actually in love with me are you?” You rolled your eyes at the slight panic in his expression, deciding not to take it as an insult. “I mean, I love you, but, you know, as a friend. Because we’re friends. We’re all friends; me, you, Rhys, Az, Feyre, Mor…”

“Cassian,” you let the smile grow a bit as he prattled on. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh, thank god. No offence.” He offered you a guilty looking smile which softened as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue.

“But I did want to talk about that night…” You trailed off, trying to gauge Cassian’s response as he quirked his head to the side and furrowed his brows in confusion. Well, here it goes. Taking in a deep breath, you reached into your pocked and placed the pregnancy test on the table.

“Cass, I’m pregnant.”

----------

I have so many ideas for this and how I want to continue it but would love to hear your thoughts!!

[sissylittlefeather]

Daddy Loves His Baby

A/N: I was feeling some type of way earlier and I just wrote this half as a comfort to myself and half because people keep reading Daddy Likes His Football. So this is yet another part, but this one is a little... sweeter?

Here is part 1, and here is part 2.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.3k

“Honey, what’re you doin’ in here?” Elvis cracks the door and peeks into the room you share. It's dark despite the sunset outside and as his eyes adjust, he sees the lump that must be you in the bed. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” You sigh deeply and roll over onto your side, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

“You been up here all day?” You close your eyes and cringe internally. You have, in fact, been in this bed all day long and he's just now noticing. He's busy, you know that, and you're being a little overdramatic, but it still hurts. Especially in your current state of mind.

“Yeah.” It’s barely audible, so he walks further into the room, looking down at you in the bed. You have these moods sometimes, and hell, so does he, but this seems to be worse than normal. He stands and stares at you, trying to decide just how firm he wants to be with you. You're an angel when he gets like this, but quite frankly, he's a little annoyed. He buys you everything you could ever want, gives you whatever you need, and is only ever a little grumpy about it.

“What's the problem?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends and you flinch.

“I dunno, Elvis. I'm just… sad.” He wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he holds back.

“Honey, you have no reason to be–”

“I know that!” You snap at him for the first time ever and it completely catches him off guard. “But you don't either and I put up with your bullshit moods all the time!”

You have no idea where this anger is coming from. Elvis is the love of your life and taking care of him is your joy, even when he's down. But right now you just want to be left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He purses his lips and shakes his head. A sad mood is one thing, but you need to remember who you belong to.

“Enough.” In two strides, he's next to you, yanking the covers off of you unceremoniously.

“Elvis!” You holler, but he ignores you, picking up your body easily and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Ya been in bed long enough. No more feelin’ sorry for yourself.” He carries you to the bathroom as you kick and yell and pound on his back with your tiny ineffectual fists. You gasp as he plops you on the lid of the toilet and then walks to the shower to start it up.

“What are you doing?! I don't wanna shower!” He continues to ignore you, checking the temperature and coming back over to you to undress you. You protest verbally, but let him strip you naked.

“You always feel better when you're wet, one way or another.” He's not wrong. There are two things that'll cheer you up without fail: sex and water. Maybe it's the Pisces in you. And you don't seem to be too eager to fuck him, so he decides a shower is the next best thing. You scoff and harumph as he moves you under the water.

“This isn't helping.” You sound like a petulant child now and he does roll his eyes this time.

“Shut up and wait for daddy.” He starts to pull his clothes off as you stand in the shower pouting. Eventually, you feel him move in behind you and sigh despite yourself. The water does feel really good and knowing he's naked behind you is just enough of a distraction from your mood. You turn to face him and lean your head back into the stream of water, moaning softly. He suppresses a smile at how quickly you seem to be coming back to life. It comforts him to know that he knows you this well. His relationships are never easy, but with you it feels like it's worth whatever he has to put up with. You drive him crazy in the best way possible and he loves you more than he's ever loved anyone before. He puts his hands on your hips and moves closer to you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You like this?”

You're quiet for a bit, just enjoying the sensation of his hands and mouth on you, but eventually you sigh and whisper, “yeah.”

He puts your arms on his shoulders and presses his body against you. Thinking about how much you mean to him has his cock hard where it pushes against you.

“You want daddy to make it all better?” You nod, your bad mood completely forgotten as your center radiates heat on his leg. “Good girl.”

He turns and presses your back up against the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of you. You moan loudly and your eyes roll back as he shoves his tongue into your pussy. Usually it's you on your knees, so this is a welcome change.

“Fuck, daddy…” Your hand goes to the front of his hair as he eats you like a man starved. His tongue swirls your clit and then he sucks on it lightly, determined to make you cum as quickly as possible. He slides his long middle finger up inside you, curling it against your g-spot as he licks you. You feel your orgasm approaching you and your legs tremble with anticipation. He feels your walls start to flutter and grumbles into you.

“Cum for daddy, baby.” You listen to him and moan again as your climax washes over you, pounding in your veins and lighting you up like a firecracker. He groans as he feels you pulse around his finger and then pulls back, standing up. You lean against the wall, shaking and panting as he lifts one of your legs and bends his knees to line his cock up with your entrance. “Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you until he fills up this sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, daddy…” You whimper as he pushes inside you, grunting. He holds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your lips as he picks up a steady pace, fucking into you faster and harder as the shower water mixes with the sweat on both of your bodies.

“Whose baby are you?” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Yours, daddy.” You moan, reveling in the power with which he slams into you.

“And does daddy love his baby?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer, pressing his lips to yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he finally does pull back, he puts his forehead on yours, thrusting deeper into you. “Does he?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And daddy will always take care of her and make her happy?” You nod furiously and he moans. “Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby.”

He closes his eyes and fills you one last time, trembling as he shoots you full of cum and you lose control, another release vibrating in between your hips. You slump against him and he holds you steady, kissing your forehead gently. The steam curls around you and for a while there is nothing but the sound of your breathing as your heart rate normalizes.

“I love you too.” You murmur against his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your temple. It's amazing how safe and at-ease you feel now, considering your mood from earlier. But that's just the effect he has on you, that you have on each other. He is your home, your peace. You love to tease him, but you'd never want to be without him. He reaches around you and converts the shower to a bath, laying down with you in his arms.

“You feel better?” He holds you, stroking your arm gently. You can be a real brat sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn't trade you for anything.

“Yeah. Thank you.” You sigh again and settle against him, snuggling into the hair on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and smiles softly. “Any time, baby. Any time.”

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think Tim and Dick would deal with going to this specific: Bar/cafe/coffee/candy shop to buy something just to have the excuse to see another customer they started crushing on after a conversation the first time they went there and at some point down the line after asking this customer s/o out, they find s/o’s stash of goodies from the place in a draw in the kitchen at s/o place and s/o walks in on this “I forgot about those in there. I needed an excuse to talk to you”?

A/N: The temptation to write a full out fic for Tim was so real. 😭😂Honestly, this is by far the cutest request I've gotten

Dick:

The original purpose of going to the animal cafe in Bludhaven with Damian was so he could get the teen off his case. For ten days, he would come and terrorize him every night in an act of revenge for all the crap he was given by the whole family for getting grounded. Yes, as the eldest sibling he shouldn't have teased him so much but come on. The teen ran around Gotham, taking down each criminal while holding the giant Bat Signal in its lit state. How could he not? 

Promising to take him there for a whole week, it was on the first day of the seven he met you and the gray rabbit who would eventually become his wingman in winning you over. Resembling Haley, it was as if the rabbit knew the two of you were meant to be when the small thing hopped from you to him, then turning his head towards you to beck you over so Dick could get guided on how to hold and properly pet him. Every day, the rabbit would do this, leading the two of you to get closer to one another where soon, it started to come as natural for him to walk up and sit next to you. 

He knew he was completely hooked as Damian had once come up and whispered with disdain how he was “ogling” you, to which he still argues he was admiring. It was what led to him to start bringing Haley to the cafe on his days-off, smiling as he always saw you with the same fluffy, gray rabbit in your lap, munching on a carrot whenever he entered the shop. All to take a chance and worm his way into your heart.

Now he’s happily living with you under the same roof. Along with becoming Haley’s other parent,  you’ve been helping him get situated with the newly adopted rabbit he saved during his last mission (though he has yet to bring up that the rabbit was actually illegally acquired and was formerly used to energize a bio weapon). 

For right now, he’s helping you find your library card, scorching the whole unit from bathroom to the living room. 

“Did you check your desk yet?”

“No, I didn’t get that far!” 

While you go through the dresser, he stands behind you and goes through your desk. Keys, notepads, paper clips, oh wait. Maybe? Pulling a card out from between your notebooks, he opens his mouth to tell you he may have found it only to stop from recognizing the logo and the date written on it. 

“Did you find it, Dick?” You ask when you don’t hear any shuffling from him for a while. 

“No. But,” he waves the card at you as you turn to face him, “I didn’t know you had a crush on me for that long.” 

His smirk stretches wider into a grin, gleefully watching your confusion and frustration merging into horror as it registers what exactly he’s holding. 

“I… completely forgot I left that there.”  Your voice barely above a whisper to which he nearly tells you it’s fine since he got you to flush from head to toe. 

Instead, he takes a step forward, his fingers gingerly wrap around your wrist before pulling you towards him. Nuzzling his cheek into your hair, he occasionally lifts his head up and presses lips on your forehead, nose, and cheeks.

“Cute”, “precious”, and “I love you”s are what he says in between each one before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

He chuckles from the random noise you make when you duck down to hide your embarrassment. Then sighs in content, words unable to express how he’s fallen head over heels for you all over again.

Tim:

The day he first met and had a crush on you was definitely a memorable one. It started as two random, sleep-deprived students standing in line at the only coffee shop closest to campus. Until he, his sleep deprived mind, and caffeine withdrawal spilled his coffee onto you as soon as he got it off the counter. Great first impression he left as you both went into full out panic, you trying to tell him it was fine while he kept apologizing and promised to, at least, pay for your drink. 

He still cringes at the moment, especially when he later found out once he was on friendlier terms with you, that you were more upset that it was your favorite shirt that had gotten ruined. Your Red Robin shirt to be exact. But now looking back, had it not happened he would’ve never gotten your number, nonetheless talked to you. It would’ve become another normal day in his life without the person who currently gives him joy in his life.

He lost track of how many times he went to that coffee shop just so he could bump and get closer to you.  For a while, coffee became his go to for caffeine when Babs had asked once why he was pouring the coffee from her coffee pot rather than drinking his usual energy drink during a Batfam meeting. 

As the saying goes, hard work pays off. Currently, he’s helping you pack so you could move to what you affectionately call his “dingy old” boat to which has upgraded to becoming somewhat habitable after you visited him more and helped organize his space and belongings. 

“Hey, did you pack your stuff in the drawers?”

He picks up the word “no” coming from the bedroom. Giving you the heads up he was going to start working there, he grabs another empty box and continues to open the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing stands out, the typical utensils organized in their respective holders until his hand nudges onto something in the very back corner that holds your silverware. 

A tiny smile dances on his lips as he pulls out and recognizes your stack of punch cards to the coffee shop the two of you now frequently go to together. You did mention you always liked that place long before the two of you dated. Never thought it was this much. Giving it a good look, he starts considering where he should place it since it was obvious that you were keeping them until the date on the very top card registers in his head. 

“Tim? What are you doing? Do you know how many times I called you-”

His fingertips matching the same red as his neck and face, he wordlessly turns towards you. Slowly your face starts turning the same color, your lips in the shape of a tiny “o” from recognizing what exactly he was holding and what mostly just occurred.  

“You… liked me?” He couldn’t manage uttering the “for that long” part out loud. Thankfully, and another reason why he loves you, you’re quick to catch on what he means as you start looking everywhere but him. 

“Y-Yeah.” It comes out so softly yet he can hear it loud and clear. “I, um, needed an excuse to see you again.” 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making when he walks up to you. Nor did he have any thoughts in general. His head is in the clouds  right now, finding out how much he’s loved back that makes him love you even more. Adore you even more. Softly he brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“I love you.”

And he leans forward to seal his words in both your and his heart.

[kanyerealdaughter]

#PREGNANT GIRLFRIEND

fluff , (fem,reader) , cussing , (katsuki baukgo x reader)

other versions | phinks magcub | taiju shiba | renji abarai.

—————————————————————————

imagine asking your boyfriend to shave you down there before you give birth. you would've done it, but your big swollen belly gets in the way every time you try to shave. katsuki large hand rests protectively on your belly again.

" now... how about a warm bath?" he asks softly, knowing how much pregnancy can make your muscles ache.

" okay yeah." you nodded agreeing you gave the green light to katsuki as he helps you stand up, supporting you gently as you rise from the couch. he leads you to the bathroom, running the warm water in the tub and adding some soothing bath salts.

" here, let me help you in." he says, assisting

you into the tub before sitting down beside you. he watches you sink into the water with a small sigh of relief. your baby bump sticks out of the water, round and full. he realizes how protective he feels towards you both. his eyes lower to your body, taking in your fuller breasts, wider hips, and the baby bump.

you started to blush as his eyes roamed over your pregnant body trying to hide underneath the water, he notices your blush and realizes you caught him staring. he grins mischievously, his eyes darkening slightly.

" do you know how sexy you look when you're pregnant?" he asks suddenly, his voice lower than usual. his eyes drop to your breasts again, then to your belly.

" katsuki.." you said softly, but he just chuckles softly at your shy mumble, leaning closer with a playful smirk.

" what? it's true." he murmurs, his fingertips lightly tracing the curve of your baby bump.

" you're carrying our child, your body's changing beautifully... and it's incredibly attractive."

" no it's not that katsuki.. it's just... um.. i-i haven't shaved.. since you know i'm pregnant.. a-and it's difficult to reach down there with my stomach ..." you said awkwardly, staring down at the water.

he smirks turns into a soft, affectionate smile with his reddish face as he listens to your awkward explanation. he gently reaches out, his fingers brushing against your leg under the water.

" mm yeah.. it's okay, sweetheart. i don't mind at all."

" really..?” katsuki expression softens at your request, his heart melting at the thought of taking care of you, even something as simple as shaving your legs.

" of course, i can do it." he says gently practically scoffing at you like he isn’t capable of shaving you, his hand moving to part your legs carefully under the water.

" just relax, okay?" you nodded slowly, feeling a bit happy once he agreed to do it. he carefully washes your legs and private area with a soft washcloth, being extra gentle around your sensitive skin. he then takes out a razor and shaving cream, applying it carefully to your skin. he shaves your legs and private area slowly and carefully, making sure not to nick you.

"... c-cold.." you said quietly, feeling the coldness of the shaving cream.

" almost done." katsuki murmurs softly, his brows furrowing together to see that he really focused, his fingers spreading your legs wider underwater to get a better angle. he rinses the razor in the warm bathwater frequently to keep it clean.

" lift up a little?"

" okay." he gently helps you lift your heavy pregnant belly with one arm to get better access, his other large calloused hand holding the razor. he carefully shaves around your sensitive area, being extra gentle.

" you're doing good, baby. almost done." he reassures you softly.

" can you spread your legs wider?"

" i-i'm trying..." you mumbled slightly whining as your back arch, spreading your legs the best you could with your pregnant belly making your back get in pain slightly.

" shh, you're doing perfectly." he adjusts your position slightly, helping you balance against his shoulder.

" just a little more..." his voice is gentle and patient as he carefully finishes shaving. once done, he thoroughly rinses the area with warm water.

" there... all cleaned up." he helps you lie back comfortably in the tub again, running a warm washcloth over your sensitive skin to make sure it's completely rinsed.

" better?" he asks softly, his hand resting protectively on your belly. his eyes meet yours with a mixture of love and desire.

" thank you, my love.." you said gently with a nod before sinking into the warm bathtub. his expression softens at your thank you, his heart nearly melting at how sweet and trusting you are.

" anytime, baby. that's what i'm here for.. to take care of you and our little one." katsuki said with his fingers trace circles on your belly under the water.

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - idkkk i kinda love this on with bakugo.

words - 0.0k

», ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

copyright ©️. ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ . «

[sleepychenle]

wc: 722. genre: fluff, enemies to ???. tags: haechan's friend!chenle, uni au, mentions of alcohol, kinda mean!chenle. [a/n]: yn is me. i sip on my drink everytime i feel awkward and end up drunk. it’s like a reflex istg. i still struggle w tags btw... lmk if these are not it lmao.

you have no idea why you decided to accept haechan’s invitation.

you’re not the type to party, but somehow it felt like you should go. as if you were going to witness some crazy drama or someone’s entertaining canon event tonight. if you only knew…

as you make your way to the entrance, it hits you. you don’t know anyone here besides haechan, who will be hosting the party and, of course, won’t be with you all night.

“oh hi, yn!” you blink as haechan makes you snap out of your thoughts. “come with me, i’ll introduce you to my friends so you’re not bored while you’re without me” can he read minds? you follow him with no response other than a nervous smile and a small nod.

and it wasn’t that bad! even, you thought you could get along with them… specially with renjun. just for the fact that neither of you wanted to be there. they were all pretty chill guys. all except chenle. the guy that you got paired with to do some calculus homework a couple days before.

he was so stubborn and full of himself… he wouldn’t wait for you to finish and he would lose it whenever you made a mistake. you couldn’t stand each other so you both agreed to work on it separatedly.

you’re not sure when it happened, but now you have a glass of who-knows-what in your hand, sipping every time you felt like chenle was staring at you, probably hating at a distance… and that was, pretty much all the time. that’s how you started to feel tipsy. what a good idea yn! drink every time you feel awkward… what were you thinking? you think to yourself as you sigh.

you decide to go to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. so you excuse yourself and try to make your way there. you are currently in a state where you can’t fully control your body, often bumping into people. but at least you could still think straight… right?

suddenly, you bump into another person. causing you to trip and fall to the floor. or that’s what you thought would happen. you open your eyes and see chenle. you never fell. you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist, and something else… his whole body pressed against yours.

“watch out, yn” he says, with a hint of worry in his tone, but you wouldn't notice anyways. his gaze intense on your features. why isn’t he cursing? why is he looking at me like that? he doesn’t look too bad... not at all.

“you’re kinda hot when you’re not grumpy…” you murmur your thoughts out, gripping his shirt as though you’d fall if you didn’t. he hums. “am i now?” “…can’t say it happens often, though” you press your eyes closed, regretting what you just said. it looks like it’s the only body part you have control of now.

he helps you stand on your feet again, finally (and reluctantly) letting go of you. he bows slightly, as if signaling he is about to go. but then, you call him almost… desperately? “wait!” you don’t even know why you stopped him, and now you have to make an excuse for it. “uhh… did you finish the exercises?”

he turns around “i did… why? you need help with yours?” chenle says with that smug expression he always seems to save just for you. “no… i didn’t want that” your voice get quieter. he raises an eyebrow and gets closer again… incredibly close “oh? what did you want then, yn?”

oh how i love when he calls me by my name… why am i even thinking about this? there is no use in hiding it anymore, right? no, wait yn. think for a moment- “a kiss” you manage to say, so low that only him could hear it… as if it was forbidden.

his smirk widens. and his face is a mixture between amusement and surprise. he leans down and you close your eyes, preparing for the so-wanted kiss. but instead, his mouth hovers right next to your ear and he whispers “ask me again when you’re sober, will you?” he pulls away with a smile and walks away. leaving you there, stunned, flustered and cursing at yourself for not being sober enough.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Helpless ~ Steve's Version

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / MUSICAL INSPIRED FIC MASTERLIST

Steve Rogers x Female!Stark!Reader

Word Count: 2,250ish

Request: song request: helpless (hamilton) for steve where f!reader is pining for him (and ofc he pines back)  and the 'sister' in the song is just best friend!tony 😼😼 (but none of the angelica/hamilton parallels! just tony noticing reader's crush and introducing them) love your work!

Notes: I changed the request a bit, but I hope everyone enjoys it!

“Ooh (hey, hey)

I do, I do, I do, I do (hey, hey, hey, hey)

Hey (hey, hey)

Ooh (hey, hey)

I do, I do, I do, I do (hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)”

The Stark Tower was now The Avengers Tower and tonight Tony was hosting the grand opening gala. He was currently following you around your small New York apartment, begging you to attend.

“Come on, sis,” Tony begged. “For me. You haven’t stepped foot in the Tower once and I want to get your thoughts.”

“Tony,” you sighed with a shake of your head. “I thought we agreed that I’m not meant for the spot light, that’s you.”

“This isn’t the spot light. I have a dress for you. Pepper’s going to be there. You don’t have to hit the red carpet or anything.”

“I don’t know, Tony—“

“Please, Y/N.” He reached over and grabbed your hands. “I almost died, remember?”

You rolled your eyes. “Really? You’re playing that card?”

“Come on! I just want my baby sis to have fun with me for once. Please.”

You new that when your brother was looking at you with this big brown eyes, it was hard for you not to cave. “Fine.”

“Yes!” He pulled you into a hug and kissed your cheek. “Let’s go! I can give you a tour and then you and Pepper can get ready together.”

~~~

You were Tony Stark’s half-sister, having been conceived by Howard Stark having an affair with one of this secretaries. Tony was twelve when you were born and immediately was attached to you. The Starks had kept you a secret to the world and Tony continued to do so at your request. Though you could tell that it was beginning to hurt him more and more. He loved you so much and was so proud of you, and he just wanted to share that with the world.

“The Tower is amazing, Tony,” you told him as the two of you waited in the elevator.

“I’m glad you think so,” he smiled as the elevator stopped and opened up, “because this is your floor.”

“Wh—What?”

Tony grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the elevator. “This is all for you. It has an office for your work, three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a kitchen, a dinning room, and a living room. JARVIS has it set up so that only people you approve can access your floor.”

“Tony… I…”

“Y/N, I almost died. You could have died. I can’t protect my baby sis if you’re out there on your own. Please, do this, for me? No one has to know about the floor or you. I promise. But this way, I know that you’re safe and we can even spend more time together and—“

“Yes, Tony. I’ll move in.”

“Yay!” He kissed your forehead. “Also, the movers are already on their way with you things.”

“Tony!” 

He moved away from your playful swat. “Hey! You know that I just love you, right kid?”

“I know. I love you, too. I’ll always be grateful for what you do for me, Tones.”

“Okay!” He clapped, rubbing his hands together. “Your dress for the gala is in your closet and Pepper and I will swing by to pick you up at 7.”

“Boy, you got me helpless

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

I'm helpless

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

“I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight

We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night

Laughin' at my sister as she's dazzling the room

Then you walked in, and my heart went “boom””

The Tower ballroom as full of celebrities and government officials. There were groups dancing to the music and groups chatting while drinking and eating the hors d’oeuvres.  You had never felt more out of place. You were hiding against the wall with a drink in your hand, watching Tony charm everyone who wished to talk to him.

The soft ding of the elevator caught your attention. You lost your breath as a tall, blonde man where black slacks and a navy button down dress shirt stepped out. He looked just as out of place as you felt. His eyes somehow found your gaze and for a moment, no one else was in the ballroom but the two of you. But before either of you could make a move towards each other, the man was pulled in the direction of a group of government officials. 

“Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom

Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume

Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

Grab a sister and whisper, "Yo, this one's mine" (ooh)”

You walked along the side of the ballroom, tracking the man. He kept being pulled into different conversations like he was important. He did seem familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Tony eventually made his way over to you, needing to check on you.

“You holding up, sis?” He asked softly as he handed you a new drink.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumbled, still focused on the man. “Uh, who is that?” You slightly pointed.

Tony’s brows furrowed as he looked over to where you were pointing. “Oh, that’s Capsicle. You know? Captain America?”

“That’s Steve Rogers?”

“The one and only. And annoyingly righteous as I always thought he would be.”

You shrugged. “He’s… cute.”

Tony’s eyes widened as his head snapped in your direction. He quickly studied your face. He had never seen that look on you before. In fact, you had never openly admitted to finding someone cute before. Most likely because you were too scared of what Tony might do. He looked back at Steve. There could definitely be worse people for you to find cute. He sighed and began to head towards Steve.

“Wait, Tony!” You quietly called. “What are you doing?”

“My sister made her way across the room to you (ooh)

And I got nervous, thinking, what's she gonna do? (Ooh)

She grabs you by the arm, I'm thinking I'm through (ooh)

Then you look back at me, and suddenly”

“I'm helpless

Oh, look at those eyes, oh (look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit)

I'm helpless, I know

Down for the count, and I'm drowning in 'em

(Helpless) I am so into you

(Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit) I am so into you

I'm helpless (I know)

I'm down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

You watched anxiously as Tony made his way across the ballroom to Steve. Tony greeted him with a hand to his upper arm and the two began chatting. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you watched. Suddenly, both of them were looking at you and you met Steve’s eyes once again. They were the most beautiful shade of blue, you could have drowned in them. Right then and there you knew that you were screwed.

“Where are you taking me?

I'm about to change your life

Then by all means, lead the way”

“Elizabeth Schuyler, it's a pleasure to meet you

Schuyler? (My sister)

Thank you for all your service

If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it

I'll leave you to it”

“Where you are leading me to?” Steve questioned as he followed Tony across the ballroom.

“To the most beautiful girl across the ballroom,” Tony commented. “And trust me, I don’t introduce anyone to her.” They stopped in front of you and you were trying not to freakout. “Steve Rogers, meet Y/N Stark.”

“Stark?” Steve was genuinely surprised.

“My sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, shyly, offering your hand.

He took it, shaking it gently. “Nice to meet you, too,” he replied.

“I’m going to leave you two to it,” Tony smirked. “But don’t do anything stupid. That’s my baby sister you’re dealing with.” Then he slipped off to rejoin Pepper.

“I’m sorry about him,” you apologized for your brother. “He’s really protective.”

“I didn’t even know he had a sister,” Steve said. “It’s not in any of the files.”

“Yeah, it’s a family secret. Fury won’t allow it to leak because Tony and I asked him to.”

Steve nodded and then nervously looked around. “Uh… I don’t… well… I can’t dance, but do you want to?”

You giggled. “You can’t dance and you just asked me?”

“Yeah, only if you want to—“

“I’d love to.”

“One week later, I'm writin' a letter nightly

Now my life gets better every letter that you write me

Laughin' at my sister 'cause she wants to form a harem

I'm just sayin', if you really loved me, you would share him (ha)”

You and Steve quickly became inseparable. You would meet for coffee in the Tower and go on walks around the block. The two of you talked about your lives: his before the ice and how he was handling the new century and yours being the bastard Stark. 

Feelings were growing quickly between the two of you but neither of you were confident enough to act on them.

“Two weeks later, in the living room stressin'

My father's stone-faced while you ask him for his blessin'

I'm dying inside as you wine and dine

And I'm tryin' not to cry, 'cause there's nothing that your mind can't do (ooh)”

“My father makes his way across the room to you (ooh)

I panic for a second, thinking we're through (ooh)

But then he shakes your hand and says, "Be true" (ooh)

And you turn back to me smiling”

Steve was nervous, more nervous than he had ever been. He had seen the way Tony protected you in just the little time he had known about you. So Steve felt like he needed to check with Tony before he asked you out. He found Tony in the lab.

“Hey, Tony, can we talk?” Steve hoped that his voice didn’t give off the nerves he was feeling.

“Sure,” Tony mumbled, focused on his suit. “What’s up, Cap?”

“I… Well, I was wondering if it would be okay if I asked Y/N out on a date?” Tony dropped everything he was working on and slowly turned to face Steve. “I— I know that we haven’t know each other very long but I have really enjoyed getting to know her more and I—“

“Stop right there, Rogers.” Tony moved his jaw around as he put his thoughts together. “I need to be honest with you. Y/N doesn’t go on dates. Some of it’s my fault. I’m always worried about her safety and people finding out the truth of who she is.”

“I would never do anything to hurt her, Tony.”

Tony scoffed. “That's what they all say. But… I know that you mean well, Rogers. And I know that I monitor everything that happens in the Tower so I will know if you do, do anything. And I mean, anything! Got that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Just… treat her good, Steve. She deserves everything.”

“I will.”

“I'm helpless

(Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit)

I'm helpless (helpless)

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em (whoo!)

Helpless (that boy is mine, that boy is mine, ooh)

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

I'm helpless (helpless) (whoo)

Down for the count (yeah), and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

“Eliza, I don't have a dollar to my name

An acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame

All I have is my honor, a tolerance for pain

A couple of college credits and my top-notch brain”

“Insane, your family brings out a different side of me

Peggy confides in me, Angelica tried to take a bite of me

No stress, my love for you was never in doubt

We'll get a little place in Harlem and we'll figure it out”

“I've been livin' without a family since I was a child

My father left, my mother died, I grew up buck wild

But, I'll never forget my mother's face, that was real

As long as I'm alive, Eliza, swear to god you'll never feel so”

You could tell that Steve was nervous about something as the two of you headed back to your floor after meeting for coffee. When the two of you reached the elevator, Steve paused.

“Uh, Y/N, I, um… I have a question to ask you,” Steve stammered.

“Yeah, Steve?” You asked.

“Would you… Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You smiled as you inhaled sharply. “Yes, Steve, I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Steve grinned, so giddy that you said yes. “You want to?”

“I do…. I really do.”

“I do, I do, I do

Eliza (helpless) (I do, I do, I do)

I never felt so (helpless)

Yeah, yeah

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em (down for a count, and I’m-)”

“Helpless (yo, my life is gon' be fine 'cause Eliza's in it)

Helpless (I look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit, I'm)

Helpless

(Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em)”

“In New York, you can be a new man

In New York, you can be a new man

In New York, you can be a new man (helpless)”

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Previous (Chapter 3) // Next (Chapter 5) (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, panic attacks, implied prior noncon, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan was relieved to see that the boy was capable of cleaning himself up. The shower had only run for a matter of minutes, but as Rowan lingered outside the bathroom to eavesdrop – just in case he was needed - he heard the tell-tale clicks of the shampoo bottle opening and closing. Water splashed rhythmically against freshly cleaned tiles in a hum that was barely muffled by the door. Rowan waited a few painstaking minutes after the water had turned off, seizing the opportunity to practice his patience, before he knocked and reentered.

Although it was a deeply unsettling sight to see the young man kneeling naked in his bathroom, Rowan could already see that the boy’s skin was cleaner, and his wet curls still seemed lighter than when they had been coated with grease, sweat, and blood.

The shower also made clear that some of the yellow patches on the boy’s skin were not dirt, as Rowan had foolishly hoped, but near-healed bruises. Some wounds that had been scabbed over before the shower were open now, glistening red with nascent blood as the skin tried to stitch itself back together. Bright white scars danced with blue bruising, and a single drop of crimson trailed down from a recently reopened leg wound. It seemed that the boy had interpreted the instruction to clean himself up as an instruction to rub his scabs away, scrubbing at his skin until his injuries were raw.

Rowan made a note to himself to speak more clearly in the future. The next thing Rowan noticed was that the mirror was bone-dry, no signs of steam or beading water at the top of the glass. No hints of humidity hung in the air either. He felt his lip turn down in spite of himself.

“You can use hot water next time, yeah?” He offered as hopefully as he could, though his gaze was not returned. “Seriously, you can use the hot water, as hot as you can stand it. This place is great, because I only pay a flat fee for utilities. No extra charge for those long, hot showers. Feel free to sit in the hot water as long as you want. I mean, I certainly do. Anyway, you’re looking a bit cleaner now, so maybe you want to try on some of those clothes? You’ve got to be freezing after that shower. Come on, follow me back to your room.”

And the boy followed, damp hands and knees finding purchase on vinyl tiles, an unfamiliar rhythm across the condo’s floors. Rowan winced again, making sure to hide his disappointment by looking towards the ceiling. They’d have to do something about the crawling, get him back on his feet and walking with confidence. They’d also have to get him eating and drinking on his own, comfortable enough to take showers in hot water, wearing clothes by default, acting of his own will and guided by his own desires…

Rowan bit back a sigh. There was a lot to work on.

They made it back across the hall, and Rowan walked over to the file cabinet that was currently doubling as the boy’s dresser. He slid the bottom drawer open as the steady shuffle-crawl followed in behind him. Rowan’s fingers thumbed through the sweaters that he’d hastily folded just hours earlier, one after the other, a stack of cotton and polyester and sherpa promising warmth. There was a sweatshirt he remembered specifically from his clothing haul, something lined with fleece, certainly thick enough to restore a bit of warmth after a cold shower. Hands still digging through the drawer, Rowan defaulted to his rambling once again.  

“I know I set out sweatpants and a sweatshirt earlier, but there might be a warmer sweater in here. I’m going to guess you’re cold, so let’s see if-“ and as Rowan turned to look back at his guest, just to see if he was listening, his heart dropped through his stomach.

There, on the bed, the young man was presenting himself with raised hips and a carefully arched back, eyes looking up through thick eyelashes to meet Rowan’s own-

“Fuck.” Rowan gasped, and he took a step back so fast that his shoulder slammed into the filing cabinet. His hand snapped up to shield his eyes while his voice bubbled up from his chest, words coming out as an inadvertent shout. “No! Jesus Christ, no! No. Stop doing- stop doing that. Fuck, get down from there, just get down. No, we’re not doing that. I’m not going to- we’re not- just- fuck-“

Before Rowan could speak another word, the young man bolted off the bed and down to the floor, throwing himself flat against the ground so hard that the nearby furniture trembled. The sound of his bony knees hitting the ground resounded like two gunshots. In the blink of an eye, Rowan’s outburst had caused the emaciated victim to expose his scar-riddled back to the sky.

It was clear that he was waiting for Rowan to rain blows down on his skin, whether with fists or with whips, another line written in the book of abuse written for all to see. He trembled, but he was silent, utterly silent. This was routine, a punishment he’d been subjected to before. It was something the boy expected, that he waited for, that was the natural consequence to someone raising their voice.

All because Rowan had been a bit uncomfortable, and all because he couldn’t keep that discomfort to himself. He’d been given a sliver of power, a shred of influence, and he’d already resorted to screaming.

Guilt washed over Rowan just as coldly as shock had moments earlier. The sight of the boy offering himself up for punishment, moments after he’d offered himself up for use, jolted Rowan’s consciousness back into his body. He’d yelled, one of the very few thingshe wasn’t supposed to do, and had undoubtedly terrified his guest in the process. The boy’s hands were trembling where they rested, palms up, in front of him. Short gasps came from his mouth, just soft enough that they weren’t quite whimpers, but Rowan could hear the tears he was swallowing back nonetheless.

Rowan pulled in a deep breath, surprised to find that his own eyes were stinging with emotion and moisture. This was all too much. He knew what the victims endured in their abuse, he knew that he had brought a Romantic into his home, he knew all of this from when he signed the papers and looked through the PLF rehabilitation materials. But it was one thing to read the words on a page, and it was another thing to have a battered young man on his bed offering himself up for abuse.

It was the closest Rowan had come, now by himself and in his very own home, to seeing just what he’d been fighting to have dismantled all these years. It was the closest he’d been to direct complicity, to participating in the cruelty of man. It was the closest he’d been to hell on earth.

I can fix this, Rowan thought to himself, forcing another deep breath into his lungs. I have to fix this. I can smooth this over, make it better. This is what I signed up for, this is what I’m here to fix, this is what I have to deal with. I fucked up, so I have to fix it.

What better way to start than with an apology?

“I’m sorry,” Rowan hissed through his teeth as he fought to control his volume. He wasn’t going to yell again, no matter how hot the adrenaline felt in his veins. “I shouldn’t have yelled, and you’re not in trouble. You’re not in trouble, I promise, it’s all okay. You’re okay. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.” Rowan’s heart was pounding so heavily in his chest that it was hard to swallow his volume back. His head felt heavy and his hands tingled with the panic seizing his nervous system.

Yet Rowan knew that he was not the most terrified person in the room. No matter how scared he was at the seemingly impossible challenges ahead, and no matter how worried he was that he’d already ruined everything, the boy was infinitely more afraid. If his first instinct after a shower was to offer his body up for sexual abuse, and if his first instinct after a shout was to offer that body for physical abuse, there was little question as to what horrors he’d endured before this point. He hadn’t even been in Rowan’s home for more than an hour, and he had resigned himself to the service of a stranger who owned his body, who held a title to his very life. There was no sign of the defiance, or disobedience, or even displeasure. It was fluid, seamless, undeniable recognition of ownership.

The boy hadn’t moved despite Rowan’s attempted placations. A perfect pet, entirely obedient, unmoved by gentleness. This was everything WRU wanted in its output, in its products. Simultaneously, it was everything that made Rowan sick to his stomach.

After a painstaking deep breath, Rowan grabbed the clothes he wanted from the file cabinet, and took a step towards the body trembling on the floor. He kept his steps slow, movements as glacial as he could muster, hoping that the boy wouldn’t expect a blow.

“Hey, I’m coming over now, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to touch you. Just-“

The boy flinched nonetheless as Rowan lowered the clothes to the floor beside his outstretched palms.

“Here,” Rowan offered, voice as soft and level as he could manage, “these are for you. To get dressed. Please, get dressed. I’m going to leave you alone now, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back later to check in. I think we both need… a minute, yeah? A minute to take a breather. Both of us. You’re not in trouble. Just, get dressed please.”

Rowan left as quickly as he could manage, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

---

The pet could hardly choke back its tears. What had it done wrong? Had it erred by not offering to please Master first, settled square on its knees, eyes pointed upwards and an eager, open mouth? Had it not cleaned itself well enough, hair still damp from the shower, some wounds still raw and dripping blood? Had it not seen something obvious in this room that it should have found for Master’s use instead?

But the punishment it expected for its insolence and incorrect assumptions never came. Even though it had exposed its hands and its back, opening its skin for lashes or stomping boots, no such corrections came. It hadn’t been able to make out the precise words that Master had shouted, his precise displeasure lost to the ringing in the pet’s ears, but it knew anger from the tone alone. It always knew when its master was angry.

Anger, yet no correction. Shouting, but no punishment. Nothing but a bundle of clothes dropped on the ground beside it, a clear indication that it was supposed to get dressed.

And with that, Master left, closing the door behind him. The pet was left alone to cover its shameful body and await its uncertain future.

---

Rowan wasted no time in grabbing the now-wrinkled PLF Rehabilitation Manual from where he’d placed it on top of the fridge. He knew that if he didn’t separate it from the rest of the paperwork strewn across the kitchen counters, he’d certainly lose it amidst the chaos. On top of the fridge, placed alongside the boxes of now-stale cereal, was as safe a place as any.

He leaned the small of his back against the countertop and busied himself with thumbing through the pages. His eyes flicked quickly over the table of contents, then through the section headers in the body of the document. When he read the manual earlier, he swore he’d seen a few pages dedicated to fixing a fuck-up. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? It was a fuck up of fantastic proportions. Rowan hadn’t even made it two hours before he’d yelled at the abuse victim in his second bedroom, all but screamed at him, just for doing what he’d been so thoroughly trained to do.

He was the picture of a perfect pet, and Rowan had managed to get mad at that. In the boy’s mind, he’d done exactly as he was trained, and it still hadn’t been enough for Rowan. That was going to forever be his first impression of Rowan.

Some people are just more suited for fieldwork, the voice of his past mentor echoed in his ears. Rehabilitation and recovery isn’t for everyone. Just like Greyson has found his stride working on the administrative side of the PLF, you’re doing your best work out in the field. Rehabilitation is an entirely different skillset, a skillset that some people don’t excel in, and that’s fine. Everyone’s job is important here. Your job is important even if you don’t work directly with the victims, I promise.

And yet, despite years of being aware that he was most certainly not suited for rehabilitation work, he’d taken up this cross on little more than impulse. The only one who would pay for Rowan’s ignorance and impatience was the very person who needed him the most.

For the second time since he’d purchased the boy he felt his eyes sting. The weight of this new responsibility weighed on his shoulders now more than ever. There was so much that could go wrong, so much pain and misery he could unknowingly inflict. This time it was his own uncontrollable shock, something he should have been able to swallow back. What would it be next time? His impatience? His ignorance?

Rowan swallowed back the lump in his throat as he finally found the dog-eared page he’d been looking for. He’d dog-eared it, of course, because he’d been afraid he’d have to use it.

You Lost Your Temper – Now What?

In a perfect world, we’d never lose our temper when assisting the wards in our care. Much like we might lose our temper with friends, family, or colleagues, we might likewise lose our temper with our wards.

These moments, while less than ideal, present a learning opportunity for all parties involved. For you, the guardian, it is an opportunity to model sincere apologies and create a safe space for your ward to talk about how they feel. For your ward, it is an opportunity to learn that they deserve politeness and equal treatment from others. For both guardian and ward, it is the chance to discuss communication, expectations, and mutual respect.

Should you lose your temper with a ward in your care, take the time to collect yourself and your emotions. You might be feeling upset, disappointed, or even angry with yourself. You might even be upset with your ward for the actions that triggered the incident, even if you know those actions aren’t their fault. You might be upset with a ward who tested your boundaries, or exercised their freedom and autonomy, in a way that you aren’t comfortable with. These are normal and expected feelings. While it is healthy to process these emotions and acknowledge their impact on you, it is best to do them away from your ward early in the relationship, and in front of your ward later in the relationship. Both are opportunities to model behavioral processing in a healthy and focused way.

Once you have gathered yourself and recognized your own emotions, take some time to think about what caused that first negative feeling. Recognize the moment you lost your temper, recognize what triggered that initial negative emotion, and consider creating a plan to prevent a similar reaction in the future. Take as much time as needed for this process, and ideally, try to give your ward an adequate amount of time to process the event as well.

Finally, talk to your ward directly. Make an appropriate apology for your reaction. For example, if you yelled, apologize for raising your voice. Take the opportunity to remind your ward that they should be treated with kindness and respect at all times, and acknowledge that you did not fulfill that basic expectation. You do not need to share the reason for your reaction – in fact, doing so can cause unnecessary fear and guilt in your ward, particularly early in the recovery process, and even more so if the triggering behavior was due to their trauma or conditioning. Instead, offer them comfort and an opportunity to discuss how the event made them feel.

The rest of the page was filled with sample conversations, language for new rehabilitators to use in such situations. Rowan studied them carefully, feeling himself grow calmer as he did so. He wasn’t the first rehabilitator to fuck up, and from the looks of the manual, he certainly wouldn’t be the last. While this did little to alleviate the guilt, it allowed for a small sliver of relief. There wasn’t anything uniquely wrong with him. Instead, his response was one rooted in human emotion, another byproduct of the system and its cruelty. His disgust was with systemic oppression, not with the boy himself.

I have to do better, Rowan reminded himself, and he took yet another deep breath. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline that had dumped into his system.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how the boy was affected if he himself was feeling the effects of his own temper so severely.

That was the next thought in his mind. He couldn’t simply refer to his guest as the boy forever. Part of developing autonomy, including the autonomy necessary to process scenarios such as the one that Rowan had just created, came from a sense of independent identity. Right now, the boy was just that: the boy in Rowan’s spare room, an object, a legal possession. To recover, he would have to become so much more than that. The manual had said as much: giving the ward a name as soon as possible was critical to developing a relationship of equals.

That would all have to come later, and it would hopefully come from the help of a rehabilitator that Rowan prayed was on the way his condo. Hope was doing a lot of heavy lifting as Rowan sat and stewed at his kitchen counter. He took a moment to check his phone, then he checked a second time to confirm there were no new messages, before placing it back on the granite.

His heart was still racing, so he looked back to the manual with a glance, then over to the closed door of the den, then back to the manual. If either of them were going to make it out of this intact, the least Rowan could do was take the manual’s word as gospel.

What emotion am I feeling? It burned hot, Rowan knew that much, and it had spurred him to yell when he rarely ever did so. Is it anger?

But instead of a tightness in his throat and a burning in his head that he would expect from anger, Rowan felt a tingling in his fingertips, a tugging in his chest, a queasiness in his stomach. It was like he was in grade school all over again, waiting for a teacher to pass out a test he hasn’t studied for. It was that heavy, burdensome dread that clung to him every time he walked onto the liquidation event sales floor.

Rowan knew he could name the feelings as soon as he took note of their home in his body. It was one that he was loathe to admit, even as old as he was, because of the stigma of weakness that clung to those words. No matter how many times he had conquered these feelings in the past, he struggled to confront them now.

But he had to. He had to, for the sake of the person in his care, the very soul that was counting on him to move past the discomfort. Rowan would have to now, and he would have to again, for the both of them.

What am I feeling? He asked himself again, biting down on his lip in spite of himself. Coppery blood washed over his tongue from the open wound. What am I really feeling?

Anxiety. Fear, dread, distress.

Those feelings were so much more than mere anger, and they were budding like a nascent ulcer in his stomach. Those were the feelings that had governed his actions since he’d signed the contract just over 24 hours prior. Adrenaline had made him run like prey, a panicked creature hunted by an unseen predator. Rowan was a gazelle on an endless savannah, running for his life, uncaring of his destination so long as it put distance between himself and the lion on his tail.

In Rowan’s case, the lion was the system itself, the weight of an industry that would crush him if it knew what he was doing. It was ruthless, it was nefarious, and it would readily kill him if it knew of his efforts to liberate people from its clutches. If so, he wouldn’t be the first liberationist to go missing under similar circumstances.

Of course Rowan was frightened, and of course he had every reason to be. There was legislation, there was law, there was unspeakable amounts of money and power that he was up against. The PLF had always been at a systemic disadvantage in this fight, as had all of its victims, all of its wards. They were fighting on the side of the underdogs, and they would be underdogs until a significant change in the public consciousness occurred.

I’m smarter than a gazelle, Rowan thought to himself, fist tight in his lap. And the lion’s only teeth are rich politicians with a vested interest in oppression. I’m not their fuckinggazelle. I’m braver, I’m smarter, and I’m stronger. I have to be. I refuse to be their prey.  

A few more moments of steady breathing were necessary for Rowan to compose himself. And just as the manual had mandated, he’d named his emotions, processed them, and acknowledged their trigger: a victim, a ward who could not consent, offering their body for sexual and physical abuse.

Another minute passed, and much to Rowan’s pleasant surprise, his breathing had levelled. The buzzing in his extremities had relaxed, and his heart no longer felt like it was being squeezed in an unforgiving fist.

The next step was to confront his ward, the boy still waiting and terrified in the spare bedroom.

“I can do this,” Rowan muttered under his breath, the soft escape of his internal dialogue. “I can apologize, I can name my feelings, and I can offer reassurance.”  

He paused and searched his thoughts for something to bridge the gap. What had the boy responded to the best in these last few hours?

After a moment of mulling, Rowan realized that it had been the water. The boy had grasped the glass as if it offered his only salvation. He’d swallowed it in the blink of an eye, disappearing before Rowan could have even come up with the words to stop him.

Of course, as Rowan knew from more than a decade of field work, the victims that were prepared for transit were both starved and dehydrated to reduce any potential resistance during transit or during their first few hours with their purchasers.

Such practices resulted in a non-zero number of transit deaths each year, some of which Rowan had documented firsthand.

Rowan went over to the pantry and took out another glass, paced over to the fridge, and poured another glass of cool water from the filter. He filled it just below the brim, tall enough that the boy would be able to drink his fill, but not so full that shaking hands would be unable to raise it to equally unsteady lips.

Glass in hand, Rowan walked back over to the second bedroom’s door.

He paused. A moment, a deep breath, a hand raised towards the faux-wood painted in landlord-eggshell. And he knocked, once, twice, knuckles on the paint making a hollow thunk with each hit.

No response was expected. None came. After another two long seconds, Rowan grasped the doorknob and pushed into the room.

---

The pet had gotten dressed. It had dressed itself in the clothes that Master had tossed beside it after he had yelled, the command obvious enough even without it understanding the precise language.

It knew it had messed up. It knew that something it had done – perhaps it was the position? Perhaps it was the assumption that it would be taken on the bed? – had made its master furious. It had made its master so furious that he had thrown clothes at it, commanded it to cover itself, and left it alone.

So the pet had obeyed as best as it could. It clothed itself in the linens – softer than it had ever been granted with its old master, and so much warmer too – and resumed its position kneeling in the center of the room. Master had placed it here for a reason, certainly, alone with nothing but its thoughts and the ringing in its ears.

Fully clad, from its ankles to its wrist, in pillow-like clothing, the pet felt the pull of sleep. Even the fear from its Master yelling was not enough to overcome the exhaustion of its travels and of its last moments with its handlers. It was so tired that it was nodding off where it knelt, knowing full well that such an action would earn it a lashing like no other.

But its body would only be pushed so far before it broke.

Adrenaline returned when the walls and floor trembled with slight vibrations. Ever since the ringing in its ears had begun in earnest, the pet had learned to pay attention to the way the surfaces around it sang. Now, the floorboards rumbled with the sound of its Master approaching. Light steps – none so heavy as its old master – but an insistent knocking that carried through the wood and laminate.

The pet wished it could shrink in on itself, become smaller, offer an adequate with just its body. But it was already as small as it could make itself, swallowed by the billowing fabric of the sweatshirt, sleeves coming down past its wrists and covering its bony knuckles.

There was almost a certain chance that it would be asked to remove the sweatshirt in short order, anyway.

As it expected, Master’s feet appeared before it moments later. It took deep breaths, listening to the steady hum of Master’s voice. He wasn’t shouting, not this time, back to that level-set rhythm that the pet already found so soothing. If there was supposed to be anger or frustration, the pet couldn’t hear it.

That wasn’t saying much, given that it couldn’t hear much at all.

Much to the pet’s surprise, Master leaned down and placed another glass in front of it. This glass was crystal-clear, filled nearly to the brim with water, its surface rippling from the movement. Although it had happily drank the earlier glass of water at its Master’s command, the pet was still parched. And although its stomach was still in knots from how Master had yelled at it, how it had been waiting for a punishment yet to come, the thirst once again prevailed.

It knew better than to grab the glass with its greedy hands. Waiting, patience, showed the very skills that it had been trained time and again to embody. So it waited, waited, until Master’s voice raised with a sharp uptick in volume.

Drink.

The pet did so without hesitation. It reached forward and it drank eagerly, trying to still the trembling of its hands as it did so. Although it had to raise its head to drink, it made sure to keep its eyes pointed downwards in as much respect and deference as it could display.

The water disappeared in a matter of moments, the pet ensuring that it showed its gratitude for the generosity by finishing it with haste. Carefully as it could manage it placed the glass back on the floor where Master had set it.

Its stomach was still tight with worry, filled with the sandwich and the first glass of water, but it was confident that it would keep the meal down. It had to – if it got sick now, there was no telling when it would get food again. This nutrition was more valuable than anything else at the moment, it was the only way it could hope to have the strength to carry on.

---

“That’s great,” Rowan praised, trying to keep his voice steady as he had been. It had already been stressful enough to raise it to give the command to drink, but the boy seemed unfazed. In fact, he finished the full glass in a matter of seconds, drinking eagerly and without hesitation.

Figuring out how to get the boy to drink on his own would be a challenge for another day. For now, even if Rowan had to command as much, drinking something was better than not at all.

Now, for the reason he’d come back into the room in the first place, when all he wanted to do was leave the boy alone long enough to decompress.

“Hey, uhm, I’m sorry for yelling,” Rowan said. The apology came easily and naturally enough, so he pushed on. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. That was wrong of me, and you didn’t deserve it. You did nothing wrong. Really, you did nothing wrong. The fact that I yelled was my fault. I’m not angry at you. I’m not mad, and I’m not going to hurt you. Everything is okay.”

The boy didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge a word beyond the command to drink. Just as all the other times Rowan had spoken, he seemed attentive, but didn’t react.

“I mean it,” Rowan pushed on. “I’m sorry. Everything is alright. You’re okay. You’re safe here, with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to ask you to do those things you had to do before. It caught me off guard, and my reaction was wrong. I shouldn’t have raised my voice”

Nothing. At this rate, it would be impossible to have the back-and-forth dialogue that the manual had encouraged, but Rowan knew that it was possibly asking too much for a first day, even a first week, or a first month. His one-sided apology was a start, at least.

“If you want to tell me how you feel, you can,” Rowan offered the floor up. “It’s okay. You can say how you feel – actually, you can talk, if you’d like, about anything. I haven’t heard you say anything yet, but you’re allowed. You’re allowed to talk as much as you want here. And- and you can get your own water, and your own food- ah. I’m getting ahead of myself, I think. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay, and you can talk to me. If I scared you, or upset you, you can tell me that. And if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll do my best to make it better.”

As Rowan rambled on, self-conscious of the words spilling out of his mouth, he forced himself to look down at the boy kneeling before him. This was no way to talk to a victim like this, was it? Rowan was still towering above him, voice booming downwards, the power imbalance as visual as it was ingrained in the boy’s blood.

So, after another moment, Rowan sat.

He lowered himself to the floor in front of the boy and sat down, crossing his legs like he was a child again. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as he realized how much flexibility he’d lost, knees straining and thighs tugging, as he finally got his ankles close to one another.

The boy perked up immediately, looking through his hanging curls in Rowan’s direction with those bright doe-eyes that Rowan had only seen a glimpse of once so far. Rowan smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, is this better for you? I think it’s better, at least for right now, if you don’t want to stand up yet. This will let us talk to each other like equals, yeah? We are, you know. Even if you don’t believe it yet. So, I’ll say it again, and maybe you can think about it some more. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and yelling was wrong of me. I never should have raised my voice. I wasn’t mad at you, I was just surprised, because I don’t want to do those sorts of things to you. I’m here to help you, not hurt you, especially not like that. I promise that you’re safe, and no harm is going to come to you here.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. As Rowan spoke the boy’s weight shifted slightly forward, so slight that Rowan almost missed it entirely, and his eyes flitted from his knees towards Rowan’s face. He never quite made eye contact, still hidden behind the curtain of hair, but it was closer than Rowan had been able to achieve from a standing position.

This was what had stood out to Rowan on the sales floor of the liquidation event. The boy seemed distant, but he was far from catatonic like some of the victims that were more difficult to rescue. There was a spark, an attentiveness, a willingness to listen and to obey. It was a flame that yearned for the chance to survive.

Rowan just had to figure out how to nurture that flame and reach through the glass between himself and the boy. They would have to break that barrier down if they were going to move towards healing.

“Yeah, we’re just having a conversation right now, that’s all.” He wasn’t sure how effective his soothing would be so soon after his yelling, but Rowan knew he had to try. “If you want to talk about how you’re feeling, you can do that, talk to me all you want. You can also just tell me to leave if you’d rather be alone right now.”

Nothing, still nothing.

“Can you nod for me if you want to be alone?” He asked, hoping to see some movement. Nothing. “Can you shake your head if you want me to stay?” Nothing again. 

A thought struck Rowan as he saw the boy’s eyes peek up again, still hunting, almost fixated on his lips. He tried again once he saw the boy look upwards.

“Can you nod your head for me?”

And just like that, the boy’s head moved slightly, once up, once down. It was short, but unmistakably the very nod that Rowan’s question had evoked. And once the nod had finished, the boy looked back down at the floor.

“Can you nod again?” He asked once more as soon as he was certain the boy was no longer looking.

No movement.

“Oh my god,” Rowan whispered out loud as realization flashed through him, and he clambered to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself as he did so, staggering to a standing position and darting behind the boy, back over to the far corner of the room, directly behind his ward. The boy was still kneeling, unmoving, his eyes were still pointed towards the door. Importantly, he was unable to see Rowan’s face even if he raised his eyes.  

Rowan snapped his fingers, a few times on his right, a few times on his left. No reaction. Then, after a pause to suppress the oncoming wave of guilt, he clapped his hands together with considerable force. The sound was sharp enough to echo throughout the small room.

This evoked a reaction. It was subtle, but he saw the boy’s shoulders twitch in some sort of anticipation. A fear response, automatic, but a response nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” Rowan muttered to himself, a hand running through his hair almost of its own accord. His epiphany was looking more and more like a plausible possibility.

“Hey, turn around,” he instructed. He made sure not to raise his voice, keeping it as neutral as possible, but still issuing the command with certainty. Again, no movement. He tried again, same tone, conversational volume. “Turn around, right now. Turn around and look at me.”

Nothing.

After a deep breath, and a final reminder that he was doing this for the boy’s own good, Rowan shouted.

“Turn around!”

And just like that the boy moved, turning on his knees in a swift, fluid motion. A blink later and he was kneeling in that same position, but this time pointed towards where Rowan stood at the back of the room.

A nervous chuckle slipped out before Rowan could swallow it. All of that pain, all of that suffering, the threat of death on the sales floor, it had all been under the guise of disobedience. Rowan was now certain it was anything but.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you’re not disobedient. You just can’t fucking hear me.”

There was a euphoria he couldn’t describe blossoming in his chest. This rescue wasn’t a hopeless mistake that he had made, this victim wasn’t beyond recovery or redemption. He simply couldn’t hear the very words that Rowan was speaking to him, commands or otherwise.

It was Rowan’s turn to drop to his knees, aging bones hitting the wood as he fell a mere foot from where the boy had stationed himself.

“It’s okay!” Rowan all but shouted, the boy’s flinch lost to the excitement. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all okay.” His voice was as loud as he could make it without screaming.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

A/N: Cheers to the rewrite for a chance to make it clear that Rowan's not an idiot, he's just out of his depth. That was one of the driving factors for the rewrite, actually. Sorry for those that hoped there'd be a few more chapters of misunderstanding and obliviousness from our well-meaning caretaker - it's important to me that Rowan is capable and aware of himself in this story, particularly given his role in other liberation efforts. But there will absolutely be other barriers to communication and understanding between the two, I can promise that much!

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[bartywinter]

paper · @black-brothers-microfic · bartylus · word count: 672 · tw: mcd

“Your classmates are not your friends, they are your opponents. You must be the greatest,” Mother told him as she straightened his white linen shirt, which had become wrinkled on the way to school. “Always remember you belong to the Noble House of Black.”

Regulus had initially been thrilled to have the opportunity to make friends. He had imagined himself sharing his hobbies with boys his own age, laughing together in the dining hall and playing football on the fresh school lawn. He had dreamed of having a friendship like Sirius and James had, of being so close with someone that no words were needed to understand each other.

Nevertheless, Regulus pushed past his own desires and burned his mother's words into his head. Satisfying his parents was more important than making friends —or should he say 'convenient'? After all, he was terrified of getting the same punishments Sirius received for his rebelliousness.

Consequently, Regulus sat alone in class and ate by himself at mealtimes and watched his classmates in sorrow from across the dining table. During recess, he would hide in the library and sometimes in the bathroom, where he would cry silently for his longing to be with the other kids. He had always looked forward to Hogwarts, but now he just wanted to leave and never come back.

What's more, there was one boy in his class who made him uncomfortable. Regulus had caught him staring at him on several occasions, and the odd thing was the boy didn't even avert his gaze, but either stuck out his tongue or smirked at him. Luckily, the boy hadn't tried to talk to him. He wouldn't have known what to say. He wasn't allowed to socialise.

Regulus unconsciously began to watch him secretly as well. He learned that the boy's name was Barty and his father worked at the Ministry of Magic. He also soon noticed he was always accompanied by another boy in their class called Evan. Both were frequently in detention for pulling pranks on other houses' students. They were the kind of company his parents probably detested. He had to focus on his studies and not on silly pranks.

“It must be done in pairs.” Groans and shouts of delight were heard in equal measure as the History of Magic teacher explained the procedure for the upcoming assignment. “You must hand it in by next Friday. I will not accept any paper after the deadline.”

Regulus glared at his classmates as they paired off. He couldn't ignore the knot that had formed in his stomach. Maybe he could do the task individually, he could go to the professor's office and explain to him he didn't have a partner–.

“You have a partner?”

Regulus looked at whoever had addressed him and immediately became uneasy. It was Barty.

“No,” he said flatly and looked away, embarrassed he had been obliged to give such a ridiculously predictable answer.

“Well, now you've got one.”

Regulus dared to meet his eyes again, which were sparkling with excitement. His lips had curved into a wide grin too.

“Do you want to be my partner?” He shyly clutched the book he held in his hands.

Barty shrugged his shoulders.

“You don't want to?”

Your classmates are not your friends.

I'm sorry, Mother.

“Yes, I do.” He smiled for the first time in two weeks.

“Good!” Barty exclaimed and held out a hand as he smiled warmly at him, showing his sharp teeth. “My name is Barty.”

I already know your name, you idiot.

He squeezed Barty's hand softly.

“Regulus.”

It is said that you are shown an overview of your life seconds before you die, and Regulus proved that to be a lie when he recalled his first conversation with Barty prior to drowning in the deep waters of the lake. Although, it somehow made sense —he hadn't been shown his entire life, but the beginning of it. His life began the moment he met Barty, and how happy he was to die that way too.

[hurtspideyparker]

Not sure if you're still aking the asks but I don't think I've seen any of your Blackhill HCs before :D

Natasha is not a morning person. So much so that it's the only time her guard is down enough that Maria can sneak some candid photos. She has a beautiful collection that she keeps hidden from her girlfriend; of her sleeping with her mouth open, drool on the pillowcase, her hair in a messy bun. Her tank top twisted nearly backwards from rolling around in her sleep, of her little nose peeking out from the blanket on cold nights. Unfortunately, Natasha finds out somehow and manages to delete all the photos, including the backups. (Maria still refers to it as the burning of Alexandria)

When men hit on them they don't reject them by saying they're gay or in a relationship. They just say the man is too ugly. If the guy gets pissy then it's even more fun, punching creeps is their favourite pastime

Natasha cannot make a decision on what to eat ever. Maria forgets about food until it's placed in front of her. Neither cook. Food is their worst enemy and the cause of most fights ("I don't want to decide again, just pick something!" "I'm NOT HUNGRY, you choose." "We've been over this—")

Neither are the cuddly type. They like to lean against the other, or rest a hand on their leg or arm, very domestic. In bed they might hold each other but once they say goodnight neither wants to be touched as they sleep

Maria always takes care of Natasha's hair. If she hears her using the hair brush Maria will rush into the bathroom and ask why Nat didn't ask her do it. Natasha likes the way she's conditioned to the sound and does it to tease her; she loves Maria touching her hair and would never take the opportunity away from her. Don't tell her but Natasha grew it out so Maria could try braiding

They sit next to each other on dates instead of across, because neither like to have their back to the door. One day Natasha sits across from Maria when the waiter pulls the chair out for her and doesn't even realize till they're halfway through dinner. She tells Maria she loves her for the first time on the ride home, because trust was the last thing she needed to be sure.

They share clothes a lot, especially big frumpy sweaters a long-sleeves that really hold each other's scent. Deodorant, shampoo, perfume on the collar, sweat from sleep. They don't really know what belongs to who anymore

Maria sometimes calls Natasha 'Natalia' when they're home alone, whispered and soft. Natasha likes it a lot more than she thought she would

They love a good friendly competition, especially in the gym. One turns the speed up on the treadmill, the other goes up two levels. When stretching they give subtle looks at the other to stretch just a bit further than them. Crunches, planks, squats... stopping first is the same as losing. The winner gets a massage because they'll definitely need it after all that...

Natasha likes to hide bruises/hickeys on Maria so that she doesn't notice them but everyone else sure will. The back of her neck, behind her ear, on her chest so you only notice when she bends over and her shirt falls open. It has put her in some very awkward positions in very professional settings, and Nat is always smirking when Maria confronts her

Every single time Natasha wears bold lipstick she just has to give a big smooch to Maria's cheek. She even waits till Maria is nearby for her smudge resistant formulas because she needs to kiss her before it dries. One time this cumulated into their entire living room being turned upside down because Maria was trying to run away and Nat was extremely determined to hunt her down (yes she did finally tackle her and give her the kiss. In heels too)

They don't baby each other or get overprotective on missions. They have extreme trust and faith in one another's abilities. They do, however, have a promise to always be honest about injuries, and treat each other with impossible gentleness. They are very much silent communicators

[nikoniclove]

Hey so today’s my birthday, and birthdays kinda always suck for me (I’ve never known why and I’m fairly sure I’m not alone on this). But anyway, I was wondering if you could write something about Ace’s first concrete birthday with Jemily and maybe it kinda feels weird for her too?

Happy birthday! Sending you virtual love 💜

The First True Birthday

(Available on Ao3 here)

Even though you promised you’d tell her about your birthday, you don’t. Mostly it’s because you’ve spent decades ignoring your birthday, so it’s just another day on the calendar like any other. Also the makeshift celebration JJ planned last year when your work anniversary rolled around and she realized she never celebrated your first birthday with the team… well that was so over-the-top. Fun, sure, and very overwhelming and unnecessary. You don’t really want a repeat of that, and you don’t have anything you do want, so you keep your mouth shut. You don’t mention it, figuring it’s better for her to be mad at you for a bit than suffer through the discomfort of celebrating your birthday.

When the day rolls around, you wake up to JJ singing merrily. You groan and bury your head under the pillow. If even part of your brain thought you’d get away without a birthday celebration, you should have known better. “Happy birthday, baby,” JJ congratulates, ducking her head under your pillow too to give you a sweet kiss. “I know we have work, which is less than ideal from a celebration standpoint, but don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m worried because you have a plan,” you counter. “We don’t need to do this. If you insist on it, maybe just something lowkey that doesn’t make me crawl out of my skin please.”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated. I know you. It’s nothing crazy,” she swears.

“You do realize that even knowing my birthday and singing to me is more than I’ve done any other year, so that in and of itself is fine. We don’t need more than that. How did you even know anyway? I didn’t say anything.”

The pillow’s weight lightens as Emily removes your hiding place. “How many times have you been hospitalized, even briefly, in the last six months? I can recite your medical file verbatim.” You forgot about that factor. “Birth date is right up there, my love. Now we know, and you won’t be forgotten again.” Your forehead creases into an expressive frown. Emily kisses the furrowed spot. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” you groan.

You briefly consider calling in sick to avoid whatever plans JJ might have concocted throughout the day. The idea of decomposing in the bed under a mountain of blankets and ignoring everything birthday related sounds more and more appealing. Emily grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the bed. “You’ll be okay. You can stomach us loving on you a bit.”

“Can I? Are you sure about that?” She lifts your pajama shirt off, tossing at the headboard to be dealt with later. “I do so well with surprises and things that are different from the norm,” you snark self deprecatingly. “And I just love to be the center of attention.”

“Trust us,” Emily implores. “If you need a break, give me a sign and I’ll get you to a quiet spot where you can take the time you need. You matter, my love, and it’s important that we get to show you that today of all days.” She helps you into clean underwear and jeans, though it’s mostly manipulating your uncooperative self because you hate the thought of this day more and more. “Up you go.” Your hands trapped in hers, Emily levers you up and nudges you toward the bathroom. You grab a black, long sleeve T shirt and deem it good enough. Deodorant. Face sunscreen. Eyeliner. Chapstick. Your morning routine takes all of six minutes. JJ stops you at your braid, taking the brush out of your hand. She takes the time to do a French braid, adding to the plait sections little by little as she moves down the back of your head.

You’re in the backseat with your work bag before you even realize you’re thirty minutes earlier than normal. The additional time makes sense when Emily parks outside of a little Parisian bakery that makes delicious croissants and lattes. When she pops in, JJ turns around in the passenger seat to look at you. “Let me celebrate you, baby, please. It’s important to me.” You clench your jaw and give her the smallest nod. You don’t really have a choice. When Jennifer Jareau sets her sights on something, nothing short of an apocalypse could stop her, and even then, you’d still bet on JJ.

When you walk through the bullpen’s double glass doors, you freeze, absolutely rooted to the spot. Your desk is a mess of color. “I did not do this,” JJ insists quickly. “I know you would hate something like this. I didn’t do this.” You hum some monosyllabic sound and force your feet forward. There are balloons and literal confetti that you already despise. There are cupcakes and little plastic characters everywhere.

The characters tell you all you need to know about who set this up, and it’s confirmed when Garcia squeals through the bullpen, shouting about your birthday with an exuberance that rivals a small child hopped up on cocaine-laced skittles. Your eyes widen at the volume. Your body instinctively braces for the inevitable hug. “Happy birthday, peaches! Oh you look stunning. A year older looks so good on you.” She bustles past you to your desk. “Okay, we have all of my favorite chachkies to keep you company throughout the day. Obviously balloons and cupcakes because it’s your birthday. I didn’t know your favorite flavor combination, so I got a bunch! I have candles and matches at my desk when you’re ready to make a wish! Oh! I love you so much,” she shrieks, pinching your cheeks dramatically.

You don’t know how to make this stop. You’re desperate to make it stop, for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But it keeps going. You can’t tell Penelope how insane it all is because she’d be gutted that she made you uncomfortable. You manage a thank you and return the second hug she gives you. Emily squeezes your hand, a silent encouragement to keep it together.

When Garcia thankfully skedaddles back to her lair, you look at your desk in horror. It feels like everyone is looking at you, and your skin crawls with the weight of the presumed attention. You miss the silent conversation Emily and JJ share behind your back. You’re overwhelmed and uncomfortable in a very visible way in an environment that those adjectives are not… “Come with me, baby,” JJ whispers in your ear. “C’mon,” she soothes, her calm words interrupting your train of thought. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you manage. You know Garcia meant well, and this is too much. It’s too much attention.

JJ takes matters into her own hands, dragging you up the short staircase to her old liaison office. The door thuds behind you, the deadbolt clicking into place. “Breathe, baby.” Clinging to her, you bury your face in her neck, letting her long blonde hair act as a curtain to hide you away from the attention on the other side of the door. Her own breathing follows the four count you know from decades in therapy. In two three four. Hold two three four. Out two three four. Hold two three four. JJ continues the pattern until your body mimics hers. “That’s my girl. I know that was a lot. Emily will take care of it, okay? I’ve got you. Emily’s got all of that,” she repeats. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you mumble. “I can’t… I can’t call attention to myself like that. I can’t stand out like that. I need to just… blend in. I need to survive.” You don’t have to see JJ’s face to know her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. You can feel her sadness for you.

“Stop making yourself small. You deserve to take up space,” JJ states, holding you tightly. “I understand why. I do, but, baby, you’re not that kid anymore. You have made a life for yourself out of all that hurt. You found people who love you, who want to celebrate you. You did that. Let us love you loudly, baby. There’s no scenario that you end up alone. Not anymore.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you repeat, feeling pitiful in the face of her kind words that make you feel seen while also making you want to burrow away.

The knock on the office door startles you until Emily’s voice filters through. “Just me,” she announces. JJ reaches around you to flip the lock open. Emily locks it behind herself. “Just like old times, huh, Jen?” It’s meant to give you a second to settle again. “Everything’s shifted away from your desk. Just your coffee and pastry is there.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s sweet. It’s just a lot.”

“I know. I’ll explain it to her,” Emily promises. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Emily kisses the side of your head tenderly in response.

You’re relieved to see your desk mostly back to normal when you escape the reassuring confines of JJ’s arms (and her old office). There’s a large stack of case files for you to lose yourself in, and murdering serial killers distract you from the birthday nonsense from the morning.

Around noon, JJ appears at your desk. “C’mon.” You can’t help the grimace that stretches your lips. “Letting me love you loudly, remember? Trust that I know you.” You gather up your stuff and follow your partners out of the federal building.

The second you’re clear of the doors, Emily takes your hand, fingers interlacing together. They let you follow along in quiet companionship. They have a clear direction in mind, and you’ll go along with, trying to trust that JJ’s intention isn’t to make you uncomfortable.

JJ pops into a cafe, coming back out quickly with a stapled take out bag. She winks at you as Emily takes off walking again. It’s another few blocks before you’re in a small, grassy community park nestled between buildings. It’s adorable in its isolation. A pop of green serenity amongst the concrete. Emily leads you to a picnic table where JJ sets out different containers. “See? Nothing outrageous. Just lunch with your favorite people.”

“Who said you’re my favorite,” you retort playfully, the fresh air doing you worlds of good. JJ smacks you lightly. “I mean Emily’s definitely on my list of favorites.”

“You bitch,” JJ teases. “Eat your lunch.”

There’s something about being outside that helps you reset. The banter, the easy conversation, the company - it all feels almost celebratory. A happiness you never expected to feel on your birthday of all days. “You’re smiling,” JJ accuses, bumping your hip as you walk back to the office. You don’t bother denying it, laughing as she slings her arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.

When you blindly reach for the next file in the stack around 4 PM after you’ve refilled your coffee and snacked on one of Penelope’s cupcakes, your to-do pile is empty, your fingers grazing the metal wire of the intake basket. You stare at it, unsure if you’ve ever actually caught up on all the cases and the paperwork. Your phone buzzes with a text from Emily, wishing you a happy birthday. You know there’s no way she took all of your remaining case files, so you’re betting she divvied them up amongst the team. It’s sweet and loving in a quiet way.

You’re even more surprised when JJ and Emily pack up at an appropriate time, nearly shoving you toward the elevator at 5:30 PM on the dot.

“This… umm… it was nice. Thank you,” you mumble self-consciously on the drive home.

“There’s a little bit more.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay?”

“Trying to let you love me loudly. I trust you.”

At home, there’s a wrapped package in shiny purple paper on the coffee table. You trace its precise edges carefully. For a moment, tears burn in your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you got a real birthday present, so this feels monumental. “You can open it, you know,” Emily encourages, tugging your hips back onto the couch. JJ puts the box in your lap. “Hey, you okay, my love?” You nod, not trusting your voice. “You sure?”

“I’m okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“It’s your birthday, baby. Of course, we’d give you a present.” You’re gentle peeling the tape, almost like a diffusing a bomb. You don’t want to rip the paper. “Hold on for a second. Talk to us. What’s going on?”

“I… just… I… uhh… I don’t remember getting a present on my birthday before,” you mumble, somehow hoping they heard you so you don’t have to repeat yourself and hoping they didn’t hear you at all. The hitch in JJ’s breath says she heard you loud and clear; she pulls you into a tight hug, professing her hatred for the world that made that a reality for you. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just new to me, so it feels intense. Good, but intense.”

To avoid driving the conversation further into volatile territory, Emily nudges you with her knee. “Go ahead, love. Open it.” The box shakes and rattles as you unfurl the tape pieces and gingerly peel apart the shimmery wrapping paper. Inside is a Lego set of the Milky Way from the art collection. Over three thousand colorful pieces to give depth and texture to the finished product, which can hang on the wall when it’s done.

“Will you build it with me?”

“Of course, baby. Do you like it?” You nod exuberantly, your fingers once again reverently tracing over the details on the box. “Good. Happy birthday, baby. We love you so very much.”

“Thank you… I… thank you for all of it.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Ok idk if I'm onto something or if this is something that's already been explored but imagine this:

You are a spy. A rather good one. You're well known and sought after both for your abilities, but also your ability at blending in and being "overlooked." You're so meek and underwhelming looking that most people don't tend to look twice at you.

And it works out perfectly, because then no one ever sees you coming.

No one, not even your clients, have ever seen your face, so you have anonymity on your side, and an uncanny ability to sneak into places and "blend in," whether you disguise yourself as a staff member, or as a bumbling bystander. No one sees you. No one knows you. To everyone, you're a ghost.

Anyway, you are hired to gather intel and plant some evidence on some high ranking pride demon. Ok, whatever. No big deal. You've done this before plenty of times, and you've had plenty of experience hiding both your scent and your expertise so that not even a high ranking demon will be suspicious of you.

You infiltrate one of the galas that they're hosting at their mansion (an event so posh and full of people with sticks up their asses that you almost feel out of place. Almost). Disguised as one of the caterers, you work the event, waiting for an opportunity. Your opportunity.

You slip away at the right time, make your way through the hallways in the massive structure, eyes already scanning for possible escape routes in case things went south.

Little did you know, while you were working, you somehow caught someone's eye. You, who have always been known as plain and simple looking, easy to overlook and ignore, caught the eye of a certain pride demon contracted as security to guard both the event and the high-ranker.

He notices you. Keeps noticing you, and almost neglects his own duties to hover in your general radius, feeling an indescribable pull and fixation on you.

It gets stronger when you notice him hovering, and you smile at him. Offer him first dibs of the untouched hors d'oeuvres platter you're carrying. You only speak a few words to him, asking if there was anything you could bring or help him with. That you hope he has a nice night.

He can't explain it. Something about you is intriguing, even if you are just a lowly food service worker. He could mold you into someone worthy of him, though. Turn you into the very essence of grace and elegance. Or, he could just keep you at his apartment, happy and waiting for him to return so he could...

Wait.

He realizes that you're slinking away, face carefully neutral but eyes sharp. Focused.

No one even seems to notice you're gone. He didn't even realize you were leaving until you were halfway down the back hall.

Without catching unneeded (and frankly, unwanted) attention from his client and his entourage, Mervin follows. He trails a healthy distance away, ensuring you can't see him, hear him, notice him.

You're probably just going to the bathroom, and he's probably being a bit of a creep right? That thought sticks in his mind. But I mean, he's got a job to do, so he might as well make sure you won't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. And, even if you're going to the bathroom what's the harm in waiting for you outside? You should be grateful he's even giving you the time of day.

Mervin's already planning what he'll say, how he'll attempt to garner your attention and awe, how he'll justify following a girl to the restroom (and preserve his pride) when he realizes you just walked past the restroom.

Huh. He doesn't even want to think about the possibility that maybe you are the reason he was hired in the first place. That you are the person he's supposed to annihilate.

Soft, pretty, unsuspecting you.

Well, either way, maybe he could put a positive spin on this.

As you find the room you've been looking for, a locked and secure office that you easily bypass (so quickly and efficiently that even Mervin is caught off guard), Mervin thinks to himself, smirking as he readies his sai.

He could beat you in a fight. Most definitely. And after that, you couldn't stop him from doing (and taking) what he wanted. After all, you're not even supposed to be here, and he really is the lesser evil in this scenario.

Perhaps you'll even thank him.

No, I don't think we've ever had a scenario like that, mostly because up until now, the dynamic with Mervin has relied on reader not having much insight regarding the world of calculated assassinations and spying.

This is an interesting concept because it definitely sparks a competitive side in Mervin. Your cards would have to be played very right however, because even if you display skill, he'll still want to keep you safe and sound somewhere regardless. You'll wrestle with feelings of frustration and he'll attempt to instill a sense of inferiority in you to keep you right in his palm.

You can definitely try to prove him wrong and keep escaping. You're a spy, after all, can Mervin truly keep you locked away?