#which is VERY toddler behaviour

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shopping

Hardersson x Toddler!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You go shopping

It was meant to be a quick trip to get groceries.

Pernille was splitting her time between being your mother, going to training and still somehow finding time to do all the chores.

Magda put it on herself to pick up the slack when she came over to visit which was how she ended up in this situation here.

You sitting in the cart, waving around your girl-swan and your girl-moose happily as Magda considers whether Pernille will be able to tell if she buys the cheaper, own brand stuff.

The cart is pressed right up against one of the shelves to make sure it's not blocking the aisle as Magda wonders what bread to buy.

There's a colourful packet of cakes next to you and you reach for them.

You know what to do when you go grocery shopping because Momma taught you.

You throw your cakes into the cart.

Magda whirls around instantly, frowning at the sudden noise.

"Did you put something in?" She asks, finger reaching out to tickle your chin.

You giggle, kicking your legs out as you shake your head.

"No?" Magda says," I think you did. Because I wasn't the one that put these cakes in. No? I should put this back then."

"No, Morsa!" You say," Keep!"

"Keep? Are you paying, princesse? I don't think you have money."

"Momma money!"

"Momma's money? You're going to spend Momma's money?"

You nod, hand reaching back for a tub of brownies.

"Whoa? We're grocery shopping, not princesse shopping!

You stick your tongue out. "For Momma!"

"Are you sure that's for Momma and not for you?"

"Momma!"

Magda sighs, shaking her head softly as her hand runs over your soft hair. "Alright, princesse, let's make an agreement, alright? I'll let you choose two things from each aisle but-"

You cheer, little arms waving in the air and Magda can't help but smile.

"-But only two things, alright? Otherwise we'll go broke."

"What that mean?"

"Don't worry, princesse."

So, you get your cupcakes and your brownies and Magda finally decides on the slightly fancier bread.

"No, princesse." She intervenes quickly when she sees you eyeing up some sweets and you pout.

"You say two! Know my numbers!"

Perhaps teaching you your numbers this early was a mistake because you can count to five all by yourself and you definitely know how many two is.

"But sweeties make your teeth rot and you have such pretty teeth."

"I do?"

"Very pretty teeth. We don't want them to go bad, do we?"

You look longingly at the sweeties but ultimately drop them.

Magda's feeling quite proud of herself as she ticks everything off of the list while also limiting your grabby hands.

It all goes downhill the moment you get to the miscellaneous aisle.

Magda's never quite sure why so many supermarkets have that random aisle of things like kid's toys and slippers and dog coats but without fail, there's one in every supermarket Magda has ever been in.

But that aisle is the one where your grabby hands can't be contained.

"Hey!" Magda says," I know you know your numbers and I know you know that's more than two!"

She picks the little dressing gown you've chosen out of the cart and places it back on the rack.

You pout, jabbing a finger into your chest.

"Bein' good!" You insist," Momma says special prize for bein' good! Always!"

"You're hustling me!"

"Don' know that word."

"It means...It doesn't matter what it means because Momma isn't here right now. I'm in charge."

You bare your teeth at her like a little kitten with puffed up fur and Magda has to smother her laughter.

"Please, Morsa? Be like Momma?"

"No-No! Don't...Don't start crying! I...No...Please stop...Okay! Okay one extra present for good behaviour!"

You grin at her, suddenly no hint of tears are on your face and you turn to look at your options.

"That one!"

Pernille isn't expecting a lot when she gets home.

Magda only flew in yesterday so while she had offered to do some of the chores around the house, Pernille was totally okay if her girlfriend decided she was much too tired to do anything.

Looking after you can be the extent of anyone's energy sometimes.

But, she's pleasantly surprised to see her cupboards and fridge stocked full of fresh groceries and something simmering on the stove.

The less pleasant surprise is the massive cardboard castle that's been built in her living room.

You're stood in the middle of it, armed with a wooden play sword and a pen that you're using to scribble on the castle walls to make it to your liking.

Magda is outside of the castle in fairy wings and a wooden spoon as a wand.

"What's going on here?" Pernille says, brow raised," Where did we get this castle?"

"Shop," You answer, reaching with your sword to bonk Magda on the head," My gift for bein' good."

"And all of the new snacks we have? Magda?"

Magda, rubbing her head, lets out a bout of nervous laughter. "More gifts for being good?"

"Brownies for you, Momma!" You interrupt, grinning and bonking Magda on the head again," Wanna come into my castle?"

"What about me? Why can't I come in?"

You grin, sword coming down yet again. "You're the mean fairy, Morsa. Mean fairies can't come in!"

[ellecdc]

okay then consider this a request!! for poly!marauders or just remus/james/sirius, whatever you prefer, for a reader with excruciating period cramps (self-indulgent because mine are horrible, but whatever!!) if you could do it that would be awesome ily!

ok I'm sorry I really made this very much self indulgent in maybe the worst way ever lol. I've been having a lot of fun with chef!Sirius lately, and had briefly discussed this idea with @maladaptiveescapism a while back so it felt fitting. I've also gotten a lot of period fic requests before and have never been all that interested in them which is so strange seeing as I'm a person who experiences period's and they're really popular? WOW sorry, what a tangent. TL;DR, thanks for your request, sorry if I ruined it a little, I probably won't ever write a period fic again lol

chef!sirius x mixologist!reader who calls in sick to work because of her period [2.9k words]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

CW: period fic, reader has PCOS, brief allusion to Sirius' shitty childhood, trans!Reggie agenda 'cause I can, Sirius worried reader won't be accepting of his trans brother (spoiler alert, we are because we love our trans homies), Sirius being the worst (positive & affectionate)

Sirius was on his best behaviour today.

Honest to god, hand to his heart, best behaviour.

But there was truly only so much one bloke could do when they had a Jeffery to deal with.

“I’m going to need one of your staff for the evening.” Jeffery said without preamble; standing half-in the kitchen with the swinging door to the floor propped open as if he wanted to ensure there were witnesses to this conversation should it go sideways.

“Jeffery, do you wake up every morning and smoke a bunch of crack before you come to work, or are you really just this dense?” Sirius spat as he dropped his pan in front of him and fought the urge to turn and give the floor manager a withering glare. 

Jeffery, well seasoned to Sirius’ theatrics, bit back an eye roll as he carried on. “We need someone to cover the bar.”

Sirius did turn at that, but his withering glare fell somewhere between aghast and bemused. “The bar?”

“The bar.”

“Why?”

“I need coverage for Y/N.” Jeffery explained with a sigh, clearly growing tired of Sirius’ line of questioning.

“Where is she?”

“She has called in sick, chef.”

“Sick with what?” Sirius continued, causing Jeffery’s brows to furrow as he stared at Sirius bemusedly. 

“I’m not exactly privy to those details, chef.” He explained slowly as if Sirius were some fussy toddler. 

“I just find it hard to believe that the same woman who left the hospital after getting her shoulder reset to come work a full eight hour shift would call in sick.”

Jeffery offered him a shoulder shrug (and a concerned look up and down that Sirius pretended he didn’t notice) before pilfering one of the kitchen staff for the evening. 

Sirius would worry about hating Jeffery later; he was more focused on figuring out what the hell was wrong with you and why you weren’t coming to see him to work. 

Sirius had his phone wedged between the side of his face and his shoulder whilst he juggled the many go-bags he had in his hands as he stood awkwardly outside of the door to your flat.

He admittedly knew where you lived only because he had driven you home after numerous closing shifts.

Fortunately, the intercom system in the anteroom of your building gave away your unit number.

Unfortunately, Sirius still had his hands full with the various go-bags.

Fortunately, an elderly lady was coming in at the same time and let Sirius into the building. 

Unfortunately, she insisted on chatting his ear off the whole lift ride up and actually held the door open to continue conversing even after they had arrived at her floor.

Sirius’ saving grace came in the form of the lift alarm buzzing for having kept the door ajar too long, and she was forced to bid him farewell. 

Which brought him here; standing outside of your flat like some kind of stalker as he waited for you to pick up your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, open your door.”

“Well hello to you too, chef.” You snarked at him again. 

“Yes, yes. I said hey, didn’t I? Open your door.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m standing on the other side of it.” 

There was the sound of a quick exhale and rummaging. “Why?”

“Listen, I’d love to play 20 questions, but do you think you could let me in first?”

You muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a swear before the line ended.

He allowed his phone to slip out of its place and into his awaiting hand when you flung the door open unceremoniously.

Now, Sirius could tell you’d not been expecting any company today; you were in the same clothes you’d likely slept in, your hair was perfectly rumpled from whatever position Sirius had just disturbed you from, and you looked more than a tad embarrassed to see him standing here.

He had sort of hoped you would look like a troll; make this raging flame he carried for you burn a little softer.

But no.

You just had to look ethereal and perfect and lovely and kissable.

Damn woman. 

“What are you doing here?” You finally asked, interrupting the both of you from staring at one another. 

“Helping?”

You made a breathy W sound - as if you were going to ask “what” or “why” but the words died on your lips as you took in Sirius’ many bags. 

“What did you bring?”

“I’ll show you everything if you just let me in.” He muttered as he motioned towards one of your nosey neighbours who had shoved her head out of her door when she first heard Sirius in the hall.

You peered around your doorframe and narrowed your eyes at her before allowing Sirius entry. 

“Finally.” Sirius teased as he moved to place his bags on your kitchen island. 

Sirius had never seen the inside of your flat, but if he had simply stumbled into your space by accident he would have known it was yours immediately. 

There was something so intrinsically you about your space that Sirius immediately felt at home too, even just for having stepped inside. 

“Sorry.” You chuckled somewhat awkwardly; bringing one of your hands to the back of your neck as you considered Sirius and all of his bags. “We’d just been watching some shows.”

Sirius immediately felt his heart fall out of his arse.

We? 

Had he read this completely wrong? Were you seeing someone? Was your home not simply yours, but one that you shared?

He found himself suddenly feeling quite defensive over your flat; it was too lovely, too wonderful, too comfortable for simply just anyone to enjoy.

“We?” He asked suddenly; tone taking on a bit of an edge he didn’t intend or consent to.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and pointed behind you with your thumb; Sirius followed your gesture to a little tabby cat perched on the back of your sofa, tilting its head at the two of you as if it, too, was confused by Sirius’ sudden intonation. 

“You were watching shows with your cat?” He clarified; his voice now breathy in relief. 

“Birdie loves shows.” You countered defensively. 

“You named a cat bird?”

“No.” You argued. “I named my kitten Birdie. Do you not like cats?” You asked then, a teasing smirk growing on your face. 

“I like cats fine; where can I put this?” He asked instead; hoping to god you didn’t notice the blush heating up his face. 

He started unloading the many take-away boxes he’d prepared for you at the restaurant before skiving off the rest of his shift.

“What is this?”

“Food.”

“Sirius, why did you-”

“I asked what helped.” Sirius explained. “You said food; I brought food. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet dollface, but food is kind of my thing.”

“Smartass.”

“That too.” He replied with a wink, moving to put the desserts in your fridge. 

“Did you seriously come all the way over here just to bring me food?” You asked disbelievingly as you joined Sirius at the counter and peered into the bags.

Sirius had to tamp down the giddiness that threatened to consume him at how sweet and domestic this felt; you clad in your comfies as you helped him unload groceries. 

“I didn’t come all the way over here just to bring you food…I brought other stuff too.” 

“‘Course you did.” You muttered quietly, looking at Sirius with a look in your eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Go lay down.” He ordered instead as he went about plating your food - opening cabinets at random until he found what he was looking for. “I don’t hear laying down!” He sing-songed when he saw you still  standing in his periphery. 

You harrumphed before acquiescing; picking up your cat who made a little brrp sound as if to second Sirius’ directions. 

Finally content with his efforts, he moved to stand in front of you with a glass of water and some pasta he brought from work. 

You made an appreciative hum and sat up, which seemed to displease Birdie greatly. “God, maybe I need to find myself a personal chef.”

“Oi! Don’t go replacing me now.” Sirius scolded as he perched himself on your coffee table - perhaps a little casual for being a first time (uninvited) guest in someone’s home - but you didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh the job is so yours chef; you’re welcome here anytime.” You said around a mouthful of food. And even though Sirius knew you were joking, he couldn’t help the giddy fluttering of his heart at the sentiment. 

“This is really good, Sirius, and super thoughtful; thank you.” You offered earnestly. 

“So I guess you don’t have any room for dessert, then?” He asked teasingly; his taunting smirk melting away immediately at the excitement that took over your face before he ran to retrieve it for you. 

“Why is she doing that?” Sirius asked after a while, gesturing towards Birdie with his chin who was rubbing her head against the leg of his pants.

“Why’s she doing what?” You asked bemusedly as Sirius fought every urge to wipe the little bit of chocolate from your upper lip. Unfortunately thankfully for him, you licked it out of his sight. 

“Head butting me; seems quite rude.” Sirius murmured as he watched the cat in bemusement. 

“That’s basically a cat hug, Sirius; she’s hugging you, or saying hello.” You chuckled at him.

“Get out.” He scoffed in disbelief. 

“Cats have little scent markers in their cheeks; when they rub against something, they’re affectionately claiming it as their own.”

“So like a dog pissing on trees?” He deadpanned.

“Affectionately claiming you as their own; offer her your hand, Sirius.”

“But what if she-”

“Chef, offer her your hand.” You barked at him with no heat. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes challengingly at you but did as he was told; pleasantly surprised when the cat moved the rubbing from his trousers to his hand. 

“Have you never met a cat before?” You asked as you considered him.

“No…I have.” Sirius offered slowly, admittedly enjoying the velvety soft fur of your little companion. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” You teased as you placed your now empty dish on the side table. 

“My family had a cat growing up; a horrid thing. I swear to god my mum taught him how to attack me. Loved my brother though, but was nasty as all get out to anyone else.” 

“Really? Was he a stray before he lived with you?”

“Nope.” Sirius offered with a pop of the p. “Raised that fucker from kittenhood. Lived a god awful long time too, just to spite me; I wished every year on my birthday that it would die.”

“Sirius!”

“I’m not joking! My brother and I would sneak cupcakes up to my room and he’d light a candle for me and tell me to make a wish. One of them was always ‘please for the love of god let Kreacher die before me’.” He didn’t think now was the time to admit that his other wish was always ‘please for the love of god let us make it out of here alive’. 

“That’s awful; you’re awful.” You laughed. 

“No, Kreacher was awful; I was but a boy.”

“I can’t believe you got after me for naming my cat Birdie when you had a cat named Kreacher.” 

“I didn’t have a cat named Kreacher, my brother did.” He responded haughtily. 

“Who named him?”

“I did.”

“Why?” You laughed again. 

“‘Cause he was a tiny, awful, hateful little gremlin and needed a name that said as much!” 

The two of you laughed until your hands migrated to your abdomen and you began massaging into your skin; a small divot appearing between your brows.

“What is it?” Sirius asked quietly then.

You tried to shake your head and offered him a tight smile. “S’okay.”

“Is it cramps?”

“Yeah.”

“Lie back.” He instructed as he stood from his seat on the coffee table - his mother would be rolling in her grave if she’d seen him with such a lack of manners.

Good.  

“Sirius, really, you’ve-”

“Lie back.” He whispered again, one hand on your shoulder as he gently guided you so that you were lying along your sofa with your head propped up on the armrest.

Stealing himself for perhaps embarrassing himself completely and making this whole precarious situation between the two of you go tits up, he finally shucked off his jacket and boots before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and lowering himself onto the bottom half of your couch.

You watched silently as Sirius situated himself between your legs so that his shoulders and head rested on your abdomen as he weaselled his arms under your back, placing both of his palms up against your lower back.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You’re tense as shit, doll; relax.” He murmured as he rested his cheek against your stomach.

You let out a breath and sank further into the couch as the two of you fell into comfortable silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered after a few moments.

“You already thanked me.” He whispered back.

“No, I-” You cut yourself off as you gathered your thoughts; a tentative hand absentmindedly making itself at home in his hair as you found your words. “Thank you.” You settled on.

“You’re welcome.” Sirius offered.

“Where’d you learn this?”

Sirius propped his chin up so he could at you; your hand pausing as your eyes flit to it as if you were only now realising what you’d been doing. “Learn what?”

“The pressure? The body heat. The…helping, with cramps?” You asked tentatively, and if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d think you perhaps looked a touch bashful at your questions - your eyes seemingly incapable of meeting his. 

And once again, Sirius found himself taking another jump, or rather, a complete leap of faith that could very well have this thing the two of you had been building crumble and fall before it even had a chance to start.

“Uhm, it was my brother, actually.” He admitted quietly.

Your eyes did finally meet his at that, where they narrowed a touch in confusion.

“You learned this….from your brother?” 

Sirius nodded as he swallowed nervously. “Right. He uhm, well, it often helped him with his cramps and such, so…yeah.” 

It was apparently his turn to be incapable of meeting your eyes as he moved his head so that it was resting against your stomach again.

“You’re a good brother.” You finally offered.

“Well of course I am.” Sirius offered through a breath of relief. “I’m good at everything I do.” 

“You’re a git.”

“I’m good at that too.”

You gave a disciplinary tug at Sirius’ hair which made him think of several sinful things he’d like to be doing with you whilst you did that next time, but he simply chuckled and sank further into you.

“I didn’t exactly sit like this with him, mind you.”

“No? What does that make me, then?”

“Special.” 

“I guess so.” You breathed out through a chuckle. “Coming over on your day off just to spoil me.”

“It wasn’t my day off.” He responded without thinking, tensing when he felt you suck in a breath.

“Sirius.”

“Mhm?” He offered in faux nonchalance.

“You left work for this!?”

“For you?” He asked as he considered you. “Absolutely.”

“For gods sake, Sirius. I bet Jeffery-” 

But he never got to hear what you thought of Jeffery as he let out a very petulant and dramatic groan and lowered his forehead to your stomach. 

“Babe, I know this isn’t exactly the same thing, but generally a man does not want to hear the name of another bloke when he’s in between your legs, yeah?”

You barked out a laugh and swatted at his shoulder. “You’re awful.”

“Terrible.”

“The worst.”

“Absolutely horrid.”

“Giving Kreacher a run for his money.”

Sirius’ head shot up at that as he levelled you with a warning glare. “Too far.”

“I’m sorry.” You laughed, not sounding particularly sorry at all.

“You better be.” Sirius grumbled as he lowered himself back down. “Now be a doll and play with my hair again; it’s nap time.”

And there was an equal chance that you were going to laugh, swat at him, or downright tell him to get his arse back to work.

But Sirius was admittedly overjoyed when you simply placed your fingers back into his hair and began to massage until you fell asleep; him not much longer after you.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Trine [5]

Anselm Vogelweide X Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Part One • Trine Masterlist • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Anselm has to go to a meeting Blue gets bratty.

A/N: A MASSIVE, HUGE THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL @lonelyisamyw-0love FOR BETA READING AND SAVING ME FROM BAD SPELLING, TERRIBLE TYPOS, AND QUESTIONABLE GRAMMAR! Also huge thank you to the anon suggesting Blue called reader and Anselm, mommy and daddy. (I will be answering your ask in more detail in the future for sure!)

Warnings: reader is married to Anselm, Blue being a BRAT, then a whiney sub, begging, p in v sex, cream pies, oral (f receiving), grabbing by the neck (Blue receiving), Blue being quite rude actually, Blue calling the reader 'mommy', please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2362

________________________________

Anselm had gone out to an important meeting early, well before Blue had even opened his eyes. 

Your husband had kissed you goodbye, promising to return as soon as he could. 

When Blue found out that Anselm had gone without saying goodbye to him he was insufferable. Pouting and scowling, huffing and puffing as he ate breakfast. (Which was another cause for his distress. You’d already eaten. And despite how you’d kissed his cheek and told him you’d sit with him while he ate he still grumbled and glared. One breath away from throwing a toddler level tantrum.)

“I’m showering.” He had declared with a stroppy throw back of his head, his arms crossed. 

You had smiled despite your best efforts not to, thoroughly amused by his little display. 

Which only further upset him. 

You’d settled in the day room, reading with your legs up on the sofa. 

An hour or so since you’d last seen Blue he came marching into the room, a deep scowl on his face.

He was only wearing the thin silk dressing gown he had decided was his. His hair still wet from the shower. 

He stopped an arm's width away from you, his hands on his hips. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye and slowly turned the page.

He huffed, sighing irritatedly at your lack of attention. 

You ignored him and suppressed your grin. 

“What are you reading?” He demanded, speaking before you even had a chance to respond. “And why is it more important than me?” 

You hide your face behind the book to stop your laughter from being completely obvious. 

Blue breathes in deeply, scowling. “This isn’t funny!”

You can’t help yourself. “Isn’t it?” You put your bookmark in and close your novel, placing it gently on the floor. 

“No.” He pouts. “It’s not, despite how amusing you’re finding it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Quite the display you’re providing me with.” 

His frown deepens and you can’t help but think he shouldn’t look cuter while he’s trying so hard to be menacing. 

“I want to fuck you.” He says with all the arrogance of a spoilt prince. 

You stare back at him. 

“I said,” he steps closer, going to grab your ankles. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” you tut and move your legs away. 

He gives you the dirtiest look you have ever seen. “Wh-”

“If you’re so desperate to get off,” you nod towards his obvious erection and move so that you’re sitting upright. “You can get on your knees and hump my leg while I read.” 

His face reddens in anger. “I am not a fucking dog that you can just order around,” he leans closer to you, trying to intimidate you  by caging you in, “that you think you can-”

You grab his neck firmly and he yelps, his right hand going to grab your wrist as his eyes widen in surprise. 

Your goodwill with his bratty behaviour comes to a very sudden end. You sit up straighter, forcing him to his knees and squeeze ever so slightly. 

Blue gasps, whining, his pupils dilating. 

“You think because Anselm’s not here you can behave like this?” Your voice comes out in a hiss, the closest to anger he’s ever heard. 

Blue tries to shake his head but your grip hampers his movement. 

“You think I’ll just roll over and let you be so disrespectful?” 

His eyes widen as you squeeze. His words come out in a whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” 

He swallows, his throat bobbing under your hand. “I’m sorry.” He says clearer. 

You nod, but don’t loosen your grip. “And?” 

His cock twitches at your firm tone. “I won’t… won’t do it again… I’m sorry.” 

“You better not.” You snarl and push him back away from you. The action isn’t hard, or intended to cause any real pain. But he stumbles back anyway, reaching out behind himself to stop from toppling from his knees. 

You pick up your book and open it, your jaw clenched. 

Blue bites his lip, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as his heart hammers in his chest threatening to break his ribs in two. 

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant to anger you. To make you truly upset. He’d just… wanted his own way. 

Nervously, he tugs at his short hair, shoulders slumped, mind speeding. His thoughts going so quickly he couldn’t even keep hold of them. 

He risks a little glance up to you.  You’re back to reading, seemingly ignoring him again. 

Hesitantly he shuffles forward on his knees, inching closer until you can feel his warm breath on your bare shin. 

He reaches out, lightly placing his hand on your knee with trembling fingers. 

You don’t react. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “Really sorry, I…” He swallows pitifully and shuffles closer. He presses his face against your leg, rubs his cheek against your skin as he kisses you lightly. “Please,” there’s a little hitch in his breath as he tries to not let his emotions completely overwhelm him. Tries not to drown in them.

He doesn’t know what’s happened, what’s wrong with him. He used to just take whatever and fuck whoever and now… now he’s here practically sobbing on his knees for your attention. And he’s never felt so aroused in his life. 

“Please,” he drags his lips up higher to your thigh when you don’t stop him, kissing and licking at your soft skin. “Please,” he groans, he just can’t help it, as he slowly presses your legs apart and you yield. 

“Please,” his eyelids flutter as he moves the skirt of your dress up and sees you’re bare underneath. Heat sizzles along his spine and he moans wantonly, gazing at your pretty cunt. 

He glances up at you, rubbing his thighs together and bowing his back ever so slightly to get some relief on his aching cock. 

You’ve put the book to the side and your expression has softened somewhat. But still not enough to reassure him he is back in your good graces.

He licks his bottom lip nervously, “please?” 

You cock your head to the side and watch him for a moment. “You think you deserve it? After how you behaved?” 

He closes his eyes and hangs his head, “no.” His voice is soft and submissive, just on the edge of breaking. 

Gently you take his chin in your hand and raise his head up. He gazes at you, blinking heavily with shiny and confused eyes, but moves with you when you guide him forward between your legs. 

His breathing hitches, excitement pooling in his belly as he moves ahead of your touch, pushing your skirt up completely around your hips and licking a long, slow line through your folds. 

You bite your lips together to stop the moans from escaping your throat, but you needn’t have worried, Blue’s own groan is loud and drawn out. Vibrating through you as his tongue circles your clit.

He sucks it into his mouth, whimpering and whining and inching as close as he can, burying himself between your legs. He rubs the length of his cock weakly against the edge of the sofa as he spreads you wider, sinks his wicked tongue in deeper before he drags it upwards in a tortuous slow lick. Lapping at you like you were his only source of oxygen, drinking down your slick like it was ambrosia. 

He moans with every movement, eyes closed in bliss as he presses his hands into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, practically bending you in half against the back of the sofa as his tongue seeks out every single part of you. 

You hang onto the back of the settee for dear life, unable to stop the gasped breaths from leaving you now as he rocks and licks, sucks and whines. Your wetness mixes with his salvia, smearing over your folds and his cheeks as he makes a mess of you. 

It’s so warm, and wet, and oh god when he looks up at you, eyes lidded and pussy drunk you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. 

You groan his name, pressure coiling so tightly in your belly as you buck against him. You barely get a seconds warning before a final swipe of his tongue has you coming hard. 

You cry out as pleasure flows through you, tensing your muscles and turning your bones to jelly. 

Blue whines as your release hits his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he keeps moving, trying to prolong your pleasure as long as he can. 

As your shakes still he slowly moves back, his face shining and wet. You breathe deeply, spaced out for a second from how hard you’ve come. 

Blue gets up to kneel on the very edge of the sofa in between your thighs. You don’t quite register what he’s doing at first until he presses the back of your thighs once more, folding you up on yourself slightly and noches his leaking, red tip at your entrance. 

“Blue-” your question becomes a deep moan as he just sinks into you, stretching you so wide and filling you so perfectly. 

He bites his bottom lip hard, his eyes still hazy and spaced out. He gasps, as he moves, plunging deeper. “Don’t worry, I’m not,” he groans, “I won’t cum, I don’t deserve to cum,” he bottoms out and breathes deeply, composing himself for a moment. 

Your walls pulse around him and he sobs at how good the sensation feels. He swallows and pulls out half way before sinking back in, starting a deep and tortuous pace that has your spine bowing. 

“I want you to cum though,” he babbles, keeping his thrusts even and deep, watching your face as you moan and clench around him. “Want you to feel so good, want to show you how sorry I am,” his voice raises at the last word as you buck and he seemingly slips deeper. “Want you to cum all over me, I’m just your toy, just your toy to fuck and feel good mommy,” he moans loudly, his hips starting to move on autopilot as your heat squeezes him and pulls him closer. 

He bites his lip, a flush on his face and neck the second he realises what he said. “I, I-”

“It’s okay Blue,” you moan, hardly able to string three words together without moaning as he strokes your walls, repeatedly hitting perfectly inside with every thrust. He rocks his hips upwards every time he sheathes himself inside, rolling his pubic bone against your clit in a long drawn out stroke that drives you to the point of insanity. 

You didn’t think you’d be able to come again so quickly, but your orgasm is hurtling towards you at lighting speed. Your thighs shaking with every thrust and every moan from his lips. 

You groan, “You’re gonna,” another long gasp leaves you as his hips snap against yours, “gonna make me cum again Blue.” 

He whines, his own muscles shaking from the exertion of the angle and from trying to fight off his own orgasm. 

“Noone’s ever made me cum so fast from-,” you moan, your eyes screwing shut. 

Blue’s own whine joins yours, harmonises with the sound as he leans closer, places one foot on the floor for better leverage. 

You scream. The angle change shatters you into pieces, liquid pleasure flowing out and filling your veins as you shake and pulse around him. 

Blue gasps, keeps moving as best he can as he groans and watches you come apart completely on his cock. 

He swallows, mouth dry as you finally relax, breathing hard. He wants to cry, he wanted to see you cum for longer, see that pleasure on your face for hours and hours. He bites the inside of his mouth, about to move back and out of you when you wrap your left leg over his hip, halting his movements. 

He looks at you quizzically, “I?”

“Cum in me Blue.” Your voice is tired and fucked out, but firm. 

“I don’t deserve-”

“Are you questioning me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, wide eyed. 

“Good.” You buck up against him. “Then cum for mommy.” 

He moans. His hips rutting against you of their own accord twice before he empties himself in you with a cry. Tears flowing down his cheeks as he practically cums on your command. 

His arms give out on him as his orgasm rockets through his body and you hold him in your arms, cradling the back of his head as he shivers and shakes. 

“Mommy, mommy, thank you,” he whines, sobbing and blabbering. “Thank you.” 

You kiss his temple as he calms, as his breathing evens out. “Feel better?” 

He nods against your neck. 

“You’re not going to act like a brat like that again for me, are you?” 

He shakes his head quickly. 

“Or I won’t be happy.” You stress the last word and he looks up at you quickly with his large shiny eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

You nod once.

“I…” he swallows. “I was… upset…”

You raise an eyebrow at him to continue. 

“I thought… I thought you, me and Anselm were going to be together the whole day and I…”

“You had a tantrum because he had a meeting.”

Blue nods again embarrassed. 

You breathe in deeply, “maybe Anselm is right, maybe I do spoil you.” 

He shakes his head quickly, panic greying his face. “No, no, no, you don’t, please, I promise I’ll never do it again, I-I,” he breathes in rapidly, “I’ll never make you sad again, mommy.” He bites his lip again, embarrassed that that word slipped out again, but you stroke his cheek and kiss him lightly. 

“Alright.” You kiss him again, deeper this time and he moans as he melts into your embrace. “It’s okay.” 

He nods. “Sorry.” 

“I forgive you.” You kiss his temple and hold him tight as he snuggles against you. 

“But I’m gonna have to tell Anselm about this when he gets home.” 

____________________

Thank you for reading!

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[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptasmagorah; cw for schmoop like whoa.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) 22: (k)night (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

John, for a split-second, thinks he's hallucinating. He's knackered to the point of swaying on his feet from a double shift followed by-- because apparently he'd been a bastard in a past life-- a bloody 'morale building' staff meeting that had made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Alright, he also might be a bastard in this life. But the point is, he hears Sherlock's voice despite there being no Sherlock in the room.

'Ibn is a rather naughty horse, isn't he?'

The sound is tinny but discernible, and John fwumps down into his chair to eye the baby monitor. The camera is aimed at Rosie's cot, of course, so it's mostly Sherlock's shoulder as he leans over with a book. John's tired brain flips through the rolodex of bedtime stories until it hits upon the one with a big white horse named, of all things, Ibn Rafferty.

'But he is fun to ride, and nice to everyone while being ridden.'

He hears Sherlock pause. 'Do you know, Rosamund, that's arguably the first definition of chivalry.'

John blinks. Not where he'd thought that was going, but all right.

'The word "chivalry" is derived from the Old French term "chevalerie,"' Sherlock continues. 'And it was meant to describe soldiers who fought on horseback.'

John snorts. His daughter is brilliant, obviously, but there's not a chance in hell she's understanding this. Unless Sherlock is drawing some truly impressive illustrations off-camera. Which, he supposes, is disturbingly plausible.

'These soldiers became standards of good behaviour, you see. On a horse, you're much taller than everyone else, aren't you? And horses can kick, or be otherwise very rude. So, the guideline for chivalry became, essentially, don't be rude to people who don't have a horse.'

'Don't be rude,' Rosie echoes, and John supposes that's what he'd want her to get out of this lesson, really.

But Sherlock's not finished. 'It had many iterations, of course, but eventually became a ritualised outlook on romantic love.'

John's brows shoot up. He'd've thought this subject to be one Sherlock would delete. Courtly love will likely never solve him a case, after all.

'One of the rituals, for example, was the High Minnie.'

Rosie is interested enough to ask through a yawn: 'Minnie Mouse?'

Sherlock chuckles. 'No, m-i-n-n-e. German. "Hohe Minne" colloquially means "high love."'

Yeah, clearly Sherlock is aware John can hear him. Even he's not going to use the word "colloquially" for the benefit of a toddler.

'It's when a knight-- the person on the horse-- goes through a series of trials to prove their love to someone. For instance, being willing to sacrifice themself to save the person they love. Making a long journey fraught with peril and hurt. Taking on a mighty monster.'

John's tired old heart clenches in his chest. Sherlock knows he's listening, all right.

'Now,' the detective continues, 'in the stories, after all these trials fail to win their beloved's heart, the knight finally accepts that their love is unrequited.'

He pauses. Rosie, John can see in the monitor, is languid with sleep, caught by Sherlock's rich voice and about to go under.

'And when love is unrequited, it can hurt very badly. But the knight knows those sacrifices were worth it, in the end, regardless. Because that's simply what love is, sometimes.'

John rubs absently at his chest. It's too much, he's so tired and so in love that it's almost too much.

On the monitor, Rosie's little brows seem to scrunch together, and she moves, rolls a little towards Sherlock. Who chuckles, wry but warm, as he rubs her tummy. 'It's alright, little bumble. Sometimes the knight does get their love, in the end. And it's the best reward in the world.' The shape of him on the screen leans in and kisses Rosie softly. 'Especially when it comes with little girls named Watson.'

John finds he has to look away from the monitor. His eyes are stinging, and now it's not just from exhaustion.

'You're a menace, Sherlock Holmes,' he calls quietly as he hears the stairs creak faithfully under Sherlock's socked feet.

'I know,' the detective says as he crosses the room. He leans on the arms of John's chair and kisses him briefly, their mouths clinging. 'But you found me worthy, in the end.'

'In the end, in the beginning, in the middle,' John counters. Sherlock raises an eyebrow. 'Alright,' John concedes. 'Maybe not in the middle, there, for a bit.' His smile is slow but genuine. 'But you prove yourself with every nappy, every boring case, every time you think before you throw yourself to the wolves.'

'I do try,' Sherlock deflects, his skin heating up. They've both about reached their limit for sentiment for the evening, John thinks.

'Then shut up and try this, you bastard.' And he pulls Sherlock down once more.

[❤️]

[I did mediaeval re-creation for 15 years, so this is where my brain went when I saw the prompt. The book Sherlock's reading from is 'Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm' by Alice & Martin Provensen. I learned of hohe minne in Leverage 4x15, 'The Lonely Hearts Job.']

[elodieunderglass]

Okay, I really liked watching Angelina Ballerina as a child, but that was a long time ago. I'll accept that she's a monarchist, but I'll need to see some evidence first. This will break my heart :(

In reference to the monarchist animals post

I don’t know Jack about Shit regarding the animated series, but the books are perennial.

That mouse was absolutely gagging to align herself with the interests of monarchy; in fact her major concern was receiving sufficient attention for doing so. And as always she didn’t care who she had to shank to do it.

Although her author is American by birth, she emigrated to England; so while the mice have American things like Halloween trick or treating, the books are extremely English. Her grandparents have a narrowboat, which is strictly Uk and Ireland only.

I do admire Angelina for being so vividly unscrupulous; so clearly and selfishly single-minded in all her desires. She’s an excellent character. However, her books probably wouldn’t be popular in the modern publishing industry, because as a model of behaviour for the preschool audience, Angelina always does exactly the wrong thing in any given situation, treats people really badly, never apologises, demonstrates poor social behaviours, listens extremely selectively, and usually learns zero lessons from this. Combinations of luck, randomness and her exquisite selfishness usually combine to mean that at the end of each book, she gets loads of praise and attention anyway. It’s a mixed bag for the intended audience, who simply see the bratty, dangerous, careless, inconsiderate child being consistently rewarded for, at most, showing up. They also have to suffer the stress of watching this mouseling make shitty, dangerous decisions that they KNOW are the wrong move. It’s not just treating her grandparents like shit (which upset Bear,7, softhearted; and makes Bug, 4, slightly admire her; I occasionally worry about Bug’s moral centre) it’s when she actively does stupid things like actively losing her baby sibling trick-or-treating (Jesus Christ wtf Angelina) or lures her toddler cousin into a situation where they’re attacked by a cat (you should have died Angelina) or is just shitty and nasty to her friends. All very, very typical of 1980s type literature, but which is why I also called her “a bit of a little bitch tbh”.

I do genuinely like her a lot though. She’s just stressful. And too obsessed with princesses and princess behaviour

[crguang]

I remember you saying that you'd have a thot daughter while Kafka would have a gay son in one of your posts before, but what are your headcanons on this? Like if Kafka has a daughter alongside your precious son :> (also I'd also be a girl mom too LOL)

-🧸

OKAY OKAY OKAY SETTLE DOWN EVERYBODY. first, let me just say that i think she’d be the same type of fun dad regardless of her kid’s gender but what i like to think about is her having an extroverted, hyperactive son and a reserved, introverted daughter okay just hear me out—

kafka connects with her son instantly like they share the same vibes, that’s her mini her fr. he’s adventurous, curious, independent and he looks up to her regardless of whether she’s always around or not (if she isn’t he believes it’s cause she’s “changing the world”… i guess thats not a total lie.) it’s easy for her to take care of him because he’ll fall and dust himself off, run around with no fear of bugs or small creatures and even as a little baby, he didn’t fuss much in her arms.

the real test is when the second baby arrives and it’s a beautiful little girl with a completely different temperament— as a baby she can barely be left alone, clings to you and gets fussy whenever kafka’s holding her for too long. she’s much more sensitive to noise and things like that so as a toddler, she prefers spending her time with her parents. she’s a scaredy cat, hesitant to try new things, and needs lots of reassurances all the time

kafka thinks she doesn’t like her. she hands her over to you because she just wont stop crying and she’s tried everything and “she doesn’t like me. just take her.” she’s a very patient woman but she gets annoyed every time she thinks about it, which makes her more reticent to be alone with the baby

it’s rare to see kafka not be good at something and get irritated because of it; this really weights on her because she doesn’t know how to deal with babies, they can’t communicate properly and she’s not exactly well versed in their behaviour. she knows that if a baby cries, check their diaper or try feeding them and that’s most of it. so for the first 2 years she really struggles and just follows your lead

you have to reassure her that babies have different personalities and that not every one will be like your son, and she tries to internalize that but she still feels a little down about it. she leans on the crib with her chin in her palm and a pout on her lips, staring at the baby who’s looking up at her and says, “do you hate me?”

she has a harder time connecting with your daughter because she’s unable to feel fear and your girl is very easily terrified. babies will be scared of grass, like it’s funny but when they need reassurance, kafka is nottt the person for that. she leads by example and usually just doing whatever her son is scared of and going “see? easy.” gets him moving but it doesn’t work on your daughter so she’s at a loss. being able to predict grown people’s reactions based off their fear ≠ reassuring a two year old that the vaccum is not a monster like she can’t do it because she’s never had to get over her fears and that’s a baby who’s just learning how to talk

it makes her feel a little incapable and she leaves a lot of matters concerning your daughter to you because of it, it’s not that she doesn’t try she just doesn’t wanna mess up. you have to tell her how her baby likes to be held, what usually works when she’s overwhelmed, that if she’s irritated or lashing out it means this and that, etc. once she knows, it’s easier

also, once kafka figures out that all your daughter needs is to believe that she’s safe with her, it’s a piece of cake. if there’s one thing kafka is, it’s powerful. she tells the kids she’ll “make the bad guys disappear” if they ever get picked on (“please stop telling our kids you’re going to murder people.”) and when they’re out together, she pays a lot of attention to her baby’s behaviour so she can anticipate her needs and avoid a disaster

if your daughter grows up to cherish her own space kafka has no problem with that she’s chill as hell LMFAO. if she’s still clingy, well, kafka feels some kind of way about the fact that she’s choosing to turn to her first. they’ve come a long way <3

[hedgehog-moss]

Bird update: Unfortunately I’ve had to say goodbye to my rooster. I quite liked him but if you’ll remember, he was here on probation and after a few weeks of good behaviour he started pestering my hen a lot. She started looking a bit unhappy (huddling under the outdoor table instead of trotting about), then she stopped laying and I thought perhaps she was moulting and it could explain her moodiness and missing feathers, but the pattern of missing feathers seemed to point to the rooster as a culprit. Then he hurt her wing, allegedly (I have no proof so I’m protecting myself from a libel claim.)

On nice days Dru likes to sit and soak up the sun, stretching her wings one at a time, and on a couple of occasions I saw her stretch only her left wing, never opening her right one. I poked her wing gently and she didn’t bite my hand off which was a good sign, but then I picked her up and placed her on a chair, expecting her to jump off straight away like “I never asked you to put me here, mind your own business”—and indeed she jumped but she only flapped her left wing to slow her fall.

I called the vet to ask if it meant the other wing was broken and what I could do, and she was pretty reassuring, saying if the wing was held closed in the right position it would heal on its own—if it were dangling on the other hand I would need to find a little toddler’s t-shirt for my hen to wear, to keep her wing against her body. The vet also said what vets always say—“as long as the animal is eating normally it’s probably going to be fine!” (and that’s the case)

But I couldn’t keep the rooster any longer—even if he weren’t the one who hurt Dru (innocent until proven guilty) it wouldn’t help the healing process if he kept trying to mount her, so I put him in a box and took him back to his natal farm. They weren’t terribly happy to see him again, but well. I wanted to give him a chance but the circumstances (with only one hen) weren’t auspicious and I sort of expected this experiment to fail. Best of luck, rooster...

A couple of days after his departure, Dru lay an egg again for the first time since mid-February, so I think the message was pretty clear!

Also, that’s a tall bale of hay (from a chicken’s perspective) so I’m not sure how she managed to climb on top of it without boosting herself with her wings. Did she fake a wing injury to get the rooster ousted? Pampe would fake a wing injury without hesitation but chickens strike me as honest. I mean they're unrepentant food thieves but they’re upfront about it.

Final bird update: on Friday I managed to get a new hen! I hope having a new coopmate won’t put Dru in a bad mood again and cause another egg strike. The new hen is very young and still looks like a gangly teenager, and she seems quite vivacious and curious, here she is determinedly strolling into her new home:

One notable fact about her is that she doesn’t speak chicken. She doesn’t kot kot like an adult hen, and she doesn’t make the incoherent gurgling sound that baby hens make, either. It’s more like a dissonant quack. I’m not sure what to attribute it to—maybe she was raised near ducks and picked up a foreign language? I might have to call her Daisy if she keeps this up. I tried to record her but she’s pretty scared of me for the time being so she’s all shy and quiet when I’m nearby...

Dru isn’t amused by any of this. New hen tries to follow her and chat with her and gets snubbed a lot. Well, I did hear Dru cluck amicably the first evening when I brought the new hen in the coop, but she didn’t get an answer, there’s a real language barrier here. I hope the new hen learns French soon because right now Dru just keeps running away from her! 

Poor Dru, she lost her good friend and then had to deal with a dude who woke her up every day at dawn crowing as loudly as possible, and now a new roommate who speaks duck. It’s only been two days though; I’m sure they’ll get along eventually!

[trashpandacraft]

What are your cats' names? I love them very much 🥹

you are my favourite person. thank you so much for asking this and giving me a chance to talk about my cats, my precious terrible babies.

we have three cats, as you can see in this photo of them supervising me watering the garden yesterday.

the brown tabbies are brothers, and are two years old. the grey one was adopted at the same time, but is younger—about eighteen months. they're terrible. i adore them.

this is darcy. he's impossibly beautiful, so full of beauty that there's absolutely no space left in that precious little head of his for anything as trivial as thoughts. look at those eyes. his mind is absolutely empty.

darcy enjoys hanging his chin over things, feather toys, helping me manage any wool products that i'm using, sunbeams, yoghurt, tearing apart cardboard boxes, and being lightly thunked along his sides. does he like being pet like a normal cat? not really. what he loves is when you aggressively rub his sides up and down like you're trying to towel off a very wet dog, or when you play bongos on his ribs.

darcy is our babiest boy, and also the fanciest and most beautiful boy. he doesn't walk, he prances. his tail is an enormous peacock plume. his mouth is so so so pink. he's also our most timid boy—very friendly, but very cautious, especially when it comes to anything physical. big jump? no thank you, darcy will simply hop down to the floor and take the long way. he's our longest and probably our sturdiest cat, but he does not care to put that to the test.

this is bingley. you may notice, in these photos, that he's missing the paw on his front right leg. this is because he put every single one of his ability points into soft and didn't leave any for paw. he feels like this was a reasonable trade, and is entirely unbothered by its absence.

bingley likes sofa, plush fishie toys, biting and biting and biting his siblings, cotton, being tall, getting onto the bed by jumping directly on my face, and trucks and machines of all types. you have a spinning wheel? this guy is obsessed with spinning wheels. garbage is being picked up? he is tearing into the office so he can watch it out the window. toddler-ass behaviour, frankly.

darcy and bingley are brothers, and when we went to the shelter, we were told that they were a bonded pair, and that darcy relied on bingley for a lot of social cues. this was, at it turns out, 100% correct. darcy is timid and anxious and very reluctant to trust his own abilities; bingley is confident and loud and knows absolutely no fear. this cat has opinions, and by god he's gonna tell you about them. bingley makes the biggest jumps, and is the cat who figured out that he could jump from the knee-high cat tree to the top of the more-than-two-metres wardrobe. i'm honestly glad that he's missing a paw because i feel like if he weren't a tiny bit nerfed, he'd be A Threat. he is also far and away our smallest cat, even though he sometimes makes himself look quite large in photos.

this is goblet. goblet is rightfully called silver—my child named him, thus the thematic disconnect—but i have to admit that i've almost never called him that. you see, when we got him, he was very young, and he had hilariously oversized eyes and ears, which made him look like a goblin. a very small goblin. a goblet, if you will.

goblet likes food, the plastic bottle caps from sports drinks that he fishes out of the garbage, being in things (baskets, drawers, cat beds, etc), headbutts, having his belly rubbed, and sitting with his front paws tucked up very politely.

he's our most skittish boy—if there's a loud noise, he's gone—but also the snuggliest. which is great, because he's also the most trustworthy when it comes to craft supplies. if i pull out my knitting, there's like an 85% chance that he'll appear on my lap within ten minutes or so, and then he'll just hang out there. i've used his limbs to tension yarn before and he just purrs. he's sort of middle of the road on the bad life choices scale—too skittish to have bingley's eyes closed, three paws, can't lose attitude, but more confident than darcy. he's also the smartest cat.

additionally, he has weirdly, freakishly grippy paws. he's not polydactyl, but he very much uses his dewclaws like thumbs. he really holds on to things. it's messed up but also very charming, because he holds on to everything.

anyhow, thank you so so much for sending me this ask and giving me an excuse to tell you way more than you wanted to know about my cats!

[hereticpriest]

Bite

Rating: Mature?

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

Warnings: Heavily implied odaxelagnia, period typical misogyny, period typical relationship culture, period typical discussion of a physical disability.

Note: Kincsem means 'my treasure' and szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

Warmth sinks into your back as you lean heavily against the strong legs and plush sofa behind you, chasing away the chill you might've had from sitting on the cold floor. Your upper body is wedged somewhat between bony knees and soft thighs, holding you in place in case you were to fall asleep. It wouldn't be the first time. A blissful sigh leaves your lips as you nuzzle your cheek against your arms, pillowed beneath your head and draped lazily over your dear doctor's thigh. The fingers of his non-dominant hand comb shyly through your hair, still learning to touch you with what he refers to as his deformity when he manages to speak of it.

His voice, thickly accented when he's as relaxed as he is now in the fire's crackling light with you at his feet, lilts over the words of whatever book he's chosen to read for you tonight. You haven't absorbed much of it, though you believe it to be a text rather than a novel - delving into the science behind love, how quaint - since he keeps pausing to underline passages as he goes. He doesn't ever seem to do that with novels - that's your territory. He often remarks that he likes to read some of his favourites again after you've made your way through them simply because he likes to read the little notes you've jotted down in the margins.

You let out a plaintive noise as he removes his hand from your hair, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes to look up at him with all the disgruntled displeasure of a toddler told no. His eyebrow raises at you as if to ask what you plan to do about it, and you scoff, shifting your arm ever so slightly to give you room to sink your teeth into the meat of his thigh. He yelps, fisting your hair in order to wrench your head back, and you let him. Your lips form a smug grin, eyes half-lidded and smouldering. The would-be pain of having your hair pulled bleeds into pleasure instead, sparking like wildfire under your skin.

"No biting, kincsem." He murmurs, guiding your head back down to his leg delicately for a man who’d just yanked on your hair. You wait on baited breath to see if he'll keep touching you, and hum with delight when he does, indulging you despite the fact that it reinforces your unfortunately bratty behaviour. He's been trying to get you out of the habit of biting since you met, with very little success. First, as a typist at the Kreizler Institute with a bad habit of biting the skin around your nails - stress induced, due to the pressure from your parents to marry instead of working for him. He had recommended a healthy outlet for your stress and a set of gloves to redirect you, and while the gloves did work when you weren’t actively typing, you hadn’t yet found an outlet for your stress. Then, your parents found a suitor for you willing to overlook your unfortunate desire to make something of yourself beyond a wife and mother, which led to you biting the thenar eminence of your dominant hand until you had to wear gloves to hide the marks and bruises. The gloves were somewhat of a deterrent when you wore them, as you learned to get quite adept at wearing them while typing, and had to pull them up to bite properly.

As you were reluctantly contemplating the aforementioned suitor's offer of courtship, Laszlo came to you with an offer of his own, a decidedly sweeter offer despite your parent's distaste for foreigners and lack of respect for his profession. He was still a wealthy man (wealthier than the alternative) of good standing (relative to the man they'd found for you) with a somewhat prestigious job, who wished to marry you with some level of expediency. Up until that point, you'd done your best to look at Laszlo as Dr. Kreizler - your boss first, and a man a distant second - in order to avoid any misunderstandings or scandals. You did not acknowledge his good looks, or his delectable accent, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you. None of those things were relevant to your job. Somehow, you’d managed to do quite well in removing the man of him from the equation.

When he proposed a courtship, it had not been a way to save you from a worse fate like you might have feared it to be if you'd ever even had an inkling to the idea that he might ask. Which you hadn’t, because you had blinded yourself to him willfully to achieve a healthy working relationship. An entire world of possibility opened up between you when he forced your hand and made you finally acknowledge him as something other than your polite and kind boss, Dr. Kreizler. Your good doctor had asked you with sweetly pink cheeks and a flustered tongue, an honest fear in his eyes as he attempted quite needlessly to be forthright about his faults and how he might make up for them. You knew who he was. As you allowed yourself to think of him as an option, you realised how good of a man he truly was. He wasn’t a perfect man, certainly. He had a habit of being manipulative, and was far too shrewd not to recognize it. He lacked some social graces, which had given him the ability to see people that society had shunned, but also made him a bit abrasive at times. He was profoundly intelligent, which led him to sometimes confront people with the things they did not want to be faced with.

And yet, he was kind. Compassionate. He saw beyond your pretty wrapping to the heart of you, and appreciated both. He indulged you even when you were difficult. He gave everyone a chance based on merit, not class. His love warmed you like a fire, and very rarely burned you in equal measure. He was incredibly handsome, distinguished, and carried his age well. He dressed well, groomed himself appropriately and his voice made you quake. His arm did little if anything at all to quell your passion for him, once he lit the fire. All it took was one spark for you to burn.

It was as if the moment he began courting you, you began to see things you had never noticed before. Things that had always been there, and yet you had been completely blind to them. Despite the difficulty it gave him, he always pulled out your chair for you. He offered you his arm anytime you two had to walk anywhere together, and helped you in and out of the carriage despite having Cyrus there to do it for him. You, quite by accident, noticed him staring at you in the quiet moments in his office while you were typing up his notes for him, or taking his dictation. It wasn't the first time, though you had always passed it off as the man thinking, the direction of his gaze less important than the thoughts running through his brilliant mind. It wasn’t until you knew the fire in his eyes when he looked upon something he wanted that you began to recognize it in his gaze whenever he was looking at you.

Once, long before your courtship began, he had invited you to dinner with his motley crew of investigators at the Delmonico. You remember playfully remarking that you would have to buy a new dress for the occasion, only to find a dressbox laying on your desk the following morning when you came into work. Your insistence that he not waste his money on you was met with a disdainful look at the simple notion and a reminder that it would be impolite to refuse a gift given in earnest. Your parents would have had a fit if they knew you accepted such a gift from a man, but what they didn’t know couldn’t possibly hurt you. Every compliment from Ms. Howard and Mr. Moore made Laszlo subtly preen, apparently pleased to have picked something that suited you so well. You had thought his behaviour a tad odd - inviting the group's admiration of your dress, subtle as it may have been, was certainly not the doctor's usual style.

You had kept yourselves to courtship rules, holding hands only in presence of a chaperone for your good public image, what little remained. He took you on several long, chaperoned walks in between dinners with your family, and exchanged letters with you despite the fact that he saw you nearly every day for work. Your engagement swiftly followed, perhaps a bit faster than might’ve been acceptable if your parents hadn’t been in such a rush to be rid of you. The first time he kissed you, you swore you heard and felt him whimper. He was endlessly gentle with you, cherishing you in ways you never expected. He loved you long before you even knew that was a possibility, and he had hungered. Your next bite was to his lower lip, and then his chin, and then his neck. Instead of using gloves to redirect you, he now wore higher collars or guided your nipping mouth further down under his clothing.

It was a happy marriage. It is a happy marriage. Only a couple of months in and you’ve never been happier in your entire life. Your doctor, your husband, takes very good care of you. You want for nothing, except a moment more of his time. Just one more look. One more touch. One more kiss. You’re voracious - he’s accused you multiple times of being spoiled with a fondness in his voice that said he was perfectly okay with that. You think he’s been so hungry for you for so long that it’s only fair that you suffer the same ailment.

Your doctor combs your hair back from your face, leaning over you just the slightest bit to see your open eyes before he speaks, “You, my little wife, have not heard a single word I have said for the last hour, have you?”

You smile against your arm.

“Oh, no, my love. I was definitely listening.” You correct him, and he sighs, stroking the pad of his thumb over your plush lips and inviting a bite he knows is coming. He barely even flinches as you clamp your teeth around his skin, then he does shudder when you pull his thumb into your mouth.

“Some day, I will rid you of this compulsion.” he murmurs, and you bite around the base of his thumb before letting him pull free of you. His hand slips below the neck of your nightgown, and you shiver at the wet swipe across your nipple.

“You hardly want to, husband. Deny it all you like, we both know you like when I bite.”

He smirks, his strong hand slipping under your arms to help you stand on shaky, numb legs. Despite himself, he likes when you walk like a baby deer around him, whether due to his nightly (and often daily) passions, or simply because you like to kneel at his feet so often until your legs go numb.

“Come to bed, szerelmem. I think there’s still an inch of my neck that is yet to be bruised.” He teases, and you laugh, leaning into him as he helps you towards your bedroom. You’ve no doubt he’ll find yet another way to make your legs shake before the end of the night.

[apricotmayonaise]

i wasn't sexually harassed by @/musashi, ya'll are just playing the telephone game.

hi, im slushy, i'm 15 and a half years old, i keep hearing these bullshit rumours about my friend wendy, or musashi, as is their tumblr url. i'm here to go on the record to say, that did not fucking happen. unfortunately, since i got banned in the server this went down in. (ha ha. how ironic.) might be tricky but i do have, like, 10 people who can back me up on this.

so, a rundown of events. me, wendy, and a few other people are in a vc. i post a poll about what i should go as for halloween. the options are pretty skimpy but hey, i'm fifteen, going on sixteen years old. i'm nearly an adult and by the time halloween rolls around i'll be old enough to work, drive, and fuck. i'm a teenager, not a toddler.

a couple server members, i think it was around five, voted on this poll. the mods, specifically the owner, got mad at wendy specifically. they said wendy was sexualising me. wendy was obviously like "no, when i look at a teenager in a halloween costume i see a teenager in a halloween costume. slushy's 13 years my junior, im not a weirdo."

the owner proceeded to get mad at wendy and then told me i should dress up as jesus? which is an odd thing to say. it was less of lingerie and more like a bikini. which gives me a feeling that the people getting mad are the type to sexualise teenagers at the beach.

anyway, wendy, with no warning, got banned for this. the mods said they gave plenty of warning but in those "warnings" they seemed to just be making friendly requests, not mod-ly orders.

the whole claim of wendy "offering to buy" me anything is also completely and utterly false. that didnt happen dawg

anyway, i was confused, angry, and upset about this. wendy was also very upset.

anyway, you know who i was groomed by?? someone else on the server who all the mods continue to reblog from and interact with. they know she's a groomer. i've told them. wendy's told them. at least five other people have expressed concern or disgust at this person's behaviour, and yet they continue to talk to the groomer.

i also want to add that i was completely and utterly spoken over. every time i said "wendy wasnt weird or creepy!" they didn't listen to me because i'm just a minorrrr. i'm just a little girl who obviously can't think for herselffffffff.

as for wendy being a "pedo apologist", i think this just refers to wendy...not being an antishipper? god forbid wendy, a grown ass 28 year old adult with adult responsibilities not get into internet discourse? also i find it pretty gross how we put "actual fucking child predators" and "people who don't care about online drama surrounding made up ships" on the same level of bad. one is something i can scroll past or block the tag of. the other caused me trauma, pain, and having grown up way too fast. fictional characters can't experience pain or tragedy in the same way real children and teenagers can.

this post is in regards to this anon message:

you are a bunch of sick people who don't care about real child abuse. you ignore groomers and let them fly under the radar to target people who you, personally, don't agree with. you're making a real victim into a false victim, and at the time of the incident it was sexual assault survivor's awareness month.

if you're going to call someone a victim, at least fucking listen to them. a real groomer is out there living her life while my friend lost a big amount of friends due to false allegations.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

if youd like to, could you possibly write some regressor wilson stuff? preferably involving illness in some capacity because its a bit of a guilty pleasure 💀💀💀

Toddler Wilson, boogie-woogie-woogie.

-----

Word Count: 946

Summery: Wilson wakes himself and House up in the middle of the night, sick with a cold and regressed. He would also rather suffer than take his medicine, but if either of them are going to get any sleep, House needs to find a solution.

-----

“No.”

“You have to take it. It’s going to make you feel better, you want that, right?’ House tried to reason, offering the small cup of fever-reducers a little more insistently, but there was no reasoning with a colicky toddler.

Wilson glared him down stubbornly from the safety of his blanket nest on the couch, only breaking the stand off to stare daggers at the cup of medicine every few seconds like the pills had personally kidnapped his teddy bear. “No.”

House sighed and put the cup down, rubbing at his heavy eyelids. A genius diagnostician who couldn’t get a four-year-old to take cold medicine. If he were an insecure sad-sack this might’ve prompted an identity crisis. Of all the littles, he hadn’t expected Wilson to be the one to fight him on taking his medicine. He expected this behaviour from Thirteen, maybe even Chase, but not sickeningly-sweet, innocent Wilson who did nothing but nap and made a career out of being the world’s most agreeable toddler. But apparently he was adamant on both not taking the pills and keeping him up all night whimpering pathetically because he had a headache and fever.

He was almost proud, seeing his little boy finally all grown up and being defiant, he just wished it didn’t have to affect his sleep schedule. And Wilson’s health, he supposed. The last time he had check his fever it was 101.9 and climbing, which while not the worst it could be, probably wasn’t very comfortable. If he couldn’t somehow convince the tyke to choke down the pills then he was in for a long night of whinging and crying. How he wished they had liquid cold medication.

“Why not?” He asked, not really expecting an actual answer. Wilson barely spoke when he was regressed as it was, but now he was sick and tired. He was amazed that he was even getting one-syllable answers. And, true to form, Wilson didn’t give any sort of clue and just made an upset grunting sound. 

His eyes landed on the stuffed bear tucked into the blankets. The kids in paediatrics seemed to take better to medication when their toys “took it” with them, and as much as he didn’t like playing pretend, if two minutes of awkward teddy bear voice-acting was what it took to get him to take the damn pills, it would be worth it. 

He grabbed the bear and Wilson instantly started fussing. “Relax. Mr. Bear here is just going to take his medicine, and then I’ll give him right back.” He took the cup of pills and shoved the bear’s nose into it, then mimicked the swallowing motion. He turned the bear to face Wilson and put on his best friendly-bear voice. “Gee Wilson, I sure do feel much better now! You should take some too!” 

Wilson just blinked at him, looking unconvinced and mildly disturbed. 

Wilson all but snatched the bear back when House went to hand it to him, burying it out of sight completely. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. Seriously, what am I gonna have to do to get you to take the pills?” 

He knew that technicallyhe could get Wilson to take them at any time. He’d scared many a reluctant patient, both children and adults, into swallowing life-saving pills, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Wilson. He needed to draw on every “gentle-parenting” technique Wilson had ever rambled on about so they could both get some actual sleep.

Wilson continued to whine unhelpfully, so House decided a tactical retreat was in order to rally the troops, to figure out something. He wandered into the kitchen and rechecked the medicine cabinet for the third time just to make sure they didn’t have any Niquil, or even melatonin, but nothing had miraculously materialized since his last check ten minutes ago. Damn.

Resigned, he went to the pantry next, because if he was going to be up all night he wasn’t going to do it hungry at the very least. He was shoving boxes of crackers and pasta out of the way for a bag of trail mix when he saw it. A box of instant chocolate pudding. Bingo.

“Mix contents of one packet of instant pudding mix with one cup of cold milk, and let stand for five minutes. Serve immediately or chill in the fridge.” The instructions read. Not exactly instant, but close enough.

He made a batch of pudding and poured some into a small serving bowl. Then he grabbed a soup spoon, took a heaping scoop of pudding, and pushed the two small pills into it. The pudding disguised them perfectly, and he could only hope that Wilson wouldn’t think too hard about swallowing it. He set the spoon back in the bowl inconspicuously and returned to the living room.

“How do you feel about pudding, Jimmy?” He asked. Wilson perked up from the couch, and his hazy eyes practically sparkled with excitement. House sat down on the edge of the coffee table, offered the spoonful of pudding, and held is breath as Wilson eagerly took it. 

Wilson’s eyes widened as he swallowed, and he stared at House with a look of pure betrayal.

“…Did you swallow it?” 

The glare he got was all the confirmation he needed. Thank God. “Oh, don’t give me that face. You’re going to start feeling better soon! You did a good job, Jimmy.”

Wilson’s face softened into a pout, and after a moment of sulking he made a lazy grab for the bowl of pudding.

House smirked. “More?” He took another spoonful and gave it to him. “There you go. You’ve earned it.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mimic III

McFoord x Toddler!Reader

Summary: You're being suspicious

There is a hole underneath your fence, at the very end of the garden.

Also at the end of the garden, is a shed. It doesn't get used much so it's a little run down.

There's no connection between the hole and the fence, not an obvious one anyway. Not one that would make Caitlin investigate them both so obviously.

She's much more concerned finding out the reason for your strange behaviour.

You've been shifty recently, which is especially strange for such a little girl. Your second birthday is coming up very quickly but you've seemed to develop fairly quickly now that you've been hanging around with Sam and Kristie's Chook when Caitlin and Katie are busy.

You've also gotten shockingly independent.

There's no need for your leash when you're in the house and Caitlin's happy to let you run around the garden by yourself as she does the dishes, checking on you through the windows periodically.

You're being a little weird and what's even weirder is Coopurr's food going missing.

Caitlin's sure that she's not overfeeding him because he hasn't put on any weight but his biscuits and his wet food are going down so quickly that someone must be taking them.

That someone, it turns out, is you.

Caitlin catches you doing it one afternoon when you grab the whole box of biscuits and a sachet of wet food before toddling out to the garden.

She sighs, letting you scamper up the far side and duck behind the shed before getting up to follow you.

Caitlin really hopes you haven't been eating them like you were when you were younger.

"Gremlin!" She calls," Don't take-"

A puffed up ball of fur hisses at her from where it's dangling from the scruff of it's neck in your hand.

"What is that?!"

"My Spicy!" You say proudly," Spicy, Spicy, Spicy!"

"Katie!" Caitlin yells," You better come out here!"

You're still holding the kitten by the back of the neck, humming to yourself as Caitlin notices the pile of cat food you're been hoarding.

She crouches in front of you, gently reaching for the kitten before flinching back when it tries to scratch her. "Where...Where did you find it?"

"Stuck under fence," You tell Caitlin," I save Spicy."

Caitlin forces a smile on her face. "That's nice. How long have you been looking after him?"

"One week," You reply," My Spicy is special!"

Caitlin warily shuffles closer, kept at bay by the flashing claws off this feral kitten.

"You're being very good with Spicy but can I have him?"

You frown. "Spicy's hungry."

"I'll feed him."

"Caitlin? What's-"

Katie skids to a stop in front of you both, mouth hanging open and discarded dish towel on her shoulder from where she was using it to dry the dishes.

"Spicy, my kitty!" You exclaim," See?"

Spicy snarls and Katie very gently throws the dish towel at him before taking him from your grip.

"Spicy!" You cry, moving to kick Katie but Caitlin's already got you by the back of your overalls, dangling you above the ground as you whine," My Spicy!"

"Katie's just...taking Spicy for a bath."

"I am?"

"Yes, Katie, you are and then we'll take Spicy to the vet."

Secretly, Caitlin hopes the vet will tell her that she needs to take the kitten to the shelter. She doesn't particularly want it in her house but you seem to have gotten attached, if the way you keep fighting against her hold is any indication.

"Want Spicy! Spicy's mine!"

There's that as well and, when Katie comes downstairs with the kitten suitably pissed off and still hissing, you go straight up to it for cuddles and it relaxes in your arms.

"No vet for Spicy!" You insist," Spicy's good!"

"I'm sure Spicy is..." Katie's arms are full of scratches. "...Tolerable but we still need to check he's not sick."

"Then bring home!"

"I don't know, Gremlin, he might want to be with other cats." Katie's very proud of herself for coming up with that excuse, mentally patting herself on the back even as Caitlin shakes her head in disbelief.

You unwrap her excuse so easily, pointing to where Coopurr is sitting, licking his own bum.

"Have Coopurr," You point out," Coopurr is cat. Spicy is cat."

"Er..."

"We keep Spicy," You declare, nodding and rocking your new kitten," Spicy, new home!"

[entropy-sea-system]

Because not many people are talking about it, I'm making a post on what constitutes platonormativity!

Platonormativity here refers to the idealisation of friendship and viewing friendship as essential and mandatory.

Im putting this under the cut as this is a long post

[If this personally offends you or you're an exclus or think I am not aware of how friendship is also deprioritised, etc. honestly this post is not really for you lol]

Things that can be platonormative:

-Assuming that everyone has friends, and viewing it as a red flag or a sign of mental illness if someone doesn't have friends, and/or expecting them to be actively looking for friends

-Claiming that one must be 'friends first' before a romantic or sexual or other relationship in order for it to work out

-Treating friendship as inherently more stable and long-lasting than other relationship types

-Using the term friend for people without considering whether they actually are okay with that term or whether they actually want to be your friend, or otherwise considering someone your friend when they are not explicitly okay with that

-Claiming that aros and aces must "at least have friends" or experience platonic love or platonic attraction because of their 'lack'

-Claiming that everyone should have friends

-Profiling people who don't seem to have friends as a "suicide liability"

-Being ableist towards people whose ability to make or keep friends or want friends or otherwise engage in social bonds is diminished by their (physical or mental) disability and/or neurodivergence

-Assuming that everyone is alloplatonic and friending and plato-favorable

-Assuming that no one is monogamous for friendship

-Considering it inherently "unhealthy" or "increasing risk of abuse" if someone has a partner(s) but not friends

-Forcing friendship as something mandatory even when people are toddlers or very young children

-Assuming a couple/other partners are solely "friends" due to them being polyamorous, queer, or other reasons

-Assuming that people who interact in certain ways must be friends

-Treating friendship as something inherently more "wholesome" or as something that can never be used for harm unless it was a pretence

-Blaming a lack of friendship rather than the harmful behaviour itself when it comes to 'pickup artists' and other people who act entitled to sex, romance, or other things

-Calling aplatonics with a connection to romance "amatonormative" for existing

-Treating the dismantling of amatonormativity, relationship anarchy, and aro activism as an excuse to enforce friendship as something that is mandatory

-Claiming that 'aro culture' is basically (insert alloplatonic and/or plato favorable experience)

-Assuming that ALL demiromantic and/or demisexual people must require friendship as the bond after which it is a possibility for them to experience attraction

-Assuming that every alloaro must want a 'friends with benefits' type of relationship

-Assuming that anything thats nonromantic and/or nonsexual has to be platonic(friendship)

-Reinforcing a platonic-romantic binary

-Claiming that friendship cannot involve sex or romance ever

-Assuming that queerplatonic relationships are friendship or always involve friendship

-Looking down on others for not giving priority to friendship or not engaging in friendship

-Media being saturated with friendship and not many media existing without having friendship in it

-Not understanding that people can be repulsed by friendship and/or platonicism

[moonswolfie]

Dinner time

timeskip!Osamu x gn!reader

Warnings: Reader is skinny, (past) verbal abuse, ED (?)

This is very self-indulgent and I haven't been diagnosed with an ED but my relationship with food can be seen as ED-like so I put the warning there

I was in an Osamu mood so I decided to write a sweet little story for him ahahasshahsah this man ≧ ﹏ ≦ (please excuse my horrible attempt at giving Osamu the accent)

Being married to Osamu was great. He treated you well, was an entertaining person and you got hooked up with the latest sibling drama straight from him.

But the one part that always bothers you is mealtime. Osamu is a great cook, which isn't surprising since he owns a restaurant and you love his food.

This would be great if Osamu wouldn't dote on you through his food so much. He always gave you the biggest servings to make sure you were well-fed and happy. It was his way of showing he loves and cares about you.

Your stomach couldn't handle large servings of food, it never could, even since childhood. Your parents always made fun of you and told you that you eat like a little baby, so you were scared he would make fun of you too if you told him.

So you tried your hardest to eat as much as you could every time, even if you weren't hungry at all or even if you felt like throwing up after. You ate even if you didn't have an appetite.

But it was worth it, seeing him smile happily while you were eating his food.

It was time for dinner again, something you grew to dread more and more.

You see, Osamu thought you enjoyed eating such big portions since you always finished them so fast when in reality you were trying to get it over with as quick as possible. So he thought he would make then even bigger.

You knew he just wanted to see you happy and that it made him very happy seeing you eat his food but you couldn't handle it anymore.

"Come here, darlin'. I cooked yer favourite." Osamu invited you to sit with him. You tried your best to hide your discomfort as you sat down across from him.

Looking at your plate, you already felt nauseous. He really did cook your favourite, but the amount...

You couldn't bring yourself to do it anymore. You ate slowly, and eventually stopped, just picking at your food to give the illusion of eating.

Osamu seemed to notice pretty quick, since his usual smile wasn't there. "What's wrong? Why aren't ya eatin'?" he asked, concerned.

"Samu, I can't do this anymore." you put down the chopsticks, looking at him with worry. He seemed taken aback and confused by the sudden change of behaviour on your end.

"What are ya talkin' about?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Osamu, I've always had a really small appetite. I've never been able to handle big portions of food and I often feel sick after eating." you confessed, looking down at your plate. Now you're going to be made fun of, told you look like a twig, that you eat like a toddler. Maybe he'll tell you to stop being ridiculous and keep eating.

You closed your eyes in anticipation of whatever insult was going to be thrown your way.

"...Why didn't ya tell me that?" his question surprised you, opening your eyes to look at him. He looked concerned.

"I'm sorry it's just- You looked so happy when I ate all your food. I didn't want to let all the food you cook for me go to waste." you admitted, looking down at your plate again.

"So ya mean to tell me you've been forcin' yerself to eat all that food for months now." he crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. You shrunk under his gaze.

"Maybe... I'm so sorry for not telling you sooner, I-"

"What am I gonna do with ya? You gotta tell me these things, ya know?" he sighed, expression softening.

"...You're not mad?"

"Why would I be?" he looked at you as if you said something really ridiculous.

"My parents used to get mad at me when I didn't eat and called me a baby and a skeleton for eating so little." you didn't dare to look at him after you admitted that.

"Yer parents are assholes. Yer the one who knows yer body the best, I ain't gonna judge ya fer that." you couldn't stop the smile that crept up on your face. He was... okay with it?

"I'm just mad ya didn't tell me sooner. Now I feel bad for makin' you eat all that food." his eyebrows furrowed.

"No, don't feel bad. I was the one who didn't say anything and ate the food." you assured him with a relieved expression.

"Your food is amazing, I would just prefer if you gave me smaller portions from now on." you reached over the table to lightly grab one of his hands, squeezing it affectionately.

"I got ya. And by the way, yer body is beautiful." he said, squeezing your hand back.

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Following Along (Tony Stark X Son!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Tony Stark X Son!Reader, Peter Parker X Male!Reader (Platonic)

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Mention of serial killer, mention of dead body(s) (Both vague)

Request: How about a fic Tony Stark X Son Reader fic, where reader of a Sherlock type when it comes to his deduction, intelligence but also sometimes callous behaviour. Maybe Tony makes him hang out with Peter and his friends and it ends up him then following him around while he handles a case and it ends up with the Avengers tailing him.

Tony had known ever since his son was just a few months old that he was a little… quirky. He never really interacted with other kids at nursery or on playdates, and while other toddlers played with shapes and blocks, either together or alone, whenever Tony picked up Y/N and asked what he’d gotten up to, the answer was always something that was always… off. Like the time you made a poster detailing different bugs in the garden, drawing them and how they were different, or another day when you spent the entire time investigating and locating a little girl’s lost dinosaur toy, which sounded really sweet until the caretaker had to tell him that when you found it in another kid’s backpack, you dumped it out in front of everyone, pointed to the kid and called him a thief and made the kid cry. 

Now, any normal parent would show at least some concern about their kid’s behaviour, maybe put them in therapy, try and get that behaviour out of them. However, Tony saw something in you that stood out. You liked to investigate. You liked knowing things, you liked to solve puzzles, and as you grew older, this continued and grew, and instead of punishing you for being rather blunt or rude at times, especially when you pointed things out about you, Tony instead set up a simple rule of “You can only do that if the person was being mean in the first place or you have a good reason to” and gave you frequent tasks to keep you occupied. That worked fine for the most part, until you reached middle school. That was when he started getting called into the school because of incidents. 

It switched between you being bullied for being weird and quiet and rude at times, and you pulling stunts that always seemed to blow up and cause drama among the school. Like the time you blasted one of your classmates and bullies in the middle of an assembly for stealing other student’s work to get an award, even providing proof then and there, or the time when a teacher called in Tony about your behaviour, and you pointed out that you had been doing all your work and extra, and also that she was picking on you and suggested she stop unless she wanted her affair with another teacher to be announced over the speakers the next morning. All with a straight face, no mischievous smirk, or a glint of malice in your eye. It was also around that time when Tony suggested that you set up your own amateur detective agency, partially to hopefully help you in the process of pursuing a job you would clearly strive in, and also to stop you from investigating and exposing your teacher’s affairs. 

Well, that amateur detective agency, where you started off with helping students with their own problems, very quickly became far more professional when you started taking on older, paying clients and being an actual private detective in the city, gathering information for people, and in more than one occasion, actually working with the police with it. Needless to say, Tony had to ask Bruce to get in touch with his cousin as an emergency rep in case any of this backfired, though you assured your dad you had been working with another lawyer called Murdock or something on some cases.

Tony had a lot of mixed feelings now about your job that you were doing. On one page he was immensely proud of you, and he knew this was only the start of a successful career and he was already prepared to help you set up an actual office for you when you were old enough, he loved to hear from you about your latest successful case, and when you came to him for his opinion on your cases to look for leads and he got to see your mind at work. On the other side, he was worried about you. You stepped on the cop’s toes often, and your lack of filter frequently got you in trouble with them, and then there were the dangerous cases with high profile crime involved where you were at actual risk of being hurt, and of course, the long standing problem of your lack of social life, and it especially worried him since you just started High School. 

“Peter, can I ask you a huge, huge favour, and I’m being completely serious.” Tony asked of his intern on one of the rare times Peter was on base to update his suit. Peter looked up from where he was doing some homework, waiting for the update to be complete to look at Tony. 

“Of course Mr Stark, what can I do?” Peter inquired, admittedly maybe a bit too excitedly.

“As you know, I have a son- Y/N. He’s not the best socially, and he has this private detective work going on outside of school, and it’s actually getting pretty serious. He told me about a new case he’s started, and I feel like he might actually get in trouble- can you just watch him please? Make sure he’s not in any actual danger?” Tony asked. “I don’t want you to feel like this is a babysitting job- it’s really not. Y/N’s cases are usually actual criminal cases, but he’s a year younger than you and I’m genuinely worried his bluntness is gonna get him in serious trouble with the wrong people.” 

“I can do that!” Peter assured him with a smile. He of course knew about Y/N Stark’s private detective work, people talked about it who were in middle school with you as well as the stunts you pulled, and quite often people would ask if you were involved in a recently solved case, and sometimes you answered in the affirmative, so he knew that you were in serious stuff. “Would you like me to be with him or tail behind or..?” 

“Tailing won’t work, he’ll notice immediately. Just tell him you want to follow along and be his back up if anything goes south- he worked out you were Spiderman before I did, you’re not gonna hide anything from him.” Tony explained. Peter didn’t have time to properly process the fact that you knew who he was before he’d already accepted his task and had left the base to prepare for tomorrow.

When Peter arrived to school the next day, as soon as he entered the school, he was greeted by MJ and Ned, who could see he was on a mission and had something on his mind as soon as he came in. “What’s going on?” MJ asked as she watched him look around the hallways, over people’s heads. 

“I might need to skip school today. Mr Stark’s given me the task to follow his son around on a case he’s doing. It’s dealing with some serious crime so he wants me to be there in case things go sideways.” Peter explained to them.

“An actual criminal case?” Ned asked, and Peter nodded. “Any idea what it is?” 

“No, Mr Stark didn’t state, but I’m gonna ask Y/N when I join him.” Peter answered. 

“Can we tag along?” MJ asked, leaning on the line of lockers. 

“Uh… are you sure? It might be dangerous.” Peter asked, wide eyed, getting a nod from the girl, and Ned got an excited grin on his face. “Okay, but if we actually get in trouble, run at the first chance you get, okay? I’ll worry about Y/N.” Peter told them, and after getting the affirmative, the three of them went on the search for you. 

 For Tony, he took no news as good news. He’d not heard anything on the news, Peter hadn’t called or texted, neither had you, and FRIDAY was silent about anything to do with the spider suit. It took that as things were going more than smoothly, you and Peter were playing nice, and hopefully you’ll have a new friend by the end of the day, and so he let himself relax a little bit and actually focus on his work.

It wasn’t until Pepper waltzed into his lab that he realised something was up, since she came in around the same time everyday; 5pm, long after school had finished, when you should be home, when FRIDAY would let him know Peter was using the suit. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it something was exactly wrong, but it was off at least. His first course of action was to drop a text to Peter, asking how the case had gone, presuming by now it would be over and done with and maybe the kids had lost track of time and maybe were busy just being teenagers and having fun. He watched the screen after sending the message for a few seconds, watching as Peter read it, and started to respond, before the text popped up for him to see. 

We’re still working on it

Now THAT was weird. It was vague with no details, almost like Peter was busy or focussed on something else. Tony didn’t feel great about that, and so immediately called his son, turning to Pepper who had been watching him since she came in, trying to figure out why he was suddenly in a panic with her showing up. After a few rings, you answered. “Dad I’m kind of busy right now.” You answered him 

“Y/N, can you give me an idea of what’s happening? You’re usually home by now and I’ve not heard a peep from you all day.” He asked, glancing at Pepper who immediately understood what was happening. “Is Peter with you?” 

“Yes. And Ned. And MJ. They’re being really helpful, thanks for sending them.” You answered, your voice being slightly muffled with the sound of fabric, and Tony could tell you had the phone pressed between your head and shoulder. “You know how I was hired to track that man’s movements before he went missing?” 

“Yes, it’s in the newspaper, your biggest case- insanely proud- did you find something big?” 

“Oh yeah he’s the victim of a serial killer and I’m working on finding the other victims and the killer.” You answered him far too calmly for your father’s liking. 

“What- how are you doing that? Please tell me you got the police involved and you’re not planning to go body hunting as an after school activity- where’s Peter and the others?” Tony demanded towards you.

“Of course I’ve got the police involved- I sent them to look for the bodies in the places I think they are about… 4 hours ago? Anyway- dad can you get FRIDAY on the call please I need her. Peter forgot his spider suit.” You requested, answering a few questions your father had but adding so many more. FRIDAY, at the mention of her name immediately inserted herself. 

“How can I help Mr Stark? She inquired, her inserting herself immediately putting your call onto speaker. Pepper came to Tony’s desk and stood beside Tony, who put his phone down on the desk and just leant over to put his head in his hands. 

“FRIDAY, I need to narrow down who lives on Gallow Way, New York. We’re looking for a Man, within the 40 to 60 age range, possibly married in the past but now divorced and living alone.” You detailed.

“Y/N Stark you better not be thinking of confronting a killer!” Pepper spoke up, and silence fell over the phone. 

“Does it help if Peter’s here, police are on route and his technique for killing isn’t a gun?” You inquired to her. 

“Absolutely not- stay right there, I’m coming.” Tony ordered, calling his suit and immediately flying out the building to go collect his son and intern. In retrospect, he guessed he should have known that Peter would get caught up in your shenanigans and aid you in them rather than calming you down in these situations. Still, he was just glad that you had Peter with you- that did make him feel a little bit better in the prospect that you did face off against a serial killer. Not a thing he thought he’d be saying to himself when he became a father. 

By the time he got there, the police were already there, having already arrested the man and were searching the house, and he spotted his son talking with an officer who was taking extensive notes, Peter, MJ and Ned not far away. He walked over to them first, and they saw him as soon as he landed and straightened up a little as he walked up to them. “What I’d miss?” He asked, before quickly adding “Please tell me you didn’t see a dead body.” 

“No, we were just following the person’s last movements before I guess Y/N realised he’d seen something similar and quizzed us on some other missing people to see what we knew. We did a bit of googling for more information before Y/N announced it’s a serial killer and sort of just… put together a description of what the guy would be like who did this, looked at a map and picked some spots where the bodies could be then called the cops.” Michelle explained to him in a confused tone, which was understandable. 

“Have they found anything yet?” He asked next. 

“Apparently they did find something at one the spots Y/N highlighted a few minutes ago… which is terrifying.” Ned commented. Tony nodded quietly, before going on his phone, selecting a few things, before looking back at the kids in front of him. 

“Alright, a private car will be here in 5 minutes, it’ll take you home, okay? Peter, do you want to go with them?” Tony asked, getting a rushed nod from the teen, and Tony was starting to regret asking him to tag along with your antics. Maybe he’d been too lenient with you. Maybe he should restrict what cases you can take on…

“Mr Stark?” Tony glanced up from his thoughts at the sound of Peter, humming to tell him he was acknowledged. “If Y/N has any big cases again, can I tag along? Other than the whole serial killer thing… it was kind of fun and interesting. I learnt some things that could help me if I need to do my own investigations.” Peter requested, getting slightly wide eyes in response. 

“Uh… sure, just ask Y/N beforehand to be sure he’s comfortable with it, okay?” Tony responded, and Peter grinned and nodded, before Tony turned and started to make his way over to his son, still rambling to the cop who on close inspection almost looked frazzled. “Y/N.” He called, making you stop and turn to face him. 

“Hi dad, I’m nearly done here, just letting them know what kind of things they need to be looking for in the house and stuff.” 

“I’m sure they can figure it out with the extensive notes you’ve already had them writing. Say anymore and they might thing you’re the killer, not the detective.” He joked with you, giving an apologetic smile to the cop as he took your shoulder to pull you away. “If you have any other questions don’t be afraid to call us- I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.” He excused, starting to lead you away. “Did you go in the house?” 

“No. But I did snoop in the back-” Tony interrupted you with a sigh. He swore you were going to be the death of him one of these days.

Hope you like it! Sorry for the super slow posts, I’ve been overwhelmed recently with things I need to do and it’s making me not want to do anything creative. If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

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[haunted-xander]

Hsr age headcanons except I also explain my reasonings bc I read everyones lore to get it more accurate.

(Also, a few things to note that will be relevant to my explainations: Some of these I'm not 100% certain of the age groups I put them in here, so some might not be as specific. Blade will be considered his age prior to being mara-struck for the sake of this post. Imbibitor Lunae is a stand in for Dan Feng.)

Let's begin, shall we?

Child (6-12)

Hook: I believe she's around 7-8. She's very obviously a kid, but I don't think she's like, a toddler or anything. She's smart enought to pull the clever little tricks she does, and has enough awareness to understand some harder topics (like Fersman's declining health and the reality of her birth parent's deaths).

Clara: I originally figured she was around 14 or so, but since one of her stories claim she's of similar age to Hook, and one of Hook's stories has her note Clara is a few years older than her, I think I'd put her around 11-12. Maaaaaybe 10, but that feels a bit too young for her.

Early to mid teens (13-17)

Arlan: Probably around 17 or so. We know he's younger than Asta, who met him when he was a kid and offered him a job for her family, and she also mentions that she took him in during her companion mission. Herta also says in her voice line about him that he's probably one of the "exceptionally gifted" kids Asta gave money to.

Lynx: She's much younger than Gepard and Serval, obviously, but she's also probably around the same age as Pela (who is confirmed to be 16) given how close they are and how they interact. Her companion mission also largely revolves around her trying to escape her older siblings protectiveness, which I feel is relatable to a lot of teens lol.

Late teen (18-19)

Silver Wolf: Tbh I don't have any solid justification for this, mostly just vibes. She's definitely younger than Kafka, but other than that I don't really have much to go off of. Probably 19, but I could see her maybe being early 20s too.

Guinaifen: I'm not completely sure about this one tbh. She's definitely a teenager, she says she's close to but not yet an adult to Bailu after we chase her and the Heliobus possessing her. She's also very close friends with Sushang, (who is confirmed to be around 16-17) so it makes sense for Gui to be a similar age too. The thing that's tripping me up is that one of her stories says she spent all her teenage years on the planet she lived on prior to coming to the Luofu, which would make her 19 at minimum. It could also just be exaggerating, or not counting 18 & 19 as teen years (that one seems unlikely though).

Young adult (20+)

Trailblazer: Well, obviously, Trailblazer is actually like a few months old at most seeing as we start the game by being "born" but, ya know. They're treated as an adult by everyone around them, not to mention they're clearly meant to be around the same age as March and Dan Heng, who are also depicted as adults (Dan Heng has been seen drinking in official art, for example). I think maybe like, around 20-22 would fit.

March: There's what I mentioned previously of course (being close in age to Trailblazer and Dan Heng), but the whole "girls like me/my age all like this and this" thing is a very typical mindset of late teens & very young adults. The way she talks about taking pictures of food in one of her stories also sound very much like how a young adult would explain it lolol. Like Trailblazer, probably around 20-22. Tbh I'm not sure how to explain my reasoning when basing it off of her behaviour without it sounding like I'm saying all girls her age do this, I'm not 😅 but it is common enough I feel like it adds to her feeling that age, ya know?

Asta: As mentioned with Arlan, we know she's notably older than him. I would say her position on the space station means she has a decent amount of life experience for her to do it so well, but this is Hoyoverse and anyone can do anything regardless of age, so that doesn't really work lol. That said, she clearly has had the position for a long time, so even if she wasn't an adult when she started, she definitely should be now. Probably around 23-24.

Bronya: She's been in the Silvermane Guards for long enough to be well-known and trusted for her skills, and with how easily she took up the position of Supreme Guardian, she has a lot of public faith and trust as well. She needs to have been serving for a good amount of years, to get all that. That said, I do think she started young, so I'd put her at around early-to-mid 20s. probably around 23-24 like Asta.

Seele: Canonicly around the same age as Bronya, so probably about 23-24 again.

Luka: Not much concrete to go off of, but he's probably around the same age as Seele given their interactions. He's also obviously an adult, or Hook would've dropped the 'honourary' part and just make him a proper Mole lolol. Around 23-24 again.

Topaz: In her voice line about Bronya she says they're around the same age. March also notes that she's pretty young for an executive, and her character stories explain that she started working for the IPC at a VERY young age. Probably around 23-24 yet again.

Adult (30+)

Sampo: He's a notorious scammer who's being doing his work in Belobog for a long enough time to become notorious, so him being in his 30s seems likely. I don't have any other reasoning besides that, really. probably around mid 30s, like 35-36 or something.

Himeko: She had already finished college when she found the express, so she was already an adult then. It's been many years since then, so she's definitely not some young 20-something year old lolol. probably mid-to-late 30s, like 37-38 or the like.

Gepard: Mid-to-late 30s. He's younger than Serval, so he's below 40 (not that I really thought he was middle-aged anyway) and he's probably older than Bronya, as in one of her stories he comforts her after the first death to happen under her leadership, clearly having already gotten used to it. Also, apparently he has a bachelor's degree? (According to the fandom wiki's trivia section). Anyway. Around 37-38 probably.

Luocha: I couldn't really find anything that indicates anything in particular, so I'm just gonna say he's mid 30s based off of vibes alone. Like 35-36 or something.

Kafka: Her age is only ever stated as "unknown" and, like Luocha, I couldn't find anything that indicates anything in particular. So I'm just gonna say she's mid-to-late 30s like Himeko and call it a day. 37-38.

Argenti: His character stories show a variety of different scenes throughout his journey as a Kmight of Beauty, so he has experienced a great deal. Mid 30s, probably. Like 35-36. I don't have much else to go off of.

Middle aged and beyond (40+)

Herta: We know she's like, really old. Like really really old. I don't know exactly HOW old, but old. I think she's still within a human lifespan though, so maybe like 70-80 or something. Physically speaking though, she herself states that her current puppet body looks "70% like I did as a child" so. Yeah. Baby grandma.

Natasha: She raised Seele and was the main caretaker at the orphanage she grew up in, so she ain't exactly young (despite what hyvs aversion to portraying older people properly will tell you). Probably late 40s to early 50s. 49-50 maybe.

Serval: Canonicaly the same age as Cocolia, who raised Bronya for most of her life. Bronya also recognizes Serval as Cocolia's old friend from when she was a child. Mid-to-late 40 probably. 45-46 maybe.

Blade: Yingxing is refered to as 'middle-aged' in-game at around the time it all went down, and he's shown with visible aging and with grayed hair (that is, assuming Blade's current black hair is his natural haircolor?). Probably late 40s, like 48-49 or something.

Canon age

Pela: 16, as stated by Lynx in her & Lynx's companion mission. People have pointed out that this is a plot hole due to other information we have about Pela, but 1) the only thing that goes against this is the claim she was a founding member of Serval's band, which I can 100% believe is either a mistranslation or a case of a writer not cross-referencing properly. (also, I don't remember where this is ever claimed in-game, so if anyone can point me to it I'd appreciate it.) And 2) her being a teen makes more sense with how she's written, imo, so I don't really care if it's actually a plot hole.

Sushang: One of her stories says she's "around 16 to 17 years old". Obviously, this isn't her REAL age since she's a Xianzhou native, but it is the age she is equivalent to for a short-life species.

Welt: 80+. He arrived in the hsr universe at the time of APHO, which takes place in 2025. Since Welt was born in 1947, this would make him 78. While we don't know exactly how long he's been here, he seems to have been here a quite a while, so, 80+ it is.

Long-life species

(equivalent to) Child (6-12)

Bailu: She's been described as a child many, many times, including by herself (multiple times). Although she's probably older than she looks, as both she and several others remark that she has trouble growing bigger for some unknown reason. I'd say maybe around 10-11.

(equivalent to) Early to mid teen (13-17)

Qingque: She reads to me like a 14 year old being forced to take up a summer job by her parents because 'you need to get experience so you can get a job easier when you're older!'. Actually I think that's literally what's going on except summer jobs don't exist on the Luofu so now she has a full-time job at 14 years old. Yeah I don't actually have anything else to go off of other than the level of control her parents have over her life.

Yanqing: His character stories say he is 1) not yet of age (so below 18) and 2) a teenager. Very simple. Not sure why people are arguing about his age so much when it literally says right there in the game that he is a teenage boy. Probably 15.

Huohuo: Honestly not much to go off of. Probably around 14, based solely on vibes.

(equivalent to) Young adult (20+)

Dan Heng: Depicted as a young adult of similar age to Trailblazer and March, as mentioned previously. Pretty simple. That said, I do want to note that one of Blade's stories describe him as a teen. But, based on the way it's written, this seems to be Blade's first encounter with him, so it's probably not accurate to Dan Heng's current age.

Tingyun: Her stories describe her as pretty young, but the way she carried herself and the sort of businesses she did makes me think she was at least 20. Like 20-21 probably.

Fu Xuan: Once again, not much concrete to go off of. Her stories give me the impression she joined the divination comission rather young, and I think she's been the master diviner for quite a while now. Maybe early 20s, like 22-23 or something.

(equivalent to) Adult (30+)

Dan Feng: We don't really know how old Dan Feng was when everything went down other than that he was older than Dan Heng is currently. I'd put him in mid 30s, solely on vibes. I mean, he got engaged and quite literally made a child, so I'd say 30 fits. Ignoring the fact neither of those things have much to do with his age at all. 34-35 maybe.

Hanya: Honestly I have no clue and her stories just confused me. She has the vibes of a 30-something year old so I put her here. My view on her age will probably change once Xueyi is out if only bc I might be able to figure Xueyi's age out better and Hanya would then be somewhere under that.

(equivalent to) Middle aged and beyond (40+)

Jing Yuan: Listen. He's seen shit. He has lived a long ass time. And it's canon he basically raised Yanqing, he's a dad ya'll. probably early-to-mid 40s, like 44-45 maybe. I don't know.

Yukong: She's old. Like actually old. Technically much younger than Jing Yuan, but since foxians lifespans are shorter than other long-life species, she's equivalent to a lot older than he is. She's 249 and foxians live up to 300. She's OLD. I'd say she's like 70 or something.

Jingliu: Also old. She's like, 2000 years old or something, she's a grandma. Probably equivalent to up to 80-something. Except she looks 30 bc Mara. And also long-life species don't actually age past a certain point, so she physically is not capable of looking above 30.