#you don’t hesitate. he’s your captain. he’s your partner. there is no you without him.

[crocodilenjoyer]

thinking about. young kid and killer scrapping in a dirty lot with split knuckles and missing teeth and their respective little gangs jeering at each other behind them contrasted by killer physically putting himself between kid and an emperor to protect him. twice.

[rodolfoparras]

Had a very vivid dream of a man mounting on me, of course I had to turn it into Price always somehow. Also I have an underlying guilt of wanting to be baby trapped so...

Tw: Babytrapping (?) Abo elements

Old man omega Price who has given up on finding a prospective partner years before, until Alpha reader come along.

He can't believe an old man like him snagged someone so young and virile, can satisfy the whole task force but no you choose him, coming to knock at his door if you need a quick "fix" to satiate your alpha.

Of course he's your captain, and a good one takes care of his soldier. Though you refuse to mark him, only a grip at his waist, to make him permanently yours, it clouds doubt in his mind. Say, one plentiful night after a successful operation everyone came down to the base's nearest pub, and every omega preening to take you home.

And he sees blood, although you weren't his, although you only meet at dark to satiate each other's needs, he feels livid seeing you with others, apart of the taskforce or not. He doesn't interfere,broodingly sitting at the corner, finishing bottles of whisky.

So on the off chance, after you've stumbled back to the shared living complex, Price awaits at your door, a beast ready to take it's prey.

He claws at you, sending you tumbling down your bed as you're shred off your clothing. Your make out was quick and fast, Price taking your hardened member and immediately bouncing on it without a care in the world, you not getting a word out on using protection.

You hiss at your climax, gripping onto his waist like it was the thing that was only keeping you grounded from the sheer overstimulation. He hopes it takes, doubling his efforts on riding you.

And at night when you're all tuckered out, drained and beyond. A satisfied hum leaves his lips a hand rubbing his stomach, you may never bite him, claim him as yours.. maybe a baby would change your hesitance

-💫

Content warning: a/b/o, baby trapping, questionable consent, 18+,

Okay but hear me out Price growing more and more fond of the thought of carrying your mark, loses his mind when he feels your lips graze his neck or when you got an iron grip on his throat as you fuck him into the mattresses. It’s even better when the marks from your fingerprints turn into bruises and lingerie for days so that everyone can see them.

It doesn’t take much before he cooks up a plan on how he’ll actually get you to mark him- how he’ll get you to be with him for as long as he lives.

It starts with him riling you up, making you see red by watching him flirt with a good for nothing alpha at some dingy bar while you’re right there.

And when the two of you are all alone, you don’t waste a second before you got him corned, quickly smashing your lips together and ripping the clothes off of him.

But just when he’s about to sink down on your dick you tell him maybe you should wear protection, half heartedly digging around for a condom but he distracts you from it - maybe with a couple of words and with a sweet smile on his face or even with kiss, cerulean eyes watching closely the way your body relaxes under him.

He doesn’t waist a second before he’s realigning your cockhead up with his entrance, and sinking down your dick, swiftly setting a steady pace with his hips.

He deserves this, he thinks to himself as he practically bounces in your lap.

He belongs to you and you belong to him, he thinks to himself, watches you, blurry eyed and mouth agape as he inches closer to the edge.

He’ll have you, even if it means having to put a baby inside him, he thinks to himself, stays seated on your dick even when your knot has long gone down and you’ve long fallen asleep.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : GAME NIGHT : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Stark!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men/MCU

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None! Mentions of (Y/N)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You and Logan get invited to the Avengers game night by your father, Tony Stark. As usual, Wade tags along.

Part 2 of ‘Meet The Family’ (or can be read as a standalone)

IT WAS A WARM SATURDAY EVENING AT THE AVENGERS COMPOUND, and the living room was already buzzing with chatter and laughter. Tony Stark had decided to host a game night, something rare but always chaotic in the best way possible. Naturally, you and Logan had been invited. Well, more like dragged into it by Tony, who had left you a not-so-subtle voicemail: "Game night. Be there, or I’ll build an Iron Man suit with your name on it. Logan too."

Now, you were sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Logan, who had that same calm, unbothered expression, and Wade, who had somehow found his way into the compound again without being invited.

“Alright, team,” Tony announced, standing at the head of the room like he was about to launch into a company presentation. “Tonight, we’re doing things a little differently. No Monopoly. No Twister.” He glanced pointedly at Thor, who looked almost disappointed. “And definitely no more karaoke. Clint, I'm looking at you.”

Clint snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, my rendition of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ was iconic.”

“Iconic, yes,” Tony quipped. “Also responsible for me needing to soundproof this place. No, tonight, we’re going to play—wait for it— Avengers Trivia.”

There was a collective groan from around the room. Steve facepalmed, and Natasha narrowed her eyes at Tony. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious, Nat,” Tony replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Jarvis is going to be our quizmaster. Everyone teams up in pairs, and we’ll see who really knows the most about this weird, dysfunctional little family we’ve built.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, one eyebrow raised. “Trivia? This what you do for fun?”

You chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Trust me, it gets wild.”

Wade, who was seated cross-legged on the floor like a child, raised his hand. “Ooh, ooh! I call Logan as my partner!”

“Absolutely not,” Logan deadpanned, cutting him off without hesitation.

“Rude,” Wade muttered under his breath.

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, pick your partners. (Y/N), you’re with Logan. Nat, you’re with Steve. Clint, you’re with—”

“Me,” Wade interrupted, grinning maniacally. “The unstoppable duo is back!”

Clint groaned but didn’t argue. “Great. This’ll be fun.”

Thor was happily pairing up with Bruce, already talking about how their combined Asgardian and science knowledge would be “unmatched in the Nine Realms.”

“Let’s get started!” Tony called, snapping his fingers. “Jarvis, first question!”

The familiar voice of the AI butler filled the room. “First question: Who was the first Avenger to officially join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Before anyone could answer, Wade leaped to his feet. “Easy! It was Deadpool! Wait, no, I was too cool for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was Cap. Yeah, totally Captain America.”

“That’s correct,” Jarvis responded, and Wade pumped his fists triumphantly.

Steve glanced at Wade in disbelief. “How do you—never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Natasha smirked. “Looks like we’re off to a good start.”

Logan, leaning back in his seat, glanced at you with a smirk. “They’re really competitive about this, aren’t they?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Jarvis continued, “Second question: Which Avenger has the most confirmed hand-to-hand combat victories?”

Thor stood up, beaming with pride. “It is clearly I! Thor Odinson, warrior of Asgard!”

“Actually, the answer is Natasha Romanoff,” Jarvis corrected.

Thor froze, his confidence momentarily faltering. “Ah, well… yes, Lady Natasha is indeed formidable in battle.”

Natasha gave a small, smug wave. “Don’t feel bad, Thor. You’ve got the hammer thing going for you.”

The next few questions flew by, with Clint and Wade bickering over every answer, Steve trying to be diplomatic, and Tony repeatedly congratulating himself for knowing all the answers to his own questions.

Finally, Jarvis posed a question that had Logan sitting up straighter: “What is the most common alias used by Wolverine in the field?”

Wade immediately blurted, “Oh! Oh! It’s Wolverine! Wait, no—Patch! Or is it ‘That Angry Canadian Guy’? Ooh, I know—Hairy Murder Grandpa!”

Logan shot Wade a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

Wade, not knowing when to quit, leaned closer to Clint and stage-whispered, “I’m pretty sure it’s Patch. He wore an eye patch. So mysterious, so dashing.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Is it Patch?”

Logan nodded. “That’s one of them.”

Jarvis confirmed, “Correct. Wolverine has used the alias Patch on numerous occasions, particularly in Madripoor.”

Wade looked smug, puffing out his chest. “See? I know my friends. Not that we’re friends, but you know, friends in a ‘he’ll tolerate me’ kind of way.”

Logan’s gaze met yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. “You’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would,” you whispered to him.

He shrugged. “Not my first rodeo with these types. They’re alright. Except him,” he said, nodding toward Wade, who was now debating with Clint whether Deadpool could be considered an honorary Avenger.

After a few more rounds of questions—with your team surprisingly holding its own—Tony stood up, waving his hand for attention. “Alright, alright. Let’s mix things up. I’m bored of trivia. Time for the lightning round: Avengers Charades.”

“Oh no,” Steve muttered under his breath, already looking weary.

“Oh yes!” Tony replied, grinning mischievously. “Everyone, pair up with a new partner. This time, one person will act out an iconic Avenger moment, and the other person guesses.”

Clint clapped his hands together. “This should be good. Wade, you’re on my team. Let’s see if you can manage to not ruin this.”

“Challenge accepted!” Wade chirped.

Natasha swapped with you so that you were now paired with Steve, while Logan found himself paired with Bruce. Bruce looked mildly terrified, but Logan just nodded in his calm, stoic way.

Tony raised his hand again. “Alright, first team up—Logan and Bruce. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Bruce stood up, nervously adjusting his glasses. “I’ll, uh, act it out. You guess.”

Logan grunted. “Fine.”

Bruce stepped to the middle of the room and began... well, thrashing around. He flailed his arms, growling and making these deep, guttural noises, then pretended to smash something invisible with both hands.

Logan blinked. “The Hulk?”

“Correct!” Tony shouted, laughing. “That was the easiest one! Come on, Bruce, give us something harder next time!”

Bruce, looking sheepish, sat back down as Logan gave him a brief nod of approval.

Next, it was your turn with Steve. You drew a card from the deck Tony had provided and grinned. Oh, this was going to be fun. You stood up, positioned your hands like you were grabbing two handles, then mimed jumping out of a plane with a parachute. Steve’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Cap jumping out of the Quinjet without a parachute.”

“Correct!” Tony called, and Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I knew you were gonna do that one.”

As the game went on, Wade acted out a scene from Thor: Ragnarok with over-the-top dramatics, pretending to be both Thor and Hulk fighting in the arena. Clint just threw his hands in the air. “I’m not guessing this.”

Thor, of course, took the opportunity to stand up and reenact an exaggerated version of his own scene, complete with an invisible Mjölnir that he swung wildly around the room.

“Another point for Team Asgard!” Thor announced proudly, and Bruce just shook his head.

Finally, it came down to Tony’s team—himself and Nat. Tony drew a card and immediately smirked. He stood up, putting on a ridiculously exaggerated “hero” pose, and then pretended to fire repulsor blasts from his hands.

Natasha crossed her arms. “Really, Tony? You’re just doing yourself?”

“Can you blame me?” Tony replied, winking at her.

Natasha sighed. “Iron Man in literally every movie you’ve been in.”

“Bingo!” Tony grinned, bowing dramatically as if he’d just performed Shakespeare at the Globe.

The night wrapped up with everyone gathered in the living room, laughing and sharing stories. You leaned against Logan, feeling his steady presence beside you as the chaos of your family—both old and new—buzzed around you.

“Well,” Logan said quietly, watching as Thor tried to explain to Clint why throwing Mjölnir wasn’t cheating in charades, “this wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Told you. We’re a weird bunch, but we’re family.”

Logan looked down at you, a rare softness in his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that."

Just as the moment settled between you two, Wade suddenly jumped up, startling everyone. "Wait! One last round! We can't end game night without one final showdown."

Tony groaned, already halfway out of his seat. "Wade, it's late. And I think we've done enough—"

"No!" Wade insisted dramatically, waving his arms. "It's tradition! And by tradition, I mean something I just made up. The Ultimate Battle: Avengers Pictionary!"

"God, no," Clint muttered, but it was too late. Wade was already tearing open a random box from Tony's game collection, pulling out a whiteboard and markers.

"Alright, alright," Natasha sighed. "One round, Wade. One."

Wade grinned and tossed the marker at Logan, who caught it midair with practiced ease. "You, Logan! You’re up first!"

Logan glanced at the marker, clearly unamused, then at you. "Pictionary, really?"

You shrugged with a grin. "Rules are rules. Besides, I wanna see how good your art skills are."

With a small grunt of resignation, Logan stood and moved to the whiteboard, glancing briefly at the card Wade handed him. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then, without a word, he began to draw.

At first, the lines were slow, hesitant, but as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s rough sketch started taking shape. There was a figure—a man, with claws and an iconic stance.

Tony leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, this one's obvious."

But before anyone could guess, Wade leapt up. "It’s me! Deadpool! No, wait, it’s—"

"Logan," you cut in with a smirk, recognizing the stance. "It's him. Wolverine."

Logan stopped drawing, looked back at the group, and gave a small, satisfied nod. "Yep."

The room erupted into laughter, and Tony threw his hands up. "Okay, that's it. Game night over. Logan wins."

Logan shook his head, placing the marker down. "This was ridiculous."

"Ridiculously fun," Wade chimed in, unbothered by Logan’s usual gruff demeanor.

As the night wrapped up for real this time, you leaned against Logan once more, feeling the warmth of his presence amidst the laughter and camaraderie around you. Sure, game night had been chaotic, but in the end, it was just another reminder that no matter how strange or dysfunctional, this was your family.

And Logan? Well, he was officially part of it now, too.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @slowlikehoneyyy @wolviesgirl @shybluebirdninja @boomveronika @lanabobana @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!!

[naturesapphic]

I’d love an angst/comfort filled Olivia Benson x reader if you’re willing!

Olivia pulls reader into her office after noticing she’s been a little off, distant and disengaged with the rest of the squad. Reader reluctantly opens up on an incident from a couple of days prior, at a school reunion. (Incident being someone made unwanted advancement at reader, groping her and making her touch them.) She tells Olivia nothing more happened because she finally broke free and left. She starts crying from all the overwhelming emotions and Olivia reminds her she did nothing wrong and is there for her.

High School Reunion

Olivia benson x fem!reader

Warnings: groping, little bit of SA, Olivia being a protective sweetheart

Olivia knows you. Too well to be exact. You are her best detective and her partner. She knows you inside and out and knows that something isn’t right. You’ve been distant and quiet from everyone, especially her. She wants to give you your space but ever since you’ve been back from your high school reunion it’s been like you’ve completely changed into a different person. “Y/n? Can you come inside my office for a second please?” She called out for you.

You slowly got up from your desk and walked over to her. She gave you a loving look and helped you inside as she shut the door. She motioned for you to sit on the couch and she followed behind, sitting close to you but not too close since she wants to give you some space. “What’s been going on? You’ve been distracted and barley been focusing. You know you can tell me anything.” She gently asked you and your eyes fill up with tears. You didn’t mean for all this to happen. You were trying to stay normal about it but of course your boss/girlfriend would know something was up.

She’s a captain and before that she was a detective! You couldn’t hide anything from her. Olivia noticed how your eyes filled up with tears and she felt her heart drop. She didn’t understand what happened but she was going to figure out soon. “You know you can tell me anything y/n/n…” she said as she gently grabs your hands in hers and gives you a reassuring look. You take a deep breath in and you start to tell her what happened.

~ flashback ~

Today you were going to your high school reunion. You let liv know about where you were going as she let you get off work since there was no new cases to worry about. You were a bit hesitant to go without her but you knew she had a bunch of paperwork to do so hopefully in the next one she could make it.

Walking into your old high school felt so weird. You couldn’t believe ten years has past by so quickly but at the same time you could. You saw some of your old classmates and friends and went over to them to mingle. After awhile you felt a presence staring at you from afar. You turned around and saw that a boy from your school was eyeing you up and down.

You knew that years ago that he had a big crush on you but he never made any attempts to do anything about it but honestly you were glad he didn’t. You always got a bad feeling from him and you still do now. Feeling uncomfortable, you tell your friends you are going to head to the bathroom right quick. You head inside the ladies room and splash some water on your face.

You hear the bathroom door open and assume it’s one of your friends checking on you but it’s the boy from earlier. You felt your whole body freeze up as he comes closer. You can see him talking but you don’t hear anything besides the beating of your own heart thumping in your ears. He comes up behind you and starts groping your everywhere and make unwanted advances and movements towards you.

You felt so disgusted but yet your body still wouldn’t let you move. You felt his hand grab yours and you look down to where he was going and your eyes widen. You snatched your hand away and turn around to slam your foot against his balls. He screams out and falls to his knees, grabbing his area while you flee out of the bathroom.

You didn’t tell your friends or teachers goodbye as you run out of there as fast as you could. What would the squad think of you? What would Olivia think? Will she leave you? You couldn’t think straight as you ran towards your car and drive home.

~ flashback over ~

“Nothing more happened before I broke free, but that’s what happened…I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner!” You say as you start crying hysterically. Olivia pulls you into her strong comforting arms and holds you close. “Hey hey shhhh…you did nothing wrong babygirl…I’m so proud of you.” Olivia whispers against your ear. “You have nothing to be ashamed about princess…” she spoke again and you nod against her as your cries turn into little sniffles.

You raise your head up and look into her eyes. She flashes you a small but reassuring smile that everything will be alright. Finn opens the door and his eyes widens at the scene of your red teary face and the look of anger in Olivia’s eyes. “Everything alright?” Finn asks as he looks between the two of you. “We’re fine. Just another case we have to do.” Olivia states as she pulls you closer to her side and gives Finn a little nod that he understands and recuperates.

Finn closes the door and Olivia puts her attention and focus back on you. “We are going to find and get this guy I promise my love. No one hurts you and gets away with it.” She says with a hint of sternness in her voice but not directed towards you. Never. You nod and snuggle in closer to her, you knew that y’all have loads of paperwork to do but those will be done later. Right now, Olivia will hold you however long you want. She will always be there for you, every step of the way.

A/n: thank you for this request anon and I hope you like it! And I hope the rest of y’all enjoy it too! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all!

[jinx-xxed]

Sick Days

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Sick fics are my absolute fav thing ever!! Also idc if they didn’t have showers just let me live in this lie, maybe they’d figure it out with magic or smth idk

Summary; Ban takes care of his overworking, sick partner.

Content; Reader is sick, pretty domestic and fluffy, Ban is very sweet, Ban plays doctor basically

Wc; 1.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

It’s late morning when you trudge down the stairs in the Boar Hat tavern, one hand holding the railing to keep yourself balanced. The day outside is gloomy, the normally bright blue sky now covered by dark gray clouds threatening rain. It matches how you’re feeling perfectly.

You’d woken up feeling like shit and as much as you’d wanted to turn over, pull the blanket over your head and ignore the day, you couldn’t. You have a mission to do with the rest of the Sins and you aren’t able to just miss it, even though your head is pounding. Your whole body feels strangely cold despite the fact you’re both a fire wizard and incredibly resistant to frigid temperatures, and all of your senses feel muffled. To top it all off, your nose is stuffy.

You find your place at one of the tables within the main room of the tavern, groaning slightly at the way your body aches any time you move. You don’t know why you were feeling like this and it’s pissing you off. You have a mission to go on, damn it, you weren’t going to let some sudden illness make you stay behind.

You barely register when food is set in front of you but you were still able to mumble a ‘thank you’ to whoever had brought it. You pick at the food and take only one or two bites, the meal putting a little warmth back into your body.

Your name is suddenly shouted loud enough to pierce through the cotton in your brain.

Your head snaps up—making the pounding in your head worse for a brief second—as your captain exclaims your name. It seems you’d been so lost in your muddled mind that you didn’t comprehend him trying to get your attention by saying your name five times. “Yes?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Meliodas asks, concern creasing the features on his face.

“I’m fine.” You say simply. Before you can react, the blond is pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. He shakes his hand when he retracts it like he got burned, a wince on his face.

“Jeez, you’re burning up.” He puts his hands on his hips with a sigh. “Well, I’m taking you out of this mission then. You’ll need to stay here.”

You stand, holding back your groan at the way your head throbs and limbs ache. “What?! I’m fine, I can go on the mission. I can’t just- I can’t stay here doing nothing.” You insist.

He looks at you with a raised brow. “I’m not letting you go on a mission like this one when you’re obviously sick, that would just be irresponsible. It’s best that you stay in the tavern and rest, alright?”

Everyone currently in the Boar Hat knows that wouldn’t happen though. Even if you’re sick, you would continue to work on whatever you could. No matter how you felt, you’d keep working. You see illness as an obstacle that you simply had to walk around and ignore, despite how bad it may be. However, if you did keep working, you would only get sicker.

Meliodas was clearly a little conflicted. He wanted his teammate to rest but he wasn’t sure if anyone else could stay behind-

“I’ll stay with her.”

Ban comes to stand beside you, putting an arm around your waist to keep you stable because you’re swaying on your feet. You don’t hesitate to lean against him.

Meliodas begins to protest, “Ban we’ll need you on this mission-“

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me. Besides, you want them to get better don’t you?” Ban asks with a dumb smirk on his face, knowing he’s won when the captain narrows his eyes slightly.

Meliodas sighs. “Fine, you two stay here then. Everyone else, let’s get going, we don’t want to be late.”

King and Gowther follow Meliodas out where Diane is waiting. Elizabeth goes to follow as well but she briefly pauses before you and Ban. “Sir Ban, please make sure they get better! All the medical supplies are in the bathroom upstairs.” She tells him.

“I got it, princess, don’t worry.” Ban reassures her. She nods and hurries to catch up to the rest of the group.

He then looks to you who’s leaning heavily against him now, looking half asleep where you were standing. You jolt back to full consciousness when you hear the door shut behind Elizabeth. “Alright you, why don’t you go upstairs and take a hot shower? I’ll get some soup ready.” He tells you gently.

“Mmkay.” You mumble before slowly heading upstairs.

You did as he said and got into the shower, the water scalding hot. It feels nice against your freezing body, the steam rising in the room also helping to clear your stuffy nose. You stay in there for a long while.

» ☆ «

Ban understood the fact that you were probably taking a pretty long shower, as you usually would if you’re sick, but eventually it became so long that it was almost concerning. Surely the hot water would’ve run out by now?

The soup was done so he decided to go and investigate. He heads upstairs and doesn’t hear the shower running and upon further investigation, he finds the bathroom empty. He calls your name, voice echoing down the empty hallway. He doesn’t get any kind of response. Maybe you’d fallen asleep?

He goes to the ladder attached to the attic where your room is. The trapdoor leading into the attic is open so he peeks inside, looking for his sickly comrade. He finds you in the right corner of the room closest to the door where a desk is tucked against the wall. As he pulls himself up fully into the room, he sees the papers scattered on your desk that you were attempting to read over and work on.

“Seriously?” He demands, his annoyance evident in his tone.

You jump at his voice, looking over to him. “What? These papers have to get done-“

“For fuck’s sake, you’re sick.” He goes over and lifts you out of your chair by your underarms. You let out a sound of protest but don’t fight him as he sets you down on the floor. “The damn papers can get done when you’re better. The reason you’re probably sick in the first place is because you overwork yourself, you know.”

“I’m just doing my job.” You insist.

“Well, your job can be put on hold for a little while. Now go downstairs, there’s food waiting.” He orders. You sigh but listen to him, then descending the ladder. He follows shortly after and shuts the door behind him.

You sit at one of the tables and a bowl of the soup he’d made is put in front of you, steam rising from its surface. You take your first bite, the warmth spreading throughout your body. It’s delicious. It has plenty of ingredients that make the soup full of flavor but still make it perfectly nutritious for your sick self.

“Do you like it?” Ban asks as you begin eating more of the soup. He sits next to you at the table, also giving you a glass of water.

You nod, swallowing another bite before speaking. “Yes, it’s really good. As expected of something made by you.”

He smiles at the praise, resting his cheek on his hand. “I’m glad.”

You finish the bowl of soup relatively quickly and then get seconds before you’re satisfied. Now after taking a hot shower and having the warm soup in your stomach, you’re feeling incredibly tired. Ban can tell by the way your head dips a little. He stands with a small smile, “ready to go to bed?”

“Mhm.” You respond.

He lifts you off your seat with ease, holding you bridal style. You nuzzle into his chest, eyes closing as you’re carried upstairs. He brings you into his room; that way it’ll be easier to keep an eye on you and get to you if you need anything.

He lays you gently in his bed, pulling the sheets over you with an extra blanket added on. “Do you want the cold towel for your head?” He asks softly. You nod.

He quickly goes and gets the towel which was lightly dampened and then frozen. It’s folded so it can easily fit against your forehead. A small rumble escapes from your throat in thanks as the cooling sensation brings some relief to your headache.

He’d closed the curtains beforehand and turned off the light so it was a dark as possible in the room. He kisses your cheek and brushes hair off your forehead. “Sleep well.” He murmurs before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You curl up under the covers, perfectly content in their comfort, and let sleep finally take over.

[cheesecakeisyummyy]

COD HEADCANONS!

First post, yay! These are some sfw and nsfw COD headcanons. Enjoy :)

(NSFW headcanons came from @r0achluvr on tt! I did add on to theirs/switched the words just a tad bit. SFW headcanons came from @dolliesita. Some were my own and I just got the inspiration from their headcanon.)

—————————————————————————

NSFW🔞

Alejandro: humiliates you in the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. 🥹

Captain Price: makes you cum at least once or twice with just his fingers before he fucks you. He will use your cum to lube himself up. 🥴

Keegan: loves having you laid out on your back so he can watch someone else fuck your throat while he fucks you. 🌶️

Captain Price: loves an obedient partner. Ex- if he asks you to do something and you do it without question or hesitation. 🐶

Rudy: fucks you with the door open because he likes the thrill of possibly getting caught. 😳

Ghost: plays with your tits religiously. Size doesn’t matter to him!!! 🍒

Soap: He wants you to sit on his face until he can’t breathe ESPECIALLY if you have thick thighs. 🪑

Makarov: ties you up and writes degrading things into your skin with a knife..ouch! 😓

Captain Price: when he’s punishing you for being a brat and you don’t end your sentences with sir, he will slap you (not too hard but not too soft either) until you fix it. 😤

Graves: he likes when you ride his thigh while he’s wearing gray sweatpants so when you’re done you can see how good you made him feel. 🍆

Ghost: VERY possessive! No one can touch his partner! If you are wearing a revealing outfit, he will cover the parts that are revealing with his hands. There is a high chance he will drag you to the bathroom and fuck you. 🤫

Konig: LOVES overstimulating you with his fingers and mouth at the same time. 😵‍💫

Valeria: Breeding kink. Wants nothing more than to fill you up with her cum. 🤰

Ghost: Waking him up with head is the quickest way to get your throat fucked so hard and raw, it’ll hurt to speak. 🗣️❌

Gaz: He will do anything for a handjob. ✋

Gaz: Loves when you wear short dresses because he likes seeing your underwear when you bend over. 🩲

Valeria: Will get you a leash with your first name and her last name embroidered on it. ♥️

Valeria: Will also get you a bracelet with her favorite dirty name that she calls you engraved on it. 💍

SFW☁️

Captain price: whenever he sees you, he compliments you and it’s a different compliment every time. 🥴

Gaz: likes to scare you when he notices that you’re in your own thoughts. Will %100 stop doing it if you say that you don’t like it. 😛

Soap: lovesss to cuddle. He loves physical affection. He will always try to hug and kiss you whenever he has the chance. 😚

Ghost: He’s not a big affectionate/touchy person but for you, he will cross his own boundaries because he knows how it feels to not be loved and he doesn’t want you to EVER feel that way. 🥲 He doesn’t hate it but he not the biggest fan of it.

Alejandro: Loves seeing you wear his clothes. He will sometimes just ask you to wear his clothes so he can admire you and take pictures of you. 🤳

Rudy: He’s a giver. He will always buy you flowers, your favorite candy, etc. 💐

Valeria: She notices every small detail about you. You could’ve gotten a trim on your hair and she will notice and point it out. 👀

Konig: There is no such thing as personal space in his mind. Yes, if you asked for personal space, he would %100 give it but if not, he will always find a way to be around you. 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter Three - A Choice Made

Roman Sionis, being of a family as old as your own, is a marvellous dancer. You can’t help but grant him that, at least. “You dance well.” You say to break the silence. “Easily done, with a partner as skilled and beautiful as yourself, Princess. Though you seemed a good deal happier dancing with the Captain.” You raise an eyebrow and take a breath as you move your shoulders in anticipation of the game, and how aggressively the Earl wishes to play it. Part of you is almost happy. You often scheme, play the innocent doe eyed ninny. To be openly called on your behaviour is thrilling as it is off putting.

“Captain Todd-Wayne is a dear friend. I imagine you, more than most of the gentry must have been thrilled by his return. You served with him at the Battle of Arkham did you not?” Roman tilts his head “I did not serve, my place was in the advisory tent. But yes, we indeed were both present on that glorious day.” “A day that served you most … auspiciously then, as a man who never took up the sword.” As your partner waltzes you around the room in a twirling pattern with your fellow dancers, he laughs, deep and from the chest. “Indeed I did. Though I do try not to brag about it. Pride, they say, goes before the fall.” 

He can’t help but feel grateful. It would not do to break down so publicly. He only hoped no one had seen his brother escort him aside. That his princess had been too wrapped up in her new fiance to notice. “Jason?” his brother asks, pressing a stemmed glass into his hands, which he drinks without hesitation. “Don’t fall in love.” He says with a humourless laugh. “And not with someone above your station.” Tim just looked at him. Often Jason hated that look Tim fixed people with. As though he was a sheet of tax information for the local peasantry. As though all his problems and fears and ambitions and joys were simple data that while he could never make complete sense of where to his little brother completely obvious. Once, there was a time Jason would have thought he hated Tim. He’d never felt the Duke loved him as he had the others. Dick, the heir who had come to the Duke through great tragedy, and became a golden example of the Wayne name. Then him. He’d been robbing the stables. He’d expected to lose his hand. He’d been taken in by a man spiralling, in need of a project. He’d been given status, education, all the things that by birth he’d never ought to have. Then he’d given him a sword and sent him away. 

He’d taken in Tim. A boy of noble birth who he’d always seemed, in Jason’s eyes, one he’d always favoured. Then the bastard. Jason had no personal objections to young Damian - at least not by reason of his birth. He owed his mother … everything. But death - because he had died, surely, that day - had a way of giving perspective. 

Damn the Duke's favour - his brothers were his brothers. “Her Highness?” Tim says, that analysing look falling away to sympathy. “Her Highness.” He concurs. “If I may… While you may not be the heir… you are a war hero. Our father would surely grant funds in your name enough to persuade the King. You could be wed.” “She’s engaged.” Jason manages, the words poison in his throat. “Except … there’s been no such announcement. Not yet. Deals, maybe. But no formal engagement. There is—-” “Roman Sionis will not take well to a slight so great.” “Why do you care so deeply about the opinion of Sionis?” “In truth… I have no proof. But whatever happened to me, I fear he was its mastermind.” Tim’s expression darkens. “I’ll see what I can uncover. But you have to understand… It's been so long now. If no witness came forward then, it’s unlikely I’ll get far.” “I know. But if he does manage to wed her…” Jason shakes his head. “There’s not a damn thing I can do to save her from this.” He fights a laugh, not of humour but of despair. 

“And the worst thing is, I could have. True, I’m not worthy of her. She deserves someone better. Someone softer and kinder and untainted by atrocities. But at least if it were me I’d know she was safe. She was loved. Because… unworthy as I am, content as I ought be to be her shield and her sword… I love her. And she’s trapped with that fucking SCOUNDREL, and I can’t do a damn thing about it and maybe once I could have but it’s too late—-” His rant is cut short by Tim crushing his ribs into a hug. “It likely is.” he acknowledges “but give me a chance to see what I can do.”

As your partner waltzes you around the room in a twirling pattern with your fellow dancers, he laughs, deep and from the chest. “Indeed I did. Though I do try not to brag about it. Pride, they say, goes before the fall.” You smile in return, and it does not meet your eyes. From his smug tone, lack of respect for your station or for the Captain, ostentatious suit, and general air, this is the least humble man you have beheld with the lone exception of your father. But ego on its own is a failing you could live with in a future husband. What you could not live with was the cruelty in his eyes, in his toothed smile and too strong grip. What you can not live with is the fact that Captain Todd-Wayne had been dancing nearby until a mere few moments ago… until something had terrified him. He stands stone like, staring at the Earl. You trip, tearing the hem of your dress on your heel “oh. Oh my how silly of me. If you would kindly excuse me my lord… If you could accept such a clumsy partner at the next ball I would gladly make it up, but I ought to exit before anyone notices.” The Earl kisses your hand in parting. “But of course, but of course. How can I complain to have the choicest of partners on yet another occasion?”. You cannot afford to go to Jason’s side. The scandal would be unavoidable then. But still, you are glad to see a young man with the Wayne’s distinctly black hair. Even for one who adopted his heirs, the Duke Wayne had managed that many of his brood resembled him. One Mister Drake-Wayne, you believed. Either way, you had work to do. The two people you cared for and trusted most closely in all the world feared this man. You needed to discover the why. And more importantly then why was the how. Stephanie, her quarrel with him you never knew. Captain Todd-Wayne is not a man who fears easily, and he fears Sionis. You slip out of the ballroom with a whisper to a footman that you need to retire, and not to allow concern should your parents enquire. You can’t afford to panic. You need to think. Roman Sionis had been present at Arkham the day the Captain disappeared. He had directly benefited from that disappearance. That on its own was fortune. But add to the evidence the Captains fear? The earl had done something to your beloved. As you venture back into the corridors of the palace with each step your walk becomes ever closer to a run, until you are running indeed. You lift your skirts, the back of your skirt trailing behind you as you race deeper and deeper into the castle. Golden light from the torches lining the walls bathes your skin and casts dramatic shadows. You have to hurry. You figure you have ten minutes from when you left the ball before Sir Rayner, your guard on duty noticed you had fled. Or, if Sir Todd recovered before then, he’d alert the castle guards at once. Ten minutes till your absence was noted, maybe five more till you were caught if you can keep this pace.  Because you refuse. You refuse. You will not be petals in the wind a second more. You are a hurricane. And god himself can’t protect those who’d try to control your path. 

Fate be damned, illusions and hope could go… could … could go fuck themselves.

You were in charge. And you were getting married.

And you would choose your own goddamn groom. If you read this far, reblog. taglist:

@jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

Honestly not entirely thrilled with this one, but I was at the point where if I couldn't post this chapter the series would rot and never be completed as I procrastinated and lost motivation. So. Here it is.

[milotraflgkl]

You are enough.

LUFFY X GN!READER

note: THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! content: fluffy, angst, luffy being sad (ooc?), comfort, luffy and reader clearly being mildly in love, just sappy shit. WC: 731

You had wandered the whole ship trying to find Luffy with no luck, you looked all the way up and his normal places but he was no where to be seen. You were worried, not only because he was your captain but because he was your partner. He never avoided you, he was always around you any moment of the day that he could be and here he was missing from the spot that held you.

You finally decided to go below deck, down to the bottom where most of the treasures were hidden. You scanned the area and when you thought you saw nothing you turned leave before you hear a sniffle, you turned back around and scanned the area one more time before you heard the sniffle again. You found which direction it was coming from and followed the sound, almost as if you were using echolocation. After a few checks behind some chests you finally found the source of the crying.

It was Luffy, he was crying?

Luffy was usually the happy type and never did he cry when normally on the ship unless something terrible happened. Yet here he was crying as if something horrible had happened, “Luffy?” You called out to him and watched as his head snapped to look at you then immediately be covers himself with his hands. “Luffy…” You said in a more worried and soft tone, moving around the chest he was hidden behind and knelt down in front of him. You stared at him for a moment before you reached up to his hands, grabbing them in yours and lowering them.

“Why are you crying?” You asked and watched as his eyes watered more, “Nothin..” He responded attempting to pull his hands back up to cover his face but you pushed back and Luffy knew to never fight against your touch. “Luffy, be honest with my honey.” You tell him and move closer to sit next to him, He stares at you as his brows dipped down in a saddened expression and his eyes scanned your face. “I… I heard Sanji and Nami talking about you.. then me… and how you seemed upset because I didn’t love you intimately enough..” The words spilled out of his mouth without a second of hesitation and your heart dropped.

Your head began to shake as an immediate response, “Oh Luffy…” You cooed bringing your hand up to cup his cheek to which he responded by leaning against your hand. “I’m not upset over that, if anything I’m worried about you.” You tell him and his eyes lock with yours finally after avoiding contact for so long. “I’m worried for your safety but that’s something that I’ll always worry about, even if I know you aren’t in any danger. Which I doubt will ever happen but… I don’t care if you are intimate with me or not. I love you for you.” You comforted him with your words and you could tell by the way his body relaxed more into your touch and the way the water in his eyes slowly dried up.

“I love how optimistic you are.” You tell him, you remove your other hand from his to cup his other cheek. “I love you.” You whispered, only for him to hear so he knew you meant it just for him and for no one else. “I love you more.” He responded in the same whispered tone but with a excitement present. You smiled as you watched your captain become himself again, not only that but Luffy was becoming Luffy again. You stared at him and admired the scar that decorated his upper cheek, the way his eyelashes looked on his eyes, and how his eyes looked at you with so many words that he never knew how to say. He stared back, admiring your features, eyes, eyebrows, nose, cheeks and finally your lips.

He wasted no time, pressing his lips excitedly against yours as he still held the smile on his face. You didn’t fight it, you happily kissed him back.

You loved Luffy for who he was not because he showered you in treasures or treated you in bed, but because he was there to be the light in the darkness and to hold you when it was cold. He was perfect.

[thedovesaredying]

Zombie!Ghost x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Teaser

Synopsis: A little taste tester for you all of Ghoap x F!Reader with our bestest boyo, Zombie Ghost uwu. If y'all want any specific scenarios for this pairing then hit me up in the comments or ask box! If anyone wants to be added to a Zombie!Ghost taglist just ping me.

Words: 1,000~

Rating: NSFW (Only brief)

Warnings: Unedited. Mostly just suggestive except for the last few paragraphs. If anything else needs to be added please poke me!

Previous parts:

Smut Part 1

Smut Part 2

Reminder, this is an 18+ account!

Every couple of weeks you and Ghost meet up with the remaining members of the lieutenant’s squad outside of the large base they’ve set up for themselves. You trade supplies with one another and take some time to catch up with good friends. Surviving outside the safety of a survivor camp or base is difficult and having the opportunity to be in relative safety for a few hours is always appreciated.  

You can’t enter the base since the other survivors living there are, understandably, unwilling to share a space with one of the undead. Besides, waving around a bunch of fresh meat right before Ghost’s nose might not be the best idea. He tolerates the presence of his old captain and sergeant, Price and Gaz, and won’t cause them any trouble, but can and will attempt to tear apart anyone unknown.  

Typically, you don’t mind being unable to access the safe zones, you’ve learned over the months how to get by on your own, but you can’t help occasionally longing for the benefits of having access to a community. You miss having friends and family, people you can talk to since Simon isn’t exactly great at holding conversation anymore.  

You’re more than willing to make that sacrifice, however, as you could never abandon the person you love to the outside world just because you sometimes feel a little lonely.  

While Price and Gaz can spend time around Ghost without fear, but have little bearing on how the zombie behaves, Soap is a completely different story. The moment the mohawked man is spotted, your partner is already sprinting across the grass and either near enough tackling the other man to the ground or scooping him up as though the heavily muscled man weighs nothing.  

Ghost’s Johnny simply laughs at the enthusiasm, never hesitating to return the embrace and excitedly starting to talk his old lieutenant’s ear off. He only ever gets a grunt or growl in return for his rambling, but just that tiny response seems to be all Soap needs to hold a discussion.  

The zombie nuzzles his face into the crook of Johnny’s neck the same way he does with you, rumbling away happily, almost shaking with how eager he is to have his hands on his sergeant again. He’s like an excited puppy, panting and sniffing at the Scot’s face. He’ll insistently rub his cheek against Johnny to try and share scents, growling in annoyance whenever the other man attempts to get away.  

Today was no different, and as soon as Ghost saw poor Johnny he was set upon by the zombie, forced to wait several minutes while Simon noses at him. Ghost starts grumbling when he seems to realise that his sergeant no longer smells like him. Like always, he starts dragging the other man away from the base and toward you, pushing him at you with a pleased growl.  

He seems remarkably satisfied now that his two people are within grasping distance, herding the two of you away from the base as quickly as (in)humanly possible. You had agreed previously that Soap would join you and Ghost outside the base walls for a day or two to scavenge new resources.  

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he was coming with the two of you.  

Originally, you hadn’t considered adding someone new to your relationship, if what you have with Ghost can still be called such, but Johnny slots into place like the missing piece of a puzzle. He’s handsome and kind and funny, with wit sharp as a knife. He’s perhaps the only person who adores Simon as much as you do.  

That affection extends to you, much to Ghost’s complete delight.  

When you aren’t searching for scraps to feed and clothe yourselves, your days together are spent curled up, bodies covered in a thick layer of sweat and other bodily fluids. The three of you make good use of the mattresses you’ve found and stashed away in your little safe house, and have broken the beds in many times over.  

It hurts whenever Johnny eventually has to return to the other survivors. He does important work there and wants to help his teammates, but you can see the way his eyes lose their normal brightness, leaving pools of murky grey in the place of their usual glistening blue.  

It’s heartbreaking watching Ghost stalking the massive walls of the camp, visibly distressed that he can no longer set eyes on the third member of your relationship that’s only just begun to blossom, despite this harsh environment in which it’s flourished. It always takes a fair amount of effort to drag him away from the walls and fences, forcing him to stop searching for a way inside.  

Simon has always had a fairly possessive streak, but his infection has only amplified it. You know that if he were to find a flaw in the barrier between him and the inside of the safe zone then he’d be in there tearing the place to pieces. The zombie doesn’t take kindly to people messing with what’s his.  

You want to bring it up with Johnny, but it’s a little difficult with his tongue currently down your throat. He’s desperate after weeks without either of you, his body pressing you up against the hard chest of Ghost while his hands roam across your skin underneath your shirt. Simon holds your body against him firmly, tongue gently rolling over the side of your neck, teeth dragging dangerously against your vulnerable flesh.  

He allows you to take a mouthful of air, your breathing ragged by the time Johnny’s fingers reach your nipples, giving them both a pinch. His lips are immediately back on yours again, swallowing the surprised sound you make.  

While Soap focuses on caressing your breasts, another set of hands start to slide down your body, snaking into your pants. Although Ghost’s motor skills have deteriorated, he’s still more than capable of seeking out your clit, circling it gently while his other hand dips between your folds to gather the slick steadily gathering between them.  

The sound that draws out of you has Johnny grinning against your mouth. “Ye like tha’, bonnie?” he breathes against your ear, hot air causing goosebumps to appear all down your arms, “we’ll make sure ye feel real good.”  

You’re pretty sure you won’t be doing any walking after this.

[sprite-writes]

gunmetal blue

chapter 1/?

Dale Cooper/Reader

Summary: Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect. 

word count: 2,605

A/N: woah new fic! this is sort of my side project while I work on cloudy day, but it'll still have semi-regular updates! super self indulgent because I love twin peaks, even if everyone had moved on LOL. hope u enjoy <3 as with all my writing, special thanks to @lightning-writes

 Dale wasn’t the type to be needlessly anxious. He was the farthest thing from an overthinker, he was a pragmatic man, he kept his sensibility about him. So, admittedly, it was out of character the way his leg had started to involuntarily bounce, brow sweat, and chest tighten. Gordan Cole’s office had never felt so small. 

He should have known something was wrong with the way Gordan had called him into his office, hands clapping on his shoulders, guiding him into the room like a lost child. Now, with the announcement hanging in the air, he understood. 

“I’m sorry, a-a new partner?” 

“That’s what I said, Coop! Is your hearing going too?” Gordon’s deafening volume usually has no effect on him, but this time he flinches. Dale shifts, and the leather beneath him squeaks. Gordon doesn’t even look up from his computer, skillfully avoiding Dale’s appalled stare. 

“Gordon, with all due respect, I don't need nor want a partner. Has there been something unsatisfactory about my work? Or-” 

“Did you say something about a factory? Anyway, It's not up to me. She was sent here straight from the higher-ups. All I did was sign the paperwork.” 

Dale sighs, his frustration thickening in his chest. His captain's eyes flick to him. 

“I would’ve fought it if I thought it was such a bad idea, Coop. Don’t worry so much, She’s a sweet girl and a—how would you say it? A damn fine agent.”  

“Isn’t there anyone else she could be assigned to?” he asks, and it feels like begging. Windom is 3 years behind him now, but that's three years he’s spent adapting to solitude. The idea of someone next to him on the field again unsettles him deeply, drudging up feelings he’s worked hard to forget. 

“Agent, I know how you may feel about this. What, with your past and all, but keep an open mind. I think this could be good for you.” 

Could be good?

“Sir–” 

A knock on the door cuts him off, the frosted glass door swinging open without hesitation. The interruption leaves him with his complaints still sticking to his tongue. 

“Gordon! I brought you coffee – you still take it with two sugars, right? Because there’s a cane’s worth in there.” 

His vision is crowded by a woman in an oversized blue FBI jacket—besides her abrupt entry, she’s also out of uniform. Her denim blue jeans hug her waist and fray at the knees, with a jarringly casual t-shirt. The unprofessionalism rubs him the wrong way. 

Two milky-colored coffee cups get dropped on the desk. Despite the breach of protocol, Gordon seems pleased to see her. There’s an affinity in his eyes, but she's a stranger to Dale.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Blue herself! We were just talking about you.”

“We?”

Her hair flicks over her shoulder, and her eyes widen. 

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Blue.” She sticks out her right hand for him to shake– and it knocks straight into the two coffee cups, sending one tumbling towards Gordan and the other into his lap. 

“Shit!” 

He bolts up as hot coffee soaks his trousers. He vaguely registers Gordon's laugh as if an Agent didn’t just waltz in, wreck his office, and Dale’s drycleaning. 

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” she shrills, peeling off her jacket frantically. The cheap polyester of the academy-issued zip-up presses against his wool-blend pants, the woman’s feeble attempt to clean the mess. 

Dale’s anger alights, but he breathes deeply to tamp it down. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.

She continues to dab at his pants, he pushes her hands away, taking the stained jacket from her, and tossing it on the chair behind him. 

“It's fine, it’s fine,” he tells her tightly, despite the heat of his emotions, and the mild burns. When it rains, it pours, he supposes. 

She looks up at him, clearly mortified. 

“My bad, Sir,” she says lamely, and her expression scrunches up more. 

“A hand, Kid?” Gordon asks and she’s more than happy to take her attention away from Dale. Gordon wipes his desk with a handkerchief, and with her hands free, she begins moving damp papers from his desk. 

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Blue, you haven’t changed a bit since they shipped you off,” Gordon says fondly. Blue grimaces in a subtle way that Dale only notices because of the daggers he’s staring into her. 

“I don't know about-” she begins. Gordon steamrolls her, likely not hearing a thing she said. 

“Well, I suppose this is as good an introduction as any. Dale, meet your new partner, Special Agent Georgia Blue. Blue, meet Dale Cooper.”

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but with fate’s track record, he didn't know why he would expect any better. 

-

Dale goes home late that evening. With him, a stack of manilla folders all relating to one Georgia Blue. He recognizes a level of invasion here. He justifies it simply; Blue is an invasion of his space, so this grants him a degree of invasion to hers. He tries not to think about the morality of it too much, mostly because he knows if he does, he’ll be returning the files unopened. He lets his curiosity win this battle. 

It doesn’t matter anyways; half the documents are redacted, large blocky sharpie lines interrupting every other sentence. He skims over what he deems unimportant– her physical description, age, schooling– when one thing catches his eye. Her bureau status, ambiguously labeled as ‘probationary warning: under review’ 

 The FBI files aren’t all. There are DEA reports, too, all titled Operation Architect. He whispers the words to himself, something familiar in the back of his mind, vague memories and mentions of this Operation Architect. From his understanding, it had been DEA business, just watercooler talk that had made its way down to his office. He reads what he can. 

January 10th 1988, SA Georgia Blue establishes contact with target, indefinite undercover placement to begin immediately.

Undercover placement? The rest of the paragraph is blocked out, and he’s left with more questions than answers. 

His day feels like a pill he can’t swallow. He had vainly hoped that by understanding who this woman was, it would give him some artificial control of the situation, maybe even make it easier to choke down. He doesn’t understand why the dread in his chest continues to bloom. 

He yawns, interrupting his thoughts. He supposes the rest of his investigation can wait for the morning, it wasn’t like the issue was going away anyways. 

-

There are a few blissful moments the next morning when Dale wakes up, where the nightmare of yesterday is just that - a nightmare. The redacted files are forgotten on his desk. He makes his bed and brushes his teeth, and it isn't until he’s halfway through shampooing his hair, while he’s mentally scaling down his to-do list for the day that he remembers his plans are meaningless compared to the derailment that is Agent Blue. That is, his new partner Agent Blue. Just rolling over the word in his mind causes a headache to bud. 

“Agents Cooper and Blue, partners, at your service,” he spits bitterly to himself. He gets shampoo in his mouth.

He’s bitter all the way to the station, questions and resentment swarming his mind.  

He doesn’t even bother to chirp his usual good mornings to the doorman. Anger fits him like a jacket two sizes too small, he has to squeeze his way into it.

Perhaps the comfort of familiarity would calm him, he thought. A warm cup of coffee and the sanctuary of his desk. That’s what he needed. 

“Good morning Dale,” Diane calls as he passes reception. He waves noncommittally. 

“Morning Diane, any messages?” 

“Not today, but Gordon wants to talk to you—he said to just come by when you have time.”

Dale sighs, and wonders what Gordon could possibly have in store for him this time. 

“Is that all?” 

“There’s just one other thing—I had to move your desk closer to the window to make room for the new girl – but don’t worry! I put everything back just as it was, and I was real careful too,” she smiles. 

His eye twitches. 

“Alright, Diane, thanks,” he mutters. 

His desk is a foot from the window now, approximately 3 feet from where he had it before. He recalls the day he requested it to be there—having carefully stood in each corner of the precinct to find the exact shade-to-light ratio to situate himself. 

It’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just squint. 

In the ideal 4-foot spot from the window sits a brand new desk, with his brand new partner. If she hears him approach, she doesn’t show it, eyes glued to her dark computer screen. It doesn’t bother him, not one bit. He had spent the last three years' worth of mornings enjoying his coffee in silence, and, new partner or not, he would like that to remain the same. Who cares if she ruined his wool pants–doesn’t mean she has to say good morning to him too. 

He sits down, much too close to the sun for his liking, and dives headfirst into paperwork. Still, he spares glances at her, in intervals, and mostly just wonders, why? Dale is a good agent, he knows this. His work and reputation precede him; a lone wolf, he thinks of himself. Then, out of nowhere, without warning, he’s saddled with a partner? An agent he’s never even heard of, who is apparently dipping half into DEA work. An agent who’s on probationary warning. 

Perhaps they want him to babysit, he concludes. A rookie agent with some kind of classified disciplinary infraction, and they want him to turn her around. The thought reheats his anger. He’s a federal agent, not an academy trainer, and he has half a mind to let Gordon know that fact. 

Five minutes into tense silence and deep thought, a hand smacks down on his desk. He startles but recovers smoothly.

“For yesterday,” Blue says tersely. His eyes follow her stony expression to her manicured hand. She moves and reveals a crumbled $50 bill she’d slapped on his desk. 

“Agent?” he asks, confused and exasperated. 

“For the pants, alright? Please, just take it.” 

He stares at the bill quizzically. 

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate the gesture, I assure you that it’s not necessary—“

She holds her hand up to stop him. 

“I don’t care. I’m not taking the money back.”

She returns to her desk, intentionally angling away from him, staring intently at the computer screen that he can now see isn’t even turned on. 

“...The power button’s on the back of the monitor.” 

“...right.” 

The computer screen comes to life, and she doesn't spare him a glance. 

Partners, indeed. 

-

When he finally has a moment to see Gordon, he’s gone over his speech 5 times in his head. Gordon, you know I respect you and your decision-making, but I am not a babysitter or some sort of camp counselor. I am formally requesting the reassignment of Agent Blue.

He says it again and again in his head, all the way to the door. He knocks loudly, in a way he knows Gordon will hear, and he gets back a muffled, “Come in!” 

He does. When Gordon catches his eye, his expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. 

“Close the door behind you, Coop,” he tells him. Dale shuts the door and takes his usual seat across from his boss. 

“I’m glad you had the time to talk, I’m sure you have more than a few questions after yesterday,” he says levelly. Dale notes Gordon talking quieter than normal, it gives him an odd feeling like he’s in trouble. 

“I do, Sir. I would like to firstly say that while I respect–”

“Now hang on there, Coop. First things first, I’m going to need you to return those files on Blue.” 

Dale freezes, and his puffed-out chest deflates. It takes him a moment to form a sentence again. 

“...May I ask why, Sir?” 

Gordon sighs and fiddles with the wires of his hearing aid. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This is all just a bit more complicated than I can tell you right now. I’m afraid I’m sort of left in the dark here, too. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not all that much. Anything else you learn is at the discretion of the bureau - and Blue. And I don't think either of em’ wants you poking around.” 

The situation feels much bigger than him all of a sudden, even though it felt like something he could hold in the palm of his hand just a moment ago. 

“Alright,” is all he can think to say. 

“I knew Blue when she was in the academy, and let me tell you, she is bright. A little prodigy in her class, a bit like you, I’d presume. Anyway, I met her through her field training, she was a NAT here for a little while. Wasn’t too interested in homicide investigation, though. No, she’d taken a real liking to narcotics. Nasty business, I always thought, but to each their own,” 

As he talks, he leans in close to Dale. Gordon’s inside voice is still quite loud, but Dale can tell he’s straining to lower it. 

“She graduated and went straight to doing investigative work with the DEA. If I know you, and I do, I know you’ve picked through her file already. Do you know what Operation Architect is?” 

“I saw the name, but I don't know much about it, no.”

“Neither do I, that’s DEA business, but I know she was on it, undercover for over a year. And I know it didn't go great. She was relocated here after the ordeal.” 

Dale was hoping for this conversation to be more enlightening. He still feels trapped in the dark. 

“I meant it when I said none of this was up to me. My boss wanted Blue assigned to you. I’d wager it's because of your good work, you’ve got a handsome reputation, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. Regardless, she's sticking around for a while, so make the best of it. She’s not quite how I remember her, but as long as she hasn't done a full 180 in a few years, I think you two could get along pretty well.” 

Silence weighs down the room. Dale lets the new knowledge permeate his skin. 

“Alright,” he says because there really isn’t anything else to say. 

“Alright,” Gordon parrots. 

Dale sits like he’s waiting for something else to happen. The crushing finality of it sits on his chest. All the determination he came in there with is withered away to nothing, just ashes of a once burning fire. 

There’s no shirking this now, he has a partner. Cooper & Blue, FBI. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you, and I wish there was more I could do. But to be completely candid with you, I don’t think it’ll be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.” 

Dale nods absently, drained of anything else to say. Gordon understands. 

“You’re dismissed, Coop.” 

He gets up, politely pushing in the chair. 

Before his hand can touch the knob, Gordon grabs his attention again. 

“Well, one more thing, actually.” Dale tenses, and the dread in his chest that had gone numb begins to flare up again. 

“If I were you, I’d show her a bit of kindness. This line of work is messy, and I can't imagine what the hell happened for her to get sent here.”

Dale can’t imagine either. 

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I'm such a big fan of your 1K fic requests (as well as your fanfics overall)! If you have time for one more 1K request, I would really appreciate it, but no pressure. I'm sure you get dozens of these. Anyway, we've seen how sensitive Ed is about people touching his face and hair and how respectful Stede is of that boundary. Could you write a fic about the first time Stede asks if he can touch Ed's face/hair? Like maybe they're kissing and things start getting more passionate and Stede wants so badly to cradle Ed's face and run his fingers through his soft hair, but he is aware of how Ed has reacted to that type of thing in the past, so he finally asks if it's okay.

I adore this prompt! People of color letting their white partner touch their hair for the first time is something that can be so beautiful.

(And no worries, I promise there will never be too many prompts in my inbox! I cherish each one. <3)

--

Ed didn’t let people touch his hair, as a rule.

He’d gotten tired of entitled light-skinned folks feeling like they could touch his hair without asking well before the Blackbeard persona came along. One of the very few mercies of being Blackbeard was that no one felt like they could just walk up to him and start touching his hair or his beard. Still, the idea of someone’s hands in his hair brought back bad memories. Rich fucks at that party trying to snatch the bows out of his beard and laughing when he flinched. Old boyfriends yanking his hair and laughing when he told them to stop.

So, yeah, Blackbeard used to have a zero-tolerance policy. Start with your grubby white fingers towards his hair, and you were out.

It had been a long time since he’d needed to order anyone tossed overboard for trying to touch his hair. But Ed still froze when he felt Stede’s hand on the side of his neck.

They’d been having such a nice time. Just hanging out on the sofa in the captain’s cabin, their intended job of stitching up the holes in the fabric long since abandoned in favor of making out like teenagers, and Ed was about to relax back into the kiss when he felt Stede pull back.

“Hey,” Stede whispered, slowly moving his hand away from Ed’s neck.

Ed pouted, sticking out his lower lip a bit to emphasize how tragically unkissed he currently was. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to get back to what we were doing ASAP, actually,” Stede said in a rush, his eyes dipping down to look at Ed’s lips before he visibly forced himself to make eye contact again.

Ed giggled. He loved that his boyfriend said things like ASAP.

“But I was just wondering,” Stede went on, “if it would be alright if I could touch your hair?”

Ed blinked, feeling his smile falter.

“You don’t have to let me, not at all, I know you don’t really like people touching around your face,” Stede assured him hurriedly, and even if he didn’t know the exact reasons why, he clearly at least had an inkling. “I’d just…it looks so soft, and I love your hair so much, Ed. All the time.”

It was hard not to hear what Stede meant. I love you so much, Ed. All the time.

Deep breath.

“Would you stop touching it if I asked you to?” Ed knew Stede had never been anything but perfectly respectful of his boundaries, but he had to be sure.

“Of course,” Stede said immediately, frowning like the mere idea of making Ed uncomfortable and ignoring his request to stop was the worst thing he’d ever considered.

“Okay,” Ed said, and his eyes fluttered shut in bliss when Stede’s lips met his again.

Stede pulled back just a bit, just enough to nibble cheekily at Ed’s bottom lip, and Ed practically purred into his mouth. Then he felt Stede’s gentle, hesitant hand on the side of his face, cupping his face, gently scratching his nails through Ed’s short beard, and he groaned in delight, shifting to try to nuzzle his cheek into Stede’s palm.

When Stede got his other hand into Ed’s hair, it was the most profound gentleness he’d ever experienced. Stede ran his hair through his fingers so carefully, taking so much care not to pull or hurt him in any way.

It was so rare, for someone to be touching Ed’s face like that, to be in his space so intimately, and so obviously not have any desire to hurt or mock him.

When they pulled back, panting into each other’s mouths, a worried line popped up between Stede’s eyebrows. “Ed? Are you okay?”

“Mmmmyeah,” Ed said, very eloquently.

“You’re crying,” Stede whispered.

“Oh.” Ed lifted his hand from Stede’s chest - he didn’t even remember putting it there - and wiped at his eyes with his knuckles. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Stede told him softly. “I didn’t hurt you, or make you uncomfortable, did I?”

“Nah, man. The opposite, if anything.” 

Stede had moved his hands back to his own lap, and Ed picked them up, gently guiding him to cup Ed’s face in his hands. He took a deep breath, then let it out, letting himself relax, letting Stede cradle him in his hands.

“This, Stede?” He said, nuzzling down into Stede’s hands. “This is perfect.”

That night, as they were getting ready for bed, Ed worked up the courage to ask Stede to brush his hair.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t do it himself, of course, and with their hair textures being so different, it took some explaining for Stede to learn how to use Ed’s brushes and hair products. But Stede was a fast learner, Ed was a patient teacher, and he knew Stede wanted to take care of his hair just as much as Ed wanted to be taken care of.

It was a bit scary, at first. They sat on the bed with Ed between Stede’s legs, and Ed was very aware of how much trust he was putting in Stede. For his part, Stede was hesitant and careful, making the beginning a very slow process, and Ed jumped at every unexpected touch. But it was so easy to feel safe with Stede, and soon enough Ed felt like a boneless puddle in Stede’s lap as he brushed his hair, cooing about how beautiful and soft Ed’s hair was.

“You’re so lovely,” Stede said, and Ed could feel his smile against his skin when he leaned down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I could stay here for the rest of my life, just like this, and die happy. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

Mine.

“Oh,” Stede muttered, pausing in his brushing, sounding almost surprised at himself. “Is that okay? Can I say that?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, preening under his hands. “I’m all yours.”

[matan4il]

Buddie 609 meta

This ep gave us our battlefield boyfriends in full swing again, and I love that for us! First off, there’s the way they showed up on the scene. Bobby steps in with Buck on one side and Eddie on the other. It looks like they’ve just arrived, but Chim and Hen already inspecting the hand lets us know that nope, they chose to split like that, which means that when Bobby turns around to start the search for the owner of the hand, we get a shot of Buck and Eddie together, following him. Then we also have them specifically exchanging exasperated looks while going door to door, as well as when listening to a dumb teenager explaining why he didn’t call 911, and a shot of them together reporting back to Bobby, even though we know the whole team was a part of the search and standing there together.

Then there’s the way Buck announces “Not it!” when it’s clear someone’s going to have to run after that teenager. Even though, once again, the entire 118′s there, and without another word being spoken, Eddie knows right away that this means he’s it, and starts giving chase. They’re literally their own team within the greater group. Which gets reinforced during the wildfire call, when we see Buck and Eddie being paired up and moving together like a well oiled machine, plus when they’re all on the roof, and it’s clear who the empty chair next to Eddie has been for, not to mention how he passes on the mug once Buck takes his seat. Such a good husband!

~~ But speaking of the Buddie connection and the way they’re each other’s life partners, I had to laugh out loud at the way the conference call went down. Buck knows Chim is awake from the messages about the house, so he calls his brother-in-law. Hen’s already on the line. Buck doesn’t know whether Eddie’s awake. We will later hear him hesitate about calling Bobby by wondering whether their captain is asleep or not. But since Chim and Hen are there, who cares if Buck’s call will wake Eddie up? He NEEDS to share his news, which means he NEEDS to have Eddie there. Hen was right when talking to Karen about this couple dynamic back in 317, Buck invites Eddie. Always. ~~

I have to admit, I found it so weird that Hen was talking to Eddie about Denny’s questions regarding his bio mom, but not to Buck. He’s the most obvious one, given how he talked to her about his doubts regarding the sperm donation in 604. He’s also the one who really needs to hear this and understand what it means, having a bio kid that you don’t end up raising, how it’s not this thing that ever goes away, nor is the child your own. It’s this in-between space that Buck is clearly having a hard time with. He’s not properly had a talk with Eddie about it, at least not on screen, which is already telling. Some of the most meaningful insights Buddie have had on the show came from talking to each other. Based on Eddie’s reaction to Buck’s news in this ep (his facial expression, saying it feels weird to congratulate Buck on this news), we can tell Eddie doesn’t seem to approve. It reminds me a bit of some of his reactions to Taylor. He didn’t tell Buck explicitly, “You shouldn’t be dating this woman,” he mostly didn’t comment at all or indicated through non-verbal cues that he does not approve. So there’s a pattern here of how Buddie conduct themselves when Buck is clearly doing something that’s not good for him, but neither one of them acknowledges it out loud.

Add to all of this the way Buck broke the news to his friends (no, sweetheart, you’re not about to be a dad) and that firefighter onesie he got for the baby (oh, hon! You’re all heart! And you misunderstood the assignment), and he’s clearly setting himself up for regret in 6b. I just hope we get to see Eddie being there to help mend him, like Buck was there for him in 5b. ~~

The naked lady in the car… So I have to admit I initially went back and forth on whether it was meaningful that the only ones to cover their eyes were Buck and Eddie. I mean, technically, they’re also the only two single characters, so it’s maybe a bit expected on the part of the show, to signal beyond doubt to the viewers that these guys are not creeps. Bobby and Chim aren’t just excused by being married, they also have practical things they are doing in that situation, with Bobby being the captain, assessing what’s going on and giving orders, while Chim is physically checking up on her state. But then we have Hen rushing in.

Hen, who is canonically attracted to women, and who runs into this when the naked lady is outside the car, just like Buck did. While his immediate reaction (much like Eddie) was to look away AND hold up a hand to hide the sight, Hen doesn’t do that (despite getting much closer to the naked lady). Also, at that point, Bobby and Chim are no longer being useful in any way, but they still don’t dramatically cover or avert their eyes. And married or not, they are men who canonically are attracted to women, like Hen, meaning it would have been appropriate for them to cover their eyes at some point as well. So yes, I think we get to snicker a little bit about how uninterested in naked women these choices make Buddie appear… It’s only made more hilarious by that little reaction Eddie has to Buck’s question. First, it’s probably significant that our former womanizer clearly didn’t ask this in order to get any salacious details, he’s just being a moron. Second, there’s a naked lady around, and still the focus of Eddie’s attention is Buck being a dumbass (not to mention how he will later, on the roof, tease Buck about preferring the car to drive into the building announced). I love one himbo and his exasperated husband. ~~

There’s something about the theme of lack of sleep in this ep. It’s of course a clear parallel to Eddie not being able to sleep in 511, reminding us that this is about more than just strange winds momentarily blowing through the city. When Hen is talking about Denny’s questions to Eddie, Buck’s absence is explained by him being the only one able to sleep, but after the incident where the naked lady drives into the fire station, he can’t either.

Yet, by the end of the ep, they’re all asleep. All, but Bobby. His shot at the start of the ep actually represents where he’s at the end of it. I do love how the order of the team being shot in their sleep goes from Eddie, to Buck, then to the married couples.

But it’s Bobby’s opening narrative which frames the whole theme of people sleeping peacefully, without realizing what’s in store for them, how close they actually are to the edge. “A reckoning may be upon us.” We’re aware this is true for Henren who don’t know what their child is up to, we’re aware of this for Buck who’s clearly already more emotionally invested in Connor and Kameron’s kid than he should be, we can deduce there’s something in store for the others as well. Season 6b is going to be a wind that is going to blow through this peaceful slumber and bring on the drama. Are you ready? Hold tight!

~~ You can now use direct links to find my weekly meta posts, my Buddie gifs and more of my content by clicking “my content list” on my blog. I’m not going anywhere, but I wanted to wish everyone a pleasant hiatus! 💖 As always, loads of love to @whosoldherout​ for making incredible gifs, even when I ask her for some shots that are very challenging to capture. You’re a star!

[sednonamoris]

let me love the lonely out of you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: Faced with your first off-duty Christmas in years, you’re excited to go home and see family. When it seems like Price doesn’t feel the same, you make sure he gets his fill of holiday cheer by coming home with you.

Warnings: Language, pure unfettered fluff with little to no plot lol

Word count: 2,162

A/N: Technically follows the events of this fic, but you don’t have to have read it to get the point

—

It starts off, as so many things do, with an innocent question.

“And how do you celebrate Christmas, Captain?” from Gaz across the rec room where he’s tormenting everyone with similar interrogations over his game of ping pong. 2-1 right now. Soap is losing.

Tucked into a loveseat in the corner of the room with a book you’ve been trying to finish for the past month, their banter has mostly been background noise. Now your ears perk up, though you keep your eyes on the page.

Price lets out a puff of air from where he stands reffing the game, drags a hand through his beard. His silence is punctuated by the tic, tac of the lads’ current stalemate.

“Quietly,” he finally says, “and away from you lot.”

Gaz and Soap both start in with their heckling immediately, which Price reciprocates in his usual manner. But a quick peek over your paperback reveals a strained humor in his eyes, and you suddenly wonder if he has anyone back home to celebrate with. A frown twists your lips at the thought. Cold-blooded killer you may be, but no one should spend the holidays alone.

Especially since you and Price are… well. You’re something. Sneaking around base to have sex without alerting the other members of your squad hardly needs a label, but it’s more than that. To call him your boyfriend feels juvenile, and ‘partner’ is terrifyingly official.

So you call him ‘Captain’ in public and ‘John’ in private and wonder if Christmas in Ireland might suit him instead.

“What about Hound?” Soap turns the question on you. Gaz takes the opportunity to score again.

You shoot a flat stare over the top of your book. “What about me?”

“Come on,” he drags the syllables out, “how do you celebrate?”

“Not in fucking England, I can tell you that.”

Gaz gasps in faux-offence. Soap cackles and manages to win a point while his opponent is distracted.

It’s Price who looks over at you with a question in his eyes, one that you tilt your head towards the door in answer. Five minutes later he tells the lads that this has been fun, but he’s got paperwork to attend to. Surely they can manage the score on their own from here. 5-4. Soap is still losing. Ten minutes after that you mark your book, have a stretch, and leave the tic, tac, tic of the ping pong game and Soap’s impassioned defence of MacTavish holiday traditions behind.

Price waits for you in his office. He’s perched with arms folded on the edge of his desk. You lean in the doorway to admire his broad frame and the way he looks at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in the air. You’re not sure how to say this.

“What is it, love?” he asks.

You duck your head at how easily the endearment rolls off his tongue, cross the room and cup a hand to his cheek. His whiskers are scratchy beneath your palm. You spend a moment idly rubbing your thumb across his skin just to feel the texture when he reaches up with his own hand to cover yours, warm and calloused and terribly sweet. When you look into his eyes you think you could melt into that blue, let the cerulean sea whisk you on its currents with no lifeboat or anchor.

“Come home with me,” you say. It doesn’t come out a question so much as a request.

He blinks in surprise. “Neither of us has had leave over Christmas in years.”

“I know, and if you have plans with your family I would never keep you from them. But if you don’t,” you forge ahead, mustering up all of your courage, “you’re more than welcome to join mine.”

For the holidays. Forever. You’re not picky.

John Price looks down at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like you’re a wonder. A smile he can’t seem to help tugs crooked at his teeth as he melts further into your touch.

“I’d love to.”

--

You’ve completed covert operations in sweltering desert conditions and full gear without sweating this much. Quite frankly it’s embarrassing, especially given the cool December temperatures that have everyone else buttoned up and rosy-cheeked.

It’s just that you’re nervous. In all your years on this earth you’ve never once brought someone home to meet your grandfather.

The house that normally feels so welcoming looms ahead as you linger at the end of the drive. There’s a bushy wreath on the door that you’re sure Mrs. Murphy from nextdoor brought over, and the lights young Davey on the corner hangs every year glow soft and warm in the early evening light. The ‘Welcome’ sign you gifted your grandfather three Christmases ago leans up against the post box that’s still crooked where you backed into it as a wild youth on a brand-new license.

Nostalgia sinks its claws into you, but still you can’t take that first step.

“Does your granddad know we’re coming?” Price asks. His distraction is perfectly timed, coupled with an arm around your shoulders. He takes the leap for you both, and you can feel some of the dread ease out of your body at his touch.

“No.” You never tell him when you’re coming - his favourite surprise, he calls your visits.

“Are you trying to give him heart failure?” his brows are raised, caught between surprise and amusement.

“Your man lived through a World War. Showing up at his doorstep unannounced on Christmas Eve is hardly the worst surprise he’s gotten.”

Price laughs, but there’s a stitch of concern between his brows when he looks over at you.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks softly when you reach the door.

“I’ve… never done this before,” you admit with an awkward smile.

He mirrors the expression with a tenderness in his gaze that makes your heart ache. “Me either. Shall we?”

You square your shoulders and give the old mahogany three smart raps that your grandfather would know anywhere. There’s a commotion behind the door as he shuffles to get it, and then it opens to your favourite gap-toothed smile in all the world.

“My darlin’, you made it!” he exclaims.

“Happy Christmas, Old Man!” you say with a bright smile. “I brought you a Brit to bully.”

Nerves forgotten, you all but launch into your grandfather’s waiting embrace. When you pull apart he’s quick to give Price the same treatment.

“This is Captain John Price,” you introduce as they clasp hands, “and this is my dear Old Man.”

“I’ve heard all about you, son,” your grandfather says with a twinkle in his eye. “This one says you’ve been enjoying my biscuits.”

You cough awkwardly and move everyone along inside, but don’t miss the shade of pink that dusts Price’s cheeks and the tips of his ears when he mutters a yes, sir, thank you, sir.

“Come in, come in, I’ve just put on a kettle.” Your grandfather eyes Price with the disdain and suspicion only a true old Irishman can muster. “We’ve no English Breakfast, so best get used to an Irish brew.”

You cackle bright and loud as he wastes no time taking the piss out of poor Price, who looks like he can’t decide if this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

The kitchen is just as half-clean and kitschy as it’s always been. Mismatched dishware and loudly printed wash rags occupy every space that’s not taken over by unread mail or plates of holiday goodies the neighbors have dropped by. The kettle sings on the stove, caught just in time, and you make sure to snag the chipped candy cane mug that’s always been your favourite.

You turn to find Price staring.

Not at you, but everything. The walls are littered with pictures of you; as a child lined up for your first (and last) Irish Dance recital, as a teen with bad hair posed next to the clunker of a car you bought yourself, as a beaming young soldier with your squadmates after a successful mission. Your medals for exemplary service are inlaid on velvet and framed next to an old Polaroid of your grandfather holding you as just a wee thing, still in nappies.

There’s so much love in this house, hanging on the walls and poured in steaming mugs and squished into too-tight hugs.

There are other pictures, other children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but it’s painfully obvious who reciprocates that love. Who still comes around and who keeps the table and heart of an old man full. When he turns to meet your gaze Price has a misty look in his eyes that punches the air from your lungs.

Did he ever feel this kind of love growing up? Is it too late for you to give it to him now?

Your grandfather shuffles back in with his arms full of something bright and hideous to break the moment. He holds them out to reveal the ugliest jumpers you’ve ever seen.

“Can’t get in the Christmas spirit without a proper set of civvies,” you grin and toss the larger of the two over to Price.

It’s fire truck red and has a knitted reindeer pattern complete with bells sewn onto sleighs. There’s a soft jingle as he clutches it to his chest. Yours isn’t any better; an alarming shade of green covered in dancing elves.

You’re both quick to change. Price steps out with his arms wide for inspection, one he passes with flying colours if the smile on your grandfather’s face is anything to go by. He’s being a terribly good sport. You can feel how sappy your own smile is as you watch them together.

He herds you and Price back into the kitchen where somehow a space has been cleared for baking gingerbread men. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition that has carried on from year to year, but neither you nor your grandfather are particularly suited to the task.

You make up for it with attitude.

Somewhere between, “That’s too many eggs,” and, “Are you sure we have enough molasses?” and, “Get your fingers out of that bowl! We haven’t even rolled the dough out yet,” you manage to get a viable batch on a baking tray. They are perhaps the most misshapen, lopsided effort yet, but when you see the smile on Price’s face when he bites into one fresh out of the oven you decide they’re the best all the same.

As you stand around the kitchen waiting for the last batch to finish, your grandfather chatters away about all the neighborhood gossip you’ve missed out on lately. You gasp in outrage at all the appropriate moments, and even Price chimes in with a smart remark or two that send you all into fits of laughter.

You thought it would be jarring, seeing him in your childhood home like this, but it fits. In a way you can’t explain, Price belongs here.

You only hope he feels it, too.

As the evening grows older everyone migrates from around the kitchen counter to the sitting room, where Nat King Cole sings Christmastime into the air through the old record player your grandfather has had for decades. The tree lights up the room, plastic branches gleaming with multi-coloured lights and an eclectic assortment of ornaments. On sunken couch cushions your old man regales Price with wild tales from your youth. You’d be embarrassed if they didn’t look so happy. Content, even. Price hasn’t been this relaxed in a long, long time now. You try to memorize how it looks on him.

It’s well into the night when your grandfather announces he’s off to bed. There’s a twinkle in his eye when he tells you to behave, both you and Price stuttering out awkward reassurances that only make him laugh.

“Thank you,” Price says into the quiet when just the two of you are left.

The lights from the tree shine in his eyes as he looks at you with something treacherously close to love. You hope it’s love.

“What for?”

“Everything. I haven’t had a Christmas like this…” he smiles in that self-deprecating way that breaks your heart. “Well, it’s been a long time.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand. “I couldn’t let you be alone. Not on Christmas.”

Not ever. Not if you can help it.

He squeezes your hand back, then slowly pulls you to your feet. His sleigh bells jingle softly as he walks backwards and leads you into a clumsy dance. ‘The Christmas Song’ croons in the background. The dance ends up an unpracticed sway, your arms wrapped around each other and your head tucked into his chest. You stay like that even after the song ends and the scratchy sound of empty vinyl takes over.

“Happy Christmas, John,” you kiss the words into the fabric of his jumper.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

[raccoonfallsharder]

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part one. prepare for departure.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist next part | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 1/7 | word count: 1371.

rocket gets a very-important mission from danvers and needs a partner to go with him. enter the witch.

It is a well-documented fact (I know you know) that in the comic books, many of the marvel ladies have a thing for Rocket Raccoon. How could they not? Eyes like red beryls and pyropes, teeth and wit both so sharp they can kill long before the perfectly-aimed gravity-blast. Intuition off the charts, not to mention the things they've heard he can do with that tail...

Alas, this is not the comics. This is the MCU, some time between 2018 and 2023.

And while everything else remains more or less the same, Wanda Maximoff was not turned into ash.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes.

Wanda isn’t sure what to call him. He looks like a raccoon, but insists that he isn’t one. Maybe he’s an alien. Maybe he’s something else. Either way, he’s rolling his eyes at Natasha, so hard that his whole head rolls with them.

“Look, I got a very important mission from Danvers, and Nebs is busy right now, working with Kraglin to make Knowhere a more hospitablistic place for Snap refugees. D’you wanna fuck over a bunch of Snap refugees, Nat?”

He crosses his arms and raises a brow up at the new leader-apparent of the Avengers. If Wanda hadn’t felt so — nothing at all, actually — she might have let a smirk curl the corner of her mouth. He’s kind of a brat, and he knows how to get under peoples’ skin. When she’d been a child, she would have found that entertaining. Endearing. She supposes she’d used to have a soft spot for scrappy survivors. Then she’d had to stop having a soft spot for anything but her brother.

Then —

“Goddammit, Rocket. Go to Washington, then. I don’t care. But we still need the Benatar.”

His challenging look turns into a glower. “Fuck off, Nat. What am I supposed to do, then? Drive your frickin’ car?”

Natasha flaps a hand at him distractedly from behind her desk. “Yes, that’s fine, take the car—”

The look he gives her is withering. “I can’t reach the fuckin’ pedals, Nat. So unless you’re giving me permission to take the whole inefficient machine apart an’ put it back together to suit my needs, you’re gonna have to—”

“I can’t spare anyone, Rocket,” the Russian snaps.

“And I can’t be alone right now,” he snaps right back. Wanda’s eyes flick back and forth between them. 

Natasha grits her teeth. “You said this was a mission from Carol?”

“Yes,” he hisses, tapping one booted foot impatiently. 

She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, leaning back in her chair and pressing her fingers into her temples. “Fine,” she says at last, drawing the word out — petulantly, Wanda thinks from a great distance. “Find someone who’s willing to go with you and I’ll tell you if I can spare them.”

Rocket doesn’t hesitate. Without moving anything but his arm, he’s brandishing a single dark claw in Wanda’s direction.

“I’ll take the witch.”

Five years earlier — in the first days after the Snap, before they’d left all their hope on 0259-S with Thanos’ headless body — everyone else had belonged to somebody. Cap and Nat had each other, and Nat had Banner and the arrow-guy. Rhodey had the rich guy who thought he was a genius, and the rich guy had that other redhead. Thor had maybe lost the most, but he had Banner too, and his buddies from Sakaar. The Dora Milaje had their whole sisterhood. Only Danvers might have been on her own — but as far as Rocket had been able to tell, Captain Marvel hadn’t seemed to have a lotta close ties she was mourning.

But Rocket — Rocket had nobody. 

Again.

Nobody except Gamora’s sister, whose name he’d kept forgetting.

Of course, there was the witch. 

Disproportionate number of redheads on this planet, he remembers thinking bemusedly.

He hadn’t been able to remember her name for a while either, but unlike everyone else on Terra, she’d seemed almost as alone as he was. And he hadn’t been able to help but watch her, his eyes slanting sideways to stare at her as she’d sat by herself across the room, hands anchored around upper arms. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes — they’d seemed impossibly dark, with rage or grief or something else, something haunted.  

Except for when they’d smouldered like furious banked fires. 

She’d never said a frickin’ word, either: face blank and beautiful as a statue’s. Her silence had felt more surreal than any other stupid thing he’d encountered in space, which he supposed was probably just because he’s spent the last four years with a family of weirdos who’d never seemed able to shut the fuck up. 

Still. He’d tilted his head when the other avengers had walked past her — watched as they’d seemed almost to forget she was even there. They’d barely talked to her, and once, when they’d been ordering lunch, they’d missed her entirely.

Uh — you didn’t ask the witch what she wants, Rocket had said to Nat awkwardly, and the assassin had blinked and her eyes had hunted the whole room before they’d finally focused on the other woman — like she hadn’t even known where her fellow-Avenger was. 

No. The witch had been an outcast. And Rocket has always known something about outcasts. His whole frickin’ family — both, some small part of his brain had tried to speak up before he could smother it; both families were made of the unwanted — his whole frickin’ family had been outcasts and misfits. It had made some part of Rocket’s heart suddenly stretch in his chest. It had reached with grasping fingers, trying to hang onto something he’d already known he’d lost.

Family.

The next day, Rocket had cleared his throat and told Gamora’s sister that he was gonna go starside to touch base with Kraglin on the Third Quadrant — to see if he still exists, he hadn’t said, but he’d been pretty sure the cyborg had picked it up. 

“You wanna come, Blue?” he’d asked — wincing when his nonchalance had been too thin to be believable. But the Luphomoid had inclined her head, eyes dark and steady. When that had been squared away — surprisingly a hell of a lot easier than he’d thought — he’d  shuffled to his feet, and headed to the bench outside the compound, where the witch had been sitting since sunrise.

He’d stood in her line of vision and stared at the sky too, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, tail trying to tuck itself underneath him. It had probably been a full twenty minutes before he’d felt her eyes on him.

“I. Uh. I heard you lost your robot-boyfriend.” The words had been as clumsy as an orloni drunk on fermented Asgardian figs, but he’d been trying.

The witch’s eyes had flared, crimson-bright. “Robot?” she’d repeated dangerously.

Rocket’s ears had flicked back and he’d taken a step away, into the grass: hands extended, palms out.

“Hey, m’not trying to be a dick,” he’d protested. “I think I might be part-robot myself.” He’d stabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the Benatar, where he could feel  his new blue companion staring holes in his back. “Gamora’s sister’s almost all-robot, too.” 

He could also feel the sister in question rolling her eyes. 

“M’just saying,” he’d muttered at both of them, hunching his shoulders and half-turning to kick a patch of grass. “Some of us are solo now.” He’d gestured at the cyborg again. “Might be good to stick together.” 

“I was used to being solo,” Nebs had pointed out, and Rocket had winced. “You’re the one who got attached.”

His ears had flattened. “Whatever,” he’d growled. “Just thought — whatever.” He’d spun again, kicking more grass, and muttered bitterly under his breath. “So much for trying to be the captain. So much for trying to look out for the damn strays.”

“You’re the stray,” Nebula had replied with a mutinous jut of her chin — and how the fuck had she heard him? That wasn’t standard Luphomoid hearing range. 

Rocket had cursed whatever aural implants Thanos had given her. 

Then the witch had made a strange sound behind him — a little huff of breath.  A disbelieving, agonized little shred of laughter.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist next part | main masterlist

During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR

[mothgodofchaos]

Hiding

Can't spell "engineer" without "angst". Wait, no...

Alien!Engineer x GN!Reader, TW: implied death Words: 637

Your engineer seems to have been acting differently since you took off into space, noticing little quirks that you hadn’t really noticed before. As his captain and his partner, you are concerned that he may be sick or dealing with something, and just doesn’t want to tell you. You manage to catch him on his way out from the warpcore, stopping him to talk.

“Marcus, are you okay? You’ve been acting, strange…”

His eyes open wide, looking like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Uh, no captain. Everything’s fine with me!”

Marcus tries to push past you through the corridor, just to be met with you blocking his exit once again. Your gloved hands push back gently on his chest, making him look you in the eyes.

“Marcus, I’m here for you. You don’t need to hide things from me. If you’re dealing with something, I want to help. Anything I can do, anything at all, as your partner or your captain.”

He looks at you, melancholic and tired. His head shakes slowly, now fully pushing past you.

“Like I said, I’m alright. Nothing to be worried about. You just worry about your own captain duties.” 

You watch him disappear around the corner, brow furrowed and arms crossed. He’s hiding something for you, and you’re determined to figure out what it is. He’s been hesitant to share his struggles with you since the warpcore incident, and it’s been difficult trying to get him to see the therapist on board to help him work through the traumatic memories. All you’ve been able to do is wake him up from his nightmares, and hold him as he cries.

You follow behind him slowly, watching where he goes, in hopes that you’ll be able to gather more information. Marcus ducks into the engineer’s workshop, somewhere you know he only goes if he is wanting to get out large amounts of stress. Something about working tirelessly with your hands helps get out the building anxiety that’s inside of you. Unfortunately for him, all it does is confirm that something is up with him. 

You peer into the workshop, and spot him running his hand through his hair. Except, something is very different about him. His skin is grey, with black rams horns curling around his ears. White splotches cover his skin with small black freckles contrasting. All you can do is stare, fascinated as to how he’s been able to hide this from you. He holds a crystal in his hand, looking like a shard of the warp crystal. But that’s impossible, since the crystal is in the warpcore.

“Marcus…?”

He startles, nearly throwing the crystal at you before he manages to stop himself. His eyes are a dark blue with white pupils, staring deep into you.

“Is this what you were hiding?”

Marcus opens his mouth to speak, closing it several times before he scrubs his face, collapsing into the chair behind him.

“I’m not, your Marcus. When he came into my timeline, he… I managed to preserve his consciousness on this, and I got all of his memories. I promised him that I’d look out for you. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Your heart aches, just looking at him in shock. It was all lies, but also, he’s still your Marcus. And he still loved you enough to not want to hurt you with the truth. You walk up to him, holding his face and kissing his forehead.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not technically “my” Marcus. I decide who my Marcus is, and that’s you. And you don’t need to hide your true self, not from me. You’re a handsome man either way.”

Marcus looks at you, wiping his tears on the back of his hand as he looks back at you. 

“Thank you, nova. My nova, my captain.”

[swampstew]

Captain Kid's Fiery Passion

Oh shiiit its Yandere time! Eustass Kid landed on your island and he found something he wanted. News flash - its you. Good luck!

WC: 592 CW: NSFW; not-gender specific reader; Yandere Eustass Kid; kidnapping reader; consent/non con/dubious consent and maybe Stockholm syndrome?; murder and very unhealthy/somewhat abusive relationship dynamics; reader is either willing partner or straight up captive. Minors DNI - you will be blocked

Lordt. He saw you and a grin broke out on his face. Its love at first sight for him. Doesn’t matter if you don’t reciprocate, you will in time, he’s sure of it. You get one chance to go willingly – you’re going on the ship regardless, however if you want your family and friends to stay alive you better choose willingness. He might pick off whoever he perceives might be a threat, in the sense that they’d try to follow or save you; he’s just gonna kill them while he’s still in the area and save himself the time and effort.

He’ll tell you upfront that he’s not here to hurt you. Far from it. He’s madly in love with you and will treat you like the Pirate Queen he wants to make you. Its ok if you feel overwhelmed with his affections at first, that’s just who he is – aggressive, touchy, a little pushy, gift bomber, your new sugar daddy. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you’ll be able to ENJOY the life he is giving you. Aren’t you so lucky?

If you try to put up a fight, he’ll find it very cute at first. He likes your fire but you’ll learn really quick that he’s much bigger and stronger than you. Kid doesn’t have too much patience though, so if you dare to make escape attempt #9, well then he might consider putting you on a leash. Maybe seclude you to just his cabin for three months until you beg for his forgiveness. If you’re still bratty after that, well then he has no choice but to scramble your brains until you recognize him as your one and only. Unfortunately, that means he’s gonna hurt you, real bad. Try not to push him to this place, he doesn’t want that to be the foundation of your relationship.

Kid won’t ever force himself on you. That doesn’t mean he won’t objectify you. If you come into the relationship willingly, Kid will make the most out of meeting all your needs and desires. He’s still selfish in bed, but he will try getting you off more than himself to show he appreciates you in his life. If you’re hesitant, he’s willing to work around it until you let him take you. The longer the push back, the more feral he gets though. You wouldn’t be able to escape his leers or peeping, not a single private moment to pleasure yourself without him present and getting off to your body. You’ll wake up to him grinding on you to get off or you find him sniffing and jacking off with your underwear. Regardless of how he gets off, he finishes by cumming all over your body 75% of the time. Another mark of his ownership over you, his captive or his lover.

He’s not worried about anyone snatching you from him, he’d love to see them try. Kid will watch someone try and flirt with you to see how far it goes, to see how quick you cut it off, before he interferes. He guts them 9/10 times. Sometimes he likes to drown them with the ship’s anchor. However, if you were to ever instigate something – with ANYONE – you’re gonna have a bad time. Kid does not like disloyalty and he will punish you severely enough that you’ll never try that shit again. You won’t get a third chance. He rarely has to threaten it but he will cut your heart out if you hurt him.