#pretend scott isn’t there

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

i need gggg for more than half an april fools special

[i-wanna-show-you-off]

catch me liking all stars even though it’s objectively the worst total drama season

[gottagobackintime]

Regarding “Swedengate”, wait until you find out we always bring our own alcohol when we’re invited to parties or you won’t drink unless someone takes pity on you and gives you ONE drink (usually a beer or a cider).

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[asterias-record-shop]

ok but like maybe stiles stilinski with a spoiled rich reader maybe who has vibes like lydia?¿? maybe w number 21 ?¿? possibly…

—𓆩[warmth]𓆪—

omg, this is literally the longest fic I've ever written for this blog, I really hope you guys enjoy it!

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Stiles Stilinski x Fem! Rich! Vampire! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, maybe slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 6.0K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - No one expected you and Stiles to start dating. Come on, a rich vampire posing as a high school student who could’ve been a real life Cullen? Fuck no. But, it happened, and Stiles fucking loves you - and your fangs - probably more than he should, and he wants to try something.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - foul language and smut || I was forced to watch twilight and this is what happened I love it || kinda sub stiles || mentions of mates || scent glands || marking || mentions of Wattpad & fanfic || i got WAY too into this shit man- || stiles did research || biting kink || blood kink || multiple rounds || oral || face sitting || cum eating || creampie || unprotected sex ||

“So, tell me again how this happened?” Coach was baffled as you sat in his class, your hand in Stiles’ as the topic interrupted your lesson in your economics class. “Like, the dating part. How the heck did you end up with her, Stilinski?!”

You cleared your throat, raising your hand. “I uhm… we’ve been dating for a while, Coach.”

“Yeah, I know! I just didn’t believe it until I saw Stilinski trying to kiss you when he thought I wasn’t looking! Come on kid, you’re that desperate?!” Bobby groaned, pressing his face into his hands. “Why is it always the nice ones who get with the… the Stiles?”

You laughed. “I don’t know who you’ve talked to, Coach, but I am not nice.”

“Yeah, she’s not!” Scott said, twirling his pencil before you glared at him. “Nice. Sh-She’s not nice.”

“Oh, shut up, McCall! You’re just mad because Stiles likes hanging out more with me than you,” you stuck your tongue out at him, letting out a soft humph as you cross your legs under the desk. “And he’s mad I took his boyfriend too.”

“Y/N, we weren’t-”

“Hush darling, Scott and I are talking,” you say, smiling widely at him as you kiss his nose. “Thank you baby.”

“This isn’t happening,” Coach groaned into his hand before the bell rings, a giggle falling from your lips. “Right? This isn’t happening?”

“Oh it’s happening!” You laughed, standing as Stiles cleared his throat.

“Y/N, baby, I have practice today.” He said, Scott coming behind him and sticking his tongue out at you. “I’m sorry.”

You pouted, pretending to think. “Why don’t you just skip? I’ll buy the school new lacrosse gear.”

“I’m right here!” Coach yelled, but quickly got up. “I would be interested in new lacrosse gear though.”

“Yeah, see? Come on, let’s skip.”

“No! We have the quarter-finals this week, he can’t miss. Y/N, he can’t miss,” Scott turned to you, hoping that he could persuade you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “Come on.”

“Oh I forgot about that,” coach mumbles, glaring at the wall. “Okay, he’s gotta come, but the school would like new lacrosse gear.”

“Here, how about this,” you say, shaking your head as you fix your skirt. “Stiles goes to practice and I’m on the field.”

Coach scoffed. “On the field? Doing what?”

“I don’t know,” you hummed, leaning on the table as you pulled Stiles closer. He followed obediently as you licked your teeth, humming. “Play lacrosse?”

Scott scoffed. “Play lacrosse?”

You tilted your head, crossing your legs. “What, like it’s hard?”

Coach starts to laugh, nodding. “Okay! Okay, you’ll be on the field! Stiles, lend your girlfriend some clothes, we’re getting new lacrosse gear!”

Coach walked out as you giggle, Stiles staring at your smile and the sharpened canines that he fucking loved to stare at.

Scott starts to walk out, pausing to look back at the two of you. “Stiles, you coming?” 

“I-In a minute, Scott,” he smiled back at his friend before looking at you who positioned yourself on the desk with crossed legs. “I’ll be there.”

He hummed as he walked out, Stiles letting his hands settle on your hips as you parted your legs so he could slot himself between them. “Hey, my darling.”

You giggled, pushing back his hair. “Hey, honey,” you whisper back, smiling as you nuzzle your nose against his with a soft sigh. “Do you… do you think I’m too mean to Scott?”

“You’re not mean,” he says, laughing. “You and him have like… an ancestral rivalry. He’ll get over it.”

You giggle, pulling him closer for another firm kiss, groaning as your tongue pushed into his mouth, your hand pulling his head back by tugging on his hair. He groaned loudly as your tongue circled around his, humming as your head pounded. You could hear his heart beating incredibly fast, his arteries pulsating, and by hell’s name, you could smell the horniness drifting off of his body, along with the smell of dog because of Scott.

Even newly turned, you could still control yourself with Stiles as of yet. You both had had sex a few times, more than a few actually, but that was before you were actually aware of his… human-ness. You were born a vampire, now in your final years of highschool as you aged regularly and your family was kept alive by blood bags supplied by the numerous hospitals your family owned.

Your instincts never got in the way because of how well fed you were, but this was different. You could feel everything; his heart, his arteries, his veins, fuck even his cock pulsating. Your heightened senses caught everything, groaning as you attempted to pull him closer, another loud groan falling from his lips as you pulled him closer, a choke filling your ears making you pull away, your fangs grazing his bottom lip making him hiss.

A shiver runs down your back as he lets out a soft groan, laughing slightly as he licks his lip. “You alright, Y/N?”

You hummed, not really paying attention to his words as you stared at his lip dripping with that delicious coppery liquid, leaning forward to lick against his lip and a loud groan left his mouth as you sucked on his lip, desperate for that taste. It was different though, his blood tasted sweet, unlike blood bags, animals, and even humans for fucks sake.

“Y-Y/N,” he whispered, groaning. “I-It kind of hurts.”

You gasped as you pulled away, staring at his slightly swollen bottom lip as he smiled down at you, pushing back your hair. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, humming so that you would look at him. “Hey, Y/N, don’t worry about it,” he says, his smile growing as he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to your lips. “I’ll be a blood bank for you any day.”

You inhale sharply, shaking your head. “Don’t say that. Y-You don’t know how dangerous that is.”

“Why?” He asked, tilting his head. “I know you can control yourself.”

You scoffed, pushing him back. “Did you not see what I just did? If you wouldn’t have said something, I would’ve kept going.”

“But I did say something,” he says, quickly stepping forward and holding your hips again. “Just because I said it hurt-ed, doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, shaking your head. “Hurt-ed?”

He hummed, nodding. “Hurted. It’s the past tense.”

You shook your head, laughing. “No it’s not, the past tense is still hurt.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not anymore, it’s hurted now.”

You giggle, shaking your head before sighing. “I’m gonna go write that check, okay? I… I think I’m gonna go home, too.”

His brows ruffled, quickly blocking you from jumping down. “Why?”

“Because it’s not safe for me to be around so many people,” you responded, humming as you quickly went around him. “Come to my house after school? We need to talk.”

He quickly caught your hand, one you could’ve easily avoided, but he shook his head. “Y-You’re not breaking up with me, right?”

You giggled, smiling sadly with a shake of your head. “Just meet me at my house, alright?”

He cleared his throat but nodded, inhaling deeply before slowly pulling you in for a soft kiss. “I love you, Y/N, I love you so much.”

You hummed softly, nodding. “I love you too, my darling.”

He swallowed as you walked out, pulling out your checkbook and writing a number with a lot of zeros on the main line before crossing out the rest, signing and doing the rest of the things before passing by Coach and pressing it to his chest. “Let me know if you need more, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“What? Where are you going?” He yelled out as you waved back at him.

“Have something to do at home! I’ll see you!” You yelled, looking back with a smile. “Good luck, Coach!”

He mumbled something as you walked out, quickly making your way back home and parking outside your secluded mansion that truly could’ve been out of the movie. It didn’t take you long to get up to your room, quickly getting caught by Kirshe, one of the vampire elders that your parents were friends with. “Y/N, are you alright?”

Of course she knew what you were feeling. “O-Oh, I’m fine,” you responded, humming with a slight smile. “Just some… relationship problems.”

She paused, her golden eyes trailing down your body before flashing a bright red. “He doesn’t know he’s your mate, does he?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not only that, Kirshe.”

She hummed, taking a deep inhale. “And he’s human too, isn’t he?”

You inhaled deeply, nodding. “Taken in by a pack of dogs.”

Kirshe laughed. “Oh, it’s always the best of us, my love. He’s… why are there problems now?”

“I tasted his blood,” you giggled, shaking your head with a scoff. “It’s just like the stories describe it. Addicting, sweet… perfect.”

“Do you want to turn him?” She asked, making you shrug. “Does he want to be turned?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Back at the school, Stiles was going crazy. “Do you think she’s going to break up with me?”

“She would never,” Scott responded, scoffing. “She’s too in love with you.”

“You’re just mad because you thought she was hot,” Stiles grinned, putting on a shirt that hadn’t been near Scott. He knew how much you hated the smell of wolves. “Right?”

“Oh shut up,” Scott scoffed, shaking his head. “Where did she go anyways?”

“Home.” Stiles said, humming. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I can smell how horny you are.”

Stiles laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I uhm… we were making out earlier. She was… sucking on my lip after it started bleeding.”

Scott froze, quickly looking at him. “What?”

“You’re overreacting so much,” Stiles said, shrugging. “We’ve had sex before.”

“But she’s never sucked your blood, right?”

Stiles could feel his cheeks heat up, about to say something before Scott groaned loudly. “Dude, the smell got stronger! Holy shit, does that turn you on?!”

“Fuck yeah it does!” Stiles said, thankful the two of them were the only ones in the locker room. “Dude, when we like, get heated, she runs her fangs along my neck, holy shit, it’s so hot.”

“And you want her to suck your blood?” Scott paused, staring at him. “You want her to turn you?”

Stiles paused, staring down at his bag before inhaling deeply. Is this what Bella Swan was feeling when she was with Edward Cullen?

“I want to be with her for the rest of my life,” Stiles said, grabbing his bag before smiling at Scott. “If it’s this one or one hundred, I don’t care. I want her, forever.”

Scott inhaled deeply before sighing, shaking his head with a slight smile. “You’re really in love with her, aren’t you?”

Stiles smiled, all sarcasm gone. “Yeah, I am.”

“What about your dad?” Scott asked the inevitable question, inhaling deeply. “I-I’m not trying to like… ruin anything, but if you get turned… what are you going to do to him?”

Stiles smiled, shrugging. “He’ll be my dad. Always. What he wants to do is up to him.”

After that, he waved goodbye and quickly drove to your house, way over the speed limit to get there faster. As soon as he pulled up, he smiled when he saw you on your balcony, staring at him like you knew he was coming - which you probably did.

He quickly got out, waving up at you as you giggled. Normally your family was there to greet him, but they were obviously gone as he walked inside and up to your room.

He doesn’t knock, mainly because there was no point, slowly walking behind you as you stood on your balcony. His arms go to wrap around your waist, leaning onto your body as he pressed soft kisses to your neck, your hand going to hold his jaw as you exhaled deeply. “How was practice?”

“Good,” he mumbled, shrugging. “Missed you. I changed into something that I hope doesn’t smell like Scott.”

You giggle, nodding. “And it doesn’t, thank you.”

“So uhm…” he whispered, humming against your neck as you moved your hands to settle over his. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, you read up on vampires when you met me, right?” You hummed, smiling as he nodded into your neck. “Did you get to the part about mates?”

He paused, his hands tightening around your waist. Did you find your mate? He had read up about them, but never really retained the information because no one ever spoke of them, but obviously for pure blooded vampires like your family, of course they existed.

“I-I… I did,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “There wasn’t much about how it works for bloodborne vampires.”

“Would you like for me to tell you how it works?” You asked, smiling up at him.

“Wh-Why would you tell me if I’m not your mate?” Stiles whispered, slight annoyance in his voice before you started laughing. “What?”

“Stiles, you’re so lucky you’re hot,” you turned in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re my mate.”

He paused, staring down at you blankly. He was your mate? Why?

When you started laughing, he realized he must’ve said it out loud, your hands cupping his face. “Why not? I think it’s fitting, don’t you?”

“Th-That’s not what I meant,” he didn’t mean to stutter, it always happened around you though. He groaned loudly as your fingers dragged down his neck, sparks following your touch as you smiled up at him. “I meant like… how are we mates?”

You paused, pursing your lips. “Kirshe said mates are decided by the gods where in past lives their love ‘changed the fate of the world’,” you mumbled, inhaling deeply as you stroked his hair. “Do you think we could’ve changed the fate of the world, Stiles? In our past lives?”

He inhaled deeply, nodding as he leaned his forehead down against yours. “I know we could’ve,” he whispered back, pressing his lips softly against yours. “Because I love you more than anything else in the world.”

You smiled widely, letting out a loud laugh as he picked you up and turned the both of you around to go back into your bedroom. He slowly laid you in the bed, crawling over your body and laying down next to you to pull you into his chest. You sighed heavily against his chest, stroking his shirt before pulling it down slightly to see his exposed skin. You could hear his heart beating, his valves and ventricles pumping, his lungs inhaling and exhaling, his diaphragm expanding and deflating - fuck, at this point, you hated that he was human at this point.

“Y/N?”

You hummed, looking up at him as your fingers trail over his exposed collarbone. “Yes, my love?”

“I-I was wondering… if you could uhm… turn me. Like, actually turn me… into a vampire like you,” Stiles said as you started to sit up, staring at your face pinched up as you inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Stiles, why do you want to be a vampire?” You asked, staring at him like he was crazy. “You would watch the people you love die over and over again. You have the choice to grow old and-”

“And what about you?” He whispered, taking your hand in his. Besides his dad and Scott, you were the only person alive right now that he cared for, especially after he was impacted by Void. You stuck with him even after that, how could he let you go now? “You would watch me grow old and wait for me to be born again? Huh?”

“That’s not what I meant, Stiles-”

“I want to be with you,” the brunette filled in, staring at you with those whiskey colored eyes. “For the rest of my life, and I want it to be where you don’t have to watch me die in the end. I want to spend… the rest of my life young with you.”

“But in turning you, I’d watch you die too,” you whispered, inhaling deeply as your eyes watered. You had thought about this before, turning him, but then you thought about what he would go through. You were the first bloodborne vampire ever recorded, because of course the Court took note of every vampire turned, but you were the first one born of two Elders who didn’t think they could get pregnant. You knew what vampires went through when they’re turned, but what would Stiles go through? Turned by a bloodborne who was their mate? “You have to die to become a vampire, Stiles. I would have to kill you.”

“Then kill me.” He sat up, holding your face in his hands as he smiled at you. “I’ve died before, what's another time?”

“Not like this, Stiles,” you whisper, gasping as he wiped the tears from falling down your cheeks, leaning forward to kiss against your skin. “The turning of a mate isn’t something that just happens. It takes days, months, rituals, I have to mark you, we have to be married for fucks sake-!”

You couldn’t finish, gasping as he pressed his lips to yours, pulling you into his lap with a loud groan. “Well then mark me. That’s the start, right?”

You gaped at him, his stupid smile as he stared at you. “You know that means I have to bite you, right?”

“Yeah, it’s like those werewolf stories on Wattpad.”

“You were on Wattpad?”

“It was a dare, moving along. Does it like stay a bite mark or does it like turn into a tattoo?”

“I don’t know, a bloodborne has never marked anyone before,” you say, but your eyes narrow at him. “The hell are you reading where it turns into a tattoo?”

“I don’t know, it turns into their initials,” he shrugged, but paused. “Do I get to mark you too?”

“You want to mark me?” You say, smiling with a slight bounce making him hold back a grunt. “You can mark me right now.”

He smirked, staring at you as you slipped off your shirt to expose your shoulder. “Didn’t you say there’s a process?”

“Not for marking,” you respond, but pause. “But if you mark me, we have to get married soon, because I have to turn you in the span of a few months. Or maybe not because I'm bloodborne, so it could be different.”

“What if I don’t get turned?”

“You turn into a lust crazed monster until I do turn you, but it’s more lethal because since you’re so obsessed with sex, your mind doesn’t process the turn until your body is on fire. Well, it feels like it’s on fire.”

He pursed his lips. “So for the rest of eternity we’re just going to be a rich family hidden in the woods? Like the Cullens?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re just gonna ignore the fact that you’ll turn into a lust crazed monster?”

He grinned. “Well, who am I lusting for? You, right?”

“Well yeah, you have my blood in your veins, so of course you lust after me.”

“I see no problem in that.” He responds, ignoring the fact that his body might not register the turn.

You laughed, shaking your head as you pulled his hands to your back to unclasp your bra. “Well, you want to get this mating thing started, don’t you?” Your fingers move to trail down his chest after he unclasped your bra, your skin cold to the touch until his warm hands flattened against your back. “When you first bite, it’ll taste odd until that zing runs up your back. Then, I’ll tell you when to stop, alright? As soon as you stop, your mind might get kind of hazy and you’ll probably be really horny, alright?”

He laughed. “More horny than I am now? Impossible.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, tugging on the hem of his shirt to pull it off. Immediately, he pulls away and raises his arms for you to take off his shirt, your eyes staring at his mole covered chest. You inhale shakily as you finally meet his eyes, your hands pressed against his warm chest as he pushed his face into your neck, pressing firm kisses to your neck as you pulled him closer before kissing his ear. 

“Are you sure you want this, Stiles?” You whisper, holding his face as you pull away. “It doesn’t have to happen now.”

He smiled up at you, shaking his head as he continued to press kisses to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “For the rest of eternity, remember?”

You smile, inhaling deeply as his tongue flattened against your neck making you lean your head to the side.

“Where do I bite?”

“Anywhere,” you mumbled, your mind hazy as you inhaled the smell that was so uniquely him, whiskey and mountain air combined with pine that made you walk straight toward him when you moved to town. “Anywhere you want.”

He pauses, pulling away to tilt his head up at you. “So it doesn’t have to be on your neck like in the stories?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Of course not. Anywhere you bite, like you said, it turns into initials surrounded by a slight imprint of your bite.” 

He pauses, letting his eyes trail over your bare torso as he slowly moves so that you were actually seated in his lap. “Can I do it…” he lets his eyes trail over your skin, humming as he pressed a soft kiss to the space of skin a little lower to where the end of your clavicle was. “Here?”

“Why there?”

“Because,” he whispered, his eyes almost darkening as he let his tongue flatten against your skin, getting it wet with his spit as you groaned, tilting your head back. Your hips automatically roll into his, a loud groan falling from his mouth as he pulls away for a minute. “You gotta show it off, don’t you? Gets you to wear those low cut shirts I fuckin’ love.”

You gasped as his teeth finally sunk into your skin, your body basically on fire as he groaned against your skin. Like you said, it tasted weird at first, coppery and tangy until it flooded his mouth, the smell of the perfume you wore that he learned wasn’t actually perfume shifting into taste instead of the layers of smell you always smelled like. It was sweet and fruity, like strawberries and cherries with sweet cream and that white angel cake, tangy from the berries and sweet from the pastries.

Fuck, it tasted so good. His teeth were deep in your skin, the only cooling part of your body where his teeth sank and drew blood, his hot body making yours feel even hotter.

You could feel your mind get hazy, your eyes rolling back as he tried to suck harder, a loud groan falling from his lips as his hands pawed at your ass, your hips rutting into his almost automatically before you tugged on his hair. “St-Sti, not too much, you could get sick.”

He basically whined, only pulling away by the tug of his hair before licking over the bite mark left on your skin. He panted, watching it as though it would change into the black tattoo-ink like color he was truly expecting it to turn in an instant.

You giggled, quickly catching his jaw before pulling him up to look at you. “It’s not going to happen until I mark you first, my love.”

He stared up at you, eyes a dark chocolate color, lips slightly stained and his tongue tinted a darker red. “Oh.”

You giggle, leaning down to press firm kisses to his skin, never stopping your firm thrusts of your clothed hips against his own, tongue trailing around his skin scattered with moles. “Where do you want it, baby?”

“Where everyone can see,” his hands were shaking from excitement, the taste of your blood sending electricity through his body, tongue flattening against your shoulder and holding back the urge to sink his teeth in again. “Wherever you want it to be, as long as it’s on show.”

“So…” you whisper, letting your tongue trail down the side of his jaw, pushing against the moles under his ear. “Like, here? Or… lower?”

“A-A little lower, please,” he whispered, words breathy as he focused on your hips rolling into his, hard and your hot cunt sliding against his hard cock. He could feel your wetness through your shorts and his jeans, hissing as you leaned forward and kept your hips there, releasing your weight just a bit to keep his cock slotted between your folds. “Fuck, please.”

You hummed, your tongue flattening on the pulse filling your ears until going to the side of his neck. “Here?”

“Mhm,” he merely hummed, nodding into your neck as his hands shakily grabbed your hips. “D-Don’t stop your moving hips, please.”

You giggle, your eyesight basically blurring as you stare at his neck, that one mole catching your eye before you inhaled deeply and felt your canines extend, a comical shing filling the room as you sunk your teeth into his skin. You could barely focus on his cock rubbing against your clothed cunt, one of his hands slipping in between you both to tug your shorts and underwear to the side, pushing his fingers into your leaking cunt and his fingers thrusting into your cunt. You were so tight, so so tight and wet, two of his fingers easily pushing into you and rolling his fingers inside of you.

You were so distracted with the taste of his blood, pushing in and out, in and out, but it was nothing compared to how good he tasted. He tasted like caramel, underlying with nutty butterscotch and whiskey, maybe a slight bit of salt that balanced everything out. You groaned loudly, eyes flying open as he pulled his finger out, the sound of him unbuttoning his pants and unzipping them to pull his cock out of his boxers and push his tip into you making you moan loudly against his skin.

Oh it was almost as though you couldn’t stop, your head pounding as you felt his veins pumping and heart beating, a soft gasp making you pull away, cursing. Was it too much? Did you take too much from him?

“Why did you stop?” He whispered, staring up at you with hazy eyes. “I liked it. I-I loved it. It felt like lightning-”

“Stiles.”

“L-Like lightning was traveling down my spine and filling my veins-”

“Stiles.”

He paused, staring up at you as you looked down at your skin, smiling when you saw the initials MS surrounded by the faded gray bite mark. “Mieczysław. Fuck, I love that name, I love your name.”

“I love you,” he whispers back, smiling as you giggled down at him, his face pressing against your skin before kissing his initials. “I love you so much.”

You smile as he slowly pushes you onto your back, his eyes a dark chocolate brown as he pulls out just for a minute, pulling off his pants after kicking off his shoes and tugging down your shorts and pretty panties. Your eyes rolled back as he flattened his tongue against your wet slit, flicking his tongue against your puffed up clit before sitting back on his feet and pumping his cock. You could see his cock covered in cum, inhaling deeply as you looked over at his discarded boxers, a splatter of cum making you giggle.

“I made you cum in your pants, Mieczysław?”

He groaned as he pushed back into you, staring at the creamy ring he started to leave around your entrance that kept sucking him farther and farther into you. He groaned, his mind fully attentive to your cunt basically swallowing his length, whimpers and squirming finally starting when he left the last few inches. His eyes flickered up to your face, a groan falling from his lips as he saw his initials on your skin, your face pinched in pleasure and eyes rolling back as he thrusted into you sharply to watch that creamy ring settle on his base and your hands flying to his forearms.

“Fuck, fuck Stiles!”

He shook his head, holding your hips with a grunt. “No baby, call me by my real name,” he said, cursing softly as he started to thrust his hips, watching your body bounce with each thrust, your tits moving and his eyes trained on the mark he made. You were right, he was so fucking addicted to the feeling of you around his cock, more lightning traveling up his spine as your nails dug into his forearm, blood making your eyes flash red. “You always say it so fucking nice.”

He watched you groan loudly, moving so his chest pressed against yours and moving his arms to support him. He watched your mouth move to his forearms, your tongue flattening against his skin and licking up all of the blood, his mouth moving to your head to press kisses against your hair, groans falling from his mouth with each thrust before you moved to stare up at him, pulling him down to kiss him, that same coppery tang disappearing and fading into the same whiskey flavor you had been addicted to.

“Mieczysław,” you whispered, gasping as his thrusts got faster, whining as his hand pushed down to circle against your clit torturously before his other hand gripped your thigh, digging his nails so deep into your skin he drew blood. “F-Fuck!”

He groaned as he pushed his fingertips against your skin, covering them with that crimson liquid before pushing them into his mouth and slamming into you one last time to cum inside of you, the gushing of his cum making you cum from the almost inflation like feeling. It didn’t take you long to push him over, though, staring at his already healed forearm. You smiled as you began to roll your hips, desperate as his tip kissed your cervix, pushing deeper and deeper at this new angle as you moaned loudly, holding his chest and staring down at the mark with your own initials on his skin.

It fueled your movements, staring down at the cum smearing along his pelvis, whimpering as you bounced on his length. “Please, please, fuck!”

“You need my help, don’t you?” He teased, lifting his hips to roll into you at the same time you pushed down, your eyes rolling back as he pushed even deeper inside of you - something you truly didn’t think could happen. “Right?”

“Yes! Yes, yes!” You pleaded, gasping as he forced his hips up into you, thrusting over and over again at the same speed you were bouncing on his cock with even more force than you could ever imagine. You were so lost in pleasure, his warm hands holding your hips as you tried to stay sitting up, your body finally registering the fresh human blood in your veins. It had been a while since you had anything other than bagged blood or animal blood, and as a result, your high was gone and inevitably coming down until he slammed his hips up into you, your eyes rolling back as the knot in your stomach snapped and a loud moan of his name - his real name - left your mouth.

He groaned underneath you, his cum gushing out of your cunt as you slowly got off, staring at his still hard cock. You giggle, smiling as you pumped his cock and licked the cum sliding down his shaft, groaning as he bucked his hips up into your mouth. You kept it in your mouth, moaning loudly as you bobbed your head, pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth and staring at his face.

You didn’t register his human features, not anymore, his blood pumping and his lungs filling with air or exhaling air, only the fact that the cum on his cock tasted so fucking delicious and your fingers cupping and squeezing his balls which made his hips buck and you pull back to feel his cum flood your mouth. You groaned, sucking on his pretty tip and your hand fisting his cock, swallowing the salty liquid before pulling away.

Your mind was full of lust as you slowly crawled up his body, his hands immediately catching your hips as you hovered over his face. His eyes were hazy with lust as you grinned down at him. "You're such a good boy, honey. I think you deserve a treat."

He groaned loudly as you slowly released your weight, holding the sides of his head as his hands hold your thighs, your hips rolling into his mouth as his tongue pushed into your cunt, basically pulling all of the cum from your pussy, your eyes rolling back as one of his hands pushed between your thighs and straight into your cunt.

His flexing fingers guided the rolls of your hips, moans falling from your lips as you attempted to cover your mouth before a finger pressed to your clit and his teeth grazed your pussy. You whined loudly, your stomach twisting as you attempted to chase that high, his fingers pushing into you to press against that place that made your stomach go tight and your eyes roll back, curses falling from your lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Mieczysław!”

He hummed against your cunt, the vibrations making you shiver as he slowly lifted you from his face and push you down so you sat on his cock. He slowly pushed into you, a shiver going down your back as he held your face, pulling you up for a firm kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, Mieczysław,” you whisper back, smiling as his lips quirked up into a smile of his own, sighing heavily. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, I feel great,” he smiled, shrugging. “Really horny.”

You laughed, nodding. “We can keep going,” you whisper, smiling as you lay against his warm chest. “Just… let me lay here in your warmth for a minute.”

“Will you miss it?” He whispers, stroking your cheek as he stares down at you. “M-My warmth.”

You inhale deeply, nodding as your hand rubbed against his chest where his heart was, the beating already slowing down. “Yeah, I will,” you shrug though, giggling. “But we’re the first of our kind, my love. I’m hoping you’ll keep it.”

“Then I do too.”

omg, I love fulfilling requests ♡ keep them coming for Bingo!!

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© asterias-record-shop

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (12)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: sexy mobsters, fluff, established Stucky, angst, mentions of smut

Indecent Proposal (11)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Back from your little getaway with Steve and Bucky, you had to face reality. 

It was just your luck that the cops stumbled over your ex’s body.

A few hours later they knocked at your door, asking you to come to the precinct and give them a statement.

That’s how you ended up in an interrogation room with some cop on a mission. Of course, he knows about Scott’s not-so-legal business.

“Miss Y/L/N, when have you last seen your boyfriend Scott Lang.”

“Mr. Lang isn’t my boyfriend any longer,” you act like you don’t know about his death. “We parted ways a few weeks ago. After a party.”

“Why?” The detective asks. He’s thumbing through a folder in his hands, looking at you now and then.

“Why what?”

“Why are you not together any longer?” He cocks his head to watch you cross your arms over your chest.

You sigh deeply. It’s not the detective’s business why you broke up with Scott. You try your best to keep a straight face and get out of here as fast as possible. 

“Scott is like a big child, you know.” Holding the detective’s gaze, you try not to make a mistake and end up in jail, or get Steve and Bucky arrested. “I dreamed of marriage, children, and settling down.” You shrug. “He has his head in the clouds. We parted ways because we wanted different things. He’s a nice guy, but not the one for me.”

“He was a nice guy,” the detective finally says. You already know Scott is dead, but act like you heard about it for the first time.

“What?”

“He’s dead. Your boyfriend got murdered and we try to find out what happened in his life over the last weeks.” He closes the folder and looks you straight in the eyes. 

“He got killed,” you fake a sob. “No…no. This is impossible. Scott is a good guy. Why would anyone hurt him? I don’t understand.” You think about something sad to shed a few tears. “You must be mistaken. Scott can’t be dead.”

“Miss Y/L/N, where have you been over the last two weeks?” The detective asks. He looks at you, searching for any trace of lies when you answer his question.

“I was on vacation with two friends. They asked if I wanted to join them on their trip,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “After the breakup, I needed some time to think about a few things.”

“Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes are friends of yours?” He leans back in his chair. The detective didn’t expect you to be honest. “Since when?”

“We met at a party and kinda hit it off. You know, sometimes you just click with a person and know, you are going to become friends,” you casually say. 

“I assume it was the party you mentioned before.”

“Yes,” you know he knows everything about the party and your connection to Steve and Bucky. There is no point in lying to him. “Scott introduced me to the couple, and we talked for hours.”

“You only talked?” He presses on, eyes dropping to the folder on the table. You know he’s got no proof that you and your men are more than friends.

“I don’t understand your question,” batting your eyelashes you try to pretend you are the meek and shy woman your colleagues described. You know the detective sniffed around your neighborhood and workplace.

“I want to know if you fucked them before or after you killed Scott Lang,” he jumps up from his chair, knocking it over. The detective slams his hands onto the table, making you flinch.

“What? Are you out of your mind?” You gasp loudly and place one hand on your heart. “Detective, Scott, and I broke up. But I would never harm him. Neither would Mr. Rogers, or Mr. Barnes harm him. Why would we do such a thing?”

“Brock,” another detective enters the interrogation room. She places her hand on her partner’s shoulder and whispers something you cannot hear in his ear.

“You sure?” He cocks a brow. “I thought…we got them this time.”

“The results do not lie, Brock. We arrested the killer,” she says while glancing at you. The redhead dips her head to look you up and down. “Detective Romanoff,” she holds out her hand. “We are done here, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Wait…I’m not done. I still got questions,” Brock grunts as his partner guides you toward the door. “Natasha, you can’t be serious. We both know it was them killing Lang.”

“We know shit,” Natasha replies. “Just stop, Brock. We will get them another time.”

You silently walk next to Natasha, wondering what just happened. She guides you out of the building, and toward a black SUV waiting for you.

“Tell Bucky we are even now,” she whispers so no one can hear. “I cannot protect them forever. They need to be more careful and stop disposing of bodies in my town.”

You gape at her. Speechless and a little shell-shocked. “Doll, get in,” Bucky opens the door to the limousine. “Come on. We don’t want to draw more attention toward you.”

“Okay,” you get inside the car, swallowing thickly. “Bucky, what’s going on?”

“Well, shit doll,” Steve shrugs as the driver starts the engine. “Bucky disposed of your ex at the wrong place, and someone found his body.”

“I already got that but…” you hide your face in the palms of your hands. “That woman said you are even now.”

“Nah, she still owes us,” Bucky waves your concern off. “That asshole Brock tries to arrest us for years.” The brunette grins. “He’s like a dog chasing his tail.”

“That’s not funny!” You sniffle. “He accused me of murdering Scott. Or rather that we conspired to kill my ex. I was so scared of saying something wrong.”

“Doll, you did so well for us. Come here,” Steve pats his thigh, and you immediately crawl into his lap to hide your face in his shoulder. “We are sorry for not being there sooner. It was too risky. We didn’t want Brock to dig deeper.”

“What will we do now?��� You sniffle. “What if he finds proof that Bucky killed Scott?”

“They won’t find shit,” Bucky grunts. “We made sure of it. One of our competitors will take the blame.” The brunette runs his hand over your hair. “Please don’t worry. That bastard killed more than one innocent bystander.”

“Are you sure?” You fist Steve’s jacket. “I don’t want to lose one of you. Please tell me everything is going to be alright.”

“Y/N, I swear no one is going to part us,” Bucky whispers while you cling to his husband. “I fixed the mess I made. I always do.”

"We are sorry about Brock, and the interrogation. Bucky and I never wanted you to know about this side of our business."

"They were at my workplace, Steve. Everyone believes I'm a criminal, a murderer even."

"We will fix this too," Steve softly says. "For now, let's drive home and forget about this shitty day."

"Tomorrow is a better day," Bucky whispers. "Promised."

Part 12.2

[murdrdocs]

YOUR HAZE. void stiles

about. bodies upon bodies surrounding a tree trunk, the nogistune sitting in the center of the stump, and she suddenly finds solace in those familiar amber eyes

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+ fem!vampire!reader, told in 3rd person, heavy manipulation, oral (fem receiving), 'sweet' void tehe, void is a munch

wc: 2.0k

→ kinktober masterlist

She smells his scent before anything else. 

A soft musk mixed with a gourmand, unique to Stiles and Stiles only. She can’t smell his emotions, not in the way that Scott or Malia can. Her sense of smell has yet to reach that point, and none of them are even aware if it could reach that point. But she knows by the almost sickly-sweet scent of sweat that densely covers his pleasant aroma that he’s nervous, maybe anxious about something. 

The thought increases her speed as she attempts to get closer to him, pushing through the thick trees.  

Then comes the rot mixed with rainwater. A scent unique to Void. It makes her nose wrinkle, the mix entirely too strong, abusing her senses as her eyes begin to water the closer she gets, a slowness to her approach now. 

She’s on guard at this point, understanding that if he’s so out in the open like this, it’s because he wanted her to find him. She doesn’t bother stepping around the branches, perhaps trying to convince herself that she’s not fearful of the spirit that has possessed her boyfriend. 

Yet she’s cautious, even before she smells the blood. 

It hits her nose a little too late, right when she turns to enter the clearing and she sees the bodies laying around the tree stump. Dozens of them, scattered around the base of the stump, most of them dead but her attentive ears, definitely her better sense, pick up on a few slow heartbeats. 

He sits in the center, legs crossed like her and Stiles would sit as kids, before she was like this and before he was like this. He looks pleased with himself, a slight smile on his lips as he watches her wandering eyes. 

When they land on him, narrowed and angry, Void pretends to be unhappy. She knows he’s enjoying this. 

His head tilts, he pouts. “Why so upset? This is all for you.” His arms spread out wide and he grins, like he’s presenting a desired present to her. 

And maybe it is, deep down inside she feels her insides churn with excitement. She’s never had a feast presented in front of her like this before, instead spending her years desperately trying to tether herself to control and strict moderation for the sake of everyone around her. 

With Stiles, it was easier to do that. He was her anchor, keeping her sane and from digging her sharpened pearly whites into his freckled neck, even when he bit his nails until she got a whiff of how tantalizing his blood was. 

But Stiles was gone, and he had been for weeks now. Each day, she felt herself slipping more and more, slowly giving more and more into temptation until she ended up here: Considering the offering laid before her. 

She wants to fight it, she tries to fight, insults and self brags about how much stronger she is than him, how she absolutely refuses to give into temptation and that is what true strength is. 

Her nails, newly filed as she picked up nail care as another distraction from the way she craved something she couldn’t have, dig into her palm as she speaks. Her breathing increases with each word, chest rising and falling rapidly, usually slow heart rate picking up just enough to remind her of when she was human. 

She thinks she has it under control. She does have it under control. 

But she still finds herself at her knees before what looks like Stiles, but she has to consistently remind herself that this isn’t Stiles. 

Stiles wouldn’t look so proud as she digs her fangs into the first neck, veins bursting from the puncturing of her teeth, sweet and almost tangy blood meeting her lips. It’s her first drink from the source since her turning, and it’s fucking delicious. It makes her head spin. It makes her want more. 

Her moan is muffled, but still loud enough for both of them to hear it. It’s oddly sensual, a sexual tone to it, heavily present mostly in the way the sound lifts up at the end. 

Her eyebrows push together as she cringes at herself for a second, then she inhales, pulling more blood into her mouth, and nothing else matters except the red liquid that slides down her through. 

“There you go,” Stiles coos from above her, the stiff sound of clothing against wood as he stands. 

But this isn’t Stiles. 

She has to remind herself of that when Void comes to join her. Because Stiles wouldn’t get on his knees beside her, push her hair to the side, and gently kiss her own neck as she drains another body. 

His nose brushes against her skin as he speaks. “You feel how warm it is? Better than those cold blood bags they give you, isn’t it? This is what I can give you.” The words are growled into her trapezius, his teeth scraping the thin layer of skin through each syllable. 

Her eyes close, she melts into the combined warmth of Stiles and the blood entering her mouth. But this isn’t Stiles. She tries to shake herself awake, she tries to pull from him, repeating the words in her head even as she gulps down pints of life force. 

He senses her hesitation, his hand cupping the side of her neck as his lips brush her earlobe. “He won’t know about this,” he tells her. She takes a breath, considers. 

Stiles wouldn’t do this.  

But Stiles would wrap his arm around her in the way that Void does. Stiles would bring her lips to his with a soft touch of her cheek, and he would kiss her like he’s devouring her. 

She blames it on the new amount of energy coursing through her body. She blames her willingness to give into Void’s kisses and touches on the different blood mixing in her system, a second body in her grasp before she even realizes it, the addition giving her a rush she’s never felt in her life. 

If it weren’t for the bodies she’d already consumed, and the ones she has left, she wouldn’t have let Void lay her back on the stump and spread her legs. 

It’s what she tells herself, trying to comfort the guilt and agony on her own. But she can’t comfort it on her own, she needs Stiles. Or Scott. Or Lydia. But they’re not here. They’re away in their homes, trying to come up with another solution to bring their best friend back, while she lets the shell of him pull her pants off and push her shirt up. 

They’re contriving yet another plan that might be the one to finally end it all while she takes the wrist in front of her face, sucking at the two holes already created, jagged from a puncture that isn’t her own teeth. The uneven circular shape makes it harder for her to get a steady pull from the veins. She has to concentrate to even get the first amount out, but concentrating is difficult whenever Void starts to suck on her clit. 

She doesn’t remember her pants coming off, nor her panties. She tries looking for them, hoping to find the dark denim in the night, but her vision is blurred. It’s like she’s drunk, a sensation she hasn’t felt since before her turning. 

Void inserting two fingers into her cunt doesn’t help her vision. The intrusion is welcomed, her walls used to the feeling of the long digits. Her gummy walls swallow in the familiarity, and instead of rejecting the unaccustomed aspects of the action, she takes it. 

The foreign way his fingers curl reminds her of the stark contrasts between the two entities, previously viewed in a light that made her nauseous as an intense sweep of emotions almost knocked her off of her feet. 

Void adds a third finger. It’s unexpected, a little disjointed, but it’s a pleasant shock. A wanted surprise. It feels good, and she hates to admit it. 

She turns back to the arm in front of her. 

Her teeth are sunken in, her lips pressed to the warm skin, and as Void digs his fingers deeper inside of her, a deep groan comes from within her. Her stained canines tear through the skin, creating two long slits that allow blood to freely gush out of them. 

It’s messy, both the way Void brings her to her peak and the way the blood flows out around her mouth. 

His lips, now added into the already complicated equation, slip and slide along her most sensitive parts, a precision that makes her wonder if he’d picked this action up from Stiles, but a lack of accuracy that makes her feel as if he’s doing this for his own pleasure. She can’t help but briefly think about how much joy Stiles gets from this action, how he always loses himself when his head is between her legs. It’s something they have in common, something that puts Void a little closer to Stiles. And although it shouldn’t, it comforts her. It tells her that her boyfriend is somewhere in there, and she briefly deludes herself into thinking that this is him. 

She starts to let herself go. 

Void licks and sucks like a man starved, like she’s the best tasting thing he’d ever had in all of his many years. His hands dig into the plush of her hips and thighs, holding her open to his torture. His tongue flicks her clit, a speed to it that’s clearly inhuman. Her back arches, moans increasing in volume and pitch, and Void takes it in stride. He adjusts her legs over his shoulders and then slides his mouth down, Stiles’ perky nose bumping into her clit as Void inserts the heated muscle into her. The combination with his fingers makes her drop the limp wrist, blood spilling onto her clothing. 

The heat from Void’s mouth is easily comparable to the heat of the blood that slides from her own lips, flowing down her chin and neck, staining the previously pristine white tee she wears. It’s one Stiles had gifted her, incredibly simple in nature but the quality is why she desired it. A tiny white tank top, with a small silk bow in the center, and lace lining the straps that fall off her shoulders. 

As she looks down at Void, taking in how dark his eyes are, she notices just how ruined the top is, completely beyond repair and she’ll have to throw it out. Just the simple thought clears her head, a sob wracking through her, her body convulsing and curling with her chest up to the sky. It’s just then that Void knocks her over the edge, orgasm pushing through her frame intensely. Her hands find the hair she loves so much and her legs close around his head. 

He lets her do what she wants, and this singular act of kindness dulls her brain. She gets dizzy, letting the last bit of resistance slip from her mind and body, her muscles relaxing as she comes down. She blinks lazily at him, eyebrows furrowing as his veins tinge black for a second, but the color is gone just as quick. 

He kisses her inner thigh, his smile sweet before it twists into something much more sinister and dark. 

“You belong to me,” he tells her, the words sounding pretty coming from his slickened pink lips. She’s out of it, too much blood in her system, orgasm dumbing her down, so she nods, allowing another wrist to be positioned in front of her, this one still live, pulse still thumping. 

She distantly hears cries for help, pleas to let them go, but she doesn’t focus on that. Instead looking into the amber eyes that she trusts more than her own as she bares her teeth once more, and lets them sink into the skin. 

[wren-kitchens]

I saw scott breaking up scar and jimmy and ran with the idea

anyway, jealous scott and jealous tango ‘pretending’ to date in the hopes that it’ll make jimmy jealous too (spoiler, it doesn’t)

“I still don’t understand how you could date jimmy and not know your own love language.”

scott is leant against a cherry tree, tango’s head in his lap, gently braiding his hair. it’s honestly quite nice—the heat that radiates off tango at all times seems to also radiate off his hair, warming scott’s frozen fingers from hours of sanding down fences. he honestly regrets how much wood he used—not only in containing livestock, but in and around his build too. sanding is an absolute nightmare—usually he wouldn’t care for a few splinters, but considering they no longer heal, scott doesn’t really want to risk it.

one benefit of this pretend relationship is that the autumn air seems to have no affect on him anymore, what with the blazeborn heat scott seems to have absorbed. scott wonders if, when tango pulls a muscle, he can just use his hands as heat packs. something twists in his gut as his mind follows that thought with the idea of tango helping jimmy with his heat-pack hands.

(oddly enough, scott is more upset at the idea of tango’s heat being given to someone else, and not that jimmy was being helped by another. he decides not to think about it too much.)

tango scoffs, slightly defensive. “well, it’s-“

“wait, isn’t your island called love island?” scott grins, enjoying the look on tango’s face a little more than he expected to. his signature pouty frown. 

“I never said I was good at this!” tango huffs. “in fact, I definitely mentioned that I was very bad at this several times. so, y’know- that’s your fault.”

“well, get better.” scott flicks tango’s forehead, laughing as he protests. “if you don’t know, then i’ll have to ask jimmy. he’ll have figured it out.”

“that could be a good idea actually.” tango says, clearly giving up on the pout. scott has to admit, he’s a little disappointed; it was cute. and funny- mostly funny.

“what do you mean?”

“like- you could play it off as trying to figure out how to be a better partner, y’know?” tango says, and scott hums in understanding.

“that’s a good plan.” scott says. “you know, it’s lucky you’re smart, because i have to be the pretty one in this relationship.”

tango snorts, and his hair catches on fire for a split second. scott expects it to hurt, but the sensation is akin to stepping into a hot bath. huh. “is that a compliment?”

“it can be whatever you want it to be, sweetheart.” scott grins.

[reminiscingtonight]

It’s All Fun and Games...

Leah Williamson x Morgan!Reader

Word Count: 662

A/N: These burbs aren’t in any specific chronological order

Sisterly Love Masterlist

[WOSO Masterlist]

As a professional soccer player, sometimes you don’t want to be playing soccer in your downtime. 

Today’s not one of those days. 

You can’t really remember who proposed it, but someone said something about a little friendly 2-on-2 and the next thing you know, the four of you are trudging to a nearby park. 

Alex (Morgan) was visiting for a couple days, so like the proper best friend she is, Alex (Scott) also wanted to tag along when she heard Leah making plans. The four of you had just had a nice little brunch, and with the great weather in London, it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. The solution ended up being a small 2-on-2 match, something that surprisingly no one objected to.

You’ve just dropped the ball on the ground when Alex asks a pretty reasonable question. “So how are we choosing teams?”

Leah opens her mouth, but before she can answer, you’re blurting out a response of your own. 

“I call Scott!”

“What?” Leah whips her head around, face scrunched up in confusion.

“What?” Your sister’s glaring at you, a little offended at not getting picked.

“Me?” Alex looks a little pleased, but still feigning nonchalance to avoid the wrath of both your girlfriend and sister.

Shrugging, you try to hide your grin. You slip an arm around Alex’s. “Sorry gals, you snooze, you lose. Plus Alex is like a football legend, of course I’m gonna want her on my team.”

“I’m sorry, which one of us has won two World Cups, gotten an Olympic gold, and--”

“Vanity isn’t a pretty color on you, Al,” you tsk, ignoring the offended gasp your comment earns you. 

“Excuse you, forget Alex. What about me?” Leah pushes her way in front of your sister. She’s looking pretty peeved at being left out of consideration. “I’m your girlfriend. Where’s the Arsenal loyalty, babe?”

“Legend,” you repeat, pointing at the woman still attached to you. “Arsenal legend. If anything I’m being even more loyal to Arsenal by choosing her.”

“Oh shut it, you know what I mean.”

“You know what, Leah? It’s fine.” Alex (Morgan) places an arm on your girlfriend’s shoulder. “I for one am happy to have you on my team. And we’re going to have a blast creaming them.”

Never one to be left out of conversation, Alex (Scott) speaks just before the four of you head to your respective halves. “So is there anything at stake in this game? Do the winners get anything? Or punishments for the losers?”

“Loser has to adopt (Y/N),” Alex (Morgan) grumbles, tightening her shoe laces. 

Leah’s eye twitching is the only evidence of how close she is to considering it. “Losers buy dinner tonight?” she proposes instead.

“Hope you like pasta!” you sing out, pretending not to notice the dirty look Leah instantly shoots your way. 

While Alex and Leah quickly huddle up to talk strategies, you and your Alex huddle up to do the same. 

Before you can get a word in, Alex is putting a hand on your arm, tilting her head at you inquisitively. “Love the vote of confidence, ‘go us!’, but you do know I’m the only one out of the lot of you who doesn’t play professionally anymore, right?”

You shrug. “And? Don’t say you’ve never wondered what it would be like to score against Alex Morgan. Or better yet stop her from scoring.”

You must’ve said something wrong because Alex is instantly trying not to laugh. “Oh honey,” she coos, lips twitching in amusement. “How old do you think I am? I’ve most definitely played against your sister before. Not really something I’m looking forward to doing again, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

You should’ve heeded Alex’s warning a bit more.

Leah tries not to be too smug when you end up getting Nandos for dinner. 

Your sister on the other hand, well she doesn’t even try to hide her glee.

[gonzo-rella]

Headcanons: Being Wallace Wells' Trans Boyfriend

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): Wallace Wells x transmasc!reader (romantic)

Warnings/info: Trans typical stuff, like dysphoria, transphobia etc. etc., sexual remarks, he/him pronouns for reader, headcanons were written in one sitting, when I was feeling not great. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: I've been reading a lot of Succession fics over the last few days. Last night I read a Roman Roy fic and for some reason it gave me this overpowering wave of dysphoria that I still have yet to fully recover from. Annoyingly, I have yet to actually watch Succession so this could have been avoided; I just think Kieran Culkin's hot and very gender so I couldn't resist pretending that someone with his face was my boyfriend. Reading about Roman made me think 'oh shit. Maybe I'm a flawed and pathetic little guy on the inside. But I just look like a woman who likes to kiss women and everyone treats me like a girl and uses my girl name and girl pronouns and that feels super gross and makes me want to live in a hole. Now I'm going to feel bad about that for the next few days.' So, yeah, I'm having another transmasc crisis that I'm using fanfiction to get me through. I figured Kieran Culkin started this, so I might as well write something featuring a character of his that I can actually write for. This is a self-indulgent and self-explorative treat for myself, but I hope that transmasc readers can enjoy this, too. If you'd like more Wallace stuff, trans stuff or Wallace AND trans stuff, feel free to send in a request. I really want to provide more fics for transmasc readers because you guys are super underrepresented (and, y'know, Papa Gonzo-rella wants to explore his gender a little more). Also, I swear that I will get around to watching Succession, and I more than likely will end up writing for it when I do.)

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

You’re just, for better or worse, another one of Wallace’s boyfriends.

[quickandsilvers]

HEADCANNONS OF PETER MAXIMOFF SLEEPING

I got carried away so i profusely apologise in advance

!NSFW mentioned at the end!🔥

——————————————————————————

-This man can sleep ANYWHERE

-the bed, the common room sofa, in lectures (can we blame him??), the stairwell, the roof… you name it, Peter has slept there

-had to be carried off the X-jet by Hank after falling asleep on the way home from a particularly long mission

- Scott did not pass up the chance to take a multitude of photos

- they’re hidden very well. it drives Peter to the brink of insanity

-he practically begs Scott to not show you the polaroids (he totally did)

-they’re your prized possession

-Peter pretends to fall asleep on your lap during movie night

-proceeds to actually fall asleep

-he totally drools. Sorry not sorry

-Mumbles concerning or downright bizarre things in his slumber

-the type of guy to moan ‘mom, five more minutes!’ to a grown ass man

-did it on Logan. It didn’t end well..

-With a mix of raging ADHD and his speedster gene, Peter literally CANNOT. KEEP. STILL. Babyboy rolls off the bed onto the floor

-Unless you're sharing the bed with him, he will be too lazy to get up and will snooze where he fell

-Occasionally sleepwalks

-With the outstretched hands and everything

-Looks like a zombie

-Sleepwalked up to Ororo in the kitchen, scared her so bad she sent him crashing through a wall

-He still slept soundly

-Definitely the type of guy to comically do the ‘schnooorr, mimimimi’ whilst sleeping

-He can also sleep through ANYTHING

Thunderstorm? No worries. An Earthquake bigger than the Richter scale? Forget about it. Alien invasion and world domination? Pfft.

-It got so bad the xmen had to brief new students that if they found Peter sprawled out on the floor somewhere, they shouldn’t worry, he was just getting his ‘big boy sleep’ - (as you so kindly put it)

If you share the bed:

-Takes up ¾ of it (if you’re lucky)

-One leg encasing you somewhere, another leg sprawled and contorted into some weird position

-When he likes to roll he gets stopped by your body

-Admits defeat and just lays on top of you

-The heat radiating off his body is like a VOLCANO

-This isn’t helped by the fact he is a naturally very cuddly person

-Extremely clingy but you don’t mind

-Keeps you up with his snoring and ‘mimimi’s’

-It’s comically loud

-you can only wake him up with the smell of twinkies

-or morning head

-he definitely sleeps in on purpose just so you suck him off

-that almost beats eating cake snacks in the morning

-almost.

——————————————————————————

A/N: i promise new fics are on their way!! All suggestions will be completed💕❤️💕❤️

[urdrowning]

reconcile / l. williamson

AN i apologise for the quality. i am very much hungover as i write this. and idc if its mid february let me use this christmas gif my girl is ADORABLE my god i need to be in leah williamson’s arms RN

requested? - yes

word count - 2.5k (i’m proud of that)

—————

sarina had finally announced the england squad for the AC cup. you were elated to see you’re name listed. having recently recovered from a broken ankle, you were barely getting playtime. it’s as if nobody believes you’re truly fully healed, especially with jonas keeping you as pretty much a permanent bench warmer. knowing that sarina trusts you and you’re abilities is like a wash of relief and you’re over the moon. you assumed leah, your girlfriend, would be celebrating with you, as she’s repeatedly campaigned for your wellness and ability. but now it feels like it’s all been a lie.

you were out visiting your best friend, alex scott when you found out, she unsuccessfully attempts to lift you up in a hug of congratulations due to her shorter stature. you thank her before you realise that you have to go home and tell your girlfriend (even though she already knows, she’s on the same squad. but she’d pretend to act shocked for you anyway) excitement rushes through you as you practically ran to your car and sped home (which may result in a speeding ticket, but who cares, you’re gonna be playing for england).

rushing into your shared flat with a giant smile on your face to tell your lover the news, you’re greeted with a frown on her face before she utters

“you can’t do it y/n, you’re not ready.”

the smile drops from your face and it makes leah’s stomach twist with guilt, but she refuses to let it show and remains staring at you with a stern gaze.

“you.. i- what?”

you spluttered in shock. where did this come from? for several weeks she’s been by your side, fighting for you to get playtime.

“you can’t do it. you’re not ready to play in a tournament like this yet.”

your pride seems to shrink as you begin to fill with anger. how could she? all of her support and for what? just to belittle you and your abilities?

“are.. are you serious right now, leah?”

you hated this. you’re not a fan of conflict in general, but with your girlfriend? a nightmare. the thought of her being angry with you making your world feel as if it’s shattering.

but the anger that courses through you almost crushes the dread you feel, you’re justified in this argument, she isn’t.

“dead serious. you need to call up sarina and tell her you can’t compete. you’re not ready and sarina should’ve realised that”

she sighs. she hates this as much as you do. she hates to be the reason you’re upset, but she is adamant in her opinion.

“why? why, leah, am i not ready? because i have been working my ass off for weeks and you know this!”

you’re raising your voice, making her wince slightly, it goes unnoticed by you due to your unbridled anger and she scoffs at your lack of empathy as she snaps at you

“because you’re not capable enough! there’s a reason you haven’t been getting playtime you know, it's because you’re not trusted, y/n! you’ll slip on your ass and injure yourself again, you’ll put the whole fucking team in jeopardy, and i’m not ready to lose because of you being a loose end.”

word after word is like a stab in the gut. hearing it from a normal teammate? painful. but hearing it from your girlfriend? agonising.

“oh.”

you try to hide how your voice is raw with emotion, but you know it’s a futile attempt. she hears it anyway. she reaches out for you slightly.

“y/n..”

you move away from her touch, cold and distant. you don’t look at her, your gaze fixated on the floor. you know that one look in her blue eyes and you’re gonna break.

“don’t. just.. don’t.”

your voice shakes as you move away. you can’t be here right now. you can’t be around leah.

so, what do you do? you grab your car keys, turn towards the door and leave. leah doesn’t move. she doesn’t try to stop you. she’s dug her grave, she may as well lay in it.

you sit in your car for at least 6 minutes before you start the engine. tears fall from your eyes and warm your face. it feels as if your heart has been ripped out of your chest, you feel as if you’ve been stabbed in the back. out of all the people to doubt you, leah? the person you love most? why did it have to be her.

you wipe the tears off of you, take a deep breathe and drive. you don’t know where you’re headed, all you know is that you need to be away from leah.

why you ended up at alex’s house once again is beyond you. but here you are, sat on your bestfriends sofa, crying in her arms.

“i’m sorry, y/n. she’s being an absolute dickhead. you’re more than capable and she should know that better than anyone.”

she holds you tightly as she rants. vehemently disagreeing with leah, defending you so passionately. it’s as if she retired from playing as a defender in football to become your own personal defender instead.

“i appreciate it al but in all honesty i’d rather forget about it. i’m tired, i just wanna scream into a pillow for the rest of the night.”

she laughs lightly as she releases you from her tight grip, nodding at you.

“you know where the spare room is. stay as long as you need, okay? love you”

she truly means it, and although it’s not what you need, the small statement makes you feel a bit better.

“thank you, al, love you too. night.”

she squeezes your arm lightly, mumbles goodnight and leaves you to your own devices. you sniffle slightly and head for alex’s spare room. which has practically become your bedroom with the amount of times you’ve stayed here.

the minute you walk in you can do nothing but collapse on the bed, the past few hours have been a whirlwind of emotions and it’s drained you of any energy you possessed. you glance at your phone to check the time, only to be greeted by your lock screen, a photo of you and leah. she’s hugging you from behind, kissing your cheek as you close your eyes, smiling. you groan at the image as it causes more tears to spring to your eyes, you attempt to block the photo with your hand as you check the time to see that it’s only 5:54 pm. you sigh and contemplate your options.

you could either, stay in the room, look at photos of leah, cry and binge watch pitch perfect. or, you could simply just sleep and pretend that today’s fight never even happened.

you choose the latter, as the crushing weight of reality is too much to deal with.

…

so maybe sleeping it off wasn’t the best idea you’ve had.

after about 5 minutes of you forcing your eyes shut, and trying to force your mind to be calm. you realised that you can’t sleep without leah’s presence which then causes you to get emotional again at just the thought of her (you’re a little unstable there babes, but it’s okay, we don’t blame you!)

you text alex, asking her to come hold you again. you can hear the thumps of her footsteps before she opens the door and slides onto the bed

“i’m sorry about this.”

she smacks you playfully. opens her arms for you. you slot yourself into her arms and sigh. it’s nice, but it isn’t leah.

“don’t apologise, y/n. you’re my bestfriend. i’m here for you.”

you murmur a thank you as your eyes grow heavy. the emotional exhaustion mixed with the comfort of you’re best friends touch sends you into a deep sleep.

——————

you wake up to raised voices, the sounds making your newfound headache 10x as painful.

memories of the previous day flood your mind as you sit up in bed, you feel better after having rested, but still, the memory of the fight and what was said crushes on you.

shaking your head to clear yourself of your thoughts, you try to listen in to the voices from outside your door.

“i don’t trust that you won’t snap on her again though”

that’s alex, she has a protective tone to her voice

“i won’t. just, please. let me speak to her.”

you’d recognise that voice anywhere. anxiety fills you as you realise that she’s hunted you down. of course she has. you ran out on her. she’s probably come to end things with you officially.

you hear alex sigh.

“.. fine. but if you upset her, you’re out.”

of course she managed to find you. of course you would go to alex’s house. leah knows you better than you know yourself. she’s your other half, and now you’re about to lose that. it’s crazy that even after all the horrendous things she said to you yesterday, you’re sat here in anxiety about HER leaving YOU. god, the grip this woman has on you is insane.

a knock on the door ceases your inner monologue.

“come in.”

you cringe at the sound of your voice. the hoarseness of it is not at all pleasant.

the door starts to open and you see her shadow before you see her. your mind goes to overdrive. this is it, the end of the best 4 years of your life. she steps in the room and she’s holding something behind her back, you close your eyes, not wanting to see the box of your things she’s most likely collected. you’re not ready for this to be over, not willing to accept your reality. with a sigh, you open your eyes slowly to see that instead of a box, she’s holding.. flowers?

“for you.”

she looks shy. you look confused. if the tension from yesterdays argument wasn’t there, you’d have both laughed at each others faces. but instead you glance at the flowers in her hand. red and yellow tulips, your favourite.

you take them from her, clutching them tightly, you whisper a thank you.

“leah, what are you doing here-“

she cuts you off, talking quickly.

“i need to talk to you, will you hear me out? please, just listen to me.”

you nod, gesturing for her to continue. you won’t talk, you’ll let her say what she needs to say. you’re not in the wrong here, she is.

“y/n, i- .. i’m so sorry. i love you, i love you so so much and i am so sorry. you have every right in the world to be angry with me, i mean shit, i’m angry with myself. i can’t believe i let my emotions take control of me, i don’t think you’re a burden. you’re everything to me.”

she’s nervous as she speaks, stammering and playing with her fingers. it reminds you of when she first asked you on a date, over 4 years ago, she was shaking with nerves.

your voice is small when you speak, taking her words into account but also remembering the cause of the argument itself.

“so why did you say those things leah? why don’t you think i’m good enough to play?”

she frowns and shakes her head, her eyes are looking at your hands, clutching the flowers she’d given you tightly.

“i should never have said anything like that. you’re more than capable of playing, i mean hell, you’re incredible. i was just being selfish.”

she’s determined. she’s got a mission in her mind, and leah’s too competitive to give up on her mission. she’s not going to stop trying to earn your forgiveness.

“selfish?”

you’re even more confused. you can’t begin to understand.

“yeah, selfish. y/n, you mean the world to me. i love you more than i love anything. when you first broke your ankle during the match against chelsea and i saw you get carried off on that stretcher.. it was awful. seeing you in pain, it scared me so much. i know you’re healed now, but i’m scared, i don’t want you to get hurt again. i cant stand seeing you in pain and suffering.”

you sit there and process what she’s told you. taking in all the information, her fear of your health.

“my god leah, you need to learn how to be straightforward.”

you laugh at her. you need to teach her how to communicate better. she lets out a laugh. you’re not sure whether it’s because of your joke or if it’s out of pure relief, but the sight of her smile is enough for you to not question it.

“maybe i do.”

she smiles at you, still standing infront of the bed, looking at you. suddenly aware of how awkwardly she’s been stood there, you roll your eyes at her as you reach over to grab the hem of her shirt.

“get over here, idiot.”

you don’t have to tell her twice, she gets into the bed and melts into your arms. she buries her face on your chest as her arms wrap around your middle. you rest your head on the top of her own, gently stroking her back as you lay together. a contented sigh leaves her.

“i was so nervous. i was worried you’d not want to ever see me again.”

you smile slightly, both glad to know that you weren’t alone in your worries and glad that she values you so greatly, that she fears the thought of not having you in her life.

“not a chance, we’ve got too many plans together. i can’t really become y/n williamson on my own, can i?”

leah lifts her head from your chest as she moves her hand to cup your cheek. she gazes at you with an enamoured look in her eyes.

“i adore you, y/n.”

she leans in and your lips meet. kissing leah is unreal, her lips fit against your own perfectly, and almost every kiss with her is as special as your first. she pours so much passion into the kiss, as if she’s trying to portray how much love she has for you through it. you move a hand to her hair as the kiss deepens. you’re both in a world of bliss until a sock smacks the side of both your faces.

“oh no, you are NOT doing this in my house!”

alex stands in the doorway, hands on her hips looking like a very disgusted mother.

“ugh, alex! what’s wrong with you!”

you groan, your face flushed with embarrassment as you bury it in leah’s shoulder. leah laughs at you, her face flushed with both embarrassment of being caught and excitement of being with you.

“come on y/n, let’s go home, yeah? i’ve got some more presents for you back in our flat.”

she gets up and offers her hand towards you, you take it, smiling.

“gladly.”

[silverwashi]

Okay okay okay picture this. Stiles & Eli buddy-cop fic in which Eli lives with Scott for a little because he’s the alpha blah blah blah but Eli isn’t submitting to him(because Derek is his alpha) so he ends up going to live with grandpa Stilinski. Where he’s given access to the entirety of Stiles’ room because that shouldn’t be a problem at all. So he goes through all of Stiles files, and sees the progression of his and Derek’s relationship through comments in the margins and is just like shit who is this person that is very clearly important to my father. But he’s also simultaneously researching resurrection and while he’s doing his research he discovers a supernatural consultant who goes by the name mischief that could solve any supernatural problem but went underground years ago. Only low and behold these bitches are the same person so he butters up Noah who tells him everything about his amazing son who’s an FBI agent and super accomplished. Que Eli getting into the same program Stiles was in(there may have been some guilt tripping Scott and nepotism involved) where Stiles now teaches a class. Only stiles has refused to hear anything about Derek hale for a really long time, for a whole host of complicated reasons, and dropped the supernatural world cold Turkey after his breakup with Lydia. And since Eli isn’t your typical Hale, Stiles is able to pretend(because we all know he’s pretending) that Eli isn’t a Hale Hale but that the name is common. And then one day Stiles sees him in the Jeep and is just like fuck fuck fuck but there’s no more pretending, so he talks to Eli and is Finally told that Derek’s dead, and then Eli convinces him to help bring Derek back from the dead, so they go on a little adventure and bond while they’re at it, then bring Derek back and they live happily ever after as the family they were always meant to be.

I have some of this written and I should honestly just name the fic ‘Stiles Stilinskis karma for being a sarcastic little shit to his father as a teen’ anyways here’s my fav line so far 🫶 yes this is exactly how Eli breaks the news to the dude he’s trying to convince to do some impossible shit with him

“And does he know you’re in my class?”

“I mean he’s dead so I would assume not.”

[lttl3babybug]

since requests are open maybe lil scott with cg wallace 👀👉👈 like either general hcs or like the first time wallace saw scott like genuinely regress idk wjqkqlnd whatever u want is fine 😋😋

EEEK FIRST SCOTT PILGRIM REQUEST!! Ofc I can sweetheart!! Very excited abt this!! I’m gonna do headcanons for both bc I’m very excited

Regressor!Scott and Cg!Wallace Headcanons!

The first time

🎸 The first time Wallace caught Scott regressing was at 2 in the morning

🎸Scott hadn’t head the best day and he was trying his best to sleep it off from the moment he got home till he had to get up the next morning

🎸Didn’t work, what a shocker!

🎸Anyway, he ended up waking up at 2am and just couldn’t get back to sleep so decided to play sonic

🎸While the volume was done the bright light coming from the centre of the fully dark room made Wallace stir in his sleep till eventually he woke up to see Scott sat in front of the tv playing on his game

🎸He looked oddly relaxed for it being 2 in the morning. So he got up to check on him (aka tell him to get his ass back in bed)

🎸When Wallace approached Scott he noticed that his roommate was snuggled under a blanket with a pacifier lodged between his lips

🎸Interesting

🎸Now sure Wallace knew Scott was somewhat aware of age regression due to his friends but he had no idea Scott partook in the recession

🎸He was stumped.

🎸So he leaned down and gently tapped him on the shoulder, Scott nearly jumped out his own skin. Immediately the paci was disgraced somewhere across the floor and Scott’s face filled with a panic as he fumbled out an explanation before Wallace just sort of shushed him

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for you to see that at all, it’s nothing weird honestly it’s like what Neil and-“ “shhhhhh, use your inside voice buddy”

🎸The way Wallace spoke so sweetly to him immediately made him stop talking. He was flabbergasted.

🎸Wallace had really just brushed this off like it was nothing?? Of course Scott wasn’t complaining. He was glad Wallace was okay with this he was just in shock really

🎸Safe to say the rest of the night was spent with Wallace and Scott talking about the insistent and setting some boundaries about this newfound relationship they’d gained

General headcanons

🎸Scott regresses either very small or slightly older. I’d say from either 1-3 or occasionally 5-8 depending on his feelings

🎸If he’s regressing from stress then it’s 5-8 but for bedtimes and general cuddles or naps he regresses to his younger state

🎸He has a sonic themed paci!! Ofc he does (yes Wallace bought it for him)

🎸Lots of stuffies. So many stuffed animals.

🎸If he regresses in the night and Wallace isn’t awake he’ll manage to shuffle his way into Wallace’s arms so they’re snuggling while Scott sucks his thumb

🎸He also uses teething toys! The little bubble circle ones are his favourite, he has a red one that’ clear and sparky

🎸He LOVES the movie cars. Like he adores that movie. Will watch it religiously. Watched it so much Wallace has BANNED it from the apartment unless Scott has had a particularly bad day

🎸Ramona co-caregivers with Wallace! Wallace is his main cg with Ramona taking care of him when he’s at hers

🎸Scott doesn’t necessarily bite but he’ll put your hand in his mouth and just sort of…hold it there

🎸He won’t suck on your fingers or anything it’s just in his mouth

🎸Wallace calls him ‘little dude’ and ‘little man’ a lot while ruffling his hair. Scott pretends he hates it but secretly he loves it

🎸He called Wallace ‘Wally’ and Ramona ‘Mama’ when small

🎸GRABBY HANDS!!!

Thats I can think of rn, Ty for requesting!! <33

[kuroko-no-cuties]

How Kuroko and Akashi would react to their girlfriend calling them a short king 👑

AKASHI…

Would completely freeze at his desk. He’d slowly turn his thankfully monochromatic maroon gaze towards you before uttering a slightly amused/offended…

“Pardon me?”

You struggle to hold in a snicker as you reiterate your previous sentence. “I said, ‘Don’t overwork yourself My Short King. You should take a break.’”

His eyebrow twitches and you’re not entirely sure what that means. Even though Bokushi isn’t in command any longer, normal Akashi can still be rather unpredictable when he wants to be. That’s why you’re pretty dumbfounded once your normally composed and calm Akashi let’s out a loud “PFFT!” and presses a fist to his mouth to fight the growing smile on his lips.

“You’re rather remarkable darling…I’m…not quite sure how to respond to that…” to which you bat your eyelashes and reply, “We’ll how about by taking a break an spending some time with your darling?”

He snickers once more (wow twice in one setting, what a giggly boy he is today) and stands up from his desk to take you by the hand.

“So be it then.”

Now, Akashi Seijuro is…Akashi Seijuro. He’s not gonna let some little crack his girlfriend made about his height get to him. He will, however, make a conscious decision to straighten his back and hold his head high around you, just to make it clear who is actually the short one in this relationship.

KUROKO…

Would look at you confused but immediately see that you’re trying to tease him and just pretend he didn’t hear you.

You poke his cheek and snicker, “Oi, I know you heard me Tetsu.”~

“…”

“Come on, My Short King, answer the question. Where do you wanna go to ea-“

“Would you mind not calling me that. Please.”

He replies in his usual soft tone as he keeps his gaze focused on the novel in his hands. You bite you lip as you attempt (and fail) at holding in a snort. You can’t really tell if he’s just refusing to play along with your little game or if he’s genuinely upset that you made a crack about his height. You mull over whether you want to take it easy in him or not. You decide to end the short jokes, but concluded that one last little teasing nudge wouldn’t hurt. You throw your arms around him and kiss his temple. “Aww sorry Tetsu-kun. I didn’t mean to make my little blueberry angy~” you coo in a baby voice while nuzzling his cheek.

Kuroko bristled from underneath your arms. If there was one thing that ruffled his feathers, it was being treated like a child. He experienced more than a fair share of embarrassment at getting demeaning head pats from Murasakibara that one time at the street game. And let’s not even talk about how “Dad” picked him up like a toddler in front of his whole team. So yeah…jokes about his stature aren’t exactly his favorite things. He knows you’re just messing with him and trying to have some fun so he decided not to take it too seriously- however that doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you off the hook Scott free.

He closes his book and slowly stands from his desk and you mistakenly take it as a sign to continue on to the topic of food.

“Ah great! So where do you wanna go? I was think about this cute new cafe that ju- kya!”

And just like that the phantom sixth man has you pinned against the wall. His hands in either side of your head. He leans in, slowly to emphasize the height advantage he actually has on you, while biting back a smile at the flustered look on your face.

“Sorry, but who exactly is the short one in this relationship?” He whispers, his baby blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Uhh…I…”

You’re at a lost for words. Did your invisible simple vanilla, blue boy Tetsu seriously just kabedon you? And size you up? Who is this kid?

After seeing you’re dumbfounded expression, Kuroko takes it that you’ve learned your lesson. He lets out a soft snort as he gently reaches for your hand and pulls you along out the door.

“Sorry, I decided to get you back but maybe I went a little too far. Anyway, let’s go to that cute cafe you mentioned, Shorty.”

….no seriously….who IS this kid?!

[scribbling-dragon]

a gift, from me to you

summary:

“Pray tell, then, what is it you want me to do?” “I want you to make this.” The Sheriff taps on the design detailing the measurements and everything else he wants. “Please,” he adds, seemingly remembering his manners. “Mm.” Scott pretends to consider it. “I’ll see what I can do for you, lover boy.” [Or: Jimmy gets a hat for Tango]

(ao3 link)

(5,157 words)

Jimmy pauses, frowning as the sound of shouting outside only continues to increase in volume. He had hoped that ignoring it for this long would be enough for the simmering flame of a fight to die down. That fight has apparently sparked into a blaze, as a fourth voice joins the fray.

He casts a mournful glance over towards Tango, hoping that his partner and newly promoted second-Sheriff might take initiative and attempt to solve the problem.

“I'm not their beloved Sheriff,” Tango says, not even looking up – he’s not even doing work! He’s tinkering with some little…metal thing, poking and prodding at it.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” Tango glances up at him for a moment, eyes alight with amusement as he takes in Jimmy’s appearance. He looks back down a second later, pulling a copper-redstone wire between his claws, before poking around in the metal thing’s insides.

…Maybe it’s better for his safety to go and defuse the argument. Outside. Away from the potentially explosive trinket that Tango has brought to their office this time.

He sighs and stands up, feeling far more tired than he reasonably should be – the sun is only beginning to descend from its zenith and the cooler air should make him feel more energetic.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he fumbles around, reaching for his hat where he’d tossed it off earlier. Only to frown as his hand comes up empty, landing on cool wood instead. He turns his head, already frowning as he tries to figure out which corner of his desk he tossed his hat onto this time.

It’s not there.

He stands there for longer than he’d like to admit to, simply staring at his empty desk – okay, maybe not empty with all the clutter littering his desk. But he can find everything! It’s an organised chaos, and sure, things go missing temporarily but he always manages to find it in the end.

The shouting outside reaches a new peak, and there’s the sound of something heavy being overturned.

“Tango, have you seen my hat?” his voice comes out a little bit panicked, mostly because there seems to be actual destruction going on outside, but also partially because his hat has gone missing. What is a Sheriff without their hat? Not a Sheriff at all, that’s what!

“Mm.” Tango still sounds amused, which isn’t unusual but is maybe a little inappropriate right now. Another thing crashes and he winces. “Why don't you tell me?” Tango’s voice is pleased, something that makes Jimmy’s sixth sense (specifically related to Tango and him doing something that he shouldn’t be) light up, prickling along the back of his neck.

He turns back to face Tango. Tango, who is still tinkering away with his little trinket, poking around in its insides. Tango, who is currently wearing his hat.

“Ah,” he frowns. His hat is a little too big for Tango’s head, and he’s got it tipped too far forward so the brim is drooping over most of his face. “Can I have it?”

Tango tilts his head back, far enough that he looks like he’s going to tip out of his chair. The sounds of destruction outside have died down for now, at least. He’s still anxious to get out there and resolve whatever petty conflict escalated this far.

“Please,” he adds, noticing Tango’s raised eyebrow.

“Of course, dearest.” Tango says, but he doesn’t offer the hat out for him. Nor does he take it off. “Can’t have the darling Sheriff spotted without his hat, hm?”

Tango’s eyes shine teasingly, and Jimmy understands just what Tango is angling for as he steps forward and that pleased grin curls up even further. He sighs, shaking his head in fond amusement as the sounds of argument die down into a more civil discussion. He still needs to figure out what they’ve managed to damage, unfortunately, even if they seem to have resolved the argument by themselves.

“Thank you,” he plucks the hat from Tango’s head, completely missing when tango snakes his arms out, wrapping around his waist and pulling him forward. That, coupled with Tango’s tail wrapping tightly around his legs means he almost falls directly onto his partner.

“They’ve resolved it themselves,” Tango tells him, even as Jimmy rights the hat on his head. Where it belongs. He continues to hold onto him, thumbs resting just above his hip bones, trinket seemingly forgotten about, discarded on Tango’s desk. “There’s no point in running out there and demanding answers, hm?”

“I need to find out what they were tossing about. And why.”

He doesn’t even bother to try and free himself from Tango’s grip. The man is like an overly clingy octopus on some days, reluctant to release Jimmy and let him go about his day without a shadow following his every footstep. He had thought today was one of the days where Tango seemed to forget anyone else existed other than him, but he seemed to just be biding his time until Jimmy got close enough to be captured.

He sighs, though he cannot deny it’s overwhelmingly fond. If any of their friends were here right now, Jimmy is certain they’d be gagging and turning away, as though they were doing something far worse than hugging.

“C’mon, I’ll be back in a second.”

Tango pauses for a moment, then hums once and releases him.

“There, see? Look, I’ll even give this to you to look after until I'm back.”

Before he can think any further on it, before he can think enough to decide it’s actually a bad idea, he takes his hat off again and plonks it onto Tango’s head. He then turns and escapes the office as fast as he can, ignoring Tango’s confused little sound and resisting the urge to look back and see what expression he’s pulling.

He then gives in and sneaks a glance.

Okay, maybe giving the hat back was more for his own benefit than Tango’s. Sue him! He didn’t realise that Tango actually suited a hat, alright?! How could he, when the only time Tango has worn a hat before was in the dark, and Jimmy was far too preoccupied with getting said hat back from his partner’s sticky fingers.

His eyes linger a little longer than appropriate on Tango before he forcefully turns himself around and marches into the street to sort out whatever stupid, petty argument someone’s had today. One that warranted shoving someone’s cart hard enough to topple the whole thing over.

His heart isn’t really in reprimanding them, even if they look like a pair of guilty children than have been found painting the walls. Instead, he’s far more focused on the beginnings of an idea that are coming together in his mind.

===

Scott appreciates the quiet nights. The ones that have plenty of patrons, but none of his more rowdy ones. The ones that like to cause trouble, the ones that come here looking for trouble. Most of them have been identified and given to the staff so they know to be wary when those customers come knocking.

He could just outright ban him – the Sheriff has pleaded with him several times to just ban them rather than forcing him to ride all the way from the mesa because they’ve decided to start a fight and Scott cannot be bothered to sort it himself. But a paying customer is a paying customer, and most of them have the good decency to go outside before they start fighting, greatly reducing his expenses for replacing broken glasses.

Perhaps it was his own fault for even daring to utter ‘quiet’ in the privacy of his own mind. Maybe there’s some god out there that read his thoughts and decided to shove this particular problem in his direction, for him to deal with, just for the gall to enjoy a nice, slow evening.

His first warning of the incoming visitor is when someone hurries into the tavern on near-silent feet, but every single one of his shadier patrons perks up at her entrance.

Scott watches her too, well-aware that there is often some kind of lookout watching for any kind of law enforcement when some kind of deal is going on. He grits his teeth. Which means that someone is doing deals in his tavern without his permission.

He sets the clean glass down on the counter and raises a singular eyebrow at the group highest on his suspect list.

He’s had issues with them in previous months, where they didn’t want to pay the pocket change they owed him because he let them make dealings inside his tavern. He charges a fair price for the business he allows behind closed doors, for someone to even attempt to scam him? They're lucky he didn’t do something worse than what he did.

He jerks his head towards the door, keeping his eye very firmly fixed on the leader of that group. The entire table vanishes, scrambling out the door.

A few other patrons leave as the news about the Sheriff’s impending arrival reaches more and more ears.

He watches them go, more than a little bitter that the Sheriff is chasing his business away. Whatever he wants, it better be good.

He raises an eyebrow when the Sheriff finally enters, clutching something close to his chest as he makes an immediate beeline for him. Several pairs of eyes follow him across the tavern, people beginning to relax once they realise that the Sheriff is here for Scott rather than any of his patrons.

“Good evening, Sheriff.”

“Scott,” the Sheriff greets, not even having the manners to return his cordial greeting. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Oh?” He blinks as the Sheriff slams whatever he was clutching down onto the bar countertop, spreading the paper out so Scott can see the scribbles on the surface. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in leatherworking.” Slightly ironic, seeing as the Sheriff has a tiny relation to the same animals this leather is taken from. Not that it seems to bother him, what with the leather hat and leather jacket.

“I'm not.”

“Pray tell, then, what is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to make this.” The Sheriff taps on the design detailing the measurements and everything else he wants. “Please,” he adds, seemingly remembering his manners.

“Mm.” Scott pretends to consider it. “I’ll see what I can do for you, lover boy.”

“I- what did you call me?”

“You heard me,” Scott grins. “Of course, I'm assuming you're going to pay me for this, yes? My skills with…this are much sought after. I wouldn’t want it to come to light that the darling Sheriff was…extorting his friends, hm?”

“Of course I’ll pay you. Name your price.”

“He really does have you wrapped around his finger. You, my dear Sheriff, are an absolute sucker.”

The Sheriff ignores him. A valiant effort. “When will it be ready for me to pick up?”

“Give me a week.” He holds his hand out, “Half of the payment now, and half then. Have we got a deal?” He wiggles his fingers teasingly, waiting for the Sheriff to take his hand and seal the deal. He gets a sour look instead. Ah, too smart for those tricks, it seems. He lowers his hand again, only mildly disappointed.

“How much do I owe you?”

===

“You're acting weird.”

“What?” Jimmy says, in a weird, not at all normal voice. “No I'm not!”

Tango stops and stares at him. He hopes his face correctly conveys enough of the what the hell and you're joking, right? sentiment he was going for. Jimmy winces and looks guilty, so he’ll call that a mission success.

“Did you break something?” he asks. Maybe Jimmy went poking around in his workshop again and found something – it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s accidentally broken one of Tango’s projects, and it probably won’t be the last time.

He can’t find it in himself to care when Jimmy does break some of his inventions, either, as he can just piece them back together. What’s the point in making something that he wouldn’t be able to fix if it broke? Plus, most of them are hastily cobbled together from scraps when the inspiration struck him, and then promptly abandoned.

“Ah, no I didn’t break anything.” Jimmy shakes his head hard enough that Tango momentarily worries that it’s going to unscrew itself and fly away. It doesn��t, thankfully. “I just…have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

He loves surprises. Especially ones that he gets to find out immediately – the suspense kills him every single time, meaning if he has to wait for longer than a few hours, maybe a day at most, to find out what it is, he might just combust. Sometimes literally.

“Yes,” Jimmy laughs, his eyes squinting shut. Tango grins up at him, not caring that Jimmy’s giggling at his enthusiasm, because the laugh isn’t mean, just excited and endeared. “It’s at home.”

“And what is it that you’ve gotten me?”

“You have to wait,” Jimmy pushes at his shoulder. “That’s the point of a surprise.”

“But you could just tell me now, couldn’t you?” Tango teases. “I'm about to find out in a second, what’s the point of waiting – I’ll have the same reaction all over again when you show it to me, I promise.”

“Just go look,” Jimmy says with a laugh, pushing him through their front door.

“Alright, alright…” he stops. And he stares. And stares…and stares a little more. “Huh.” Is what he manages to say when everything seems to have resettled in his mind, clicking mostly back into the right places.

“Do you not like it? It’s fine if you don't, I just thought that-”

“Shut up,” Tango tells him, and then decides that’s not enough and kisses him instead. “Thank you,” he says when he pulls back. He would normally linger in a moment like that for longer, but his hands are itching to pick the hat up and run his hands over the leather.

“I love it,” he tells Jimmy, when the hat is comfortably resting on his head. It has little leather dangling bits around the brim which sway back and forth when he moves. He wobbles his head, just to make them swish. “I love you.”

“Ah, Tango!” Jimmy covers his face with his hands. “Gods, warn a guy before you say something like that next time?”

“But you go so red every time I do! How can I resist!”

He wobbles his head again, just to watch the tassels swing. Damn. He can see why Jimmy likes his hat, this thing makes him feel important.

===

Time is the best solution for any malady, just…leave something alone for long enough and everything should sort itself out all nice.

So why is it that he still dreads the flight up to Stratos? It’s a short flight, one that barely takes a few seconds, one that starts in the village flourishing in the shadow of the citadel above, and ends with his hooves touching down on the grass outlining the main pathways of the island.

The gold of the citadel is blindingly bright this early in the morning, everything turning molten in the sunlight. The quartz reflects the light equally bright, and it forces him to squint his eyes against the light.

He’s going to blame his shoddy landing on his half-closed eyes, attempting to not blind himself this meeting. He stumbles, the tip of on hoof catching on the very edge of the island and sending him forward, grasping for his balance again. Tango catches his elbow and pulls him back upright, thankfully before he can make even more of a fool of himself and do something stupid like fall on his face, though it’s not done without a snicker.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tango looks away, tilting his new hat down over his face so Jimmy can’t see it as well. He can still see well enough to spot the barely repressed grin, even as the leather tassels drift about his face and cast an even deeper shadow. His ears flick a few times as the leather strips bump into them, brushing over the short fur, Tango obviously still unused to wearing the hat and all the accessories that come with it. “I'm not laughing. Promise.”

“I can see you grinning.”

Tango’s apology would have been far more convincing if he couldn’t see the way Tango’s ears continue to tremble, even after the leather strips stop irritating them, shaking with the repressed giggles that Tango is biting back.

“No, you can’t.” Tango turns his face even further away, warm hand slipping away from Jimmy’s elbow as he tugs his hat down, lower over his face. His tail continues to flick back and forth, betraying his continued amusement at Jimmy’s expense, flames sputtering in time with his silent laughs.

“It’s really not that funny,” he complains. And maybe he’s whining a little bit, but it makes Tango turn back to him, amused gleam continuing to shine in his eyes. “I don't make fun of you for hiding from the rain!”

“You don't, you don't,” Tango huffs out a laugh, then turns to properly face him once more. “C’mon, best we get this over with, yeah?”

Jimmy clicks his tongue at Tango’s blatant dislike for Joel. “We’re allies now,” he reminds. It’s a tentative alliance, for sure, but it’s an alliance nonetheless. He doesn’t have many of those, and having a god (no matter how egotistical that god is) on his side – their side – is comforting. Even if it means getting up at the worst possible times because the god seems to rise with the goddamn sun.

He pulls Tango back when he goes to walk away, ignoring the confused, inquisitive noise that Tango makes when he pulls him around to look at his face.

He stares at Tango for several long moments, hand resting on the juncture between Tango’s shoulder and neck. He brushes his hand up and adjusts Tango’s hat, so it’s not covering his face so much anymore.

He can’t help but linger for a moment, the back of his hand grazing against Tango’s cheek. “There,” he pats Tango’s cheek, “much better like that. Now,” he takes the lead, “remember to be polite.”

“Oh, you wanna talk?” Tango scoffs a laugh, turning to chase after him. Jimmy’s face still feels a little warm from staring longingly into Tango’s eyes for several long moments just seconds ago. And…maybe Tango’s a little right, yeah, maybe most of their trade agreements and whatnot are spent trying to figure out what petty jab to use next, and when to use it for maximum effect.

Tango’s told him several times that he should be the bigger person and not to return the jabs, that only encourages him! But Jimmy has also watched Tango, the biggest advocator for maintaining a professional persona while working and also the biggest hypocrite he knows, make several rude and aggressive gestures at Joel’s back the moment the god turns away.

…He’s beginning to see why most of the times he managed to arrest Tango was after he had been ganged up on by other bandits.

“And being allies,” he continues, ignoring Tango. “Means that we need to be courteous.”

“He’s not here yet,” Tango says. “And just you wait, you’ll be eating your words the moment ‘toy’ drops out of his mouth.”

Jimmy doesn’t have a responding argument for that. Mostly because Tango is right and also because they’ve just arrived at the arranged meeting spot. The arranged meeting spot where Joel is already present and ready, probably preparing to shame them for being late by three seconds, or something equally stupid.

And despite the stupidly early hour, Joel is lounging casually and drinking something from a crudely made mug. It’s a far cry from the things Joel makes for himself, let alone deems worthy enough to be used by his holier than thou hands.

The words trip out of his mouth before he can even process anything else about their surroundings: “Did you sit on that mug halfway through making it?” The mug really does look quite squashed, wonky, and with a far too large handle. The handle is larger than the rest of the mug. “Why’d you still stick it in the kiln looking like that?”

It’s meant as an insult. A small thing designed to irritate the god and make him eager to get them out of Stratos as soon as possible. A short meeting with the god is the most desirable kind.

What he didn’t account for, however, is the small child sat just beside Joel. Though, instead of sitting in a chair, he’s seated on the lush grass. Hermes pauses what he was doing – some kind of drawing in a little sketchbook, so similar to the one that Joel carries around with him – to look up.

“Does my mug…look like someone sat on it?”

Shit.

“Not at all.” Joel stares at him, but even the unrelenting gaze promising a slow and painful death doesn’t manage to pull Jimmy’s eyes away from the child’s face, and how Hermes looks as though he might burst into tears at any second.

Shit.

He’s floundering, lost amongst a sea of words and grasping for literally anything that might save him from his fast-approaching death. One that Joel is already constructing in his mind’s eye, raising the executioner’s axe in preparation for the first tears being shed.

“Oh no, no,” his saviour is not some half-baked excuse and apology rolled into one that he managed to come up with to smooth ruffled feathers and assure the child of his incredible pottery skills. Instead, his saviour comes in the form of his wonderful, fantastic and stunning partner stepping up – quite literally.

He crosses the grass in a few strides, shawl flapping around him and flames curling with anxiety. He crouches down beside Hermes, not quite touching the demigod child, but his hands remain hovering over the child’s arms.

“What the Sheriff meant to say,” Jimmy winces, “is that your mug is wonderfully unique! I’ve never before seen such use of angles and lines, and the colours too…”

Tango’s voice trails off, though his mouth continues moving, without words. It takes Jimmy a few moments to process that it is his hearing that has failed him, not that Tango’s silver tongue has given up and left him fumbling for more words to continue comforting the child in front of them.

All that filters through his head is muffled, as though he has dunked his head underwater as everyone else continues to talk around him.

He watches as Hermes brightens beneath Tango’s praise, his uncertain frown transforming into a beaming grin as he begins gesturing wildly, hands flying all over the place. His drawings are abandoned, seemingly forgotten, as he focuses instead on speaking with Tango.

And the latter nods along attentively. If Jimmy’s ears were working properly he’s certain he would hear the way Tango normally hums along when he’s listening to something – he can almost hear the sound, can feel the vibration of it within his own chest, familiar and comforting in its cadence – and he’d be able to hear Tango asking questions, keeping the child engaged and distracted from Jimmy’s earlier shoving-his-foot-in-his-mouth moment.

“Hm,” he tries not to startle at the sudden return of his hearing and the even more sudden appearance of Joel beside him. He didn’t even see the man stand up, let alone make his way over here – get it together Jimmy! Tango might look incredibly endearing and loveable right now, but if this was any other occasion such distraction could be fatal! …Oh, who was he kidding. If this was a lethal situation and Tango revealed that he was good with kids, Jimmy would be a dead man.

“I wouldn’t have thought Tango was so good with children.” Joel echoes his own thoughts exactly. “Did you know this?”

“…No?”

Joel side-eyes him. “You don't sound very certain of yourself.”

Well, not all of us are self-assured, egotistical maniacs.

“Well, I've never seen him interact with children before,” Jimmy says, incredibly diplomatic compared to his original thoughts. “And, apparently,” he gestures at the scene in front of them helplessly, unable to communicate further.

Tango’s gone from kneeling in front of Hermes to sitting beside him, watching as the child flips through his sketchbook and narrates every brushstroke to him.

“Hm.” Joel responds.

It’s an unusually concise response from the god, but he doesn’t have much to say either today, stunned to silence by Tango’s apparent ability to comfort and then entertain a child for longer than five minutes. He’d thought Tango’s skill with children extended to his abilities to deal with babies – non-existent.

“He’s good with kids,” Joel says. “I’ll give him that…say, how much d’you think he’d charge for a babysitting service?”

“You're not paying my partner to babysit your kid. He has more important things to be doing.”

“Haha, I'm sure he does.”

“Don't be disgusting, Hermes is right there.” Joel doesn’t flinch as Jimmy jabs him in the side, only giving him an unimpressed look that just says: you think that would hurt me, mere mortal? Or something equally pretentious.

“I was talking about the obvious signature of getting promoted,” Joel side-eyes him again- seriously, would it kill him to actually look at Jimmy properly for once! “What were you talking about?” He has a grin on his face that Jimmy knows means Joel knows exactly what it is that he was implying, and Joel knows that Jimmy knows this.

He, very maturely, does not rise to the bait.

“You mean the hat.”

“It’s an interesting little thing. You commission Scott to do it?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “How could you tell?”

“A guess.” Joel glances over at him from the corner of his eye. “Mostly because I know you're an absolute sucker for him and would settle for nothing but the best.”

“I am not a sucker for him-”

“Oh, look,” Joel interrupts him. “He’s letting Hermes try the hat on.”

What?

He looks over to the scene he’d momentarily dismissed in order to argue with Joel properly, pausing as he takes it in. He watches Tango laugh when the hat slips over Hermes’ face and makes it disappear completely.

His eyes go all squinty as he laughs, the creases around his eyes only increasing as Hermes lifts the hat to glare at him from beneath it, having to brush aside the leather tassels to actually see him.

It’s an unfairly attractive quality of Tango that Jimmy hadn’t even realised existed until a few minutes ago.

It distracts him throughout the rest of the meeting, especially when Tango chooses to remain sitting on the ground and entertain Hermes for the duration of his and Joel’s discussion over the gunpowder prices, during which Jimmy has to explain why his prices are higher than the unethical creeper farms found on the edges of the mesa – most of which he's working on wiping out.

A few have inevitably fallen through the cracks, but he makes Joel, unwillingly, hand over the details of their locations so he can go hunt them down when he has the chance.

It's a relief, really, to have someone that entertains Hermes throughout the meeting. Where he would normally be sat on Joel’s knee or tugging at his toga for some kind of attention, now he’s content and docile, happy to sketch Tango in that wobbly and rather ugly way that only a child can achieve.

Tango still coos over the drawings Hermes shows him, acting as though he’s been gifted the most precious treasure when Hermes offers out one of said drawings at the end of the meeting, half-hiding behind Joel’s leg as he does so.

It’s only then that Tango manages to reclaim his hat from the child, settling it comfortably back on his head.

“So,” Jimmy says as they touch down into the village below, slowly making their way back to the village stables to collect their horses. “Good with kids?”

“I'm really not,” Tango scoffs. “What, you think I’d tell him to just shove off? You almost made the kid cry, dearest.”

“I didn’t think you’d sit and let him draw you.”

“The kid’s a budding artist,” Tango shrugs. “Who knows, maybe one day he’ll be incredibly famous and this drawing will be worth thousands.” He waves the small piece of paper around. The sketch on it is only recognisable as Tango because of the cat-like ears and the flame-tipped tail. “See, he’s signed it and everything.”

“That is barely legible as his name.” Jimmy says, though he does so with a smile.

“Uh-huh, alright, you wanna talk about you and Joel then? I thought you hated the guy but I look up and you two are laughing together?”

“I don't hate him, I just have a healthy dislike for him,” Jimmy protests. “I wouldn’t ally myself with someone I actively hate! And anyway, I was laughing at him not with him.”

“Sure, sure,” Tango nods along, speaking in a way that means he’s not at all convinced. “Only, I could’ve sworn you two looked like you were friends?”

“We’re not friends!” Jimmy’s protest this time is much louder, gaining the disapproving looks of many nearby villagers. He clamps his mouth shut, ears going hot with embarrassment. “I still don't like him.”

“Okay, alright,” Tango laughs. At his expense! Laughs at his suffering! “Not friends, got it.”

He’s still smiling like he knows something Jimmy doesn’t, though.

Most unfortunate of all is the look Tango sends him a moment later, grin flashing amongst the dark shadow of his hat over his face, eyes glinting dangerously; teasingly.

===

“It’s so stupid,” he bemoans, possibly for the third time, maybe the fourth. He hasn’t really been paying attention to how many times he’s complained, but it’s a few. More than one, at least.

“Uh-huh,” Scott couldn’t sound less interested if he tried. As it is, the tavern is almost completely dark around the two of them – the only two people left inside the building. Correction: only awake and mostly sober people left inside the building. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“And it’s your fault,” he accuses, pointing a finger at Scott’s back. He’s cleaning his glasses – all the man does is clean the glasses behind the bar, it’s like he has nothing better to do!

“My fault?” Scott turns around, cloth and glass still held in his hands. “How is it my fault? I made it all to your specifications, Sheriff. If anything, it’s your fault that Red looks so good in that hat.”

“Noo,” he slowly sinks down to the counter, resting his forehead against the cool wood.

“Shut up.”