#acting like an insecure narcissistic baby man he's like

[stinkrascal]

When you say they bully vlad, is it bully affectionate or bully bad?

mostly bully affectionate but vlad takes literally everything personally because he is an insecure narcissistic baby man so when they mock him he's like "I've no idea why I bother with the likes of you people. You are all moronic, crass, and therefore beneath me." to which theyre all like "ok Vladdy Daddy <3 whatever makes you feel better!"

#jade answers #anonymous #straud asks #except for yakov he literally just calls vlad stupid on the regular #yakov taught vlad how to read and write in russian and english #so every time they meet yakov is like Let us touch up on your grammar skills my dear idiot boy! #marcellus and helena constantly mock vlad for being a sex pest. he says anything and they're like #Vladdy Daddy you would feel so much better if only you got pegged. Why don't you visit a brothel my boy? #they all call vlad 'boy; and vlad HATESSS it. he's always like 'I am NOT a boy. I'm a GROWN MAN!' #to which nadia will pinch his cheek and say 'Yes sweetheart and look at how grown you are! <3' #actually inessa just straight up insults him too because he has a terrible sense of fashion. but she does that to everyone so its ok #in my universe pretty much everyone mocks vlad bc he takes himself so seriously and hes incapable of having fun #even the vatores make fun of him except caleb doesnt mean to hes just very honest and whenever caleb sees vlad #acting like an insecure narcissistic baby man he's like #Vladislaus you are being unreasonable again. Perhaps if you had a hobby you wouldn't have such a terrible personality #lilith wants to murder vlad it isn't even bullying on her end they literally hate each other #lilith is also vlad in a different font. insecure narcissistic baby woman #the only person who takes vlad as seriously as he takes himself is breanna lol she thinks he's sooooo cool #but canonically every vampire ever thinks he's a wet blanket #all of this lore predates the straud legacy btw. this is all vlad/brie backstory reprisal lore #when vlad and breanna finally get together and start a family he's a lot less petty and vindictive. he calms down a lot

[pettycrimesgreeneyes]

I wish people didn’t blame Jessie wife, claiming her physical appearance is the reason she got cheated on. Stop victim blaming. We see guys like Jesse who cheat with more attractive women and then there are guys like Chris Brown and Arnold Schwarzenegger who cheated on their attractive partners with women who were 0.3/10 on the looks scale. All 3 these men have something in common they’re narcissists who need constant reassurance. They crave more girls to reassure them of their pride. To validate their manliness. Which is ironic since the act of cheating on a woman reveals cowardly and weak qualities. Idc what anybody says when men cheat it’s never solely about s3x but s3x is 100% always involved at the same time. It’s not cause his wife didn’t pay attention to him or fulfill his emotional needs. Jesse ex supported him financially then gave up her career for him and same goes for Kevin Harts first baby mama. Everyone blamed Kevin hart 1st baby mama for not being attractive/unfamous then he got a fine looking baby mama the second time around and cheated on her too! A true man, doesn’t pursue vanity once he has found the one he loves. I remember watching this video on tik tok from a female escort who looked Angelina Jolie and she said it’s myth that all men cheat or desire to …it’s only the insecure narcissists who regardless of the attention they receive it’s never enough.

[sunshineistyping]

What about the other Glam Rocks and sundrop and moondrop reacting to old SH scars?

A lot of you guys were asking for this so I chose this request to write it under!

Past SH Headcannons

Characters: G. Freddy, Roxanne, Sun, Moon

Warnings: Mentions of Self Harm, Self Harm Scars

———————————————————————

GLAMROCK FREDDY

He just cries and holds you, he is so soft dude he just- like- he wants to love you

He quite literally holds you like a baby he does not care about how you react. He wants to love on you until you pass out

Which isn’t hard actually, Freddy is surprisingly comforting despite him being made of metal

He’ll help you get comfortable showing your arms and such again by being your number one hype man

“You look absolutely stunning Darling, I love it.”

“You should wear things like this more, it’s made for you.”

“That color suits you very well, I think you should wear it more.”

He is the kind of guy who amps up the love and affection to one thousand just to make you feel happy. He loves seeing you confident in your body and who you are

If you’re uncomfortable showing your scars he’ll never ever force you! He’ll compliment you all the same

You could be wearing a trash bag and he’d still find a way to compliment you

Because it’s you

To him you always look good regardless of what you’re wearing or what marks you have

You’ve grown into such a beautiful person and he has no choice but to compliment your growth

Is the first to throw verbal hands with someone who insults your scars. I shit you not his composure breaks!

His eyes glare down, he straightens himself to full height, gently puts a hand on said persons shoulder and tilts his head

“Would you like to repeat that for me?”

If they do he doesn’t even say anything, he picks them up by the arm and THROWS them outside. Doesn’t care if they get injured. That’s on them for saying such things in a child friendly establishment

More like that’s on them for saying something rude to you but for legal reasons it’s the other one

He bans them from the building and if they try to get back in he’s authorized to use force

Need I say more?

———————————————————————

ROXANNE

I can’t begin to describe the way she gently pulls you into her chest and just holds you there. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just holds you

She can understand the feelings you had, she’s been there

A lot of people think she’s a narcissist but the thing is, she’s really not. She’s insecure and afraid of letting others see her crack under pressure. She had to be her own support system before you came along

And then you loved her in a way she’s never felt, so now it’s her turn to love you

“You know you’re brave right? Look at you. You’re doing so good, I bet younger you would be so proud to see how far you’ve come.”

She lets you cry against her, let’s you mess up her hair when you run your hands through it. She’ll let you touch her hair as much as you want now

It could be a way to help you calm down and she’d really prefer for you to choose her hair over harming yourself

She even lets you braid it or touch her tail, Roxy is a massive softie who isn’t too much into PDA but gets very touchy when someone mentions your scars in a rude way

She has and will destroy anyone who even LOOKS at you wrong

“You got something to say? No? Then why are you looking at them like that? Exactly, you do have something to say. So we’re either gonna talk on the track or with fists. Got it?”

Will publicly embarrass the person and force them to apologize. Has made someone so scared that they paid you cash to forget what happened

Supports you through thick and thin without fail

Because she loves you, and she really doesn’t use that word lightly

———————————————————————

SUN

He acts off once you explain what your scars are from. He’s seen kids who had them and he knew what it meant he just didn’t expect to see them on you

After a few minutes of looking at them he’ll switch into a more quiet but still upbeat personality

He’ll cuddle you and draw little glitter glue doodles on your scars

Has and will make little designs that highlight your scars

He doesn’t want you to be ashamed of them, in fact he likes them

It shows him that you’re not the same person you were and he gets to meet a much healthier and happier you

“You don’t have to be nervous! There’s nothing to fear! You look really good!”

Makes you feel cute in any outfit you put on

If anyone talks bad about your scars when they’re a child he’ll reprimand them and explain why they shouldn’t do that

If they’re an adult he takes the metaphorical gloves off and makes them feel like absolute garbage without even truly insulting them

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t bother my coworker while on the job. They have much more important duties to attend too. If you’d like, I can handle any and all complaints you have. Please be aware that while my coworker is not authorized to use force to escort you out. I am. So choose your next words carefully as this is a child friendly establishment.”

Proceeds to then switch right back into a much happier tone.

“So what was it that you wanted to say?”

He can be awfully cruel when he needs to be, and he will as long as you feel safe

———————————————————————

MOON

He’s probably the best person to tell these things too, why? Well he doesn’t care about them and doesn’t make it a big deal

You’re not sure why but he always knows what to say and do to cheer you up or make you feel special

“You don’t have to suffer alone. You don’t have to be awful to yourself, because look at how much you’ve changed? It’s okay to forgive yourself. After all, the only person who has yet to forgive you is yourself. Be kind to the person you are now, you were still growing up back then.”

Will let you nap with him, or have long talks before you sleep

If you ask him to just talk to you about things he’s the sweetest thing in the world and will talk about all the things he enjoys about you

Is willing to listen to whatever you have to say about the scars, and if you don’t have anything to say he doesn’t mind

The best listener in the lineup, he prefers to hear you rant and let go of all that pain rather then speak

If he hears ANYTHING about someone insulting you he’s the first to ask if you want them to ‘disappear’

He has his ways of making it happen regardless if Sun is in control or not

He’s protective and extremely sweet, honestly I’m shocked he hasn’t just told you how much he loves you yet

———————————————————————

#fnaf x reader #security breach x reader #female reader #female reader insert #male reader insert #male reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #sunnydrop x reader #fnaf headcanons #roxy x reader #roxanne wolf x reader #glamrock freddy x reader

[lilthickbiscut]

Hey guys I'm back with some flaming angsty garbage since I'm going through a terrible break up, I figured I'd list the possible toxic traits of one peice dudes and what not. Request it, if you want more (who asks for their heart to be broken?!!?) I'm not entirely sure if I should do asks. If anybody wants that the box will be open lol (it's not like I will have much to do now.)

Charlotte Katakuri

♡Mother figure issues.

♡Emotionally unavailable.

♡Often only taking care of you, not because he wants to but because he feels it is his job.

♡Will probably only interact with you if forced to or expected to.

♡Because he is not confident in himself will often belittle you if you are free spirited and acts out of "script" with what he thinks you should act like. And I'm not just saying in front of the family

♡Will "pick at" your insecurities because he cant accept his own.

♡Is a *dismissive avoidance* (do research sweeties)

Zoro.

♡NEVER CARES ABOUT WASHING HIS C**K BEFORE YOU SUVK IT!

♡Like I said in the first bullet this man only baths once a week... STANK! (That's cannon btw)

♡I could see him putting ALOT more effort into his goals more then he would in his relationship.(I feel like he would low-key forget he was with somebody)

♡An alcoholic. (In my experience in that situation, it's not fun.)

Eustass Kid

♡EMOTIONALLY ABUSIVE!

♡Unintentional manipulation

♡Insecure in himself, would hurt your feeling and self confidence because of this.

♡(I'm just bitter right now.) I think he would be a secret softie, but never show that to others and would think its weak and constantly struggle with trying to give you the love and affection you deserve and what he feel's society expects of him.

Donquixote Doflamingo

♡Are you f◇cking dumb? (At this point you're asking to be treated like glittered up garbage.)

♡Do I honestly need to explain the incredibly Psychotic narcissistic tendencies?

♡Baby, he murders people purely because it's fun.

♡ Patricide. (He make the gun go boom! On papa and brother.

♡GO TO THERAPY. (He made me thirsty once too...)

#eustass kid headcanons #roronoa zoro #charlotte katakuri x reader #eustass kid x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #doflamingo thirst therapy group #donquixote doflamingo x reader

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

[mha-adore]

General HCs: Students

Excluding Dekusquad and Bakusquad I have everyone else here, I hope you like it ☺

Tokoyami (+Dark Shadow)

* He's really trying to be a harbinger of truth and exposer of deciet. He's a dork. He's just trying to impress you.

* He's so stupidly into music and has like seven playlists he's made for you. Please listen to them he worked hard. He's really shy about his music tastes.

* Dark Shadow teases him relentlessly. You're walking near him? Tokoyami mysteriously trips into your open arms. You need help reaching something on a high shelf? Shadow birb got you covered. His only goal is to make you notice how flustered he is with you.

* He's insecure about being part avian. Most people aren't really attracted to birds, right? Honestly he could look like anything, it doesn't matter. He's a little angsty but kind hearted and pays close attention to you.

Jiro

* She's written like fifteen songs for you and you've heard none of them. They're top secret hidden in her locked diary. If you ask her very nicely and promise not to judge she'll play some for you.

* Expect a lot of punk and metal gifts from her. Her entire existence is punk and metal please lift her up. She is so shy about it.

* Totally the flustered gf. Borrows your clothes without asking and denies it only to approach you in front of everyone else and be like "oh hey here's your shirt back btw" and leave like it was nothing but she is screaming inside.

* Honestly just share a closet with her you two would trade clothes so often you'd need to stitch your names into the tags to keep track. Share the same perfume/cologne too while you're at it. Did you use the same fragrance or did you snuggle together for an hour? No one else knows.

Momo

* She knows other people are after her either for her physique, her family wealth or both and as such, is distrustful at first. She doesn't want to fall for someone only to learn they're using her. Give her space to get comfortable with who you are.

* That said when she knows it's genuine feelings she spoils you rotten. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, a custom hero costume etc. Her wallet is yours for the taking. Please don't fuck her over.

* Because her family is well known both as elites and heroes she has a reputation to keep up. She insists that you go with her dressed well and looking great so she can show you off with style.

* She is actually very soft hearted and needs some soft love sometimes. Just sit with her under a blanket she made and watch a romcom. Don't judge her for binge eating, she needs to eat well to support her quirk. If anyone makes fun of her kick their ass into the stratosphere.

Aoyama

* He simply will not stop sparkling and neither shall you. He shares his skin care, hair care and multi vitamins with you. You're both glowing, literally.

* He can be spontaneous and over the top in everything he does. He likes to show off and catch stares. He wants to catch your stare. If you gaze longingly at him he'll act suave while squealing with glee inside.

* He spends his money frivolously. He buys expensive care products, jewelry, clothes, stuffed animals...Did I mention it's all for you? He's penniless for you and doesn't mind that at all.

* He craves your attention so much. Spend some time alone with him and just look at him. In public keep your eyes locked on him. His ego will go through the roof, in the best way.

Monoma

* He is so fucking full of himself. Until you're around. He's usually narcissistic and up his own ass but when you walk by he's suddenly humble, kind and friendly. It's just him wanting you to see his good side.

* Sweet hearted asshole wants to feel loved. Just be kind to him. Help him with his homework. Spend free time with him. Help him show up 1-A. He'll love it.

* Totally uses you as a reason 1-B is better than 1-A. "Sure you guys fought villains and all but you don't have anyone even vaguely as attractive as my beloved!" Just let him have his fun in the sun.

* His hero costume is over the top for a reason. He wants to be the prince to sweep you off your feet, kiss you and ride off on a horse. He has the attire covered. Next, your love.

Hitoshi

* Above anything please just be accepting of his quirk. Don't ask him to use it for anything unnecessary or say anything bad about it. He's been ridiculed his entire life for his "villainous quirk", please be kind.

* Nap with him dammit. He's sleeping deprived because he pours all day and night into becoming good enough for 1-A. He wants to be a real hero and he values that over sleep. Cuddle with him at night and he'll sleep like a happy rock.

* You must love cats, end of discussion. His backpack is cat shaped, his phone case is a cat, his spirit animal is a cat, he may as well be a cat. He'd be over the moon if you compares him to a Maine Coon.

* When he does get into 1-A please be happy for him. He worked so hard for it, show your support. Even if you're in different classes you can see each other during lunchbreaks and after school.

Mirio

* He is sunshine. He is warmth. He adopts introverts. It's our man. His hugs are like butterfly kisses if they could crush you.

* He's the type to be really into you and still treat you like a friend. He can't get with someone unless he knows them very well beforehand.

* Though he's friendly and out reaching to others he's still a private person who shares little about his personal life. He needs to learn about you first. Being open yourself will encourage him to start chatting about himself.

* He loves romantic songs. He isn't one for Spotify, playlists or the such but if he hears a song that makes him think of you he's texting you the link immediately. He gets so caught up texting you that he stops listening to others and is in his own little world.

Tamaki

* He is just....So shy. So baby. He really wants to be a strong hero and save the people he loves but he is so shy. Don't pressure him into anything, he just needs someone who will let him be himself.

* That said, he has no experience in love. He's had crushes over the years but nothing meaningful enough to mention. Until you came along and took his heart for a stroll. Now you're all he thinks about. Is your hand warm? Do you like to kiss cheeks? What's your favorite flavor Pop Tart?

* When he manages to confess to you (not if, when) it'll be something cheesy but sweet. Like on Valentine's Day he'll leave a heartfelt card on your desk with his signature and a flower. He's a simple man.

* His feelings are so sensitive please never yell at him, not even out of excitement. He's scared of upsetting the people he cares about and wouldn't dream of upsetting you, his little mochi ice cream. Yes all his pet names for you are based on food.

Nejire

* She's the personification of a flower crown. With thorns. Very soft, sweet and pleasing to the eyes but very capable of defending herself. She is not a sex object and beats the ass of anyone who says so about herself or you.

* I personally headcanon her as asexual but that's my idea on it. You can see it however you like. Either way she's very romantic and loves cute gestures like 3 foot tall teddy bears and hand sewn clothes.

* Imagine this: at the beauty pageant, she wears a dress you sewed for her yourself and, alongside her natural beauty and talent, wins the pageant. She would have just been proud to show everyone your skills but she won wearing that dress, you can bet she's telling everyone you made it.

* She treats Eri like a daughter and hopes you'll do the same with her. Call it a little childish but she loves the idea of playing house with you. Married in a little happy home caring for Eri together.

I think that's everyone I need to add for now. If you want to see someone else in this let me know! My next two posts will be this same format for pros and villains. If you have any headcanons to share or a request my inbox is open

#mha x reader #tokoyami #tokoyami x reader #jiro kyoka #jiro x reader #momo yaoyorozu #momo x reader #aoyama yūga #aoyama x reader #monoma neito #monoma x reader #mirio togata #mirio x reader #tamaki amakiji #tamaki x reader #nejire hado #nejire x reader

[gatorprompts]

✧ — ⋆   𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .

from  taylor  swift’s  album .   part  one . 

... READY  FOR  IT ? 

“ knew  he  was  a  killer  first  time  that  i  saw  him . ” “ wonder  how  many  girls  he  had  loved  and  left  haunted . ” “ he  don’t  try  at  all  though . ” “ younger  than  my  exes ,  but  he  act  like  such  a  man . ” “ i  see  nothing  better ,  i  keep  him  forever . ” “ i  see  how  this  is  gonna  go . ” “ touch  me  and  you’ll  never  be  alone . ” “ no  one  has  to  know . ”  “ in  the  middle  of  the  night ,   in  my  dreams .   you  should  see  the  things  we  do ,   baby . ” “ i  know  i’m  gonna  be  with  you . ” “ are  you  ready  for  it ? ” “ i  was  a  robber  first  time  he  saw  me . ” “ stealing  hearts  and  running  off  and  never  saying  sorry . ” “ if  i’m  a  thief ,  he  can  join  the  heist . ” “ every  lover  known  in  comparison  is  a  failure . ” “ i’m  so  very  tame now . ” “ baby ,  let  the  games  begin . ”

END  GAME .

“ i  wanna  be  your  endgame . ” “ ooh  you  and  me ,  we  got  big  reputations . ” “ i  got  some   big  enemies . ” “ you  like  the  bad  ones  too . ” “ we  do  the  most . ” “ i  got  a  reputation  girl ,   that  don’t  precede  me . ” “ i’m  one  call  away ,  whenever  you  need  me . ” “ i  got  a  bad  boy  persona  that’s  what  they  like . ” “ you  love  it . ” “ i  love  it  too  ‘cause  you  my  type . ” “  you  hold  me  down  and  i  protect  you  with  me  life . ” “ i  don’t  wanna  be  just  another  ex  love . ” “ i  don’t  wanna  miss  you  like  all  the   other  girls  do . ”  “ i  don’t  wanna  hurt  you . ” “ i  just  wanna   be  drinkin’  on  a  beach  with  you  all  over  me . ” “ i  know  what  they  all  say . ” “ i  got  issues  and  chips  on  both  of  my  shoulders . ” “ in  rumours  i’m  knee  deep . ” “ the  truth  is  it’s  easier  to  ignore  it ,   believe  me . ” “  for  all  your  beautiful  traits  and  the  way  you  do  it   with  ease . ” “ for  all  my  flaws ,  paranoia  and  insecurities . ” “ i’ve  made  some  mistakes  and  made  some  choices ,   that’s  hard  to  deny . ” “ i  swear  i  don’t  love  the  drama ,  it  loves  me . ” “ i  can’t  let  you  go ,   your  hand  print’s  on  my  soul . ” “ you’ve  been  calling  the  bluff  on  all  my  usual  tricks . ” “ so  here’s  the  truth  from  my  red  lips . ”

I  DID  SOMETHING  BAD .

“ i  never  trust  a  narcissist ,  but  they  love  me . ” “ i   play  ‘em  like  a  violin . ” “ i  make  it  look  oh  so  easy . ” “ ‘cause  for  every  lie  i  tell  them ,   they  tell  me   three . ” “ this  is  how  the  world  works . ” “ now  all  he  thinks  about  is  me . ” “ i  can  feel  the  flames  on  my  skin . ” “ if  a  man  talks  shit ,   then  i  owe  him  nothing . ” “ don’t  regret  it  one  bit ,  ‘cause  he  had  it  coming . ” “ they  said  i  did  something  bad ,  then  why’s  it  feel  so  good ? ” “ most  fun  i  ever  had . ” “ i’d  do it  over  and  over  again  if  i  could . ” “ it  just  felt  so  good . ” “ i  let  them  think  they  saved  me . ” “ they  never  see it  comin’ . ” “ you  gotta  leave  before  you  get  left . ” “ don’t  throw  away  a  good  thing . ” “ they’re  burning  all  the  witches ,   even  if  you  aren’t  one . ” “ they’ve  got  their  pitchforks  and  proof ,   their  receipts  and  reasons . ” “ so  light  me  up. ” 

#taylor swift rp meme #rp meme #rp sentence starters #reputation rp meme

[boneshine]

Jack Stauber’s “Opal” Theory

Last night, I stumbled across Adult Swim premiering Jack Stauber’s “Opal” and got to enjoy it in its entirety. I’m a huge fan of his work, and seeing his latest and biggest animation to date was quite the treat in this season of tricks!

I really enjoyed the lore and thought I would (try to) explain my personal theories regarding the story.

If you haven’t watched “Opal”, I highly suggest you do so. It’s available for free on Adult Swim’s Youtube channel. Go ahead. It’s quite the ride.

SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

The first time you watch “Opal” and the second time you watch it, the story completely changes. The atmosphere changes. The characters change.

What you thought was a surreal tale about a young girl exploring a forbidden house and being consequently terrified by the residents inside transforms into a story where a young girl suffers in a neglectful and abusive household and tries to escape into her fantasies to cope.

You’re led to believe in the beginning that the girl’s name is Opal and that the residents mistake her for someone named “Claire”.

At the end of the story, you realize that “Opal” is actually Claire.

“Opal” is Claire’s fantasy. She pretends to be this happy and bright girl on a billboard in the distance (Opal’s Burgers), surrounded by a family who love and “see” her.

The story begins with “Opal” sitting in her kitchen with a burger while her “family” (the family depicted on the billboard) sings to her.

We see you, Opal

Your troubles are miles away

We see you, Opal

And in our eyes you’ll stay

These lyrics are important because no one in Claire’s house sees her.

From the dialogue/lyrics, each character that Claire interacts with in the house showcases how they never truly see her.

The grandfather watching television is blind. (“And the girls are singin’. They dance too, I assume.”)

The father spends all of his time in the Reflection Chamber staring at himself. (“Why do people look at me like the way you probably are right now?”)

The mother is always intoxicated and lying in bed and sees through a drunken haze. (“Who’s that?”)

None of these characters actually see Claire, which is why she delves into a fantasy persona where she’s given positive attention and love and affection.

The fantasy portion in the beginning, I believe, shows that Claire spends most of her time at or on the billboard until she has to go back to the house to sleep.

In Claire’s fantasy, “Opal” sneaks into the mysterious house next door (which her Billboard Parents warn her to “don’t mind the house across the street”), but she hears cries coming from the attic and goes to investigate.

The realization at the end is that the cries are coming from Claire herself, and her inability to escape her abusive household as she’s locked herself in the attic.

Let’s take a look at the rest of the household in detail...

There are three other residents in Claire’s home, which are represented by the billboard: The Mother, the Father, and the Grandfather.

The Grandfather

Claire’s real grandfather is a blind, obese chain-smoking man addicted to television. He struggles to breathe, coughs up blood, and scolds Claire for hiding his cigarettes, claiming that “it’s evil to help someone that doesn’t need help”.

Claire appears frightened and nervous around him.

When he demands that Claire give him his cigarettes, he soon grows concerned that she “smells weird” (because she had been outside) and won’t say anything.

Due to his blindness (and possible dementia), he mistakes her for a stranger, panics, and lashes out, yelling at her to “get out of his house”. In his panic, he falls out of his chair and screams as Claire runs away.

The Father

As Claire continues on toward the attic, the Father stops her. He sits in his Reflection Chamber in the bathroom, surrounded by mirrors. He is unable to see anything but his own face.

(It’s implied that he is delusional, as you can supposedly see the Father’s True Face at 11:09, which is distorted, grey, and horrifying)

Claire appears perplexed by him. It’s obvious that she isn’t used to him speaking to her. However, it becomes apparent that he doesn’t truly speak to her, but rather projects his own insecurities and feelings onto her.

He appears to be extremely narcissistic and unaware of the world around him. Religious themes collide with his self-reflection, as he rambles and talks about how “God is in his skin” and he considers himself in the process of becoming the world’s next “savior”. He spends all of his time fixing his appearance because “they turn me down so I live my nightmare”, and his need to be “seen by somebody somewhere”.

When she tries to leave, he raises his voice at her, only to calmly remark that “you could spare me a little time, you know; you act like I’m a complete stranger.”

Which, to her, he most likely is.

The Mother

Claire’s mother resides in a dilapidated room, surrounded by wine bottles, pills, and romance novels.

She lies in bed (or on the floor) underneath the sheets and grabs Claire’s leg.

She speaks with a slur, heavily intoxicated.

At first, she doesn’t recognize her daughter, but comments that “you’re being a person today, huh?”, implying that Claire often spends her time away from the family-- and for good reason.

She speaks morosely and in confusing tangents that reveal her inner turmoil about the family and her circumstances.

“Goodness exists. If I wait, Claire, and sit still... it will arrive.”

“You should be more considerate, obviously, but I forgive you. I forgive every single one of you... every night. It’s a virtuous cycle.”

“How did this get so bad? I feel terrible for all the things I... I feel terrible.”

“You and I don’t live, Claire. We survive.”

“Our adversaries are in denial. They don’t know the wrong they do. And they never repent how I want them to.”

(To Claire) “And you, you’re just like me. You’re just as powerless as I am, Claire.”

She lies back into the bed and drunkenly sings a lullaby.

The Mother’s Song

Mama needs a little girl to land on

Mama needs a little girl to fall in her arms

Mama needs a Mama’s girl to take good care

Mama needs a baby girl to hold her hair

After this, the camera zooms into the Mother’s rolling eye and a flashback is rapidly shown, including a hand dialing 9-1-1 on a phone, a child(?) being struck and falling to the ground, and what appears to be the Mother (or, perhaps, the Mother’s Mother) screaming in terror (or anger).

This is either a flashback to the Mother violently attacking someone, or a flashback of the Mother’s childhood where she herself was abused.

(It should be noted that the side of the Mother’s head appears to have a dent, implying she may have been the child.)

Claire appears absolutely terrified in her presence, most likely having suffered before from her physical abuse and escapes as soon as the Mother lunges at her, fleeing up to the attic and locking the door.

The truth about “Opal” is shown, and Claire quickly surrenders to her fantasy in her mind as her family beats on the door, where the camera zooms out and the story ends...

In conclusion, the world of “Opal” is a sad tale. Its themes center on fear, neglect, isolation, and abuse in its many horrific forms-- physical, emotional, and psychological. It focuses on Claire’s escapism in her mind, to imagine a happier life, far, far away from those who hurt her.

A forbidden house across the street, filled with dark and foreboding figures, and a little girl that just wants to be seen and loved.

#Jack Stauber #Opal #Jack Stauber's Opal #animation #art #artist #Stauber #claymation #stop motion #live action #Adult Swim #Halloween #horror #psychological horror #i might have to edit this later i'm sorry i'm very dizzy and have to go to work in an hour

[speechlessxx]

I Can Keep A Secret. - 4 (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: In a jealous rage, Steve accidentally says something he doesn’t mean as he discovers something personal about the reader. 

Warnings: no Clark in this chapter, slight fingering (18+ Minors DNI), nudity but not really, lots of cussing, angsty, make-out scene, shitty writing (it’s been a while i’m sorry!), AGE GAP (reader is stated to be 21 but age is just a number. call her wtv age you want). 

Word Count: ~2.7k 

again... i apologize this sucks. i haven’t written anything since like august. 

Buy me a Ko-Fi (not necessary but i’m broke, yo) 

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Steve never considered himself a jealous man. When he was involved with Sharon Carter, he never paid any mind to the revolving door of “friends” she entertained. Truthfully, throughout the numerous relationships he’s had in his life, Steve Rogers had never been the one to be jealous.

How could he?

Steve didn’t think he was an egomaniac nor narcissistic – not in the way that Tony Stark was, at least. But he knew he was charming. He knew he was wealthy – the black cards in his Burberry wallet reminded him of that. He knew he was handsome. He knew his worth – hell, even Forbes did.

His thoughts had never been infiltrated by the ugly, green rage monster that filled his head with insecurities. That is… Until the headlines and photographs of (Y/N) Barnes’s dinner date with “America’s richest and handsomest” bachelor, Clark Kent, had made its rounds.

It was a form of self-torture as he scrolled furiously through the many posts about the two.

Dynasties Colliding!

Clark Kent off the Market?

Everything you need to know about (Y/N) Barnes, Clark Kent’s new girlfriend.

He clicked his tongue in disgust at that last article as he skimmed through it. It was obvious that the writer had a biased opinion – one so clearly against (Y/N) – as it pointed out her “college dropout” status and her “naivete” to be involved with a man ten years her senior.

He scoffed… If only they knew.

Though, Steve couldn’t help but compare himself to the younger man. Sure, Clark was richer than he was with a booming business and a company created generations before Steve was even born. His net worth pushed him much higher than Steve and Bucky on the Forbes’s listings. But surely, he didn’t have the same chemistry as he and (Y/N) did… Surely.

As if to mock him, a photo of Clark kissing her knuckles appeared on his monitor. He glared at it, fuming with hot jealousy. He hated that feeling bubbling inside as he stared at her flustered face digitally immortalized by paparazzi and fan photos.

His phone buzzed to life as the screen displayed her name… And he did what he had been doing for the past few days following the polo match, he sent it straight to voicemail, spiteful that she even entertained Clark’s request to go on a date.

Had he misread the signs? Had there been any signs to begin with? Had she played him? Was he just her happy distraction until she could find her bearings in New York?

A sharp knock interrupted him from his thoughts as Bucky’s broad shoulders filled his open office door. He had a wide smile on his face as he entered the room, closing the door.

“You read the gossip?” Bucky chuckled. A sly smirk on his face as he sat himself in the seat across Steve’s desk. Steve quickly clicked out of his tabs and raised his brows at Bucky. “With (Y/N) getting Clark interested, other investors are looking at us, too. It’s great.”

“So, you’re really using your daughter to lure business opportunities?” Steve snorted. Considering how enchanting she was, it wasn’t a terrible strategy. If Steve hadn’t gotten so attached so quickly, he’d even advise Bucky to have her stalk the airport terminals, too.

“It’s working, man. He’s interested in the company. He wants a tour. He’s talking big money. We can scrap any deals with Stark. He’s our top priority now.”

“Buck,” Steve laughed so dryly it became a scoff. “He’s not interested in the company. He’s clearly interested in her – and only her. As soon as you give the green light and she rips the cord with him, he’s gonna back out. He’s got the lawyers to make sure that any contract he signs will get voided, too.”

His tone had been hopeful although Bucky didn’t pick up on it. Bucky had just waved it off as Steve being cautious – not Steve hoping that his daughter would dump Clark and focus all her attention back on him.

“No, no.” Bucky shook his head, waving his hand, too. “She’s equally into him. Piqued her interest more than Peter did, for sure.” Steve stopped himself from rolling his eyes, knowing damn well that she was never interested in the Stark boy. “He dropped her off and she was blushing like crazy. Ran to her room and practically screamed her head off with that Wanda girl on the phone.”

Steve pressed his lips into a straight line. He didn’t trust himself enough to respond, knowing any sarcastic remark would land him in the hot seat, with Bucky asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer… or rather, didn’t have the answers to.

“Besides… y’know one contract that’s incredibly difficult to get out of?” Steve hummed. “A marriage.”

Steve choked. “Marriage? Buck, c’mon, she’s twenty-one.” Bucky nodded, taking his daughter’s age into consideration. “Marriages are definitely the easiest to get out of. Must I remind you the reason why you haven’t seen her since she was a baby?”

“Hey!”

“Besides, isn’t he too old for her?” Steve internally cringed. Suddenly, wishing he could take it back, afraid of what Bucky would say. Like you aren’t thirty-nine, dumbass?

“He’s thirty-three. She’s twenty-one. She can date whoever she wants. She’s an adult.”

“That’s dangerously permissive.” Stop talking.

“Why’re you acting like her father, Steve?” Bucky asked, raising his brows inquisitively.

“I’m just saying, Clark’s closer in age with us than with (Y/N).” Steve shrugged. “I’m just looking out for her.”

I just want her to myself.

“Well, since you’re oh-so invested in looking out for her, I’m gonna need a favor.”

»————-　♡　————-««

Out of the many things to do on a Friday night in the big city, Steve found himself walking through the threshold of the Barnes’s penthouse. He silent cursed at Bucky, who asked him to look after his daughter for the weekend. The same daughter he had been avoiding for the past week, blowing off her calls and leaving her texts unread.

Steve found Bucky’s favor to be a direct contradiction to the statement he made prior. She’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. An adult who needed another adult’s supervision as it seemed.

However, Steve understood. She was relatively new to the city, only being here for a little over a month and a half, and known for her reckless behavior back in Los Angeles – the reason why she was in New York to begin with. Although Bucky didn’t quite keep her on a tight leash, he kept on a leash, nevertheless.

Bucky had already left that afternoon, leaving the penthouse somewhat quiet save for the music coming from the hallway that led into (Y/N)’s bedroom. He cracked a smile as he approached the hall. He could hear her obnoxiously singing along to the provocative lyrics of that one song – WAP, was it?

His hand absentmindedly found its way to her doorknob, twisting the metal and pushing the door open. She shrieked as her phone fell from her hands with a thud against the floor. She scrambled for her towel that lay haphazardly on her bed, messily wrapping it around her naked body.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” She screamed over the music. 

Steve stared at her with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. Her hair was still damp, knotting and begging to be combed out. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. The towel did little to hide her from his hungry eyes as he fought to keep his stare at her face and only her face. She called for the Alexa to stop playing the music before running a hand through her knotted hair. 

“Steve, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Your – your dad asked me to – uh – “he was losing the battle as his eyes gave her a look over, feeling the heat rise to his face. It was not the only thing that has risen. He tore his stare away from her, scanning the room instead. “He asked me to watch over you.” Steve explained, finally finding the words.

“Like a babysitter?” She scoffed. She had been itching to see Steve, hating him just a bit for ghosting her, but looking like that? She was willing to forgive.

“Yeah…” Steve nodded.

“Well,” she smirked playfully, “since you’re baby-sitting… Why don’t you let your baby sit on your lap, huh, daddy?” She batted her lashes at him, and he instantly melted, forgetting his jealousy and spite for just a second. She reached out for him and had him sit at the edge of her bed, straddling his thick thighs. “Excited to see me?”

His resolve and pent-up angst disappeared. “You’re damn right.” Steve muttered, hand fisting her knotted hair and smashing his lips onto hers. The kiss was every bit hungry and desperate as it was passionate – like two star crossed lovers finally catching a moment alone.

She moaned into his mouth as his free hand slipped beneath her towel, which was loosening as she grinded against his strained pants. His fingers explored her slit, fumbling as he tried to find her bundle of nerves.

“I missed you,” she gasped as he found it within seconds, rubbing tight circles around her clit.

His lips left a trail of kisses along her jaw and sucked the sensitive skin under her ear, eliciting long moan from her as he played with her, relishing in her responsiveness. He felt her juices coat his fingers as he teased her hole, but the moment suddenly cut short when her phone dinged.

Once. And then a second, then a third.

She looked over her shoulder and glanced down at the screen. Steve pinched her, causing her to gasp again. “Don’t.” He warned her, his voice a deep growl.

It dinged again. “I’m gonna silent it,” she promised, pecking his lips as she hopped off his lap. “Oh,” she frowned. She ran a hand through her knotted hair before glancing at him, then typing.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked her as he stood from her bed and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her into him.

“I… Uh… Clark wants to hang out again.” She told him.

Steve rolled his eyes though she didn’t see. “Blow him off.” He told her, leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulders, leading back up to that sweet spot beneath her ear. Her eyes rolled back before she pushed away from him. “We haven’t seen each other in days – “

“Because someone kept sending me to voicemail,” she rebutted. “I-I have to go see him, Steve. If my dad found out – “

“Then tell him you’re not into him.” Steve insisted. She remained silent as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Steve frowned. “Wait, are you – are you into him?”

“I dunno…”

“You don’t know?” He asked her. “If you’re into him, the hell are you sitting on top of me naked for?”

“Steve – “

“God, it’s like you like making yourself easy to guys.” The envy – the green, little monster that tore at his ego and his heart – suddenly rose. No thoughts were running through his head – just angry words from his mouth.

“Excuse me?” An enraged look splayed across her face. Brows furrowed and arms crossed defensively.

“Well, considering you sold pictures of yourself to total strangers – “he stopped himself before the rest of the sentence. The self-control had finally resurfaced, but the damage had been done as fury in her features mellowed and turned into hurt.

“Is that… Is that what you think of me?” She asked him, willing her voice not to crack but the tears had already begun to form. She furiously blinked them away before huffing. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you think anyway ‘cause I’m not with you.”

“And what you’re with Clark Kent?” He seethed his name.

“At least he doesn’t call me easy.”

Steve chuckled, dryly. “Bar’s set low then, huh? Says the girl who sucked me off on the airplane when we knew each other less than two hours. Wonder the things you’d do for him.” It was spite. His words were pure spite and jealousy. They held no meaning but they sure had weight. 

“What’s your problem?” She snapped. “Damn it, Steve! I like you. I really do, genuinely, but y’know it fucking sucks when the guy you like suddenly ghosts you.”

“And it fucking sucks when the girl you’re actually interested in goes on a date with some hot shot, pretty, rich boy. Probably fucks him in the back of his limo, too.”

She stomped over to Steve, shoving him with one hand while the other kept her towel from slipping off. “Get. Out!”

“No, no,” Steve argued, grabbing her arm easily overpowering her to stop pushing him. “You’re gonna answer.” She raised her brows at him. “Are you fucking him in the back of his limo? Are you that easy?”

Her jaw dropped as she stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not my dad, so that’s none of your concern.” She began to push him towards her door, and he let her this time. “And…” Her fingers tapped against the wooden door as she stared back at him. 

“It’s none of your business, but for your information, I’m a virgin.” She clicked her tongue as a smirk splayed across her face. “Won’t be for long, though. ‘Cause Mr. Kent is inviting back to one of his many lavish, expensive homes in New York.”

And with that she slammed the door shut, locking it with the new lock her father had installed.

»————-　♡　————-««

“(Y/N)…” He called out to her, knocking on her door. “C’mon, sweetheart.” It had been half an hour since their fight, and she had yet to come out of her room.

“Go away!” She called out from the other side of the wooden pane as if she were a child.

“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean it. I was just jealous – “

“I don’t care, Steve!”

He sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go out for dinner, yeah? Just me and you. Whatever you want. You wanna embarrass me by making me use chopsticks? Let’s go. You wanna hit me with a bottle of champagne? Take your pick. I’m down.”

“Fuck off, asshole!”

You deserve that. He agreed.

Steve suddenly heard a click of the lock before she pulled the door open, pushing past him and he let her. She had a duffle in one hand and her phone in the other, typing away. “Where are you going?”

“Away from you,” she spat. She didn’t even spare him a second look.

“You going with Clark?”

“None of your business, dick.”

He called her full name and she stopped in her tracks, spinning on her heel to look at him with her brows raised. Steve had his hands on his hips as he stared at the floor before looking down at her. “You are not leaving and that’s final.”

“Oh, yeah?” She challenged, taking a step towards him. Her heel clicking against the ground. She crossed her arms across her chest as she tilted her head. “And what? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Don’t make me, sweetheart.”

“Well,” she smirked. “Take it up with my dad… because unlike you, he actually approves of my blossoming relationship with Clark Kent. I swear he’s already planning the wedding … while I, on the other hand, all I care about is the honeymoon… And I think we’re gonna get a head start to it, actually.”

Steve took a step towards her as she took a step back. “Stop being a little brat and just – “

“No, Steve,” she corrected. “I’m being easy. And you’re completely right… Sometimes being easy is just fun.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn around and pulled her towards him. She bit her lip as she stared up at him with faux innocence. Her lips glistened with whatever gloss it was she used to make her lips plump as she challenged every bit of authority Steve had.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss that bratty attitude right out of her. He leaned in as her eyes fluttered close and he knew he had her. Then, suddenly, the elevator doors dinged and opened, ruining the moment. Both their heads snapped towards the guest.

“What the hell?” 

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #I Can Keep A Secret #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans smut #steve rogers smut #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine

[bored-mumma]

MASTERLIST

TITLE: The bad guy

CHAPTER NO/ONE SHOT: One shot

WORD COUNT: 1673

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Requested

NOTES/WARNINGS: Swearing. Verbal abuse (tried not doing too much). Manipulation. Toxic relationship. Domestic abuse. Boyfriend is called Chris but isn’t based on any actor. Leave that to your imagination. 

scorpionchild81  -  Hi - wondering if you would write a Tom Hiddleston x friend reader, how Toms reaction/response to her abusive boyfriend would be - maybe not in a physical way, but more verbally abusive (rude, sniffy remarks/comments and other disrespecting behavior) yes, I have been a victim to this and was stupid enough accepting it for a very long time... 

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, slipping off his shoes as he pressed his phone between his ear and shoulder, waiting for your answer. 

“Hello.” Tom smiled a little as he heard your voice finally come through. 

“Hi,” He replied, “Fancy a takeaway tonight?” Tom heard you shuffling around, a little sigh coming from you. 

“No thank you.” Was all you said in a much quieter voice than usual. Tom's face fell slightly, instantly knowing somethings wrong. 

“You ok?” He asked

“Always am.” You said, a small amount of sarcasm coming through your tone. “I’ll see you later.” Tom opened his mouth to reply, but you had already hung up the phone. 

For the last few weeks, you had seemed completely off with him. Barely taking his calls, never replying to his messages and cancelling the plans you two had already made. Tom knew his best friend though. He knew you wouldn’t tell him what was wrong even if he was on his hands and knees begging you. You were too stubborn for that. So instead, Tom slipped back on his shoes and stood to pull on his jacket. If you weren’t going to tell him what’s wrong, the least he could do was try and make you feel a little better. Besides, he missed you. 

Tom knocked on your door with one hand, the other holding a bag with pizza, chocolate and some beer in it. He waited patiently for you to answer but when you didn’t he pulled out his keys - you both have a spare set for the others apartment in case of emergencies. He knocked again before opening the door in case you didn’t hear the first time. 

“You know, when someone doesn’t answer, it tends to mean go away.” He heard your voice coming from somewhere in the dark room. Reaching over, he turned on the lamp. You were lying on the sofa, phone in hand, eyes a little red from staring at the screen and wearing some tatty old pyjamas. Tom didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked over, placing the bag on the coffee table and pulled out a beer. Handing it to you, he sat next to you and let out a small sigh. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are we just going to pretend you haven’t been acting very unlike yourself for the past month or so,” Tom said gently, looking over at you. You were yet to make eye contact with him. Instead of replying, you took a sip of your beer. “I can’t promise I can make it better but I can promise I’ll try too.” You looked over at him at last, seeing the concern in his eyes. You contemplated for a moment before speaking. 

“You really shouldn’t be here.” You stood, taking the bag of food and hanging it back to Tom. “You should go.” Tom didn’t move, only looked up at you with a frown. “Chris will go ballistic if he finds out your here.” You said with a little more desperation. 

“What do you mean go ballistic?” Tom tilted his head, finally getting something out of you. 

“I mean he’ll flip Tom!” You held out your hand for Tom to take so you can get him to stand from the sofa and leave, but he wouldn’t take it. 

“Talk to me, Y/N,” Tom said softly. You looked around the room, almost as if trying to find anything else to talk about. You bit your tongue slightly, trying to rack your brain with what to say. 

“I mean,” You started slowly. “He doesn’t like it when I have men over my house late at night without his permission-”

“You need permission to have dinner with your best friend?”

“When that friend is a man, yes!” Tom shook his head in slight disbelief. “Look, I’m tired of being blamed for stuff constantly by him. It’s just easier if i-”

“Blamed for what?” Tom stood now, feeling his blood start to boil. But before you could reply, you both heard a key in the door turning. Your heart sank, realisation hitting you at how close you and Tom are standing. You quickly jumped back and Tom noticed. Walking in, Chris looked between the two of you, eyes landing on the alcohol sat on the table. 

“Having a party are we?” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wish I got an invite.”

“I only had a sip-”

“I didn’t ask.” Chris interrupted you. Tom looked between the two of you, noticing how your aura had changed drastically now. It’s now one filled with worry and like it’s permanently on edge. “Get out.” Chris pointed to Tom, not even trying to hide the look of displeasure on his head. “I thought I made myself clear?” Chris said, turning his attention back to you. “I told you how I feel about this, why would you go against that?” He slowly started to walk towards the two of you. “I told you I don’t like it. I told you seeing you with other men makes me feel like shit, so why would you do it?” You opened your mouth to talk but no words came out. “Does it make you feel good about yourself? Huh? Whoring about? Does it make you feel pretty? Attractive? Well, news flash baby you’re-”

“That’s enough!” Tom snapped at Chris, rage started to edge up into his body as he listened. You had mentioned a few months ago how you had started to see someone called Chris, but he never knew it was this guy. He certainly never knew this was the kind of men you were getting stuck with. He thought it was weird when you didn’t want you boyfriend and best friend to meet, but now he understood.  “I think we should go.” Tom turned to you but you were rooted to the spot/ 

“Yeah, go with your lover.” Chris let out a dry laugh, making shivers go up to your spine. “How insecure does a woman have to be to fuck a new guy every night?” Chris’ voice was getting louder now. 

“That’s not true.” You said, voice so small it was barely above a whisper. 

“What was that, darling?” Chris said in a mocking tone. “Speak up dear, neither of your boyfriends can hear you.” You opened your mouth to speak again but Tom got there first. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re an asshole,” Tom said, more to himself than to Chris. “This is how you treat a lady?” 

“No, this is how I treat Y/N. There is no lady in this house.” Tom chewed on his cheek so he wouldn’t start yelling at this absolute prick stood in front of him. Instead, he took off his jacket and handed it to you. 

“Put it on, we’re leaving.” He said. You hesitated, but seeing the look on Toms face made you realise he wasn’t going to go home without you. Slipping the jacket on your shoulders, Chris laughed dryly again. “Excuse us,” Tom said, almost mocking Chris with his politeness. 

“You’re not leaving me,” Chris boomed. You flinched slightly at his words. Chris had never laid a hand on you and you highly doubt he ever would, but that doesn't mean he couldn’t beat you emotionally. You had tried to reach out before, to try and leave him. But he had threatened to drive his car into a lake with himself trapped inside. You were too deep into this abusive relationship to see how that was a controlling lie to get you to stay. However, in fear of Chris’ safety, you stayed. Now and again you would want to leave, be tempted to reach out to friends and family but Chris would turn again. He would be the kindest of men for a week or so. Would adore you, worship the ground you walk on, buy you beautiful gifts. Of course, once those few weeks were over, back came the abuse. - the name-calling. The picking on your appearance. The constant accusations of cheating. Chris was a master manipulator. He knew how to make you stay with him. But Tom wasn’t falling for any of it. ”You remember what I said right? I’ll do it.” Chris yelled, dangling his car keys in front of you. “I’ll fucking do it Y/N.”

“Walk.” Tom took your wrist gently, making you walk in front of him but so Tom was still stood between you and Chris. “Don’t say anything just walk.”

“You think you can find someone better than me? Guess what, you can’t. You’re a whore-”

“If you come within two miles of my home, I’m calling the police,” Tom said almost too calmly, nearly pushing you out the door and slamming it behind him. He kept his hand on your wrist as he walked you towards his car. No words were exchanged. None were needed. 

You slid into the passenger seat, head resting against the window. You felt like you wanted to cry. You felt the heavy feeling in your chest and how your body ached, fighting for so long to just stay strong. You had convinced yourself that Chris will get better. That one day, he’ll be that good boyfriend again. But you were so sick of pretending. 

“You deserve better than that,” Tom said softly. You didn’t reply, just stared out the window. The thing with narcissists like Chris, they make themselves seem like the victim. And you were feeling like the bad guy.

Authors note: Obviously you’re not the bad guy but i felt like that since that;s the way narcissists tend to make their victims feel that it would be an appropriate way to end it. 

ALSO! If you’re experiencing any type of abuse, please please reach out. Abuse isn’t just physical.

#tom hiddleston #imagine tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston friendship #tom hiddleston angst #requested #abusive #domestic violence #tom hiddleston platonic #tom #hiddleston

[acelaces]

Just curious, who are your top 5 Detentionaire characters? =)

Camillio Martinez

My boy Cam.... He’s memorable despite having a lot of cringey dialogue he comes off more as a cringey, try-hard, social-climbing but ultimately loyal and understanding guy. Best thing about him is his immaturity.  Worst thing about him is his immaturity. I like the dynamic of Lee Ping making friends and foes and peeling back the layers of A. Nigma High. Cam as a character is a good representation of that because he’s your og, known-forever, predictable as monkey hypnosis bestie but Lee learns new things about him throughout the show and he learns new things about himself.  Cam is a protective big bro and he drinks Respect Women juice. He has repressed bisexual energy. Also he is the definition of a Short King.

Tina Kwee: Tina grew on me from my first impression of her as your colour-by-numbers Lois Lane mild mannered crush character. I think I started really liking her character when she and Cam improvised that Cameo and Tina-ette bit to get past Lynch. Tina’s a subtler character but all the details are so endearing. The Lee Ping desktop background, talking to herself in the third person, average older-sib syndrome, absolutely participating in the never-ending slap-fight one-upmanship with Chaz. She needs that scoop and she definitely forgets that she's like, a fuckign baby who needs to eat some breakfast and download a game or two on her phone. Also her iconic protective streak during the Research Frenemies arc. She has caffeinated gremlin energy. Only critique: not enough character interactions.

Lee Ping: Lee didn't come off as just another flavour of generic teenboy RebelTM character. He's a very grounded and well-written mc, but with enough meme-able moments to keep the fandom burning with that classic 2013 era energy. He tries to enter 'rad' as a password 3 times before giving up, but he can also math circles around the best mathlete. He has an armband tattoo he just assumed was a birthmark. Friend of cats and Tazzes, likes Lance Pinto movies and 'doesn't do' cliques. This is the guy that seems to borrow a pencil from you every single day and you wonder if he has ever purchased one, unbeknownst to you (and him) he has a pencil from every kid in school under his bed. Lee comes into the series smug asf and look at what the creators did, he has anxiety now. Lee spends most of the series crouching in shadows, hiding in vents and running away from shit and still manages to blunder into badass moments, get in a smug one-liner or dunk on Biffy. Critique: his character design hurts my eyes (red and green?!?!?) and we don't get a lot of his internal monologue aside from for exposition.Lee has memelord energy.

Chaz Moneranian / Li Ping / Kimmie/ Cyrus 

These three tie for 4th for being iconic characters that I love every time they're on screen even though I don't know enough about them to find them totally endearing. It's the fanon for me. 

Chaz: Insecure, narcissistic asshat who unabashedly loves drama and mess, queer-coded, possibly has super-human speed and is chronically disliked. No idea why this character was so relatable to me.....

Li Ping: It's the voice-acting for me, sometimes he goes really pitchy and every line read is unexpectedly awesome. He looks a lot like Lee and yet his character design is easy on the eyes. Unlike Lee who is genre-savvy and sarcastic, Li is the guy who sends you e-mails in all caps and with a signature with an embossed sword and an inspirational/ominous quote. Li takes this shit serious and WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING??? YOU HAVE CHOSEN DEATH. The fact his character backstory involves some serious Fridge Horror and he alludes to having committed and being capable of Actual Atrocities...and his best friend is a pet snake named Priscilla. Power of God and Anime On My Side energy.

Kimmie: The stoic Alpha-Bitch who raps about a cringey restaurant named after her, has dumb phone apps and an actually Evil mom, the fact that Kimmie can smell a stunt or lie a mile off but had the entire illuminati operating out of her foyer and didn't even notice. She's so mysterious that I think it made the fandom froth every time we saw a peek into her weirdly sad world. Also her interactions with Lee as the deadbeat dad of her ro-baby lmao.

Cyrus: He’s funny every time he’s on screen. It’s the perpetual smile for me. He has no-thoughts-head-empty energy.

Biffy: I honestly wasn't sure who to put for this last spot. It was crazy close because I wanted to put Jenny here. I think ultimately the one with more screentime won out. Also Biffy gets bonus points for being a character I initially disliked and then won me over. Classic subverted bully trope but without the unfortunate implications of characters like Buford from P&F. Biffy felt like a fully-rounded character and bonus points for looking at the cake and being like :0 (ancient meme)Biffy can't wait til he can legally get a tattoo but he would probably ask whoever was there with him to hold his hand when he's getting it. Biffy is 7 ft tall and hides in a bathroom stall to hear a teen rock band practice. I like when he advocates for Lee's well being and I like when that pits him against Cam and Holg (og friends vs new friends and the duality of man etc. etc.). Bif is the character most likely to call Lee up just to check in, after a day of getting threats, 'heads up!'s, and 'YOU GOTTA GET HERE FAST BRO's. Bif has ABSOLUTE UNIT energy

#going through old asks in the inbox #detentionaire #Anonymous

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

omg so I read this manga this morning called Sesame Salt and Pudding and it’s ab this 22 y/o girl who gets drunk and accidentally marries a stranger, who happens to be 42. it’s the cutest lil slice of life just a really healthy relationship and all i could think was this would be the funniest meet cute for Erwin.

Thanks for linking me the manga website anon omfg you're a real one💙🐛

Alright so below is my 1am thoughts while reading it as i listen to a daddy/mommy issues playlist i found online and drinking green apples monster energy.

Tw: mentions of sex | Tw: suggestive words

Chapter one

The girl is really pretty, I'm really gay.

Wait so she married him while drunk and now can't remember anything?

This lowkey does look like Erwin without gel in his hair

...why can i see Erwin as the type of drunk to not only sign a wedding registration paper but also demand both of you must go get wedding ware, paying for your dress or suit.

Consent 👏yes👏100%👏the bare minimum👏Erwin values consent above literally anything else👏Erwin wouldn't touch you without permission even while drunk out of his mind👏again it's the bare minimum👏

An older dude that cooks & cleans while staying home as i go out and provide for us? This is my dream. Stay at home husband Reiner stay at home husband Reiner stay at ho

Ngl i think Erwin wouldn't know anything past basic cooking despite him reading all these cooking books and watching videos, i think if he really was dedicated he'd sign up for a cooking class go get high level skills just to impress you but treat it like it's nothing

...he didn't wanna stare at her chest so he went to clean the fridge- Erwin would def be that kind of gentleman to change his own attitude instead of ever telling you to change or cover up.

I love her job oh my god yes.

Ooo a love rival huh👀 is this gonna turn into a triangle situation

The only love rival I'd ever see for Erwin is Nile tbh, like i think if it was Miche, Hange or Levi then he'll talk it out and either him or the person backs off.

He gets gloomy when jealous huh~

THIS IS FUNNIER THAN IT HAS ANY RIGHT TO BE DOAKDJKAKSN I CAN'T.

I can't even imagine Erwin's reaction if you said this to him, like he won't even be mad he would just be really taken back, standing there like 🧍🏼‍♂️...he'd even be amused.

Okay- okay this is a good reaction...I think Erwin would say something similar but rephrase it to he more subtle yet somehow making it sound dirtier.

Something along the lines of, "well, if you're so sure then why don't you find out yourself."

And "after all i can't deny that i haven't thought about how beautiful looked last night...how the more beautiful you would've looked laying down."

"You looked like a really delicious treat"

"All pretty and alone, tearing about your worries, i just wanted to make you forget them all and leave the rest to me"

I should stop-

Chapter two

HE SAID HE IS HER UNCLE I CAN'T BREATHE I LOVE THIS

Oh shit he overhead them oh shit

Shit is going down oh god

Man if it was Nile in this hypothetical insert then he'd be hold this information like the petty bitch he is and use it at the date instead.

Chapter three

Ngl dude, i really hate it when they treat it like a women's reputation is all she has. I especially hate the purity culture of that a young women can't be a roommate with a man because "what will people say" like...if they're fucking who cares and if they aren't literally who cares? Do they realise gay people exist too and two women have an equal chance of sleeping together too?

It feels like they treat women as children, maybe I'm just projecting bc i live in a similar kind of culture where all these rules apply here if not more.

Anyway that manga is cute, it just angred me that these two men think they're responsible for solving her problem or as if they have any right to scold her or be angry like she's some kind of child and should listen.

It's her life, it's her problem and it's her who will solve it.

DUDE SHUT THE FUCK UP. he's really acting like a bitch as if he has any right to be angry or even judge her oh my god.

"Impure background..." Get fucked.

The only ONLY reason he even can be angry is because she didn't mention being married while they were going for a date but they didn't even go on that date and nothing was official so why does she have to tell him her private life.

RED FLAG RED FLAG RED FLAG HUGE RED FLAG

"get divorced immediately" HUGE FUCKING RED FLAG

Controlling Insecure cunt.

I'm sorry anon that I'm really going off on him and I'm sorry if you like him- it's just that i really really can't stand these things

THE MANGA IS LOVELY THO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR RECOMMENDING IT I'D LOVE MORE WHENEVER💜

Oh baby, oh angel I'm so sorry you had to go through that, in no way is it ever right to get angry and yell no matter what especially since you apologised and admitted to your mistake.

Especially since he knew it was something you did while drunk and deeply regret it but he still took out his angry on you like you betrayed his trust when you weren't even together or like you intentionally did it.

Narcissistic dick.

I'm not talking about the next scenes because it might be triggering.

Chapter five

4 is missing :( idk how her parents visit went

We just started the chapter and-

Fuck her. Like what's up with toxic abusive people being too comfortable saying these things lmao like they actually take themselves seriously omfg.

Imagine saying this about Erwin tho, like it feels powerful to say. John maloney was right after all huh

Oh

Oh

So we doing this huh

👀

....oh :( we were just getting to the god part, man Erwin wouldn't have let a phone stop him.

Also bless the translator for their note at the end, it's good we're seperating fiction from reality and clarifying things to people on how to act in these scenarios.

Like drama is fun and all, I'm a huge sucker being extra, but things are different in real life and using fiction as a guide to how to deal with these, clearly written to be extra, situations should never ever be anyone's first choice.

Well that's all the 10 images tumblr will allow me in one post, i hope you had fun anon because i sure did! And i can definitely see this as a sweet wholesome Erwin/reader story, and if i ever did a an inspired rewriting of that manga with Erwin i can definitely see it being really fun to write!

Although i will change some stuff like that guy, i know people have good and bad sides but the guy specifically made me uncomfortable for personal reasons, i also Don't like mentioning serious things like anger controlling issues without diving deep into them.

Imma go finish the manga, if you want a part two, or have a different thing to recommend, please let me know💙

#talking🕯 #Erwin🕯 #recommendations🕯

[zhaozula]

Priorities, Chapter 1

This is a draft, which I will likely publish as a chapter-less fic on AO3, and is therefore subject to change.

Azula thought it would be fun to seduce Zhao, but he quickly fell in love with her and now she’s having his baby. Ozai thinks it’s a good idea and has commanded Azula to rest and have the child. To make matters worse, once Zhao heard, he left his invasion of the Northern Water Tribe and rushed back to see the baby! Or at least, that’s what Azula thinks...

High within the Fire Lord’s palace was a private room intended for the royal family to rest during illness. It was a nice room; rather plain but with the basic necessities, not to mention ample room for relaxing. The bed was small and narrow but comfortable, and beside it was a stool and table. Several tall windows flanked the western wall which overlooked the courtyard to give some peace of mind to the weary. The room mostly went unused, as the royal family was typically in good health.

Dressed in a plain gown, laying in the bed and facing away from the windows was Princess Azula. The only door had opened, and now standing on the threshold was a familiar old man holding a tray with a small tea set. “How are you feeling, Azula?” he asked.

Azula, still turned away from the man, frowned. “Uncle Iroh?” she asked. “How did you get here?”

 "Believe it or not, I was invited," he said as he approached the lone bed. He sat down on the stool, trying to make eye contact with Azula. "They are very worried about you."

"Well they shouldn't be, I'm fine.”

"That's not what the doctors have told me.” Iroh filled the teacup and offered it to the princess.  "Here, this will make you feel better."

"I don't want it."

"Azula, you have a baby on the way. You should be happy about this joyous occasion."

Azula still wouldn’t look at her uncle.

"Unless," Iroh continued softly, "You don’t want it?”

"I don't know," Azula said quickly. “How did you ever get here? Where’s Zuko?”

"Nevermind Prince Zuko. You want this child, don’t you?”

"I feel like I was tricked."

Iroh kept holding the cup out to her but he relaxed a little more as he began to realize that this would be more difficult than imagined, and he went into it knowing it would not be easy. "What else do you expect from a man who has made a career out of tricking people?"

"You don't understand," said Azula. "Zhao isn't acting like himself. My whole life he was always a strong, brave man who did everything for the Fire Nation, not some fussy little sap. We were supposed to find the avatar together. I never wanted all of this.”

Iroh nodded. "Yes, I can tell that he has changed, too. But I would not call him a fussy little sap. Putting your own needs aside and taking care of your family is the strongest quality of manhood, though society may have you believing something else."

Azula didn't answer.

"It may be hard for you and everyone else who knows him to believe, but Zhao has changed because he loves you," said Iroh. "And let me tell you this; he is only at the beginning. Having a child will alter his entire world, as it will for you, too, Azula. You will be surprised by how many things you believed to be true that will melt away into nothingness.”

The thought of her world changing again was nearly unbearable. Already too much had happened. Azula wanted to shake the eventuality away; Zhao wasn’t even supposed to be her partner, she just wanted to have sex with him. She seduced him, he fell in love, then she got pregnant. Her pregnancy had been difficult with impossible pain, mostly due to her inability to stop training, which had only several weeks prior finally ceased. 

Of course, Zhao had to go and get Azula’s father on his side. Once the fire lord was convinced that Azula needed to be with a strong, fearless admiral and have his child, she was ordered to relax and be forced into motherhood. It seemed she had no chance at becoming the Fire Lord now.

“You may realize,” Iroh continued, allowing his voice to quiet, “That the objectives you set for yourself--and your people--are not always the best. Birth and death are two realities that we must face at some point, and looking them in the eyes will alter everything else around you.”

Azula was trying her best to hold back the fear she was feeling. Such an unusual sensation for her, but it was boiling so hot within her that she could barely contain it. Try as she might, Iroh already knew.

“It is nothing to be scared of,” the old man coaxed. “This is what maturity is all about. For someone like Zhao, I thought he was a lost cause, so I am proud, even if that means he is weak in your eyes. Controlling one’s temper and focusing on love is a noble virtue. You should drink your tea.”

"I don't want your fucking tea!" Azula yelled. "I-I don’t want any of this! I want the war to be won, I want Zhao to capture the Avatar! I don’t want...I don’t want to think anything wrong about my people!”

Suddenly, the pain in Azula’s lower abdomen came back, stabbing her violently. She buckled over in response, letting out a cry of pain.

"You cannot keep exciting your body like this," Iroh warned. "Too much negative energy will harm your baby.”

Knowing Iroh was ultimately right, she forcefully grabbed the cup from him and took a sip. It was shockingly bitter, but she drank it anyway.

"That is a special maternity blend that I learned outside of our nation," Iroh said with subtle pride. He wouldn’t bother telling her what culture it belonged to; the Water Tribe was the last group of people she wanted to hear about. "The herbs will make you feel better,” Iroh continued, “But you also must work with it. Surely there is a part of you that wants this child.”

"I don't want to die childless," Azula said quickly, handing the empty cup back to Iroh. 

"And as for Zhao," Iroh continued, "Did you agree to be with him or was it arranged?”

“Ultimately I chose,” Azula admitted painfully. “I made the first move, but he basically trapped me into being with him.”

"Do you love him?”

Iroh poured Azula a second cup, which she took without a word. Looking into the tea, there was one tiny scrap of herb floating around the bottom.

“I don’t know,” Azula mumbled as she kept watching the tea. She finished the cup, loose scrap and all, then handed it back to Iroh.

"You should be honored that such a stern and narcissistic man has opened his heart to you,” said Iroh. “The look in his eyes when he asked me for help was something I never thought I would see in him. Very curious. I almost did not believe it."

"He asked you?"

"Yes. He came to me, begging for my help. And when he said I would be a great-uncle, I could not turn him down!” Iroh laughed as he took the cup away and set the tray down. “I never thought this day would come. And somehow, I’m not surprised you beat Zuko to it…”

Azula turned onto her back, holding her stomach. “This is not how I imagined my life would go,” she complained tiredly. “Zhao’s so preoccupied with this stupid child that he’ll let Zuko swoop in and capture the avatar. If Zuko comes back, father will welcome him with open arms and my whole plan is ruined.”

Ignoring the implications, Iroh stood up and touched Azula on the arm. “You should not rest on your back,” he said. “It is better to be on your side.”

Azula rolled her eyes and turned over again, this time facing the windows and away from her uncle.

“It’s been so long since the palace saw a child, I don’t think they remember how to take care of one!” Iroh said with a laugh. He picked up the tray again. “I think it’s best if I stay here until the baby is born.”

“Great,” Azula groaned, closing her eyes. “That’s exactly what I need.”

“How does your father feel?”

“He wants it,” said Azula. She wasn’t going to tell Iroh about the threats. “He approves. Probably wants to keep me away from the spotlight.”

“Why would you think that? Your father has always favored you.”

“Up until I turned fifteen. I don’t know.”

“You are feeling insecure. I would not worry about these trivial matters right now. Focus on relaxation and taking care of your baby, whether you want to be with Zhao or not. I trust that things will work out.”

Azula’s expression finally settled. It seemed, for the first time in many months, the pain in her body was starting to subside. Perhaps she needed Iroh around after all. “Does Zuko know?” she asked softly.

“Does Zuko know what? Your relationship or that he is going to be an uncle?”

“The baby…”

“Truthfully, Azula, Zuko and I have parted ways for the time being. He has his own battles to fight without me.”

“Oh. Is he still chasing the avatar?”

“I haven’t seen him in over a month. I could not tell you what his focus is now.”

Azula’s lips curved into a smile. “I hope he’s stopped,” she whispered. “Then Zhao will be successful.”

“You should not rely on everything to work out the way you want it to,” Iroh warned. “As I just said, having a child will change your priorities. If I were you, I would be happy that Zhao has softened.”

Azula didn’t answer.

“Think about what I have said,” Iroh said. “I will come back later. Try and get some rest, and when you’re ready to eat...be sure to let me know!” 

He laughed as he walked away, taking the tray of tea with him. The door closed behind him and Azula quickly fell asleep.

#zhaozula #atla #azula x zhao #zhao x azula #atla fanfic #azula fanfiction #pregnancy fic #baby fic #zhao redemption #azula redemption #azula goes crazy and stuff

[faustonastring]

main 6 with an mc who acts like a grandma? like straight down to their bones creak when they stand, idk :),,, (side note, your writing is so good holy mother of faust)

Thanks for requesting! (And the compliment!) I hope you like it! Just a disclaimer, I’ve never had a grandma like figure in my life, so this may be very stereotypical or a little wrong, so apologies if it’s a little off, (I’m also very tired, so sorry for the mistakes !)

Request are open!!!!!

Main six with a Mc that acts like a grandma!

Asra

He finds it oddly enchanting, but just because he finds it enchanting don’t think your gonna be left off the hook, he’s still going to (lovingly) make fun of you for it. (So will faust)

If you carry mints or hard candies with you, he falls in love all over again, and he’ll buy you some that you can keep in your stash as a way to apologize for eating them all, (one day he was sucking on one and you made him laugh, he almost choked to death, so now he’s only aloud to eat what ever is the vesuvia equilvant to life savers)

He’ll try to make you some sort of potion or spell to stop you’re bones from cracking, he doesn’t mind, but it kinda weirds him out if it’s a really good one, like the ones that just sound like something just snapped in half-

Like I said before he’ll tease you for it. A lot. He’ll ask you if you need help crossing the street, or going up/down the stairs, asking if you can read the menu alright or if you need your reading glasses, or if you can’t hear him he’ll ask if you need your hearing aid. (Just to clarify again, he does this lovingly.)

Nadia

Nadia is quite old her self. Though she’s most likely in her mid to late forties, she’s not at grandma age, yet. But that doesn’t mean her sisters aren’t. Or even better. Her parents.

She doesn’t mind really, she finds it kind of nostalgic in a way, that is until you start complaing. Don’t start complaing please if you do it too much you’re going to start reminding her of not only her ancient family members but her ex husband too, who looks thirty but acts like he’s sixty.

She mentions trying to do yoga to help minimize the god awful bone cracking noises, but might have to leave the room because there is no way those noises are natural. If all else fails she’ll take you to a chiropractor (ya know, those people who rearrange- crack your bones for you)

She isn’t one to tease you, but her family is, but it’s not really teasing it’s more like comparing you to them, in their old age, and how worst your going to get when your older. (Also off topic but please keep hard candies with you for Volta. She can have some hard candy. As a treat.)

Julian

Remember when I said Nadia felt slight nostalgia? Its like that. But times ten. I mean the man was raised by grandmas for a decent portion of his life, but that’s not a turn of or any thing no, no, no, it makes him feel at home.

Some of you are going to kill me for this, but it’s been proven that men tend to have a habit of falling in love with people who remind them of their mother, so if julians equlivant of a mother was a bunch of grandmas.....well aren’t you in luck

All jokes aside, he’s kind of the same way, again he was raised by grandmas, Portia and him embodie diffrent aspects of a grandma I feel like, but we’ll get to her in a minute. Julian though, his bones crack. Often. And it’s an ungodly noise too, and he also likes to keep hard mints, (or like those strawberry hard candies I feel like) on him at all times. I feel like he also can’t hear for shi-

You two tease each other for it, and you get bonus points if you fight like an old married couple, you two will make little bets like who ever can go the longest with out popping a bone wins, the loser has to buy you both pints at the rowdy raven, or top also it isn’t uncommon for one of your bones to crack while having sex I’m just saying-

Portia

I feel like the ship wreck happened when Portia was too young to fully remember her parents, so the grandmas that raised her is (other than Julian) the only family she’s ever had, but don’t worry, because she’s had a lot of practice cracking those stubborn bones that just won’t sit right-

She’s learned a lot from being raised by grandmas, like how to make banana bread crumb pudding, or bake a pie, or correctly tend to a garden, etc etc etc, but that’s about the extent of her grandma duties, unlike her ancient brother her bones don’t crack every time she moves.

Please keep some hard candy with you for her, it’s a nice little pick me up for when you come to visit her at the palace, it’s also a great way to bribe her to get some juicy gossip, or to get her to top/bottom which ever you prefer, she’s most definitely a switch ( you get bonus points if it’s one of those strawberry hard candies I mentioned earlier. She’s the whole reason Julian started keeping some on him)

She tease you a lot for it, but if anyone. And I mean anyone were to make fun of you for it that’s not her, well she’s already pulling her hair back up

Muriel

At first he thinks this is just how normal people act. (He doesn’t get out much, in case you didn’t already know) but then he starts to realize that only you act like that. Which he doesn’t mind. He likes you. You’re weird. He likes that. But then he hears your bones crack, and oh god, he thinks something’s wrong.

He thinks he broke you. Espically if he was holding you or hugging you, or hell even touching you, and your body made an ungodly crack noise. He kind of just stares there in confusion and fear because you just brushed it off, but that sound like it hurt, and you just let it happen??? And it happens all the time?? (Wait till he finds out about periods all my afab babes out there. Hahaha, good luck Charlie)

He does get used to it eventually,but if your bones were to ever crack from moving or standing up, he’ll simply say “stop that” but he says it with a small smile on his lips. And if your having a particular bad day with the cracks, he’ll very shyly ask if there’s any thing he can do....like maybe a massage?

If you’re ever hiking with him and your knees start cracking, he without question will carry you to your destination, and pretends he doesn’t hear you if you try to protest. But why would you?

Lucio

He sees himself in you. It’s terrifying, but he’s a narcissist so he’s kind of into it-

Look like I said before, he looks like he’s thirty but he acts like he’s sixty, ( I was gonna say eighty but I was feeling generous) and six at the same time. His bones crack a lot. He hates it. He’s really insecure about it. But he hates it less when he realiszes yours do it too.

I feel like lucio also has poor eye sight and is a little hard of hearing, (either that or he’s never listening) but refuses to get treated for it, so if you fit into either of those categories, and get treated for it, he might cave and do it too. He also thinks you look hot in glasses, and buys you like twelve different pairs.

You two most definitely fight like an old married couple. Sorry I don’t make the rules. The palace staff starts to make bets on when your getting a divorce, but they just don’t understand the level of intimacy it takes to lovingly fight with some one over every little thing. (That’s what true love looks like baby)

Also keep hard candies on you at all times. Not for you for him, because if you give him one once, he’ll ask for it again and again and again, it’s like if you give a mouse a cookie, (if you ever read that growing up,)

Thanks for reading! I’m really tired so sorry about all the typos and mistakes, if you want me to rewrite it or fix it when I’m fully awake I Will! Sorry it’s my bad for pushing it off so long! Any way I hope you enjoyed!

Next headcanon: main six reacting to mc wanting to start a family. (5/22)

Request are open! :)

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra headcanons #julian devorak the arcana #lucio headcanons #muriel headcanons #muriel the arcana #nadia the arcana #portia the arcana #portia devorak #portia headcanons #the arcana portia #the arcana nadia #nadia satrinava #nadia headcanons #muriel of the kokhuri #the arcana muriel #julian devorak headcanons #julian the arcana #the arcana julian #julian devorak #asra alnazar #asra the arcana #the arcana asra #lucio morgason #the arcana lucio #lucio the arcana #the arcana main 6 #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc

[silentfcknhill]

AtLA + LoK Villains Evilness Rating

(If you wanna dispute my ratings I’ll be happy to tell you why.)

ATLA:

Ty Lee - 0.5 /10

Cinnamon roll. Too pure for this world. Naïve and will put her faith in you 100%. Kind of ditzy but can take you down with no hard feelings. Needs to be liked by everyone. Is very flexible. Can strangle you with her legs and giggle while doing it. Chooses bad friends. Has frustratingly good luck. 

Uncle Iroh- 1/10

Actual angel but could still open up a can of whoop-ass if necessary. Too supportive and forgiving. Loves tea, sitting around, speaking in proverbs and leading by example. Probably considers you a friend. Surprisingly powerful but mostly peaceful. Hard to provoke but if you do, just run. Fear the nice ones. 

Jet- 3/10

Misguided and extreme but also traumatized. Don't get in his way. Kind of twisted and obsessive af. Ends justify the means, until they don't. Needs a proper role model and has potential. Can be unreasonable and is still kind of a jerk. Will gaslight you. 

Prince Zuko- 3.5/10

Conflicted, violent and angsty but mostly needs a lot of reassurance. Has a major boner for his honor. Will freak out over nothing. Has been through a lot and will not be underestimated. Grumpy and willful af and won't listen to you until it's too late, then will blame you for misleading him. 

June- 4/10 

Might beat you up or kidnap you for money but it's nothing personal. Might insult you as a way of flirting. Looks pretty and delicate but don't be fooled. Can beat you up in a split second and not break a sweat. Will probably take all your stuff and never give it back. Lives for the tough girl aesthetic. 

Mai- 5/10

Is just bored and over it all. Throwing knives is something to do. Apathetic and will probably just follow along with whatever including murder but will complain the entire time. Emo af. Would risk it all for a quick nap. Prone to bite your head off. Too smart for you and will let you know. 

Wan Shi Tong- 6.5/10

A total dick. Tired of your shit and is judging you. Thinks humans are garbage and won't get involved with them until it suits him. Don't touch his books or he will literally eat you. Nerdiest bastard. Doesn't trust you so don't try any shit with him. Sees through your pathetic lies. Kind of an elitist.

Combustion Man- 7/10 

Thinks blowing shit up is a form of art. Doesn't believe in communication. Very serious and focused. Do not fight him. Probably gets crapped on more than he deserves. A mystery wrapped in a bald head. Probably has a tattoo of the names of all the people he's killed and he's ready to add yours. 

Hama- 7.5/10

Traumatized old hag. Created bloodbending but too crazy to do much with it now. May kidnap you and keep you in a dank hole forever. Seems sweet at first but is hiding a lot of secrets. Don't eat her cooking. Thinks sitting at home scheming is a job. Hates you for whatever small thing you did to her 57 years ago. Forgets nothing. 

Long Feng- 8/10

Conniving af. Will brainwash you, lie to your face and maybe make you disappear. Wants everything and will plot to take it all. Perfectionist and control freak, will stab you in the back and you won't see it coming. Is tired of taking everyone's shit. Thinks he deserves better but he doesn't. Kills children. 

Admiral Zhao- 8/10 

Explosive temper. Huge egomaniac and narcissist. Hates the moon. Has probably killed a lot of people and fish and you're next. Will do whatever it takes. Won't listen to anything you say. Punch first, ask questions never. Jumps to a lot of conclusions, is usually wrong. Frequently embarrasses self. 

Koh the Face-Stealer- 8.5/10 

Terrifying and will probably steal your face. Do not approach. Too indifferent to chase you but can be sneaky af so watch your back. Doesn't handle emotions well. A total loner. The guy who knows everything but nobody wants to talk to. Fear him. To know him is to hate him. Makes you question everything. 

Firelord Azulon- 9/10 

Will order your execution on a whim and maybe a relative or two first for the appetizer. Do not question him. Will play favorites and call you out on things that are his fault. Overreacts and you should probably not be around when it happens. Disapproves of all your choices and is very vocal about this fact. Forces parents to kill their children. 

Firelord Sozin- 9/10

Will commit genocide and take over the world while yelling at you for minor shit. Kind of a petty and jealous asshole. Even if you think he is your friend he isn't and is going to attack you. A big old bully with bad breath and a wonky beard. The original starter of all drama and certified instigator shitlord. 

Princess Azula- 9/10 

Unstable and manipulative. Sadist who thrives off of your fear and suffering. Will hurt you badly in all the ways. Avoid at all costs. Acts cold and calculating but really has no chill. Demands your respect but won't earn it. Trolling you gives her pleasure. The spawn of satan and loving it. Mommy issues to infinity. 

Firelord Ozai- 9.5/10

Second worst dad ever. No soul. Will burn every tree and face to a crisp. Child abuse for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Actual sociopath. Will kill someone and banish you for it. Goatee comes first. Will project all his insecurities on you. Will tell everyone your secrets. World's biggest megalomaniac. 

LOK: 

Varrick- 3/10

Will probably lie, try to con you out of money, order you to do things for him and tell bad jokes but that's as far as it's gonna go. Eccentric and annoying af. Doesn't know when to shut up. Needs to learn some lessons in life. Attracts more trouble than he's worth. Has all the good gossip somehow. 

Bataar Jr.- 3/10

The guy that nobody likes because he tries too hard and ends up ruining everything. Enjoys being a bitch. Wants to rebel but is bad at it. Do you love me now father? Tries to act like he doesn't care what you think but cares way too much. Will not kill you but might get engaged to your ex to spite you. 

Police Chief Saikhan- 3.5/10 

Will do anything you say for a price, except give a fuck. Doesn't really care about anything. Might arrest you just because he doesn't like you. The type to pretend he didn't hear you just to avoid responsibility. Likes to yell into things. Hates helping people. Is actually a giant rock in disguise. 

Tahno- 3.5/10 

A total prick. Has nicer hair than you and won't let you forget it. Very flamboyant and arrogant. Will gloat over being better than you at everything even though he cheated every time. Talks mad shit but can't walk the walk. Ultimately a big baby. Lowkey protect him. Wants to be the cool kid but isn't cool. 

Desna- 4/10

Couldn't care less. Actual inanimate object. Lurks around for no reason. Hates everything and that includes you. Listens to his elders and would probably leave you for dead. Just wants to sleep. Secretly goth. Might actually be two small robots in a trenchcoat pretending to be human. 

Councilman Tarrlok- 4.5/10

Attention whore with a savior complex. Smol bean who wants approval. Acts arrogant but is secretly depressed and self-loathing af. Stubborn and clingy emotional wreck with impulse control issues. Needs a hug. Will probably manipulate you through guilt or charisma. Wants to be Lucius Malfoy, but cries at night. 

Hiroshi Sato- 5/10

Has lost sight of what's important. Total extremist. Will get revenge on you for something you didn't even do. Well respected and seems innocent but is plotting your downfall. Can build a whole army and take you down. Kind of a traitor. Loyalty is volatile. Thinks he always knows what's best for you but doesn't know shit. 

The Lieutenant- 5/10

In way over his head. Wants to make a difference but has let bitterness take over. Will probably electrocute you. Puts his faith in the wrong people. Kind of snobby and will hold a grudge. 99 problems and benders are about 98 of them. Tired of being pushed around but still lets himself be pushed around. FLOPPY MUSTACHE. 

Aiwei- 5.5/10 

Thinks he's better than you and probably isn't. Wants to be sneaky but really is just too predictable. Boring af and tries to be unique but fails miserably. Lets everyone take advantage of him. Don't lie to him. Will harbor resentment and take it out on you at a random point in time. Discount Long Feng but not as smart or ambitious. 

Eska- 5.5/10

Will stalk you aggressively. Thinks slavery is a relationship. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill. Never betray her or she will destroy you. Might use you as a footstool. Seems emotionally dead inside, but don't test her dormant waters. Uses everyone and feels no guilt. Hipster trash. No concept of boundaries or social interaction. 

Ghazan- 6/10

Sarcasm game strong enough to fatally wound you. Doesn't say much. Has tree trunks for limbs and will probably use them to throw lava and rocks at you. Lowkey protective af. Don't get on his bad side. You can't get on his good side. Would rather kill everyone including himself than let you win an argument. 

Zaheer- 6/10

A wannabe hippie but will still fight the system and you too. Don't try to control him. Gets annoyed when people breathe too loud. Is kind of a contradiction. Will literally blow you away. Anarchy equals freedom. Fuck the police. Can sit in the same spot for a really long time. Probably a flat earther. 

Ming-Hua- 7/10

Has a significant disability but can still easily slaughter you. Innovative and sneaky af. As fast and agile as an actual lemur. A natural disaster wherever she goes. Doesn't listen to your advice. Overcompensates a lot. Probably her own worst enemy. Is quiet and likes to eavesdrop on your business. 

Kuvira- 7.5/10 

Wants to control everything. Who invited her to poop the party? Highkey evil and just plain mean. Will use your corpse as a decoration if you get in her way. Secretly petty and superficial af. Thinks social bonding is trying to seduce you in order to take charge of your life. Individuality punishable by death. Even other villains hate her. 

P'Li- 7.5/10

Can explode you with her mind. Her gaze will pierce you to the core. Strong independent and violent woman who don't need a man but chooses to have one anyway. Will shave you off just like the sides of her hair. Has no problem fucking shit up. Boss bitch. Loyal to only a select few, so too bad for you. 

Amon- 8/10

Charismatic but scary and mysterious af. Huge hypocrite. Will silently judge you. Powerful, selfish and cruel. Manipulative as hell and uses intimidation to get you to comply. Pretends to have empathy but really just wants control. Will cripple you physically and emotionally without warning. Knows all of your weaknesses but none of his own. 

Earth Queen Hou-Ting- 8.5/10 

The actual worst. Eats your pets for supper. Her yelling is the #1 cause of deafness worldwide. Will keep you prisoner and then have you killed for looking at her. The bossiest Drama Queen ever. Will be the cause of all your misery and will be proud of it. Bark is the same as her bite. Lots of daddy issues. 

Chief Unalaq- 9/10 

Religious extremist. Actually batshit insane. Wants to destroy the entire world. Has ascended from this pathetic plane of human existence. Loner whose only friends are invisible. Wants you to think he's just shy and misunderstood but NOPE. Knows what you want to hear and says it. Will sell you to satan for one cornchip. 

Yakone- 9.5/10

Worst dad ever. Will either bloodbend you, try to live vicariously through you or both. Absolutely no redeeming traits except for being physically human. Abuse equals tough love. Might beat your ass for no good reason and expect your gratitude for it. Criminal mastermind with no conscience and all of the entitlement. 

Vaatu- 10/10

Actually the devil. Literal incarnation of darkness and chaos. Ultimate troll and force of disaster in the world. Doesn't know any better, but still an asshole by choice. Will use you until you're no longer of value. Has a hard-on for destruction. Likes to play the victim. Will consume your soul and burp loudly.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #the last airbender #zuko #azula #ty lee #general iroh #atla jet #atla june #prince zuko #atla mai #wan shi tong #combustion man #atla hama #long feng #admiral zhao #koh the face stealer #firelord azulon #firelord sozin #princess azula #firelord ozai #varrick #bataar jr #saikhan #tahno #desna #tarrlok #hiroshi sato #lieutenant lok

[crazycoke-addict]

The analysis of Chris McLean

Chris McLean is a fictional character from a tv series called total drama which is a reality tv that is parodied off of ‘survivor’. Chris is the host of the show who comes with the ideas of the challenges the contestants have to face in order get to the million. His challenges are shown to be very hard, challenging, with a little to even survival. The very first challenge back in season 1 ‘Total drama island’, the campers had to dive in shark infested water but making sure they land in a small water. He makes them through gruesome challenges in every season which shows not only he’s a sadist but also a psychopath who lacks any empathy towards the people around him. I’ve been rewatching the show, I understand why he does these things in the first place and why he decided to target teenagers instead.

Before Chris became a host, he did a lot of Internet and tv shows before that. In season 3 episode 5 “broadway baby”, Sierra is embarrassing Chris by listing out the things he had done like doing a cooking show, was in a band called ‘Fametown’ and even made embarrassing cat videos. These things that Sierra mentioned is very out of character to the Chris all know. These things are completely different to the chaos of total drama. It also shows that Chris is obsessed with fame and fortune. Because everything did was a failure, Chris knew he had to be smart. When total drama island was first aired it was in 2007. The early 2000s, reality tv shows were becoming more popular like keeping up with the kardashians, the simple life, American’s next top model, the amazing race and yes, survivor. Chris was probably analysing and realised that reality shows are success and decided to create total drama but in his own way. When the campers first arrived, it turns out that Chris posted fake photos to act like they were staying at resort which manipulate the teenagers by making them audition and if they got pick had to sign a contract. This is a reality show, but it’s a reality show with no scripts at all. He also seems to be obsessed with ratings so as the seasons goes on, the challenges become more extreme. He makes the challenges difficult to because in his words, “to make it more interesting”. In total drama world tour, he decided to bring in two new contestants Alejando and Sierra to spice things up and made them sing because singing reality shows are huge and the worst the singing, the higher ratings.

He also seems intelligent to who wants on the show and even wants back as well. When total drama island was first aired the campers had to audition in order to get in so he analyse every audition to find his 22 campers. In Heather’s audition tape, she said that he chooses her, she would give him more ratings but also said that girl are insecure to go on tv but says it’s because she more prettier than them, Chris chose her to be the villain of show and have more drama with the other campers, in Duncan’s audition tape he’s in the middle of escaping so Chris decided that he needed a delinquent in his show that causes chaos for the other campers. Chris chooses the characters who seem that have a stereotype in them.

Ezekiel- the homeschooler

Heather- the mean girl

Lindsay- the dumb blonde

Noah- the Sarcastic know it all

Duncan- the juvenile delinquent

Gwen- the goth

Owen- the overactive cheerful guy

Bridgette- the surfer chick

Geoff- the Party dude

DJ- the mama’s Boy

Eva- the female athlete with anger issues

Cody- the dork who thinks he’s the ladies man

Harold- the geek

Katie and sadie- the BFFs

Leshawna- the loud and proud

Beth- the wannabe

Izzy- the crazy one

Courtney- the bossy one

Tyler- the jock who is bad at sports

Trent- the cool guy who plays the guitar

Justin- the model

Chris chooses people that he knows would be worthy and get more ratings in the show and even brings back the ones who would give more ratings and drama which is why he brings back, contestants like Courtney and Heather who are competitive and only care about the prize. When he decided to bring in new contestants for season 4, I think he chooses mike to exploit him and to see what he’s hiding. In mike’s audition tape, mike reveals that he doesn’t care what his doctor but is embarrassed that he says that. Chris chooses mike because he wants to know what is mike hiding and exploits it.

In the first season, the campers are 16 years old so their teenagers. Chris decided to choose teenagers because teenagers takes more risks and are competitive, they easy to manipulate by bribing them. If one of the contestants don’t participate in the challenges or refuse to back on a season, Chris tells them they have a choice that they can go back on the show to have a chance to win the million or become losers instead. He gives them choices that they don’t really have a choice on. When old contestants reach to their adult age, he knew that he needed new teenagers that he could manipulate and torture.

Chris is a Narcissistic person who loves himself and chooses to spend all the money that was for the season instead he spends it on for himself. In total drama world tour, when they go to Jamaica and have ran out of gas for the plane, Chef is upset with Chris when doesn’t take the blame and said he blew off all the money for ‘Chris land’. Chris suffers from narcissistic personality which is most commonly affect by men. The symptoms are:

- having a exaggerated sense of self-importance

- Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration

- Expect to be recognised as superior even without achievement that warrant it

- Exaggerate achievements and talents

- Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance or the perfect mate

- Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people

- Monopolise conversations and belittle or look down on people they perceive as inferior

- Expect special favors and unquestioning compliance with their expectations

- Take advantage of others to get what they want

- Have an inability or unwillingness to recognise the needs and feelings of others

- Be envious of others and believe others envy them

- Behave in an arrogant or haughty manner, coming across as conceited, boastful and pretentious

- Insist on having the best of everything- for instance, the best car or office

When you read the symptoms and look at the character, Chris McLean as a whole, majority fits him very with actions on the show. He doesn’t show any empathy towards the other contestants whenever they do the challenges, in some parts he seen laughing at their pain. Like I said before, Chris is obsessed with fame meaning he has an obsession towards success. He deserves to have the best at anything he buys when Duncan blows up his “cottage”, he has to live at the spa hotel but is complaining because he feels like he’s living like a peasant. Which shows that Chris needs to the superior one more than the other contestants, he has to be on top of the pyramid. Chris rarely lets his emotions gets the best of him and in the majority of the times, he is smiling when he feels embarrassed or a one of contestant are being nosey, chris let’s his emotions get the best of him and goes through his outbursts. Which is similar to how a narcissist feels when they are given criticism.

Chris McLean is a Narcissistic psychopath who is well aware of his surroundings and very intelligent when it comes to his own show.

#chris mclean #total drama #analysis #psychopath