Eddie's April Fools joke would be him bringing Steve a baby that he's watching while he volunteers at the foster center (because kids aren't as judgemental as adults and he can actually do some good without getting nasty looks or whispers about satanism and murder behind his back).
He'd show up at Steve's door and hold out a wide eyed, rosy cheeked, somewhat confused baby like, "Steven, I know it's been a few months since our night of passion, but she's yours. I'm taking you for all you're worth!"
And it's such an obvious joke. Such an obvious prank. He'd just been taking this kid out for a walk and getting some fresh air.
But jokes on Eddie, because Steve wouldn't even think before lighting up, reaching out, and snatching the baby to his chest like oh aren't you so sweet, do you want to come inside? Yes you do!
Eddie tries to explain that it's a joke, but Steve just grabs his hand and squeezes it tight and the words die on his tongue.
"Bah phhhfp," said the baby, giving Eddie a look like, dude, you've got it bad.
Steve didn't drop his hand. His fingers were warm and strong against Eddie's. "Where'd you find her?"
"... foster?" Says Eddie. "I'm uh. I'm watching her?"
"And you brought her here?" Steve's eyes crinkled at the corners. His smile was sunshine.
Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded. And then nearly fell backwards when Steve brought the hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
"Glooof," said the baby, staring at Eddie. You're an idiot if you don't make a move right now.
Thankfully, he didn't have to. Not when Steve was giving him a tug over the threshold.
"C'mon. Let's get you both inside. I think she needs to be changed. You got a diaper bag hiding somewhere under all that leather?"
It was meant to be a joke. It doesn't land as one. Because somewhere in Steve's head, the paternal switch is cheering, lit up so brightly. Free baby? And the person he liked brought him the baby?
Well. Then there's only one real solution to the problem.
(For Eddie, that solution hits him just as quickly. Especially when the guy he's been in love with since the sixth grade is holding a baby to his chest, shirt speckled in spitup and drool, making coffee the next morning, smiling across the kitchen at Eddie so softly and sweetly. Well. He was done for long ago. Might as well fall all the way.)
Ten years later, Eddie and Steve are sitting on a park bench watching their daughter April try to sacrifice her stuffed bunny on top of the jungle gym.
"You do realize that she was supposed to be a joke, right?" He'd say to Steve, a little teary eyed and so unbelievably happy.
"Jokes on you," Steve would reply easily. "Because I kept you both."
Jokes on him indeed.
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I don't care if you don't want me / I'm yours right now
(Price × Reader)
[+18 | Warning: dub-con, drug use (sex pollen), light choking, and a dash of breeding kink]
There he goes again, ricochets between virtue and desire.
"You're too good for me."
"Don't get me wrong, love. You're beautiful."
"But I'm just an old man, I'll bore you to death."
"As if I care." You retorted, "You know me, John. Don't make this difficult for us."
"It's for your own good, (Name)." He smiled, "Someday you'll understand."
You grit your teeth, as you sense his mind is lost in the sea of uncertainty.
It's not a secret that the two of you want each other, just as the skin closing itself over the cut. But his selfishness keeps tearing it apart, leaving a gaping wound between you and him.
You wouldn't care if he didn't love you, but deep in his heart, he did. He still does. And that drives you mad, because there's no reason for him to push you away. Yes, you might come from a different background, but you share the same view as him.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" You tilted your head, "You said that the government didn't care about trivial things." You leaned forward, as you spoke in a lower tone, "Unless you've already suspected their involvement in this."
He chuckled at you, as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "You know me too well, (Name). It scares me sometimes."
Still, it wasn't enough, as if reading each other's minds isn't something intimate. Something that could only be achieved at the expense of vulnerability. You knew he had read your thoughts, and he knew you've peered into his heart, but he stood there, unmoving, while you begged him to come closer.
You wished you could reach out to him, stretching your hands toward him, but your arms were tied, and your feet planted to the ground. You were bound by the principles, and your inability to hold him pushed you to the point of frustration.
Perhaps it's just a game of play pretend, or maybe it's true that you're not good enough for him. Not smart enough, not pretty enough, and not meek enough. But you weren't born to be a lamb—a creature so sweet, and lovesome. A pretty thing that could put a smile on his face, and a poison in your heart.
When he looked at the other women, your chest would tightened, as bitter tears stung your eyes. It blinded you, as you walked away from the place. Not knowing that his gaze would linger on the door for a while.
This ugly side of you would grow, consuming the trust that you've built for him. You no longer found the use of moral restraint, since it didn't help you get what you wanted.
By the time you saw the unattended vial on the table, it was already too late.
You were never a saint, but you wouldn't be tempted by the devil either. Until Price came to you. Just like John the Baptist, his fate was sealed the moment he refused your kiss. You never wished to be Herod's daughter, but he left you with no choice.
If he wouldn't give you the answer, you'd just have to take it by yourself.
When he downed the whole glass of water you gave him, you simply waited. You waited, until his breath turned heavy, and his stare burned a hole in you.
"What'd you put in the drink?" He hissed.
"Nothing." You replied, "Just a truth serum."
"A truth serum?" He snarled, as he stood up and grabbed you by the collar, "Let me ask you once again. What did you put in my drink?"
"It's called a truth serum," You argued while you glared at him, "Because it'll tell me exactly how you feel about me."
"You foolish girl—"
You didn't have the chance to spat, as he shoved you to the nearest surface. The papers on the table flung down when he pushes everything away, before pressing you down with a kiss.
It's rough and stifling, as he leaves you with no room for breathing. You struggle to hold him off with your hands, trying to slow him down. But your attempt causes him to grunt, before he yanks them away from his chest.
"You wanted this, didn't you?" He growled into your ear, "You want me to ravage you like an animal, don't you? Is that what you really want?"
He wraps his fingers around your throat, rendering your speech into gibberish mess.
"You were wrong about me, sweetheart." He retorted, as he pressed his hip against your clothed core, "I might admire strong women in the field, but if I were a husband, I want my wife to be at home, taking care of our children." He dragged his grip up, and your mouth snapped open as you shouted in pain. "And if you were to be my wife, I'd knock you up every night. Because that's the only way to keep a woman like you by my side."
He chuckles when he feels you shudder under him. He lets go of your jaw, before slipping his hand beneath your pants. Your eyes widen, as he slips his finger between your folds.
"You're wet already?" He mocked, as he rubbed circles on your clit, "I barely even touched you."
"John—" You gasped when he put a pressure against the little bud, "Wait—"
It wasn't your intention to back down, moreover getting a cold feet, but his grasp on your hands tightened, to the point that you thought your bones would snap. You cry out, as you fail to tell him the other choice for the second time.
Though you failed to do it verbally, he soon found it out when a small flacon fell from your pocket.
He brings it up as he inspects the liquid inside, before he murmurs, "It's the antidote, isn't it?" He doesn't need to see how your face changes to confirm his suspicion, "I knew you'd bring one along, you're such a thoughtful girl."
You watch him in shock when he pulls the lid off with his teeth, before pouring out the content to the floor.
"But we won't need it anymore," He sneered as he tossed the bottle aside, "Since I'm not stopping any time soon."
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was thinking about takeshi and how he's my favorite brand of unconditional devotion btw. the utter and absolute and all-consuming kind that runs so deep to the very core and is so intrinsic and fundamental to it, it can only express itself in the most casual and natural and certain way. without second thoughts, without any room for doubts or for any moral dilemma to be had over it, because of course he ought to always be breathing and living for his chosen person first and foremost. of course he ought to hang on their every word and make them true no matter what, no matter what he has to do to make it happen, no matter what he has to do to other people to make it happen, and no matter what it might turn him into in the process. because it's obviously the way the world should be for his chosen person. at their feet, ready to bend over backwards and break and build itself again to better answer to all their needs even if they don't ask it for it. it's the only right way it should be for them, and of course takeshi's going to do his utmost at all times to make it a reality as much as possible.
and his devotion comes out as naturally as breathing, comes out lighthearted and nonchalant like he might as well be talking about the weather, but it's not unaware of itself. it's not that takeshi doesn't know it's unhealthy and wrong and that he's willing to go entirely too far in its name for anyone's good. it's not that he wouldn't hear you out if you were to sit him down and explain to him just why he needs to tone it down a little (a lot). logically, he'd agree with you and know you're right. and then he'd tell you he's still not going to do anything whatsoever about it. that he's not bothered by it and doesn't feel the need to change anything to his attitude. makes it a point to never let anyone or anything sway him even an inch in the stand he took when it comes to that, no matter how many thousand of times you might go over the subject with him.
because the morality of his devotion isn't the point at all. is entirely irrelevant to it and doesn't affect the way he expresses it all. it's not the metric with which he draws a line in the sand to hold it accountable to. because the thing is, takeshi's entire world revolves around tsuna--tsuna is his entire world altogether, and it's just a matter of fact, that simple. to him it's a truth as unchanging as the sky being blue, and so being the way he is according to that truth is the only way he can imagine being that'd feel right to him. and so the actual and only metric that matters here is "would tsuna be happier if i were to do this?" and/or "is this something tsuna needs me to do?"
and like. i don't think takeshi ever stops being a kind person capable of compassion and understanding and mercy and forgiveness even ten years later once they became mafia through and through. and i don't think either he grows up to be feared and called a monster per se despite the things they inevitably had to do during those ten years (and the things they'll inevitably keep having to do as long as they keep being mafia), at least not in the way, for example, they'll never stop fearing and calling mukuro one. but i do think that among the tenth gen, he ends up being the one with the most ruthless, merciless and horrific blood on his hands of that particular and distinct loving kind. you know the one i mean, right? he comes to be the one most expected and the one first expected to be willing and to take it upon himself to go through with it when the need arises. and to think little of it after, if anything at all. all in the name of making tsuna's reign as easy on him as possible.
and it's to the point where it's the kind of blood that makes even mukuro pause at times. or, when takeshi is the one coming up with solutions himself during meetings, makes even reborn blink. not because it's unjustified or wouldn't be safe or efficient or anything of the sort, but because it is unwarrantedly thorough in its retaliation. and sometimes, at times like this, he's the one tsuna needs to step in for the most, because he's the only one who can reason with him that "yes, this would work in getting rid of our problem" but "no, please, don't do that takeshi". because if tsuna is the only thing that infers on just how much and in what ways he'll let himself be devoted to him, then of course, he's also the only one takeshi's willing to reign himself in for without second thoughts. because he'd hate to ever do something tsuna would disapprove of or wouldn't want him to do. or do something that'd make tsuna see him differently or love him back less even in the slightest.
and it's also like. his devotion isn't an undisciplined one. it's not one he doesn't have control over, the very opposite. it's a very purposeful and conscious choice he chooses to keep making over and over again every step of the way, and he taught himself to have control over it, to know when it's needed and/or wanted, and how much and in which ways it is when it happens, and to keep it down otherwise. and, yes, to also reign it back in at tsuna's request at times when it still slips past his control. because it's all about making tsuna's happiness easier and secure and long-lasting, and never about burdening him with just how committed he is to do that.
so it comes down to this: takeshi willing to go above and beyond and more for tsuna unless tsuna explicitly asks him not to. and to tsuna needing to ask him not to every now and then. and to other people pointing out to him how too many times tsuna's already needed to stop him, and that maybe there's a hint for him to take there. and to takeshi seeing the hint, looking it straight in the eye and recognizing it for what it is and just. deciding it doesn't apply to him because it's all perfectly normal behavior to him. because it's the only kind of behavior that makes sense to him and feels right.
and so—to circle back to my first point—he can only express his devotion as naturally as breathing, so casually, almost like it's something inconsequential and not worth talking about despite how unmistakably it couldn't be further away from being the truth. it's the only way he could have always known how to express it, because, after all, who has ever taken time to ponder about the details and the hows of the way they breathe?
and i, for one, absolutely eat that shit up every time, thanks for coming to my ted talk <3
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