#chingonaclaws

[milleroptimism]

"nice tits."

" ... "

[philanthropic]

stares at.

Tony stares back and narrows his eyes slightly. "Who's child is this?" He asks as his eyes squint a little more fiercely. "Did you get left behind at daycare?"

[wnterslder]

"you know, in spanish it's jaime."

“ mm. yo sé. “ decades of hiding in plain sight had created the need to be fluent in a number of languages and dialects — james nods his head. though he doesn't remember the last time someone had called him jaime.

re. / @chingonaclaws

[snkts]

"i ain't filling that thing out. you're already my daddy."

"Damn right, mija - 'fraid you're stuck with me."

[archive-benbraeden]

ben wakes with a start, his heart beating out of the cavern of his chest, his hand splayed out on his chest like he can hold his heart himself, to stall it and will it to a slower pace. his eyes dart around the unfamiliar room, brows furrowed slightly, wondering where the hell is he. a hand raise, to shield his eyes from the sun that is barely peeking from outside, bleeding between the sheer curtains. "what?" ben whispers softly, remembering that he was fighting off a djinn seconds ago.. the thing had him pinned, ben shoved a dagger through the thing's chest, and ben blacking out. the sound of rolling limbs, his own, is all he can remember last.

he feels a stir beside him, capturing his attention and ripping his gaze from trying to decipher the walls like they will come out and tell him where he is. though he doesn't recall where he could have been dragged to, he recognize the curly tousle of dark tresses, descending around laura's features like a halo on the pillow beneath her, the covers splayed over her frame, making the braeden hauntingly aware of his current state, and what lack of clothes he has on. he reaches a hand to his forehead, looking to find a clock on a nightstand, finding that it plainly states in bright numbers: 10:34AM. nothing out of the ordinary. aside from the fact he doesn't know where they are, how he got in bed with laura, why he doesn't remember what happened after his fight with the djinn, and why he doesn't remember his night with laura and how badly he wishes he remembered his night with laura and- he wants to question this, wants to ask her what does this mean, ask if she picked him up from the gutters on the side of the road because that's what she would always be for him, his savior and lifeline, without question; always tethered with a magnet that they never seemed to be able to resist. ... @chingonaclaws

[ragebuilt-freezerburnt]

𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗔 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗦. ┈┈ feat. @chingonaclaws. mutuals only may interact/reblog. roleplay blogs only , no personal blogs please.

[inarms]

"Pep's right...you look better in your pictures."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe urge to shoo her away with a sharp click of the tongue and dismissal wave of the hand is strong but stronger still is the curious, ❝ pepper’s been talking about me? ❞ that slips 'forth between teeth. idiot! stay on track! there's an awkward, stifled laugh as he claws the façade back into place. ❝ hah! she only says that because she hasn’t seen the real thing up close and personal— not that she hasn’t tried, mind you. but i'm a practical guy. traditional. i don't mix business and pleasure, if you catch my meaning. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ honestly, between you and me, the way she’s downright obsessed with me is— it’s a little concerning. endearing, certainly! and flattering, if looked at from the right angles. but- but mostly frightening. at least that's what i pay my lawyers to think. since we're going to be working in the same city again, she should be hearing from my people any day now regarding certain, let’s say, safety concerns. you know how slow lawyers are when drawing up the legalese of it all. crossing T's and dotting I's and all that jazz … here. here’s five bucks. feel free to save me on process server fees and pass on the message yourself the next time you get her her coffee. ❞

[lazurasd]

@chingonaclaws asked: can you zip this for me ?

Jason   glanced   up   at   the   sound   of   her   voice,   brow   arching   just   slightly.   Laura   stood   a   few   feet   away   with   her   back   turned   to   him,   fingers   tugging   impatiently   at   the   zipper   of   her   jacket.   It   was   stuck,   or   maybe   she   just   didn’t   feel   like   struggling   with   it   anymore.   Either   way,   she’d   asked   him—him—for   help.   His   first   instinct   was   to   throw   out   a   sarcastic   comment,   something   snarky   about   how   she   was   clearly   capable   of   skewering   half   a   dozen   enemies   without   breaking   a   sweat,   but   zipping   a   jacket   was   her   limit.   But   he   didn’t   say   it.   Not   right   away,   at   least.

“You’re   asking   me   for   help?   Is   the   apocalypse   finally   here?”   he   muttered   under   his   breath,   more   to   himself   than   to   her.   Still,   he   stepped   closer,   the   sound   of   his   boots   quiet   against   the   floor.   His   gloved   fingers   found   the   zipper   easily   enough.   For   someone   who   handled   firearms   with   deadly   precision,   this   was   almost   laughably   delicate   work.   As   he   tugged   the   zipper   up   slowly,   the   muscles   along   her   spine   shifted   with   every   breath   she   took,   coiled   like   she   was   expecting   a   fight.   He   understood   the   feeling.   Always   on   guard.   Always   braced.   Maybe   that’s   why   he   didn’t   rush.

“There.   Fully   functional.   Crisis   averted,”   Jason   said,   voice   dry   but   low.   His   fingers   hovered   for   a   second   too   long   before   he   let   go.   He   didn’t   smile.   Not   really.   But   something   eased   in   his   shoulders.   “Next   time,   though,   I’m   charging   you.   Hero   services   don’t   come   cheap,   Laura.”   But   he   didn’t   move   away   right   away   either.   Not   yet.