#And now things that I think first that she would like I end up liking myself a bit more than I have in the past

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[lovelytsunoda]

its going to be a cold winter | lando norris

summary: it’s landos first christmas with his girlfriends family, and as long as he doesn’t let his ugly christmas sweater catch fire, he should be fine. right?

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: family christmas content, lando and y/n both have some major moments of self doubt, but it's mostly just holiday fluff. some suggestive content, but barely any. i'm sorry its so short lmao i kind of lost steam towards the end, but i started out super strong!! it's a fic about nothing lmao enjoy it.

frank sinatra played softly in the background of the country house as y/n puttered around, straightening the christmas pillows and lighting the pine candles throughout the house. her dad got a fire burning in the living room, and the kitchen smelled like warm apple pie. snow was falling gently outside, blanketing the roof of her old audi.

lando would be here any minute, and it was important that everything be just perfect.

it was their first christmas together, and y/n was anxious as all hell about having lando visit the house where she grew up. she knew that the country house was different from the house where lando grew up, and the lifestyle he was accustomed to now.

of course, she didn't know that lando was just as nervous as she was, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled off the highway. what would her parents think of him? would they find him pretentious? too much of a player?

it was obvious as he steered his top-of-the-line mercedes into the gravel driveway, parking next to his lover's aging audi sedan that the environment where she grew up was so different from his. a decrepit volkswagen beetle sat next to the garage, no doubt a project for her dad to tinker with.

snowflakes dusted his hair as he attempted to maneuver the laundry basket full of wrapped presents out of his narrow trunk. he knocked on the door, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. he could hear music coming from inside, see the shadows of a figure rushing to open the front door.

"lando! you made it." y/n beamed, opening the front door, a wide smile on her face. she threw her arms around him, kissing him softly before brushing the snow off of his jacket. "i'm glad you're here. everybody is so excited to meet you."

lando stepped inside, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. as his hands began to thaw, family members came rushing at him from all sides, gushing about how they were glad he'd found the place all right, and how it was so lovely to meet him. y/n shooed them all out of the main hallway, but not before her mother managed to shove a christmas sweater into his arms, insisting that he wear it.

"let's try that again." y/n grumbled, clearly biting back a curse word as she wrapped her arms around lando's midsection, resting her chest just over from his heart. "thank you for coming. and mom's sweaters are horrific, please don't feel like you have to wear it."

lando chuckled, unfolding the sweater, which prominently featured a reindeer with a blinking nose, activated by a button hidden in the right sleeve. "why wouldn't i wear it? this thing is hysterical."

"here, let me help." she smiled, helping him out of the jacket. "and you didn't need to bring gifts either. nobody would have been mad if you didn't."

"baby, i think you're worrying too much." lando laughed, pulling the sweater on over his black t-shirt. "everything is going to be fine."

"says the man who worried the entire drive here and called me over his bluetooth three times before he got of the m60." she joked, poking him over the heart. "this is new for both of us."

the pair wandered through the house, converging in the living room with the rest of the family. a christmas tree stood against an exposed brick wall, and two young men in christmas sweaters just as atrocious as the one lando was wearing were sat by the fire with their arms around their partners. a four year old girl was running around the room with a jingle bell paddle in her hand, shaking it up and down. from the expressions on the faces of the other guests, she had been doing that for a while.

"lando, this is my cousin, james, and his wife alexandra. and this is my brother will and his girlfriend clara. the little munchkin in the red dress is eliza, james and alex's daughter."

"nice to meet you!" will said, getting up from the floor. "y/n has told us so much about you!"

"only good things, i hope." lando joked, shaking will's hand. she could see the nervous crinkle at the corner of his eyes, hear what was slightly off in his voice. she reached out to lay a ahnd on his back, fingers splayed, hoping it was reassuring. she felt him relax under her touch, and her heart burned with love for the mclaren driver.

eliza ran over towards him, waving a set of antlers in her hand. "these are for you." she giggled, standing on her tiptoes and reaching for lando's head, despite only coming up to his torso.

beaming, lando knelt down and allowed eliza to put the antlers on his head. he sat next to y/n on the couch, curled up with her as they listened to alexandra talk about how she met james.

"you don't need to wear the antlers if you don't want to. lize will lose interest in like, ten minutes."

lando made a face. "of course i want to. i want your family ot love me, and clearly its pretty easy to win eliza's affections."

she laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "i'm going to go and help mom and aunt deb with the honey potatoes. you'll be okay here by yourself?"

"of course he will!" will shouted. "we'll take good care of mr. mclaren for you!"

in the kitchen, y/n found her mom and her aunt puttering about, adding honey to the roast potatoes and pulling the apple pie out of the oven. it was wrapped in tinfoil, with brown sugar and apple goo oozing out of the graham cracker crust. she tied her hair back into a tight knot, reaching over her head to take a bone china mug out of the kitchen cabinet.

"i really like him." her mom said, a knowing smile on her face as she hugged her daughter. "you did good, sweetie."

"he's really good with eliza." deb noted. "so, are there any wedding bells nearby in your futures?"

"aunt deb!" y/n whined. "we haven't even been together a year yet."

"look at alex and james. they were only together for six months."

because they wanted to fuck and the church said they couldn't do that unless they were married, she thought cynically.

"i really do like him. he was so scared to come here today. i think he thought you'd find him pretentious."

"we could never." her mom laughed, pulling her in for a hug. "go spend some time with lover boy. your father and your uncle are coming in from the barbecue with the turkey in a few minutes."

"thanks mom." she kissed her mom's cheek before she grabbed her mug of hot chocolate and rejoined the other young folk in the living room.

lando stood next to the tree, laughing gleefully as eliza ran circles around him, wrapping him in tinsel. alex was laughing to herself, filming the encounter on her iphone. y/n stood watching in the doorway. lando looked up and met her eyes, winking at her dramatically before attempting to blow her a kiss.

later that night, after barbecued turkey and honey potatoes, with a dessert of warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream, lanod joined his lover on the couch with two fresh mugs of hot chocolate. she curled into his arm, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. the fire was crackling, and everybody was gathered around the tree for the gift exchange.

"i love you, lando norris."

"and i love you, y/n y/l/n." he replied softly, a peice of silver tinsel falling out of his hair.

"and i can't wait to get you out of this ugly christmas sweater." she whispered, voice husky. my old room is up in the loft above the garage, and it's pretty soundproof."

"i like the way you think, angel girl."

[barcaatthemoon]

respect || alexia putellas x reader ||

You go back to Alexia after taking some space with the hope to reconcile.

You were absolutely fuming. Alexia had a way of acting like a complete dumbass sometimes. What should have been a nice night out with the team turned into something much more complicated. You wanted to have a good time and enjoy yourself, but then Alexia got jealous. She had a bad habit of getting jealous, and you had finally reached your limit.

It had been over a week and a half since the incident, and you were still pissed. You had seen Alexia since then, but you were wildly good at ignoring her at practice. The two of you lived together, but you hadn't been home since that night. Alexia was hurting, and you were also struggling, but you needed to prove your point.

In the time that you'd been away, you had practically flocked to your older sister. Marta loved you, and she would always take care of you, even if it strained her own relationship a little. You and Caroline were pretty close friends, but it was a little overwhelming for her to live with two very outgoing Spanish women. You knew that you were getting close to the end of your stay, even if you weren't quite ready to face Alexia again.

"Nena, I think that it is time you go back home for a bit. Not a single thing you're wearing right now actually belongs to you." There was a teasing lilt to your sister's voice, but you knew that she was serious. Behind her, you could see Caro standing in the hallway. She seemed a bit more anxious than normal, the kind that came with a certain air of guilt. "I can take you back in a bit."

"It's fine, I'll call a cab," you told her. Marta frowned as she watched you pack up your things. She hadn't meant that you had to leave immediately, but you definitely seemed to take it that way. You weren't mad at her, not really, but Marta knew that it would be a good idea to steer clear of you for the rest of the week.

You had always been very passionate, and with that came a lot of different feelings. Marta knew how hard it could be for you to calm down. Something seemingly small would stay with you for so long, and despite all of the work you had done to stop that habit, you could never quite shake it.

Marta sighed as you seemed to be gone before she could really stop you. A part of her wondered if she had made the right decision sending you away so early. She knew that things with Alexia could potentially get much worse, especially if Alexia was mad at you for stepping away for so long. Marta hadn't ever seen the two of you fight, but she had been there to pick up some of the pieces in the aftermath. Things between you and Alexia were generally pretty good, even if both of you were beyond stubborn.

Alexia's car was gone when your ride dropped you off. Your car was in the garage, so Alexia always parked hers outside, despite it being the nicer vehicle. It was just one of the many things that Alexia did to take care of you. You could be a bit tempermental, but Alexia always tried her hardest to take care of you. It wasn't a good thought, but slowly, you began to wonder if you'd be able to find someone else who was willing to do that.

"Why are you sitting outside? You're getting burned," Alexia said as she ran over towards you. For a moment, you thought she was going to pull you out of the chair, but she skidded to a stop before she could touch you.

"I've been gone for a while, and I wasn't really sure whether you'd want me to come inside after everything," you told her. Alexia scoffed at that as she pulled you into a hug. "I'm sorry that I ran away, I just didn't want the fight to get worse. Please forgive me."

"You did the right thing. I was mad at first, but sometimes I forget how we go back and forth. You'd give me space if I wanted it, and sometimes, I need to remember to give it to you too. I was completely out of line for how I acted that night, and I am sorry, so please forgive me," Alexia pleaded with you. She held you in the hug to keep you from seeing her cry, but you could feel the tears begin to soak through the collar of the shirt you were wearing.

"Of course I forgive you, Ale," you told her. Alexia's body sagged down a bit as she relaxed in your arms. "Can we go inside now please?"

Alexia nodded as she wrapped her arm around your waist. You let her stay tucked against you as the two of you went inside. Alexia only let go of you once you were inside to go back out and grab your bag for you. You went straight into the bedroom to shower and change into clothes that were actually yours as Alexia started a load of laundry and called to order lunch for the two of you.

"I know that we kind of made up already, and I do not want to upset you, but I think we need to talk about what happened. Could we try to do that in a calm manner?" Alexia asked you. You nodded as you made room for her to sit with you on the bed. You knew that Alexia really didn't want to fight because she had brought the takeout to you instead of leaving it in the living room for later. "Will you please go first? I'd like to know what exactly happened that upset you so much."

"You embarrassed me in front of everybody. It's hard enough for the team to see me as my own person. I've been Marta's baby sister, then I was your girlfriend, and right when I started to feel like me, you showed everybody different," you told her. Alexia's face softened as she listened to you explain your feelings. She had never really thought about things like that before. You had always just been (Y/n) to her, but as she thought about it, the more she realized that she saw many people refer to you in regards to someone else.

"Yes, you're Marta's sister and my girlfriend, but that's not all you are. It isn't anybody else's fault that the world doesn't understand your value. I forget that not everybody knows you like I do, so I am sorry for stepping in the way I did. You know how I get, but if you're willing to be patient, I will work on being better," Alexia promised you. There was never going to be a world where you wouldn't give Alexia a second chance.

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[suguann]

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really. 

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late." 

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold." 

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks. 

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute." 

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch. 

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube." 

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times. 

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty. 

"Hey," you repeat dumbly. 

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.  

After a moment, you meet his gaze again. 

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[r0-boat]

That time of the month guys, You know what I must do...

Whb Kings on your Period

All Kings x AFAB! reader NSFW No sex just extremely suggestive... Blame three individuals

....Wait a minute... If Lilith makes the kids does that mean demon women don't have periods? Probably looking too much into it...

Edit: This is supposed to be a fun post, But at the end of this, I went down several rabbit holes... Please don't be like me don't think 😭

Cw: mentions of pussy eating (You probably know who it is already lol), no . Suggestive,(alluding to sex on. But never happens because demons are fucking weird)

Satan

You're different somehow every month, and he can't put his finger on it. But your short-tempered rage makes him giggle like a teenager and kick his feet. You have such a low tolerance, super BS, and he loves that. And he wants to know why he never smelled this off Solomon before, so it must be you that's different. When Satan asks you, you sigh and put your hands to your mouth before giving him a 20-minute explanation.

...Holy shit? You're what now??? He thought humans creating little people it was crazy now what you're telling him is that humans have the power to shed their skin from the inside and shit it out??? Can he see it?!

... The mental image, He had and the real thing was not what he expected are you okay Oh my God there's so much again. He never wants to see that much blood come out of you ever again. The way you made this man fear more than any angel by that explanation alone. The way you have this man scampering to a human store to get whatever you ask to help ease the pain even if it's just for a little.

When he tells you that demon women don't have periods He swore your rage was emanating off you and Leviathan could probably feel you're jealousy from all the way in Hades.

Hi I think Satan using a period cramp simulator would be very funny and very entertaining...

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Satan: Would have the worst periods known to woman. The streets of Gehanna are deserted because the moment something slightly inconveniences her a whole building is collapsing. I wouldn't blame her, her period cramps will hurt worse than Gabriel stabbing a sword through her uterus before punching her in the gut.

Mammon

He'll buy you literally everything. It doesn't matter if you use tampons pads or cups because he's already bought everything. He's either got it from Lucifer or you made an offhand comment about it and he did his own research. He's very proud that he's prepared for his master.

Like he'll already get you everything But when you're on your period you actually have a reason to accept all his things especially if it's junk food. This is awesome! You're letting him pamper you!!! He wishes you can have periods all the time!

(one explanation later) What the fuck? Never mind. Aren't you scared of running out of blood?

He wish he could grant you something that take the way the pain and discomfort easily but Tartaros never really had that problem so they don't really have any solutions. Instead he'll just stick to spoiling you with food.

Watching Mamon's eyes go wide when he sees how much a tampon soaks up water is pretty funny.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Mammon: She hates it. She hates it so much that she spends the money and resources to immediately either go to the human world or recreate a Depo shot or an implant to get rid of it. And she regularly changes it when she has to.

Leviathan

He smelled blood and he thought you were going to get killed. He was literally ready to die protecting you. He was so angry that he got worked up over nothing at first until he saw how much pain you were in.

Beelzebub

Why does your body insist on doing something that harms itself Is it stupid or is your body hating you. If you insist on being useless then you can just lay in bed!

After the initial Levi snark is gone he comes back to check on you. He actually looks really worried and thinks you might die. Freaking out frantic calls tulucifer after initial back and forth Lucifer insists that what they're feeling is normal.

All of the novels will be looking after you He doesn't want you leaving the bed just in case you might trip and die or accidentally get yourself hurt. He genuinely thinks you might die.

He will silently open your door stare at you and see if you're doing all right and then close the door, Rinse and repeat until you either yell at him ask him what he's doing. He will either respond with arguing back.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Leviathan: when she's on her period you literally will never see her. She's so glad She connected her bathroom too her bedroom. It's because she sheds her scales she's not joking. She actually does shed her scales on her period Will she show you fuck no. The moment she starts bleeding you're never seeing her again until she stops.

Honestly he was zoning out through half of your explanation until you mention the actual 'bleeding' process. Then you just see him lean inward putting his chin on his hands. So you're telling him... There is a way to consume you without hurting you?

This fucker has to stay away from you 10 ft away. He is SOOOO on board with eating you out. Keep Guy 10 ft away from you He would be absolutely no help except for maybe eating junk food and bringing you snacks.

He will laugh at your horrid, disgusted face because he just loves your cute little reactions. He raises his hand during the lecture on human anatomy to the Kings, and you told him to put his hand back down because you're not answering any of his batshit questions because you know it's going to be the second worst thing you've ever heard.

Bonus non-cannon:

It's okay though he'll never remember you period though he will always know because he could smell it (insert that one meme) he'll deadass forget that humans can bleed like that and occasionally get scared to smell blood on you before remembering.

He's still this day wonders about us question "if He sucks it all out Would the period be over?"

Fem! Beel: she's lost so much of her cute underwear from being forgetful. I could definitely see her getting an implant or Depo so she doesn't have to remember, but she kind of already forgets her appointments, too.

Lucifer

Human menstrual cycle...He's not stupid He was part of the creation when God made humans to breed with one another. He not only sees it as a normal thing but something special that human women have that sets them apart from demons and angels.

He doesn't understand your disgust and hatred by something explicitly given to you and all human women by God.

He offers to change your mind as he gets on his knees and you start adamantly declining and screaming. Now he really is confused....

About half of the other devils are defending your case when Lucifer brings it up at the next meeting. Though it's so split down the middle they end up discussing that topic another time.

As an 'apology' he gives you a basket with a bouquet of white lilies, painkillers and some cut fruits with card telling you to not eat unhealthy foods since it tends to make the cramps worse. And he hopes you get better.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Lucifer: human female menstrual cycle yeah don't they also molt their feathers? No that's just an angel thing?? So demons also don't molt their feathers molting feathers is just an angel thing??? Other she would be super chill on her cramps, she doesn't even care.

Belphegor

The most normal, You want somewhere to rest? Lucky for you his bed is the softest in all of hell he'll make sure to take good care of you and by taking care of you he means sleeping and cuddling with you while his subordinates do all the work.

Periods actually sound like a pain in the ass He hopes he never has one You're absolutely welcome too crash at his place He understands completely about how things might be more irritating when you're constantly in pain.

Belphegor Actually really likes You're listlessness as much as he likes hard work He doesn't mind when you succumb to his sin a little bit. Especially when you're looking so cute laying on top of him. His phone screen is a picture of you smooshed against his chest with a hand on your head.

Another excuse to binge anime that he doesn't want to watch alone is a win in his book. He'll let you watch some of your favorites as well. He's not picky.

Beleth is in heaven taking care of and pampering you and his majesty. He just wish he could have you to himself for 'private' time.... menstruation? Lol a little blood isn't going to scare him.

Bonus non-cannon:

Fem!Belphegor: Nope... The last time they had their first period was when they first woke up, never again... A thousand years of menstrual pain almost put her back to sleep. Ever since she'd been dying trying to get rid of this thing causing her pain as soon as she heard Lucifer can do implants and depots She was the first one who got it. If she ever gets off at again she'll experience the same exact piercing pain she felt.... but That sounds like a problem for her future self.

Asmodeus

He completely compliance but doesn't really understand He still doesn't. After having a wife who had to deal with periods. It's a complete natural thing for the human reproductive system. And oh boy you bet he knows all about that

"You know if you really don't like it I used to have a cure that can take it away for 9 months, Would you like one? Hahah just kidding dear!"

Asmodeus 🤝Lucifer🤝Beelzebub(I think you can fill in the blank)

In all seriousness he really doesn't understand why humans don't like something that's completely natural He understands devils because devils are just naive beings in general and only certain high level angels Who worked with God don't care...

Another Tally on the board that what Asmodeus has that human men lack. Apparently basic women anatomy knowledge.

As much as he would love to take care of you again since he hasn't done that since his last wife. He doesn't think the Kings fully trust him yet so presents it is. He can tell what phase in your cycle by just scent alone, and that's scary.

Bonus non-canon:

Fem!Asmodeus: She doesn't give a fuck You better be on top of her or else she's going to have a problem. She always feels so horny her period.She's horny all the time

"It's going to be a bloodbath >:)!"

"please stop saying that..."-MC

[creamflix]

flix my love my darling what if we combined jjk and hsr or is this too delusional

LUST FOR LIFE! — jjk x female reader x hsr

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. recurring themes of: established relationship, marathon sex, slight cnc, overstimulation, mind-break, threesomes, degrading, praise, p in v sex. sex toys, cucking, voyeurism, body worship, switch dynamics, oral (m. receiving). guided sex. featuring x reader pairings of: toji fushiguro & sampo koski, gojo satoru & aventurine, choso kamo & dan heng, nanami kento & veritas ratio, and (heinen era) ryomen sukuna & blade

jelli my love you got me slobbering all over the screen with your request. i would have written more but i wanted to include multiple pairings so it ended up as drabbles instead ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) i hope you like these <3 requests are still open for those who are interested, just send in an ask. 

— general masterlist ☆

TOJI FUSHIGURO AND SAMPO KOSKI — BUSINESS DEALS!

toji had a habit of turning things up a notch, but this? this was a different league altogether. 

when you first saw sampo koski at your doorstep, looking like trouble in an expensive coat with a shit-eating grin, you thought it was just one of toji's stupid pranks.

“brought reinforcements,” toji had said, voice dripping with smug amusement. sampo, ever the showman, swept into the room like he owned it, opening a sleek case filled with an impressive lineup of toys. your face burned, mortification clashing with a thrill you couldn’t deny.

and now? god, you were wrecked. sprawled out on the bed, legs trembling, body hypersensitive, and your mind a haze of overstimulation. sampo’s laugh was low and teasing, his voice dripping with condescension. “look at you, so eager to thank us for every little thing. who’s my favorite little client, huh?”

toji’s hand, firm and warm, pressed on your lower back, pinning you down as he leaned close to your ear. “ye got a lotttta stamina, babe, but you don’t think we’re stoppin' now, do ya?”

every whimper, every moan that escaped your lips only fueled their sadistic amusement. sampo alternated between cruel, taunting comments and offering you praise that made your head spin, while toji took full advantage of your pliant state, whispering filthy things about how good you looked falling apart for them.

it was endless, round after round, with every toy from sampo’s collection coming into play. the overwhelming sensations had you slurring broken words of gratitude and sobbing from the sheer intensity, unable to think, just feel.

“we might have to invest in more,” sampo mused, twirling a dildo in his hand like it was a business proposition. “our sweet little thing here seems to have a taste for luxury.”

toji laughed, a dark and throaty sound. “oh, don’t worry, she’ll take everythin' we give her. wouldn’t want her to get spoiled though… unless you like bein' spoiled, baby?”

you could barely respond, too lost in the haze, but the smirk they exchanged promised that your torment — and pleasure — was far from over.

GOJO SATORU & AVENTURINE — ALL IN!

“a brother from another mother,” gojo had said with that usual mischievous grin, clapping aventurine on the shoulder like they weren’t both trouble incarnate. aventurine, all sharp smiles and unnerving eyes, had leaned in, his sandy-blond hair catching the light, and said, “nice to meet you, sweetheart. gojo’s told me allll about you. every. single. thing.”

you didn’t know if it was the way aventurine’s voice dripped with something wicked or the way gojo gave him a knowing smirk, but you had a feeling this meeting wasn’t going to stay innocent for long. and god, were you right.

now? now you were caught between them, your senses obliterated, every nerve ending alight. aventurine’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. “think you can handle another round, sweetheart? satoru says you’re good for it, but I’d like to see for myself.”

“she’s better than good,” gojo cut in, his tone smug as his hand trailed down your side, igniting shivers in its wake. “but let’s make this fun — wanna bet how long it takes before she’s begging again?”

aventurine’s grin widened, all teeth and danger. “oh, you’re on. but let’s not stop there. how about we bet on how many times she screams my name?”

you were barely holding it together, their words tangling in your hazy mind as their hands and mouths worked you over. every move was calculated, every kiss, every thrust a competition to see who could unravel you faster.

aventurine was smooth and precise, his calculated touches finding every spot that made you see stars, while gojo was relentless, teasing and taunting as he pushed you to your limits. they coordinated like they’d done this a hundred times before, one filling the spaces where the other left off, leaving you no room to recover.

“look at her,” aventurine said, his voice a low purr as he watched your trembling form. “a little overwhelmed, aren’t you, sweetheart? don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. maybe.”

“nah,” gojo chimed in, his grin never faltering. “she loves it. just look at how she’s clinging to us — like she doesn’t want it to end.”

you could barely respond, lost in the pleasure as their playful banter became background noise to the overwhelming sensations. every sound you made, every time your body betrayed you, only fueled their competitive fire.

“i think that’s my point,” aventurine declared triumphantly when you screamed his name, your voice cracking from the intensity.

“oh, don’t get cocky,” gojo shot back, his tone light but his actions anything but. “we’re just getting started.”

and you? you couldn’t even protest. not that you wanted to. you were here to enjoy the ride, and with these two, it was shaping up to be the wildest ride of your life.

CHOSO KAMO & DAN HENG — SOCIALLY FUCKED ANXIOUS!

choso had always been your sweet, reserved boyfriend — the type who’d spend hours listening to you, loving you with a quiet devotion that melted your heart. so when he mentioned he was making friends, especially someone like dan heng, you couldn’t have been prouder.

but this? this was unexpected.

dan heng, all elegance and composure, was seated next to choso, his blue eyes studying you with a mix of intrigue and desire that sent a shiver down your spine. choso, your shy, anxious boyfriend, was the one who suggested it. his voice soft but firm, his dark eyes burning with an intensity you didn’t know he had. “only if you want to,” he murmured, his hand holding yours with that same gentle warmth you’d always known.

and now here you were, sandwiched between them, their lips worshipping every inch of you. dan heng’s kisses were slow, deliberate, trailing down your body with reverence, while choso stayed closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he murmured sweet reassurances.

“you’re so beautiful,” dan heng said softly, his voice like silk, as his hands mapped your curves.

choso nodded, his voice thick with adoration. “perfect. always perfect.”

but their tenderness didn’t last. it wasn’t long before patience gave way to raw hunger. dan heng’s composure cracked first, his movements becoming urgent as he gripped your hips, his kisses turning into bites that left you gasping. choso followed suit, his shyness replaced by a desperation you’d only seen glimpses of before, his hands firm as they guided you exactly where he wanted.

their rhythm was relentless, their coordination uncanny as they pushed you to multiple orgasms over and over again. choso’s soft murmurs of praise contrasted with dan heng’s deep, rumbling groans, the combination leaving you breathless and shaking.

“you can take it,” dan heng growled, his usual calm voice tinged with something feral as he watched you writhe between them.

“you’re doing so good for us,” choso added, his tone still laced with love, even as his thrusts grew rougher, more insistent.

you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, your body overwhelmed by their touch, their intensity. all you could do was surrender, grateful for every moment, every sensation.

as the night blurred into a haze of pleasure, one thought lingered in your mind: you were so glad choso had stepped out of his comfort zone. if this was what friendship brought, you were more than happy to let him keep making new ones.

NANAMI KENTO & VERITAS RATIO — LESSON IN RELIEF!

nanami had always spoken highly of veritas ratio, his tone fond yet full of respect whenever his name came up. “a genius,” he would say, “but insufferably eccentric.” still, he admired ratio’s dedication to teaching and his unmatched intellect, and when his best friend visited, nanami insisted on inviting him to stay at your home.

ratio was a sight to behold — his wavy violet hair fell over one eye, the other catching you with its piercing, dual-toned gaze. he was polite, almost reserved, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his mind at work, constantly analyzing, constantly thinking.

you hadn’t expected the night to turn this way.

“she’s yours for the evening,” nanami had said, his voice calm, almost businesslike, as though he were discussing dinner plans instead of offering you up to his best friend. “i know how taxing your work is, ratio. consider it my way of thanking you for all the years of friendship.”

ratio hadn’t needed to be asked twice. his demeanor shifted as he approached you, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. “a most generous gift, nanami,” he said, his tone smooth, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “i promise to make the most of it.”

you had barely registered the words before ratio’s hands were on you, firm yet measured, like he was solving a complex problem with precision. his lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot as he murmured, “so eager to help, aren’t you? a willing participant in your husband’s… generosity.”

nanami watched, seated nearby with a glass of whiskey in hand, his expression composed but his eyes betraying a flicker of satisfaction. “don’t go too easy on her, ratio. she can handle more than she lets on.”

ratio chuckled, low and dark, as his hands roamed your body. “oh, i don’t intend to.”

he wasn’t gentle — not entirely. his movements were calculated, his touch almost clinical at first, but it didn’t take long for his restraint to unravel. his words came fast, sharp, like a lecture, each one making you tremble under his control.

“you’re quite the distraction,” he mused, his voice edged with amusement. “no wonder nanami looks so content these days. it seems i underestimated just how… accommodating you are.”

you barely heard nanami’s low chuckle over your own gasps and moans, your body responding to ratio’s relentless attention. his strength surprised you, his hands gripping your thighs as he pushed you past every limit you thought you had.

“good girl,” ratio praised, his voice a mix of condescension and admiration as he watched you fall apart. “you’re learning quickly. maybe there’s hope for the future generation after all.”

“she’s an excellent student,” nanami added, his tone warm with pride. “but she’s all yours for now, ratio. don’t hold back.”

and ratio didn’t. by the end of the night, you were utterly spent, every nerve in your body alight, your mind foggy with exhaustion and satisfaction. as you lay there, caught between them, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have a husband so generous — and a man like ratio to appreciate the gift.

RYOMEN SUKUNA & BLADE — A LORD’S DECREE!

sukuna was as cruel as he was powerful, a lord whose sadistic streak ran deep. you had earned your title as his consort, climbing from the ranks of his concubines, yet even now, his affection came wrapped in torment. his amusement at your expense was a constant reminder of his dominion over you.

tonight was no exception.

“you’ll honor my general,” sukuna commanded, his voice a rumble of authority as he reclined on his throne, sharp eyes watching you like a predator savoring its prey. his lips curved into a smirk, his four arms resting lazily, exuding dominance.

before you stood blade, the general who had delivered yet another victory in sukuna’s name. he was imposing, with dark blue hair tipped in crimson, his red eyes sharp and unyielding. the bandages on his body only added to his aura, a testament to his countless battles.

“kneel,” sukuna ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

you obeyed, trembling but determined not to falter under your lord’s gaze. blade remained stoic, his expression unreadable as you lowered yourself before him.

“use that mouth of yours well,” sukuna drawled, leaning forward slightly, his smirk deepening. “but remember, pet, blade knows better than to take liberties. isn't that right, general?”

blade’s deep voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “of course, my lord. your word is absolute.”

you began, your movements tentative at first, the weight of sukuna’s gaze a constant pressure. blade’s restraint was palpable, his body tense as you worked, every sound you elicited from him controlled, calculated.

“good,” sukuna murmured, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “you should feel honored, blade. not everyone gets to enjoy my consort’s talents.”

blade’s only response was a low grunt, his eyes flickering to sukuna briefly before returning to you. his self-control was admirable, but you could sense the strain, the effort it took for him to abide by sukuna’s decree.

“don’t get greedy,” sukuna warned, his tone sharp as a blade. “you know the consequences if you so much as think about taking more.”

blade’s voice was a strained rasp. “i wouldn’t dare, my lord.”

sukuna chuckled darkly, his amusement clear as he watched the scene unfold. “good. remember your place, general.”

you could feel your own limits approaching, the intensity of the situation overwhelming, but sukuna’s laughter reminded you that this was as much a test for you as it was for blade.

“don’t stop now, pet,” sukuna said, his grin widening. “you wouldn’t want me to think you’re slacking, would you?”

you shook your head weakly, redoubling your efforts despite the ache in your jaw, the humiliation of it all only fueling sukuna’s sadistic pleasure.

when it was finally over, blade stepped back, his expression unreadable, though you could see the faintest flicker of gratitude in his eyes. sukuna, meanwhile, looked utterly pleased, his laughter echoing through the chamber.

“a celebration worthy of my general,” sukuna declared, his tone mocking. “well done, pet. perhaps you are worthy of your title after all.”

you swallowed hard, your body trembling as you knelt before him, his cruel gaze still heavy on you. being sukuna’s consort meant enduring his games, his punishments, and his praise — if it could even be called that.

and yet, you wouldn’t dare question your place by his side.

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[thebiggerbear]

This was the very first thing by you that I ever read and I fell in love with it as well as your writing!!! One of my favorite Dean scenes in the later seasons is the dream Sam has with the pizza and pie, and Mary calling him "little piglet...with love". Plus you included the Latin flair on one of my favorite holidays, girl, my heart was bursting at the seams as I read this while also drooling while also slightly jealous of Dean LOL. (you should know as I'm typing this I am daydreaming about the flan, you should just straight up know that LOL)

The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

I am happily being led while pushing Dean out of the way to get to it first. Lovingly of course lol.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer. You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

Not going to lie, I'd be giving Sam a little bit of the stink eye myself. What is so wrong with Dean enjoying himself a little? Besides...give me ALL the flan!!! Sam doesn't know what he's missing.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

This made me smile because it is so sweet and so Dean. ❤️

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter. “So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Exactly. Let the man enjoy it.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.” Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right. “You don’t remember?” you gently ask. Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…” He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry. It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This right here is perfection. It made my heart break for Dean as well as Sam for their childhood, what Dean had to sacrifice at times to take care of Sam, how Sam never realized it before...just so perfectly written and so on point.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

Okay, this is just beyond sweet. Literally made me

Moments like this are worth melting for. 😉 (seriously though, I'm pretty sure I have to call someone to get the wetvac to get me up off of the floor)

The whole ending scene just makes my heart glad, especially with her offering to go for a walk with Dean, most likely keeping in mind what Sam said (while Sam is keeping what she said in mind - like I said, perfection!) , but I especially loved the ending sequence right here:

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.” It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at. You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.” Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him. “Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off. Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

Oh, Dean, nice try. We all know you do. 😉

This was just beyond sweet and it was something I very much needed back when I read through it the first time. (I'm sorry I didn't leave feedback until now! I'm trying to be better about that these days) I love the way you write the Winchesters and this one shot cemented you as one of my favorite writers I've come across in this fandom (as well as a few others 😉).

I definitely cannot wait to dive into the Midnight Espresso verse and get more of these two. You did a beautiful job here, lovely!!! Well done!!! 😊💖💖

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

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[deathbxnny]

Hi

Can I request a jinx x fem reader with abandonment issues that only grew stronger with jinx disappearing after silco death

(Sorry if that was long it’s my first time requesting :))

Please don't leave me. | Jinx x Fem!Reader

Hey there, dear Anon!! I absolutely love your request, and dw, it isn't long at all! Thank you for your great ask, and I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Heavy angst, abandonment issues, unhinged Jinx, grief, hurt/kinda comfort?, established romantic relationships, spoilers for season 2, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!

((Not proofread))

One day, she was there with you at your side, cuddling you to sleep whilst she promised to be back soon from a mission. And the next, she was gone for good, far away somewhere to escape her adoptive father's murder, including you, it seemed.

In a way, you weren't all too surprised by it, considering how her episodes were. Yes, it drove you mad to be apart from her for more than a couple of hours. But you were used to it and told yourself that she'd be back for you eventually. You two had an unreadable bond. You were always her "pretty girl" since she first met you. Would it be dramatic to say that it was maybe even love at first sight? It never was to her, at least. She always was the one to claim that you were made for eachother.

Yet now you wondered if it was all a simple lie. Or maybe she had forgotten all about you in the heat of the moment, the panic drowning out any emotion she had for you. And you stopped thinking about it about three months into her disappearance, hoping that acceptance would set you free from the exhausting cycle of fear and depression you were in.

How were you even functioning without her anymore? The answer to it was "not at all", but even that was too simple. Jinx had abandoned you. She had done the one thing she swore she'd never do because she out of all people would understand how much that hurt. How much it messed with one's soul and body. Every second without her tormented you, and you couldn't help but wonder why you weren't enough for her to at least take you along to wherever she went. You would've followed her to the end of the world if it meant not ending up alone like this anymore.

You were going crazy and it only solidified when one night you found yourself waking up to the image of her laying on her side in your once shared bed, those magenta eyes glowing in the darkness of your room. You had imagined this moment plenty of times before in many different ways. In some daydreams, you scream at her in anger for abandoning you, and in others, you simply ignore her and turn away, just like she had with you. Neither of those things happened, and instead, you burst into tears and practically jumped onto her.

You asked her for an explanation. You asked her why she abandoned you. You asked her if she still loved you. But all she did was soothe you as you cried and sobbed, her hand carefully rubbing your back up and down with a newfound softness she had never had before. Whatever she experienced in her absence must've changed something in her. You could feel it deep down. The way her soul seemed lighter and calmer. But your anger for just leaving you like this didn't subside, even when you drifted off to sleep.

You woke up to an empty bed, though, and that confirmed that you must've been hallucinating... until you notice a small note on your nightstand detailing her return in a couple of days. She hadn't forgotten you after all. She had come to find you despite her grief and tribulations.

And that made you smile weakly for the first time in months as her love finally seeped in again, even from afar.

[natalievoncatte]

“What if we don’t go back yet?”

It was a peculiar question that Lena asked, but a compelling one. She was currently lying with Kara, or rather *on* Kara, after the Kryptonian caught her once again. Kara had slipped under as she fell and cushioned the fall with her invulnerable body, and they currently lay in the wreckage of a sailboat along the docks, the ruined and smashed vessel bobbing gently in the ocean.

“What do you mean?”

“Alex and the crew can get the guy,” said Lena.

She was referring to the second-rate wannabe villain that had tossed Lena off the roof as a ploy to distract Supergirl and cover his escape. It had worked, of course, with Kara abandoning her manhunt to catch Lena. As she always did. That was apparently why he kidnapped her in the first place instead of, who knows, maybe robbing banks in a town without a superhero.

It didn’t seem to matter much now. Kara was warm and had wrapped them both up in her cape, and Lena’s head lay pillowed on her shoulder. Kara curled around her, breathing gently into the crown of her head.

“Why wouldn’t we go back?”

“I’m tired,” Lena murmured, giving the words more truth than she meant to. She was tired, so tired. She could sleep for a thousand years here, lying with Kara.

This always went the same way. Kara would bear her to safety like a knight in shining armor and set her down and then she’d step back.

The contact would end.

It’s not like they never touched- they hugged and kissed each other on the cheek even, and Lena secretly treasured that, but it wasn’t enough. It was different when Kara rescued her.

If physical touch was Kara’s love language, the way she held Lena after a rescue was a kind of Freudian slip. These embraces were more, just more in a profound, indescribable way.

She was always so tender, after. She would sweep the hair from Lena’s eyes and just touch her for the sake of it, running the pad of her thumb along Lena’s jawline or hugging her extra tight, extra close, fearful and yet utterly fearless.

Much as she was holding Lena now.

“I know,” Kara whispered.

She did know. If there was anyone truly in tune with her needs, it was Kara. Kara cared, so fully, so deeply, so recklessly that Lena could barely understand it, and scarcely believe it.

“I want to stay here with you.”

Kara tensed slightly, throat bobbing as she swallows and her breath caught.

“What I want more than anything is just time to be us,” Lena said, very softly. “You and me. No company, no DEO, no adventures, no crises. I could just lay with you here forever.”

Kara was quiet, gently working her fingers through Lena’s hair.

“I’ve thought about things like that.”

“What sort of things?”

She was quiet for too long a beat, then said, “just us being us, alone. No game night, no movie night, no brunch, no Noonan’s, just this. Just you and me and… and relaxing.”

“Cuddling, you mean.”

Kara shifted herself, gave Lena a little squeeze.

“I don’t want to go either. I don’t want to let go of you.”

Lena opened her eyes and looked at Kara, at her golden hair fanned out around her head and her questioning blue eyes.

“So don’t.”

Gently, carefully, Lena freed an arm and rested a palm against Kara’s cheek. Her skin was always so warm, so lusciously soft. Kara was watching her intently, eyes searching.

“I think it’s customary, after the brave her saves the girl, that the hero gets a kiss.”

Kara tensed, clearly nervous. It was the most adorable thing Lena had ever seen.

She kissed her.

Kara was stone still at first, barely responding, then something seemed to awaken in her and she kissed Lena back, intensely. Lena was a little shocked at the sudden way Kara almost seemed to lunge into her, how her hands suddenly moved and she took Lena by the hips.

It was amazing. Her heart fluttered and her head was swinging and she felt a cold shock-

“Kara! The boat is sinking!”

With the most annoyed sigh, Kara stood and lifted Lena into a bridal carry. Water was gurgling up around them.

“Alex is going to kill me,” said Kara.

“Alex can wait,” said Lena. “Take me home.”

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @patscorner @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst (?), homophobia/homophobic slur, sexual innuendos, sexual content.

kalena speakss 🪽! so here’s the ACTUAL chapter ten, i accidentally posted a different version last night so if you saw that just completely disregard it lmao

July 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

“‘Preciate you comin’ out, man.” I nod, my hand giving a firm dap to Julian.

Yeah, the Julian who’s girlfriend I seem to be helplessly obsessed with.

We had just beat the Fever at home in a blow out on the second night of a back-to-back. My body is aching, and as soon as I left the locker room, I was ready to push through those metal doors and go home. Maybe stop for some dinner too. 

Until I heard it. The voice that has replayed in my head rather than in my ears for the last week and a half. That slight southern drawl with the occasional upbeat ending. It’s perfect, and I didn't realize how bad I’d missed it until now.

I meant it when I thought I needed a break. Maraye was running laps in my head, like a marathon. She’s all I seem to be surrounded by. But there’s so many issues, and Nika was right: I don’t need to be getting hurt again.

So I stepped back, wanting to figure out what I really did want. 

Now I know that I want her in my bed, hands in my hair, moans of my name leaving her mouth. More importantly, though, I want her to be mine. So damn badly. I wanted to grow with her, watch her succeed up close, to do all the things with her that come with a relationship. 

That shit was fucking terrifying. I can't remember the last time I let a girl get this close to me. To learn me in the way Maraye has been able to. Or even being able to learn her in the way that I have.

So when she stands there, next to Julian in her curve hugging jeans and a cropped shirt with my name and number, her eyes looking everywhere but at myself, I know that something is off.

“Congrats All-star.” She says to me, eyes looking at me but not really. She darts everywhere but at my eyes, which normally are her main attraction.

The All-star list dropped at halftime, Rickea and Dearica making the list as well. A smile spreads onto my face and I finally drop my hand from Julian’s. “Thanks, angel.” It slips. I shouldn’t have said it, not here in front of him. I knew I shouldn’t.

It was so natural, falling from my tongue like butter. 

I see his eyebrows furrow, looking down at his girlfriend as if she would stop me from calling her that again. 

“You comin’ to Indy?”

“I was thinking about it. Yeah.” Raye answers and it’s the first time throughout this awkward exchange that I actually see those eyes. Wide, doe, eyes that I know I could happily spend the rest of my life just looking at. “Uh, we. We were thinking about going.” She corrects when Julian darts his head to her.

I nod, wiping the palms of my hands on the side of my jeans. 

“I should probably head out, Ion wanna keep y’all too long.” I force out through the tension. I don’t want to leave. Because I know that as soon as I do, I’m going to force myself into more dry texts and ignore her calls and keep myself away from looking at that damn perfect face. 

“You sure?” Julian questions me. His tone is skeptical, like he knows something that I don’t. Or that he knows something that he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, I got some places to be at too.” I hum, pulling my phone out to look at the time. It’s not late, barely even 10 o’clock, but that slight movement is enough to make them both think I have other plans.

Maraye pushes her curls from her face, the bright white hallway lights make her gold septum glisten in her nose. “I’ll see you around then?” She asks, taking a step closer to me and we hug.

The only difference is this hug isn’t what I’m used to. It isn’t the hug where her arms wrap around my neck, mine feel on the swell of her ass, and I can smell every bit of the scent she chose to wear. That would be too risky.

So instead she holds me by my side, my arm cautiously around her shoulder while her palm presses into my back. It’s difficult for me to keep my composure because deep down I know that I should be able to hug her however I damn well please. 

And I can’t.

All because of him. It’s always him.

—

The hum of the engine is all that fills the car, along with the occasional voice of whatever rapper Julian has playing at minimal volume while I drive. 

It’s been like this for a minute. Just the two of us sitting quietly, my finger tips occasionally tapping against the steering wheel while he stares out the window. I’m supposed to be taking us to his place, we’d eat some dinner and maybe watch a movie.

“So, you and Paige, huh?” He asks, his voice so monotonous.

My hands start to sweat and nearly slip down the wheel. “What?”

He turns his head towards me and though my eyes are glued to the road ahead, I can feel the way his dark eyes are burning holes into my skin. 

“You and her. Y’all got something goin’ on? She callin’ you angel and you don’t do nothin’ about it?” His voice casually picks up, going from nonchalant to angry in a matter of seconds. I briefly look at him, and even through the darkness of the night I can see his light skin slowly build in a red tint.

“Paige and I are friends, Ju.” I breathe out. I know that’s true, even though it’s also a lie. Paige and I stopped being just friends the second I kissed her on my couch.

“Then why the hell is it that you been hanging out with her so much, but the second I’m around y’all wanna be all awkward and you wanna look at the floor?”

It’s my fault for thinking that he wouldn’t be able to pick up on our awkward exchanges, because the tension was very noticeable. It was my first time seeing her since that night in the studio. She’s been avoidant lately, and honestly I couldn’t even blame her.

She was over it. And I guess I am too. 

Yet, here I stand, lying to Julian once again and letting him think nothing is wrong. Keeping him at arm's reach when I should really be letting him go.

“I’m sick of fighting, Julian.” I told him. That’s also true. I am so damn exhausted from all the back and forth yelling, but right now I just really don’t want to have this specific conversation. 

“Answer my fucking question, Raye. Are you fucking her?” He yells, never taking his glance off the side of my face.

“What, no!” I look over at him again, my hands shaking while I grip the wheel. “Quit being so insecure! Just because I got good people in my life, doesn’t mean I’m fucking them. I’m with you.”

I hate this. This lying and manipulation. I fucking hate it because this isn’t who I am. I’m not an asshole. I’m not a cheater. Then here I am, doing everything I write about in my songs, hurting him just to protect my own image.

“Insecure? You think I’m jealous of that fucking fag? Like she can give you anything that I do.” He scoffs. His words hit my ears and as I process them, they taste bitter. Every gear in my head starts turning and I start to get angry. Not at what he said, but how he speaks about her. I waste no breath in defending her.

“Watch how the fuck you talk about her, Ju.”

We approached his apartment complex.

“Why you defending her?”

“Why are you calling her out her name?” I yell back.

He’s silent. We stop at a light and I turn my whole head to make eye contact with him. “Should’ve never that you get close to that fuckin’ dyke. You wanna fuck around with her, go do that shit then.”

I reach for the panel on my door, pressing the unlock button. The click echos through the car. “Get out.”

He looks at me surprised, as if he didn’t expect me to say that to him. “Raye.”

“No. You wanna talk to me crazy, you wanna talk about Paige crazy. So get the fuck out.” I reason. “Your place is right there. Walk. Get the fuck out of my car, Julian.”

He scoffs, slumping back against the seat. “Man, you crazy.”

“Get out of my car. You think I’m fuckin’ joking?” I laugh completely irritated. I reach for his phone, taking it off aux and throwing it into his lap. I look at him expectantly.

Julian huffs, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger door. He hops out, looking at me with squinted eyes. “So you—”

“Close my door.” I cut him off, no longer looking back at him, but the green light that is blaring at me to keep driving.

He huffs, slamming the door and I speed off as soon as he does so.

I sit with my own thoughts. So much running through my head, but it all goes back to her. And suddenly I don’t care about the lying or the distance. I just want to talk to her. To talk to Paige.

I pull off into a nearby gas station, pulling my phone out of my purse.

can we talk?

It isn’t even a few seconds before the gray text bubbles pop up on my screen. Then they disappear and I groan.

Until they pop up again, this time fast and insistent.

Yeah we should

Come over?

I know better. Me and Paige don’t have a great track record of keeping our hands to ourselves when we’re alone. So I should text back that we should meet somewhere else.

That’s until she texts me again: Please?

send your addy

And she does.

—

My leg bounces from where I sit on a kitchen stool. It’s not in the anxious way, but in the distracting way. My arm is stretched out over the edge of the counter that I lean on. My fingers tug on my bottom lip while I look at her.

Raye’s been here for a few minutes, going on about something Julian has done. I was listening at first, I think he knows and argument being the specific terms that stuck in my head.

She stood in front of me, pulling her curls up into a bun on the top of her head. It makes the hem of that damned cropped shirt ride up on her body and expose gold jewelry on her belly button.

So yes, it’s hard to listen to what she’s saying when she’s practically tempting me right now. But I do listen when she says:

“I dunno. I’m done with all of this shit.”

If I were a dog, my ears would practically be perking up at it. I sit up straight, leaning with my elbows on my knees to get closer. To make sure I heard her correctly.

Throughout this whole encounter with Maraye, she’s only ever told me she was tired or that she was bothered. Not once did she ever tell me she was done, and that makes all the difference.

“You’re done? For real?”

“Yes. I dunno. It’s not that simple, P.”

I let out a scoff. “Yes it is. You aren’t comfortable ‘round him like you are with me. You don’t spend all day with him like you do with me.” I shrug my shoulders, slightly frustrated. I feel like I’ve given Raye enough evidence that I’m better, as cocky as it sounds. But yet here we are. “It’s hella simple. You jus’ don’t wanna admit it.”

“I didn’t come here for you to scold me.”

“So whatcha come here for then, huh?” I ask, standing up from the stool. 

My hair tumbles down my shoulders as I tower over her. Maraye’s eyes trail down my body and the white shirts that clings to each ridge of my body.

“You wanna kiss me? Wan’ me to fuck you? Wanna keep talking about him? What do you want, Raye? ‘Cause I know what I asked you to come here for.”

“And why’d you do that, Paige?” She responds, getting in my face.

I should be bothered and put up yet another defense. Then I’m reminded that she’s already defensive, herself. She’s frustrated from all the arguing that took place the minute I left her and Julian at Crypto. 

She’s mad. And normally I’d justify her anger, but tonight; it’s all our fault. We made a mess, started seeing each other in a way that we shouldn’t have and Julian caught on. He knows.

“Well for one, Ion wanna be a home-wrecker.” I say, throwing my hands up. “You might be over him theoretically and he might be a raging asshole, but I don’t do that shit, Raye.” And I don’t.

Fooling around, seeing multiple girls, I used to do a lot of it. I can admit that. Home-wrecking, however, has never been on my list.

Raye lets out a snort. “Spell theoretically.”

I huff and run my hands through my hair. “You’re so unbelievably annoying.” I respond, stepping away and walking past her to my couch but she tugs my arm.

“Okay, wait.” She laughs. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Yeah, okay.” I stand in front of her again. This time we’re even closer, her hand wrapped around my wrist. “What do you want me to do?” It’s more of a statement than a question because she knows.

She knows I want her to breakup with him and choose me and then let me fuck her within an inch of her life immediately after. That, I could get behind.

“You wanna hear me say it?”

“Please?” 

Raye’s free hand trails up my arm. She’s so tempting, the words so close to dying on my tongue and not being heard at all. Her voice is so enticing, and she looks up at me through her lashes like I hung the moon.

“I… want you, to make a fucking decision.” My voice doesn’t waver as I look deep into her eyes. “You can choose whoever you want, but I can’t keep doin’ this. You choose.”

This is the closest I’m going to get to fighting her off. I don’t push her arm off of me or tell her to back up. This is the closest I’ll get, because I simply can’t get enough of her.

“Okay.” Maraye nods, clutching onto my bicep.

“Okay? That’s it? You not gonna yell at me for making you choose?”

She smiles and shakes her head. The bun on her head shakes a little, and it makes me smile too. “I’ll choose. You gotta give me some time tho’. Few days maybe?”

It seems pretty reasonable to me, though I’d rather she break up with him right this minute over the phone, that would be just a bit crazy.

“We got a road trip. I’ll be gone all week, that work?”

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I just need to know. You pick him, fine.” I shrug. “But if you pick me, even better.”

She grins. “It’s giving Meredith Grey.”

Now I push her off me, listening to the way her laugh fills my ears and bounces off the walls. She stumbles back a tad before catching me on the couch. My back rests against it while Maraye stands in front of me, the spot between my legs becoming designated for her.

“C’mon. It was funny!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a sexy idiot.”

I hum, rolling my eyes.

It was things like this I missed. The laughter, the jokes, the comfort. Sure she was stunning, and the flirting and kisses were otherworldly, but this topped it. These moments with Maraye that were so hard to come by.

I like the way she looks when she’s looking down at me. It’s intimidating, but still so damn hot.

“A very sexy one.” I finally respond, sitting up more so she can see me better. “These jeans look incredible on you, by the way.”

“Yeah? You wan’ a 360?” Raye jokes.

“I want a 180, angel.” I reply. My hands reach for her hips, playing with the fabric of her belt loops. Raye brushes me off, making a frown spread across my mouth. 

She bows her head to check the dainty watch on her wrist. “It’s late, P. I should get home.”

“You could stay here with me.” My hands drop from her body, instead using my eyes to suggestively try and convince her to stay the night. It’s a joke. Mostly.

“And you were the one who said no more home-wrecking.”

—

My lips are pressed against hers, tongues swirling and spit swapping between the both of us.

It’s urgent. More urgent than any way Paige has ever kissed me before. She doesn’t give me a second to think before her finger is breaking me open and I’m gushing all over her. The stretch is so foreign, and I can’t believe how unbelievably full I feel with just one finger.

“Like this?” She asks after pulling back with a nasty suck of my tongue. I’m nodding at her words tucking my lip between my teeth. 

“Mmph yes. Yes.” A whimper rumbles from my mouth. I clutch into her shoulder, tossing my head back until it hits the pillow under me. 

My legs start closing in on themselves when she adds a second one. “I’m tryna make you feel good, baby. Why you fightin’ me?” Paige asks. Her voice as deep and hungry as I ever heard it. 

Her fingers curl into me, thumb rubbing tight circles on my unbelievably sensitive clit. She found it within a matter of milliseconds, it felt like. And the lights were off.

“He fuck you better than me? Huh?”

I barely hear her over the sound of my own cunt but that doesn’t stop me from shaking my head eagerly. “No. Fuck no, P. He doesn’t.” 

I’m nearly melting at the stimulation. Her voice in my ear and her finger’s scissoring me apart

“P.” I hiccup, nothing else filling my head except the pleasure I’m feeling. Her fingers are so damn long, tickling the deepest parts of me that I didn’t even know existed. She consumes me, swallows me whole. 

Her mouth finds my neck again, biting on my sensitive spot and making my eyes roll. I’m so close, my arousal already dripping past my cunt and onto the sheets below my ass. It’s messy. Wet and messy.

“You wanna cum for me, angel?” Paige teases, licking at the mark she left on my neck.

“Fuck, Fuck! ‘Mm God, P, you’re—”

“You’re doin’ so good, ma. I know you wanna cum.” She nods. “Just let me have it.”

“Paige!” I moan, reaching to grip her hand.

“Pretty fuckin’ girl. Cum, baby. I’m right here.” 

Her words add unbelievable fuel to the fire and my back arches underneath her body. She’s talking me through it, bringing me to the edge and I gasp before waking up.

The sun peeks through my blinds and sleep still crusts my eyes. I wipe them, sitting up half naked in my bed. 

I got home late last night. Closer to one in the morning. Paige was distracting, and I simply couldn’t just leave when she was begging me to stay.

My body is sweaty, my breath is embarrassingly ragged, and My panties are so soaked under the shorts I wore to bed. 

When I sit up, the duvet covering my body, I reach for my phone. Then I see them, the hundreds of texts and calls from Julian and the text from Paige.

Hope you make the right decision

I’ll see you when I get back ma 🫶🏼

[barcaatthemoon]

mascot || leah williamson x reader ||

you and leah have a talk about expanding your family after your nephew is leah's mascot.

"There's a canon on my shirt," Max, your nephew, proudly announced to the car. You felt bad about leaving Leah on her own for the morning before a game, but Max was supposed to be her mascot for the game today, and you wanted to personally deliver the boy. Your family would be down later, but you got to keep him to yourself for the morning and afternoon leading up to the game.

"It's the Arsenal canon. Pretty cool, right?" you asked him. Max nodded enthusiastically. You smiled as you turned your attention back towards traffic. It was a dreadfully long drive from your brother's place to London, but this was worth it. Besides, after the game, Max would get to spend some quality time at your parents' place for a bit.

You generally had busy days for most of Max's visits, compliments of your girlfriend. Leah loved having the boy over, and usually had a bunch of little things planned for the three of you to do together. Today, it'd be a chill day of brunch before you went to the game. Max was careful in keeping his Williamson jersey clean, which you thought was quite the feat for the boy.

"Is that my favorite bench buddy?" Alessia asked as she saw you in the parking lot. Max's face lit up as he saw the blonde. He was fond of all of the Lioness players. Since he had lived in England his entire life, he thought of himself as a proper little Englishman. You and your brother were absolutely besides yourselves trying to correct that, but it was a losing battle.

"Where's Leah at?" Max was hugging Alessia, but his focus was on your girlfriend. Alessia laughed, promising to bring Max to Leah once they were inside. You left took Max back so that Alessia could get dressed, unsurprised when Leah and Kim came out to see Max.

Leah went straight to you, giving you a big kiss while Kim had Max distracted. She handed him a little Scottish flag, something you knew that would end up as a decoration on your brother's desk. Max didn't care for Scottish stuff, but that wouldn't stop any of you from trying with him.

"Do you like my canon Leah?" Max asked. Leah nodded as she picked him up. You stepped back to let her have a moment with Max.

"Williamson, huh. I'm surprised that you didn't put your last name on there," Kim said. You shrugged at the comment, currently out from Arsenal for a bad injury. You knew that your whole career was at stake, but you had been trying not to think about it too much. You didn't want to freak yourself out too badly about things.

"Don't tell her, I want her to notice on her own. Also, Max insisted, claimed that he had enough of my stuff. I swear he loves Leah more than me," you huffed. It wasn't true annoyance, in fact, you were glad that Max loved Leah so much.

You wanted a family with her, but you didn't know if she wanted that too. Leah had been nervous at first around Max, claiming that she wasn't great with kids. You knew that was far from the truth now. She had a better maternal instinct than you did, and you had dreamed of being a mother since you were a baby yourself. A large part of your family had always been very traditional, so for a long time, you thought it was your only option. You were older and knew better now, and it was seeing how the world changed made you feel good about bringing a new life into it.

"Alright little man, we've got places to be," you told Max. He gave Kim and Leah big kisses goodbye, and made them promise to give Alessia and Beth some too. Max happily followed you over to where the other kids and their parents were waiting. He was a social butterfly, so he managed to make friends with several of the children around him.

He was lost in his own little world until Leah and the other players came. Immediately, he flocked to your girlfriend. Leah held his hand in hers, and you knew she wouldn't let go for anything. You stood back a bit, and snapped a picture of them talking to each other as both teams began to line up. You wouldn't post it, but you'd keep it for yourself and Leah to look back on later.

"Oi, Max is gonna stay on the bench, okay?" Leah shouted. You gave her a thumbs up. You found your spot in the friends and family section right by the bench just in case Max needed something. You filmed Leah walking Max out, and just how obvious it was that she cared for him. Those videos did go to your story, but it didn't seem odd for you to post Leah in the lineup. Everybody knew about your relationship, and a few dedicated fans even knew about her little adventures with Max whenever you managed to get him for an off weekend.

…

"We probably could have taken him for tonight," Leah said as she watched your parents drive off with Max. She had held onto him all throughout the post-game celebrations. Leah even managed to talk your parents into going out for dinner just so that she could stay close to your nephew.

"Leah, I'd hate to burst your bubble, but we're second to my parents. That boy loves his Nanny and Papa," you told her. Leah knew that it was true. He may have asked to sit with Leah, but he had been talking your parents' ears off all night. Still, you hadn't missed the way that both Max and Leah seemed to lean into each other for comfort.

"Do you ever think that we'd make good parents?" Leah asked you. She leaned her head against your shoulder, eyes fixed on the night sky ahead of you. You could hear the apprehension in her voice, like she was afraid that you'd reject the ide of becoming a mother with Leah. Since the two of you had gotten serious about each other and your relationship, there wasn't a single person in the world that you could think to have a child with other than her.

"I don't know about myself, but you'll be a great mother. Nobody will do everything right, but I think that you'd probably come the closest," you told her. Leah lifted her head up and turned you around to face her. "I think that you could do good enough for the both of us."

"You sound fucking mental to me right now. Seriously, you're the most loving and caring woman that I know. If it's about Max, he just thinks that I'm cool. I can't even take care of myself without you, but you'd be fine without me," Leah said. She sounded so sure that you had to believe her, even if it was just a little bit. "I'd have a baby with you right now if I could."

"Well, I will be out for quite a while. There's still another whole surgery that I need and the physical therapy for it. What if we waited until the last surgery and then started trying?" you asked. Leah seemed a bit surprised, but you could tell that it wasn't a bad thing. "There's no rush to even think about it. I just thought that maybe it was something to throw out there."

"Yes," Leah answered quickly. Now, it was your turn for the shock to settle in. "I want to have a child with you, and this seems like the way to go. We don't have to tell anybody until it takes, and I mean, it's kind of perfect anyway. And if you decide that you don't want to go back at the end of your injury, you won't have to scramble around trying to find your place. I'll even step back from some things to really help out because I don't want you to feel alone for a second."

"Leah, this is a big step. Promise me that you won't get cold feet." You didn't mean to sound to scared, but Leah comforted you anyway.

"Never, I'd be an idiot to even consider it. You don't even know how lucky I feel to wake up next to you everyday. And the idea of having you and a baby? Babe, I'm over the moon already. Now, let's get home so that we can start on the process," Leah said as she grabbed your hand.

"I'm not sure that's gonna work," you laughed as Leah pulled you along.

"Simulation, it's very important!" Leah exclaimed. You continued laughing as she just scooped you into her arms and sprinted to get you into the car.

[thethingsnerd]

This one. I like this one. Fic under the cut

“Your input is not necessary.”

It’s not the first time Bruce had said that to Dick tonight. It would be less frustrating if B was making better calls- he’s not really listening to anyone else tonight, not just Dick, and his decision making is suffering for it.

Everyone's tempers are suffering for it, too.

It starts with Oracle, who hates when Batman falls back into bad habits like this as much as Dick does, and has twice as less patience for it. She's curtly professional from the word "go" and when Dick offers to bring her a pint of cherry garcia later, Barbara tells him to shove it up his ass instead. Dick doesn't take it personally.

Next is Cass, who's always extra stressed when Barbara's upset. Even so, it blindsides Dick. They'd ended up at the same shootout, they'd efficiently gotten the surrounding civilians to safety, they'd worked together beautifully. They de-escalate the gun fight next, and Dick knocks a gun out of a gangster's hand before he can shoot Blackbat in the back. He doesn't think twice about it until Cass starts castigating him on the roof.

"I didn't need help."

"He was behind you. That's the whole point of a patrol partner, Blackbat, so someone can cover your six."

"No."

"No?"

"You were out of rhythm."

"I was not-"

"You're throwing me off."

She's running before Dick can say anything else. He could catch up with her, if he really tried, but he's still not sure what that was about. Maybe Dick is as out-of-sync as Cass insisted, or maybe Cass is feeling off-kilter herself. Either way, he doesn't go after her.

The rest of the night shift is uneventful, aside from the snipe over comms. Back at the Cave is a different story. Steph and Tim are arguing when Dick rolls in, and Dick gets all of three steps toward the computer before they round on him instead.

"Dick! Tell Tim that-"

"No, Dick, inform Stephanie-"

"Oooh full name, I'm so chastened, Timothy-"

"You should be embarrassed-"

"Okay!" Dick interjects. "What is the problem?"

Steph glances between Dick and Tim, glances at her feet, then sighs aggressively. "Nothing," she grits out. "Absolutely nothing, so for once in your life leave it alone, you busybody."

Dick watches as she stomps away. Just a bad night, he has to remind himself that it's just a bad night. Tim shakes his head when Dick glances at him, so Dick heads straight to the showers.

Clean, warm, and dressed down in comfy sweats, Dick feels much better than has all day. He'd passed Damian on the stairs, but something was clearly eating at the kid- he'd taken one look at Dick and turned sharply in the other direction. Hiding. Dick's been there, and valiantly tries not to take it personally.

He decides to make himself some chamomile (he'll never take sleeping pills again after don't think about it) and takes a moment to check in with himself. His therapist would be proud. Alfred would be proud of how nicely his chamomile turns out; Dick almost always understeeps herbal tea but tonight he's gotten it just right.

Dick sips his tea. He takes inventory of his injuries; minimal bruising, achy lower back, tender left wrist. Pretty good. Then takes stock of the rest of him; tired but not yet sleepy, agitated but not too badly. All in all, considering all the tension, tonight definitely could have been worse.

Famous last words.

Tim walks into the kitchen just as Dick gets to the dregs of his chamomile. Dick nods at him in greeting, and Tim does not take it well.

"Oh, now you acknowledge me?"

Dick does not sigh. He doesn't but it is such a near thing. "Did I not acknowledge you some other time tonight?"

"I asked you to back me up downstairs and you totally ignored me!"

"I did no such thing. You were in the middle of an argument I didn't catch the start of, so I asked what the problem was. How is that ignoring you?"

"I asked you for backup and you didn't come through," Tim hisses.

"Backup in the field and backup in a lovers' quarrel are not the same-"

"It wasn't a- a lovers' quarrel, asshat!"

"Well, how am I supposed to know when you don't say what's really going on?"

"You shouldn't need to know! I asked for backup-the only thing you're good for is backup and you couldn't even do that right!"

......yeah, alright, there's no getting around it. Dick is going to have to take that personally.

Dick deliberately turns away from Tim. He rinses out his teacup so the porcelain won't stain. Then, he takes a long, centering breath, and decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time.

"That how you really feel, Tim?" One more out.

"Yes."

Dick decides to cut his losses.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" Tim asks. Clearly still angry but now confused as well. It's a bad look for him. "This is not an 'okay' kind of situation."

"Not from your angle," Dick says. It's the only reply Tim gets before Dick makes his way upstairs.

Last time he left Gotham at dawn, Dick had nothing but a backpack and stolen emergency cash. This time, Dick is a grown man and a lot less desperate, not to mention a lot less injured, so he digs out his civilian suitcase and actually plans out what he wants to take.

He packs jackets, pajamas, shaving razors, plenty of socks- the kinds of things that are only expensive when purchased by the Wayne Estate, and that he won't buy for himself. All shoes go in a beach bag he has stashed in his closet, except for his loafers which go in the bottom of the dress bag with his most tolerable black tie suit. That had annoyed him last time, he remembers- Alfred had always been so militantly insistent on perfect tailoring that the baggy fit of Dick's off-the-rack replacement had been an unbearable insult to injury.

Other personal affects get tucked in the suitcase with care, bits and bobs, odds and ends, and he zips up everything just as the clock hits 4:00. Even the most workaholic bats should be in bed by now, or at least upstairs, so he should be good for a pop down.

Dick has a Nightwing stash on the edge of the city, and he'll get most of his kit from there, but his costume and his current favorite pair of escrima sticks are going with him now, neatly folded into a briefcase. Dick also nabs a keyring on his way out of Bruce's office.

The car keys used to stay in the garage with their respective vehicles, but one too many joyrides had prompted Bruce to hoard all the keys in a desk drawer instead. The first time Dick had seen them under the monogrammed stationary Bruce never uses, he'd laughed out loud.

It pains Dick to leave his bike behind, but even though Dick doesn't have a lot of luggage, it's still too much for a motorcycle. He'd considered which car to take carefully; no flashy sports car, obviously, but also not one that Bruce is particularly fond of. He needs a car for practical reasons, not spite, so Dick settles on the least ostentatious Audi and tries to think of anything else he might want in the next five-to-ten years.

Dick takes the box of chamomile tea bags.

__________

Donna opens her apartment door on the fourth knock. The look on her face is superficially friendly that Dick's proud of her- of course, she smiles for real when she registers just who it is at her door. Dick finds himself smiling back before he decides to.

"Hey, Donna. Mind if I crash here for a minute?"

Donna raises a curious eyebrow, and Dick bites his lips to keep from grinning. Donna ushers him inside without a word, locks her door, and all but pushes Dick into a bar stool. Donna sits herself up on her counter in front of him and demands eye contact.

"When you say a minute, do you mean a New York minute?"

Dick slides his eyes away and toward her couch. "I mean a lot of minutes. I'm cutting Gotham off."

"AAAA!" Donna picks him up and spins him in the air for several more turns than he thinks this really warrants. Then Donna sets them on the floor just to twirl Dick around even more, and he giggles. Part amusement, mostly relief; Donna wouldn't be so excited if he'd come at a bad time.

"Was the scream of delight necessary?" He asks, still laughing.

"Entirely," she says, mock serious. "This is a delightful day."

Donna sobers a bit at her own words. She eyes him more thoroughly, "It is a delightful day, yes?"

He knows that Donna knows he wouldn't decide to cut contact for no reason, that's not the real question. The answer to her question, which is 'are you reeling from what it was', is thankfully 'no'. Not today.

"Yeah," Dick says honestly. "Peachy, even."

Donna smiles at him.

She deposits him back at her kitchen counter, declares she's going to make real breakfast- apparently she's been breaking her fast with fruit jerky all week- and starts grilling Dick the same time she starts frying up sfakianopita.

"So which straw broke the camel's back?"

"My brother implied I'm mildly useless and I took offense."

"Only 'mildly' useless convinced you to get out of hell? I'm not complaining, but that doesn't sound like you."

Dick bites down the instinctive urge to deflect, to push her away. Donna wouldn't care even if Tim insulting him had been his only grievance. Donna is happy to have him here.

"Nah, it was more of a... death of a thousand cuts kind of thing. Yesterday was a bad night, and I thought about it some- which, you know how that usually goes- I thought about it, and I'm tired of not taking any of it personally. Even if they don't mean it, I don't want to put up with it. Then Tim comes in with an unmistakably personal attack and...."

"And you made the best decision."

Dick's mouth twitches up. "They wouldn't call it that."

"They have terrible decision making skills."

Donna starts stacking the sfakianopita on two plates.

"That's not true, they just don't always pay attention."

"Who does these days?" Donna gripes.

"You," Dick says.

Donna turns toward him, one hand on her hip, one hand pointing her spatula at Dick's face. "You don't make it easy, Dick."

Dick shrugs emphatically. "What can I say? I was born difficult."

"Not difficult," Donna shakes her head. "Just challenging."

"And you like a challenge?" Dick grins.

Donna bops him on the shoulder with the spatula. "Get it right, Dick. I love a challenge."

Well, doesn't that make Dick feel warm and cozy? Donna smirks at him like she's won something (she has and they both know it) and turns to root through her fridge for cheese. Dick gets out of his seat to find the honey while she does.

__________

Dick crashes on Donna's couch for exactly nine days before she tells him they're getting a new place together. Dick tells Donna that he always intended on getting his own space- a misstep, since Donna argues that's exactly why they should get a new apartment. A two bedroom, where Dick can have more privacy.

"I don't want to impose, Donna."

"Have you ever considered what I want?"

Dick sighs. "What do you want, Don?"

"I want company. It's been a lonely year, D. I enjoy when my friends impose."

There's not much he can say to argue that. Isolating himself never leads Dick anywhere good, anyway.

Between apartment hunting and catching up, Donna and Dick fight supervillains. New York City never lacks for things to do- smugglers to send packing, wannabe world conqueror to thwart, assholes to kick in the face. Dick had honestly forgotten how fun it is to patrol during the day.

He adds some some gold back into his costume. Dick's surprised by how much he likes it- it was his idea, yet when he catches glimpses of blue and gold and black all blurring together in high rise windows, beside Donna's sea of stars, Dick feels more like himself than he has in long, long time.

He starts picking up a lot of dropped habits. He makes dinner; real dinner, like Madam Vasilyev used to make on the train's little stove, and like he would sometimes make for the Titans for family team dinners. It's so much easier to make things when it isn't for him alone. Donna is happy to let him, having no great love of cooking herself, and always supportive of non-cape hobbies.

She's full of surprises, though. Dick had tried to teach all of his friends at least one or two meals they could make from scratch themselves, just in case. He hadn't thought about whether any of it had been retained, though, not now, so many years removed. Not until Donna one day bestows upon him a pot of chicken paprikash and he almost cries.

It's delicious. Just like his parents used to make, whenever they could find a grocer who sold paprika. Just like he taught Donna to make it in the Tower an entire lifetime ago.

"Did I get it right?"

"Did you make it with love?"

"Of course."

"Then you got it perfectly right."

Other than dinner, he starts gardening. Nothing serious, but the new apartment has a couple of windows, so Dick plants a window box full of herbs.

He plants cilantro first. The seeds were on sale at the hardware store, so the whole box was just cilantro, for a while. Donna buys live basil from a grocer she likes, so one of the cilantros gets pawned off to a neighbor, and their pasta sauces taste awesome.

It's not the most exciting hobby, but it gets him out of bed on Bad Days.

Those days, it's hard to do anything at all. It hits him, when the clouds are just the wrong color, that he and Bruce are on the outs again. He hates being on the outs with Bruce, hates that it means another bond between them has snapped. Makes him catastrophize about whether or not this is finally the fence that can't be mended.

At least it's not nearly as bad as it was Before. Dick hadn't understood, back then, what Bruce's problem was. Now that he's older he knows Bruce had never had to let someone walk away before- even with Talia, B had been the one to walk away first- and took Dick's bid for independence badly as a result.

He'd swung by Gotham exactly once for Jason, and stole the kid away to Tower at every opportunity. He'd made sure Jase was present in Dick's space the way Dick was no longer welcome in Bruce's.

He'd gone back to Gotham exactly one other time, after Bruce held Jason's funeral without so much a ping on Dick's pager. All that accomplished was losing Dick his house key. Until Tim barged in.

Donna and Dick were winding down for the night, enjoying a nice bottle of wine and a shared bowl of plantain chips, when Dick makes another decision.

"Donna."

"Dick." She tosses a chip in the air so she can catch it in her mouth.

"I've had an epiphany." He swirls the wine in his glass playfully. Donna leans forward in her chair.

"Do tell."

"Every time I don't want to talk to Bruce, he finds a new stray child to bring home. And I always go, because what I am supposed to do? Not keep an eye on them? But Bruce has a billion orphans-"

Donna snorts. "A billion?"

"Okay, fine, half a dozen orphan children roosting in his house full of ghosts, and it's probably inevitable that there will be another and you know what, sister?" He drains the rest of his wine glass while she stares at him.

Donna seems to consider him, or maybe she zones out, but after a moment she similarly liberates her glass of its wine.

"Lay it on me, Robin."

"I'm not going back this time. Not until someone actually apologizes, not if there's a new bat, not if there's another secret baby, not for any of that bullshit. Tim's as old as I was when Tim first came around, so he can deal with it. Or Cass. Or Babs. Or Bruce can keep his act together for longer than two weeks at a time I don't care. I won't be lured back for family drama. Not this time."

Dick stops to breathe. A mistake, really, as it's the perfect opportunity for stinging anxiety to start buzzing under every inch of his skin. He's an idiot. What a stupid thing to say, what a stupid idea to even have-

Donna is in front of Dick. When did she get out of her chair?

"Richard John Grayson."

"Donna Hinckley Stacy Troy."

I've come to a decision, too. Tell me if it's a good one."

Then she pulls him into a hug. Dick swallows heavily and lets himself be held, for a while.

"Good decision?" Donna asks.

"I think so," he says. He wraps his arms around Donna, reciprocating- God, how long has it been since he's had a reciprocal relationship? Donna squeezes and he throws the thought out of his mind. The awful pull against his insides has subsided, so now he's just warm and loose.

"Donna, do you like my decision?"

"I really really do."

__________

When they were still in Donna's old apartment, various Gothamites tried to contact him. A lot of voicemails are angry and accusing. He listens to them once just in case and deletes them right after. He gets texts from Tim that he knows are meant as olive branches, but they're all offers of joint patrols, or going over case files together, or similar Mission oriented activities.

It's hard to turn him down, especially since he knows Tim won't understand. It's easier to ignore Bruce's messages, sparse as they are, demanding explanations.

Cass had broken into Donna's apartment. Donna had been out with a friend she met in her photography club, doing yoga maybe? Dick had been making egg fried rice for lunch when a wild Bat appeared.

Dick had smiled politely, which seemed to confuse her. Dick had offered to share his lunch, which seemed to make her feel better.

They’d eaten in silence for a while, Cass occasionally staring hard at him while Dick waited for her to make the first move; exactly how Dick would treat a hungry kid he didn’t know. You never know what will spook a stranger, after all.

Bowls empty, Dick had gone to pick hers up to wash when she caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to wash up after our lunch.”

Cass squints at him, exaggerating her expression to make sure he gets her memo.

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not pretending to do the dishes,” he answers calmly, blandly.

“Stop pretending you don’t know me!”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“Go home.”

“No.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected pushback, for certain, but flat refusal, nothing else? An unwelcome miscalculation.

“Why not?”

“At the moment, I won’t feel at home in Gotham. As far as I’m concerned I’m at home right now.”

“Liar,” she’d hissed. Dick was watching, tho, and saw the confusion in her stance. Her eyes told her he wasn’t lying at all. Deliberately on Dick’s part, not entirely truthful, yet not entirely manufactured- the apartment may not be special to him, but Donna always will be.

“I have no reason to go to Gotham right now.”

“Your team is there.”

“I’m not on Team Bat at the moment.”

“You can’t quit-“

“Cassandra. My roommate will be home soon. I suggest you leave now, if you have nothing to say on your own behalf.”

It’s a low blow to call her a messenger, to write her off as nothing but a mouthpiece for Bruce or Tim or maybe even Damian. Dick wouldn’t feel bad about it if they weren’t close, so he won’t feel bad about it now; she’s the one who didn’t want partner, Dick’s just respecting her wishes.

Cass stares and keeps staring so long he’s worried she’ll refuse to leave, but then they both heard footsteps in the hall, and by the time Dick turns back toward her she’d already gone.

The next morning, Dick had a new message from Bruce. It was an email, that time, instead of a text, which more than anything actually written lets Dick know Bruce has caught on to what’s happened. What is still happening. The email begins ‘Mr. Grayson-Wayne’ and Dick doesn’t read a single word further.

__________

Wally visits the new apartment shortly after they move in. Apparently, Nightwing being in town again has caught the interest of an opinion columnist or two, and Wally had wanted to see him with his own eyes.

“You’re hanging out with people again!”

“I never stopped,” Dick protests. “We see each other once a month, Wally.”

“Scheduled visits- ugh, it’s like you were in prison, and I only got to see you during your time in the yard.” All of this is dramatically declared as Wally flops on their couch, taking up space and definitely bothering the neighbors.

It should annoy Dick. It should at least hurt his ego. Instead, it makes him bloom into a smile, and throw himself onto the couch next to his friend.

“Donna and I have been having a great time without you,” he teases. “We could have an even better time with you, if you’re up for it.”

“Dickie, I thought you’d never ask.”

The Flash joins Dick and Donna for a fight every now and then, patrolling as often as work and Central City will allow. It’s good- it’s really, really good.

“Why did we disband?”

“Because we grew up?”

“Terrible decision.”

“Adulthood is overrated.”

“I don’t know, I certainly wouldn’t want to be a teenager again, would you?”

“Nah.” “NO!”

Wally looks away from the conversation he started, and his eyes find the window box. “Hey Ds, is that a garden?”

“It’s mine,” Dick says. “Right now it’s just cilantro and basil. I’m open to suggestions.”

Wally gives him a once over, looks again at the plants, then changes the subject. The next time Wally comes over he’s holding a pot of chives.

A couple of months later, there’s a siren hiding out in the Harbor. It kicks Dick’s ass and Donna almost drowns. It occurs to them that they are idiots, and that they should’ve called Garth. Garth, thankfully, both answers his communicator and has time for them, so they get to watch Tempest absolutely destroy the siren.

Afterward, they go for pizza. They ask Garth if he would want to come around more often maybe, just because?

Garth smiles brighter than the moon.

The first time they stop a supervillain downtown together, it’s all the papers will talk about the next day. Someone got an excellent picture of all four of them in action. Flash is about to pounce, so he’s still enough to see. He’s tagged in with Donna, distracting the giant rat monster from the air so Flash can trip it into the river. On the bank, left of center in the photo, Tempest and Nightwing and are on standby. Garth will drench the awful thing, all fifteen stories of it, once it’s close enough to the water, and Nightwing will fry the thing with all the electricity his sticks have got.

They work together smoothly, and they cheer when they win, and the papers all ask, ‘Titans Back Together?’

After a while of mulling it over, they unanimously decide to answer ‘yes’.

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[kkayyerr]

Problem.

Summary: Pogues abandoning little!reader after she did an awful mistake. Rafe is here to show her that she’s not alone.

Warnings: Age regression, angst, slight fluff in the end.

Words counter: 1,3 k

Author’s note: I used scene from the „Arcane” as the reference for this fic!!🫶🏻

Pogues had never shown their disappointment in you or even told you that they weren’t pleased with your actions. They never showed you any signs of anger, especially not when you were in the little space. No matter how bad your mistakes were, they would just try to ensure you that everything is alright. They didn’t want you to know how hard it is to clean up your mess. And you couldn’t even think of anything about them being tired of you. 

After all, every mistake can be fixed, right? 

Tonight you found out that you were actually wrong, and there are some mistakes that unfortunately can’t be fixed, not at all. 

 

„Stay here, kid.”

 

JJ said to you an hour ago, as they were getting ready to go on another fight with some people that they had introduced to you as the „bad guys." You wanted to help them, but since you were regressed, they came up with the decision that it would be better for you to just stay inside the truck while they would be dealing with all of that. You agreed, just so they wouldn’t have to worry about you while fighting, and then you watched them leave. 

 

„Good wuck…”

 

You whispered, but it seemed like nobody had heard you since they haven’t replayed, just closing the truck’s doors. Since they left, you became so much more anxious. 

What if they would get hurt? 

What if they would get killed?

What if, what if, what if...

You just couldn’t help yourself, but finding that small gun that was laying on the driver’s seat was very interesting. What if that small thing would help you get your friends out of trouble? You knew that you shouldn’t have touched the weapons, but you also knew that you wouldn’t let your friends get themselves in trouble. 

Slowly you got off the truck and immediately saw them, staying there, just a few miles away from you. And there were also those bad guys, threatening your friends. Your heart ached seeing them in fear, so you approached them and shot.

A couple of times. 

You obviously didn’t see how one of the bullets came through the JJ’s shoulder, and you also didn’t see that you almost shot Kiara right in the head. When the gun's magazine finally got empty, you opened your eyes, letting a weapon fall from your hands to the ground. Pogues were looking at you, and there was something on their faces that you had never seen before. It took a moment for you to understand that they were disappointed in you and also scared of what you just did. Everyone heads to the truck, letting JJ deal with you. They just didn’t know what to say, and they were obviously afraid of your reaction to their harsh words. 

JJ wasn’t even looking at you; he was looking through you, as if you were something that he was finally ready to leave behind. You felt how your eyes felt with tears just from the amount of guilt that you were feeling right now. You opened your mouth, but before you could start to speak, JJ just shook his head. 

 

„No. We’re done.”

 

He said, and his words made your knees weaker. He had never talked to you in such a cold manner, especially not when you were regressed. It seemed like you actually crossed the line trying to help them.

 

„They were right, you are a problem, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to deal with you anymore.”

 

His words were painful, but the sudden feeling of your knees hitting the hard ground brought even more pain, finally making you cry. Your cries were silent at first, but as soon as JJ had left your sight, silent sniffles turned into loud sobbing. 

 

„Pwease, don’t go.”

 

You hugged your bloody knees, whispering some sort of pleading out loud, even though you knew that nobody would hear you. Or at least you thought so. 

Rafe Cameron saw your small trembling figure, and he was intrigued. Something about that scene reminds him of himself when he was a child, left alone and crying for nobody to hear him. Rafe shook his head to get rid of that image. 

Why would Pogues leave someone behind? 

He almost felt bad, hearing your sobbing as he approached you. Your hair wet from the rain and your face puffy from all the tears. You probably needed someone to console you, or at least someone who would be there for you, right? And you would most probably do whatever it takes to not be abandoned again. 

 

„Why are you here alone, little one?”

 

He asked, crouching down in front of you, waiting for you to answer his question. You rubbed your eyes in a childish manner, trying to focus your gaze on the man. He wasn’t looking like he was planning to hurt you, and even if he would, it wouldn’t hurt as much as getting abandoned by a Pogues did. 

You looked at him for another second, and then you jumped on him, hugging him tightly with your little arms. Both of you were lying on the ground now, but he didn’t seem to protest. He didn’t hug you back, though, not yet. 

 

„They left me, Pogues left me.”

 

You whispered, trying not to start sobbing again. His eyes widened, as he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. How could they call themselves a family when they’re leaving their people behind? The thoughts of getting left were hurting your little heart so bad that you almost screamed but felt two strong arms picking you up from the ground just in time. You didn’t know who that man was, but the need in someone’s care right now made you desperate enough to accept his attention. You hugged his neck with your hands, hiding your face there as he was trying to calm you down. 

 

„I’m lonely”

 

Rafe chuckled at your pitiful voice, hugging you tighter. He wasn’t the big fan of hugs, but he knew that you needed that right now. He also knew that you were way too tired now to give him any information about yourself or at least explain what happened previously, but he also knew that you wouldn’t say „no” if he would offer you to go with him. 

 

„You won’t be lonely for too long, little one.”

 

His words were gentle; he didn’t want you to get scared or overwhelmed. He could tell that you were close enough to yet another tantrum just because of the stress that you had experienced from getting left alone. 

 

„I’m Rafe Cameron, can we be friends?”

 

You nodded, wanting at least someone to be around. You couldn’t stay alone, especially when you were regressed. He smirked at your response, knowing that he doesn’t want to be your friend. He wants to be your everything, and somehow you didn’t seem very against it.

 

„From that moment you will never be left alone again, baby.”

 

You looked at him with a small suspicion. It was hard for you to believe that someone might actually want to deal with you, and not leaving you behind when you would became too much. Rafe extended his pinky, his big hand approaching yours.

 

„Pinky pwomise?”

 

Your eyes widened, and your face turned more bright. For you, a pinky promise was something more meaningful than a signed contract or a proposal ring. You slowly connected your pinky with his, smiling happily. 

 

„Pinky promise.”

 

He reassured you, giving you a gentle kiss on the nose, making you smile once again. After he saw that smile, he knew he wouldn’t ever let anyone make you cry. 

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