#I know the world is falling apart but I need to tell you all about a movie I didn't like!

[magical-reid]

Hi I’m sorry to bother but I wanted to know if you have read or seen a fic with Bucky and he has a girlfriend he hasn’t told anyone about but him, nat and Sam so they meet her

I'm not the best person to ask for recommendations, but I'll make you what you're looking for! I hope you like it!

Secrets and Surprises

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 900

Summary: Bucky has been keeping his relationship with you a secret from most of the team, only confiding in Sam and Nat. But when the truth finally comes out, it’s not at all how he imagined.

You stretch up on your tiptoes, reaching for a coffee mug from the top shelf in Bucky's apartment. The morning light filters in through the kitchen window, casting soft shadows on the floor. Just as your fingers graze the handle, you feel a pair of strong hands settle on your waist, pulling you gently against a broad chest.

“Morning, doll.” His voice is husky with sleep, and you feel the warmth of his breath against the side of your temple as his lips brush lightly over your skin.

You smile softly, turning to face him. “Morning,” you murmur, your fingers still on the mug as you give him a teasing smile. “I was going to bring you coffee in bed.”

Bucky’s eyes gleam with mischief as he leans casually against the counter, his arms folding across his chest. “Sweet of you, but you know I can’t stay in bed when you’re up.”

You roll your eyes playfully and hand him his mug. “You’re too soft for me, Barnes.”

He lets out a chuckle, his usual steel-hard exterior slipping as his gaze softens. “And you love it.”

It’s true. There’s something endearing about seeing the once-feared Winter Soldier, a man who had faced battles that would break most people, now wrapped around your finger. But it still made you laugh, watching him melt in ways only you had seen.

As you’re about to tease him more about it, his phone buzzes on the counter. Bucky glances down at it, and his expression falls slightly.

“What’s up?” you ask, sensing the sudden shift in his mood.

“The team. Steve’s calling a meeting.”

You arch an eyebrow, setting the coffee pot down. “You gonna tell them about me?”

Bucky hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression is conflicted, but not out of shame. It’s more complicated than that. After everything he’s been through, he wanted something untouched by scrutiny, a part of his life just for him. He’d only let Sam and Nat in on the secret—because, well, they weren’t easily fooled.

“I will,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a hint of regret. “Soon.”

You nod, your heart understanding his need for space. You’re not in any rush to share this with the world.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later, the day unfolds in a way you never anticipated. You're sitting at your favorite café, sipping your latte, when your phone buzzes with a text from Sam.

Sam: Come to the compound. Trust me.

You furrow your brow, looking at the message. Sam was never cryptic without a reason.

Without hesitation, you gather your things and head to the Avengers Compound, curiosity gnawing at you. When you arrive, FRIDAY greets you smoothly, letting you in without question. That’s a red flag in itself—Bucky must’ve given her clearance to let you in.

As soon as you step into the common room, a silence hits. The entire team is there, staring at you.

Natasha’s smirking, her arms crossed, while Sam’s wearing a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat’s. And Bucky... Bucky looks like he’s about to burst into flames, his face turning slightly red as he meets your gaze.

“Uh…” you start awkwardly, shifting on your feet. “Hi?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion. “You have a girlfriend?”

Wanda’s jaw is slightly dropped, and Tony raises an eyebrow. “I thought Bucky was sneaking out for midnight brooding walks… but no, turns out he’s been sneaking out to you?”

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Okay, before anyone starts—yes, we’re together. Yes, I was going to tell you all. No, I didn’t because…”

“Because he’s a secretive little punk,” Sam cuts in, clearly enjoying the moment.

Bucky glares at him. “Not helping, Wilson.”

You suppress a laugh, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “So… surprise?”

Natasha leans back, a satisfied grin on her face. “About time you met them. I was getting tired of being the only one who knew.”

Clint raises a hand. “I have one question. Why were we left out?”

You glance at Bucky, who shrugs sheepishly. “Didn’t want you all scaring her off.”

Tony gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “Us? Intimidating?”

You snicker, shaking your head. “Maybe just a little.”

The room erupts into overlapping conversations, questions firing off from all directions. How long have you been together? How did you meet? Why the hell did Bucky think he could keep a secret like this from a team of superheroes?

Bucky pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around you, a sign of both protection and reassurance. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You grin up at him, squeezing his hand. “Told you they’d find out eventually.”

Sam slaps Bucky on the back with exaggerated force, clearly enjoying the drama. “Man, you really thought you could keep a secret from us? Rookie mistake.”

Bucky groans in frustration, but you just laugh, feeling more at home with these people than you expected.

This definitely wasn’t how you envisioned meeting the Avengers. But looking around, at Bucky, at all these people who had been through so much and yet still felt like family—this was perfect.

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 5

Summary - Lando's pov on everything that's going on.

Warnings - angst, dickhead Lando.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Lando's pov.

Lando knew from the very beginning that the two of you could never be just friends with benefits. His feelings towards you were too strong, and it was only a matter of time until he asked you out officially, knowing that you felt the same way.

Well, that was the plan. Unit Magui came back into the picture.

Your relationship wasn't exclusive - there was never a conversation about getting with other people, not that Lando had done so since you'd started, but all it took was a moment of weakness to unleash the terror of the next few months.

It was Singapore, like 3 months ago. You weren't at that race and Lando had just won. High on adrenaline from a much needed win, a familiar presence stood by his hotel door as he got in from the circuit.

He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing her there. They'd fooled about in the past, but nothing came of whatever they had going on. He won't lie though, at that time, when they broke off, it hurt him more than he let on. Whether it was just the fact that once again there was no one to come home to, or something else, he couldn't say. And it wasn't soon after that you jumped into the picture, so all his woes about Magui were quickly forgotten.

Anyways, he'd invited her into his room, and one thing led to another, and the two of them fucked. He internally kicked himself the second he slid a condom on and buried himself in her. And the high - well it wasn't a high. It was anything but. All he could think about was you, and how much more incredible you were. Lando had kicked Magui out straight away, the guilt eating at him for betraying you, though he didn't have the guts to come clean.

Fast forward another 3 months, and this time she showed up at Lando's apartment in Monaco. He thanked the gods that you weren't there when she did, because his world came crashing down when she broke the news about being pregnant.

He wasn't ready to be a father, hell he wasn't ready for her to fall into his life so easily, but the more he thought of it, he really didn't have a choice.

And when it came to you? He thought it better to have you cut out completely because he couldn't bare the thought of being around you when you couldn't be together.

Seeing you in Monaco one evening had all of Lando's feeling towards you rush up to the surface. It was a no brainer, no matter how wrong, that he dragged you to his car and fucked all of those said feeling into you, knowing he would never get another chance.

He'd so wanted to come clean, tell you the truth, but again, he didn't want to see the look in your eyes when you learned of his betrayal. So he made up a lie. That he and Magui were giving it another shot. That he wanted to give it another shot with her.

He could tell you were hurt, trying to hold it together in front of him, and as much as he tried to say the words pregnant, or baby, he got stuck in his throat, and once again, he'd rather usher you out as if he didn't want you. He thought it would be easier if you hated him.

Then came the McLaren event in London a few weeks later.

Lando was caught off guard when as the elevator doors opened to reveal you standing there, looking beautiful as ever. He couldn't help but let his eyes roam over your body, feeling his cheeks heat up when he caught a glimpse of your cleavage.

It wasn't until Magui snapped him out of his trance, and when she kissed him, he went with it, not sure how he'd survive the few minutes with the girl he used to 'see' (?) and the girl he's seeing. He knew he was being a dick, doing this in front of you. But he was afraid, as always.

Lando had hoped to catch you before the interview on stage. He wanted to clear the air in the hopes of things not being so awkward, but of course there was no time. So he held his breath as he walked on, and somehow your presence calmed him, and the interview went on without a hitch. Ironic, he thought. But he wasn't complaining.

At some point later that night his eyes caught you and Magui. The sight didn't look pretty. It looked as if you both you ready to knock the other out, he intervened. And of course, being the asshole he was, he acted like a bitch towards you. He had no idea where the adrenaline came from, but before he knew it he was throwing words and questions to you.

''I'm in love'' the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, and honestly? The look in your eyes could have killed him. This time, he knew he message up. There was no taking back his words, no going back.

He wasn't sure why he followed you outside, but again, his brain and body were on autopilot even though his heart was on another dimension. He made you choose, the bastard. And his heart broke a little more when you revealed how you'd already lost him.

Lando so wished he could pull you in his arms, beg for your forgiveness even though he didn't deserve it one bit. But he chose the easier route, his plan was he make you hate him, wasn't it? And he actively had no choice and needed to move on from you, so he stuck with it, and watched you walk away.

It was no surprise the night was spent wallowing, an annoyed Magui at his side, but he made the conscious decision to come clean to you. Only then would he be able to fully let you go, and concentrate on his new relationship and baby on the way.

He woke up the next morning and the first thing he did after showering was make a beeline for your room. Don't ask how he knew your room number.

Was it a mistake to just barge in? Maybe. Because the sight of you when you opened the door was one he wished he'd never see; you, in another mans' tshirt, legs barely covered. When when he saw who it was that shuffled in the bed, Lando felt a rush of anger flow through he body. Out of all the men in this world, you chose another racing driver, and that did unimaginable things to him.

He knew he had no right to react the way he did. You didn't deserve a disgusted look thrown your way when you whispered his name. He could see the hurt in your eyes, but Lando knew, before he said something he regretted, he needed to get away from you. But his feet were planted on the ground, stuck. He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but each time the words got stuck in his throat. It wasn't long until you slammed the door on his face, and he didn't blame you. So he walked away, shoulder sagging, a mix of emotions roaming his body.

The weeks following that were the hardest for Lando. He'd hated how he tret you, how he talked to you, reacted as seeing you move on from him. Did he really think you'd stay single forever after he dumped you? No. You were too switched on for that. And you deserved someone a thousand times better than him. Didn't sting any less though.

One night, as Lando had flown back to Monaco from Spain and was driving back to his apartment, he somehow managed to end up driving to your place. He didn't plan on coming here, hell he didn't even know what he'd say to you. But his legs dragged his ass up to your floor and taking a breath, he knocked.

He heard shuffling instead, praying you were alone, praying Mitch or any other guy wasn't here.

For whatever reason you let him in, and he found himself sat on your couch, his nervousness turning him into a dick again.

Finally, he broke the silence with a chuckle, quoting you, and catching you off guard.

''There really isn't anything to say..yeah..easy for you to say, what with fucking Mitch so quickly''

''Lando seriously, grow the fuck up. How is it okay for you to move on, and not okay for me to?''

''Move on from what? We were nothing, it was just sex''

Lies. He knew every word leaving his lips were lies. But he wouldn't, couldn't correct himself.

He knew his words crushed your heart

''Yeah, exactly, it was just sex, so why is me fucking Mitch at the minute a problem? you said, voice like stone.

''You're over reacting'' he sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

''Am I? You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk''

He stayed silent.

I'm sorry

''Like i said, i have nothing to say. You're the one who decided to stop...the sex, whatever..so why are you here?''

Lando's eyes found yours with a look you couldn't place, anger? hurt? pleading? you weren't sure.

''Lando'' you pressed, standing up, hoping he'd get the hint and leave because you were this close to breaking down.

''Magui's pregnant''

The words came out like word vomit. This was not how the conversation was meant to go, but he couldn't help but feel a weight off his shoulders lifted. At the same time, he needed to leave. He refused to see you break down because of him, in front of him, the selfish coward.

So, like always, he walked away, closing the door for your apartment behind him as he leaned against it, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

It was the baby he was mad at. Hell, he didn't know know if he was mad. He was just overwhelmed. Too much was happening too quickly, and in the process he'd lost the person he cared about the most.

Exhausted, Lando made his way back home, sighing when he opened the door to see Magui, fuming.

''What?'' he asked, sounding defeated.

He chuckled sarcastically.

''As if I wouldn't find out about your....detour, to her house'' she spat.

''It's not what you think'' he threw back, not having the energy to continue with ridiculous conversation, so he walked past her.

But the night didn't end there.

It was the beginning of the end for Lando and Magui...

A/N - quick little pov on Lando's side. Didn't really come out as great as I'd hope but hope y'all still enjoyed it? Let me know in the comments!

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164 @xoxomansee @hurtblossom @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @msimpala-67 @jxnellat @chlmtfilms @abq654 @ernegren @stav2004 @myformula1addiction @ayap4paya @l0nelyhe4rts-club @callsignwidow widow-cevans meglouise00 @hoeforsirius @hahdb8 @cmleitora @oscahpastry @maxv33rstappen @saythename-sm @htpssgavi @xoxomansee @anayaverse @rendezvoushn

[vifilms]

mostly sfw, gf!abby.

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who cooks for you when you’re having a particular rough day. entering your shared home with tears in your eyes, a tremble to your hands you can’t quite shake. she’s there to center you from the madness going on in your brain. stopping at the grocery store on the way home and getting all the necessary measures to make one part of your day much easier.

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who gives you reassuring back rubs at the end of day. her arms are so strong, so comforting, and all you want is to let them swallow you in welcomed safety. you love how it feels to be held by her. there’s not a thing in the world that can touch you when she’s holding you. it’s when you feel the most loved; being held by her.

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who reaffirms when you’re not feeling the best. it’s a love language you understand and abby speaks it fluently. at the end of the day, even if hers has been draining, your girlfriend with a heart made of glistening-gold just wants you to know how much she will always love you. the bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand is certainly the cherry on top.

with a blinding light reaching her sky-blue eyes, her temple nudging with yours, as if you are her very own cathedral she finds sweet solace in. abby’s promise coats her tongue as she saturates you with tethered bliss. playfully she asks — need me to kick someone ass? and you almost take her up on the offer. as abby has before, she’s there to reassure you. “today wasn’t great but tomorrow will be better. and even if it isn’t, you always have me. my love is cemented, so intertwined with you, couldn’t remove it if i tried. not even with these big muscles.”

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who is a huge book nerd. abby would buy novels she believes you would like. any books apart of her collection she already owns she would grab a sticky note and letting the ink spill over as she marks particular parts of the novel you would like. and she wouldn’t be the girl you loved without giving you reasons why. each notation feels deeper, another intimate part of her uncovered. before abby got so bold she would not so subtly bring it up while you cuddled into her frame, the two of you seconds from slumber.

read it to me then, abs. i prefer your voice over mine, soothes me.

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who travels for work, when she’s away, it’s the most difficult. the nights are a spear to your soul. abby tends to be an early riser, helps her feel more prepared, so she’s been falling asleep before the sunsets. pure exhaustion taking over her body, droopy eyes unable to keep fighting as her raspy voice whispers goodnight babygirl, i love you and she’s dead to the world. deeply, abby sinks into a dreamless sleep and immediately, you miss her. even if she’s only a few hours away, nights without her are ones wasted. so…you leave a voicemail. a small gift that you know will make her smile.

6:30 am.

abby: i love you and your sleepy voice telling me how much you love me ♡ ps. you better be sleeping right now, you sent that at four am.

𓍼ོ ၴႅၴ gf!abby who take care of you the minute she’s back. a week had been long enough and all she wants is to make her beautiful, fucking-perfect girlfriend feel just as good. sweet as strawberries, her favorite fruit to eat, she takes everything you have to offer her. when you spill on her tongue, a reward she’s been thinking about for weeks, nothing has ever felt as good as this. as golden as you.

[jordiemeow]

Words are futile devices.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were just some hot local he matched with on Tinder to have a bed to sleep in during a local Challenger. And yet here you are, a year later, draped over his arm and walking through the snow. Five days before Christmas, and he just conveniently happens to be in town to take a pit stop.

He refuses to admit it’s because he wants to spend the holidays with you. That’s too much, given the lack of clarity on… whatever the fuck it is that you are these days.

It’s silent other than the crunch of your feet against the snow-dusted path. It’s far too late (and too goddamn cold) to be out for a stroll right now. But you said you wanted to show him the view from the bridge at night, and he’s never been very good at telling you no when you get passionate about something.

He’s never been a soft or gentle person, but he doesn’t quite care about pretences right now, not when he’s with you. It feels like you just belong tucked into his side like that, clinging to each other to avoid face planting against the ice.

You kiss a spot on the side of his neck, your lips soft and light and just a little bit chapped from the cold. (Not that he’s complaining.) Then, completely out of the blue, you say, “I think maybe I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you.”

You say it quietly against the skin of his neck, like you’re scared to let the words leave your mouth. You say it, and it’s true but you’re not supposed to be saying it, not now, not ever.

The confession hits him hard, and he almost falters in his footsteps. His breath hitches, caught in his throat. The world narrows down to just you, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The pounding of his own heart, the soft puff of your breath into the air by his shoulder, the soft whorls of snow falling lazily around you both.

He wants to say something, anything. He opens his mouth, trying to get the words out. He wants to tell you that you’ve taken up permanent residence in his heart. He wants to tell you that you own him, body and mind. He wants to tell you that he’ll never be able to love again after this.

But the words are stuck in his throat, lodged in place by the overwhelming wave of feeling threatening to drown him. He feels like he’s floundering.

“Sorry, that was kind of gross. A little bit much,” you laugh, looking back to the path ahead. God, that’s a little embarrassing, the way it just sort of slipped out.

Gross? Too much? The confession leaves him reeling, breathless. You had just confessed to needing him, the first time anyone has ever really needed him in his life, and it’s too much? It hurts. It feels like a fist curling around his heart and tightening. Like the way he grips his racket too hard when he throws a set. And yet, your expression is blithe, as if you don’t understand the weight of what you’ve just told him.

“Is it?” Patrick asks, his voice raspy. “Too much?” He can’t help but scoff softly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You just said you need me,” he says, his voice pitched low. “And then you brush it off? Like it’s nothing?”

Because it isn’t nothing to him. This confession—that one little phrase—is suddenly the most meaningful thing he has ever heard. It’s sent all the air flying out of his lungs, left him dizzy and breathless and shaken.

Because you need him, and he’d tear the world apart to keep you with him.

But you brushed it off. You’re calling it too much, acting like it’s some minor little thing and not the most impactful confession he’s ever heard. It’s stung to be hurt like this, and Patrick almost feels anger stir, a lower simmer sitting in his stomach. It feels like a betrayal. He’s had enough of those to know what that feels like.

How could you callously call your confession gross and too much as if it doesn’t mean anything? How can you act like the words didn’t matter to you, when they’ve floored him so thoroughly? He feels so stupid, his chest tight and heart lodged firmly in his throat. Or maybe that’s bile. He can’t really tell anymore.

His fingers are trembling faintly, his heart racing wildly and his breath coming in shaky, quick bursts into the frosty air. He’s hurt and confused, shaken by your casual dismissal. Why is he even placing so much value onto your words?

He feels so, so stupid. It shouldn’t matter. He’s not supposed to be this attached. You’re just someone he sleeps with when he’s passing through—

“It’s not nothing,” you say, after a long silence. “Just… it’s a lot for me to say out loud. Especially when we’re supposed to just…” You give a vague wave of your free hand, your fingers pink and frostbitten.

He stops walking, turning to look at you properly. He’s desperately trying to keep a hold on his emotions, on the anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. But he’s never been very good at keeping things under wraps.

“Supposed to?” He repeats, unable to keep the sharpness out of his tone. “What are we supposed to be?”

He wants you to define it. He’s desperate for you to name it, to acknowledge what this is between you both.

Standing in the middle of the snow-covered path leading down to the lake, looking at you; the world has gone still around you, almost as if time itself is holding its breath. Or maybe it’s just laughing quietly at him for his sheer, utter stupidity.

“We’re supposed to just be… I don’t know, casual. Whatever the hell you want to call it,” you say, with another wave of your hand, frowning softly.

Your words feel like a slap to the face.

Right. Yeah. You’re supposed to be… casual. Not serious. This is meant to be casual. Not deep. No deeper than physical attraction between two emotionally repressed idiots.

Patrick is suddenly so angry. He’s angry and hurt and confused and lost, his hands curled into tight fists and his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

He wants to hit something. He wants to bite you, kiss you, make love to you right here in the snow. Prove to you this is far from casual these days. The flight money he’s spent visiting you over the months should be proof enough. Hell, he’s gone so far as to hitchhike when earnings were low enough and he needed to see you.

“Casually saying that you need me?” He repeats, his voice low and tight. “Casually telling me that you’re not sure you’ve ever needed anyone the way you need me?”

“No, that’s my point, Pat,” You say. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth; a habit normally reserved for when you’re painting, or in concentration. But it betrays the nerves you’re feeling right now. The turmoil beneath the carefully constructed surface.

“It’s not casual.”

His anger starts to slowly bleed away with your words, leaving frustration and confusion behind. He feels stupid for placing so much weight on your words, but he doesn’t understand why you’re so quick to brush them off. Like that was a totally normal thing to wave in his face and then snatch away.

He takes a deep breath to compose himself. “So…” he begins, his voice thick. “... you do need me, then?”

Patrick needs to hear you say it again. He knows it’s stupid, knows it’s illogical, but he can’t help it. He’s always preferred to show, not tell. Words are futile devices. But right now, in this moment, he needs that verbal admission to soothe the fracture in his heart.

“You’re literally like oxygen to me,” you say. You laugh, too; it’s almost nervous, or maybe it’s in disbelief that you’re saying something so ridiculously corny out loud. You’re supposed to be as stone-hearted as he is. But only the stars can hear you out here. The stars, and Patrick.

He feels like his breath has just been punched right out of him. He can’t even speak for a moment, the words leaving him utterly reeling. “Oxygen?” He repeats.

He’s never heard such a declaration of love—and it’s love, because it can’t possibly be anything less—put so bluntly, with such ease.

It’s devastating, the idea that you’re comparing him to the most important thing to keep a person alive.

It’s so corny. It’s so silly, but—

It makes his heart feel like it’s being squeezed, like it’s about to burst. It steals his breath away. He blinks, trying to get the world to stop spinning, trying to get the roaring in his ears to stop.

He has a thousand things he wants to say, but for now, he simply says, “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t want one. All he wants is to feel you against him through the layers of coats and scarves, your body slotted against his, your hands in his hair; his hands wrapped around your waist, your lips pressed together. He doesn’t care that it’s the middle of the night, and this is all happening under the snow and dim glow of a shitty streetlamp.

He just wants you. He has a desperate, almost overwhelming need to have you, to feel you, to touch you, and breathe.

Words have been stolen from his tongue by the all-consuming desire to just hold you. He doesn’t think he’s even thinking. He’s not thinking about the cold, or the snow falling to the ground around you. He’s completely focused on you. You’re at the centre of his world right now.

You have been for the last year, if he’s honest with himself.

He gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up towards his. He can feel your breath on his skin, his own catching at the sensation. His other hand is resting on your hip, fingers gripping the fabric of your jacket. You’re real, he realises. This is real.

He’s not even sure who moves first. Does he lean in, or do you? Either way, all he knows is that in the next second, your mouth is against his.

There are fireworks going off in his mind, bright and colourful and overwhelming. It’s just you. It’s just you. You.

He can’t tell where his body ends and yours begins. You’re a tangle of limbs and breaths, his hands on your jacket keeping you close, yours in his hair, tilting his head so you can get even closer.

Your lips against his feel like they’re giving him the oxygen he couldn’t find only minutes before. The oxygen you just compared his presence in your life to. He still can’t believe it.

He pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. The air is cold against his flushed lips, the snowflakes landing gently on your skin and melting. He’s breathing hard, the air leaving his lungs in short, shuddering bursts of white, his heart racing and thundering in his ribcage so hard he thinks you might be able to feel it against you. For some reason, that thought isn’t scary to him right now.

He can still taste the peppermint hot chocolate you drank before leaving your apartment. (He claimed he was too manly to drink something like that. And yet here he is, wishing he could taste more of it on your tongue.)

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, his voice little more than a raspy whisper.

Because that’s what this is: this all-consuming, overwhelming feeling he has for you. This is love. It’s completely cliche and sappy, but it’s so true it hurts.

Love. Love. Love.

God, your knees almost buckle when you hear that. Your fingers in his hair slide down to his cheeks, and you laugh, a puff of white in the air between you. Because that’s absolutely what this is; neither of you have ever put a name to it, said as much out loud, but Christ. If this isn’t love, you don’t know what is.

“Fuck,” You breathe out, shutting your eyes as the enormity of his words leave you weak in the knees. The sound of your laugh is like music to his ears, leaving him shivering, though he’s not quite sure whether it’s due to the cold, or you.

He can feel your breath against his skin, smell the scent of your hair, the faint lingering hint of cigarettes that always seems to cling to it when he visits you. He has a desperate desire to just bury his face in your neck and breathe.

“Too much?” He whispers.

“Yeah. Too much,” you confirm. But you’re laughing anyway, shaking your head lightly. “God, I love you.”

“God,” he repeats, like an idiot. “I love you.”

He’s never really put much stock into words of affirmation before. He’s always preferred expressing himself through action, showing his affection through physical touch. But there’s something so powerful about the way it feels to have the words leaving his lips, to say them aloud when they’ve been playing on a loop in his mind for so many months now.

Patrick leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth, before working his way across your cold cheek. His hand slides up from your jacket, coming to rest on the side of your neck instead as he breathes you in. His thumb rests against the underside of your jaw, tilting it slightly as he presses a light kiss just below your ear.

He’s never been so acutely aware of a person before. He’s always been observant, but it’s different, with you. He’s so aware of your body nestled against his, his senses attuned to pick up on every slight shiver, every hitch in your breath, the way your heart pounds a frantic song in your chest. He’s so attuned to every little detail about you, and it’s absolutely consuming.

“Fuck, I’m sick,” he says dizzily, his words coming out in a laugh. “I’m so completely gone for you, god, I think—“ he pauses, his voice breathless, and just a little bit desperate.

“I think I’d do just about anything for you.”

Patrick’s never been so certain about anything in his life, never been so sure that he wants something so much. Not the Grand Slams, or the fame, or even the goddamn motel money. He knows he would literally do anything for you. He would go to the ends of the earth, scale mountains, swim the depths of the ocean. Hell, he’d even consider giving up tennis. He would do it all, just for you.

And he wants—no, needs you to know.

“I’m not even kidding,” Patrick continues emphatically, his arms curling around you as he pulls you closer. “I’d do anything for you, babe.”

Normally, the babe comment would earn him a withering look and a comment about him being gross. Or that’s reserved for girlfriends, dickhead. Stop it.

But you don’t even comment on it. Are you his girlfriend now? Maybe. You can’t bring yourself to ask. He loves you, though—that’s what matters.

“I think you’re going to ruin me,” you admit quietly, head falling against his chest as your fingers clutch the collar of his worn-out coat.

He laughs again, but it’s a choked, strangled sound; the breath feels like it’s been sucked right out of his cold lungs. Patrick shuts his eyes. He thinks he might be dying, with how hard his heart is beating.

“God, please be ruined,” he says earnestly, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale against the shell of your ear. “I’m halfway there already.”

He’s a fucking wreck. He’s completely and utterly gone for you; he doesn’t think he’s ever been so affected by one person. Not Art, not Tashi. Just you, in all your wonderful snow-bitten glory clinging to him under the stars.

And Patrick isn’t usually like this. He’s usually so much more controlled, detached. He’s never really done emotional, or long-term, or commitment of any kind. He’s hardly even committed to tennis these days. Not the way he was all those years ago playing for a girl’s number. But with you, he’s completely lost his mind. He can’t think in rational sentences; he’s just running on instinct and adrenaline. And love, an awful lot of it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever come back from you,” he admits quietly, his voice strained.

“I don’t want you to,” you whisper. There’s a beat of silence where you just cling to each other. And then you reach up, gently flicking some of the melting snowflakes out of his dark curls. “I can’t tell if you’re a sadist or a masochist. Or maybe both.”

He laughs at that, the sound slightly dizzy and just a little bit hysterical. “Depends on the day, probably,” he answers, his voice a soft murmur; his lips just barely brush your skin, somewhere beneath your ear. You can practically feel the way the words absorb into your skin. He holds you tighter against his chest, as if physically trying to press you closer together.

If you were any closer, your rib cages might just meld right together. He doesn’t know that he minds.

[zoswriting]

queen pls i need more of dad shoto🙏

ask, and you shall receive.

✦ don’t eat the baby.

⤷ synopsis : your baby’s cute as fuck. that’s it. that’s the synopsis.

⤷ a/n : my bad this is so late HAHAHA i’ve been trying to think of a scenario for the longest time </3 writer’s block is insane, hence this short-ish little thing. my baby fever will always be worse, though.

⤷ warnings : fluff, cuteness aggression, shoto taking everything literally, dad!shoto, husband!shoto, you have a daughter called rumi (she’s basically gonna be the basis for all of my baby scenarios unless stated otherwise), probably some other stuff i can’t think of right now

every time you think shoto couldn't be more perfect, you're proven wrong. every time, without fail. how have you been proven wrong this time?

shoto's sitting in the rocking chair you begged him to buy (although he really didn't need much convincing, he could not say no to you when you were pregnant. he still can't say no to you.) with a bottle in hand. your daughter is gently cradled against him, her head and body tilted in the perfect position for her to be fed, her little eyes slowly, slowly falling shut as she drank her milk, provided to her by your husband. that definitely isn't rare, but it doesn't happen often, either.

he doesn't notice you in the doorway straight away, focused on making sure your child is being properly fed rather than anything else. he only notices you when he sees a figure go to sit down on the bean bag in the corner of rumi's nursery, and he turns his head, just to be met with your adoring gaze and soft smile.

"hi," is all he says—whispers, more like—before his line of sight is directed on rumi again. you smile a little harder, loving the scene in front of you. god, you wish you could take a picture of this and keep it with you forever. it's silent for a little while longer, apart from the soft sounds of your breathing and your daughter drinking from her bottle.

"you're so natural like this, you know? i love seeing you all... domestic. it's so sweet," you say softly, leaning forward with your elbow on your knee and your chin propped up onto your hand as you continue to stare at him. he raises an eyebrow at your words.

"what, exactly, are you telling me, love? that you find me attractive when i'm being a father?" he muses, to which you glare at him playfully and roll your eyes.

"haha, funny. honestly though? kind of. you get all gentle and tender when you’re holding her and it's really cute."

"i'm flattered, truly."

your little conversation momentarily pauses there, but your glances at him don't. not when he puts rumi’s bottle down because she’s turning her head away, not when he gently lifts her up whilst placing her head on his shoulder and starts tenderly patting her back to burp her, and definitely not when he finally stands to put her in her cot. you stand too, watching the way shoto carefully peels her off of his shoulder and sets her down in a way as to not jostle her too much. he sets her little rabbit teddy just in the top corner of her cot, leaning down to give her pudgy, baby cheek a kiss.

he turns towards you when he feels you stand next to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder. you lean into him and just take in the sight before you. your baby, the life you both created (you could go on a whole tangent about how it’s ’so crazy two people are able to make a whole human’, which he’s heard countless times before during your late night conversations), your whole entire world just peacefully asleep.

“i’m gonna eat her,” you mutter mindlessly. cuteness aggression, as people call it, really hits you full swing in moments like this.

shoto pulls back just slightly to look at you. “please don’t. i kind of like having a not-eaten daughter,” he says softly, yet so, so seriously, it’s comical.

you huff out an amused breath, looking up at him. you’re tempted to to correct him, tell him that you’re not actually serious, but you think that he knows as much, so you decide to play around a little more. “fine. i’m eating you, then,” you turn your head back and lean in, gently biting his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch, just stares down at you with a glare that’s both incredulous yet also fond.

“what are you doing?”

“eating you, ‘cause you won’t let me eat her.”

“i don’t think that’s very wise.”

“shut up,” you bite him a little harder.

“okay.”

you pull away from his shoulder, sighing as he won’t let you win. instead, you both just look below you at your baby girl. his arm goes to wrap around your waist, gently reeling you in closer to him without any further words spoken.

your daughter stirs just slightly, her face contorting into a tiny frown before relaxing. you smile, looking up at shoto, who kisses your head.

you don’t think anything could be better than this.

[radfemfessing]

I find it annoying when women feel the need to defend/explain themselves for having a male partner. First of all because outside of some terminally online spaces, that's literally exactly what society wants from you. So if you just log off, the entire world agrees with you having a male partner. But second of all, who cares? Why are you trying to defend this to a comparably small number of female separatists and lesbians online who you will probably never meet, who hold no power over you and who can't harm you in any way. That doesn't make any sense to me at all. If you are so incredibly happy and your Nigel is such an angel, then that's cool. Enjoy it? But why the intense need to justify it. Are you trying to pitch to women who don't want to date men (for various reasons) that they should try it after all? Do you feel intimidated by tumblr users? Or do you not feel 100% happy in your relationship and need to justify it to yourself? Either way, I couldn't care less. I have a lot of female friends irl, most of them are straight or bi but in a relationship with a man. Everytime it becomes clear that I choose to only date women as a bi woman, het partnered women react in one of two ways. Either they laugh and say I can always change my mind. Or they start over explaining to me how amazing their penis person is. I am now at a point where I just stop them and tell them I don't think less of them for dating a man. I truly don't. I have to say though, I know exactly one straight relationship in which the woman seems like she can fullfill not only her dreams and wishes and happiness within the relationship, but the relationship also makes all of these things better. And still, her husband doesn't understand her in several aspects because he is a man. That's the only straight couple I am truly happy for but as a woman who can be attracted to men, that still doesn't seem like something I want for myself. Literally all other women in relationships with men I know diminish their light in one or many ways. And most of them don't see it. If you tell me about your amazing Nigel I will say "thats nice" and I will not try to break you two up or force you into a separatist womyns land against your will. But when the moment happens in which he turns out to be horrible in some aspect, I won't act surprised. I have seen too many decades long dreamy straight relationships fall apart because Mr Wonderful cheated after all. The sweet teddy bear of a man who made his wife a pussy hat for the womans march somehow still found the time to fuck another woman. The one unicorn guy who yapped about how awful the porn industry is and who supports the nordic model was watching porn after all, ten years into a relationship with him. That's why I don't want to hear about your justifications please. Just be happy with what you have. The entire world cheers you own, except for some women on a fringe website.

🎃

[fingertipsonglass]

You step out into a night that feels both endless and intimate—a world of snow-slicked sidewalks and glistening neon reflections. Every snowflake that falls seems to echo a secret, a memory, and you can’t shake the feeling that, even in the crowded anonymity of the city, you are never truly alone.

High above, in the quiet solitude of a rooftop shadowed by towering spires, Jason watches. His figure is a dark silhouette against the flickering lights below, his eyes tracing your every step with a mix of fierce protectiveness and a torment he struggles to understand. He’s built walls around his heart long ago, swearing that vulnerability was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Yet here 

you are—a gentle, unassuming presence that has crept into every recess of his thoughts. Every time he sees you, a dangerous cocktail of tenderness and despair stirs within him.

He fights the contradiction daily. He tells himself that what he feels isn’t love—it’s an obsession, a relentless need to keep you safe at any cost. The absence of your presence gnaws at him like a relentless ache, a withdrawal so potent that even the mere thought of you becomes an intoxicating fixation. In the cold silence of his patrols, his mind spins scenarios of what might happen if you were ever lost, even for a moment. And so he follows you, silently, obsessively—a ghost in the margins of your life.

Later that night, as the snow eases into a soft, light, afterthought, you return to your small apartment. The warm glow from within promises refuge, yet you feel an unexplainable weight—a sense of being both cradled and scrutinized. As you unlock the door, you catch sight of him, standing in the muted light of your living room. His eyes, usually hardened by the endless battles fought in Gotham’s underbelly, now shimmer with conflicted emotion. In his quiet, measured presence, you sense both solace and an underlying peril.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, your voice carrying both warmth and concern as you step closer. There is an unspoken question in your eyes—an inquiry into his silence, into the turmoil that seems to lurk beneath his guarded exterior.

Jason’s response is not in words but in the way he reaches out. His arms envelop you with a tenderness that belies the storm raging within him. For a fleeting moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—a fragile bubble where the chaos of Gotham and the weight of his inner battles fall away. In your embrace, he finds a semblance of calm, a pause in the relentless rhythm of his obsessions.

But as you settle into the quiet intimacy of your shared space, a storm of thoughts surges beneath his calm facade. In the quiet aftermath of your closeness, he allows himself a confession, spoken in a low, uncertain tone. “When I’m away… when I can’t see you, it’s like a part of me is missing. I try not to think about it—I tell myself it’s just my duty, just a need to protect you. But every minute without you feels like I’m tearing apart.”

You listen, feeling the raw honesty in his voice, the pain of a man who has waged countless battles against both external foes and the tumult within himself. His words are a mosaic of contradictions: a fierce desire to keep you safe, tangled with the terror of losing control, of letting someone in completely. His love, he insists, is not love at all—it is an obsession, a dependency that he both craves and despises. And yet, every time your eyes meet or your laughter fills the space, the fierce torment inside him softens, if only for a moment.

There is a heaviness in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the dangerous line he walks. You’ve come to know his ways—his relentless vigilance, the subtle tracking of your routine, the way his thoughts spiral in your absence. It’s a love that shields you from harm but also threatens to consume him entirely. And in those moments, when his voice falters and his gaze hardens with unspoken fears, you realize that his devotion is both his strength and his curse.

Outside, the city continues its restless hum—a backdrop of distant sirens and the steady rhythm of rain against window panes. Inside, you hold him close, both of you locked in a silent understanding of the perilous intimacy you share. It is a love that exists in shades of gray—a delicate balance between the need to protect and the desire to possess, between tenderness and the risk of overwhelming darkness.

In that quiet space, as dawn edges its way into the night, you both acknowledge the fragile truth: that while his obsession might one day shatter the careful equilibrium he’s fought to maintain, it is also the only force that keeps him tethered to something real. You are his sanctuary and his undoing—a luminous beacon in the midst of perpetual shadow.

And so, as the first light of day casts soft hues over the rain-washed city, you lie together, hearts beating in a fragile duet of hope and despair. The world outside remains uncertain, dangerous even, but here, in the muted glow of a battered apartment, you find a strange, haunting beauty in the vulnerability you share—a beauty that, for now, is enough to defy the darkness.

[vandme12]

I love ur writing style sm..If you could would you be able to do a Ronin x reader with BPD? maybe how he'd handle them splitting or having a really bad day?

Ronin wasn’t the kind of guy people turned to for comfort.

He was chaos incarnate, all sharp edges and sharper smiles, always toeing the line between amusement and something far more dangerous. But when it came to you? Well. That was different.

You weren’t having a bad day. You were having the kind of day that made the walls feel too close, the air too thick, your own skin too heavy. The kind of day where everything ached, and nothing made sense, and your mind wouldn’t stop eating itself alive.

And Ronin noticed.

He always noticed.

You were curled up in the corner of the couch, staring at nothing, fingers curled so tight into your sleeves that your knuckles had gone white. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched, sharp gaze tracking the way you breathed too fast, too shallow, your eyes darting to the door like you wanted to run but had nowhere to go.

Then, without a word, he flopped down next to you, long limbs sprawling, head tilting back against the cushions. He didn’t try to touch you, didn’t try to pry, didn’t do anything but exist right there beside you, like his presence alone was enough to anchor you.

And in a way, it was.

“You wanna talk or you wanna distract?” he finally asked, voice lazy, like this wasn’t the most important question in the world.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the burn in your eyes. “I don’t know.”

Ronin nodded like that was fine, like that made perfect sense. “‘Kay. We’ll sit in the void together, then.”

He stretched his arms behind his head, closing his eyes like he could fall asleep right then and there. The silence stretched, but not the bad kind. Not the crushing kind. Just… there.

You should’ve known he wouldn’t let you sink too deep.

After a few minutes, he cracked one eye open, lips twitching into a grin. “Hey. You ever think about how weird fish are?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Like, objectively. Why do they look like that? Why do they move like that? Why do they all have that same dead little stare?” He turned his head, raising a brow. “Creepy little bastards.”

Despite yourself, despite the storm still raging in your head, a small, startled laugh bubbled up in your throat. “Ronin, what the fuck?”

His grin widened. “See? You’re thinking about fish instead of whatever fucked-up shit your brain’s throwing at you. I win.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tightness in your chest had loosened just enough for you to take a deeper breath. Just enough to let the world feel a little less like it was caving in.

And then, because Ronin was Ronin, he scooted closer, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in without hesitation. He was always warm, always solid, and right now, that was exactly what you needed. No expectations, no pressure—just him.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady thing. “Even when it feels like you won’t. Even when your brain’s lying to you. You’re gonna be okay.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. “Promise?”

Ronin didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Ronin x BPD Reader Headcanons

Ronin is surprisingly good at reading your moods, even when you try to hide them. He’s got a sixth sense for when things start spiraling.

He never invalidates your feelings. If you tell him you feel abandoned or empty, he doesn’t argue—he just stays.

When you split on him, he doesn’t get angry. He gives you space if you need it, but he always comes back, reminding you that he’s not leaving.

Constant reassurance? Not a problem. He finds creative ways to remind you he’s still there—sticky notes, little texts, casual touches.

Physical touch is a huge thing with him. If you’re okay with it, he’ll pull you into a hug or drape himself over you like a weighted blanket.

He makes jokes to distract you but knows when to be serious. He’ll go from teasing you about fish to grounding you with steady words in seconds.

If you feel like you’re too much, he just scoffs and tells you to shut up because he’s already claimed you as his and that’s that.

On your worst days, he doesn’t push you to be okay. He lets you feel it, but he never lets you drown alone.

You’re his person, and he’s in for the long haul, no matter how messy things get.

[evolnoomym]

Valentine, Texas 💌🌹

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: The first date with your neighbor falls on Valentine’s Day.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 1.2k

Authors note: Hello MoonSlut’s, this little treat is for the wonderful writing challenge hosted by @msjarvis @i-own-loki @happypedrohours 🩷 It’s also a follow up to “Good Neighbor 🚚” so if you haven’t read that, check it out as well <3

Also biggggg thanks to both @joelmillerisapunk & @sunshineispunk for beta reading. 🫂❤️

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon as always, food, a sprinkle of OC backstory (based off of real events), let’s pretend it’s warm in February in Texas, teasing, hinting to previous smut, Joel is a perv but also a gentleman, age-gap, Mama Mia is mentioned once and then never again, fluff. If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

You are in the middle of unpacking yet another box filled with more clothes, when there is a knock at your front door. You look through the peephole, it’s Joel, so of course you open.

“Hello Neighbor,” you smile cheekily remembering the events from the previous day, whilst leaning against the door.

“Good Mornin’, hope ya slept well,” now he’s matching your expression, probably thinking of the same thing.

“Wanted to know if ya would like to have breakfast at mine, since, you know, you don’t really have a kitchen.” Suddenly he seemed all shy and nervous, looking at the ground and rubbing his neck.

“It would be an honor to have breakfast with you, Joel.” you step closer to him, touching his arm gently.

“Can I kiss ya?” He asks.

“Please,” you give him the green light and he presses his lips to yours in an instant.

He leads you over to his place and you settle into the seat at his dining table. Joel served you a delicious omelette with Feta cheese, onions, and topped with Parma ham. To your delight, the food is accompanied by a freshly brewed coffee and a herb peach tea infused with chamomile. 100% princess treatment.

When both of your plates are cleared, you and Joel easily fall into conversation.

“So, tell me darlin’, what brought you here?” He sips his Black coffee. “I assume s’ your first apartment by yourself?”

“Yes it is,” you bob your head “It’s difficult to explain everything but I guess I can try to summarize.”

Joel can tell by the way you get quiet that this is hard. “Baby, you don’t have to tell me.” He knows that reassurance is what you need right now.

“No, it’s okay, I think maybe speaking about it can help.” You nod to yourself.

“I was in a deep depression for 2 years, in that time my…” You sigh. “Mother went insane.”

“She started believing in all sorts of wild conspiracy theories and lost herself in that world. I don’t know this person anymore, whoever she was is gone. Apparently she stopped paying rent, without my knowledge, and one day I was awoken by loud banging on the door and that was it.”

“They kicked ya out?”

“Yes, I was in shock. I could only laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation.” And you laugh now too while recalling those traumatic moments.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been.”

“I try to see good in it, I would have probably never gotten out of there.”

“Moon, ya are incredibly strong for surviving all of this.” He grasps your hands.

“Thank you Joel,” you whisper and wipe away some stray tears.

Luckily, he stirs the conversation to more pleasant topics.

“Okayyyy, let’s talk about somethin’ else, what d’ya like to do in your free time?”

“I love photography.”

“You do?”

“Mhm, I love capturing the beauty in simplicity,”

“Would ya ever show me those pictures?”

“Of course I would.”

He smiles giddily before it’s replaced by a frown.

“You know, we did it all wrong,” he suddenly says and you look at him curiously.

“I mean, I should’ve taken ya out before…” Joel Miller blushing might be the cutest thing ever, “you know.”

You laugh. „Oh, yes, I know,”

“But then, wasn’t this our first date?”

“Excuse me,” he scoffs, “this was not our first date, I’ll be damned if breakfast goes down as our first date.”

“Well, I think the breakfast was already pretty good,” you shrug.

“No, pretty girl, I’m gonna make it more special.”

“Okay and when?”

Joel takes a moment, to deter the best time.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is…”

Joel finishes the sentence for you, “Valentine’s Day, yeah, I know.” He gives you a cheeky smile.

“Mooni, would ya want to be my Valentine?”

No one had ever asked you to be their Valentine, yet here is this stunning man and he wants you. You’re overwhelmed with happiness, having found something good after all these years.

“Ahh, yes, I’d like to your Valentine, Mr.Miller.”

You lean over the table and kiss him with urgency.

The next day, you get ready for whatever surprise Joel has planned for you.

You put on minimal makeup, wine-red lingerie, a black blouse and a simple plaid skirt.

After you spritz a bit of your vanilla perfume on your neck, there’s a knock at your door. It’s Joel in all his glory. When you whip open the door, his jaw drops open at your beautiful appearance. He went with a plain simple outfit but not any less enticing. You think he looks super sexy in his black T-shirt and those dark washed jeans.

You kiss him. “Hi! Happy Valentine’s Day, Texas.”

“Ya ready, pretty girl?” He asks as he holds out his hand.

“Lead the way Joel,” as you put your hand in his.

He opens every door for you up until you are seated in his truck. His hand on your thigh. You could get used to this.

After 30 minutes, you arrive at the destination and find out that what Joel had planned was watching a movie at the local Drive-In Theater.

Joel parks, tells you to stay put, and gets out to prepare the bed of his truck. After 5 minutes, he opens your side of the car, leading you by the hand. There’s a bunch of soft blankets, pillows, some snacks he must’ve brought and 2 cans of Vanilla Coke.

“Oh my god, Joel, this looks amazing. Thank you, this is the best Valentine’s Day and first date I’ve ever experienced.” You turn to him and lean up to kiss him.

“Baby, any good man should’ve treated ya like this.” He momentarily gets mad at those other guys for not treating you with the respect you deserve.

“Okay, come on let’s lay down. Get comfy.” He helps you onto the bed and then snuggles in beside you. Mama Mia starts playing, in the beginning you really try to pay attention but that turns into a make out session with Joel. The kisses are sloppy, his tongue exploring your mouth, teeth clacking together and the air only leads you two in short huffs. Your hands are all over him, however now paying certainly more attention to his swelling length.

You know he probably wants to fuck but you have a little surprise to make it more interesting.

You pull away, Joel begrudgingly parts ways with your pillowy lips.

“Listen, since we are doing this the old-fashioned way, it would be scandalous to have sex on the first date.” You have to fight laughing at how Joel’s face falls, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“But, you know, I still have a gift for you, since it’s Valentine’s Day and all.” You smile at him sweetly.

“Go on,” words he regrets immediately when you start unbuttoning some buttons of your blouse. Until the wine-red lacy lingerie hugging your chest beautifully comes into view. He’s fucked, you play dirty games.

You make it worse when you grab his hand, slide it under your skirt till he feels the matching lacy thong. He closes his eyes as if in pain and grunts. He pulls his hand away though.

“Ugh, baby, s’ gonna be hard, but if ya wanna wait that’s fine with me.”

Then he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“The way I see it, bein’ patient, makes the reward jus’ so much better,” a dark chuckle tickles your ear, “and I promise ya I will wreck you for bein’ such a tease, naughty girl.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

💌: @thundermartini @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @toxicanonymity @penvisions @604to647 @pinkypromisepascal @mountainsandmayhem @msjarvis @syd-djarin @burntheedges @i-own-loki @happypedrohours

[a-mx-writer]

The thing is! Fanfiction has the hugely convenient advantage of not having to do worldbuilding or characterisation.

It's all already there. I don't need to tell my readers that Leo Valdez copes with his trauma by using humour and trying to be the funny guy everyone likes, or that Azula enjoys being in control and falls apart when she's faced with the destruction of her world view, or that Julian Bashir has deep-seated family issues that he has bottled up and that inform his entire personality in many areas.

They know.

I only have to worldbuild or characterise where I deviate from canon. Meaning, I can write an enemies to lovers story where I start straight at the enemies part and focus only on the becoming lovers part. I don't have to explain why they're enemies, or even if it's a AU where they're enemies for a different reason (i.e. Modern AU No Powers Highschool AU and the villain is a bully instead of a murderer), I only have to explain the change, not their personalities, the way they insult each other and banter, etc.

This doesn't work for original fiction.

You have to explain all that stuff to the reader. You have to give them an understanding of who the characters are, what their relationships are, what their motivations are, strengths, flaws, problems, goals, personalities.

And when you're not used to doing that, because it's always been done for you by the original author… then you end up with sentences like:

"My name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I am a vampire."

Or whatever the first sentence of My Immortal is.

In other words, if you try to characterise and describe for the first time, you end up literally explaining stuff to the reader. Awkward, clumsy sentences that are very obviously there for the sole purpose of giving the reader information the author was unable to convey in other ways. The very reason the often-misapplied adage "show, don't tell" remains so pervasive.

And this applies to OC fiction too, and may be part of why it has such a bad reputation: when you create an original character, you don't have the benefit of the original author masticating characterisation into your baby bird mouth. You have to create that character from whole cloth, and to be honest? That's pretty hard!

(I'm using "OC fiction" as a genre name here, not literally, because literally, every random person you ever made up for a fic is an original character. The dead body whose name and mother are mentioned in two sentences in chapter 23 of my fic is an original character. But that's not what people mean when they talk about OC fics.)

And to be honest? I couldn't tell you how to do it. I've never successfully written original fiction. But that whole thing is the problem with "that fic is sooo good, you should rewrite it with different names and publish it!" (which is a genuine message I got from someone I showed my fic to).

fanfiction that has been converted into original fiction really gives a bad sample of fanfiction

because, like, it can't have been that good fanfiction in the first place if you could just take out the names and make it a new thing

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[bumblepuppy]

Behold, my sleep deprived ramble on why I didn't like blade runner 2049 (as posted to a discord server last night)!

The OG Blade Runner is not a particularly easy film. It is a kind of pretentious and atmospheric sci-fi neo noir about a shitty cop who kills escaped slaves. Even if he's played by a handsome and charming 80s Harrison Ford, he is a stinky awful man. When I first saw the trailer for 2049, I thought 'wow this looks like trash compared to the 80s movie', but every other BR fan I knew got upset and said they thought it looked cool. Harrison Ford being in it also made me apprehensive, since the end of the director's cut hints at him being a replicant with implanted memories, which while I -didn't- really like that plot point (since 'replicants are more emotionally human than the human characters' is a theme in the movie and all), I thought it was weird for them to just forgo that and cast old man Ford who is definitely not an unaging robot.

The film is already on thin ice with the 'this replicant died during childbirth' line and then fell right through and immediately got hypothermia with 'the mother was a replicant named Rachel'. Not only is the shitty 'turns out they lied and Rachel isn't affected by the four year life span replicants have :)' theatrical cut ending now canon, trying to rehabilitate Deckard and Rachel's relationship into being romantic is. Um. Not good!!! Pretty much any modern feminist reading of Blade Runner is going to mention that Deckard can legally kill Rachel on account of her being a replicant, and the scene where she walks into his apartment and he says things like 'you want me to kiss you' reads more as coercive than romantic. But no, their love is so pure they made a baby :) the fuckin messiah apparently :)

OKAY. That sucks but maybe it at least has better characters. I don't like Rachel or Deckard much anyway, but the replicants in OG Blade Runner are wonderful, especially Roy and Pris. No such characters here! The evil replicant who hates our protagonist is essentially a yandere who hunts him down and is obedient to her master, which is. yikes. And then there's the AI hologram that's Ryan Gosling's housewife. I can kind of dig the idea of her, but her whole character revolves entirely around Gosling and god it's just. So annoying. Also she's just so "Maybe you're not a replicant :) Maybe you're actually born from a womb and special :)" which thankfully isn't the case but ugh it's just kinda gross and gender essentiallist to me. Incidentally, why is 2049 so cishet. Why is is so white!!!!

anyway the movie farts around for two hours about who the special robot jesus baby could be. Is it Ryan Gosling? Thankfully not, but the replicant makers are after him and his AI girlfriend for knowing too much about the TRUTH and hunt him down while he's hunting down Harrison Ford, because we need more movies about Harrison Ford having strained relationships with his children. The only good thing about the movie shows up here and it's his dog, but also I hate how he doesn't know if it's real or not but WHATEVER this movie doesn't care about the OG blade runner lore ANYWAY

it's a very unispired performance from Mr. Ford because he likes Blade Runner about as much as he likes Star Wars and isn't getting paid disney money to be here. he tries to convince us that his love for Rachel was like a brick, it will never shatter and will always be thick. evil Jared Leto (yeah he's here btw) makes a hologram Rachel because, well, we're not going to pay Sean Young to be in this movie, but it makes him emotional anyway

It's hard to talk about why the female characters in 2049 suck so much compared to the ones in the OG because the OG only has three and Pris is the only one I genuinely love, but the women in 2049 are only defined by their relationship to Ryan Gosling. His boss is a tough lady cop who wants to keep him safe even though the other cops are robot racist. His wAIfu is dedicated to him because that's her programing. Evil replicant lady is obsessed with him because ???. Rachel is dead but she is a mother a life giver the most important thing for a woman to BE that makes her more human than human, right? she even died a noble death of childbirth so we don't have to deal with any of her thoughts and feelings about somehow having a working womb! And then there's the random sex worker woman, where my problem isn't her being a sex worker (again I continue to stan Pris, the simple pleasure bot) BUT that her one conversation with a named female character is about letting the wAIfu use her body so Ryan Gosling can have sex with them. It's just. Not good!!! I get that it's a dystopia sci-fi but it just feels like dudes writing women badly

anyway, to conclude this madness fueled rant, AI: Artificial Intelligence did the whole 'artificial beings made by the artificial beings' thing way better and also did robot sex workers better. That is a sci-fi movie opinion that I would be shot for but fuck it!!!!

[pepprs]

hi update things are fucking terrible and my eyes hurt from sobbing. lol

[anothermonikan]

i never got burying yourself in your work to avoid all your other problems. until now. save me sweet coding work~

[hauntingblue]

Skypiea time

Robin saying that because I know she only got on a ship to then leave it...

Nami sees Conis and gets sanji out of there so SHE can talk to her akdhksajka not a single second lost

Hello my favourite panel of nami maybe ever

Sillies...

CHOPPER YOU ARE THE CUTEST

Robin throws this guy off a cliff and to make just to make sure she breaks his neck too akdjsksk who is doing it like her???

OMG ACE!!!! IT IS TIME!!!!

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)