#I’m just thinking about them and crying

[letteremi]

bite-sized revenge

gojo satoru  x fem!reader — it's in his DNA to be a menace, so can Gojo really be mad that his toddler inherited that from him? 

warnings/tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, gojo and his baby girl, just fluffyyyyyy (not proofread, sorry if there are any typos or etc xx)

Gojo Satoru is fatally, insanely, completely head over heels for you. 

To this day, he maintains that. He’ll tell everybody of the joys of knowing you — and no, he’s not being sarcastic when he says that. 

Though, if there was one thing he could almost cry about, it would be this. 

See, if there’s one thing Gojo Satoru loves to do, it’s to tease his two girls. And that’s exactly what he’s doing to the tinier one, the mini you x him, this morning. 

“Here comes the choo choo train.” Satoru guides the sweet potato closer, and her cute little babbles fill the air. It seems like his little munchkin inherited his sweet tooth. And just as the delightful dollop reaches his sweet girl, he pulls the spoon back with a grin. 

“Dada!” She crosses her chubby arms (and briefly, he thinks she looks like the Michelin man, and his grin grows bigger), eye twitching and face in a pout that screams ‘i’ll remember this betrayal’. 

“Satoru,” you chide, and he turns to face you. You’re leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed just like your daughter. Sunlight streams in through the adjacent open window, lighting the edges of your hair with that ethereal glow that makes his head explode and his heart ache. “That choo choo train is going to derail.” 

“I’m an excellent driver, thank you,” he replies, readjusting his grip on the spoon like it’ll prove his point, and if you ask him, it does. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, here…” Satoru glides the spoon through the air again, and just like that, your daughter is giggling and clapping her hands again.

So sweet, so trusting, that Satoru almost regrets his next move. 

At the last second, he yanks the spoon away again, and this time, he’s dodging tiny fists like his life depends on it.

He can’t help it, he only laughs louder — loud, belly-aching, cheek-pulling, laughter that infects you too, as you giggle behind your hand.

When he takes a peek at your darling daughter once again, it’s like rage is bubbling through her — well, all the rage someone of her size can muster. 

“Satoru.” 

But his name didn’t come from you. It’s grumbled out by the tiny cherub in front of him, and the colour drains from his face as Satoru’s heart falls to the floor. 

His laughter cuts off — replaced by frantic attempts to placate his rascal, arms held up like in surrender — but yours only grows. And it seems like your approval, and his dismay, fuels the little gremlin, because she opens her mouth again — no doubt to spout that horrific name again. 

“No, no,” he coos, desperate now. “Sweetheart, I’m dada. Dad. Papa. Father.” He wrinkles his nose at the last one. “Actually angel, don’t say father. It’s too serious.” 

Your baby girl turns her nose up at him, clearly not amused, and Satoru busies himself with scooping a heapful on the spoon — his apology. “Here, for real this time, eat up..”

She turns her cheek again — because fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice… — and the mashed sweet potato smears all over her cheek like an accidental streak of paint. 

And for the second time this morning, Satoru has to stifle his laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth as laughter threatens to escape. But your daughter, oh your sweet daughter, she’s glaring at him with an anger strong enough to buckle his knees. 

“Gojo.” It’s like the last name comes out in slow motion — choppy, lower, said with defiance and with the intention to reprimand her dad so badly he will never try her again. 

And worse yet, she’s not just angry, she’s disappointed. Those big blue eyes (and for the thousandth time this week, Satoru understands how others feel when he looks at them), shining with gleeful revenge. “Oh, Gojo.” She shakes her head side to side with a pout that could bring nations crumbling down with the sheer disapproval. 

Gojo? 

“You’re Gojo too!” And now he’s the one pouting, caught up in a fight with a toddler that both of them know that she’ll win. Satoru whips his head in your direction — you’re in hysterics now — accusation in his stare, and a silent plea for help.

And you know him, you know him, so he knows that you’re ignoring his cries for assistance in favour of holding yourself up by the bench. 

Betrayed by his two favourite people in one day. 

Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping in his chair at being struck by this final blow. Your daughter huffs, victorious, her tiny fists pumping into the air in her high chair, like a tiny general who’s just conquered an empire. And Satoru doesn’t even have time to claim the triumph that she picked up that emote from him. 

And suddenly, you swoop in like an angel from the sidelines, finally having caught your breath on the sidelines. Stepping forward, you take the spoon from his limp hand and gently scoop up the sweet potato. 

“Here, sweetheart,” you coo, smelling something sweet that he can’t name (maybe it’s just you), that he wants to eat up all the same.

Your dear daughter accepts the spoonful without hesitation, though, she makes a point to side eye her defeated dad when she does. And then, her little pout melts into a satisfied smile, as she munches happily. 

Satoru watches her eat, deflated but completely smitten, and when he turns to you again, he finds you already looking at him — soft hair framing your face like the beautiful work of art he knows you are — with that knowing, star-filled gaze that always undoes him. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he warns weakly, pointing at you with an exaggerated menace. 

You just laugh again, and lean down to press a small, soft kiss to his forehead — and just like that, he’s forgiven you. “Good luck, Gojo.”

“You’re Gojo too,” he groans, though, his arms wrap about your waist, pulling you closer despite his wounded pride. 

And in that warm kitchen, sunlight pooling around all three of you, he realises he wouldn’t trade this — the chaos, the tiny betrayals, the teasing that only comes from unconditional love — for anything in the world. 

Not now. Not ever. 

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[imnotjustreadingg]

tell me again tomorrow

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff - drunk talking - friends to lovers - alcohol mention Word count: 1836 Summary: Y/N, almost ready to sleep receive the visit of her favourite and drunk super soldier

You were already in your pajamas, curled up on the couch with a book, when someone knocked at your door. Not once, not twice but four impatient, slightly uncoordinated knocks. You sighed and set the book down. It was nearly 2 a.m.

Sam, forgetting the time of the meeting in the morning? Or maybe Steve bringing leftovers? You certainly didn’t expect what was standing in the corridor.

“Hi,” Bucky grinned. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a bit damp from the summer drizzle outside. His shirt was rumpled, and he was swaying slightly.

“…Bucky?” He blinked slowly, clearly trying to keep his balance. From behind him, Steve peeked into view, supporting him from one side. “He insisted we bring him here.” Sam, standing on Bucky’s other side, looked equally amused and tired. “Refused to go back to his room. Said, and I quote, ‘Take me to the pretty girl’, we assumed you were the pretty girl.”

Your heart thumped. “What?”

“He’s hammered,” Steve said, giving Bucky a pat. Bucky, Steve, Sam and Tony spent the night in the common room, drinking Thor’s liquor. He did drop casually a bottle and then returned home to Asgard. “But we figured you were the safest option. You’re good with him.”

You blinked. “You couldn’t have just taken him to his room and let him sleep it off? It’s just a floor ahead.”

“Oh, we tried. He tried climbing out of the window.” Bucky grinned again. “You’re really pretty, did you know that?”

“Okay,” you said, stepping aside quickly.  Once they’d deposited the super soldier onto your couch, the two of them made a quick exit, exchanging matching smiles as they left. “I like your room,” Bucky declared as he slowly tilted his head back against the cushions.  “Every room looked the same, Buck.” You told him.

“But yours better, smells like cinnamon.” You crossed your arms, studying him. “You smell like whiskey.”

“Not whiskey, doll.” he said proudly. “Asgardian’s liquor” he replied strangely calm. 

You grabbed him a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin, then sat beside him. “You okay?”

“I missed you tonight,” he said simply, taking the glass and sipping it with both hands like it was precious. “Everyone was loud. No one laughed at my joke.” You blinked.

“You’re the best,” he said, and then suddenly fell very quiet. “You really are.” His eyes found yours in that quiet way that always got under your skin. like he was memorizing you, piece by piece. You’d seen that look before. A handful of times. But you’d always brushed it off, afraid to believe it meant what you wanted it to mean.

Not tonight. Tonight, there were no walls. No shadows. No avengers left drunk in the common room. Just the flushed face of the man you’d loved longer than you wanted to admit, sitting drunk and soft on your couch with a truth hanging off his lips. “I have to tell you something,” he said slowly, seriously. “But you can’t laugh.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Your breath hitched.

“I know I’m drunk,” he added quickly. “But that doesn’t make it not real. I just- God, I’ve been trying to say it for months. You’re my favorite part of the day. You’re the only person I think about when things go quiet. I see you laugh, and I forget how bad the world can be. I see you cry and I wanna burn down everything that hurts you. I hear your voice, and I sleep better.”

“Bucky-”

“I mean it,” he insisted, leaning forward unsteadily. “You’re so… you. You never treat me like I’m broken. You call me out when I’m brooding too hard. You make me read books with happy endings and now I actually want one.” Your heart was thudding so hard it hurt.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I really love you.”

He looked at you with such raw, wide-eyed sincerity that it made your chest ache. And God, you loved him too. So much. So deeply. You had for a long time. And hearing him say those words felt like a key turning in a lock you’d been pressing your hand against for years. But he was drunk, super soldier or not. His eyes were a little too glassy. His speech was a little too slurred, but still calm. And though his heart was clearly honest, his brain would need reminding in the morning. So, you smiled softly and touched his arm.

“Okay,” you said gently.

“Okay?” he echoed. You brushed a few strands of damp hair off his forehead. “I believe you. But I want to hear it again when you’re sober.” He blinked. “You do?”

You nodded. “If you still feel that way in the morning, tell me again. Then I’ll tell you something too.” He stared at you like you’d just offered him the moon.

“…Okay,” he said finally. “I can do that.” You helped him lie down on the couch and grabbed the spare blanket from the basket near your bookshelf. He reached for your hand as you tucked it around him.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m just in bed, there.” He frowned, eyes already closing. “Can I dream about you?”

“If you want.” He smiled, soft and content and drifted off, still holding your hand lightly between his fingers.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

The next morning, you found him sitting up on the couch, hair a mess, blanket sliding off one shoulder, eyes wide and horrified. “Oh my God,” Bucky muttered.

“Morning,” you said, holding out a cup of coffee from the kitchen. Fortunately, you didn’t catch any other Avengers, so you quickly took a cup of coffee and returned to your room. Part of you wanted not to see Bucky in your room. He took it like it might have saved his life.

“Please tell me I didn’t confess my undying love last night.” You sit on your bed, raising a brow. “Which part? The love confession, the joke no one laughed about, or asking my permission to dream about me?” He groaned, burying his face in the mug. “All of it was real?”

“I fear yes,” you said with a smirk. He exhaled hard. “I didn’t mean to just…ambush you like that.”

“I know,” you said. “That’s why I waited. You said some pretty big things. I figured you might want a redo… if you meant them.” He looked up at you slowly.

“Do you?”

Bucky set down the mug. Then, without hesitation, he stood, stepped over to you, and gently cupped your cheek sitting on your bed.

“I meant every word,” he said. “And I’ll say it again every morning, if you want.” Your heart melted. “Once a day should do.” You reached for him, pulled him into a soft, slow kiss that felt like everything you’d both been waiting for. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered:

“So… you love me too?”

“I do.”

“I’m never drinking Thor’s liquor again,” he muttered. “But I’m also really glad I did.”

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

The compound kitchen was unusually lively for a Saturday morning. Bucky reluctantly got back into his room for a shower, not after kissing you again. Steve was sipping his coffee like he hadn’t gotten two hours of sleep. Sam was grinning ear to ear, borderline vibrating. Natasha sat perched on the counter with a smug smile. Tony was scrolling on his tablet smirking. You walked in, feigning indifference and nonchalant. You were perfectly aware of the incoming roast. Then Bucky walked in. Freshly showered. Hair still damp, black T-shirt and looking suspiciously well-rested for someone who’d made a fool of himself the night before. Handsome than ever.  He paused the second he stepped into the room. Everyone turned toward him at once, then looked at you. You prepared yourself.

Steve raised his cup in greeting. “Morning, Romeo.”

Bucky groaned. “Oh, no.” Sam slapped the counter. “Oh YES. Yes, Barnes. Don’t even THINK about pretending you forgot what you did last night.”

“I was drunk.” He justified himself.

“Exactly,” Natasha said, voice like silk and sharp glass. “Which makes it funnier.” Tony finally looked up. “So. Just to recap: you climbed out a window, hijacked your best friends as chauffeurs to her room showing up at Y/N’s room at 2 a.m., and dramatically professed your love.”

“…I didn’t climb out a window.”

“… he didn’t dramatically profess his love,” you said sipping your coffee. Steve raised a hand. “I can confirm. You very much did. I was there. You almost fell into a bush.”

“I wanted to tell her,” Bucky muttered, going straight for the fridge and grabbing orange juice like it might protect him from the mockery. He brushed past you, kissing your head. The room erupted.

“Look how cute they are! Y/N’s blushing!” Nat said. It was indeed right, you were blushing. Sam cut in, clearing his throat theatrically “You said, and I quote, ‘Take me to her. She smells like happiness and paperback books.’”

Bucky choked on his juice. “I said what?!”

“I smell like happiness and paperback books?” you asked him, once he sat near you. Sam burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, loverboy, Steve and I only reenacted it twice.”

“I’ll pay you to never bring this up again,” Bucky muttered, face turning red. “Yes, you do doll”. He whispered at your ear. 

“Oh, but we’re just getting started,” Tony grinned. “Now, Y/N… tell us did he recites poetry? Swear his sword to your name? Get down on one knee and ask her to bear your vibranium children?”

“I hate all of you.” Bucky said. “She let you sleep on the couch, right?” Nat asked, tilting her head. “Did you cuddle the throw pillow like it was her?” Bucky covered his face. “Stop.”

“Well damn,” Sam said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You really did it.” Natasha narrowed her eyes. “So… you two are a thing now?” Bucky shrugged. “We haven’t exactly labeled it, but we are.” He said quietly. “We are, right?” he told to you.

“Hell, yeah we are” you answered back, and Bucky gave you a long look as you leaned up kissing his cheek, smiling far too sweetly. “You’re all terrible,” he mumbled. Y/N just slipped her hand into his under the table. “I think it’s adorable,” she whispered. He squeezed her fingers. “You would.” Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, team. Operation: Tease the Hell Out of Barnes is officially a success. Let’s give the lovebirds some space before they start making heart eyes again.”

“Too late,” Sam muttered. Natasha just rolled her eyes and grabbed a muffin. “At least if they start dating officially, he’ll stop brooding around like a Victorian poet.”

“No promises,” Bucky called, still flushed but smiling now.  Because somehow, despite the relentless teasing, despite the embarrassment, even though Sam was now humming a love ballad in the background, he was holding your hand. And for the first time in a long time… everything felt exactly right.

[lillilybells]

Family dinner VI✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|damian wayne x reader (feat. Jon and Connor) summary|you finally get to meet damian’s best friend, damian’s not a fan.

word count|1480

warnings|mentions of blood, tears, teen romance.

notes|I love love loveeeeeeee this panel of them sm.

Family dinner masterlist

It was supposed to be a good day.

You’d planned it for weeks—ever since getting together with Damian, there had been one name he brought up more than any of his siblings: Jon Kent.

Damian didn’t exactly glow when talking about people. But when he mentioned Jon? There was a faint fondness, like remembering a childhood memory he wouldn’t admit made him happy.

You’d spoken to Jon once or twice, over mic, while the boys were in the middle of a co-op game. The vibe was mostly chaotic and filled with bickering. Now, you were finally going to meet him in person.

But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan when you date a Wayne.

You woke up late. Spilled iced coffee on your outfit. Bambi’s sitter canceled. Your parents worked Saturdays. You were one more inconvenience away from crying into a pillow.

You dialed Damian’s number, voice cracking: “I’m sorry, I—I know we were supposed to go out, but the day’s been awful. I overslept, then Sarah bailed on watching Bambi, and it’s not like I can bring a bunny to—"

“Go to your balcony,” Damian cut in.

You paused. “What?”

“Balcony. Now.”

You didn’t question him. You never did when he used that voice.

You slipped into your room, heart racing—and froze at the sight of your boyfriend in full Robin gear, being carried through the sky by Superman.

Well—by a Superman.

Your mouth dropped open as you opened the balcony door. Jon Kent smiled as he gently set Damian in the room.

“You could’ve put me down on the balcony,” Damian grumbled, dusting off his cape, a little embarrassed, “we ran into a robbery on the way-“

“Oh my God!” you gasped, interrupting. “That’s your best friend? Superman?! Damian, why didn’t you tell me?!”

“You didn’t tell her?” Jon’s brows raised as he gave Damian a teasing look.

“I didn’t think she’d care,” Damian muttered, but his eyes narrowed when he saw the way you practically beamed at the taller boy.

“Care? I’m a huge Superman fan! Are you kidding?” you said, practically vibrating.

Jon grinned and extended his hand. “Then it’s nice to finally meet the girl who’s somehow managed to tame Damian Wayne.”

You giggled and shook his hand. Damian’s jaw tightened.

“Enough. Where are my spare clothes?” he asked, eye twitching.

“Right, right!” you laughed, running to grab him and Jon each a change of clothes. Jon, of course, was already taking in the room like it was a tour stop.

Ten minutes later, you were curled up on the couch, Bambi in Jon’s lap as you sat next to Damian—who was watching you both like a Hawke.

“So, lifelong Superman fan?” Jon asked with a charming smile, petting Bambi like he’d known him for years.

“Since forever. Especially growing up in Gotham—it was comforting to know there was a hero out there who saved cats and smiled. He was like a... beacon of hope in a city full of gargoyles.”

“Don’t let Batman hear that,” Damian grumbled under his breath.

“Are you a snitch, Damian?” you teased.

“No,” he muttered. “But you’d better hope Todd’s not around. He might draft a hit list just for that comment.”

“of course he would, the guy has a favorite gargoyle..” you giggle.

Jon chuckled. “You’re more charming than I expected.”

“I try,” you replied, leaning a bit closer. “What’s it like? Being bulletproof?”

“Honestly? Weird. I once destroyed a toaster just by looking at it.”

You gasped in mock horror.

“Wasn’t even on purpose. It just disintegrated.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

By the time the laughter died down, Damian had pulled you into his lap, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as Bambi switched to curling in Jon’s hoodie. You were recounting how you and Damian met—Jon was wheezing from laughter.

“I’m not kidding,” you finished, “I drag him in my room- bloody trail and all, panicking, running around and trying to save his life— and when he finally wake up- he leaves without saying goodbye! I save this man and he ghosted me!.”

Jon nearly dropped Bambi. “You’re such an asshole,” he said, wheezing.

Damian just smirked.

“I still don’t know how you pulled her.”

“Like this,” Damian said flatly, tugging you in for a short, passionate kiss. You squealed a little at the suddenness, caught off guard but not complaining.

Jon blinked. “Huh. Yeah, okay. I get it now.”

Damian looked pleased.

“I gotta admit,” Jon added, “you’re more affectionate than I expected.”

“In front of you, sure. You’re not father.”

“I’d be lucky to get a side-hug in front of Batman,” you whispered.

“You’d be lucky to survive a kiss under his glare,” Damian muttered, frowning deeply.

“Aw, don’t get grumpy, baby.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Damian asked in exasperation.

Jon snorted. “You scowl in your sleep.”

Damian looked personally offended.

Just then, Jon checked his phone. “Crap. We were supposed to meet Connor twenty minutes ago.”

Your ears perked up. “Connor Hawke?”

“Yeah—oh! He can swing by here instead.” Jon was already typing before Damian could stop him.

“No. Don’t—do not—tell him to come here.”

“I already sent the location,” Jon said, nonchalantly.

“Delete it.”

“Too late.”

“Why, baby?” you asked, tilting your head. “I wanted to meet him too.”

Damian groaned. “Beloved, you don’t understand—”

“Oh my god,” Jon interrupted, grinning. “Did you just call her ‘beloved’?”

Damian blinked. “Yes. What else would I call her..?l

Jon blinked back, “I love that for you…”

Ding dong.

You turned toward the front door.

“That’s him,” Jon said cheerfully.

Damian sighed the longest sigh of his life, muttering curses under his breath.

Ding dong.

Damian groaned.

Jon grinned, getting up to open the door.

Connor Hawke stepped in with the grace of someone who never trips over their own feet. He was dressed casual—dark green shirt, zip-up hoodie, and a tactical calm in his expression that reminded you of Bruce more than you expected.

His dark blond hair was tucked under a beanie, and he looked like someone who could take down five guys and then ask politely if you needed help with your groceries.

He gave a short nod toward Jon and Damian before his eyes landed on you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and smooth.

You blinked. “Hi.”

Jon grinned. “Connor, this is Damian’s girlfriend. You know, the one.”

Connor raised a brow slightly, then turned back to you. “I thought Damian didn’t do relationships.”

“I thought the same thing,” you said with a sheepish laugh.

Connor smiled. Like actually smiled.

Damian was now holding you a little tighter.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you said, offering a hand. “Damian mentioned you were, uh... calm.”

Connor shook your hand gently. “That’s one way to put it.”

“She’s being polite,” Damian muttered. “He’s a monk with throwing knives.”

Connor looked at Damian. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Anyway,” Jon cut in, flopping onto the couch, “we were just trading Damian horror stories. You got any?”

“I have volumes,” Connor replied, pulling out his phone. “Let me just scroll back to last year’s mission in Metropolis...”

“I swear to Ra,” Damian muttered. “You’re all insufferable.”

“I think this is adorable,” you whispered to Damian, bumping your shoulder into his. “You have two best friends.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly. “I have one best friend and one permanent stalker.”

Jon raised his hand. “Guess which one I am.”

You giggled.

Connor glanced at you again, this time with a bit more curiosity. “So... You’re dating him. On purpose.”

“I am,” you nodded with a proud smile. “Wild, right?”

“Very,” Connor said, his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” Damian deadpanned, standing up and positioning himself slightly between you and Connor. “Let’s all stop giving my girlfriend that ‘is she okay?’ look.”

“I mean,” Jon added, sipping water, “I still think she might be a spy.”

“I’m not,” you said cheerily. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Connor chuckled. “If she were, she’d be better trained than half the League.”

Damian gave him the Dirtiest Look Known to Gotham.

“Connor,” Jon stage-whispered, “stop charming her.”

“I’m not,” Connor replied, perfectly neutral. “This is just how I talk.”

“Well stop it anyway,” Damian snapped.

You raised a brow. “Is this why you didn’t want him over?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly why.”

Jon beamed. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

Connor gave a small, smug smile—because let’s be honest, he knew exactly what he was doing.

You, meanwhile, just smiled brightly as Bambi hopped across the floor, bumping into Connor’s boot. The archer crouched down instantly and scratched behind the bunny’s ear.

“He likes you,” you observed.

Connor glanced up with a subtle smirk. “Animals usually do.”

Damian looked done.

[mishappeningss]

Don’t know if this is too niche totally ignore this is so 😂 but I can imagine Brittney Broski talking about her on her podcast 😂

— she’s not just a driver, she’s a lifestyle. featuring YN LN

more about driver!yn

Brittany Broski had met many celebrities — internet royalty, movie stars, award-winning artists — but none had made her genuinely consider fainting until YN walked into the studio.

“You’re joking,” Brittany gasped, standing up so fast her chair squealed against the floor. “You’re not real.”

YN grinned. “I get that a lot.”

Brittany screamed. Not metaphorically, not internally. She actually screamed.

They didn’t even start the podcast on time. The first twenty minutes of footage was just the two of them pacing around the room, pointing at each other like Spider-Men, laughing hysterically.

“Sorry,” Brittany finally said into the mic, wiping her eyes. “We’re recording now. I’m here with a cultural reset, a national treasure, the reason I have trust issues — YN LN.”

Y/N adjusted her headset with exaggerated professionalism. “I’m really glad to be here, your highness.”

“Can we talk about the Spa incident?” Brittany asked, leaning forward. “The one where you told your engineer, and I quote, ‘He brake-checked me and I will be pressing charges.’”

Y/N groaned. “Listen. If you’re going to swerve into me, at least have the decency to do it with commitment. Don’t half-ass it. Spin me out like you mean it.”

Brittany lost it. “I can’t,” she laughed. “You’re like if Hot Wheels had a sentient.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said solemnly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

They played a game called “F1 Radio or Taylor Swift Lyric?”

Who said, “I love the drama, and the drama loves me back.”

YN answered with no hesitation. “Oh easy, that’s Taylor.”

“Wrong. That was literally your caption under a video of you arguing with Carlos.”

Deadpanned, she said, “There’s no way that isn’t a lyric. That literally has Taylor’s name all over it.”

“I just think you’re redefining what an F1 driver can be,” Brittany said seriously, later in the episode.

“You’re not the cool, detached, robotic type. You’re out there being loud and ridiculous and vulnerable and brilliant — and girls are seeing that and realizing, oh, that kind of person belongs here too.”

Y/N blinked. Then she sniffled.

“I didn’t cry when I won my first race,” she said quietly. “But I might cry now, you bitch.”

They hugged. On camera. Microphones still on. And the moment ended up clipped, captioned, and posted everywhere.

She’s coming back for Royal Court for sure.

[himasgod]

HEYYYYA, I saw ur masterlist and it seems ur requests are open

Can I request for Octa trio with a fem! s/o who's absolutely obsessed with jellyfish?

Like, she always comes to Mostro Lounge EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Just to admire the colorfull tank water and the jellyfishes in it for like an hour and simply gets out, and she also ramble abt them too, excitingly shares all info's abt them. Tbh idk if u make headcanons, if u do, I would prefer it to be headcanons, if not, that's ok too, u can make it a scenario

Feel free to ignore this if u want to, also don't forget to take care of urself, have a good day

OCTATRIO X READER

Where you are obsessed with jellyfishes

“Shrimpyyyyyy~ you’re OBSESSED with those floaty blobby things, huh??”

At first he doesn’t get it like, really? Jellyfish? They don’t even do anything exciting.

But when he sees how much you light up when you talk about them? The way your whole face glows when you press your hands against the tank glass and gasp like “LOOK AT THAT ONE!!”? He’s hooked.

“Hehehe, you’re so funny when you nerd out. Do the jellyblobs hypnotize you or somethin’? I could just squish your cheeks right now.”

Once he accepts the jellyfish are his rival for your attention, he takes it upon himself to make them interesting to him, too.

That means one day you walk in and find him wearing THAT ONE AND YEAH YOU KNOW WHAT (or were they octopuses??) jellyfish plush on his head.

“Look, Shrimpy! I’m a jellyfish now! Am I your favorite?”

He also names the jellyfish in the tank.

“That one’s named Gumdrop. The glowy one over there? That’s Stabby McFloat.”

If anyone in the Lounge makes fun of your obsession? Floyd will literally chase them out while yelling, “YOU DON’T DESERVE SHRIMPY’S FUN FACTS!”

He starts giving you jellyfish-themed gifts: plushies, socks, custom jellyfish hair clips.

One time he even tried to catch you a real one. thankfully Jade stopped him.

Overall? He doesn’t totally get the jellyfish thing, but he gets you. And he thinks it’s adorable how happy they make you. “Heh… if jellyfish make you smile like that, I guess they ain’t so boring after all.”

He’s immediately entertained. Not in a mean way he just genuinely finds it delightful how into jellyfish you are.

You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the tank like a little kid at an aquarium whispering to yourself:

“That one looks like a wiggly pancake I love him.”

Jade walks over and smiles, tilting his head. “Would you like to feed them?”

You gasp so hard it sounds like you saw a ghost. “CAN I?!?!” (◍•ᴗ•◍)

From that moment on he’s lowkey your partner in crime. You tell him random facts like

“Did you know some jellyfish don’t even sting? They’re just chill little blobs?” And he’s like, “Truly? How peaceful. I wouldn’t mind being one in another life.”

He offers you little trivia challenges like: “If you were a jellyfish, which species would you be and why?” “I’d be a comb jelly because theyre sparkly and slightly useless on land.”

Brings you tea and snacks while you sit by the tank. Sometimes he even refills the lights to match your mood, soft purples on calm days, brighter neon for your hype ones.

One day he catches you humming to the jellyfish and talking to them like they’re pets and he just. Softly laughs. “They seem to adore you too, dear, as do I.”

The first time he saw you sitting alone in Mostro Lounge just staring dreamily at the jellyfish tank for like an hour straight he thought something was wrong.

“Is she… okay?” “Oh, she’s fine,” Jade says with a smile. “She just really likes jellyfish.”

At first Azul is like huh weird, but alright.

But when you keep coming back every day just to sit there with your chin resting on your hands, whispering little facts under your breath like “That one’s probably a moon jelly oh my god it’s so squishy-looking I’m gonna cry,”—he gets curious.

One day you excitedly stop him mid-walk:

“Azul! Did you know jellyfish don’t have brains or hearts but they still move around and glow and do all this amazing stuff?? They're like little aliens, it's so cool!!”

And he’s just standing there. Blinking. Processing.

He tries to act all professional like, “Ahem. Fascinating, yes.” But inside he’s going what the hell she’s adorable??

After a while, he stops pretending and starts actually looking forward to seeing you.

Makes sure there are new jellyfishes and pretends it’s “for variety” but it’s 1000% to see your face light up and go “OH MY GOSH IS THAT A LAGOON JELLY??”

Eventually starts sitting with you during your jellyfish-watching hour, sipping tea and quietly listening as you ramble.He just smiles.

“You’re quite passionate, aren’t you?” he’ll murmur, trying not to look too flustered. “It’s… lovely.”

[divinesangel]

— how your future spouse will comfort you when you're hurting [detailed]

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal reading!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 when you’re hurting, your future spouse will be the kind of person who shows up quietly but meaningfully. they won’t make a big show out of comforting you, but they’ll be there in the ways that really count. they’ll do small things that feel huge when you’re in pain, like bringing you food, giving you space to breathe, or sitting next to you without needing to say anything at all. they won’t push you to talk before you’re ready, and they’ll never make you feel like you’re too much or not enough. they’ll have this gentle way of noticing when something’s off, even if you haven’t said a word. if you’re holding it all in, they’ll see it. if your walls are up, they’ll feel it. and instead of getting frustrated or pulling away, they’ll stay right there with you. they’ll offer comfort by simply being present, making it clear that you don’t have to go through anything alone. even in silence, you’ll feel understood.

when your heart is hurting, they won’t try to “fix” you. instead, they’ll give you time to feel your feelings, to cry or vent or just fall apart a little, and they won’t look away. they’ll listen, really listen, and not just wait for their turn to speak. they’ll hold your pain with care and remind you with their actions that you’re still loved, even in your messiest moments. they’ll help you pick yourself back up gently. not by forcing you to be strong before you’re ready, but by showing you that you’re not as alone or lost as you might feel. they’ll encourage you without pressure and support you in practical ways too, helping you find your footing again step by step. they’ll be patient when you’re overwhelmed and they’ll believe in you even when you’re doubting everything.

when your mind feels scattered or you’re confused about your choices or your path, they’ll help ground you. they’ll help you see things more clearly, not by telling you what to do but by standing beside you while you figure it out. they’ll remind you of who you are in the most loving way and reflect back the strength and softness they see in you, especially when you’ve forgotten it. in those hard moments, they won’t disappear or check out. they’ll stay. they’ll make you feel safe, like it’s okay to not be okay. they’ll love you through your silences, your overthinking, your tiredness. they’ll love the real you, not just the happy version. their love will feel calm and deep and steady, like a quiet kind of home you never realized you needed until you found it.

they’ll never make you feel like you’re hard to love. instead, they’ll remind you that you’re worth loving every single day, especially when you need it the most.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 when you’re hurting, your future partner won’t leave you guessing or make you feel alone. they’ll be quick to show up, not just with words but with presence. they’ll be the kind of person who notices when something’s off, even if you haven’t said anything yet. they’ll want to understand what’s going on, not because they need to fix it, but because they care deeply and don’t want you carrying pain by yourself. they’ll comfort you by getting close emotionally, making sure you feel safe and seen. they’ll listen without judgment and give you space if you need it, but they’ll never make you feel abandoned. even if you’re quiet or pulled back, they’ll stay close in a way that says, “i’m here when you’re ready.” they’ll let you have your emotions without trying to shut them down or rush you to feel better. they have a calm and honest way about them. when you’re overwhelmed or stuck in your head, they’ll help you come back down to earth. they won’t just tell you what you want to hear, they’ll speak gently and truthfully, grounding you with steady words and reminding you that you’re stronger than you think. they’ll help you see things clearly when your mind is clouded, and they’ll remind you of everything you’ve made it through. when pain from your past creeps in, they won’t make you feel like a burden. they’ll understand that healing takes time and that sometimes sadness shows up without a clear reason. they’ll stay anyway. they won’t run when things get messy or hard. they’ll offer small comforts that feel warm and real. maybe they’ll hold you quietly, or sit beside you while you cry, or say just enough to remind you that you don’t have to go through it alone. they’ll gently encourage you to express your pain, maybe through writing, movement, or doing something that brings you peace. they’ll know that your emotions are part of your strength, not something to hide. and even when you feel drained or lost, they’ll keep seeing your spark. they’ll remind you of your fire, even when all you feel is smoke. this person will have a really loving balance to them. they’ll know when to give you space and when to pull you close. when to be soft and when to be strong. they won’t always get it perfect, but they’ll keep trying. and they’ll always care enough to apologize and make it right if they ever misstep.

what makes them special is how they’ll treat your feelings like they matter. they won’t see your emotions as too much or something to deal with, they’ll see them as part of you, and they’ll love you for all of it. they’ll hold you when you’re falling apart and remind you, just by being there, that you’re not too hard to love. you’re safe with them. and they’ll make sure you never forget that.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 when you're hurting, your future partner will be the kind of person who doesn’t try to fix everything right away, but who stays close in a way that feels calm and steady. they’ll listen to you fully, not just to respond, but to understand. they won’t pull away or get overwhelmed by your emotions. instead, they’ll be there with quiet strength, making sure you don’t feel alone in the middle of it all. they’ll hold space for your sadness without making you feel like a burden, and even if they don’t always know what to say, their presence alone will feel grounding and real. they’ll be gentle with you in the moments when you can’t be gentle with yourself. if you need silence, they’ll offer it without taking it personally. if you need warmth or reassurance, they’ll offer it in simple, thoughtful ways. maybe they’ll make you tea, sit next to you without needing words, or just hold your hand until the storm inside you starts to calm. they’ll know how to read the room without you having to explain too much, and they’ll make it safe for you to just feel, without rushing to “fix” it.

when something in your life breaks or falls apart suddenly, they’ll be the steady one who stays beside you while you figure out how to rebuild. they won’t say things like “everything happens for a reason” or try to give you lessons before you’re ready. instead, they’ll help you feel like you’re not broken just because things around you are. they’ll believe in your strength in the quiet way that reminds you of it too, and slowly, they’ll help you piece things back together, even if it’s just by reminding you to rest or helping you make small steps forward again. they’ll have this way of gently bringing your spark back when it feels like it’s gone out. they won’t push you too hard, but they will remind you of the things that make you feel alive. they’ll help you reconnect with your joy and your hope in little ways, through laughter, through the way they look at you like you matter, even on your worst days. they’ll believe in your healing, not just with words, but with the way they show up for you consistently, even in the small things.

their love will feel like clarity. they’ll be honest, kind, and emotionally open. when you’re overwhelmed, their steadiness will be what helps you feel safe. they’ll speak truthfully, but never harshly. they won’t play games or send mixed signals. and when you feel like you're falling apart, they’ll be the one reminding you that you’re still whole underneath it all. they won’t need to be your hero, and they won’t try to rescue you. they’ll just be there, fully, with patience and love. they’ll walk with you through the pain, sit with you when you're quiet, and cheer for you when you take even the tiniest steps forward. with them, you won’t have to pretend to be okay. they’ll see the real you, stay for the hard parts, and love you through it all. and with that kind of love, even the hardest days will start to feel a little softer.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it’s daphne here.

i’m currently offering personal readings for €7 and soulmate readings for €14 so don’t hesitate to send me a private message if you’re interested!

thank you for being here!

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Still You- Drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word count: 500 ish

Content: newly established relationship, hurt comfort , fluff , insecurity , crying

a/n: wrote this small thing when writing for comfort <3 I’m still taking a moment with being fully online but some days are better and today I wanted to share this little piece!

my masterlist --- requests always open!

You hadn’t expected him. Not today. Not when your hair was scraped back in a frizzy ponytail , your glasses slipping down your nose, sweatshirt three sizes too big and eyes puffy from crying—again.

The knock had been soft. Almost hesitant. Like he already knew what kind of day it had been. Like he always seemed to.

You thought about not answering. You’d been dodging texts all morning, letting calls go to voicemail, half-hoping the world would forget you existed for a little while. But something about him—his name lighting up your screen, the way he knocked once and didn’t knock again—made you stand, slow and heavy, and shuffle to the door.

When you opened it, Bucky was standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his eyes scanning your face with quiet concern. The late afternoon sun haloed behind him, but he looked at you like you were the light.

“Bucky?” you blinked at him, voice raw. Your heart tripped over itself.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped forward slowly and took one long look at you—really looked. At your tear-streaked cheeks. Your smudged glasses. Your unwashed hair and trembling hands.

Then, without a word, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

One warm hand cupped your cheek, rough thumb brushing the dried salt of old tears away like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“No makeup, huh?” he murmured, voice low, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all week.”

You gave a soft, choked laugh that caught on a fresh breath. It wasn’t pretty. But it was real.

“You’re just saying that,” you whispered.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. His forehead gently met yours. “I don’t expect you to be anything but you.”

The words hit you in the chest harder than you expected. No one else had said them like that before. Not without expecting something in return.

Your walls started to crumble, piece by tired piece. And without thinking, you leaned into his chest, into the heat of him, the safety of him. His arms were around you in a second, wrapping you up like a weighted blanket you didn’t know you needed.

He didn’t try to fix anything. Didn’t tell you to stop crying or explain. He just held you. Let you be soft and messy and real in a world that expected you to be fine all the time.

You breathed him in—sandalwood and city air—and for the first time all week, you didn’t feel like you had to try so hard to hold yourself together.

You just breathed.

And let him hold you.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[teaboot]

hi! friend problems anon here. So, I've known this girl and her sister for my whole life, lets call them sis 1 and sis 2. Sis 1 is around my age so I've connected more with her, but in the past 5 years sis 2 has been the person I text most, and is the person i tell most things and we've got a roleplay going. This itself isn't the problem, i'm good friends with both sisters. This is just to state like, how much of a connection we've had BEFORE I started having issues. Sis 2 likes to talk a lot about her friends and school and such, while I'm more introverted and very very focused on my fixations and such. I love talking to her, and I love listening to her talk, really I do. But sometimes I say some things about my interests or hey this cool thing happened on tumblr today (this is my first social media account but I'm not super young? so it feels like a big milestone for me and I wish the people in my life cared more about that) And it kind of feels like she doesn't really care? like she responds a little about a small detail about what I said and then continues with the rp. or just doesn't reply. or talks about doing things with her friends that I kind of feel left out about. And it makes me feel like I don't really matter. And this isn't a recent thing either, its just been building up in me. So I sent a message about it, which the app SAID she saw, but she then didn't reply or speak for the whole day. which. obviously made me upset and i deleted the message. So last night i asked sis 1 if she was mad at me, and sis 2 came back the very minute I sent the message. So I asked her what that was about, that i sent a message to, and she said "the app sometimes says i've seen things when I haven't, whatd you say?" And I sent the message again, and again it said she saw it. and she still has not responded. and I don't know what to do because whats the point of talking things out if she's not even going to talk. TLDR My good friend makes me feel like what I have to say doesn't really matter, or that she doesn't care enough to make it matter, and when I tried to talk to about it she ghosted for a day. then i talked to her sister about it and she reappeared, only to ghost again when i resent the message

I think- and I’m not close enough to this to be certain, so you’d know better than me- that there’s a chance that, while she IS a friend who you can enjoy some level of trust and mutual enjoyment with, she may not feel capable or comfortable handling the deeper connection you’re reaching out for.

This doesn’t mean she’s a bad friend, or that she doesn’t care about you- but if it is the case, then she may just not be the right person for that kind of connection.

My mother told me once, when I was having a hard time with my bio father and feeling like he was emotionally available but physically absent, like he SAID he loved me but didn’t take the initiative to be present- “we can’t make people love us the way we need to be loved.”

I love my bio father. I love him deeply. He did his best, and he never once hurt me on purpose, and he’d let me cry when I was sad and hang up my drawings on his fridge and let me nap with him on the couch, but he was never the kind of man who could be there. He was never the kind of man who would go out in public, in crowds, or to my school- and no matter how I explained it or how I asked, it never seemed to click for him that sometimes, when you love someone, you suck it up and do boring shit you don’t want to do.

He loved me. He still loves me. But if I need someone to attend an award ceremony, or a school competition, he was never going to be that person.

My mom- she was similar. She’d show up, when she could, and she wouldn’t complain- would talk and talk about how proud she was, and support anything I set out to do, but work kept her away, and she didn’t really grasp emotional availability. Emotional intimacy, or being vulnerable.

So if I needed someone to rub my back while I cried and talk about my fears, I went to my bio father, and if I needed someone to cheer me on from the bleachers or get back at a bully, I’d go to my mom.

I have friends now as an adult who I go to when I’m sad, or depressed, or need to talk about the past, and they do the same with me.

I have other friends who I see far more often but will likely never know that side of me.

I know my bus driver by name, about her family and her cats and her favourite lipstick, and she knows about my work and what I do at the gym, and talking to her is nice. I enjoy her company. But she’s never going to come to my house for coffee, or know about my relationship with my step-parents.

Because nobody can be everything. Almost nobody in the world can be everything, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you- the way they express the love they have for you just doesn’t match the love you need to have in order to feel loved.

If you want to have that conversation with her, if you really want her to try to be that person, you can have that conversation, but she may be looking for something else that YOU aren’t able to provide HER.

Maybe that can be discussed. Maybe you can both work towards the middle. Or maybe that’s just not in the cards, and you can enjoy what you DO get out of your relationship as it is, and seek that other support elsewhere.

Which is to say, I doubt very much that she doesn’t care about you or your feelings- but she may just not be the right person to provide what you’re seeking.

You don’t buy your squid at the gas station, after all. It doesn’t mean you can’t still go to the gas station

[girlinterupptedsblog]

♡Rafe loves to pick up fight and argument every time you two fuck trying to get reaction

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, manipulation during sex, rough sex, crying, mentions of controlling behavior, codependency, angst, profanity, reader being degraded and emotionally pushed. NOT a healthy relationship. 18+ only.

The hotel room lights were dim, city shadows dancing across the bed where your bodies tangled, twisted in another one of those nights.

His weight hovered over you, body flush to yours, his name already slipping off your lips in quiet, breathless whimpers. You had missed him today — or maybe just missed the way he made everything else disappear, even if it meant you disappeared with it. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your thighs already trembling as he thrust deeper, the mattress creaking under the push and pull of your messed-up rhythm.

But he stopped.

His hips stilled inside you.

You blinked up at him, confused, panting. “Rafe?”

He didn’t move. His eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide, but not from lust. From something darker. He licked his lips once, slowly, and tilted his head like he was studying you.

"Who was the guy in your comments earlier?"

Your heart dropped. “What?”

His eyes flicked down to where your bodies met, then back up, still buried inside you. “The one with the hearts emoji. You know who I’m talking about.”

You swallowed. “I don’t—I don’t even know him, Rafe. I don’t control who comments—”

“Didn’t ask if you controlled it. I asked if you knew him,” he snapped, his tone shifting, sharp and cold. “You liked it.”

Your voice went smaller. “I double tap everything—”

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I fuckin’ bet you do.”

And just like that, he started moving again, slow and deep, eyes never leaving yours.

“You like guys drooling over you, huh?” Thrust. “You like feeling wanted?” Thrust. “You like pretending like you’re not mine?” Another, harder. You gasped.

“Rafe, please—”

“You took six fuckin’ hours to reply to my text. What, you were busy? Too busy to say ‘okay’?” His hand gripped your jaw now, forcing your face up so he could watch every flicker of guilt, fear, arousal. “Or were you ignoring me on purpose, huh? Trying to get a reaction?”

Your lip trembled. “No, I wasn’t—I just—”

“You just what?” he sneered. “Didn’t care?”

He shifted your legs wider, your back arching at the pressure. You were trying to focus on the sensation, the heat building between your legs, the dizzying way he knew every angle of your body. But his voice, his accusations, were eating at you like acid.

“You wore that dress, too. That tight one with the slit. For what? So some asshole at the bar could picture fucking you when he gets home?” His voice dropped, dangerous. “You think I don’t see it? You want attention. You want them to look at you.”

“I wore it because I liked it,” you whispered.

His hand slapped your thigh. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to sting. “Don’t lie to me.”

You choked back a sob. “I’m not—”

He leaned down, mouth right beside your ear, breathing heavy. “Yeah, you are. You’ve been lying since the second you got into this bed.”

All that just to keep fucking you.

You turned your face to the side, tears slipping out of your eyes onto the pillow.

He kissed your cheek.

“You cry every time we do this,” he murmured against your skin, soft now. Too soft. “Why do you come back?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He stared down at you again, brushing the wetness off your cheek with the back of his hand, like he hadn’t caused it. “Because you know no one else will want you like I do.”

He sped up, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head now, his grip bruising.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your neck. “I can fuck you whenever I want, but the second I see some dumb fuck looking at you like you’re available—”

You let out a gasp as he slammed deeper, sharp and possessive.

“Rafe—”

“You should see your face right now. God, you love when I get like this. You’re such a fuckin’ liar,” he hissed. “All that crying, acting like I’m the bad guy, but you’re squeezing around me like you want me to ruin you.”

Your body betrayed you. Your breath hitched, and your legs trembled again.

He smirked.

“You always do that. Always cry, always act like I’m too much, but then you keep takin’ it. Over and over.”

You blinked up at him, helpless, lips parted. His eyes softened just enough to make you feel stupid for doubting him.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered suddenly, the edge in his voice vanishing for half a breath.

You whimpered as he reached down to circle your clit, the stimulation too much, your body shaking beneath him now, torn between pleasure and pain and guilt and rage.

“You gonna cry again?” he said, almost lovingly. “Yeah… that’s right. Cry for me, pretty girl. Show me how much you hate me.”

Your orgasm ripped through you before you could stop it, shaking and violent, the tears streaming freely now. He kissed your jaw as your body convulsed under him.

“Always so good when you’re broken,” he whispered against your cheek.

[faramirsonofgondor]

AU where Tim realizes pretty early on that Dick is hallucinating Jason and he’s just like “nope, fuck that.” Tim has been parenting Batman, and Dick was supposedly the only semi-stable adult in his life (he doesn’t interact with Alfred much) and now Tim finds out that Dick is hallucinating???

At first, Tim tries to drug him with anti-psychotics, which actually takes a while because Dick keeps noticing them before he actually manages to ingest them. Then, once Tim actually figures out how to drug him without being noticed, the medications don’t even fucking work for some reason.

Then when Tim realizes that Dick has a pretty good handle on his hallucinations, Dick reaches out to him and tells him that he knows that Tim knows about his hallucinations. Dick is pleading, almost crying, while trying to explain that he’s not crazy, he’s fine, etc. Tim does not have time to deal with this shit, he’s not even getting paid to deal with this shit, and he knows that even if he reassures Dick that he doesn’t think he’s crazy, Dick will always be self-conscious and worried about it, and that will probably throw him off his game.

So Tim does the first thing he can think of, which in hindsight is incredibly stupid, and tells Dick that he saw Jason too. Once he says the words he regrets them, but he decides to double down anyways. He somehow manages to convince Dick that they’re both seeing Jason’s ghost, but that they’re the only ones who can see him. Tim would probably feel more guilty about it if it didn’t work so well. Sure, sometimes Tim will have to track Dick’s eye movements so he can figure out where he has to pretend to stare at Jason’s ghost, but once he gets the hang of it, it’s not too hard. Plus, it’s almost fun, watching Bruce try to figure out what the hell they’re both glancing at every so often.

For the most part, Tim doesn’t even have to do that much, since both Dick and Tim somehow came to the conclusion that Jason’s ghost seems to hate him and that it’s better if Tim doesn’t interact with the ghost. It would probably offend Tim under any other circumstances that some manifestation of Dick’s mind seems to hate him, but to be fair he is gaslighting Dick into believing that it’s not even part of his mind, that it’s reality.

Anyways time goes by and Tim even starts to forget that Jason’s ghost isn’t real cuz he gets so into it. Then someone breaks into Titans tower, but this time Tim gets a peek at the man under the mask. Jason decides to change his plans for some reason (read: I’m too lazy to come up with a reason). He decides to scare the shit out of Tim by unveiling his identity, hoping that Tim will tell Bruce. Unfortunately for Jason, Tim’s initial reaction isn’t “Holy shit, you’re Jason Todd”, but instead “Oh shit, I’m seeing him too now. Fuck, I knew I should’ve called that therapist. Is this hallucination contagious or some shit ?”

[cupidstrace]

Rated PG (for potentially gut-wrenching)

Summary: Your boyfriend cries at kids’ movies, and you fall in love a little more each time. Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

The first time it happens, you think he’s messing with you.

You’re sitting in a mostly empty theater, paper bucket of popcorn between you and massively oversized soda cups balanced in the armrests. It’s Sunday afternoon, and the movie is meant to be background noise. Something soft and harmless to fill the space between brunch and bedtime.

But somewhere around the part where Miguel sings “Remember Me” to his great-grandma, you glance over and catch Satoru swiping at his eyes.

“Are you..” you whisper, leaning in.

He turns just enough for you to see his lashes, wet and catching the light. “Shut up.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re crying?” “I said shut up.”

Except his voice cracks on the last word, and now you’re laughing quietly, clutching the armrest like it’s keeping you grounded.

“Babe,” you murmur, fiddling through your purse to get him one of those compact tissues you keep on hand. “It’s rated PG.”

He sniffs. “I’m a kid at heart.”

And maybe that’s the moment. The one that melts itself beneath your ribs and attaches to your heart. Because Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, absolute menace of a man, is crying over a boy playing guitar for his great-grandmother.

And you’re not even surprised. Not really.

Not when you know the way he talks to old women like they’re royalty. The way he puts your phone on the charger when you forget, or leaves painkillers beside a glass of water when he hears you muttering about a headache. Not when he insists on holding your hand through every flight, even though he doesn’t mind turbulence, just because he knows you do.

He does plenty of grand gestures, too. Stands on the street outside your apartment window, waiting for you to look outside and see the absolutely gigantic bouquet held in both of his arms. 

But it’s more than what he does. It’s who he is.

You lean over and kiss his cheek.

He lets out a shuddering exhale. “If I die, promise me you’ll remember me. And you’ll write me a song with a guitar that people will listen and cry to so I’ll remain super popular forever and ever.”

You snort.

On the ride home, he asks you to play the song again.

You make a habit of it after that.

Once or twice a month, when the world gets too loud or his shoulders start to carry too much, you buy tickets. Always animated. Always sweet. No gritty realism, no grey areas. Just magical families and memories and robot hugs.

He plays it cool in line. Wears shades like he’s not going to stack 3d glasses on top of them in five minutes. Acts like the arm around your waist is for your protection, and not to guide you to the concession stand.

Acts like he's not going to cry. He will. He does.

Sometimes, it’s a single tear, rolling down his cheekbone like it has somewhere to be. Sometimes it’s a slow unraveling, a shaky breath, a hand that searches for yours in the dark. One time it’s full-on sobs, shoulders trembling while Bing Bong fades into the nothingness of the Memory Dump. 

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back without a word.

But on the drive home, he’ll talk about it.

“He let himself disappear so Joy could get back,” he mutters, eyes on the road.

You glance at him. “Did you like it when he said ‘Take her to the moon for me’?”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed as if he’s processing a detrimental, life-changing development. “No. Because what kind of animated fever dream has the audacity to hit you with a cosmic metaphor for life, death, and self-sacrifice disguised as a pink elephant in a cotton candy wagon? What were the writers smoking and where can I get some so I can finally understand my feelings?”

You laugh and take his free hand, intertwining your fingers, arms resting on the center console. “You’re soft.”

“You love me.”

You do.

He hesitates, then speaks again, quieter. “You’re the Joy to my Bing Bong.”

You turn to him, eyes trailing over his expression. “..you’re Sadness, Toru.”

“Hey!”

You start to notice it after the third or fourth movie.

The way he sighs a little too long at the happy endings. The way his hand lingers on yours just a second more than usual when the lights come up. The way he stares straight ahead without a word when the credits roll. No laughing. Not even a tear. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment, the feeling, before it fades.

“Hey,” you say once, nudging him gently. “You okay?”

He blinks, smiles, and holds your hand a little tighter. “Yeah. Just.. thinking.”

“About?”

He shrugs. “Time. People. Stuff.”

You raise a brow. “Ominous.”

“You’d hate if I got specific.”

You don’t push. You figure it’s just a bad day. One of those lingering shadows from missions he never talks about.

But later, when you’re back home and he’s watching the city lights through the window instead of sleeping, you hear him whisper, like it’s not meant for you at all. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

You don’t understand what he means. Not yet. But you feel the same way.

Sometimes, when you have free time and don’t want to go to the movies, you sit on the couch with him and put on his favorite. Big Hero 6.

He tries to hold out. Really, he does.

But the moment Baymax says, in that soft, robotic voice, “Are you satisfied with your care?”, and is left in the portal, Satoru lets out a broken little hiccup that turns into a full-body sob.

You blink. “Babe–?”

He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, the other still wrapped tightly around you. “He just wanted to help.”

You bite back a smile. “I know.”

“That’s all he wanted,” he says, voice thick, and now he’s sitting up and wiping his face with the hem of his hoodie. “That’s literally the only thing he was made for, and he still– he still–”

“Died,” you finish gently.

He wails. “And he didn’t even get to finish his sentence, are you kidding me?”

You press your hand to his forehead and lie his head down on your lap, fingers threading through his hair. “You’re gonna short-circuit if you keep crying, Toru.”

He settles into your lap before responding. “That line should be illegal.”

“It should, Toru.”

A beat passes. Then he whines. “Like, am I satisfied with my care? No! I’ll never be satisfied again! He was a robot, baby! His brother made Baymax for him to help, and he just– he kept helping, he went out helping–”

You smile and pinch his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for making me watch this again.”

“You asked me to put it on.”

“Because I forgot how much it hurts.”

You laugh. “He’ll rebuild Baymax, babe.”

“..I know.”

And maybe he’s still blubbering a little, and maybe you’re still laughing. But the way he clings to you, like the ache of the world softens when you’re close, is the real ending. The quiet epilogue.

So when he mutters, all teary and trembling, “I just want to help, too,” you whisper, “I know.”

Because he does.

He always has.

And when he leaves for that Shibuya “work trip” – the one he swears won’t take too long, the one he jokes about, promising to bring back weird vending machine snacks – you still play the songs. Still buy the tickets. Still keep the tissues in your purse, even if the reason for the habit is gone.

The theater lights go dim. The screen glows to life. A boy strums a guitar, or a robot hugs a child, or a princess finds her way home. You watch and smile, just barely, like you're saving the moment for his hiccuped sobs. You like to imagine he's somewhere in the emptiness of the seat beside you, somewhere you can't reach or see.

Sometimes, you reach over anyway. Just in case. Hoping your hand will catch something, anything, to prove he's still right beside you.

And when the movie ends, you stay seated.

A part of you hopes that if you wait long enough, he'll turn to you again, eyes shining as he says something like "the pink elephant is a metaphor for self-sacrifice."

But he doesn't.

So you whisper it for him.

Because now, love is nothing more than a lingering echo of his voice in the dark, asking are you satisfied with your care?

And no, you don't grab a guitar. You don't write a song.

But you remember him. You always will.

And when the lights come up and no one's there to squeeze your hand, you cry. As if the grief can bring him back, somehow, somewhere in the breath between the last scene and the credits.

[tsuemi]

If Things Were Different

notes: part two ! no trigger warnings i guess just mild angst n here's the p1 p3 🍥

four years.

it didn’t feel real sometimes — that so much time had passed. that your son, your son, was nearly four now. you named him takahiro. he ran around your tiny tokyo apartment like it was a racetrack, all wild energy and too-big emotions. he had his father’s brown eyes. his smile. even his stupid little dramatic flair.

you told yourself you were used to it. that it didn’t sting anymore.

that was a lie.

you tucked a blanket over him as he dozed on the couch, his soft brown hair falling messily over his forehead — just like tooru’s. his stuffed dinosaur was half off the floor, and his chubby hand was still clutching it like it was a lifeline.

you stared a little too long. sometimes you wondered if you loved your son too much, just to fill the void you weren’t brave enough to face.

you worked nights now.

being a nurse meant being exhausted, constantly. you lived off instant coffee, your back hurt more than it should, and the only messages on your phone were appointment reminders or messages from your landlord.

but you were doing it. alone. for him.

you caught glimpses of tooru sometimes — on the tv in the hospital lounge. in magazines. on the muted screens in sports bars. you never watched the interviews with sound. you didn’t need to.

he always smiled the same.

confident. a little smug. eyes too bright for someone who used to cry in your arms when no one else was looking.

once, you saw him with her — the international model. some article headline about “japanese volleyball star and argentina’s top runway model” she was beautiful, of course. elegant. tall. everything you weren’t.

you didn’t cry that night.

you just sat at the kitchen table, staring at your phone screen while your son slept in the next room. and you whispered, “i’m happy for you.” but it came out sounding like, “i miss you.”

and maybe that was the truth.

your coworkers didn’t know much. they assumed you were a young single mom by choice. you never corrected them. it was easier that way.

but sometimes, on quieter nights, you’d find yourself in the breakroom, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee, eyes lingering on the tv just a little too long. and someone would say, “hey, isn’t that guy the best setter in the world now?”

you’d nod. “yeah. he is.”

and they’d keep talking, but you’d already be gone — lost somewhere in the past, where his voice still echoed in your chest.

it happened on a rainy thursday.

you were late picking up your son from daycare. the trains were delayed, your shift had gone over, and all you wanted was to get home, warm up leftovers, and crash.

you rushed through the doors of the center, breathless, apologizing.

“i'm so sorry—”

but your voice cut off.

because he was already there.

tooru was there.

in the tiny daycare lobby, crouched in front of your son with a look you’d only ever seen in your dreams. like the whole world had just collapsed under his feet.

your son was holding his hand, talking excitedly about dinosaurs. he had no idea. no clue who the man in front of him really was.

tooru looked up the second he felt you there.

you froze.

and time — the cruel, relentless thing — bent in half.

his eyes locked on yours. wide. dazed. disbelieving.

he stood slowly. “y/n?”

you didn’t answer.

couldn’t.

there was so much you wanted to say. so many apologies and explanations and things you’d buried just to survive.

but your son tugged at your coat, unaware of the storm swirling around him.

“mommy,” he said, voice bright. “this man knows volleyball. just like me!”

🍣 hey! ik its a cliffhanger but i rly dont know what to write next lol its my first time writing angst and such 🥹 lmk what u think and maybe ill decide for part 3 🫶🏻.

💌 taglists : @xoxojisu @ilovemymomscooking @leilakaro

[mishappeningss]

omg i’m obsessed, we need more scene of our driver with the rookies!!

oh, yes. the rookies love her. if max were their grid dad, that automatically makes her their grid momma. everyone lives for this family, even your favorite drivers!

more about driver!yn

Max is the tired father figure who just wanted a quiet career but now walks into media pens like he’s about to say, “I’m not mad. Just disappointed.” He’s always asking, “Where’s YN?” like she’s the only one who can keep their wild children from zip tying each other to garage doors.

YN is the emotionally unavailable but fiercely protective mom figure who drinks energy drinks at 9 am and tells the rookies, “You didn’t see me.” She’ll scream at them while also giving them the key to her car and a pack of Oreos. Grid wife energy. Always has somebody’s glasses.

Together? They co-parent the rookies like it’s their full time job they didn’t apply for.

Ollie calls YN ‘mum’ with full British sincerity. He clings to her arm post race like a victorian orphan. Max pretends not to enjoy it but gave him a ride on the scooter once. Gets bribed with pizza to stop live-tweeting things he shouldn’t.

Kimi is the baby genius. Quiet, a menace. Sits beside YN on planes and asks philosophical questions. Max says, “Don’t encourage him.” But she immediately does. Once made Max google “existential dread.”

Isack is constantly plotting something. Probably a fake ID ring, or ordering a bunch of merch and blame it on another rookie. Calls Max ‘dad’ as a joke until Max actually grounds him. Has the biggest soft spot for YN, brings her weird snacks.

Liam is only stable when YN’s present. Big middle child energy. Can be seen screaming “I didn’t start it!” across the paddock as Max is counting to ten in his mind. Definitely the one who almost set something on fire at the Red Bull motorhome.

Gabriel’s the one who says “Let’s do something stupid,” and is already halfway up the scaffolding when YN says no. Max doesn’t understand the point he’s trying to make, but nods like a disappointed professor.

Franco is the golden child. Follows Max around like a duckling but worships YN like she’s a Disney princess. She calls him ‘baby’ and makes sure he eats right. The others throw chips at him because he’s clearly the favorite.

Honorary mention: Lando. The loud cousin who keeps getting “advice” from YN and “judged” by Max. Somehow is the always the reason why someone’s crying. Thinks he’s one of the rookies. He isn’t. Max reminds him of that weekly.

a small moment from our grid family :)

They’re in the Red Bull hospitality, long after the race is over. The paddock is thinning out. Max is sitting on a folding chair, half-lidded eyes trained on the floor, sipping water from a lukewarm bottle.

He looks exhausted — his fireproofs peeled halfway down, hair a little damp, the kind of tired that comes only from wrangling points and rookies in the same day.

YN walks in holding a tray. Not for herself, she’s already eaten. She just knows none of them have.

“Eat,” she said simply, placing it on the small table in front of him.

He doesn’t even look up. “What is it?”

“Something with protein. Don’t be difficult.”

He sighs, and she doesn’t push — just sits beside him, crossing her legs beneath her and leaning back in a way only she can: careless, relaxed, absolutely unbothered by the chaos she probably caused earlier.

Then— a crash. A yell. And a voice.

“Franco took my snacks!” — “He pushed me first!”

Max closes his eyes, “No.”

YN doesn’t even blink. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out two lollipops. “Go fix it,” she says, handing them to Max.

He looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Bribe them.”

“I’m not bribing children.”

“Fine.” She shrugs. “Then I will.”

Before she could stand, Max stops her. “Just five minutes,” he says. “Before you go stop World War Three.”

She sits back down. Doesn’t say anything, just nudges the tray closer to him.

Outside, Liam’s yelling something about sabotage. Oliver is calling someone a traitor. Isack’s laughing. Inside, Max finally picks up the fork. YN closes her eyes.

Just five minutes. That’s all they’ll ever get, but it’s enough.

[corpsedogs]

✿ You and me, love love

jason todd x reader

every year on your anniversary— jason would slip a letter under your pillow as he pretends to fall asleep. this is what he wrote for the fifth year.

Sweetheart,

I’ve written five letters, one each year. Somehow… I don’t know— I still don’t know where to start.

Please do not make fun of how I write so inconsistently but.. you’d think by now I’d be better at this… at putting into words everything I feel when I look at you, when I hear your voice, when your hand brushes mine in the dark.

But, no matter how many pages I write… I always feel like I’m chasing something bigger than what language can hold.. or something adjacent to that.

Still. I try, since you’re worth trying for. Five years ago, I didn’t think I’d get this far or whatever.

I never believed in “after.” I was used to leaving and being left. I was used to closing doors before anyone else could slam them in my face. But then you.. God, you.

You cracked me so fucking in a way that didn’t hurt. You stood there, you held all those mix matched pieces with the kind of hands that didn’t flinch when they bled. You didn’t demand my best, but you still stayed. Without even knowing it, you rewrote the ending I thought I was stuck with…

You gave me five years of after.

Five years of more, who am I without you?

Year one was us testing the water, we kept our touches real small. I remember waking up beside you for the first time and feeling like I’d stolen something sacred. It felt like… I was holding the sun and didn’t know if I deserved the warmth.

You kissed my shoulder that morning and I swear I’ve never felt safer.

Year two was learning the rhythm of us… whatever term you want me to use. I remember way you took your coffee and how I liked the window cracked open even when it was raining. The two of us built a home, usually in late nights and forehead kisses and your laugh in the kitchen when I tried to cook pasta and almost set off the smoke alarm.

You whispered “I love you” against my neck and I nearly dropped the pan. Can you believe that?

Year three was hard… Work pulled us in opposite directions. My patrols were so fucking brutal (I’m still sorry about that). We fought and we got quiet.. or we forgot, sometimes, to hold hands in the hallway. But even in the silence, you chose me. Even when I gave you so many chances to run, you stayed.

I don’t remember the exact words but I remember you looked me in the eye one night and said, “We’re not perfect, Jay.” and I think that saved me, I hope you know that.

Year four was.. fun. We found our rhythm again. You painted my back with lipstick kisses and snuck love notes into your gear bag (Tim read one of them and I will never forgive him). We slow danced barefoot in the rain and got sick for two weeks. You called me dramatic and I called you the reason I kept wanting tomorrow.

You kept calling me that even when you had a fever. I didn’t want to sleep in another bed ever again.

Now… year five, and I’m still in awe.

The way your smile hasn’t faded. How you still reach for me first thing in the morning. Or.. how even right now, you’re lying next to me, thinking I’m asleep while you’re probably about to find this letter and cry silently (yes, I know you do that).

But let me say this: five years with you doesn’t feel like five years, it feels like, you know… blinking.

It feels like turning the page and realizing… you’ve already read an entire chapter because it was just that good. Like I looked up one day and suddenly I was home.

You are my home. I love you so much.

If tomorrow we lost everything, if the world burned down and all we had left was a pair of scuffed boots and this one room… I’d still be okay.

As long as you’re there. As long as I can press a kiss to your temple and whisper your name like a vow. As long as you’re still the one whose hand I reach for in the dark.

I don’t know what year six will hold… would you laugh at me when I’d tell you I’m nervous?

Maybe we’ll adopt a dog that hates me but worships you… or fuck— maybe we’ll travel somewhere warm and you’ll pretend not to be scared of thunder. Maybe we’ll just stay right here, you in my hoodie, me writing love letters under pillows because I’m still too chicken to say this out loud when you’re awake.

But whatever happens, I promise you this:

I will keep choosing you.

Even when I’m tired. Even when you’re mad. Even when we forget how to say it right.

I will keep saying “I love you” the best way I know how:

By staying.. or by holding you through it. By coming home to you. By writing this— year after year— because I still mean every word.

Happy fifth, Sweetheart.

Now stop crying and come kiss me. I’m still pretending to be asleep, but I’ll allow it.

Always yours,

—J

did i make you cry i wanna know, if you want his first letter let me know yayy

[choerykiss]

Them Falling In Love With Another Idol

𝜗ৎ pining/drama/romance/f!reader ─ #around 150 wordcount each

✦ warnings : my dramatic writing . possessiveness (mild) . idol!reader . mild obsession

─ saja boys [ot5] jinu, abby, mystery, romance, baby saja

﹒𝓝𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first kdh post!! :3 hope you guys enjoy <3

JINU

Jinu is used to being admired. The fans, the fame, the world—all at his feet. So when you step into the scene, with your honey-dripped vocals, power stage presence, and visuals that make gods second guess themselves?

At first, he’s intrigued. Then annoyed. Why is he… staring? Why does he feel like the one being overshadowed?

He watches your fancams late at night. Replays your encore stages. Not because he’s studying the competition—no. It’s something else.

The night of an awards show collab, you lock eyes on stage, and his demon heart thuds loud enough to drown out the music. You harmonize next to him, and for a moment—just a breath—Jinu forgets he’s a demon.

Falling for you feels like being alive, and that terrifies him.

“You shine… even in darkness. Are you trying to kill me?”

ABBY

Abby’s was always known for having muscles and a hype man, always energetic, cracking jokes, the type to flex after a performance. He doesn’t really do feelings.

Until you walk past him in the practice room—sweaty from your own rehearsal, hair pulled up, eyes burning with that fire—and he’s just. Gone.

He lowkey panics. Crushes? Not on the schedule. He tries to play it cool, but suddenly he’s working twice as hard. He has to match your level. He starts watching your choreography, learning them with heavy devotion.

Then, at a joint dance rehearsal, you compliment his freestyle? He nearly explodes right then and there.

“Don’t do that. Don’t smile at me like that—I’m not ready to fall in love on eight counts.”

MYSTERY

Mystery’s whole thing is being unknowable, untouchable, the mysterious prince of K-pop. But you?

You're a mystery he can’t solve.

When he first sees you backstage, barefaced and laughing with staff, he thinks: “Oh. She’s not real.” But then you go on stage and perform like a storm in heels and lip gloss—and now he’s spiraling.

He starts showing up wherever you are. Quiet, unnoticed… until you notice.

You say his real name once. He hasn’t heard it in centuries.

“You’re the one thing in this world that doesn’t fit into a riddle. And yet… I’m obsessed with solving you.”

ROMANCE

Romance is charming. Dangerous. He knows he’s hot, he knows the fans love him—but when it comes to you?

He’s the one who’s flustered. It’s so unfair. You’re funny. Stunning. Your vocals have bite and your dance lines are clean enough to make a grown demon cry.

He tries flirting—you shut him down with a wink and walk away. He’s stunned. And smitten.

He starts writing love songs. Not about you, obviously. (They are. All of them.)

“I thought I was the main character… but when you’re on stage, I’m just the fan.”

BABY SAJA

Baby Saja is the maknae with major ego but a soft little center. When he finds out he’s debuting alongside you—the idol everyone’s obsessed with—he tries to act unimpressed.

“Pfft. Whatever. I’m the real visual here.”

Then he sees your performance. And yeah. He’s DOOMED.

He goes from brat to fanboy in 0.3 seconds. Denies it the entire time. Teases you endlessly, flirts poorly, tries to make you laugh during live stages just so he can see you smile.

“I’m NOT blushing. Shut up. You looked good, okay?? Not a big deal!!”

[rkisbddzir]

──── KISS IT BETTER

──── WARNINGS ! 3 year age difference (but they are both in their 20’s), semi public sex , mention of blood , reader is flirtatious , mention of shooting , and riki is always pissed at reader for no reason at all.

──── he’s constantly thinking with his dick when it comes to his trainee

RIKI’S FOREHEAD WAS against the elevator wall, his expensive suit covered in blood. he had been through a lot these past few months, ever since he had taken one of the jobs to be an instructor.

“taking care of a trainee is easy” they said. “its an easy way to earn extra money” they all fucking said. at this point it didn’t even matter what stupid bullshit his coworkers spewed out their mouths, what mattered was the fact that he was dumb enough to listen to them.

maybe. just maybe. maybe it wasn’t their fault. of course every experience is different and he should’ve expected to end up with someone who he couldn’t stand to even have a simple conversation with. no, he couldn’t even do a single thing without hearing her seductive giggles or downright obnoxious comments and feeling her warm, soft, gentle and loving touch. he was basically watching some girl force herself onto him. riki practically dreaded her existence-

“you have blood all over you.” y/n comments, her voice lacking the normal sexual tone that it usually had which that snapped riki out his thoughts almost immediately.

he scoffs, sneering as he speaks, “yeah well, i wouldn’t have gotten blood all over me if someone didn’t have such shitty aim”

her eyes trail up and down him, and he can practically feel her eyes burning through him like a laser. “i was gonna say that its kinda sexy but okay, mr grumpy pants.”

“how is this even remotely sexy?” riki almost cries out incredulously. “i’m covered in some random humans blood! its gross, i want to take a shower or better yet just shoot myself so i don’t have to deal with you anymore.”

he knew his words were harsh, and somehow y/n finds a way to turn the conversation sexual.

“if your gonna take a shower can i… shower with you?” she asks in a seductive manner, her fingers running down his arm and her bottom lip being bitten between her teeth. “again…?”

this unfortunately wasn’t the first time that they had showered together, because somehow her advances worked on him from time to time. sometimes he ended up fucking her during a mission or just basically anywhere and anytime he felt like it.

riki felt guilty. not only because he felt like he was just plainly using her, but because it was completely unprofessional. he could get fired or better yet arrested for having sexual relations with someone he basically works with. he knows that, and he’s told her that. multiple times.

and he knew just as soon as she asked that, that he would give in. although, this time he decided to think without his dick for once and muttered out authoritatively, “no, that is completely unprofessional.”

to make sure she knew he was pissed off and not in the mood, he goes an extra mile and slaps her hand away.

ooh scary…

she wanted to punch his face sometimes, or preferably ride it. she wanted to ride him so slow he’d beg her to go fast. but she wouldn’t go fast infact she’d go slower on him. she wanted to hear him whine for her, whimpering, practically crying out for her.

except that would never happen because riki wasn’t exactly like that. if he wanted it, he’d make sure it happened and he wouldn’t stop until it did.

until it burns.

until she can’t walk.

until shes can’t speak anymore.

fuck, he could feel himself growing hard just thinking about it. riki was debating whether or not he should just take her right here in the elevator.

no, he needs to stop thinking with his dick and giving into her.

that didn’t really change the fact he was practically throbbing at the thought of being inside her. she was whining yet again, and riki didn’t want even to know what it was this time.

“it pisses me off that i cant even get dick from you all the time. every guy will give me that except the guy i want it from—” he didn’t even know what the hell she was saying but he wanted her to shut up so he just cut her off, his voice boiling with anger, “yeah well maybe that guy doesn’t want any of that from you. maybe he thinks you’re an annoying, stubborn, hormonal little bitch.”

“maybe he hates you.” he adds after a few seconds of silence.

oh god… this thing is opening its mouth again…he thinks to himself as y/n begins to find another way to spew nonsense through her venom filled mouth. just when she finally gets her words out the elevator doors finally open to his sweet escape.

he practically bolting out as soon as the elevator doors open, and he’s in relief, feeling as if he should win an award for putting up with her trashy behaviour.

that moment of joy is gone once he hears her little high heels tapping behind him. his face that just a second ago had a bright victorious smile, was now sporting a frown that only one could describe as disgust. he keeps moving ahead anyway, faster even.

he begins to start forcing himself to think about some unsexy things such as geopolitical issues, what shade of white the walls could be, or the obscene amount of paperwork he’d be pushing through later, maybe he might treat himself to some champagne after work — a gift he rewards himself with when he gets through yet another day with you.

he was almost there, almost to his office where hopefully he’ll have the luxury of being able to slam the door in y/n’s pretty little face which might even get her to shut her stupid mouth. the same one that does wonders for him under his desk during long boring calls.

shit. he stops in his tracks causing y/n to collide into his backside. which did even more amazing things for the problem in his pants. riki turns to her straightening his tie and clearing his throat, trying to keep up his little cold facade as if he doesn’t jerk off to her messages at night when he’s bored. “you’re real clumsy, y’know”

“yeah and i bet you’re real horny right now.” she sputters out in a mocking and accusing tone.

of course she’s gonna say something heavily perverse to riki. “i am absolutely not at all feeling anything like that.” which he himself knows is a lie he hissed straight through his teeth and right at her face.

files falling, desk shaking, and a few items on his desk have been knocked off. her moans choked back and her body shaking with need and pleasure. “hah mghh riki oh fuck dont stop” she cries out, his hips driving into her so hard that she’s being pushed farther up the desk.

riki’s jaw was clenched and he for one, was extremely self conscious of whoever could be right outside that door hearing him absolutely destroy y/n on his desk. “shit, oh you’re way too loud…”

his voice slightly wavers into a whine at the end as he shifts the posture of her body, bringing her lower back a bit higher, taking her leg up to his shoulder. riki can’t help but let out a groan as she’s even tighter now.

though he was trying his hardest to keep the rhythm steady, his hips seemed to disobey him and stutter against her hips mid thrust. “f-fuck!”

rikis face was twisted in pleasure but slightly also showing a hint of concern. concerned about how much paperwork he was going to have to do if anyone found out about this affair, about how many rules they’ve broken in a day alone and about how good she makes him feel.

y/ns body falls backwards onto the desk, her head hanging over the edge. “right there a-ah fuck, i can’t stop oh fuckk.”

all he could think was oh god, this angle and a strained groan makes its way past his lips, his hand going down to balance himself on the desk. “can you- fuck you’re so tight right there- can you calm the fuck down for like a minute?”

she shook her head desperately, “ngh fuck just shut up and fuck me harder!”

riki lets out a moan of annoyance, but instead of snapping at her, he shifts his hands to the side of her thighs and brings her legs to her chest before fucking into her at a brutal and harsh pace, hitting a spot that just so happens to make her even more louder.

“ah! shit! o-oh right there ri-riki!” y/n whimpers out and just like that he can feel himself practically throbbing into her.

he hisses in a mocking tone, “shit right-right there? fuck, what happened to that snappy attitude? did i fuck it out of you?” his body shifts slightly, hitting the exact spot that was making her stupid. “sh-shit, you’re tight” he groans out.

y/n didn’t even need to tell him. he just knew by the way her pussy clenched, the way her eyes looked fucked out, and the way she was arching into him. he knew she was close. riki’s annoyance got the best of him and he decided to overstimulate y/n, his fingers reaching down to rub her clit.

the sound she cried out just then made him even closer and he fucked her harder. so hard the desk was moving and creaking and made him let out some filthy noises that were completely unlike him.

that slick fucked out pussy of hers convulsed like it was begging for him to make more of those nasty almost submissive noises and holy shit she was really fucking tight, practically closing in on him.

her eyes rolled back as she was tripping over the edge of her release and he made the effort to cover her mouth, knowing how loud she gets at that point. he kept his pace as he muttered “shut the fuck up, you better not scream.”

his words were almost taunting as his fingers rubbed faster and spread her legs farther apart, moving up to get a better angle as he rolled into her at an animalistic pace.

it was too much for him that he couldn’t even let out anything but painful sounding grunts. he was absolutely humping into her aching swollen pussy.

moans and praises fell from her pretty little mouth and y/n couldn’t stop herself as her legs tightened around him, her white hot proof of pleasure exploding onto his lower body. it didn’t stop him from going even harder though which just brought more of her release out her and he could feel his dick covered in your fluids.

he rode out his orgasm just right after her practically using her body as his personal fuck toy and rearranging her insides.

and right after his thrusts get slower and slower until he gets tired, eyes dark and exhausted, his breathing heavy and his lips parted right onto her neck letting out hot puffs of air. “you do not say a word to anyone about whatever this is, you understand me?”