#I’m so sorry he doesn’t do more in this

[dollishmehrayan]

# “I BETTER WATCH MY FIVE FOOT TWO MOUTH? FIRST OF ALL” ── .✦ ( batboys w a short!reader ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ⋆౨ৎ: as a girl who’s about 5’10-5’11 I might’ve fucked this up but we shall have hope and trustt && also I have about like a lot of inbox requests I need to get too so that’s that but this is in honor of my pookie @cup-of-doodles 🙂‍↕️ tags: (batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

"Fun-sized? More like FUN-UNSTOPPABLE."

Dick lives for the height difference. He’ll 100% rest his elbow on your head like you’re his personal armrest until you glare at him, and suddenly he’s apologizing with puppy eyes.

Picks you up constantly. Not always for a reason. Sometimes you’re just walking next to him and boom you’re airborne.

“Dick, what the hell put me down?!”

Jokes about getting you a “baby seat” for his car. You respond by threatening to hack the GPS and set it to only play the most annoying sound on loop.

When you try to kiss him and can’t reach, he dramatically gasps, crouches down, and says, “My bad, m’lady. How rude of me to be so tall.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

“Half my size, double the trouble.”

At first, he doesn’t comment on your height. Then one day, you can’t reach the top shelf, and he LOSES it.

“You want me to install a ladder here? Or...should I just carry you around on my shoulder?”

Loves how perfectly you fit into his side when he throws an arm around you. Calls you “pocket-sized rage” when you’re mad.

Teases you relentlessly but deadass threatens anyone who tries to make fun of you.

One time you tried to push him out of the way during an argument and he didn’t budge. You almost fell before he caught you but looked up at him, and he just went, “Gravity’s a bitch, huh?” “JASON PE-“

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

“Do you think if I put you in a hoodie, people would mistake you for a sack?”

Will absentmindedly hand you his coffee cup from the top shelf without realizing you can’t reach it.

You: “Tim, can you help?”

Tim, turning around: “Oh-oh my God, I’m so sorry.” (Immediately grabs it for you and then spends five minutes apologizing.)

You once climbed onto the counter to grab snacks and he caught you mid-typing something on his laptop. Stood there like: “Should I help or see how far you get?”

He finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his oversized hoodies. They drown you, and he’s obsessed.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

“Tt. You are…compact. Efficient for battle.”

At first, he acted like your height was irrelevant. Then he caught you glaring at a shelf that was too high, and he silently handed you the item. No comment. But his smirk? Loud.

Calls you “miniature” during arguments. You kicked him in the shin once for it.

LOVES how easy it is to pick you up and physically move you when you’re in his way. You tried to fight back the first time but realized it was easier to just vibe.

Secretly thinks you’re the cutest thing on the planet but will deny it forever. The only time he slipped was when you fell asleep curled up on his lap, and he whispered, “You’re like a kitten.”, “What?” *cue damian acting clueless like huh?👁️👄👁️*

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[catwings-writes-things]

I second this question, and I have a few specific subquestions!

For a totally (not) hypothetical example: say I wanted to write about a Catholic priest who was planting a particular church for a group of vampires (or vampire-adjacent people, at any rate).

I don’t think this will happen in the main story, but if I wrote about the existence of vampires becoming more generally known to the public, including to this universe’s Vatican), would it be disrespectful to depict or reference the Magisterium issuing an opinion on any related questions of doctrine? Would the answer to that question change depending on how much detail I gave about the result? Would it be different if framed as a clarification of existing doctrine in response to a new circumstance as opposed to a new teaching entirely?

If the teaching was on a dilemma that fully doesn’t exist in the real world—like, say, whether humans who died and came back to life different are still ontologically human, and the practical and ethical implications of the answer—what’s the best practice for writing about that? How about for writing about the process of a priest or group of priests in collaboration developing their opinions on those topics?

Either way, I assume that writing about a priest working through and even wrestling with questions of how established doctrine applies to dilemmas faced by his vampire parishioners doesn’t fall under that category, because his decisions won’t be official teachings of the Church as a whole even in universe even though he will be small-t teaching his parishioners in his role as their priest and pastor—is that correct?

Could it fall under the category of permissible/beneficial inculturation to have said priest (in conversation with other priests and bishops and in response to felt spiritual needs of his vampire parishioners) develop ceremonies to acknowledge events and life-state changes important to vampires, as long as there’s nothing in them that goes against existing doctrine and they are clearly not sacraments?

@apilgrimpassingby I don’t know if the Catholic Church has an official policy on the Sacraments and sapient nonhumans, but this might help: Pope Francis says he would baptize aliens (the article gives the context, and also some brief but delightful background on the question of whether the sacrament of baptism could in theory be licitly applied to sapient extraterrestrials)

(Tagging @tildeathiwillwrite and @ahopefulbromantic because this may be relevant to your interests— by ‘vampires’ in this context I do indeed mean TMA avatars, although I have the same questions about other sorts of vampires as well)

(For everyone who’s just reading this on my writing blog: the giant sprawling AU continues to sprawl, and Father Burroughs has entered the chat! I know I’ve said this many times, but y’all, I’m sorry it’s been so long since I updated AWOHO, and I am still actively working on it. Thank you for your patience.)

Things that are okay to make up if you wanna play with Catholicism in your story:

- Religious orders (just because there wasn’t an order dedicated to fighting vampires doesn’t mean there can’t be)

- Saints (just because there wasn’t a St. Kxchylian, patron saint of transporters, doesn’t mean there can’t be)

- Popes (see previous. You can also make up bad popes! We’ve had our fair share)

Things that are not okay to make up:

- Doctrines and teachings

- Sacraments

- Secret societies that hide the Real Truth from the unwashed masses (you can actually get excommunicated for trying to do this in real life)

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!!

Could I request like a really cute Remus x reader where she’s never been kissed or anything before? Like they’re all out of Hogwarts or in their last year and she’s the only one to have never had a relationship, and she’s kinda insecure and anxious about it all?

No worries if not or if you’ve already done something like this!

Thank you! - x

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: alcohol, reader is a bit tipsy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You don’t often feel self-conscious about your lack of romance. When you’re walking home from a bar on a cold night, it’s true that sometimes you wish you had a hand to hold, or a jacket that wasn’t your own, or somebody to slip an arm around your waist and make sure you keep your footing, but generally you’d rather wait than settle. When your friends start moaning and groaning about being lovelorn, though…

“It’s just been so long,” Sirius laments. He’s three sheets to the wind and hanging heavily from James’ side, who’s nodding commiseratingly as they wind a zig-zagging course down the sidewalk. “I mean, two months, James. Two months.” 

“It’s been nearly two weeks for me,” James says glumly. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” 

“Lily will be back from her holiday in three days,” Remus reminds him. He can hold his alcohol better than any of you, and thusly he’s been tasked with carrying the things everyone worried they’d lose. The keys to your apartment are somewhere in his pocket, along with James’ wallet--confiscated after James left it lying on the bar for the second time--and a collection of Sirius’ rings which keeps growing each time Sirius becomes distressed about them somehow falling off. 

“Yeah.” Sirius looks up at James, glaring. “You’re only two weeks in, and you’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of you. I’ve got to take them where I can get them, ‘nd I haven’t had even one in two months!” 

“If you think two months is bad,” you say, “try going your whole life.” 

You mean for it to come out light and quippy, but there’s a vulnerability lining your words that you don’t mean to reveal. You wince, thinking everyone’s heard it. 

“Well,” Sirius says after a brief silence, “yes, that does sound worse. Thank you, dollface. You’ve made me feel a bit better.” 

You smile ruefully. “Happy to help.” 

James starts waxing poetic about the shape of Lily’s top lip, and Remus slows his stride, falling into step beside you. You glance over, and he’s giving you a soft look. 

You go sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“What? Why are you sorry?” 

“That was embarrassing.” James and Sirius are talking loudly enough that you don’t have to lower your voice much to avoid being overheard. “I don’t mean to complain.” 

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Remus murmurs, voice a fond color. He bumps your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are likely to remember.” 

You give him a sideways smile. “Maybe, but there’s still you.” 

“I can forget, too, if it suits you.” 

“It does suit me, thanks.” 

“Right. I’ll get right on that, then. Consider it forgotten.” 

You smile down at the sidewalk. There’s something about Remus which always relaxes you. Maybe it’s that he’s so easy to talk to, or that he doesn’t make you feel like you have to talk. You just feel safe with him. You walk a ways in comfortable silence, close but not quite touching, listening to Sirius and James giggle like schoolchildren ahead of you. 

“Do you really feel that way?” Remus asks after a while. “Like it’s bad that you haven’t kissed anyone?” 

You wet your lips. Your saliva tastes like booze. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Like, it’s not as bad for me as it seems for Sirius. But I guess it also probably helps that I don’t know what I’m missing.” 

“Yeah,” he hums, seeming pensive. “That makes sense.” 

“I do wish I’d gotten it over with earlier, though.” 

You’re not sure where it comes from. You do wish that, sometimes, but it’s not the sort of thing you say aloud. Even with a friend as good as Remus, it’s humiliating to declare a want so intimate. 

He looks surprised. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” you say, voice a shade of itself. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t really a choice. I was never trying to wait, or anything.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “There was just never an opportunity.” 

Remus makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh. “Oh, I don’t believe that.” 

You look up. “Why not?” 

With your attention off the sidewalk, you stumble slightly, the toe of your shoe catching on the uneven pavement. Remus slips an arm around your waist to help. 

“Careful,” he says, suddenly incomprehensibly close to you. “Watch your footing.” 

“Sorry.” You look back down. “Why not?” you ask again, softly. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible no one ever tried to kiss you.” Remus’ voice is quiet but genuine. Unabashed. “More likely people have tried and you haven’t noticed. Or you just haven’t been ready. That’s alright too, you know.” 

“I’m ready,” you say certainly. “I’ve been ready. It just…hasn’t happened yet.” 

He hums. “That’s alright. So long as you’re alright with it.” 

You’re quiet the rest of the way home. You live in the same building as the boys, only the floor below. James’ bedroom is right above yours. He’s not usually too terrible an upstairs neighbor, though you’re looking forward to hearing him stumbling around before bed tonight. 

Remus walks you to your door while James and Sirius wait in the stairwell, cackling and crawling their way up on their hands and knees. He unlocks your door and reaches inside to turn on the hall light. 

“Alright?” he asks as you step inside. 

You nod. 

“Okay. Drink water, and make sure to lock the door behind you.” He gives you a smile, eyes dark in the dim light of your building. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you say back. But he hardly makes it a few steps away before you’re leaning out of the door, suddenly desperate. “Remus?” 

“Yeah?” He turns. And he’s so lovely, all softness and gentle features. You know he’s the right person to trust with this. 

You swallow. “I’ve been ready for a long time. And I don’t…I don’t know if I’m alright with it anymore.” 

Remus frowns, stepping closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I just feel so behind.” Your tone is nearly pleading. “I’m tired of not knowing what I’m missing. I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like.” 

“Y/n.” Remus says your name like a remonstrance gentled. Like he feels sorry for you. “What are you asking me?” 

You worry your hands are shaking, but you steady yourself against the doorframe, making your voice solid. “I’d rather it be with someone I’m comfortable with. Someone I trust.” 

Remus moves closer to you. He’s nearly as close as before, when he’d held you up on the sidewalk. You wonder if this is how close people get before it happens. 

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

You shake your head. “Not that drunk. Not so much I don’t know what I want.” 

He sighs. Says your name again as though to himself, with fondness and something else you can’t place. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say in a whisper. “I’d just feel a lot better if it was you.” 

“Oh, love.” He takes your face gently in his hands. The pads of his thumbs soothe over your cheeks. “That’s not it.” 

Your breath catches as Remus starts to lean towards you, your eyes fluttering closed. You stay perfectly still as his lips come to rest in the center of your forehead. 

It’s a tender kiss, not lingering but not overly brief. In the end, it’s so sweet you can’t even bring yourself to feel slighted. 

“Go to bed,” says Remus, pulling back with a sorry smile. “If you still want to talk about it in the morning, we will, yeah? It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“Okay. I’ll…” Your whole face tingles as though you really have been kissed. You’re half tempted to touch your lips to see if they feel different. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Remus.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, backing down the hallway, “please. Goodnight, y/n.” 

Your voice comes out a tad breathless. “Goodnight.”

[just1cefor4ll]

—squid game characters w/ a s/o who got SA’d

Characters: Hwang Jun-ho, Hwang In-ho, Kang Dae-ho, Kim Jun-hee, Choi Su-bong/Thanos, Cho Sang-woo

warning: mentions of SA, not proof read, could be inaccurate/OOC

A/N. I’m sorry to whoever had to endure this and i sincerely hope you’re all doing well out there 🤍

—Hwang Jun-ho

notices almost immediately—you’re quieter, jumpier, and flinch when touched

doesn’t push you to talk but makes sure you know he’s there

if you let him, he sits next to you in silence, just to remind you you’re not alone

the first time you recoil from his touch, his heart sinks, but he doesn’t take it personally

becomes extra patient, only touching you when you initiate

if you open up, he listens without interrupting, his jaw clenched in anger—not at you, but at whoever did this

starts walking you home, checking in constantly, making sure you’re never alone in unsafe places

encourages therapy but doesn’t force it, instead leading by example by opening up about his own struggles

quietly puts protective measures in place—changes his routine to match yours, subtly watches out for you in public

no matter how long it takes, he’s staying

—Hwang In-ho

he’s not one to ask, but he knows. your avoidance, the way you tense up—he doesn’t need to hear it to understand

doesn’t touch you unless you make the first move, but his presence alone is grounding

you don’t notice, but he starts keeping track of where you go, making sure you’re never unsafe

if you tell him what happened, he listens without a word. when you’re done, he just says, “I see.”

but after that? he’s handling it—whether you know it or not

if you don’t want therapy, fine— but he’s making sure you eat, sleep, and don’t shut yourself away

keeps himself calm, but the second he’s alone, he grips the nearest object tight until his knuckles turn white

the man who did this to you? he’s already found out who they are

won’t let you see his anger—he’s here to make you feel safe, not scare you further

but he will make sure it never happens again

—Choi Su-bong

you stop laughing at his dumb jokes. that’s how he knows something’s seriously wrong

the first time you flinch away from his touch, he goes quiet— that’s how shaken he is

doesn’t know how to talk about this kind of thing, so he just sticks by your side

constantly checking on you—“You good?” “Need anything?” “You eat yet?”

his anger is dangerous—but not toward you. he has to physically stop himself from breaking something

if you do tell him, he listens for once, no jokes, no interruptions—just pure focus on you

after that? He’s never letting you go anywhere alone again. not happening

tries to make you feel normal again—not by ignoring it, but by treating you with the same love as before, just more careful

if touch is too much, he backs off instantly. but if you ever reach for him, even just a sleeve tug? he melts

mo matter how long it takes, he’s there—loud when you need a distraction, quiet when you need peace

—Kang Dae-ho

notices immediately—you’re not as talkative, your shoulders stay tense, and you flinch at the smallest touch

doesn’t say anything at first, just makes sure you know he’s there

the first time you push his hand away, his chest aches, but he doesn’t take it personall

moves slower around you, gives you space, but never makes you feel alone

when you finally tell him, his whole body stiffens—he takes a deep breath before responding

“You’re safe now. I promise.” and he means it

suggests therapy but doesn’t push—he just reminds you that healing isn’t something you have to do alone

the kind of guy who would just sit with you, letting you exist without expectations

buys you a weighted blanket, calming teas, and a self-defense keychain or something like that because he needs to do something to help

won’t let you shut yourself away from the world, but he’ll never force you into anything before you’re ready

—Kim Jun-hee

she doesn’t need to ask, she already knows.

she’s seen this happen before—to friends, to women who suddenly stop smiling the way they used to

the way you shrink away from touch, the way your voice gets softer, the way your eyes dart away—it tells her everything

she doesn’t push you to talk. instead, she adapts. Stops touching you unless you initiate. makes sure you feel safe without making a big deal of it.

when you’re ready to tell her, she just listens. tears well up in her eyes while you’re talking about it but she doesn’t let then slip— because this is about you, not her

but later, when she’s alone? she clenches her fists so hard her nails dig into her palm

starts subtly adding small comforts into your life—extra blankets, soft lights, grounding activities

reminds you every day that this wasn’t your fault. That you are still you

would 100% walk you home, make sure you’re safe, and never let you feel alone in this

she will never let anyone make you feel powerless again

—Cho Sang-woo

at first, he doesn’t catch on. he’s busy, stressed, always thinking a hundred steps ahead. but after a few days, he realizes—something’s off

you don’t meet his eyes as much. you hesitate before speaking. you flinch when he reaches for you, and that’s when it clicks

he doesn’t ask right away. he just watches, no ticing every little thing. the way you shrink into yourself, the way you stop laughing as much. it eats at him

when you finally tell him, he goes completely still. no outburst, no immediate reaction—just clenched fists and a tight jaw as he processes

he hates feeling helpless. hates that this happened to you and he couldn’t stop it. but he won’t let his emotions get in the way. you come first

starts making little adjustments without drawing attention to them. making sure you always feel safe, never pushing but always there

doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it. but the first time you lean into him, even just a little, his heart aches in a way he can’t explain

he’s not the best with words, but he’s steady. reliable. you don’t have to question if he’s staying

he’s proud of every little achievement you make and silently celebrates them, giving you the love and support you deserve

[neeeooon]

Hi, can you do like blue lock jealous headcanons? with karasu, ness and whoever else u want idm!

Thank youu💗💗💗

i tend to mix and confuse “jealousy” and “possessive/protectiveness” so i’m sorry if this is repetitive with my stalker hc, but thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy! 💗

when they’re jealous ;

jealous bf bllk x gn!reader

karasu tabito

-> of all the players on team blue lock, karasu knew he shouldn’t waste his time feeling jealous of otoya. and yet watching the boy flirt shamelessly with you made his blood boil

-> you seemed pretty guarded as he smirked at you, keeping your arms tight to your chest

-> karasu was going to let it go, knowing you could take care of yourself if you felt uncomfortable, but then otoya decided to show you one of his ninja moves. specifically, the one where he presses a hand against the wall beside your head, and karasu is on his feet

-> you shove otoya’s hand away before he can caress your cheek right as karasu presses a hand against his chest, pushing him off of you. when otoya catches the murderous look in his teammate’s eye, he scrambles off

-> “why did you wait to push him off?” karasu doesn’t know why he’s asking. he knows you and otoya are friends, but his stomach twists with jealousy

-> you can’t smile as you gingerly take your boyfriend’s hand in yours. “he was only messing around, and when he got too close, i made sure he knew it. you don’t have to doubt me, honey.”

-> “it’s not you i don’t trust. it’s him.” but now he’s sulking as he glares at otoya, and you’re able to giggle a bit. “you’re so cute when you’re jealous~”

alexis ness

-> ness wishes his mind didn’t assault him as he watched you interact with other people. other guys. who were taller and stronger and more confident than him. you didn’t agree with any of that, but ness’s mind didn’t know that

-> to make matters worse: you’re a sweetheart. it’s one of the things ness loves most about you, but he sees how your innocent kindness can look to others sometimes, and the way it makes them look at you

-> “oh, wow! i love your shirt! it’s a great color on you,” you complimented the cashier as you and ness check out. the cashier, obviously seeing that you’re together, simply smiled and thanked you back

-> but the damage is done. ness is second guessing his outfit. his colors. his entire wardrobe. why didn’t you love his shirt? was it not a good color? did you think—

-> “ness?” your soft voice broke him from his destructive thoughts, and ness feels sick with envy. he hates jet, but he knows he can’t keep it from you. “i-is there something wrong with my shirt..?”

-> and you melt. “aw, baby! are you jealous? don’t worry, i love you and your shirt more than anyone i compliment. i promise!” and ness smiles, because he believes you 100%

itoshi rin

-> rin hates that he’s jealous of his teammates. he hates feeling lower than them, but more than anything, he hates the way they make your face light up with laughter

-> he watches as your eyes crinkle at something bachira said, how you playfully shove isagi when he says something next

-> rin doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s stalking over to you, his hand wrapping tight around your wrist, and pulling you away from the boys. “rin, wh—“ but his grip tightens and your words faulter

-> he pulls you into an empty locker room before releasing you, and you throw your arms over your chest. “what the hell? we were just talking—“ “you were laughing.”

-> you blink. “so? am i not allowed to laugh?” “not at something they say,” rin mumbles out, leaning heavily against the door and dropping his head so that his bangs shield his eyes.

-> but you get it now. “you’re jealous,” you say, and it’s not a question. rin doesn’t defend himself, which only confirms your suspicion. so, you step forward and take his face between your hands

-> “it’s okay to be jealous, love, but don’t let it trick you into thinking i’m not happy or don’t love you. got it?” “i’m sorry.” “don’t be sorry! come on, join and laugh with us.” “… fine.”

michael kaiser

-> envy is a sin, and kaiser is feeling pretty sinful as he watches you interact with your male friend while waiting to pick you up

-> he lets you talk and laugh for a good ten seconds before blaring on the horn, causing you and your friend to jump in surprise. you smile when you see kaiser’s car, but he doesn’t return the look through his windshield

-> “are you okay?” you ask as you climb into the car, immediately sensing his tension. kaiser gives a curt nod. “mhm.” “you don’t seem okay..?” “i’m fine, y/n.”

-> you don’t push and let him have his moment until he pulls in front of your house. sighing, you sink into the passenger seat cushions. “i’m not leaving until you tell me what’s bothering you. you know i hate when you go quiet on me…”

-> he does. tightening his grip around the steering wheel, kaiser finally looks at you. “who was that guy you were laughing with? must be some comedian, the way you were gasping for air.”

-> “you mean shidou? my friend? cause that’s all he is: a friend.” you put heavy emphasis into the word friend when you realize kaiser is jealous. he has no reason to be, but you can’t say that since he can’t relate when he doesn’t have many friends

-> “yeah. that guy.” “baby, come on, don’t be like that… he was telling me a funny story about his boyfriend.” kaiser blinks. “boyfriend?” “yes.” “he’s gay?” “yes.” “so… he isn’t interested in you? romantically?“ you try so hard not to laugh and your jealous boyfriend. “no. he isn’t interested into me romantically.” “oh, thank god.”

[jenthebug]

“Hello, is this Vince Galindo?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Tracy from Denver Private Investigators.” The voice on the other end of the line seemed hesitant and downtrodden. “Listen, Mr. Galindo, I have some bad news. Investigator Gray and Investigator Reynard were out on a case last night and they were killed in a car accident.”

“What?!”

“As they were our only two investigators, and Investigator Reynard was the business owner, we are now closed.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to happen!” Vince’s voice cracked.

“What do you mean?” Tracy asked.

Vince started to pace his kitchen. “Every time I prepare for something, it doesn’t happen. I study for a test, it’s canceled. I make lunch, everyone has already eaten. I dress up for a night out, the club is closed. I wanted to hire a private investigator about it,” he said, his voice rising in pitch and breaking, “the private investigators die?!”

“Listen, Vince.” Tracy took a deep breath. “I’m gonna transfer you, right now, over to a Jonathan Zapke. He’s a witch, and this may be more up his alley. No prep involved on your part.”

“Alright—“

The phone rang once, then again.

“Zapke.”

“Oh! Hi. This is Vince Galindo.”

“You selling something?” The man on the other end of the line sounded gruff.

“No, I was hoping you could help me. Please.”

“With what? Spell, curse, divination?”

“I’m not sure,” Vince said quickly, “but I have a problem. Every time I prepare for something, it doesn’t happen. Like, I cook dinner for the family and then the pizzas show up. I buy tickets for the amusement park and it rains. And I tried to hire private investigators to find out why…”

Zapke snorted on the other end of the line.

Vince continued. “I got a call from the private investigator firm saying both investigators had died and they were closing down!”

“So you need a curse removed.”

“That’s a curse?” Vince asked.

“Clearly. It’s having a negative effect on you and the people around you. Simple curses, but it’s a curse nonetheless.” Zapke sounded like he was reaching the end of his patience.

“Alright. How much do you charge?”

“Oh no. Don’t you put that evil on me, buddy. I’m gonna ask you to pick me up a six pack of beer later, but for now, what’s your address?”

Vince gave his address, along with the apartment number and how to find the building.

“Alright, man, this is important,” Zapke said. “Start playing video games or watching TV. Don’t do anything to prepare for my arrival. Don’t clean, don’t make sure you have clean dishes, nothing. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Alright.” Vince hesitated. “My place is a mess, though.”

“You prepare for me, I’m not gonna show up!” Zapke snapped. “Besides, I’m sure mine is worse.”

Fourteen minutes later, Vince was engrossed in a game of Super Smash Brothers Ultimate. Jonathan Zapke, a white man in his thirties with a bald spot and a beer belly, entered without knocking. He looked exactly unlike a witch, with his Broncos shirt and cargo shorts. He held out a water bottle filled with a blue liquid to Vince.

“Drink this shit. Now.”

Vince did as he was told, quickly downing the bottle of sweet tasting liquid.

“What was that?” Vince asked.

“Anti-curse elixir. Works on small, easy curses. You’re not removing generational curses or anything complicated with this, but for something like you got? It’s fine. I’ll cast a magical fortification over you so this doesn’t happen again. For now, drive me to the liquor store and get me a six pack.”

“Um, sure, thanks. How much do I owe you?” Vince asked.

Zapke rolled his eyes. “We just went over this. A six pack.”

“You sure that’s all you want?”

“I picked up a dimebag last night, so yeah.” Zapke smirked.

Vince and the strange witch made their way to Vince’s beat up 90s Pontiac Grand Prix and drove off in the direction of the liquor store.

All your preparations are always for nothing. You prep for a test, it's canceled the next day. You make lunch, everyone's already eaten. You dress for a night out, the club's closed that day. You hire a private investigator to find out why.

[vunblr]

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future.

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“…Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin-  aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment,  resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira

[plaidcowboy]

hey pretty could u write a lil smth for me 　cosy!reader forcing rafe to cuddle with her?

rafe forcing ꒰!COSY꒱ to cuddle him ⅏ ⅏

rafe pushed the book out of your hands, causing it to land on the bed next to you. you gasped, turning to see him with his brows furrowed, staring at you, “what was that for?”

“you’re done reading ‘cause i’m bored and ‘cause i said so,” he murmured against your arm where his head was resting. you two were simply lying in bed, you sitting up reading with rafe covering you, “okay . . well, i’m almost done. can i just finish these few pages . . ”

“no. let me hold you, please,” he stared up at you with the puppiest of puppy dog eyes, making it hard to say no to him. but you were really into your book. it’d be quick, you finishing it. “of course, just let me . . ” you went to grab the book, rafe taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room, “i’m not letting you up to go get it, so you don’t have a choice.”

you looked down to rafe, taken aback. “well now you’re definitely not,” you went to cross your arms, rafe sitting up quickly, grabbing your arm and tugging, “no, alright, fine, sorry. don’t do that. i got to have you in my arms, please. please, baby?”

you huffed, “mm hm,” you responded, shaking your head. rafe frowned. “what d’you mean ‘mm mh?’”

you shrugged, turning your head away, “i mean no. i won’t cuddle you,” rafe titled his head at you, perplexed you were denying him, “baby . . you can’t be serious. i said please,” he actually was confused where your defiance was coming from. he used the magic word.

you scoffed, “that doesn’t get you anything you want,” you turned back to face him. “it got me you . . ” he reminded you, “ . . okay, what do you want me to do?” he tugged your arm again when he felt you pull away, “i jus’ wanna hold you. i like you in my arms. i don’t like it when i’m not touching you in some way. please. i said it four times now.”

you pretended to ponder, ���just an apology to the book . . that you bought me, by the way,” you responded. rafe rose a brow, “and i’ll buy you even more, what’s the matter?”

“you hurt it. apologize,” rafe frowned at you, “you want me to apologize to a book?” you nodded defiantly. “baby . . it’s a book, can i just hold you now . . ” he shuffled closer.

“apologize,” you halted him. rafe sighed, “sorry . . book,” he couldn’t believe what he said. the things he does for you. “can we now?” he whined.

“hold on,” you held up a finger, cupping your hand over your ear. rafe stared at you. “hm . . okay. book accepts your apology.”

rafe continued to stare . . “c’mere, weirdo,” he grabbed you, pulling you against his chest. you giggled, causing him to laugh as well, “freaking book,” he grumbled.

[pearlessance]

Daddy's Home!

summary: gojo makes up where your boyfriend falls short small. you know where home is.

pairing: bestfriend!gojo x f!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, infidelity, lowkey perv!gojo who's sooo obsessed with you, dry humping, dirty talk, sloppy kissing, hair pulling, size difference, unprotected sex, overstim, creampie, pet names, cock warming at the end

note: i tried very hard to keep this short but i have a lot to say about satoru gojo so sorry :( SIKEEE i can never be sorry for loving this whore, eat up!! <3

wc: 2.2k

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

bestfriend!gojo who knows you like the back of his hand. he’s memorized your order at all of your favorite food spots, knows you ask for oat milk in your coffee and can tell when it’s wrong just by the color of it. 

bestfriend!gojo who keeps a bullet point list in his notes app dedicated to you for all those little bits of information you tell him in casual conversation. your shoe size, your birthstone, your favorite book, your preferred skincare brands just in case you run out. 

bestfriend!gojo follows you around the shopping mall and sits in the dressing rooms with you while you pick and choose which things to purchase. he gives his input freely, but you insist he’s not very helpful. “it’s because you look fuckin’ delicious in everything,” he says, doubling down when you roll your eyes and accuse him of lying for your benefit. he palms the bulge in his pants with a grin to drive his point home. “how do you think this happened, then?”

you scoff and say, “you’re being gross,” but it takes you twice as long to remove this dress as the last one. you arch your back a little more, bend over just a little further. and satoru stares, mouth watering, head filled with filthy thoughts that linger long after he slides his credit card at the register.

and when you get a new boyfriend, bestfriend!gojo is the first to tell you he’s not good enough for you. he doesn’t like the same things you do, doesn’t have the same sweet tooth, doesn’t make an effort to worship the ground you walk on as he should. all things gojo does with ease. 

but once the honeymoon phase fizzles out, bestfriend!gojo is always there to listen to you vent after an argument. doesn’t think you’re overreacting at all when you go through your boyfriend’s social media to see just how many girls he follows. so what if they’re his family? in fact, he urges you that this is a breakup-level matter. “i’m just saying, if i were your boyfriend…”

bestfriend!gojo who’s appalled when you tell him that your boyfriend doesn’t like that the two of you still have sleepovers. they’re innocent enough, right? you’re just sleeping in the same bed. it’s not like you’re taking care of his morning wood! (well, there was that one time…)

bestfriend!gojo who shows up anyway, long after you’ve fallen asleep, and slips beneath your familiar sheets. when you wake to his movements, you just smile up at him, lay your head on his chest and let out the cutest, most content sigh he’s ever heard.

bestfriend!gojo who keeps all your secrets, no matter what. so, when you come over late one night with tension in your shoulders and a scowl on your face, he immediately sits you down and demands to know what’s wrong. he says, “tell me so i can fix it,” and fully prepares to do whatever it takes.

yet still, it comes as a surprise when you flop back onto his bed, cover your face with your hands, and admit, “it’s too small!”

he doesn’t want to make assumptions, but gojo just knows. “are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

“maybe…what do you think i’m saying?”

there’s no use fighting off his wide smile. “that boyfriend you seem to like so much has a tiny cock, doesn’t he?”

“satoru! stop laughing!”

bestfriend!gojo who loves you more than anything, but this is just too fucking good. his terrible chivalry can be fixed with time, but a small dick lasts forever. he’s laughing so hard a stitch forms in his side, but his mirth simmers as he sees the genuine frustration on your face. “oh, baby. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. come here.”

you crawl into his lap, arms wrapped tight around his neck. you’re so soft and small in his arms, and he runs his hands soothingly down your back. it’s funny to him, hilarious, really…but this part isn’t. he hates that you’re unsatisfied, hates that you’re strung so tight.

bestfriend!gojo would do anything for you. “you know that, right?”

“i know,” you say through a sniffle.

he pushes your hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. “so tell me what you need. i’ll take good care of you. promise.”

you say, “just hold me,” and so he does. gojo wraps his arms around your waist and crushes your body against his, leaning back against the headboard. your tits press against his chest and he can feel the hard peaks of your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt, but he doesn’t say a word. just lets you rest your head in the crook of his neck, your warm breath leaving condensation on his smooth skin. he thinks you’re right where you belong.

his cock always comes to life just from seeing you, but you’re used to it by now. don’t even flinch as it swells underneath you. you know he can’t help it, after all. you’re just so pretty. 

it pushes up between your legs, nestling right against the seam of your leggings. gojo can feel every dip and curve of your pussy, can feel your poor, desperate clit pulse with need against the underside of his cock.

at first, the tilt of your hips is so minuscule he almost doesn’t notice it, movements experimental and cautious. but then your pace is increasing, little by little, bit by bit. and gojo’s heavy breaths turn into low groans at the delicious friction, but he only continues rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. “you wanna talk about it some more?”

you shake your head, the tip of your nose running across the column of his throat. “just wanna feel better.”

bestfriend!gojo who knows just what to do. he grabs your hips and helps you move a little faster, smiling to himself in satisfaction when you let out the sweetest sounding whimper. “don’t worry. i’ve got you, baby,” he promises. 

you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling so hard at the roots that he moans. he returns the favor, forcing you to look at him. the grin that forms on his face as he sees your flushed cheeks and the heat in your eyes is downright diabolical. because bestfriend!gojo knows he's the only one who can take care of you like this. you might call someone else your boyfriend, might sometimes hold someone else’s hand, but they’ll never satisfy you like satoru does.

he pushes and pulls you over his lap. again and again and again until your spine bends and your eyes squeeze shut. he knows you so well that he knows you’ll cum just like this, pussy contracting around absolutely nothing, greedily wanting more, wanting to be filled up good.

“toru—!”

“you got it,” he says through roguish laughter. “s’right there, isnt it? can feel how wet you are. go on an’ take it, baby.”

he shifts your hips faster, pushes up into you harder. your breath stops, and then—

“there you go. just like that. so fuckin’ pretty when you cum. such a shame he’ll never see it. s’all for me.”

bestfriend!gojo who isn’t even surprised that you’re grinding against him again just seconds after you come down from the short-lived high. you’re whimpering, repeating his name over and over again as if you’ve forgotten all other words. but it’s okay, he doesn’t mind, because bestfriend!gojo knows you like the back of his hand!!! and he’s gonna give you just what you need. 

he works quickly, tugging your leggings down your thighs just until they’re wrapped around your knees. he finds no panties underneath and takes a selfish moment to admire just how pretty your pussy is, rosy and puffy and so wet that it makes his mouth water. gojo thinks he could spend hours with his head between your legs without ever coming up for air, tenderly licking at your clit till you cry. but no, this isn’t about him. it’s about you, and your need for his big, fat cock.

the tip is red and swollen when he pulls it out of his slacks. and before he can do much else, you’re greedily sliding your pussy against him again, coating him in your slick. “this what you want?” 

“yes, please, satoru, please.”

“how do you want it? fast? slow?”

“want it deep.”

bestfriend!gojo who wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you up just enough so he can position himself right at your opening, leaky and dripping all over him. “alright, sweetheart. always gonna give you everything you want.” 

and then he’s pushing into you and your pussy squeezes him so fucking tight pleasure shoots through him before he even begins to move. you sit on his cock with all your weight and he swears he can feel your insides move to make room for him—he’s just so big. 

when he’s fully seated inside, you let out a sigh of relief and gojo thinks nothing has brought him more joy than seeing that happy, satisfied little smile tug at the corners of your lips.

he splays his fingers wide over the globes of your ass, squeezing hard when you begin to roll your hips. your walls twitch around him, caressing every vein and sensitive spot of his thick cock. you don’t even lift up off of him, so desperate to have him buried as deep inside of you for as long as possible that you’re only grinding against him, his tip brushing up against your cervix just enough to have you moaning.

even though he’s inside you, bestfriend!gojo still asks, “is it okay if i kiss you?”

there’s no hesitance. you press your lips to his and when they part on a gasp as he thrusts his cock up into you, he slides his tongue into your mouth. you taste like sugar and honey and you—his favorite flavor. he fucks you hard and sucks your tongue and bites your bottom lip, spit-covered mouths breathing out obscenities.

you’re clawing at his back, pussy squelching with each deep, meaningful thrust he gifts to you. he’s not going to last long and he knows it, but he always puts you first. so between each sloppy kiss he’s muttering absolute filth. “mmm, yeah. came to the right place, didn’t you, baby? you know who’s gonna take good care of you. pussy’s so tight. such a greedy thing. gonna give you everything he can’t. can you feel how hard you make me? feels better with a big cock all up in your guts, doesn’t it? puts your pretty little mind right at ease.”

when your moans turn into pants he knows you’re close. he lets the leash he’s tied around his self control go slack, because he wants to fall off the edge with you. “it’s so big,” you cry. “gonna make me cum—!”

he keeps his pace steady, fucking up into you, thick cock spitting you apart. “you love this dick, huh, baby? tell me you love it.”

“love it, toru, love—hmph—love you!”

“fuck yeah you do,” he says with a grin. it only takes one, two, three more deep thrusts before he feels your walls flutter around him. you moan his name and it sends him over the edge. gojo kisses you hard as he paints your insides with sticky ropes of cum, filling you so full it spills out, sliding down to the base of his cock and staining his slacks.

there’s so much, so much, but he fucks you through it despite the overstimulation, arms wrapped tight around your waist, eliminating any space that remains between the two of you. doesn’t stop until your moans quiet and your thighs stop trembling around him.

your chest heaves with each shaking breath, but you stay right in his lap. when you lay your head on his chest, gojo settles into the sheets, trying not to shift you too much. he thinks you’re so cute like this, all fucked out and sleepy. 

bestfriend!gojo says, “you should break up with your boyfriend,” with his hand on your ass and is able to fall asleep contently, still buried deep inside your sweet pussy.

because you kiss his jaw and mumble sleepily, “m’kay, i will.”

[finelinevogue]

my universe

summary - university can be tough and lonely sometimes, but luckily for you your boyfriend lives nearby

pairing - spencer reid x shy-university!reader

word count - 900

[this is just a little taster... should i continue this? if so feel free to send any ideas/prompts for this pairing you would like to see]

University wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

It was different to what you had been expecting.

You had expected constant house parties. You had expected 9-5 studying and 5-9 partying. You had expected to finally come out of your shell and live life like every extroverted person did. 

But that wasn’t the case.

Instead, university was lonely, isolating and really tough. 

The work was okay but the social life was really hard. 

You remember the first conversation you heard between your roommates like it was yesterday.

“Should we invite them?” 

“We don’t even know their name, so what’s the point?” 

“Yeah you’re right. Going out doesn’t seem like their vibe anyways.”

“So are we going or what?”

You hadn’t even put faces to names before your flatmates had ruled you out as one of them. You had managed to become friendless without even trying. Sometimes a flatmate would come to you if they had a problem with the wifi or they wanted to know whether they could use your milk in the fridge, but other than that you were left alone.

Like tonight.

You were trying your best to study for an upcoming test in a few weeks, seeing as you had nothing else to do, but your flatmates were pre-drinking and it was so loud.

The music was thumping away in the kitchen and they must have invited more people over as there were lots of voices. Too many voices for comfort. 

Your room was small but it was yours.

It was cosy with fairy lights strung up on your walls and crossing the ceilings. There was a huge pinboard of memorabilia that you had brought from home. Some were photos of you and your mum. Some were photos you had taken of your few friends back home. Most were of your boyfriend, Spencer.

In fact a lot of the other tat on your board was shared property between you and Spencer. There were cinema tickets from dates and tiny handmade cards from him to you. 

It was your safety wall, because every time you looked at it you reminded yourself that you weren’t completely alone. 

<.><.><.>

Your phone rang 15 minutes later.

“Hey, you.” You smiled, putting your pen down in a hurry to speak to your boyfriend.

“Hey you, back.”

It was always so good to hear his voice. No matter how far or near he was, his voice was the one comfort in the world that you would crawl home to. 

“You okay? I thought your text said you were going out for drinks with the team?” 

“Plans fell through.” He didn’t sound too bothered.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” 

“Don’t know, really.” You shrugged even though he couldn’t see. “So where are you now?”

“Funny story…” 

“Okay?”

“I’m like five minutes away from you.” 

You sat up straight in your chair. 

Your attention turned from Spencer to the raving music from the kitchen. It was loud and thumping and it was a wonder that Spencer hadn’t commented on it yet. 

It had taken a while for you to come clean to Spencer about how rubbish your flatmates were, but luckily for you Spencer was the best boyfriend in the world and he only lived half an hour away. Whenever he could he would always come and spend time with you.

There was even that one occasion that he stayed in the library all night with you to practice for a test. No one was better than him.

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked, having noted your silence.

“You’ve saved my night.”

“Well they don’t call me a ‘hero’ for nothing.”

You laughed, “Nice try. I’m not feeding your ego any more than that.” You heard him laugh too.

“Shall I come up or do you want to go somewhere?” Spencer asked.

“Depends.”

“On…?”

“Whether Alicia is going to flirt with you again. I do not need my evil flatmate accidentally tricking you into falling in love with her. It’s probably her master plan.”

Alicia had taken it upon herself to try and smooth talk Spencer when he had first visited. Apparently she couldn’t believe that ‘someone like him’ was dating ‘someone like you.’ That had been a real kick in the teeth. Spencer had pretended to be oblivious and shut your bedroom door in her face though, so that had been a small victory.

Since then you had teased Spencer about the interaction. He had obviously talked about how teasing was your way of deflecting talking about your jealousy, but whatever.

“Alicia is going to be your villain origin story. I can feel it.”

“You’re damn right.”

“I know.”

“Right. You need to tone that ego down before I see you.” You joked, causing him to laugh back.

“Okay but seriously, do you want me to come up? I look like a serial killer waiting to pounce down here.”

You stood up from your chair and moved over to the window. It only opened a smidge, but it was enough to see Spencer standing four floors below. You gave him a big smile and a small wave, which he returned.

“You kind of do look like a serial killer. Why are you dressed all in black?” You asked whilst still looking at him from the window.

“Y/N!” He whisper-shouted your name. 

“Okay I’m coming.” You shut your window and picked up your flat keys, “Just don’t murder anyone whilst I come and get you.” 

“I swear to…”

Before he could finish you hung up on him.

[ireverie]

risky, sjy (ft pjs)

ᯤ that was too close

ׂ╰┈➤ smut, cheating, stepcest

your pajama shorts are bunched beneath your knees as they nearly knock into the bottom cabinet of the bathroom sink, your hands bracing the counter for purchase as jake roughly ruts into you from behind.

you don’t have to struggle to keep your lips closed. jake’s hand is flush against your mouth, the side of his index finger pressing slightly into your nose as his thumb jabs into your cheekbone and his pinky curves underneath your jaw. your quick breaths fan hotly against his palm and every sound is muffled.

to be fair, you had tried to stop him. you had tried to be a good, faithful girlfriend, telling jake that what you had together was in the past and he needed to let it go. but he didn’t listen. he sat you on top of the counter of the shared bathroom connecting his bedroom and your one when you still lived here, and ate you out.

if nothing else could convince you, that definitely did. 

maybe it was a bad idea to bring your boyfriend back home with you, but your parents had been dying to meet him and you could no longer put it off. you knew jake wouldn’t be happy, considering that you used to hook up before you moved out, but you didn’t expect him to take it this far.

heart unfurls in the tightening pit of your stomach as you feel jake’s thick cock so deep in your guts, stretching you past your limits just the way you remember. you hate that it feels so good, so familiar. he knows all the tricks to make your walls gush around him, kneading his cock and selfishly squeezing every drop of cum out of him. 

it’s not that your boyfriend is bad in bed, but damn, nothing can compare to the dick of the man that claimed your virginity and used to take you every day. his sex drive was insatiable, always down to blow your back out, always wanting you. more often than not, you were fucking with his hand clamped over your mouth when your parents were home, and fucking all over the house when they were not.

speak of the devil and he shall appear. there’s a knock at the door, from your bedroom. “babe?” jay, your boyfriend, calls out. “how much longer? i wanna cuddle.”

you stiffen, eyes widening as you meet jake’s gaze in the mirror. your bodies are sticking together, almost like you were never meant to be separated. jake leans into your ear, whispering, “talk to him, but don’t make a sound.”

jake doesn’t stop fucking you, merely moving his hand away from your mouth so that you can speak. you swallow the lump in your throat, your voice sounding a little breathless. “my stomach hurts, baby. it’s gonna be a minute.”

you can practically hear the frown on jay’s face, even though you can’t see him. “aw, i’m sorry, baby. do you want tummy kisses when you get out?”

jake scoffs from behind you. at that, he starts to slap his hips into yours even harder, damn near ripping a gasp from the back of your throat. he’s hitting all the right spots, knowing your body all too well. better than he should. at one particular thrust, you moan, wincing your eyes in regret.

“what was that?” jay asks, still hovering near the door. you curse under your breath, remembering that you didn’t respond. 

“sorry,” you call out stiffly, balling your hands into fists. your nails dig painfully into your palms. “it just really hurts.”

again, jake scoffs. this time, it doesn’t seem to be out of anger; it’s amusement. “hurts, huh?” he repeats. “doesn’t look like you’re hurting.”

“shut up,” you hiss irritably. it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place.

“okay, baby. i’ll be here when you come out,” jay answers sadly, likely feeling bad for you. he doesn’t like when you’re in pain; he drops everything to take care of you when you’re on your period.

“okay,” you echo, fighting back another moan with everything you have. jake isn’t making it easy. he says not to make a sound, but with how he’s fucking you nice and rough, lips brushing against your skin just the way you like, you would think he’s trying to get you to react on purpose. “i’m probably gonna take a shower first.”

“i’ll wait up,” jay calls back. you hear his footsteps, figuring that he’s finally turned back and gotten into your bed.

jake huffs, like he’s unsatisfied. not that he would ever say that. “so close,” he murmurs.

you exhale, relaxing your hands and tightening them again immediately as jake strokes your sweet spot. “too close,” you say, throbbing as you take in the sight of his body molding into yours in the mirror.

[luv4arinn]

Bayverse!Raph as a Boyfriend Headcanons <3 (but I psychoanalyzed him way too much)

Parenting: Raph x Female Reader

Warnings: Low self-esteem, body dysphoria, this is more serious, sorry, yeah nsfw

This man is the definition of “I’m a mess, but if someone even looks at you, they’re dead.”

In the Bayverse movies, Raph carries a deep-seated resentment toward himself. It’s not just his aggressive attitude or his constant need to fight—deep down, he’s convinced that he doesn’t deserve anything good. And when it comes to love… God, it’s even worse.

In his mind, it’s impossible for someone to see him as anything other than a monster. Not a mutant, not a warrior, not a man—a monster. And even though he’d never say it out loud (because, to him, admitting it would give it power), every time he sees you—every time you smile at him, every time you talk to him like he’s not some freak of nature—his brain just short-circuits.

Because what could he possibly offer you?

Donnie has intelligence and could talk to you about a million fascinating things. Mikey would make you laugh and shower you with love without hesitation. Leo… well, Leo has always been the strong one, the one who makes the right decisions, the one who is everything he isn’t.

But him? He’s just Raph. Impulsive, hot-headed, stubborn, and with a track record of messing up at the worst possible moment.

And the worst part is that even though he loves you in silence, even though he wants you more than he’d ever admit, he would never dare to do anything about it. Because… what if you realize he’s not worth it? What if you snap out of it and realize you could have someone better? What if one day you look at him and see what he sees in the mirror?

That’s why Raph would never make the first move. He’d never stare for too long, never dare to cross that line. But his possessiveness would betray him. The way his brow furrows when you talk to someone else. How his jaw clenches when someone gets too close. How his knuckles go white when he feels like someone else has what he’ll never be able to have.

And if you do return his feelings… God, Raph won’t process it. He won’t believe it. He’ll convince himself it’s a mistake. That he’s going to ruin it. That he doesn’t deserve this—that you deserve better.

But if you prove him wrong—if you stay, if you choose him every single day—he’ll be the most fiercely loyal and protective person you could ever have by your side.

Because even if he never says it out loud, even if he never fully admits it, even if he still doesn’t quite believe it himself… knowing that someone sees him as more than a monster is the only thing that could ever heal the wounds he’s carried his entire life.

Raph doesn’t know how to love halfway. He doesn’t know how to be lukewarm, how to be indifferent. His love is a wildfire—one that consumes and leaves scars if left unchecked. And that’s exactly why he hides it. Because he’s afraid that if he lets it out completely, he’ll end up burning the thing he loves the most.

He’s a passionate lover. But not the kind who sweetens his words or whispers promises in hushed tones. No. Raph loves through actions. He loves by protecting, by holding on, by remembering every little detail, by always being there even when you don’t ask. His love is something you feel in the tension of his muscles when someone gets too close, in the way his gaze darkens when someone makes you laugh a little too much, in the way his hand—his massive hands—grip your waist as if you might disappear at any moment.

But as fiery as his love is, his insecurity is just as cold as a bucket of ice water. He’s not the type to throw tantrums or make a scene just because someone else talked to you. No. His jealousy is quiet, internal, corrosive. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he doesn’t trust himself.

Every time he looks at you, every time his eyes land on you, his mind is flooded with the same whirlwind of thoughts:

“God, she’s so beautiful.”

“I love her.”

“Mine.”

“Incredible.”

“I don’t know how she chose me.”

“She could have anyone else.”

…

“I don’t know how she chose me.”

“There are better men than me.”

That last thought is the one that hurts the most. Because no matter how many times you prove him wrong, no matter how many times you stay, no matter how many times you choose him over and over again—deep down, the idea that you could leave never fully leaves him.

That’s why he holds on, even if you don’t notice. Not in a desperate way, not in an obvious way. But it’s there. In how he always walks in a way that keeps his body between you and any other man. In how his fingers sometimes grip the fabric of your clothes just a little too tightly when you’re around others. In how his gaze turns sharp and lethal, even without saying a word.

Because Raph is a warrior. A soldier. A fighter.

But when it comes to love, he doesn’t fight with the same confidence.

Not because he doesn’t want to—

But because he doesn’t believe he has the right to.

Raph isn’t afraid of many things. Not of pain, not of fighting, not of facing an enemy who could kill him at any moment.

But he’s afraid of heights.

And he’s afraid of himself.

Sometimes, on the darkest nights, when the world is silent and there are no distractions to keep him occupied, that fear eats him alive. It burns through his chest like acid. Because he knows what he is. He knows he��s not like Leo, who can think before he acts. He knows he’s not like Donnie, who can analyze things without letting emotions cloud his judgment. He’s not like Mikey, who can let things go with a smile.

He is rage.

He is fire.

He is violence contained within a body too big and a mind too tormented.

And if that rage were ever directed at you…

That thought alone is enough to make his stomach twist. It sickens him, makes him want to throw up, to punch something just to distract himself from the possibility. Because Raph knows what it’s like to lose control. He knows what it’s like to feel his vision go red, to not realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.

But never, never could he allow that to happen to you.

And yet… he’s human. (Well, as close as he can be.) And he makes mistakes.

If you ever fight—if his emotions ignite like an uncontrollable wildfire, if the heat of the argument blinds him, if his voice rises until it becomes a roar—God, he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying. The words spill out like daggers, sharp and unfiltered, filled with frustration and things he doesn’t mean. And deep down, as every syllable poisons the air between you, his throat tightens, his tongue tastes foul, like he’s chewing on something rotten.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is when, in an impulsive act—because he’s always impulsive—his fist slams into the wall right beside you.

The sound echoes. A sharp, heavy thud.

Loud. Too loud.

And when the dust settles, when the echo of his own fury stops ringing in his ears, that’s when he sees it.

Your eyes.

Wide open. Shocked. Scared.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

That fear in your gaze hits him harder than any enemy he’s ever faced. It’s like a punch to the chest, a bullet straight to the heart. His breath catches. His entire body freezes, and the fire inside him—the one that fuels him, the one that’s always raging—suddenly dies out.

There are no words to describe what he feels in that moment.

Shame. Guilt. Self-loathing.

He’s not afraid that you’ll hate him. He’s afraid that you’d be right to.

That you’ll finally see what he’s always known: that he’s not good for you. That he’s dangerous. That no matter how much he loves you, his own nature will always be his worst enemy.

And if he ever loses you because of that…

He doesn’t even know if he’d be able to keep breathing.

Your footsteps fade into the distance, echoing against the damp concrete of the sewers, and Raph stays right where he is.

Still.

Not moving.

Not doing what every fiber of his being is screaming at him to do—run after you, stop you, grab you, tell you he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean to scare you, that he didn’t mean to make you cry.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can still see it in his mind. Your expression, that look in your eyes that wasn’t anger, wasn’t sadness—

It was fear.

God.

He clenches his fists and lowers his gaze. He wants to convince himself that he’s not following you because he’s too proud to apologize, because he hates admitting when he’s wrong (and he was wrong—he always is when it comes to these arguments). He wants to tell himself that it’s because he was already in a shitty mood from arguing with Leo earlier, that it’s not his fault his temper is a ticking time bomb.

But deep down, he knows the truth.

He doesn’t follow you because he’s scared.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say? What words could erase what just happened? How could he possibly fix this without making it worse?

So he does the only thing he knows how to do—

He hits.

His fist collides with the wall again, pain shooting through his knuckles like a reminder of what he is.

Of what he can’t change.

And yet, hours later, there he is.

Standing outside your window.

From out here, he can hear you. Not loud sobs, not heart-wrenching cries, but enough. Shaky breaths, the faint sound of your sniffles. And he—he almost turns around right then, almost runs because he doesn’t know if he can take it.

But he doesn’t.

Because he fucked up. And if anyone deserves to carry the weight of this, it’s him.

Slowly, he opens your window (locked, but you gave him a key). He makes no sound as he climbs inside, though the floor creaks slightly beneath his weight. He finds you sitting on your bed, gaze lowered. And when you finally lift your head and your eyes meet his—

It’s like the air is knocked right out of his lungs.

He doesn’t know what to say.

He’s never been good with words. Never known how to express what he feels without his tongue getting tied, without his voice betraying what he really means to say.

So when he finally speaks, his words are clumsy, short—

A failed attempt at explaining the unexplainable.

But you see it.

You see the way his shoulders slump, the way his eyes avoid yours like he’s not worthy of looking at you. You see the tension in his jaw, the war between his pride and his regret.

And then—he does it.

A step forward. Then another. And another.

Until he’s right in front of you.

His massive hands take hold of you with an impossible gentleness, and in one swift motion, he pulls you against his chest.

It’s firm. Warm. Encompassing.

There are no words that could say what this says.

His breathing is heavy, his heartbeat pounds against your ear. One arm wraps around you completely, the other cradles your head against his neck—like he’s making sure you can’t leave, like he can’t lose you again.

And then you feel it.

A faint touch against your hair.

A kiss.

He doesn’t say “I’m sorry” out loud. He doesn’t need to.

His actions say it all.

And you know it.

So yeah. Reconciliation.

But as he holds you, his forehead pressed against yours, his hand still gripping onto you like he’s terrified to let go—

Raph can only think one thing:

“I just hope I don’t fuck this up again. And if I do… God, please let her forgive me.”

Loving Raph is complicated.

Not because he isn’t worth it, but because he makes it difficult. Because every day is a battle against his own fears, against the thought that maybe—just maybe—he’s not enough for you.

But if you’re wondering about the… intimate side of things.

Well.

We all know Raph isn’t exactly innocent.

In his mind, he’s already had you in every way possible. He’s already imagined you gasping his name, cheeks flushed, breath ragged, looking at him like he’s the only thing that exists. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to slip away, lock himself in the bathroom, and let his hand do the work while his mind recreates you in vivid detail—every little thing he’s memorized about you.

And when he really can’t take it, when the need is unbearable and his body begs for any kind of release, he just tells Mikey to sleep on the couch.

It’s selfish. He knows that. But he doesn’t care.

Because that night, he needs his space.

He needs your scent still lingering on his pillow, needs to bury his face in it and close his eyes while his hand moves at a frantic pace—imagining it’s your skin he’s touching, your mouth around him instead.

But outside of his mind, outside of his most desperate fantasies—

Things are… different.

So far, the farthest you’ve gone is mutual masturbation. And God.

He thought he was going to die when he felt your lips around his length, when your tongue slid along his shaft and your eyes met his. His back hit the wall, and he let out a groan so deep he swore someone in the lair must have heard him.

And when he had you riding his fingers, gripping onto his arm as you unraveled in his hand, he swore his self-control was hanging by a thread.

But he always stops there.

Because Raph is big.

Not just in size, but in strength, in intensity, in everything. And no matter how much you want him, no matter how many times you assure him that he would never hurt you on purpose, that fear is still there.

That damn fear of hurting you.

Because if he were human, he already would’ve had you. He would’ve taken you the way he’s supposed to, given you everything you want—everything he craves with every fiber of his being.

But he’s not human.

And even though his hands were made to protect you, he can’t stop thinking about what would happen if he ever slipped up. If he ever lost control.

Loving him is complicated, huh?

But if there’s one thing for sure—it’s that you could never get bored of him.

Because there’s something incredible about the way he holds you when he jumps across rooftops, the cold air hitting your face and the night sky reflecting in his golden eyes. There’s something addictive about the feeling of being in his arms, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he moves with lethal precision, like the city belongs to him.

And if you train with him… well, that’s a whole different story.

Because Raph loves seeing you strong, seeing you challenge him, seeing you throw punches at him with all the determination in the world. And even though he’d never admit it out loud, he enjoys it way too much when you sit on his shell while he does push-ups.

Not just because he likes the weight of you on him, but because every time he pushes up and down, he can feel your laughter against his neck, your presence wrapping around him like a second skin.

And God knows—there’s nothing in the world that makes him feel more complete than that.

[smolbeanie1221]

So every time she died trying to complete her quest, the moment she enters the underworld, the memories of her past failures hits her and she hears the voice of Athena insisting that she make it right, whether or not she Athena actually says that to her anymore or if it’s just the literally haunted memories of hearing Athena tell her that countless times in her past lives. And so she goes before the judges, and at this point they all recognize her. She’s confused because her mind is battered with the memories of so many lives (there’s a reason why three is the usual max number of reincarnations, because having too many lives to remember can drive someone insane). But she reaches the judges, and the only thing she knows with crystal clarity is she needs another chance to complete her quest.

The judges all look at each other before looking at her and going “well… you’re eligible for the Isles of the Blessed so we can-”

“NO,” she interrupts. “My mother gave me an assignment and I cannot fail. Send me back.”

The judges sigh. “Look demigod. Lord Hades has strict rules down here for a reason. Three chances at another life if you earn Elysium, then you get to go to the Isles of the Blessed. You’re well over a dozen lives. Now I know it’s because Athena chose you and all, and there’s the prophecy and everything, but enough is enough. Lord Hades is getting tired of this, and quite frankly Athena is sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. So-”

Hermes suddenly appears with a grin. “Hello lads. I bring a message from Zeus, you know, ruler of all the gods? He is aware of where Hades’ two young children are sheltering, that wonderful hotel and casino with such fun games. And he has given Athena certain rights where her chosen hero is concerned,” he pauses and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Rumor has it Zeus swore an oath on the river Styx that Athena’s hero would be given every advantage in order to complete this mission, not that I would know anything about that. In any case, it would certainly be to this hero’s advantage to be given another chance which is why I’m sure you will agree and-”

Hades suddenly appears, drenched in shadows with glaring eyes. “Hermes, no one has the right to tell me what to do in my realm. And no one threatens my children. This so-called hero has had dozens of chances to succeed and has failed every time. It is pointless to expect one more time to be any different. Tell Athena that. And tell Zeus if he dares harm my children, I will see to it that he never sees another one of his brats live past thirteen years of age.”

Hermes raises his hands placatingly. “Zeus has agreed to give Athena’s hero a few more, uh, extra advantages this time around. You could say Athena convinced him he wasn’t completely keeping his oath before… not that I’m saying he did actually make an oath on the River Styx or anything. But in any case, this time will be different.”

Hades scowls, and the shadows swirl around him. “It will indeed be different. This will be the last time. Tell Athena and my arrogant brother this, I will not allow this so-called hero another chance.” He glares at the girl standing before the judges. “Hear me well, hero. Fail your quest one more time, and you will be sentenced to the Fields of Punishment for eternity.”

She stands straight and glares back at the god of the underworld. “I will not fail again. I swear it on the River Styx.”

Hermes flinches. “La la la, I didn’t hear about another oath made, la la la.”

Hades gives a cruel smirk. “Then we are agreed, foolish demigod.” He vanishes in a cloud of shadows.

Hermes gives the demigod a withering look. “Well that was a stupid oath for someone to make… If someone did do that.”

She glares back at him. “I will not fail again,” she repeats.

The judges sigh, and one waves to an attending ghost servant. “Take this demigod to the River Lethe to prepare her for a new life.”

She nods at the judges and then looks back at Hermes. “Tell my mother I’m sorry for failing her again.”

Hermes sighs as he watches her walk away, heading to what could possibly be her final life before an eternity of torment… or possibly finally the completion of her impossible quest after dozens of attempts over hundreds of years.

When young Annabeth is born, Zeus is responsible for causing her stepmother to treat her cruelly as a child, in an effort to drive her away from her home so he can bring Thalia and Luke to her. Hades meanwhile is beyond angry at Zeus, so he sent his monsters to kill both Thalia and Annabeth. When Thalia dies and her saves her by turning her into a tree, Zeus would normally have reacted in a fit of anger and sent lightning bolts to strike Luke and Annabeth dead for the crime of living when his daughter died. But Annabeth must live, he swore an oath to Athena, and so he lets her and Luke live so that Luke can watch over Athena’s hero. Hera meanwhile has become equal parts intrigued and irritated with Athena’s hero, and the fact Zeus seems to have chosen Annabeth as his favored hero as well. Annabeth wasn’t Zeus’ child, so perhaps Hera could also favor this hero. But alas, Annabeth does nothing but irritate Hera, reminding her of why she hates her husband’s children and chosen heroes, so Hera retaliates by constantly messing with Annabeth. Annabeth does indeed gain more advantages, as promised, even if Zeus can’t take credit for all of them. Athena gives her the hat of invisibility. Percy becomes Annabeth’s friend, and eventually her everything. She trained at Camp Half-Blood from a remarkably young age. She receives Daedalus’ laptop. Chiron clearly favors her, perhaps because he recognizes her from the past. And this time, she succeeds, against all odds.

Oh!

[ghostgirl-22]

I fear I need more art calling patrick daddy

my lovely Mel you requested this at the beginning of the year so sorry for the delay 😅 I combined it with a similar anon request <33 original fic is here. My apologies for this being so long! I was so tired and also on my period when writing this so I’m really sorry if it comes across tired and horny 😭

CW: 18+ NSFW daddy kink, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism

——

It’s barely been ten minutes since Patrick had a very drunk Art all over him, hands down Art’s boxers, jerking him off while Art whispered daddy in his ear over and over. So ridiculous in his voice. With his cadence. It’s fucking insane. Patrick feels insane because now Arts sitting on his bed width wise. He’s showered and cleaned up in fresh clothes, resting his back against the wall. Fidgety, he’s swinging his socked feet back and forth and biting his thumb like nothing ever happened. Like Patrick didn't just tell him he wanted to fuck him. Like he didn't just basically say yes. 

Art’s roommate Ethan (who doesn’t know much about Patrick except that his silent dislike is mutual) wants to tell Art all about his night out. Talking and bragging about this gay bar he went to in San Francisco. Patrick is annoyed and hard but whatever. he’s not a total asshole so he lets them talk while he scrolls through his iPod. He’s already tried to go use the bathroom but it was pointless, he’s too hard to piss without making a mess everywhere.  

“One day I’m gonna make you come out with me. I’ll even pretend to be your boyfriend…you know…just so you don’t get hit on.” Ethan says to Art he’s in the same position on his own bed, Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Why? Are they gonna wanna kiss me or something?” Art says playfully. He’s so giggly, eyes like little half moons, chest full of hiccups. Incurably flirtatious when he’s had too much to drink. Exactly how he and Patrick ended up doing what they just did. And so many other things before that. 

“Are you kidding, blondie? Fuck. They’d be all over you.” Ethan says, hungry eyes looking over Arts body.

Patrick thinks Arts drunk little roomie should shut the fuck up and go to bed so Patrick can finally cross the line. He’s resting on Art’s pillow, knees drawn up, he scrolls past the song Blame It on the Alcohol by Jaime Foxx. Just the perfect song for Art right now. He taps Art’s thigh with his barefoot and shows him the iPod. 

Art squints at him and then crawls closer to see the iPod screen. he should be wearing glasses but he never puts them on, crawls on his hands and knees, between Patrick’s thighs so he can see the title properly and then he grins. “Send it to me.” 

“When I get on my computer,” Patrick says. 

“Please just don’t fucking forget,” Art gazes at him— wet lips, eyes fully dilated. He smiles. So flirty. Fucking slut. Patrick needs to be inside him.

“So how was your night, Art?” Ethan goes on, like he’s determined to be oblivious. Art does a dramatic flop onto the bed next to Patrick, head on the same pillow. 

“It was so… tired,” Art groans into the pillow.

”Yeah me too,” Ethan says. “If you want… I don’t mind sharing with you if your friend wants this bed to himself. You know, like what we did when my sister was here.”

“No he jerked off in my bed and made a mess, he should have to sleep in it.” Art mumbles without looking up. 

Ethan presses his lips together, eyes narrowing in Patrick’s direction, subtly irritated. Patrick smirks at him. Ethan rolls his eyes and finally starts getting ready for bed. He leaves the TV on. they both leave it on every night.  Patrick thinks he hears the Ethan snoring after a bit but he’s worried that Art’s actually fallen asleep too. He’s lying on his tummy, hugging the pillow. Patrick puts the iPod down and rolls over. “You still gonna let daddy fuck you?” He whispers.

“Mm,” Art hums and rolls over. “You’re such a freak.”   

“You started it.” Patrick smiles, rubbing his bottom. Art sits up. Leans in too close. He’s still so drunk. Patrick tangles his fingers into golden curls “if you’re daddy… what am I? Baby?” Art asks. 

“Mmhm,” Patrick nods. Convinced every time Art says it, an angel gets a halo or whatever the phrase is.  

“So fucked up,” Art whispers and Patrick kisses him. Art slips his tongue in right away, wet and warm, exploring Patrick’s mouth. Before long he’s moaning a little bit. Stuff he does when he’s drunk. He’s got Patricks leg between his thighs, pressed along his erection. He starts grinding. Patrick pulls back, dizzy already.

“Mm no you’re not coming like that,” Patrick whispers. 

“Cause you wanna fuck me?” Art hiccups, trying to sneak another kiss, Patrick stops him. 

“No. I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Mmkay daddy. But you have to be really quiet,” He whispers, grinning.

Patrick comes apart, but only a little bit, he touches himself idly before balling his fingers to make himself stop. He brackets Art’s waist instead. “Has your roommate ever fucked you?”

Art gets the giggles. “No.” 

“You kiss him?” 

“Uh once but we were—“

”You were drunk,” Patrick finishes for him. 

“Yeah, like now,” Art says, this time he manages to steal a kiss before Patrick presses him back down on the bed and he’s grinning. 

“You’re so naughty,” Patrick whispers. 

“What? Are you gonna spank me?” Art grins, “like make me call you daddy when you do it?” 

God. His stupidly soft, sing-song voice and that fucking word. Makes Patrick’s skin tingle at every spot where their bodies are touching. “I don’t know. Should we try it?” Patrick whispers softly. “You let me spank you till you’re red all over, till you’re squirming and crying, and your hole is twitching for me. Till your dick is so hard and your balls are so full. And you’re begging me to just please, please fuck you? And I promise you I will if you just ask daddy so nicely?”  

Art’s gone silent, he’s settled on his back, knees pulled up and falling open, the slightest glimpse of his tongue flitting across his lips, as he gazes up at Patrick. So goddamn magic.   

“You have lube?” Patrick asks. 

“I um— I think my roommate does.” 

“Go get it.” 

Art obeys. crawls off the single and sneaks over to his roommates side. There’s still the sound of his roommates' soft snoring. Not that Patrick actually gives a fuck if they wake him, outside of how Art will react. 

He stumbles over and pulls a small bottle of lube out of his roomie's nightstand and brings it back to the bed. Patrick stops him mid straddle as he’s moving to climb over him. “Sit, I want you to put it on.” 

Art’s a little breathless. He settles on Patrick’s thighs and Patrick watches him. He slowly tugs at the waist band of Patrick’s boxers and his long neglected dick rises at attention.

”Oh,” Art’s breathing goes shallow, his eyes widen like he’s seeing it in a new light now that he’s thinking of it going inside him. 

“You see what you do to me?” Patrick asks gently.

“Fuck… Patrick… I don’t think I can…” 

“Yes you can, of course you can. You’re so talented.” Patrick says.

”But…” he takes a breath. One that tells Patrick he’s actually kinda nervous. “It’s too much… daddy.” he teases, dancing his fingers over the length. Patrick scoots closer. God. This could ruin him.  “ I’ve never had anything inside me before.” 

“I know, baby. God, you make my fucking teeth ache.” Patrick breathes, coming to the distant realisation that he’s shivering. 

Art is squirming on Patrick’s lap, touching it like he doesn’t want to get caught touching but he can’t stop himself.  “Daddy I wanna…” and then he does something that breaks Patrick a little bit more, he takes hold of the base more firmly and presses it to his lips. 

“Oh, oh shit,” Patrick hisses as Art fills his mouth. Just puts as much in as he can. Inexperienced, teeth scraping and everything, making it fucking hot and painful at the same time. 

Patrick can’t help himself, jerking his hips up. ”Art nngh… shit… oh fuck…you gotta stop or ‘m gonna fucking come in your mouth baby… fuck,” Patrick groans as his blonde head bobs up and down. 

Art pulls back and looks up at him, eyes all sparkly and oh… Patrick realizes he’s gone. He’s so far gone. “Mm sorry.” He hiccups. “I think I’m just dizzy.” He’s still touching Patrick idly, can’t stop touching. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and steadies Arts hand. Such a smart kid, all higher thoughts hijacked by just the sight of Patrick’s swollen dick, Patrick hasn’t even fucked him yet. He grins in spite of himself.  “You like it?” 

“Mmhm,” Art nods. Jesus. he’s practically drooling.   

Patrick snatches the lube from Arts useless hands. He’s barely got any self control left. He starts coating his dick with it. Using too much, for Art’s sake. Art is fixated on his movements. Lips parted, eyes glassy. Head empty.

“Lay down,” Patrick says, softly. Art is so silly. He lays down facing Patrick, and Patrick makes him turn over to face his roommates bed, grabs his hips to pull him back. “Take these down,” Patrick says. 

Art eases his shorts down over his ass and Patrick presses up against his entrance. Art’s breath hitches, he’s suddenly tense. The heat of him is already making Patrick’s mouth water. He’s so tight. stupid little virgin. Patrick’s impatient, but decides to prep him just a little. Slips his finger in, and listens to Art whine before he tries again with the head of his dick. 

Art is holding his breath and Patrick rubs his side, “breathe, i know it’s a lot. I know. I know. You’re doing so good, baby. Taking such a big one right out of the gate. Such a good boy.” Patrick whispers, he’s short circuiting just a bit. Going crazy just a little bit. 

Art takes deep breaths. “Really?” 

“Yes, so good for me baby. Oh so fucking tight. I can feel you stretching for me. Fuck. I feel you opening up for every inch of me. Your body just taking me in.” 

“Mm,” Art squirms, clenching, clenching so tightly and fuck Patrick thinks for the first time tonight he’s probably not gonna fucking last. 

“Mm, it feels so…” Art whines, breathlessly. “It’s so big, it’s so… full. I feel really full. I feel so…weird.” 

“It’s okay… it’s okay. Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe through it. You feel that… how much your body needs it. Squeezing me. So fucking tight.” 

Art’s whining, panting like their full on fucking and Patrick’s not much better, he kisses Art’s shoulder, he’s nearly all in when Art wants a break. He’s settled with Patrick inside him, cockwarming him while Patrick runs his finger tips idly over Arts pelvis. 

“Patrick. Can I—” 

“Mm that’s not how we’re talking right now, is it?” Patrick says, his voice tight. Art’s squirming all over him.  

“Daddy,” Art whispers. 

It takes everything not to pound into him when he says it. Pitched high and desperate. “MmHm.” Patrick breathes.

“Daddy please can I—- I wanna suck— I want something in my mouth,” Art whines. 

Fuck. It’s on brand. This is the same kid that was still sucking his thumb when Patrick met him after all.  

“Is that what you need?”

“Yes please, need it so much,” 

He teases his fingers inside Arts wet mouth, doesn’t do it gentle. Shoves so much inside Art is immediately drooling on him. Wiggling on Patrick’s dick, the little bit of stretch and movement has him moaning. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, tries to let him get used to it but too much more of this and he’s gonna black out. Probably wake up with Art beneath him, load after load of come dripping out of him.    

“I think… I think… can you fuck me now? ” 

“Is that how you ask?” 

“Please daddy,” Art whines. “Please fuck me.”

Patrick’s hips are rocking right away, not bothering to be soft or gentle with it. “daddy was going so fucking crazy letting you play around with my big long dick inside you. I might have to fill you with a couple loads before I can stop baby. Is that okay baby? Hm? Is it okay?”

Art moans. “Yes daddy” He gasps. And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s all it takes.

Patrick is losing control, Art’s first time and he’s losing control.  Pumping furiously in and out and in and out of him.  gripping his waist, so tight, too tight. It’s so much fucking better than anything he could ever imagine. This insanely tight, silky wet heat. Art moaning, swearing, begging for more. He’s so loud. It’s filthy actually, his pretty voice saying things like, “more daddy, more, please daddy, fuck me more… I’ll be so good…”  

“Shh… my god,” Patrick whispers, “fuck sweetheart… I know it feels good but Jesus christ,” he’s covering Art’s mouth to try and muffle him. 

His poor roommate isn’t snoring anymore, in the pale light of the television Patrick can practically make out the frantic way his sheets are moving. He’s definitely awake, watching, touching himself.  

Patrick loses everything when Art starts meeting his thrusts. The bed squeaking. Heavy breathing. The television low, white noise in the background. 

Patrick takes his hand off Art’s mouth to bring him to completion, gripping him, jerking him. Can’t muffle Art’s sounds any more. He can’t help a breathless laugh for how feral Art’s gone by the time he comes. He’s practically full volume, no thoughts in his head except for how much he needs to cum…hips stuttering, spurting all over his sheets. Patrick grips his waist and buries his load deep inside, groaning into his curls. 

“Mm, fuck,” he moans. 

“Yeah,” Art agrees breathless. 

And suddenly Patrick needs to pee like a race horse. He’s pulling out and Art groans reluctantly as Patrick gets out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” He whines. 

“Right back in a minute,” Patrick says, rushing into the bathroom, he barely makes it. 

Art can’t wait a minute. He’s pushing in the door. His boxers all twisted, hair all sexed up. Skin flushed. And immediately Patrick thinks he might need a second round.

“Miss me?” He smirks.

“No.” Art says, but he’s smiling.

“It’s okay, I have that effect on people.” 

Art’s eyes follow the movement of Patrick tucking himself back into his boxers and he pads closer to meet him near the sink. “My roommate just said he really wants to fuck me next.” His voice is a little worn out. Of course he sounds hot. 

“Surprise of the century.” Patrick mutters.. Art yawns, hugging himself, his t-shirt lifts slightly and Patrick can see little pink bruises on his hips in the shape of Patrick’s fingers. Yeah he needs another round. Patrick reaches for him. He steps closer and lets Patrick grab him with wet hands and kiss his cheek. “What’d you tell him? Not that it matters. Cause he doesn’t get to.”

Art smirks at him in the mirror, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Seriously?”

”Yeah seriously.” 

“What do you care? You have a girlfriend.”

”I know.”

”So maybe I can do whatever I want.” Art turns to face him, challenging him. 

“Mm that was true… yesterday…but then you made a mistake and called me daddy, and that means every boy that wants you needs my permission first.”

“That’s marriage.” 

“It’s everything.” 

Art bounces from one foot to the other, his eyes getting shiny again and that’s when Patrick knows he’s won. “You’re a freak.” Art says, but he doesn’t disagree and Patrick smiles and follows him back into the bedroom. 

[kaxserlvr]

Toxicbf!kaiser who always puts soccer above you. He doesn’t think twice cancelling dates for training or matches if it would mean becoming the best.“You should’ve known what you were getting into”

Toxicbf!kaiser who avoids serious discussions. He hates emotional confrontations, can’t handle them and will dodge it or dismiss it completely. “We’re doing fine, why ruin the atmosphere?”

Toxicbf!Kaiser whose ego is his biggest flaw. He will constantly prioritise himself and make you an afterthought not an equal completely disregarding your feelings . May even seem like he’s looking down on you. “You should feel lucky you’re with me”

Toxicbf!kaiser who doesn’t apologise. Even when he knows he’s in the wrong(which is rare lol) he’d prefer to straight up ignore it or buy expensive gifts in hopes you’ll forget. He hates the feeling of being vulnerable.

Toxicbf!Kaiser when you start to pull away from him will act like it doesn’t bother him(it does). He thinks you’re just trying to get a reaction from him, he’d call it “cute” He fully thinks you’ll come back(until you dont)

Toxicbf!Kaiser who feels something disgusting stir in him when he sees you talking to someone with a smile you no longer show him. He suddenly has a strong urge to be near you to show you’re his glaring at the person.” Are they bothering you,hm?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who starts to panic when he realises you’re genuinely getting tired of him. He’ll try to act like it doesn’t bother him but starts to notice how you don’t wait up for him at night, you dont try to start small chats, you no longer look at him,you no longer send him cute messages on how he’s doing. He’s starting to sound desperate.”Talk to me” “where are you?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who uses anger as a defence. He’ll try to blame you for his issues since it’s hard for him to take the fault. Truth is beneath all the anger is fear-fear of losing the one person that makes him feel something. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna give up on me?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who finally breaks and apologies. Seeing you slip away for good causes him to drop the act. No more looking down,no more games. He looks desperate and his usual cocky voice is replaced by something quieter “I’ve never done this…I- I don’t know how to be…I don’t want to loose you..” hed swallow his pride and admit he’s wrong if it means not losing you “I know I messed up and should’ve treated you better..I’m sorry”

Toxicbf!Kaiser who’d give you space but still be available. Texting you so he can remember you’re still here “have you eaten?” “What did you do today?”

If you choose to leave him for good …he’d take it hard and he wouldn’t be the same. Hed spend most of his time on soccer to try forget everything and his emptiness. It does pay off as he improves even more and becoming the best of the best but when he scores the winning goal and everyone cheers for him he instinctively looks for you in the crowd-to see your not there-he realises how bad he lost

But if you choose to give him a chance…you can see he’s nervous he will mess up again by the way he fidgets more around you. You two would have a talk and Kaiser would open up about his fears and insecurities he’s had and hed promise to work on himself and you promise to help communicate more so you guys can grow from this for the future.