#I’ve been meaning to make this for a while

[classyrbf]

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well are your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 3)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut this is the last part so I hope you enjoy it!!

part 2

It would be an understatement to say that Charles was over the moon when you and Louise showed up in the paddock on the race day. He was so delighted and happy that he had a hard time hiding it, and everyone present could see it.

He didn't separate from Lou, and he thanked you several times for bringing her and for coming with her telling you how much that meant to him.

Of course, you both attracted the attention of all the media, knowing that tomorrow the main news on the internet will be how Charles' ex-girlfriend appeared with his daughter in the paddock for the first time after a full year since the breakup.

The cameras were everywhere, but having learned from previous experiences, you decided to ignore them and pretend they didn't exist. All you were focused on was giving your daughter an unforgettable weekend and supporting Charles as well.

Lou got hungry so you and Charles decided to get her something to eat at the Ferrari hospitality. Lou didn't know what she wanted to eat, so Charles decided to leave his things at your table, including his phone, and said he would go with her to the restaurant to choose. While Lou went with Charles, you sat down at the table and scrolled through your phone waiting for them to come back.

“Am I seeing things or is it really y/n?” A very familiar voice asked you, making you look up from your phone.

“Carlos!” You smiled from ear to ear as you stand up to hug him.

“It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in the paddock. How come you’re here?” He asks curiously.

“Lou had a hard time accepting that she wouldn't be spending this weekend with her dad, so...yeah, here we are.”

“Oh man, he’s gonna beat my ass on the track today..” Carlos says shaking his head.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little unsure of what he’s talking about.

“He always gives 110% on the track when Lou is there to support him, I can only imagine what it’ll be like today when you are there too.”

The two of you started catching up talking about what was new in your lives, what wasn't, and so on, until Carlos commented on Charles and Lou's relationship, saying that he really loves spending time with her and that he talks about her nonstop.

“She loves spending time with him too, he is her soulmate I’m sure.” You commented.

“And what about you? Is he your soulmate too?” Carlos asked catching you off guard.

Both you and Charles were close to Carlos and he pretty much knew everything about you and your relationship. He was also very angry with you when you broke up because he thought it was a bad decision and that you should have worked on your relationship and not give up on it so easily.

“I-I..” As you were trying to think of an answer to his question, at that very moment the screen of Charles's phone, which he had left on the table in front of you, lit up.

What caught your attention wasn't the notification he received, but your eyes got stuck on the wallpaper on his lock screen. It was a picture of you and Lou that Charles had taken shortly after you had given birth and came home from the hospital. You were lying on the bed and Lou was lying on your chest while you kissed her head.

It was a picture that was very dear to both you and Charles, and he had it as his wallpaper since the day he took it, and what surprised you the most was that he still had it to this day. Even though you were no longer together, he never changed it.

Carlos noticed what you were staring at and he basically took it as an answer to his question although he had already knew it.

“Uncle Carloss!!” Lou screamed with her mouth full of pizza as Charles carried her in his arms over to the table where Carlos and you were sitting.

“Hola, hermosa! Did you get hungry?” Carlos chuckled squeezing her cheek.

“Out of all the possible foods you can think of, my baby chose pizza.” Charles laughed sitting her down on the chair next to you.

You were completely lost in your thoughts and didn't even pay attention what the three of them were talking about. All you could think about was the picture you saw on Charles's phone and how you were getting closer to confessing your still deeply held feelings for him.

And of course today was just as Carlos said it would be. Not only did Charles beat Carlos’ ass on the track, but he also beat all the other drivers by proudly and deservedly taking P1. He couldn't let the win slip through his fingers in front of the two most important people in his life so he fought extra hard for it today.

When it was time to celebrate, your eyes filled with tears at how proud you were of him. First he celebrated with the team, then his eyes searched for you and Lou.

“You wanna congratulate daddy, baby?” You asked her and she nodded excitedly.

You pushed your way towards Charles with her in your arms and when you reached him he instantly hugged her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good job, daddy!” She said.

“Thank you, baby. This one was for you.” He told her kissing her once again.

“Congratulations, Charles. We’re really proud of you.” You say softly smiling at him tears threatening to run down your cheeks.

“Thank you, y/n. Thank you for being here.” He said looking deep into your eyes.

The cameras went crazy over your family moment, closely capturing every interaction between you. It won't be until the next day when you see one of the taken photos of the two of you that it will become completely clear to you how your eyes are betraying you and showing how deeply and obviously in love you are with each other.

When the day was coming to an end, you didn't stay in the paddock any longer, but immediately got on the plane and flew to Monaco, all three of you together. Lou was completely exhausted and when you landed she was already asleep. Charles didn't offer but instead insisted on driving you to your apartment no matter how tired he was.

Charles, carefully so as not to wake her, carried her in his arms into her room and put her to bed. He kissed her goodnight before closing the door and going into the living room thinking he would say goodnight to you too.

“She’s sleeping like a log.” Charles chuckles quietly as he stands in front of you.

“Poor thing, she was so tired. She passed out as soon as we sat in the plane.”

“But I'm glad you came. Both of you. It really meant a lot to me to have you there.”

“I’m glad too. We had a lot of fun. Maybe we can come again sometime.” You say making him smile.

“Anytime you want” He says feeling that the conversation is slowly coming to an end. He wants to continue it so bad, but he knows that both of you are tired and with a heavy heart he has to leave, even though he would rather lie in bed with you now and hold you close to him all night.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now. It’s getting really late.” He says running his hand nervously through his hair while you bite the inside of your cheek so desperately wanting him to ask you if he can stay. “See you soon, yeah? Good night”

Before he turns around to head for the door, you decide that enough is enough. There have been so many obvious signs by now that it's not over between you and that you're still madly in love with each other that you don't want to waste another second being stubborn, but rather surrender to the moment and finally enjoy it.

“Or you can stay the night here..you know..i-if you want to” You blurt out stuttering the last part.

He turns slowly towards you. His expression is unreadable until he places his hands on your cheeks and asks you “Do you want me to stay?”

Without much hesitation, you nod your head and quietly say “I do.”

Initially, it was as if you were afraid to approach each other, as if you were afraid of each other's reaction even though both of you were hoping that the desire was mutual. Then his lips slowly and cautiously began coming closer and closer to yours.

At first, your lips just brushed, pulling back a little, and then they connected into a long, passionate and deep kiss that you both had been eagerly waiting for.

You felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders as you let out deep breaths in relief you didn't even know you were holding in.

Things were moving quickly and you didn't waste any time getting to your bedroom. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he picked you up and without breaking the kiss, carried you into the room and laid you down on the bed.

Exhaustion was long forgotten when you took each other's clothes off and started kissing every part of each other’s body.

“I missed you, I missed you so much you don’t even know” He said into the kiss, barely catching his breath from the intense excitement he felt.

“I missed you too, Charles” You half whisper as he pushes into you and one tear rolls down the side of your face.

It felt so good. He felt so good inside you, fit so perfectly like he was made for you. He wanted to make love to you, to show you how much he cares about you so he kept going on and on making your legs shake so many times throughout the night, kissing every inch of your body, pulling you closer to him to calm you down, breathing in your scent and getting lost in your eyes.

“I’m gonna cum, baby” His voice trembled as he rested his forehead against yours and pulled his cock out of you cumming all over your stomach, hands free, then pushing himself back in and wincing.

You fell asleep with him holding you close all night. His arms were hugging you so tightly, as if he was afraid that if he let go even just for a second, he would wake up and it would all be just a dream.

The morning sun's rays didn't let you sleep past eight, so you spontaneously woke up together still in the same position you fell asleep in.

“Good morning ma cherie” He said with a kiss to your lips.

“Morning baby” You smiled caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm, very well” He murmurs against your skin. “And you?”

“Me too. I haven't slept this peacefully in a long time.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yeah” You glance at the clock out of the corner of your eye and see that it's almost time for Lou to wake up. “Oh shit, Charles you need to leave, Lou is about to wake up” You say nervously, which completely confuses Charles.

“What? What do you mean I need to leave? Why can’t she know that I’m here?”

“It's not that she can’t know it’s just that I want us to take it slow this time. I'm afraid of screwing this up because it feels so good and so right and I don't know if I could handle us hurting each other again.” You sigh as you explain your reasons to him. “And most of all, I don't want to break Lou's heart.”

He pauses for a moment to think about what you just said and realizes that it makes sense and that you're right. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry we’ll take things slow to make it right this time.” After all, he just wants to fulfill all your wishes and wants to make you happy with whatever you want. “So when do I get to see you again?” He asks and you laugh at his silly question. “What?” He asks confused.

“It's funny that you ask me that. You can see us whenever you want. It's just for a short time until we see how things develop and then of course we'll live together again.”

“I can’t wait for that.”

Soon he got out of the bed and got dressed. He kissed you barely breaking away from you before heading out of the bedroom. The door to Lou's room was open and so he walked slowly on his tiptoes, not wanting to wake her up.

But he realized that was in vain when, passing by her room, he heard “Daddy?!” He stopped in his tracks, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing quietly under his breath.

She’d already seen him and he couldn't leave now or get out of the situation in any way, so he decided to go into her room and say good morning to her.

“Hey, baby. Good morning”

“What are you doing here?! Did you sleep here?!” She didn't know what to ask him first from how happy she was that it was morning and he was there.

When the two of them appeared at your bedroom door, it was clear to both you and Charles that from that moment on, you were all living together again.

“Hi there” Charles said holding her in his arms and looking at you.

You didn't say anything, you just covered your face with your hands and started laughing before you uncovered the quilt and said "come here, both of you"

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164 @seonghwaexile @landossainz @little-miss-naill @taygrls @sturmatt @myescapefromthislife @stylesmoonlight12 @st4rgirl-ellie @eloriis @sillyfreakfanparty @rebelliousneferut @kahhorri @hard4ndsoft @weekendlusting

[rafelandia]

Two Babies (dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready.

Author's Note: Hello! Please enjoy my first Rafe one shot. I would love to expand on this couple so if you have any requests or any blurbs you'd like me to explore, please send me a message! As always, likes and reblogs are much appreciated - it helps more than you know. Happy reading :)

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I do, but this is one of the rare times when I actually mean it. Those blonde curls! Are you freakin' kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers. 

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Melanie, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

Melanie lovingly squeezed the extra chub around the baby girl's thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, so don't overexert yourself if becomes too demanding. Breastfeeding is cheaper though," Melanie chucked, though in her head she was kicking herself. As if this family is in any need to save money. "Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?” she continued.

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Rafe's big head, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Melanie laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, admiring Y/N's wittiness even in the absence of her husband. Given the reputation of the Cameron family, others might think the couple were all work and no play, but Melanie had the privilege of getting to know them behind closed doors. While they took doctor's visits seriously, always paying close attention to what the doctors and nurses had to say regarding the health of their firstborn, her experience with the Cameron's changed her outlook completely. Y/N and Rafe were warm, welcoming, and quite funny sometimes - always making jests at each other or sharing little tid-bits of what their life is like at home. She wished everyone could see them this way. Melanie really wasn't lying when she doted on the little girl, they were the best.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Rafe's really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Melanie re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Melanie's head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Rafe been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Melanie was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, Y/N thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Melanie was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Melanie's face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a blood test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

//

Rafe came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the pasta dish she'd been dying for all week was. Their grocery store had been out of her favorite canned tomatoes for over a week and she’d nearly tackled Rafe to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with them the night before. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the baby pink, quilted playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Y/N's coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?” Rafe called out.

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times. 

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Rafe could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. The houses on Figure Eight were lavish, but not all of the bathtubs were - at least that's what Y/N told Rafe. Who was he to question his bride?

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the metal doorknob tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife. 

Good. She was sleeping. 

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings that forced him to dress nicely. 

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. He wasn't always this way - he used to love this shit, but something inside him changed indefinitely when his daughter was born. Rafe was a softy now and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects of his everyday life like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental because she was growing so much these days, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his heavy watch into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quiet yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Baby? You awake?” Rafe peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door. 

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“You sick or something? Can hear you sniffling."

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Rafe cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw what little he could her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips illuminated by the hallway light being the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Rafe tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for his wife again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk to me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Rafe could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so. 

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.” 

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Rafe asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. He cut his eyes towards the hallway in the direction of her nursery before looking back to Y/N.

“Is she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Rafe worry.

“I was telling Melanie about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Rafe turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list. 

“And?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Rafe whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, Rafe” Y/N quipped.

“That's not what I meant,” Rafe fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many blonde, chubby babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present would be the gift of being a big sister. 

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. Don't do that,” Rafe shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her chest tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of shock and excitement about taking the next step in building a family. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled button-down, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean, honey? Of course you can. I can take more time off work like last time and let the boys handle everything for a bit. I know it's not ideal, but we’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“It's not ideal. You've only just now gotten back to work full time. You said everything almost fell apart while you were gone. It would fuck everything up. Plus, she's only six months old, Rafe. I can't go through that again so soon."

Rafe paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Are you serious? Of course I can take more time off work. You are more important than anything that could possibly be going on at the office.” He was a bit stunned by her words. She almost sounded annoyed, which didn't sit quite right with Rafe.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there to do? Will you please tell me what you're getting at, because I’m starting to get upset.” 

Rafe's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this? 

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And you think I’m not? I'm trying my best to keep it together for your sake if you haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending the way the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one that's pregnant. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to feel like you're burning alive from the inside out for hours and then just have to lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides apart. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Rafe was yelling now. They hadn't argued like this since they were much younger, and he absolutely hated it.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting that it was. I'm not sure what you want me to say though. I’m sorry? Is that it? Sorry for getting you pregnant? Sorry for having a job that helps us get anything we want for ourselves and our family? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fucking planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Rafe,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense! Are you telling me you don’t want to keep it? Because I never fucking said that you have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands. 

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Rafe's hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Rafe peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just had that stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Rafe's hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Rafe's hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Rafe the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

//

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with sandy blonde curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Rafe's. Her eyes? A perfect, entrancing shade of blue akin to Rafe's. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of fleshy pink, just like Rafe's. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother was her nose, which was funny considering that Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Rafe before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. It was off seeing Rafe Cameron this way - being the one with his tail tucked beneath his legs. It was usually the opposite. He had changed out of his work clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of sweats that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistent on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Rafe loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Rafe's continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Rafe started.

“It was uncalled for,” she quipped.

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“It's not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one having the baby. It’s you that’s got to do all the hard stuff and I know how scary it was last time. I should've been more considerate before jumping the gun.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?” his voice was quiet and pleading.

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Rafe could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his. 

“I love you so much. You know that? I’d drop everything for you if I had to. I don't care about any of it anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you. You try to play it cool and I know that things are different now, but I also know that deep down you really like what you do.” The corner of Rafe's lips turned upwards, suppressing a chuckle at the fact that she really does know him that well.

“Well, just know that I would if you wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want to be here for you. For her. Don’t want to miss anything. I finally got my shot at being normal when I met you and I hate myself sometimes when I think about all of the bullshit I've put you through.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Rafe's cheek.

“You’re a good person, Rafe's. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Rafe's chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Melanie to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face. 

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Rafe jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Rafe spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known Y/N was pregnant until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have to have one birthday party because they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go to the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Rafe Cameron? The party connoisseur? Suggesting his two precious babies share a birthday party?”

Rafe pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the fact that he'd already planned his daughter's first birthday in his head. Down to the tablecloth colors and dinnerware.

“Got me there,” Rafe chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Rafe could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Rafe's heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together.

“Found those tomatoes at the store the other day, remember? Want me to make that pasta for you?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately perked up at the thought.

“Starting to wonder if that was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?” she proposed.

Rafe giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought it was a bit weird that you wanted it so badly, but I know better than to question you.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“I've got it, mama” Rafe quickly refuted. “Take a bath or something and I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Rafe used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now. 

Of course, she wanted more children with Rafe. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did. 

With two babies.

[heesimp]

sunghoon who has to hide his rough dom side in sex from a new gf to not to scare her away but he has the worst corruption kink possible and therefore.. constant vile conversation with himself in his head while watching his pretty soft naive girl who has no idea of how much of a mean perv he is

sunghoon who cums at the thought of his girlfriend being a virgin

-

He shouldn’t be doing this because you’ll be out of the shower any minute.

Sunghoon would like to think he knows you well enough to know how long it takes for you to shower when you wash your hair. As he’s experienced only a handful of times before, it takes you a while to shampoo, exfoliate, soap yourself up before washing it away, and complete your post-shower hair and skin routine. You’ve got it down pat but it still takes a while. Sunghoon knows just how much time he has to jerk off before you come out.

“Fuck my cock like that,” he whispers into the quiet air with his legs spread wide on your bedsheets with his pants and boxers shoved just below his balls. He makes a tight first with both hands and twists them. “I could make you feel so good if you let me.”

He really could. But he’s your boyfriend and he loves you, sure, but he knows he’d love you even more the minute you let him stick it in. Sunghoon is constantly so horny and hard that keeping this a secret from you is starting to tear him down. He eyes you like his prey when you’re in public and loves observing the way you interact with his friends.

You’re so innocent, drawing everybody in and making friends out of strangers. He almost feels bad for thinking about you with your back arched as he fucks you from behind.

“Such a small pussy.” Sunghoon grunts and thrusts his hips into the air to meet his hands. “Gonna let me fuck you soon, Y/N? Hm? I know you want it.”

And to a certain extend, he thinks you might feel the same way. But knowing you, Sunghoon thinks your nerves are getting in the way. You were hesitant to agree to let him take you out on a date because he had been previously known to mess around and keep friendly relations to a minimal with people he would sleep with. Sunghoon was ready to throw that all away the minute he met you by way of Jongseong and upon seeing you in the baby blue number he loves so much, Sunghoon deleted every girl in his phone that wasn’t family and girls he wouldn’t sleep with.

But even so, Sunghoon is so horny all the time. He’s not used to this abstinence and you shy away from sex scenes on TV or the mere mention of anything indecent. It turns him on more than he’d like to admit and if he’s an asshole for getting off on the idea of taking your virginity, he’ll deal with the consequences.

“I bet your pussy’s tighter than anyone I’ve ever had.” He moans when he cups his balls with his free hand. “I’m so close, baby. Please let me fuck you. Let me take your virginity. Fuck.”

He stands up and looks around for a tissue, stacking three on top of one another to avoid soaking your blankets. Sunghoon turns his wrist and angles the head of his dick towards the tissues before grunting and watching his cum cling onto the white Kleenex below until he’s all emptied out. Sunghoon gets rid of it and tucks it underneath your trash and calms himself down while laying on top of your bed.

You walk out looking like the innocent angel he knows you to be with a halo around your head. Your bare legs and wet skin make Sunghoon gulp.

[intromortal]

JEALOUS HEESEUNG BORDERLINE HATE FUCKS YOU !

PAIRING situationship!heeseung x f!reader

WARNINGS smut. mdni. p in v, manhandling, name calling, hair pulling, mean hee won't kiss you

Heeseung, all things considered, is a pretty chill and laid back guy. Not prone to big displays of jealousy, especially if anywhere public. Most of the time he's quietly laying back on a couch at a party across the room, watching you with a glint in his eyes as time and time again you reject yet another guy trying to sneak his way into your pants. There’s something about the way you so obediently glance his way every time someone tries to flirt you, how your expression slightly shifts when he slouches further into the soft brown cushions, legs spread almost as if to invite you over on his lap.

It’s been months since you started fucking, and as embarrassing as it feels to admit, you two haven't really put a label on what your... status actually is. You’re definitely more than friends–though you don't know if you would even consider Heeseung your friend in the first place–but you also don't believe you're anywhere close to being a thing yet. That litter sliver of something keeps you fucking hooked on Heeseung though, as bad for you as it is.

And he enjoys every second of it. How you're so loyal to him even when he doesn't give you any reason to be.

He’s confident you'll follow him around everywhere like a little lost puppy as long as he keeps feeding you whatever crumb you need; a gentle brush of his hand whenever he greets you, a soft compliment whispered in your ear before leaving you to find something to drink, a sweet forehead kiss when at the end of the night you've both found your way between the bedsheets. I’ve got it under control, he thinks.

Yet he can't find any explanation–one that he’d make peace with, that is–for the scorching rage that overcomes him whenever he sees you and your bestie walking hand in hand around campus. The slightest twitch to his eye when he notices how bright you seem to be around Jay, how hard you laugh at his jokes and how touchy you seem to be, shoving his shoulder away when he makes a stupid comment, yet letting your hand linger on the cotton of his shirt. There’s a different light coming from within you when he's around, and Heeseung fucking hates it with his entire being.

So really, he can't help it when he completely loses the cool he so desperately tries to maintain around you the one he catches jay staring way too long at your ass for it to be a mistake. There’s nothing Heeseung would have loved more than to beat him to a pulp, for looking at his girl like that.

Except you're not his girl–he hadn't even realized he really wanted you to be until then–so he can't do that. What he can do instead is take it out on your poor unsuspecting pussy though.

"You are such a nasty slut," he whispers against your lips as he pistons into your weeping cunt, ignoring every attempt you make to kiss him, biting down on your bottom lip when you don't catch the hint. "Walking around in that tight black skirt, for what?" It feels like he's spitting venom at you, a primal edge to his tone unlike anything you've ever heard from him. Despite everything, you'd be lying if you said it didn't make your pussy clamp even harder around him, trying to milk his girth for all it’s worth.

You take too long to reply for his liking, his hand digging almost hurtfully in your face to force you to look at him. "For. What?"

"I– fuck, i don't know."

He looks at you incredulously, like you must've gone dumb on his cock already, while his movements come to halt, despite your little cries and begs for him not to.

"Yes you fucking do," he spits, grabbing your thighs and flipping you over onto your knees. A little scream ripped out of you at the sudden motion as he manhandles you in whatever way he wants, paying no mind to any possible aching body part of yours or any discomfort you may feel. "Wore it to flaunt this ass around, didn't you? I know you did."

He lands a harsh smack on the skin of your bottom, kissing his teeth in annoyance when your entire body jerks forward, front collapsing on the bed. He eases his cock back into you in one thrust, setting a pace that is somehow faster than earlier. "Wanted Jay to bend you over like this, huh?"

"N-no! I– ngh." Your rebuttal is cut short by his hips slamming into yours in a harsher thrust than the previous, his thick hand pushing your head against the sheets, uncaring of all the drool that's dripping from your mouth, your eyes rolling into your skull. He plants one of his feet into the soft mattress, the new angle helping him reach so much deeper inside you as the hold on your hips becomes nearly unbearable, sure to leave a flashy bruise.

Good, he thinks. Let everyone know I own you.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." He grabs some of your hair, using it as leverage to fuck into you even harder, the mix of pain and pleasure so unbelievably delicious you don’t even know what to do with yourself if not just lay there and take it all. "That’s all a slut like you is good for anyway, shut her mouth and let me use her pretty pussy as I please."

[mikamii25]

Hiiii, I’ve been thinking about headcanons for Mr. Scarletella and Mr. Silver (separated) if they somehow followed us back to the human world. Like, there’s no way these two could handle basic things without needing to hide their forms, right? I can totally see them ending up as malewives. Imagine the absolute chaos of them trying to adjust while also being ridiculously over the top about it. I’d love to get some headcanons of them in that scenario! ♡

HELP YOUR TOTALLY RIGHT. How would they even get around 😭

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Ok, so Mr Scarletella would DEF be a malewife. I mean, he’s literally so down bad for you. I have a feeling he’d never really leave your apartment. Unless it’s to stalk you when you leave.

he’d definitely would ask for you to teach him some stuff. He wants to know how to properly communicate to express his love to you. So you’d probably spend most of your day teaching him how to speak English (or whatever language you speak)

he would most likely bang his head on some door frames while trying to get around in your apartment, since he’s so tall.

it would be SUCH a struggle to find some clothes for him. You don’t want him to be in the same outfit every day, but his legs are to damn long, you can barely find any clothes that fits him (T^T)

he loves to pick you up into his arms (I don’t make the rules here) since your definitely very short compared to him. You’re literally as light as a feather to him.

it would probably be hard to fit him in your bed, but you’d eventually find a way. Probably spoon you from the back. Bro is a big spoon 1000% (since he’s so damn big)

would never shut up about him much he loves you and is grateful that you took him with you 🙏

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I don’t really know much about Mr sliver so this one is definitely short.. 😭

omg, let me tell you, Mr sliver would 100% be a People watcher. He try and learn lots about humans to try and understand them better. especially you.

He’s very interested in learning more about you. He could observe your behaviors all day. He really just loves to watch you! Especially while you’re sleeping. He likes the sweet look on your face as you are deep in sleep. So blissfully unaware of his staring.

you’d definitely have to stop him from leaving your apartment like no one wants to see a 7 foot tall man staring at them in public so you keep him in your apartment so he doesn’t scare anyone lol. It’s ok tho! He could never scare you!

he also very much likes to cuddle with you, SPECIALLY spooning you from behind! He really likes to just place his chin on the top of your head <3

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GAHHH HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!! Btw tags for other people that pretty much requested the same thing: @budijojo @chomichomas @mrwhitequeen

[wonderjanga]

So Ive had this prompt stuck in my head, dunno if you've done it before, but:

Billy unexpectedly powers down due to a villain's weapon. But instead of being, well, scruffy little billy, he ends up looking like a greek child with the toga (?) and all. What would the JL reaction be?

This whole incident started half a year ago with the divine beings in his head arguing about something. Arguing was a surprisingly common occurrence despite the fact that most of these guys were over thousands of years old. He tended to normally tune them out whenever this was happening.

Achilles: “BILLY!”

Marvel: *startles* “Yes, Achilles?”

Achilles: “Chiton or toga?”

Marvel: “Huh?

Mercury: “Chiton or toga? We’re making you a gift. Aren’t we like so kind?”

Marvel: “A gift…?” *sounds weary* “I don’t like the sound of that. What are you planning?”

Zeus: “Nothing!”

Marvel: “Solomon?”

Solomon: “It really is nothing. This will actually aid you in case of any accidents while in field.”

Marvel: “Okay then…”

Hercules: “NOW PICK!”

Marvel: “Alright, alright, dang. Uh… What’s a chiton?”

Zeus: “What’s a- What’s a chiton? I’ve never felt such a shame for one of my children before.”

Marvel: “I’m not your kid, but okay.”

Solomon: “Billy, a chiton is a tunic that was worn traditionally by the Greeks.”

Marvel: “Oooh. Uh… okay then I pick that one.”

Zeus: “Ha ha, suck it Atlas!”

Atlas: “I also wanted him to pick the Chiton…?”

Zeus: “I know. I just don’t like you. I thought that was obvious by now.”

Billy didn’t know that Robin was like five feet away and watching this entire interaction go down. To Damian, this grown ass man was just having a full conversation with himself, oblivious to the world. He reported this behavior to his father later.

Batman: “That’s normal.”

Robin!Damian: “Pardon?”

Batman: “That’s normal for Marvel. Think nothing of it.”

Anyways, fast forward six months. Billy forgot about the gift thing the Gods were talking about. Mostly because they hadn’t even given him the gift. Then the time came when Billy was forced to be detransformed. All because of a stupid villain’s machine going haywire. Sivana could do better. So now, Billy was standing in front of the JL who had surrounded him in a half circle.

(Ancient Greek is in italics)

Billy: “Uh… Hello?” *doesn’t even realize he’s decked out in the Ancient Greek drip, complete with the chiton from earlier*

JL: *staring in befuddlement*

Supes: “He’s been de-aged?”

WW: *steps forward* “Brother?”

Mercury: “Okay, Billy, stare at her for like three seconds and then be like you’re Zeus‘s kin?”

Billy: *doesn’t even know why he’s doing this but does the three second stare* “You’re Zeus’ kin?”

Mercury: “You’re my favorite champion now.”

WW: “I am. I am Diana Prince. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What is your name?”

Solomon: “Thavma is a nice choice.”

Zeus: “So is Keraunos. Which is arguably better because it means lightning.”

Billy: “Thavma, or Keraunos. Either is fine.”

Flash: *whispering to Batman* “Spooky, what’re they saying?”

Batman: “I don’t know. I’m versed in Greek, not Ancient Greek. I can just barely make out an eighth of the words they’re saying.”

Soon after all of this, he was taken to the Watchtower. The JL dropped him off in a rec room and assigned Robin to watch him so the team could go to a meeting room to discuss the whole ordeal.

Robin!Damian: *looking him up and down*

Billy: *can feel the judgment through Robin’s mask* “What is it?”

Robin!Damian: “What?”

Billy: “I said what is it?”

Robin!Damian: “Tt. A language barrier.”

Billy: *frog blinks* “Language barrier…?”

Solomon: “I’ll just turn off the Ancient Greek for you.”

Billy: *clears his throat* “Can you understand me now?” *slight Greek accent still there*

Robin!Damian: “More clearly. Yes.”

Billy: “Cool, now what is it?”

Robin!Damian: “Pardon?”

Billy: “What is it? I can tell you’re staring at me judgmentally through that thing on your face.”

Robin!Damian: *visibly bristles* “I am not.”

Billy: “Yes, you are.”

Robin!Damian: “I am not.”

Billy: “You are.”

Robin!Damian: “Am not.”

Billy: “Yuh huh.”

Robin!Damian: “Nuh uh-” *realizes he let that leave his mouth* “Why are you acting like a child?

Billy: “I am a child.”

Robin!Damian: *stares at him for a couple moments* “The reason I am staring at you judgmentally, is that I had previously assumed you had been born an adult.”

Billy: “Who told you that?”

Robin!Damian: “Nightwing.”

Billy: *remembers he’s not supposed to know who that is* “Who?”

Robin!Damian: “He’s someone you’ll meet when you’re an adult.”

Billy: “Okay…?”

*silence*

Somehow, the two ended up crawling in the vents together. You couldn’t even ask Billy how it happened.

Robin!Damian: “Crawl faster.”

Billy: “I’m trying.”

They spent a while up there, crawling around, eavesdropping, stopping every now and then in the kitchen for snacks.

Robin!Damian: “This is chocolate.” *hands him a chocolate bar*

Billy: *eyes literally shining as he looks at the bar because he rarely gets to have chocolate*

Robin!Damian: “You open it like so.” *opens his own bar* “Now come. We must continue on the move. Back to the vents.”

This went on until the JL started to look for them.

Flash: *searching the rec room frantically because they should’ve been here*

Robin!Damian and Billy: *descend from the vents*

Robin!Damian: “What do you need speedster?”

Flash: *screams*

[ostaramoon]

we’ve been loving in silence 𖤐 dean winchester 

【 pairing 】 dean x fem!reader

【 summary 】 you’re a bartender in sioux falls, dean tends to stop in whenever he’s in town. you’ve played this game of touch + go for going on a decade now. when he stops in tonight, looking particularly worn out and tired, it’s you he’s searching for a restitute in. 

【 genre / warnings 】 smut, explicit language, unprotected piv, needy dean, teasing/begging, aftercare, some plot, mdni, 18+

【 wordcount 】 2.9k

inspired by this song ⤜ we’ve been loving in silence by MARO ⤛ 

you knew the moment those heavy boots waltzed into your bar that you’d be here, stumbling into your dark apartment tipsy and high on his charming energy. you cross the threshold with dean’s calloused palms stuck to your hips. he nips at the side of your neck, making you giggle as you lose your balance. 

“i don’t think you’ve stopped touching me since we got out of the car.” you quip, peaking over your shoulder at those brilliantly green eyes. 

“mhm,” he hums, gently peppering kisses on the soft skin behind your ear, “can you really blame me, sweet girl?” his voice is damn near smokey at this hour in the night. rolling into your body like electricity as you notice even the faintest grunts of impatient desire emanating from him. 

dean effortlessly kicks the door closed behind him, using it to lean on as he pulls you in closer. turning within his grasp, you snake your arms around his strong neck and look up into his hungry gaze. his eyes dance across your face, memorizing each feature with complete admiration. 

“i’ve missed you, sweetheart.” he breathes, barely audible even in your closeness. he always calls you pet names, but you’ve noticed they leave his lips more frequently after a night of honey whiskey. 

“me too,” you smile, unable to deny the relief that left your soul when he came in tonight, “i was worried something happened to you, something permanent this time.” you confess, biting your lips and feeling anxious to express your concerns to mr no strings attached. but you’ve known each other for so long, known what his life is outside of your nights of drink and pillowtalk. when you spend months in radio silence, the fears begin to scream from the corners of your mind. 

“i know, baby, it’s been too long.” he sighs, bringing his hand to your jaw and running one of those large thumbs across your lips. “but i’m here now.” there is a quiet pleading in his words, one that you take to mean leave it, leave those thoughts at the door. and as always, you do.

pushing onto your tip toes, your eyes flutter closed as you collide your lips with his. he groans at the sudden connection, taking no more than a few milliseconds to deepen the kiss. lips messily moving against each other in a needy want. he pulls off your jacket without breaking contact, quickly moving his hands down your body and swiftly lifting you up, your legs wrap around his waist instinctively. 

dean turns your bodies so that it’s your back against the door now. “i need you,” he whispers on your lips, “i need this.” 

his pleas send a heat straight to your core, ricocheting through your body and leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. a mindless whimper escapes you. god, you’ve been starving for the touch of this man. 

your small verbal cue was enough for dean to take exactly what he’s craving. he carries you from the door and into your small apartment. despite not having been here in months he navigates through the dark rooms with ease, distracting you with nips and kisses across your collarbones. you don’t even realize you’ve made it to the bedroom until he lowers you onto the end of the bed. 

you watch with a love drunk gaze as he towers over you, and you can’t help reaching out and tracing the muscular outlines of his lower abdomen while he busies himself with removing his shirts. “you’re a true marvel to see, dean.” you confess, peaking through your lashes to watch how quickly he tries to hide his embarrassment from such a compliment. though you only meet with him in moments, you learned fairly early on how deeply wrong this gorgeous man is about himself. since then you committed to a secret promise to yourself that you’d do your best to acknowledge his beauty whenever he’s near. 

his charming toothy smile is back, “there you go again, being too sweet to me.” he teased. he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, lips puffy and red from grazing his stubble in the sloppy kisses. your shirt tousled from his constant pawing. he leans down to become eye level, those thick lashes framing such vibrant green irises. “lie back for me, baby.” he murmurs, watching carefully as you follow his gentle command.

it isn’t often you get such a soft side of dean, hell, for years it was highly erotic work the two of you did on these nights. but you can sense something has change in him. maybe it came with age, or the constant reconciliations with life and death he faces on the road. he never shares too much, so you’ve learned to notice the smallest expressions in him to decode what might be going on inside that caged mind of his. 

as of right now, all dean could think about was devouring the sweetness he’s missed over the past few months. 

he gets to work undoing your belt, next the buttons of your jeans until he’s tugging both your bottoms and panties from your body. a satisfied sigh leaves his mouth as he looks over your half naked body. his eyes flick up to your shirt, clearly needing that off, too. so he hooks his thumbs and pulls it over your head, discarding it with the rest of the clothes. hovering over your frame, he trails kisses from your jaw, down your neck and across the plump part of your breasts that stick out of your bra. 

“i need to see all of you.” he rasps against your skin, sliding his hands between your back and the bed to swiftly unlatch your last piece of clothing. 

his hands lead the way down your sides, straight to the sensitive skin between your thighs as he pushes them apart. kneeling at the foot of your bed as if to pray, he works his mouth teasing the areas around your arousal, making the budding heat morph into need. 

you arch your back as his rough hands slowly slide up and down the sides of your legs, sending shock waves into your core, “please, dean, touch me.” you quietly plead. 

“easy, sweetheart.” he responds and you can feel his grin against your thigh as his lips inch closer to where you really want them. he loves this game, warming you up and getting you to quite literally begin to melt before he lets himself devour. 

his uses one arm to anchor himself, large palms squeezing the thick of your thigh while his other hand travels down past your navel, pressing his thumb against your clit as he works gentle circles. too gentle, you think. you want more, need it. 

“dean,” you breathe out, impatiently wiggling under his touch, “please.” 

with a groan his mouth replaces his thumb. sucking and lapping at your sensitive skin as you feel a wave of relief and bliss wash over you. you lose all sense of humanity as you become a mess of whimpers and moans. your sounds fuel his hunger, working you more aggressively with his mouth as his middle and ring finger tease your entrance. lazily sliding in and out, barely pushing in. 

“more, now.” you breathlessly demand. dean lets out a short laugh, pulling away from your heat. the sudden cold making you damn near writh beneath him. 

“beg.” he teases, and you look down to see those green eyes glowing with amusement. 

“please.” you manage, his eyes don’t leave your gaze as he lets his fingers tantalizing massage your clit.

“hm?” he hums, raising an eyebrow, completely indulging in the way your hips buck for more fiction.

 “please, dean.” you groan, throwing your head back against the mattress in defeat. your mind is swirling with a deep need for more of him inside you, on you, touching you in the ways only he can do. 

with a satisfied growl his lips are back to working pure bliss against your clit as his thick middle and ring fingers curl into the warmth inside you. you’re not even sure how his fingers are capable of thrusting against that sweet, aching knot inside the way they do. 

all you can do is squirm and whimper as he loses himself in pleasing you.

“fuck, dean,” you gasp as everything inside tenses and tightens, his lips pull and suck while his fingers plunge deep quickly. like a skeleton key finding it’s lock, dean presses into your dam and the floods break with ease. 

the release rolls through your body, soaking his face and fingers in your climax. you’re left shivering as he pulls away to stand over you. sucking on the fingers he just worked inside you, his face glimmers with pride of just how good he is at undoing you. 

“god, i missed that.” you sigh, catching your breath as dean undoes his belt and kicks his jeans off. his eyes take in every inch of your body as he pulls out his thick cock, working it in his hands. just watching him makes your core begin to ache all over again. 

“on your stomach, princess.” he commands, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your ass up with your thighs pressed together, just the way he likes it, and he appreciates you remembering. 

you felt the mattress dip under his weight as he centers himself behind you, shoving his bulging tip between your skin until it reached your sore clit, the heightened sensitivity making you moan and pathetically hump his cock, desperate for another release. his hands squeezed each side of your ass, applying more pressure to where your bodies meet. 

you rock against him, circling and bucking, trying to reach that itch, but it wasn’t enough. he knew that, but watching you use him like a toy was mesmerizing. 

“mm, please, dean.” you found yourself begging again, “i need you inside me, i need you to fuck me.” 

“fuck.” he groans. pulling away just quick enough to plunge inside, sending his entire thick length in, triggering a gasp from your lips. 

the sudden stretch sent a chill throughout your body, making you melt further into the bed as he fell into a mind numbing rhythm. wet skin slapping against each other cut through your shared symphony of moans. 

“baby, you’re so god damn tight.” he professes, squeezing your hips as he bucks harder into your cunt. his sickeningly deep voice paying such vulgar compliments made you twitch and hum. 

dean’s hand slips it’s way past your navel and straight to your clit, working messily fast circles as he coaxes another release from you. your thighs squeeze together as another knot formed in the pit of your stomach. 

“don’t stop, dean, please.” you begged, grabbing his wrist as if it could keep you grounded while he fucks you into senseless oblivion. his other hand presses into the small of your back, deepening your arch and allowing his tip to reach your sweet spot. 

he thrusts against that spot again and again until you’re making a mess all over him, whimpering and chanting his name like it was an invocation of the divine. 

your shameless release under his doing and hearing his name leave your mouth made dean’s head spin, feeling your walls tense around him turns his rhythm into a sputtering mess.

“fuck, baby.” he groans, his mind falling into a euphoric emptiness as he came inside you, bucking with the aftershock into a seeping wet mess. 

completely fucked out and weak, you collapsed onto the bed. your eyes watery and heavy as you blink yourself back to earth. dean’s warm hands rub up and down your back as he trails kisses across your shoulder blades. 

he didn’t want to walk away from you, have to look away from the beautiful mess he made of you. but, he knew better than to flop over and fall asleep like he did the first time you two shared a night together. then again, he was much younger and more selfish, and he had yet to grow so attached to you. something he would never admit to your face. but a part of him, buried away with the rest of his hope, wondered if you could sense how much care he had built up in the years he’s spent getting to know you in these visits. 

as dean left the room, you used every ounce of strength left in you to crawl up to the pillows, relaxing as you wait, knowing exactly what he was getting up to in the bathroom attached to your room. 

after a few moments, dean returns to your side. “waters warm,” he cooed with a smile, “just the way you like it.” 

you giggle, sitting up “you sure do know how to treat a woman right, winchester.” 

“only the ones i really like.” he responds, that gloating grin making you roll your eyes as you follow him into the shower. 

 ⤜

 the warm water felt incredible on your skin, enveloping your tired body as dean stood over you, his fingers massaging your scalp as he works vanilla scented conditioner into your hair.

“is this shit why you always smell so good?” he wonders aloud, and you could just see his face in that cute puzzled expression of his, despite facing the opposite direction. 

“yes,” you laugh, “my body wash is cookie butter scented, too.” 

“ah,” he sighs, “makes sense. wait, is that on purpose?” 

“what do you mean?” you ask, turning to face him and let the water rinse the sweet soap from your locks. 

“well, i mean, i always wanna take a bite when i’m around you.” he grins.

“are you saying you want to eat me, dean?” you tease, collecting more conditioner from the bottle and reaching up to rake it through dean’s hair. 

“well,” he began, an eyebrow lifting as that familiar smug expression graces his features, “i already have.”

you pinch his arm in retaliation, shaking your head at his smart mouth. 

“ow,” he feigns, rubbing the spot your fingers were. “hey, can’t say you hated it, right?” 

“rinse your hair, asshat.” you chime, switching places. you take notice in the way his arms flex as he works the conditioner out of his hair. his muscles have certainly grown over the last few months, and you try not to wonder what kind of bad he’s fighting to make him get stronger. 

“oh, aren’t you shameless, sweetheart.” he chuckles, winking before he continues, “checking me out while i wash the girlpoo from my hair.” 

“the girlpoo?” you echo, brows knitting in amused confusion.

“yeah,” he states plainly, “girl-sham-poo.” he emphasizes each part of the words as if that makes any sense of what he’s said.

“dean, it's a conditioner. and,” you smile, “can’t say you hate it, right?” 

“shut up.” he retorts, sending a playful glare. you smile at his usual go-to when he can’t find a way to give slack back. he reaches over and turns off the shower, grabbing the two towels he prepared earlier and handing one over. you internally cringe at the way he barely wipes any water off of his body, stepping out into the bathroom and leaving puddles in his wake. some things never change.

entering your room, you ruffle through the dresser draw packed with sleep clothes until you find your favorite big shirt to slip on. turning, you find a naked dean already beneath the covers, watching you. seeing him in your bed again reminds you of a time before. 

“do you always sleep naked?” you ask, snuggled into the comforter, lying just inches from that gorgeously crafted face.

“no,” dean sighs, “i actually am usually dressed, or close to it when i sleep.”

“why?” you ask.

dean pauses for a moment, those sweet green eyes clouding under whatever memories tumble beneath the surface, “i guess i can’t sleep any other way, always have to be ready.”

you consider his words, you still don’t fully understand the world he lives in but you’ve been trying to, “but not here?”

this earns a smile from the tired man, “no, not here.”

“hey, is that my shirt?” dean’s question disrupts your thoughts, bringing you back into the quiet of your dark bedroom. you look down, scanning the worn out t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in for years now.

“i think so, actually,” you respond, “from… what, ‘08? that time you spent almost a whole week with me for a reason you still have yet to tell me.” 

dean pauses, knowing damn well why he didn’t tell you. and he wasn’t going to now, either, because the last time he told you about his dance with life and death you went on a rant about how even dean winchester himself isn’t invincible, be careful, stay alive, and whatever else you blubbered out like a scolding parent. he wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

“yeah, don’t remember.” he grinned, lifting his arm to invite you in, “care to join me?” he asks. 

rolling your eyes at his avoidance, you slip into the blankets. his arm finds your waist, pulling you close to his body. 

he brings a hand to your face, stealing a soft kiss before wrapping his arm again, tucking you into his chest. you somehow did forget the way dean cuddles is awfully aggressive, clutching you like a toy. but, as all the times before, you don’t mind it. there's a security in his arms you have yet to find elsewhere. you can hear the morning birds beginning to sing outside your bedroom window. by past patterns you estimate about four hours of sweet comfort before you’re left alone in this bed again. the wondrous dean winchester has a life to get back to, and you do, too. but you can’t ignore the tugging in your chest each time he leaves without a goodbye. 

 ──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ooof this one was fun to write !!! probably one of my fave things to daydream about is being the one dean returns to throughout the years for some solace in his life (luv being delulu, thinking i could heal this man) but maybe i'll do more oneshots with this scenario tho, hmmm much to think about

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

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

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

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

Word count : 3.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And every Tuesday, so did you.

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

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

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

It must be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Today he was going to ask you out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

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

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

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

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

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

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

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

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

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

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

—

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

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

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

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

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

Sam grinned. 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?” 

—

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

What he hadn’t expected was this.

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

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

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

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

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

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

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

For a moment, he was quiet.

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

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

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

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

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

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Bikes?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

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

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

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

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

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

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

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

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

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

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

First place.

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

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

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

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

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

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

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

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

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

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

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

“Who’s ‘her’?”

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

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

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

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

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

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

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

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

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

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

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

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

And somehow, you were still into him. 

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

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

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

-end.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

I get I’m your scapegoat here, but first, I’d like to state, it was a joke. An obvious one too by your claim that five million people are making the same joke in your comments, which I’m assuming you’re exaggerating about since you don’t even have five million notes.

Is the make out joke overused? Yea, probably. But the fandom has been making those jokes for half a century now and if you didn’t want it brought up, you shouldn’t have mentioned “tongue or whatever” at all. I for one, wouldn’t have reblogged with the joke if you hadn’t made the reference first.

It was late at night. I had just found out about the video from that destiel meme and watched it. Given an entire presentation to my roommate about the history of spirk in fandom. I saw your post. Laughed at the joke. Agreed with the rest of it. And hit reblog without thinking to check if my comment had been said yet. That was the extent of my consideration of it. I promptly forgot about your post and moved on until I saw your reblog a bit ago.

You say you aren’t being pendantic, but you are. The definition is literally to be concerned with formal rules, and to be finicky about it all. Which you are. I am too now, but at least I’m admitting it.

Sure, it’s an extrapolation fans made that was debunked by Leonard Nimoy in his book I Am Spock where he reveals that touching fingers (the gesture that was extrapolated from) was meant to be the equivalent of holding hands, and not kissing. But it’s also been in the fandom at large for decades now, to the point that the producers of the franchise are aware of it. First of all, Nimoy wouldn’t have debunked it if he didn’t know it was a thing fans thought. And secondly, according to memory alpha (which isn’t the best source, but it’s the one I have right now), in the first draft of the episode Fusion in Enterprise, it was clearly scripted as a sexual reference by stating that the touch was “sensual”. While the scene was reworked and the part of the finger touching seems to have been removed, the writers clearly knew it was a belief of the fandom or they wouldn’t have thought to use it as a precursor to what seems to be a shared sex dream between two Vulcan characters.

Extrapolations may have happened, but that doesn’t mean you should insult the intelligence of anyone that supports it as a headcanon.

Jokes aside, my thought process was not, “more skin contact = more erotic”. It was, “Two people are melding their minds together with a touch and the larger the surface area, the more psionic information is probably passed between the two, and for a bonded pair, that probably feels euphoric.” It also followed the logic that something referenced in every single Star Trek fanfiction I’ve ever read, probably had a base of truth in the franchise somewhere.

And again, you’re right that the scene in unification was a tender and loving moment and we should be able to appreciate that for what it is. But as stated previously. You brought up the “tongue and whatever” yourself in a post about Spock and Kirk holding hands in a fandom that has been known for making jokes about holding hands for fifty some years now.

My apologies for making the mistake of reblogging your post. It won’t happen again. This might be your post, but don’t assume that a scapegoat is going to lie there and take it because you’re annoyed.

like maybe unification didn't make spirk canon in that we didn't see them make out with tongue or whatever but what it did make canon and what makes it so incredibly important to me is that kirk and spock's ending is no longer so goddamn tragic.

before, jim died in his sixties and spock spent the next 100+ years missing him before dying alone. now, even with all the tragedy and heartbreak and the lifetime spent apart, they were together in the end. they were together and happy and everything was beautiful!!

[jaysng]

when you have to go on bed rest — park sunghoon

frustrated and emotional reader, stuck on bed rest during pregnancy, opens up to caring husband, sunghoon. overwhelmed, she asks him to hold her, seeking solace in his embrace as he gently reassures her, reminding her of her strength. [wc. 1.4k]

PAIRING. husband!sunghoon x preg!wife!reader

GENRE. reader is feeling hurt, so angsty fluff

NOTE. this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now and i’ve been contemplating whether to post it or not.. but here i am guess

you hated being on bed rest.

every minute of it felt like a punishment. you were used to being on your feet, handling things your way, but now you were confined to your room, relying on everyone else to do what you couldn’t. and while your logical mind understood that it was for the baby, the emotional weight of it all was suffocating.

you sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had personally wronged you. the ache in your back had returned, your legs felt stiff, and your mood was steadily getting worse.

the sound of the door opening broke you out of your sulk. sunghoon stepped inside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small plate of sliced fruit in the other.

“you didn’t eat much earlier,” he said, setting the plate on the bedside table.

“i wasn’t hungry,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

he frowned slightly but didn’t push. “you still need to eat something.”

you sighed, glancing at the plate but not making a move to pick it up. the simple act of eating felt exhausting, and your frustration only grew.

sunghoon lingered for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. he didn’t say anything, his gaze quietly observing you.

“what?” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

he shook his head, unfazed. “you just seem upset.”

“of course i’m upset, hoon!” you burst out, throwing your hands up. “i’m stuck in this stupid bed all day. i can’t even get up to get my own water. my body hurts. my head hurts. and—” your voice wavered, “—and i feel so useless.”

his expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. he just let you spill it all out.

“i can’t even…” you trailed off, your hands trembling as you clenched them into fists. “i don’t know. i feel horrible. and i don’t want to talk about it, but i can’t keep it in either. i just—”

you broke off, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

sunghoon hesitated for a split second before shifting closer, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched.

“can you just… hold me?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “please?”

his eyes softened further, and without a word, he slipped his arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you against his chest.

the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it was grounding. you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as the dam finally broke.

“i feel like such a mess,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

“you’re not a mess,” he said quietly, his voice calm and certain. “you’re just overwhelmed. it’s okay.”

his hand moved slowly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. he didn’t try to fix anything or offer solutions—he just let you cry, let you feel.

“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“you don’t have to take it alone,” he said simply. “i’m here.”

it was such a sunghoon thing to say—straightforward, without unnecessary embellishments. but somehow, that made it more comforting.

“i hate being like this,” you whispered. “so… weak.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowed. “you’re not weak,” he said, his tone firmer now. “you’re growing a whole human inside you. that’s… incredible.”

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “doesn’t feel incredible.”

“doesn’t mean it’s not,” he countered, his fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “and even if you feel like you’re falling apart, it’s okay. i’ll hold you together, for as long as you need.”

you looked at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes.

“thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

he didn’t respond with words, just wrapped his arms around you again, holding you close like you were the most important thing in the world.

and for the first time that day, the frustration in your chest eased, just a little. enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this.

© jaysng 2024 | do not repost or plagiarize.

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[unsentimentaltranslator]

Since so few men treat women like human beings, dating men is like playing the lottery. I do not hate people who play the lottery, but from a leftist perspective I hate the lottery itself because it is used to get the poor to focus on the narrow hope of becoming rich instead of any kind of class solidarity that would make things better for all of us (and mean that the rich don’t get to hoard so much wealth), all while the assholes who run the lottery get a cut of the money these poor people spend on tickets.

Likewise, I do not hate women who date men but the socialisation around dating men is designed to get us to compete with other women for the few decent men (remember, men tell abused women that they should have “picked better”) instead of engaging in any collective action to improve the lives of all women (which would mean that men don’t get to have their own proletarian to lord over in their homes). Anyone who is unwilling to hear criticism of that socialisation is contributing to furthering it.

Also STOP referring to celibacy as “political lesbianism”; that is a tactic used by MRAs and libfems to manipulate those of us who are 4B into thinking that what we’re doing is lesbophobic when in fact most of the lesbian radfems I’ve seen have been wholly in favour of straight woman celibacy.

I've said my piece about how a lot of people on radblr hate pregnant women. But I also don't particularly like the way a lot of them talk about straight women. I'll come out right now and say that I'm a token straighty. And yeah I don't particularly love seeing people say that we're all cock-worshiping breeders. Would you rather we become political lesbians? Sexuality isn't a choice, right? Now, I'm not gonna pretend for a second that we're the ones who are ACTUALLY oppressed, of course that's not true. But I don't particularly trust that people who say these kinds of things actually care about women.

And this idea that we're traitors because we date men and have sex with them is asinine. Once again, sexuality isn't a choice. It's kinda crazy for lesbians to act like they're all superior because they don't sleep with men. Like, yeah, of course it's easy for you. You're not attracted to them! Are we supposed to just abstain from any all sexual activity?

As with the misogyny towards pregnant women, people put the blame on women while ignoring that men are the problem. Having kids sucks cause men suck. Being in a heterosexual relationship sucks cause men suck. How can you call yourself a radfem when you attack women for men's shortcomings? You need to care about women more than you hate men.

[iomoru]

oohh a fic with genshin men (kinich, kazuha, wriothesley, scara) where they accidentally hurt you (minor only - like scratches, not physical abuse or anyt) while in a heated argument and then a part on how they would apologize? tyty just a quick drabble I had in my head while scrolling Tumblr ^.^

Sincere Regrets

➢ 𝐀/𝐧: I deeply apologize for the late reply Neptune anon, I lost the motivation to write lately so I didn't manage to write this quickly. Although I do hope this satisfies your needs!<3 (＾ω＾)

➢ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Canon Verse, Light Angst, Angst w/ comfort, Gn! Reader, Second Person, Not Proofread

➢ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬: Kinich, Kazuha, Wriothesley, Scaramouche

➢ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In the heat of an argument, you're accidentally hurt by his actions. Regret follows quickly, and he apologizes, showing how much he truly cares for you.

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

Kinich

The argument was over his stubbornness. You had been walking beside him when you reached out to stop him from recklessly walking into danger.

“Let me handle it!” he snapped, brushing your hand away. But his hand caught yours with more force than he intended, pushing you slightly backward. You stumbled, tripping on a loose stone.

He immediately turned, his fiery gaze softening into alarm. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice faltered as he reached for you, pulling you upright with unexpected gentleness.

Later that night, he sat beside you by the fire. “I shouldn’t have acted like that,” he murmured, his golden eyes dim with regret. “Your safety matters more to me than anything, even my pride. I’m sorry for hurting you.” He carefully took your hand, tracing where he’d accidentally struck it, his touch filled with reverence.

Kazuha

The storm outside matched the intensity of your argument. Kazuha rarely raised his voice, but the disagreement had pushed him past his usual calm demeanor.

“I don’t need your pity!” he exclaimed, turning sharply. In his frustration, his shoulder bumped into yours, sending you back a step against the table behind you.

His eyes widened, his anger dissipating instantly. “Are you alright?” His hands hovered near you, unsure if you wanted his touch after what had happened.

Later, he stood with his back to you, his voice soft yet steady. “I’ve let my emotions cloud my judgment, and in doing so, I hurt the one person I cherish most.” He turned to face you, his gaze filled with quiet sincerity. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Wriothesley

The argument had been brewing for a while, like steam building up in one of the massive pressure chambers in his domain. He paced the room, his usual composure slipping.

“Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!” he growled, throwing his hands up in frustration. One of them accidentally brushed against your arm with a surprising amount of force, pushing you slightly into the doorframe.

The sound of the impact made him freeze. He immediately crossed the space between you, his hands cradling your face. “Did I—did I hurt you?” His voice was low, filled with panic he couldn’t hide.

He spent the rest of the evening by your side, an ice pack in hand even though the mark had already faded. “I shouldn’t have lost control,” he admitted, his stormy eyes soft. “You mean more to me than my temper ever will. Please forgive me.”

Scaramouche

“Why do you always have to push me?” His words were sharp, cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. In his exasperation, he turned, his hand accidentally brushing against your shoulder. The force wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you stumble slightly.

You steadied yourself, glaring at him. The anger in his eyes flickered, quickly replaced by guilt. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to…” He struggled to find the words, his expression tense.

Later, he found you sitting alone, his footsteps hesitant as he approached. “Look,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “I know I’m awful at showing it, but I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He awkwardly held out a small pouch of your favorite snack. “This doesn’t fix everything, but… I’ll try harder. I promise.”

[kitkat13001]

thinkin’ bout ₊˚⊹♡ husband!sanemi ♡₊˚⊹

♡ husband!sanemi who cried like a baby on your wedding day.

♡ husband!sanemi who holds your hand in the marketplace and lets you tug him along to go see whatever it is you want to see — a new rug, a vase, a little trinket you’ve got absolutely no space or use for.

♡ husband!sanemi who hogs the covers at night and cheekily insists you have to cuddle up close with him if you want to get underneath them to get warm. 

♡ husband!sanemi who lets you sleep in on your day off, wakes up early to do laundry and make breakfast and kiss you on the forehead when you finally wake up towards noon.

♡ husband!sanemi who sits next to you in pillar meetings, your pinkies linked on the wooden floor as the master speaks. 

♡ husband!sanemi who keeps watch while you rest on a mission, vigilant and alert. nothing’s going to hurt you, not on his watch—even if he has to stay up all night. 

♡ husband!sanemi who just grits his teeth and takes it while you beat his ass for being mean to genya, dragging him away by the ear as you berate him loud enough for the entire house to hear.

♡ husband!sanemi who doesn’t hold back on you in pillar training, knowing you can take it. he just wants to make sure you’re at your best. he can’t have you slacking off in the field, y’know?

♡ husband!sanemi who patches you up quietly by the fire at night after he’s beat your ass in training all day. his touch is gentle now, fingers ghosting over your bruises and wrapping bandages around your cuts. if it’s really bad, he’ll kiss you better. 

♡ husband!sanemi who fights to get you on missions together so he can look out for you, but if he can’t, will kiss you good luck and tell you he loves you before you leave. 

♡ husband!sanemi who waits at the door for you to come back, keeping dinner warm on the stove, and sprints across the lawn when he sees the outline of your form coming up the hill to the wind estate. 

♡ husband!sanemi who keeps the letters you write him while you’re away in a box in the closet, and reads them when he misses you (he’ll die before admitting this much). 

♡ husband!sanemi who, with your help, finally manages to begin mending his relationship with his younger brother. who stops, arms full of food, in the doorway when he sees you and genya sitting at the table together during dinner, laughing and eating. who is overwhelmed by the love he has for his little family, and who would fight with everything he has to protect it. 

divider by @/saradika-graphics — sacchan….my sacchan….please. i am so very soft for him. anyways, i’ve been sitting on these for a while and decided to lock in and finish it. hope you like! love, - 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢

[moonstruckme]

And since you're such an angel, I would love some:

snow angels with doctor!remus

Thank you and please hydrate 💧

Awee you're too sweet to me, thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood (not a lot? if that helps), dizziness/lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

Remus cups your face in his hand, brows woven together in concern. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks you. 

“Yeah.” 

“What’d you have?” He swipes his thumb gently over your cheek before leaving you, going into the nearby bathroom. 

“A sandwich.” You sound a bit defensive, which isn’t strictly fair. You know you gave Remus a bit of a fright when he came home to find you lying on the rug between the living room and the kitchen, too scared to get up. It was perhaps a tad dramatic—you could’ve walked over to the couch if you’d really wanted to, you’re sure—but you didn’t see any point in pushing yourself when you felt so dizzy and shaky on your feet. Remus has taken it as more cause for alarm than you have. 

He comes back with a blood pressure monitor and a couple of other things, setting them on the kitchen table in front of you. “That sounds fine,” he murmurs, taking your arm to slide the cuff up it. You have the sensation of swaying in your seat, but you’re not sure if it’s really happening or only in your head. “And it’s been going on for how long?” 

“Since maybe two.” You lean sideways so your head rests on his chest. Remus’ free hand comes up to hold it there gently, pinkie stroking the baby hairs by your temple as the cuff inflates around your arm. 

“You should have called me, sweetheart.” 

“I was okay,” you tell him. “I didn’t really think I was gonna pass out or anything, I just thought it’d be safer to sit down.” 

Remus’ hum conveys some disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s worthwhile to continue arguing with you. The blood pressure monitor beeps, and he leans forward to read it. 

“Hm, that’s normal.” He takes the cuff off you with a satisfying ripping sound. You curl and flex your fingers against the odd feeling. 

Remus holds your head to his chest with his free hand while he leans forward, grabbing something else off the counter. He takes your hand, but you pull it from his grasp when you see what he’s holding, sitting up. 

“Remus,” you whine. 

He chuckles at your tone. “Dove, it’ll be quick.” 

You let him take your hand again, but don’t allow him to pull it near that clicker thing. “Is it going to hurt?” you worry. 

“No.” 

You make a low, petulant sound in the back of your throat. Ordinarily you might be embarrassed for it, but you’re feeling rather self-pitying right now and entitled to some sulking. “Really?” 

“Yes, love. Relax.” 

Still feeling mistrustful, you allow him to pull your hand closer. He pricks the pad of your finger. 

“Ow—Rem!” 

“It’s okay,” Remus shushes you. “All done.” 

“That hurt,” you complain, vindicated, as he collects the bead of blood on a reader. 

“I know,” he admits. “It does, a little. But only for a second, yeah?” 

You make your displeasure known through your silence. 

“Look.” Remus takes your finger, kissing the back. “It’s better now, see?” He brings your head to his chest again, and it’s difficult to keep from softening when he kisses that, too. “Sorry, dovey.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, begrudging, only because he really does seem to feel a bit bad. 

“Mm.” He reads your blood sugar. “You’re at ninety two.” 

“Is that good?” 

“It’s normal.” Remus holds your cheek again, looking down at you and stroking pensively with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s feeling for something or just touching you; you’re happy either way. 

He hums softly. “Do you feel tired as well?” 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Headache?” 

You tilt your head back to see him. “What’s it mean?” 

“I’ll take that for a yes, then.” His lips curve softly. “I’m not completely sure what it means yet, but I’ve got a couple of theories.” 

“Can you fix it?” you ask, though really you have complete faith. Remus always fixes it. 

He kisses your head again like he knows what you’re thinking. His lips make a soft landing just short of your hairline. “We’ll see.”