#This is said affectionately I promise

[shadowboxmind]

Maybe a hot take, but I don't think the Traveler was being inconsistent or out of character in the last archon quest at all. People are getting upset at their reaction to Lyney and Lynette's behavior from the perspective of players, with meta knowledge of the story that the Traveler, the character, doesn't have.

The players know, for example, that because they're playable characters, Lyney and Lynette are ultimately friendly and on "our" side, and we can also trust that what they told us about their backstory is true. The Traveler does not have that knowledge.

TO BE CLEAR this post is talking about my thoughts on the TRAVELER'S thought process. If we want to talk about how I personally would have reacted to the situation, I'm an overly trusting bleeding-heart who would absolutely get scammed and probably murdered by Fatui in this universe.

(Also characters, even main characters who you normally like, can do things you disagree with and that doesn't mean they're badly written. I mean, sometimes they are, but I don't think that's true in this particular case)

But think about it! Looking at the entire situation from an in-universe, in-character POV, it's a really bad look for Lyney and Lynette overall, because here are the facts as the Traveler is aware of them:

Lyney and Lynette are not only members of the Fatui, the primary antagonistic force in this story, but are specifically members of the House of the Hearth, which is known to specialize in espionage, subterfuge, and sabotage.

Both of them also work in a field that would further require them to be masters of misdirection, audience manipulation, and drama.

They "coincidentally" ran into the Traveler right as they arrived in Fontaine and immediately began to do them favors and be very friendly, including saving them from Furina, bringing them to meet their family, and gifting them VIP tickets to Lyney's show.

During the trial, the twins withheld key information, and not just about their identities (and listen, I get it, I fully empathize with why they did it, I get the reasoning, but it's still a bad look when it gets figured out) but also about what they were doing in the tunnel.

They admitted that the entire magic show was a ruse to do, guess what? espionage! To break into the room with the Oratrice's core and find out how it works. To, through subterfuge, obtain Fontaine's secrets about the nation's most important mechanism and central source of power.

The Traveler has known these people for like, a day total.

So what conclusions might the Traveler draw from these facts? When the evidence shows that Lyney and Lynette have a record of misdirection and obfuscation for their own ends? When the Traveler has no way of knowing if even their initial meeting was orchestrated for an ulterior purpose? How are they supposed to know if the tragic backstory is even true, or if that's just Lyney trying to win back some favor and sympathy? In my opinion, at that moment, they don't. Hence the coldness.

My interpretation of events is that the Traveler does like the twins, and wanted to keep liking them, but was struggling to reconcile their initial impression of two friendly magicians with the realization that these two friendly magicians were dishonest with them for most of the time they'd known each other, so they needed to have some space to figure that out.

And for those saying the Traveler is inconsistent, here's the thing: they still helped Lyney. They still acted as his attorney, investigated thoroughly, won the case, and cleared his name. They've done similar for other Fatui members in their acquaintance—they helped Childe with Teucer, they helped Scaramouche/Wanderer with getting his memories back, they helped that other member of the House of the Hearth fake her death and escape the organization��whether or not they fully trusted them, and generally they didn't.

As for the Traveler's supposed hypocrisy, my view of their relationship with Childe is that it's only improved because, despite Childe trying to nuke Liyue in the past, the Traveler knows that

a. They can handle him if it comes down to a fight again; b. He likes them, regardless of if the feeling is mutual or not, and is indeed aggressively friendly to the point where it's easier to just be civil; c. Childe is generally upfront and honest about his actions and will strike from the front, not stab them in the back; and d. He's worked together with them before when they had a common goal (for example, the labyrinth they went through with Xinyan).

They know how his mind works and what motivates him. Childe is a known quantity, the twins are not, and it took in-story time and shared experiences for the Traveler to get to even this point of neutrality; they were openly suspicious of him during his story quest.

As for holding his Vision for him, the Traveler didn't exactly volunteer for the job, Childe literally threw it at them with no warning and peaced out. What do you expect them to do, drop it in the sea? That would be inconsistent with their characterization.

Wanderer's whole situation is even weirder, since the Traveler was able to experience his actual memories and emotions and therefore has good reason to trust that he's had a genuine change of heart. Not to mention that they're not friends, I'd argue they're in that same nebulous "neutral" zone, and that only because Nahida usually functions as a buffer (and also because, again, the Traveler knows that they can handle Wanderer in a fight, and Wanderer also tends to be blunt and honest).

Also, in Lyney's story quest it seems like everyone got over their problems pretty fast and they're all chummy now, so you can all rest easy that the twins' feelings weren't too hurt about it.

Anyways if you disagree go ham, refute my points, whatever, just keep things civil.

[sergeifyodorov]

why are you a straightsid truther

he's straight

[jckeperalta]

oversharing again yayyy (it's about alcohol and men)

so y'all know I'm a lawyer and work in court and I'm single and I want a cop bf. so last Saturday we were out drinking with the girls and while we were at the park at 11pm we passed the cop car. the oldest one of us who is FEARLESS asked them to give us a ride to the club. they said no but we chatted for a while (mind you we were all slightly drunk atp) and also we made sure they knew we're court workers lmao. I always wanted to do something like that so I was having fun. one of them was clearly younger and was more giggly and it was dark so I'm not sure if he was cute but I'm gonna choose to believe he was. anyways when I got home at like 1am I had an idea to send a formal request to give me the names of the officers. using my government email. and they're legally obliged to answer lmaoo. and today at work came one of the police supervisors with some cop woman and the brave friend chatted them up abt it and they said that the cops were called in to explain what it's about and now everyone in the police knows about me and I was so awkward abt it and the woman teased me abt being shy and the man promised to find out if he's single and to let me know lmfaoooooo.

but I looked him up on fb and he looks so young :((((

btw im also talking to this guy from a chat but he only wants to talk to me at night while he's jerking himself off and I hate it and don't want this and I need to tell him that bc I'm starting to catch feelings soooo (he's sex obsessed but otherwise such a sweet guy)

[randomwriteronline]

(As Below So Above)

When he opened his eyes, it was still dark. The pillow felt warm against his cheek; the shadows were interrupted only briefly by the glowing numbers decreeing the time to be somewhere around three in the morning.

Emmet inhaled deeply.

Of course he woke up now. Two hours and half ahead of schedule. He should just get up, get dressed, and go to the station ahead of time to get something done, since sleep was definitely not an option anymore.

Wait, no.

Free day.

Enforced by threat, too.

He would have been hurled through his own window frisbee-style.

He'd seen Briosa hurl something frisbee-style before. It had been her Cryogonal, and she'd thrown her so hard that she had gotten lodged into the wall like an ice shuriken.

He did not want to get lodged into a wall like a meat and bone shuriken.

A loud huff left him: thwarted again.

He sat up - out of habit, uselessly, because he could not go anywhere anyways.

If he began wandering around the house aimlessly he would have likely stepped on some beastie or other, promptly awakening it and every other Pokémon in the apartment, and he would have ended up being dragged over to bed again. If he turned on a light to read a book or do anything else it would have yielded the same effect and he would have ended up smothered in his own bed, which was usually fine but he wasn't in the mood for that at the moment. If he tried to grab himself a snack or a glass of something to drink his stomach would have shut itself tighter than the safe of a bank and he might have had to make an emergency detour to the bathroom to spit acid and saliva in the toilet, which would leave his body trembling and would cause everybody else a great deal of worry. If he kept sitting idly on his bed he would have lost his mind.

His hand reached out to grab his Xtransceiver; contact found, he sighed as he fell back into habit and called.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

Five rings.

Six rings.

Seven r

"Hello?" a very sleepy voice rumbled back.

The surprise made Emmet launch the device into the air.

He fumbled to grab it again before it shattered in the floor: "Ingo?" he replied quickly as his heart seemed to beat itself out of his chest.

"Yes," was the answer.

Ingo answered? Ingo answered?

"I am Emmet," he breathed.

"Uh-huh."

"Where are you?"

"Room."

Room? What the hell did he mean, room? Room of what? Hospital? Hotel? Home?

The words caught up in his throat.

He slammed the back of his free wrist against his forehead as hard as he could.

Room.

He was in the room.

His room.

The room in the house that was his.

The room specifically chosen by him to be his.

That room.

Like yesterday.

And the day before yesterday.

You dumb fuck.

How had he answered? He didn't have an Xtransceiver. No wait, he did. Yesterday. Iris and Marshal. He had panicked about the whole situation. Twice. Or thrice. Four times? No matter. Still didn't explain why he answered. He had a new number now. He'd called his old one. The one that didn't respond. It hadn't responded in years. It might still be laying broken somewhere in Sinnoh. Unless this was his old Xtransceiver, he couldn't have answered. And the chances of him somehow buying his old one again were so few it might have been just straight up impossible.

This contact already exists, he remembered just then what the warning that had appeared on the device’s display and which he had so very carelessly ignored the previous day had been about: Overwrite old number?

He shut the call and hid his face against his knees.

Dragons please devour him.

(What was WRONG with him?)

(Somebody grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him harshly and repeated, What is WRONG with you? What is it that you want? Why do you keep doing this, why do you keep doing these things? Why do you keep forgetting he's here? Did you even want him to be back? Did you ever want him to be back? To be here again? Did you want that just so you could avoid him? Like you did for everybody else? Did you just want to complete the set? Did you want to make sure all of them hated you? Worried for you? Tried to get through to you while you rot all by yourself? Did you want to make them all feel miserable? Was he the last one you needed to complete the set? To check all the boxes in this stupid game you’re having with yourself of making everything worse for everybody all the time? Is that what you wanted?)

(Somebody shook him harder and bared his teeth at him, and looked at him with the ugly face he used to see look back at him in the mirror, the face of a crying kid with too long hair haphazardly dyed black, and repeated with his voice still deepening as he would soon be reaching the end of his adolescence, What is WRONG with you?)

Somebody called him.

He picked up.

“I am Emmet,” he replied to the Xtransceiver without moving an inch, still mortified.

“Where are you?” Ingo asked.

“Room.”

“Ah. Ok. Hold on.”

End of call.

Emmet remained immoble. He didn’t even want to yell at himself anymore. What good would it have done? He was an idiot.

He had to look up eventually, however, because he heard something shuffling closer.

From where his bed was laid, he could see the entrance to the room very well; with his eyes acclimating more and more to the darkness, he consequently could make out the figure of his brother as he walked right past it with a sleepy, shambling step, a little like a dead tired Banette that has lost part of its stuffing, and disappeared.

The sound stopped after a few more seconds.

“Emmet?” Ingo called a little further down the corridor.

“Here,” he replied.

With the same slow uncertain gait, the older twin came back and smacked his whole body directly onto the doorframe.

“That’s the door,” Emmet informed him.

“Hm,” was the mostly unamused reply. He turned slightly, hands tiredly finding the rest of the structure to properly angle his body through it.

Now that he was slightly closer, the younger brother noticed his eyes were closed.

 “Emmet?” Ingo called out again.

“What are you doing?” he replied, honestly confused.

“Echolocation,” the other answered. He turned his head a little in his twin’s direction.

“That’s stupid.”

“Hm. Emmet.”

“What.”

“Are you laying?”

“No.”

“Lay down.”

“Why.

“Lay down.”

“Why.”

“Just do that.”

Sighing, he laid back on the bed, face up, like he hated to do.

“Are you laying?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

“What’s this for?”

No answer.

Ingo finally moved again, dragging himself over to his side; then his knees hit the bed frame and he collapsed diagonally across his brother, knocking the breath out of him in the process.

“What the-” Emmet tried to protest before a limp hand slapped his mouth shut.

“Go to sleep,” his twin grumbled.

“I am Emmet. I’m not tired.”

“I am.”

“You slept four additional hours.”

“And I’m tired.”

“I’m not.”

“You will be,” the older sentenced. “Goodnight.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Good. Night.”

“Ingo-”

Whatever else he might have said was effectively coughed out of his lungs by his brother as he lifted himself up to rearrange his position and let himself fall gracelessly back on him to lay fully on him: “Sh,” he hushed him: “Nap time. Pull back your claws. Don’t poison me in your sleep. I love you. Shut up.”

Emmet did not dignify him with a verbal response.

He sulked, squashed under the weight of a whole human body, for what felt like an hour, which instead turned out to be more around a minute at best with a quick glance to the alarm he’d been convinced to turn off the previous evening. This knowledge made him even angrier.

Maybe, if he wriggled really hard and made enough of a nuisance of himself, this cumbersome warm shackle would get tired of him and get the hell off.

What he got was a suffering sigh and a hand scratching his hair.

In a very gentle way.

He stopped.

His brother hummed in the satisfied tone of a caretaker who finally managed to put some sort of cub to sleep, ear planted firmly on the left side of his ribcage, and simply passed out again.

Emmet stayed awake to stare at the ceiling.

His hands found their way on Ingo’s back on their own, fingertips brushing his spine under the pajama shirt without purpose, causing him to grimace lightly as he felt the vertebrae through the fabric - the ways they rose and fell, the gaps between them, their texture, almost. The thought made a strange vertigo-like nausea overtake him; he moved his palms to lay somewhere softer, avoiding coming into contact with as many bones as possible.

The weight didn’t bother him that much. Neither did the body heat. Or the feeling of being enveloped in a hug.

He certainly wasn’t bothered by his brother's presence - not in a way that made him want to shove him off with all of his strength and kick him out of his room in genuine fury or groaning annoyance.

Yet he kept evading him. Finding ways to go as far from him as possible, to put distance between them, only to send himself into a panic when he couldn’t find him again.

What was wrong with him?

Just the day before yesterday he’d been so eager to leave without even looking at him once. He’d tried his hardest to go a whole day without acknowledging his existence, and he’d hated himself for caving in and calling Elesa to ask her if he really was there. Then again, he’d hated himself for wanting to call Elesa in the first place, like he’d hated himself for doing so hundreds of times. Like he’d hated himself for wanting to call Cris or Astrid or their cousins or their uncle, or anybody. He couldn’t even tell what he hated more, if it was the simple desire to ask for comfort or finally managing to do so.

He didn’t have these sorts of troubles with the Depot Agents, because he reasoned he couldn’t have asked colleagues for something like that. They must have been of the same opinion, because as much as they might have been walking on eggshells around him they never offered comfort once: their concern was heavily professional, focused on anticipating any struggling request for help on the job by asking if he needed their aid or if they could do something in his stead first.

Elesa asked first too, sometimes. It was nice: he found it lessened the sting of the vitriol pouring into his own liver like poison a little bit. Other times she was the one seeking comfort, and it would have been crueler to deny it to her; others yet she simply arrived, unannounced, without asking at all, and he didn’t have a say on that.

Briosa never asked, period.

He enjoyed that. Not being asked. It spared him from having to pick between two options he would have inevitably despised himself for choosing in the end either way, simply leaving him at the mercy of whoever’s whims.

It was a nice change of pace from the anxiety and self-loathing.

He enjoyed being forced to do as he was told too. For the same reason, more or less. People (and Pokémon, of course) tended to have his best interest in mind after all. Unlike himself.

His thumb softly caressed the fabric. He could feel his brother’s chest rise and fall against his own stomach; he could hear his snores muffle against his sternum.

The reminder that this was real felt fake.

What was wrong with him?

He could see Ingo. He could feel his weight and hear his voice, he could even smell the faintest scent of cleanliness from his hair since he almost had them up his nose. If he bit his arm or licked his palm in a final attempt to gross him out so badly that he would have to finally get off of him he would have probably even tasted his presence, which he quickly realized sounded so disgusting that he gave up on the idea instantly.

Yesterday morning he’d been picked up like a pebble by the arms vaguely hugging him, and he’d hated it. He’d held his brother’s hand  to drag him away from the mess and noise of the station and pressed his palm intermittently to calm down the panicked breathing he could hear through his face mask. That evening he’d gotten body slammed and yelled at with unbound enthusiasm by him, and they’d still argued about which leftovers to eat and ended up trading orders just for Ingo to regret that, as he really did not like boiled poultry.

For the whole day he’d been a real, proper, existing person; and yet he’d completely forgotten that just moments ago.

He’d immediately settled a new fabricated layer of detachment between them.

Emmet focused on the breathing that wasn’t his.

In, and out with a whistle.

In, and out with a whistle.

In, and out with a whistle.

Why had he been so scared of asking Elesa if Ingo was there?

Maybe he was still unsure if it had been real, if he had truly come back.

Maybe he’d been so hellbent on avoiding family that his instinct to push them away from himself under the pretense that they would distract him from the duties of his work (the way everything from eating to resting to seeing people seemed to be conspiring to do, if one was to listen to him) had activated with a lag in his sudden bout of confusion when his brother had begun apologizing.

Like a faulty antivirus he’d read his presence as a threat to his self-made self-destructive hermitage, a failure in his decision to run away from the people he had undoubtedly hurt and continued to hurt in a way he could have never been forgiven for, and so he’d hurried to push his mind and body alike as far as possible from him.

What was wrong with him?

He suddenly stopped thinking.

Emmet blinked, then blinked again, eyebrows furrowed, trying to distract himself from the blank silence inside his skull to no avail.

His fingers were laying on skin. The shirt of Ingo’s pajamas must have hiked up at some point during their argument after he’d not so kindly deployed his entire weight on his twin’s stomach to get him to go back to sleep. Maybe after he’d adjusted himself before telling him to shut up. Or after he’d raised his arms to scratch his head, so that he would stop trying to wiggle his way into forcing him to fuck off.

Fingertips traced something that felt much different. He mindlessly dragged them back and forth a little to the side of his brother’s spine to figure out what on earth that texture belonged to.

It snaked upwards, he found out. Its edges felt strange, like the aftermath of an acid burn, leaving coarse skin that slowly smoothed towards the center in a large, long line.

He knew that feeling, but couldn’t place where he’d felt it.

Absent-mindedly, his index rubbed a small scar near his thumb, where he’d almost pierced and ripped the skin off in a moment of unparalleled anger at nothing and no one and everything and everyone.

A slight chill overtook his finger.

It spread all the way down into his heart in a matter of seconds.

His hands shaking slightly, he carefully grazed his brother’s back in search of something, anything, with a potent dread making his arms into sculptures of lead. He found, not far from the first, two more deep chasms of healed burns containing rivers of fixed skin, stretching until mere centimetres beneath the shoulder: the scarified tissue grew larger, larger, larger, the further upwards it went.

Maybe he should have stopped searching at that point.

Maybe he shouldn’t have found a myriad of smaller patches and patterns and lines of newer skin that shouldn’t have been there.

Maybe he shouldn’t have moved onto the uncovered sections of his brother’s arms to try his luck, to test if he could find any more, and be met with a new series of constellations painfully carved by who knows what outside forces.

He traced them in silence, devoid of thoughts.

(The ones that might have come to him wouldn’t have been pleasant anyways.)

He adjusted his grip a little better around the older twin, hugging him properly, sinking his face into his temple.

Emmet cried, for a while.

He cried, and felt very glad that his brother was there, crushing him under his weight.

At some point he must have started drenching Ingo’s hair with saltwater, because he heard him groan in a slightly annoyed tone; a hand reached out to scratch at his head as gibberish mumbles seemed to gently chastise him.

He might have apologized if his throat hadn’t felt so clogged up.

Another huff as mangled arms squeezed him a little more between them: “If I sing for you will you calm down?”

He responded to the sleeptalking with an affirmative whine.

“Alright,” Ingo sighed.

Emmet listened to the barely intelligible lullaby his brother whispered tiredly in his doze and allowed it to swipe away everything - his thoughts, his emotions, the blankness of his mind - to replace it all with simple sounds.

It was still so dark.

His eyelids were sort of heavy.

He snuggled into the embrace a little more.

They slept nine uninterrupted hours, not bothered by the alarm Ingo had wisely turned off with Eelektross’s help nor Crustle’s screams to be fed – which were masterfully kept silent thanks to Gurdurr and his increasing familiarity with the kitchen cabinets’ placements, contents and method of approach in case they were too high for him to reach – only awoken by a ring of the doorbell that informed them of Elesa’s arrival to check in on them.

(Considering he spent the rest of the day perfectly fine and more than functional despite spending it only doing barely anything more than idly existing in the company of people and Pokémon he loved more than life itself, Emmet had to admit a little begrudgingly that perhaps his theory of how getting more sleep was the thing that turned him into a barely coherent mess from time to time was not correct.)

(He did not allow the wandering reflections he’d unwisely unearthed while staring at the ceiling to resurface.)

(And if sometimes he still felt the burnt edged chasms he hadn’t seen on Ingo’s back under his fingertips, he could softly slam his head against his twin’s, and the steady tum – tum-tum, tum – tum-tum cadence with which his brother’s thumb pressed on his palm would melt his own increasingly frantic heartbeat back down to a calm rhythm.)

[hevanderson]

blaine should die for real

[htfs-ranked-on]

htf ranked on who gets the most dates, and who picks up the most girls(or other people?)

picks up dates left and right: giggles, mole, russell, splendid

average dating life, but nothing to write home about: cuddles, petunia, handy, lifty, shifty, flippy

not getting a Ton of dates, but every once in a while: toothy, mime, lammy, nutty

not really trying: sniffles, flaky, pop, splendont

loser: disco bear

[astrumocs]

Hikaru for the bingo :3c

I feel so muchly about him, just in case u weren't aware.. double bingo <3

[nervocat]

rghgshhxhx phainon smothering my face in kisses.....

[munsonify]

drunk call

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary. when you’re in need of a safe way home from the bar, the first person you think of in your drunken haze is bucky, who comes to get you in an instant

content warnings. sm fluff, unestablished relationships, pining, idiots in love, alcohol consumption, r being super drunk lol, thunderbolts era bucky, softie!bucky (my beloved), slightly affectionate&touchy reader (sfw), pet names (sweetheart), r being called pretty, not proofread

word count. 1905

a/n. thunderbolts era bucky and tfatws bucky are rotting my brain away i love him your honor. not proofread

———

admittedly, you’d maybe had one too many drinks tonight.

when you received a text from an old friend of yours saying she was in the city, claiming she had the night free, of course you were going to make some time to see her. it was a night well spent at the bar, too. the drinks were good, you’d caught up on a lot of life with her, jokes were thrown around that had you both doubled over in laughter in the small booth you were cozied up in. the odd glances thrown your way at your giggles only made things worse for the two of you.

your friend called it a night around 11. the only reason she was in the area was for work, and with her luck, they’d scheduled her with a meeting very early the next day. it was time for her to head out, especially now that her boyfriend had arrived, ready to carefully help her to their hotel.

“do you want me to stay?” your friend slurred, grabbing ahold of her boyfriends arm as he guided her up to her feet. “we can stay. wanna make sure you get home safe.”

“i’m okay,” you told her, a genuine, reassuring smile on your face as your words slurred just as bad as yours. “promise i’ll get home safe, i’ll text you when i do.”

the way you rose to your feet wasn’t the most elegant, though you fit right in with the atmosphere. you wrapped each other up in a large hug, bidding each other a giggly goodbye, promising to keep in touch. her boyfriend gave you a small wave before he helped her out of the bar and away from your sight. that’s when you let yourself slide back into the booth, fumbling with your purse in search of your phone. your promise was true to her, you were going to get home safe. while you only stayed a few blocks away from the bar, you weren’t quite comfortable walking home in the state you were in, not like you’d walked there three hours ago.

your mind slipped straight to the thought of bucky as you pulled up your contacts, searching for his name and number. your thoughts often slipped to the man, it was hard for them not to. in the few months you’d known the man, living in the rebuilt avengers tower, you grew quite fond of him. it was a little unexpected.

you weren’t searching for anything romantic when you’d somehow stumbled upon the new team. you were focused on a list of other things - your mental health, your career (though being a now nearly full-time superhero wasn’t exactly what you’d envisioned), your hobbies -, so it caught you off guard when you noticed your growing feelings towards bucky. you began to seek him out in a way you hadn’t with anyone else. despite being a little tough and uptight at times, not really the most talkative person ever, he was kind. he had a nice sense of humor, too. dry, sarcastic, a little playful. at times, you were convinced that playfulness with you bordered flirtation.

that’s why you had found your way to bucky again in your drunken mind. you always felt oddly safe with him, anyways. it was comforting how protective he could be, a subtle sort of thing that you admired about him. you pressed your phone against your ear rather harshly as you listened to your phone ring a handful of times. the noise had you zoned in to the point you barely noticed he’d picked up, a curious ‘hello’ ringing into your ears. your body straightened up at the sound of his voice, a dopey smile finding your lips.

“hey!” you said cheerfully, hand gripping your phone tight as you began rambling to him in an obvious slur. “i’m so sorry if you were asleep or if you’re busy, but i’m kinda really drunk right now, i’m a few blocks away at a bar. is there any chance you’d, i dunno, come get me and walk me home? so i’m not alone? it’s totally okay if not!”

you realized how desperate you must sound calling him like this. you weren’t sure if he’d caught on to your slightly obvious feelings for him yet, but if he had even an idea that you might like him, this call was incriminating. you were calling him of all people, rather than simply calling a cab or an uber, or even just sticking it out and walking anyways.

“of course,” bucky told you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. his response was immediate, without a second thought. those two words alone made your heart flutter inside of your chest. you passed along the name of the bar, one he’d remembered from passing so many times. he knew his way around the city well, and promised to be there in 10.

the moment you’d hung up the phone, soft giggles slipped from your mouth, the same wide smile on your face still present. you ordered yourself one last drink while you waited, closing your tab while you were up before you left and forgot. you sat in your booth in silence as you waited, gaze settling on to the drink that you sipped on. your body was beginning to feel a little heavy, the alcohol and your sleepiness starting to settle in now that you weren’t so focused on an ongoing conversation.

you were so zoned in, in fact, that you didn’t realize bucky had finally found his way to the bar, beelining to you in a slow, steady strut. his head tilted to the side when he stopped at your table, biting back a smile. you still hadn’t noticed him yet.

“hey there sweetheart,” bucky spoke smoothly, sliding on the opposite side of the booth. he noticed you still had a drink and decided to give you time to finish. your head shot up to look at him, eyes wide and gleaming the moment you recognized his voice. you gave him the same dopey smile you had when you’d called him. “mind if i take you home?”

you giggled at his words, biting your lower lip as you began to put on a show, thinking a little for a response you already had. you gave him a hum, words slurring still as you respond. “well i suppose so.”

you sipped the rest of you drink away after you spoke, quickly wiping away the drop that slipped from your lips clumsily. whether that clumsiness was because you were drunk or because bucky made you nervous, you weren’t quite sure. regardless, your nose scrunched up a little in embarrassment, trying your best to shake it off. he didn’t seem to mind or even notice. bucky had a small, content smile on his face, his blue eyes shining gently as he gazed at you.

the moment you set the glass down, his fingers found their way to it, taking it into his hand. he pushed himself back up from the worn booth, watching as you fumble to grab your purse and phone. the hand bucky offered up was his left. the metal felt nice against your buzzing warm, buzzing skin as you accepted it, letting him assist you to your feet. despite how hard the metal was, he was gentle with the way he held your hand, guiding you towards the bar again to give the bartender your empty glass.

bucky’s hand left yours, only to grasp ahold of your purse and your phone to carry it for you. he helped you towards his right side, wrapping that arm comfortably around you, hand bracing your waist as respectfully as he could. he began walking the two of you out the bar and onto the streets in a comfortable silence neither of you broke. you began leaning into him, still a little unsteady on your feet as you stumble slightly down the street.

your head eventually found comfort in bucky’s shoulder, the weight becoming nearly too much for you to bear on your own. you missed the way he smiled, small and proud as he continues to guide you through the city. that’s when he started to speak in a low mumble, voice deep, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

“you look pretty tonight,” bucky complimented, his head turning to look down at you fondly. it wasn’t often he got to see you like this, a little skirt he’d helped you pull back down into place just a minute or two previously. the shirt you wore was a little low cut, too, just enough to show some cleavage. that’s not why he gave you the sentiment. he rarely got to see you put together. it was usually sweaty work out clothes or bloodied uniforms he saw you in. this was a nice change.

bucky watched the way you smile wide, nose scrunching up again at his words. you tilted your head up to see him, sincerity laced in every inch of his face. while collecting your thoughts, you pressed your cheek into his arm as you stare up into his eyes, clinging to his body for dear life as you try not to fall. his strong arm kept you upright, though, careful not to let you drop to the ground.

“thank you,” was all you could manage out in a small voice, a hand of yours gently grasping at the sleeve of his leather jacket. it was then that you’d finally made it to the rebuilt tower, bucky swiping the both of you in, before holding the door wide open for you. he watched the way you stumbled into the building with an appreciative smile, before looking back at him expectedly. you had your hand extended outwards for him, searching for his touch

bucky took your hand without a second thought, letting his fingers intertwine with yours, before you guys made your long way towards the living quarters. even when you’d entered the elevator, three empty walls and a long railing for you to grasp ahold of to find your footing, you still held onto him. he was already helping you, anyways, so why would you let go now?

he continued to walk you out of the elevator when it’d reached high inside of the tower, helping you all the way to your bedroom door. bucky positioned you in front of him, letting go of your hand only to reach to your hair, tucking pieces behind your ear and out of your face.

“think you can find the rest of your way?” he asked, his hands smoothing down your hair once, before dropping it to his side. you gave him a lazy nod, eyes beginning to droop with exhaustion.

“yeah, i think should be fine,” you answered, offering a small smile. before you could overthink, you took two steps forward, arms reaching up to wrap around bucky’s shoulders. he blinked a few slow times, arms finding their way around your torso carefully as he embraces you. he tugged you a little closer to him, letting his chin rest gently on top of your shoulder. the hand that wasn’t holding your belongings smoothed up your back, a weak attempt to soothe you.

“thanks for walking me home, buck,” you whispered. “it means a lot. you’re a great guy.”

“anytime, sweetheart. just give me a call and i’ll be there.”

[our-inspire-verse]

Auugh i am not!! A very nice or healthy person

[charlotteking27]

Always You, Always Him

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris talks about how enamored he is with you all the time. He constantly searches for you, holds your hand when he wins, and gives you his first hug. Even a video compilation of his mentions was released by his fans.

warnings: none

"And what an amazing victory for McLaren's Lando Norris at the Monaco Grand Prix!"

The commentators' voices echo through the speakers, but Lando is already pulling off his helmet, looking for someone in the crowd. You know just who he’s searching for.

Amid the celebration, he spots you by the barrier. His big smile lights up his face as he jogs over, still in his race suit, completely ignoring the cameras and officials trying to direct him to the podium.

"There you are!" He pulls you into a warm hug, lifting you slightly off your feet. The cameras are rolling, but he doesn’t mind. "Did you see that last sector? I was thinking about what you said about being patient through Rascasse…"

"Lando, podium ceremony…" A team official approaches carefully.

"Just a minute," he waves them away, his arm still wrapped around you. He’s bubbling with excitement, telling you about every corner of his last lap.

"Lando, we really need to—"

"I said a minute!" There's that familiar stubbornness in his voice. He turns back to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re coming up on the podium with me, right?"

Another official appears. "Lando, we’re holding up the ceremony…"

"Then they can wait," he replies, pulling you closer. "I just won Monaco; I think I deserve five minutes with my girlfriend." His thumb traces circles on your hand, the post-race adrenaline making him more affectionate than usual.

Zak Brown finally approaches, trying not to laugh. "Come on, lover boy. The champagne's getting warm."

"Fine, fine," Lando sighs dramatically but doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he starts walking toward the podium, pulling you with him. When the officials try to direct you somewhere else, he actually pouts. "No, she’s staying with me. She’s good luck—I just proved that, didn’t I?"

"Lando," you laugh, "you need to do the ceremony right."

"Then come back down and wait right there," he points to a spot by the stairs. "Where I can see you, promise?"

"Promise."

He keeps glancing at you during the entire ceremony, waving and pointing during the anthem like an excited kid at a school play. When the photos are done, he bounces down the steps three at a time, champagne bottle still in hand, and makes a beeline straight back to you.

The photographers erupt as he pulls you into another hug, champagne spraying everywhere. You can already imagine the headlines: "Norris Celebrates Monaco Win with Mystery Girl" or "Lando's Lucky Charm? His Girlfriend Steals the Show."

It’s always like this at the races. Before he even gets in the car, he finds you in the paddock for a good luck kiss, lingering just a bit longer while the cameras flash. The moment he’s out of the car, win or lose, he heads straight for you. There are countless photos of you two all over the internet: Lando holding your hand at the airport, Lando with his arm around you at team dinners, Lando stealing kisses in the garage between practice sessions. Your affection is always on display, and honestly, you’ve given up trying to hide it. It’s just you two.

One of your favorite pictures is a candid shot from Silverstone last year. It’s raining, and you’re huddled under an umbrella while Lando’s face is buried in your hair, his arms around you. You can almost feel the warmth from the picture. Moments like that, caught by chance, really tell your story.

"Lando, brilliant drive today. Can you talk us through that crucial overtake on lap 43?"

Lando is practically bouncing in his seat at the press conference, still glowing from the race. "Yeah, so that move was something my girlfriend and I discussed last night. She noticed in the practice footage that there was a small window if you positioned just right, and—" He beams with pride. "She has such a good eye for these things, you know?"

"Um, right… Moving on to tire management—"

"Oh! Speaking of tires," Lando interrupts eagerly, "she made this amazing spreadsheet tracking tire wear patterns. She’s really smart, my girlfriend. Did you know she—"

"Lando," the journalist tries again, "about the safety car period…"

"That was pretty tense, yeah. I was on the radio with my engineer, but all I could think about was this thing she told me about staying focused, right? You do meditation and—" He pauses, grinning at you in the back. "Sorry, she’s making faces at me from the back. Isn’t she cute when she’s trying to get me to focus?"

Another journalist raises her hand. "Can we discuss the championship implications of today’s victory?"

"Absolutely!" Lando nods seriously, then immediately breaks into another smile. "Actually, funny story—this morning at breakfast, she said… wait, where are you going?" He calls out to the departing journalists. "I haven’t told you about how she helped me perfect my racing line!"

Max Verstappen, sitting next to him, just shakes his head with a sly grin. "Mate, they’re going to rename these to 'Lando's Girlfriend Updates' instead of press conferences."

"Well, they should," Lando says earnestly. "She’s much more interesting than racing."

Later, during the post-race press conference, a journalist asks about his aggressive strategy during the middle stint. But Lando, being Lando, turns it into a story about how you'd helped him perfect his racing line through the swimming pool section during simulator practice.

Your phone buzzes with a text from his race engineer: "Another 'my girlfriend' mention - that's 7 this weekend. New record?😂"

The F1 Twitter account has already posted the clip, and the comments are pouring in: "Lando mentioning his gf challenge: IMPOSSIBLE DIFFICULTY" "Find someone who talks about you the way Lando talks about her😭" "Petition to give her a mic during races since he clearly can't go 5 mins without consulting her😂"

But that’s just Lando. Whether he’s at the track, doing interviews, or just hanging out at home playing sim racing, he’s always reaching for your hand, always finding ways to be close. His enthusiasm isn’t just about racing anymore—it’s about sharing every moment, every win, every challenge with you.

"You know they're making compilation videos of you talking about me in interviews, right?" you tell him later that evening.

He’s sprawled on the hotel couch, resting his head in your lap, still buzzing from the win. "Only volume three? They’re slacking," he grins, then gets that soft, sincere look that makes your heart skip. "I can't help it, can I? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

The funny thing is, nobody knows the half of it. From all the jokes about how he can't stop talking about you, to memes and compilation videos.

They don’t see the quiet moments—the good luck texts before every practice session, how he absentmindedly plays with your fingers during strategy meetings, how sometimes he has that awestruck look when he thinks you’re not watching.

In a world of fierce competitors and tight margins, Lando Norris, McLaren’s rising star, has somehow made your love story as much a part of his racing journey as podiums and pole positions. And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing.

[inkandapex]

pole position

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Lando does his best to teach his girlfriend how to drive — like a winner.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing

“No, Lando.”

“Please, baby,” Lando practically whines, ignoring the others in the room. “It’s just a quick shoot for the collab merch. In and out. I swear.”

Across the room, Max and his girlfriend P exchange an amused glance, barely holding back their laughter. For the past 20 minutes, they’ve been silent witnesses to Lando’s full-on groveling session — all to convince Y/N to take part in some new Quadrant content in Japan for their Liberty Walk collab.

Y/N shifts on the sofa, arms crossed. “Lan… I don’t know. I get so awkward doing stuff like that.”

“That’s why it’s perfect!” he insists, scooting closer until he’s basically backed her into the corner of the couch. “You don’t have to say anything or act. Just wear the merch, come to the car meet with me, let them snap a few pics, shoot a quick video. That’s it.”

“If it helps,” Max chimes in, lifting a brow, “P and I are filming too. We’ll be there the whole time.”

Y/N hesitates, her expression shifting. “I just…” she trails off, then drops her voice, “Do you want to know the real reason I don’t want to?”

Lando’s face softens. “Of course.”

“It’s the comments. Every time I’m in one of your videos or posts, people say stuff. About me, about us, and I—”

“Baby,” Lando says gently, reaching out to take her hand in both of his. “I don’t give two fucks about what people say. You know that, right? This is a big deal for me, and I want you there. With me.”

She looks into his eyes — all bright and hopeful and full of that boyish charm that always ruins her resolve. She lets out a slow breath.

“Alright,” she says with a soft smile, nodding.

Lando’s entire face lights up. “Yes!” he shouts, yanking her into a hug and nearly knocking her off the couch.

“Should’ve asked for something in return,” Max chuckles, leaning back with a grin.

“Damn,” Y/N says, raising an eyebrow as she pulls back slightly. “I should’ve, huh?”

Lando rolls his eyes at Max, then turns back to her. “Anything you want, my love.”

“Really?” she grins, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Yeah. Go on.”

“I kinda want a baby blue Miata,” she says sweetly, almost too innocently.

Lando scoffs and flops back onto the couch. “Baby, you can’t even drive.”

“Excuse me?” she gasps. “Yes, I can!”

“You can,” P jumps in, “but you don’t.”

“Only because Lando insists on driving every single time,” she shoots back.

“Because you freaked out the last time we hit the highway!” Lando laughs.

“That was one time!” she protests. “Maybe if I had a baby blue Miata, I’d want to drive more.”

Lando narrows his eyes at her, then grins. “Mmm... deal.”

Y/N laughs, patting his thigh affectionately. “I’m kidding, Lan. I’ll do the Japan thing. Promise.”

Max shakes his head, “Would've pressed him harder for that Miata, though. Just saying”

-------------------------------------------------

Lando had been out running last-minute errands before their flight to Japan the next day, leaving Y/N alone in their apartment. Now, she sat cross-legged on the floor of their closet, half-buried in a mountain of clothes, determined to pack everything perfectly. She was methodically rolling her shirts, one by one, stacking them neatly into the open suitcase beside her.

“Baby?” Lando’s voice called out from the hallway, followed by the familiar clink of his keys landing in the bowl near the front door.

“Bedroom!” she shouted back without looking up, still deep in her folding groove.

She heard his footsteps make their way through the apartment until he finally appeared in the doorway. When she glanced up, her hands paused mid-roll — Lando was grinning like a kid up to no good.

Her brows furrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“What?” he echoed innocently, settling down on the floor across from her.

“That look on your face…” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “What did you do?”

Lando shrugged, still wearing that mischievous smirk. “So, you know how we leave for Japan tomorrow night?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, not looking up this time as she resumed folding.

“And how you so kindly agreed to come to the Quadrant event with me,” he added, voice casual.

She glanced at him again, more suspicious now. “Where is this going, Norris?”

“Just fulfilling a promise,” he said with a dramatic little bite of his lip, reaching behind him and pulling out a small paper bag.

Y/N stared at it as he placed it in front of her. “I’m scared.”

Lando laughed. “Just open it, you muppet.”

Still side-eyeing him, she reached into the bag and pulled out a small black box wrapped with a ribbon. She looked from the box to him, her stomach fluttering a little with curiosity.

Slowly, she untied the ribbon and flipped open the lid — her breath catching the moment her eyes landed on the contents.

“No…” she whispered.

Inside was a single key, the Mazda emblem shining in the light.

“It’s baby blue,” Lando grinned. “Just like you wanted.”

Her jaw dropped. “Shut up. You didn’t!”

“I did,” he laughed, watching her with pure delight. “It’s downstairs. Paperwork’s sorted and everything.”

“You’re fucking mental,” she said, wide-eyed, before launching herself at him. She tackled him into a tight hug, knocking them both back onto the soft carpet of the closet as they dissolved into laughter.

“Ow,” Lando wheezed through his smile, arms wrapped tightly around her. “Come on then—let’s take it out for a test drive.”

--------------------------------------------------

Lando sat in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward Y/N with a soft smile on his face. He watched her in silence, soaking in her excitement as she ran her fingers along the dashboard, adjusted the mirror for the fifth time, and looked around the interior like she couldn’t quite believe it was real. He’d already filmed a few clips on his phone — mostly of her gawking at the car like it was a newborn puppy.

“You really like it, huh?” he smirked, breaking the silence.

Y/N turned to him, eyes wide and a dramatic pout on her lips. “I fucking love it, Lan. This is insane. I love you.”

Lando chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you too, baby. But, uh… we’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes now. Think we could maybe… I dunno, drive it?”

“Oh—right!” she laughed, quickly reaching for her seatbelt and clicking it into place. “Okay, okay. Focus.”

He watched as she adjusted her seat, then mumbled under her breath, “Okay… brake is here… this one’s the gas…”

Lando snorted. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve worn a helmet.”

She shot him a glare and smacked his arm.

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching the spot dramatically. “I was kidding, my love! Come on, you’ll be fine.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then took a deep breath and put her hands on the wheel, her expression shifting into determination — though the slight panic in her eyes was still very much there.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Lando said with a teasing grin. “Let’s see what this baby blue beast can do.”

Y/N hit the gas a little too enthusiastically, and the car jolted forward.

“Jesus!” Lando yelped, gripping the door handle. “Okay, not that much throttle, Max Verstappen.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Sorry! Sorry! I got excited!”

“Just… ease into it, yeah?” he said, trying not to smile. “You drive like someone who just got signed by Red Bull and forgot they’re in a Miata.”

“Shut up,” she grinned, easing off the gas as they finally rolled out of the lot. “You bought me the car, now deal with the consequences.”

Lando laughed, eyes still on her — completely in love, even if slightly terrified.

“You gotta relax a bit, baby,” Lando said gently, glancing over at her. “Come on, you know this road — we drive through it all the time.”

Y/N’s jaw was tight, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead, and her knuckles were practically turning white from how hard she was gripping the wheel. “No, Lando,” she sighed, breath shaky. “You drive here all the time. I just sit in the passenger seat, stare out the window, and yap about random shit.”

He tried to hide his smile. “Fair point.”

She took a deep breath in, then out, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders.

“Just look straight ahead, my love,” Lando said softly, his voice calm as his eyes scanned the road. “You’re doing so good.”

“I’m gonna do a Monaco lap,” she mumbled, half-joking.

Lando’s face lit up like a little kid. “Ooooh,” he grinned, sitting up straighter. “What a clean first sector from Y/N L/N! She’s now approaching the iconic hairpin—can she nail it?”

Y/N burst into a laugh but kept her hands steady, guiding the car through the turn with a little more confidence than before.

“There it is! Smooth through the hairpin!” Lando shouted in his best commentator voice, leaning toward the windshield dramatically. “This is vintage Y/N — calm under pressure, minimal tyre degradation!”

She laughed again, the nerves beginning to melt away the farther they got from their apartment.

"How's my pace?" she asks, playing along

"Pace looks good Y/N, let's keep it clean" he responds

Lando stayed quiet when she needed to focus but tossed in bits of advice here and there. She was settling into it now — her grip on the wheel loosening, posture relaxing, her head even bobbing a little to the radio.

As they neared the end of the block — their self-declared “finish line” — Lando couldn’t help himself. He pulled his phone out, already hitting record with a grin.

“Y/N L/N now approaching the finish line!” he exclaimed, holding his phone toward her. “Can she take pole position?!”

Y/N giggled, keeping her eyes on the road. “Shut up, Lando.”

“And it’s pole position for Y/N!” he shouted triumphantly. “What a stellar lap! Purple sectors across the board!

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly missed the turn.

“You’re an idiot,” she grinned, cheeks pink from laughter and pride.

“I’m your idiot,” he said, still recording her.

“And apparently my race engineer.”

“Damn right,” Lando grinned. “We’ve gotta get you a seat now, my love.”

“Oh yeah? I heard McLaren’s looking for a new teammate for Oscar,” Y/N teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

Lando snorted, squeezing her hand. “Okay, maybe not my seat.”

She laughed, intertwining her fingers with his as the city blurred softly around them, late afternoon light filtering through the buildings, casting golden streaks on the dash.

They drove for a while like that, quiet moments filled with warmth and shared glances, her confidence behind the wheel growing with every block.

“You’re actually doing amazing, you know that?” Lando said after a few minutes, voice soft and full of pride.

Y/N looked over, smile tugging at her lips. “It’s the co-driver. He’s kinda cute.”

“Just ‘kinda’?” he grinned.

She shrugged playfully. “He’s growing on me.”

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne had you on your knees between his spread thighs, his fingers threaded through your hair. “Behave,” Bruce commanded before pressing his thumb down onto the pad of your pink tongue, testing your gag reflex. Always experimenting, always testing and tweaking. “I see you’ve been practicing the pharyngeal exercises I’ve provided. You didn’t even gag this time,” he murmured, more-so to himself, though the soft smirk that crawled onto his lips was for you. Satisfaction shimmered in his naturally icy gaze. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip. “Impressive. Well done, honey.”

The affectionate name was a nice touch, right? Right? Or was it too. . old-fashioned? Or worse, was he too forward and made himself look like a desperate creep?

“You look exquisite on your knees. Beautiful, like a painting.” *Not trashy or filthy, but elegant and tasteful,* Bruce had nearly added, but he understood how the words could be received coming from the lips of a wealthy white man.

(I was ovulating when I hurried and threw this together lmao)

. . . That’s how you’d ended up stuffed full of Bruce Wayne’s cock, bent over the examination table of his home lab, his hand fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck. He analyzed your facial expressions, every twitch and moan, in your reflection off the metal equipment.

Chest to back, he panted against your ear, “How does this feel? You like when I go deep, doll?” Bruce placed a hurried, sloppy kiss against your cheek before planting his palm between your shoulder blades, holding you in place.“Use your voice, honey. I want to know what you like. How do you want me to play with you?”

Dick Grayson had planned the perfect date . . . except he forgot how prone to rain showers Bludhaven was.

On the rooftop of a rain-slick abandoned building beneath the neon glow of restaurant lights and advertisements on the Jumbotron, takeout containers were hastily shoved aside along with the spandex of your super-suit, so you could straddle him. A crisp drizzle dampened his hair. In between ravenous kisses, you could hear the patter, patter, patter of rain droplets hitting the plastic of your takeout.

Dick was the first to break the kiss, gasping for air. “We’re gonna have to be quick, baby, or it’s gonna get wet around here. And I don’t mean just you.” His skin was damp with mist, and a florid blush sprouted on the apples of his cheeks as he watched you sink down onto his cock. Lips pursed in a wince, you wobbled, your balance not the greatest.

Dick was the acrobat, not you. You preferred the safety of gravel, the promise of a next step.

“Oh, come on, just a little more,” he dared you,” I know you can take it. You’ve done it before.” Dick’s gloved hands slithered around your waist, pulling your chest to his, then he bucked his hips upward, bullying the rest of his cock into your hole. “There we go. Just like that,” he half cooed, half murmured into your cheek and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Look at you. . .” Jason Todd said, almost reverently, his breath fanning your slit from beneath you. You’d been sucking his cock after every patrol, no questions asked. It made Jason feel a bit guilty, like things were unfair, so he let you ride his face. He’d been teasing all night because he was still Jason. Thigh kisses, kitten licks, his breath ghosting over your core.

The smirk that crept across his lips could only be described as sardonic, smug, shit eating. “Worked up yet?” Jason raised a scarred eyebrow. “Aww, you poor thing, needing me to take care of it.” Jason pressed a kiss to your mound, right above your puffy clit, the special place he was needed most. Your stomach was flooded with warmth, your thighs were as tense as violin chords. You needed to cum.

“Should I cave?” Jason considered, tilting his head and screwing his lips up. “Nahhh. You look too good all soaking wet and desperate.” He himself was rock hard and leaking within the confines of his jeans. Never mind that, teasing you was one hundred percent worth whatever torture he might suffer. Though, you knew the game of teasing would be a lot less fun when his turn came around.

“Y’know you could beg and I would be a bit more. . . forthcoming.” Jason paused and gave you time to cave and beg. “No? Nothing? Then I guess you’ll just have to get your own self off, sweetheart.”

A string of saliva connected his top and bottom row of teeth when he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. “Well, baby, if you want to it so bad, you better start taking it. I’m set to go all night.”

[ysaefinn]

Pairing: Dilf!Satoru Gojo x gn!reader x Dilf!Suguru Geto

Synopsis: you try being sneaky behind your boyfriends' backs. But they're dead set on pampering you.

Good riddance.

You feel like ripping your hair out. The Zoom meeting has been going on for what feels like forever now. You've already told the interviewer everything he needed to know, your educational detaile, your degree, your previous experiences in the work force, and even your living arrangement for whatever fucking reason. So why on earth is he still running his mouth?? The ache in your cheeks from holding that tight smile makes you begin to regret applying for the job in the first place.

"You know you don't have to do this." And you do know,"we take care of you just fine, don't we?" And they do,"please, you stress yourself enough with school. You have enough on your plate already." And you do "Awe baby, just let us take care of you." and you should, but you just wouldn't fucking listen huh?

Your married boyfriends hate to see you like this. Don't get it twisted, they find it endearing the way you just don't seem to be able to sit still, how you just have to be doing something to contribute. But you just love taking it too far, working yourself to the bone, burning yourself out. Something the two middle aged men just can't have. And so, Suguru and Satoru have taken it as their mission to turn you into their spoiled little baby, a tiny little kitty in their palm, ever since they lured you into their marital home with charming smiles and hot meals.

The interviewer's words fade into the background as more and more doubt begins to cloud your mind. Realistically speaking, you really aren't in nee-

"Oh? what do we have here?"

You freeze.

But a pair of strong muscular arms wrap around your own, warming you right back up, you recognize that teasing tilt of tone anywhere. Lost in your own thoughts, you haven't been able to catch Satoru make his way into the room you swear you locked, and pull you into his embrace, your back pushed against hid soft plush chest.

"We talked about this didn't we? I can't believe you would go behind our backs like this? Im so disappointed~"

And usually, you'd laugh, kiss his cheek, tell him to stop being so dramatic, or even play along if he's lucky. But not when you've been caught red-handed, not when you've promised them time and time again that you'd take better care of yourself, and not when you've been pushing this interview around for when they both would be at work, and definitely not with your camera still on.

"U-uh satoru..." Said man responds with a hum against the back of your head in between gentle feather-light kisses.

"I'm uhm...in the middle of something....as you can see"

A second then two pass before he takes his face off of your hair. You can feel his piercing blue gaze burn the back of your head before he bursts into laughter. You shrink and curl back into him further.

"Awh sweets, the audaci-"

"Easy, Satoru. No use in being mean, you know our little angel just can't help it"

Your stomach drops to you ass once you register your other boyfriend (who's also your other boyfriend's husband)'s voice. Satoru rests his chin on your shoulder before pouting childishly.

Once again, your camera is very much still recording.

Suguru is leaning against the frame of the wide open door, a fond little smile on his face. And all hope is thrown to the wind. You may have had a chance at escape with Satoru, but definitely not with his husband. The feeling of hopelessness intensifies when the long haired man stands up straight and makes his way to you with purpose.

Suguru carries himself with the same elegance that caught your eye the first day you've met, a select few gray strands catch the sunlight making his black locks almost seem bejeweled. His hand comes down to ruffle his husband's hair and then to pinch your cheek affectionately before taking your unoccupied side. Effectively adding more fuel to the fire. Your hands fly to hide your flaming hot face, and your men share a look of amusement.

"Aww sweetie, come here." And of course. he wouldn't be Suguru if he didn't jump at the chance to coddle you in his own arms. "i know, i know... all of this work business must be stressing you out to no end," he noses at your temple, then moves to smear a long chast kiss on your cheek.

Maybe it's out of consideration for your rapidly beating heart. Maybe he thinks it's something only you should have the privilege to hear, either why you're thankful the next words came in the form of a whisper againt your cheek.

"But that's why you have us, right? We'll handle everything. You can just be our little one, wouldn't that be nice?"

And you nod, you actually nod. Can you believe that? That's all it took. Being sandwiched between the couple, a few kisses here and there a gentle whisper and you're once again swept off your feet.

"Why do you have to be this waaaayyy..." your muffled whining only serves to endear them, a big hand travels under your shirt to rub soothing circles on your back.

"It's for your own good" Suguru is yet to drop the soft cooing.

"And you do it to yourself!" Satoru is yet to drop the teasing.

You're reminded of two big happy cats when they start rubbing their cheeks on either side of your face, it's pretty impressive how synchronized they can be sometimes, yet again, you suppose it just comes naturally after a decade of marriage.

"..excuse m-" "You're excused!" Satoru quickly shuts your laptop. Effectively interrupting the interviewer, almost out of fear of an impromptu change of mind from your end, you can be quite stubborn, something they're working on correcting as well.

The embarrassment doesn't get a chance to sink in before Suguru scoops you up in his arms, eager to mother you as per usual.

"You've barely eaten anything for breakfast, you must be starving.. our poor baby..."

And your brain is melting again.

Maybe another day of unemployment wouldn't kill you.

[i2rizz]

Pet names the bllk boys would call you

Isagi, bachira, rin, nagi, reo, sae, shidou, kaiser, ness, barou

|masterlist

Isagi Yoichi - "Babe"

You always thought Isagi was the classic type. The kind of boyfriend who, despite being an absolute menace on the field, was sweet and soft behind closed doors. And you were right.

"Hey, babe, can you pass me the water?"

You blinked.

It wasn't the first time he called you something affectionate, but it was the first time he said it so casually. You grabbed the water bottle from the counter, tossing it to him. "Since when do you call me that?"

He caught the bottle, smiling sheepishly. "Dunno. Just felt natural. You like it?"

A smirk tugged at your lips. "Say it again."

"Babe," he repeated, softer this time.

Yeah. You definitely liked it.

Bachira Meguru - "Lovebug"

With Bachira, you were never safe from nicknames. From "sugar plum" to "honey bunch," he'd called you everything under the sun. But today, he'd decided on something new.

"My lovebug, come here!" Bachira sang, arms wide open.

You stared at him, unamused. "Lovebug? Really?"

"Yeah! You’re cute and tiny, and you always stick to me like one. So, lovebug!"

Before you could argue, he tackled you onto the couch, nuzzling into your neck with an exaggerated hum. "You like it, don’t you?"

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if you start calling me 'buggy,' I'm leaving."

"No promises!"

Itoshi Rin - "Angel"

Rin wasn’t the type to throw around sweet names. You were lucky if he even said "good morning" without a grunt. But lately, he’d been slipping up.

"Angel, where’s my hoodie?" he muttered from the bedroom.

You nearly dropped your phone. "Huh?"

Rin peeked out from the doorway, frowning. "What?"

"What did you just call me?"

He went stiff. The realization dawned on his face, his ears turning red. "I— Shut up. Just give me my hoodie."

You grinned, walking over and tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Say it again."

"Not happening."

You leaned in, whispering, "Angel."

His hand shot up, covering your mouth. "Drop it." But the blush on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Nagi Seishiro - "Bunny"

"Bunny, c'mere."

You stopped mid-step, staring at Nagi. "Did you just call me ‘bunny’?"

He blinked lazily, patting the empty space beside him on the bed. "Yeah. You’re soft and sleepy like one. Now, cuddle."

You huffed but crawled into his arms anyway. "You’re just using cute names to distract me, aren't you?"

He yawned, draping an arm over you. "Maybe. But also ‘cause I like you."

Your heart did a little flip. "I hate you."

"Mm. Love you too, bunny."

Mikage Reo - "Princess"

Reo had been calling you "princess" since the moment you got together. At first, you thought it was just a playful joke. But no, he was dead serious.

"Princess, let me carry that for you."

"Princess, you shouldn't walk in those heels so much."

"Princess, did you eat today?"

Finally, you snapped. "Reo, do you even know my actual name anymore?"

He laughed, pulling you close by the waist. "Of course, I do. But you’re my princess first."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile forming on your lips. "Ridiculous."

"Adorable," he corrected, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Itoshi Sae - "Doll"

Sae never wasted words. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or unnecessary sweetness. But when he did something, he meant it.

"Doll, are you listening?"

You blinked out of your daze, focusing back on him. "Did you just call me 'doll'?"

Sae sighed, setting his fork down. "Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"No, but it’s very… unexpected."

He smirked. "Thought it suited you. You’re pretty. Fragile."

"I am not fragile."

"Mm." He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re still my doll."

Your face burned. Damn him and his effortless charm.

Shidou Ryusei - "Kitten"

"Kitten, you’re killing me."

You groaned as Shidou draped himself over your shoulders, arms locking around you like a vice. "Get off me, you idiot."

"Not until you admit you love it when I call you that."

You squirmed, trying to shake him off, but his grip only tightened. "Shidou—"

"Say it. You love it."

You exhaled sharply. "Fine. Whatever. Just get off."

Shidou grinned, finally letting go. "Knew it. You’re so cute, kitten."

You threw a pillow at his face. "Shut up."

Michael Kaiser - "Schatz"

Kaiser loved teasing you in German. It made you flustered, and he lived for it.

"Schatz," he purred, leaning over your shoulder.

You frowned. "That better not mean something dumb."

He laughed. "Relax. It means ‘treasure.’"

You eyed him suspiciously. "For real?"

"For real. You’re my most precious thing, after all."

Your heart clenched. You punched his arm lightly. "Stop being cute."

"Never, schatz."

Alexis Ness - "Darling"

Ness was a hopeless romantic. It was no surprise when he started calling you "darling" in that soft, affectionate tone.

"Darling, don’t forget your scarf."

You paused, blinking up at him. "Since when do you call me that?"

Ness smiled, adjusting the scarf around your neck. "Since I realized I want to call you mine in every way possible."

Your breath hitched. He was unfair.

Barou Shoei - "Queen"

Barou wasn’t one for unnecessary nicknames. But when he did call you something, it held weight.

"You’re my queen. Act like it."

You smirked. "Oh? And what does that make you?"

He crossed his arms, staring down at you. "The king, obviously."

You chuckled. "So dramatic."

"You love it."

You did.

[callsignpxnguin]

Jealous Simon Riley

AO3

It had been a lovely night, overall. Simon had taken you out to your favourite restaurant as a surprise reward for you getting a promotion, and everything was just perfect. The music was soft but fitting, conversation had been fun and easy, and you were just feeling happy.

So was Simon. Or, at least he was, until a waiter asked for your number right in front of him. Like he was irrelevant. Like there was a chance that you’d give it to him. Like it wasn’t inexplicably clear that the two of you were on a date.

Safe to say, he got very close to murder the second the waiter dared utter the question.

“I— sorry, but no, I have a partner,” you stuttered in surprise, glancing at Simon as you anticipated his chest puffing up and his hazel eyes darkening like embers.

You tried to shake your head subtly, in an attempt to calm him down and get him to drop it, but he was already stood up and, less than a moment later, had wrapped his meaty arm around your midsection and buried his face in the crook of your neck, practically vibrating with anger.

“Let me at him. One punch. Please,” Simon rumbled, not-so-quietly, as the waiter’s eyebrows shot up and he wisely skittered away. His accent always thickened when he was pissed — and you don’t think you had ever seen him so furious.

“No, Si,” you responded desperately, wrapping him in a hug for the sole purpose of keeping him from flattening the poor waiter. Sure, it was pretty rude and egotistical of him, but that didn’t mean he deserved a bloody death with his remainders splattered across the floor in pieces. “It’s okay. He made a mistake.”

“Oh, yeah, a bloody fuckin’ mistake. I really love those,” Simon growled in response, his grip on you tightening to the point where it was almost uncomfortable. You tried once more to calm him down by kissing his head gently, but to no avail.

“Let me pay the bill and we can leave,” you said gently, prying him off of you. “I won’t leave a tip, if it makes you happy. And… I’ll leave a bad review.” The white lies flowed out and left a bad taste in your mouth, but you were desperate to get him out of his before his temper fully snapped.

He hesitated. “…Fine. But we’re also never coming back here again.” As he raised his head to look down at you, you realised just how murderous his expression was. His eyebrows were slanted into sharp, menacing lines, and, god, his eyes…

Your face fell. “Simon!” He didn’t really expect you to boycott your favourite restaurant because he got jealous, right?

The man hesitated again. “…Not for a while,” he amended, a little quieter.

You huffed affectionately. “You jealous, jealous man. C’mon, let’s head back. Can’t let this spoil our evening.”

Suddenly, Simon’s mouth was at your ear, hot breath blowing against the side of your face. “I’m pounding you so hard when we get home that—“

“That’s enough!” You squeaked, ears flushing pink as you basically dragged him out, throwing some cash on the table as you went.

Nevertheless, he did fulfil his promise. Simon wasn’t one to go back in his word. You should have learnt that by now.

Again, anyone fancy a spicy part two?