#and I do not know how to let it out clearly enough

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

STRETCH (M)

★ PAIRING: cheerleader!Jaemin x cheer captain!Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 4k

★ GENRE(S): smut

☆ SUMMARY: Jaemin can't fit into his cheer uniform anymore because he's been working out too much. While you can't help but admire his muscles, you realize the entire team is admiring him too and that's not going to fly. You decide you need to take action and get Jaemin a new uniform

★ ☆ WARNINGS:  unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, explicit sexual intercourse, MDNI

☆★ NOTES:  The concept of cheerleader Jaemin is just too hot to me so I had to spin the block on this one. Continuation of Team Spirit! that can be read as a stand alone!

────୨ৎ────

Jaemin has been bulking up lately. He had always been really into fitness and a bit of a gym rat, but since joining the cheerleading squad, he hadn't had time for his regular workouts, Now with competition season over he was back at it and you couldn’t help but notice the results. His chest looked fuller, and his arms rippled with defined muscle, showing off all the dedication he’s been putting in.

But as much as you loved his body, it was definitely time for him to size up his uniform.

His chest was starting to press tightly against the front of his shirt, the stretchy spandex doing little to hide the swell of his muscles. The uniform shirt he wore was a crop top that showcased his abs. That was a sight that was already causing issues, stealing your attention at the wrong time. But this? This was far beyond what anyone should have to deal with. The fabric was strained to its limit, and each breath he took only made it worse.

You doubted that going up a size in spandex would make much of a difference, but something had to give—he was practically bursting out of his uniform. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

Standing on the opposite side of the gym, you watched him closely as he moved. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his toned arms flexed beneath a snug black spandex top. To be honest, it was quite a sight. You enjoyed observing the way his body moved in the uniform, but then reality hit when you noticed the rest of the team admiring his outfit as well.

The fun was over, that shirt had to go. You weren’t deaf to the whispers that drifted around the locker room when your teammates thought you weren't listening. You overheard them making comments about how good he looked. You had to forcibly push aside the twinge of jealousy that threatened to creep in, reminding yourself to stay composed and maintain a level head. You were captain, you couldn't just go on a jealous rampage.

You did eventually find a bit of solace in making those who had whispered about him run extra drills. It felt good to dish out some consequences for their gossip. Plus, the glare you shot their way throughout practice was enough to let them know you were aware of their little comments. After that, suddenly no one had anything to whisper about anymore.

Strange how that works.

You walked into the locker room after practice, a small bag in your hand. “I ordered you a new top,” you said casually, trying to avoid eye contact. Jaemin was always able to read you like a book and you were beyond embarrassed at the fact you couldn't focus during practice because of his boobs. He did not need to know what thoughts swirled around in your head.

Jaemin's head turns towards your direction, a curious expression on his face. "What's wrong with the one I have now?" he asked.

You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's getting stretched out. It's time for a new one."

He looked unimpressed, clearly not buying your excuse but after a moment of silence, he shrugged and said, "Okay."

It wasn’t until Jaemin put on the new uniform top that you realized the mistake you had made. As he stood in front of you in the locker room, the shirt hung loosely around him, nearly swallowing his athletic frame. The baggy sleeves sagged at his arms, and the hem of the top drooped far below his waistline. You could see the dissatisfaction written all over his face as he scrunched up his nose in distaste.

"Uh, this… isn’t really the right fit, is it?" he asked, trying to tug at the fabric to adjust it.

"I swear it looked smaller online." You mentally kicked yourself for not double-checking the sizing.

Jaemin turned to face you fully, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "So, what? I’m just going to run around in a tent now?" His tone is playful.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I’ll order you something else. I promise I’ll get the right size this time."

"I just don't see what's wrong with my old one," he said, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

You hesitated, trying to find the right words as you eyed him. "D-don't you think the other one is a little tight?" you ask.

Jaemin shrugged, clearly unfazed. “Feels the same to me.”

You took a breath, trying to be subtle. “In the chest area,” you emphasized, hoping to steer the conversation in the right direction, trying to give him as much of a hint as possible without sounding too blunt.

He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he glanced down at his torso. “Is that so?”

“It’s just that your old one hugs your body… a little too well, you know?”

Jaemin's eyes widened as he caught on. "Ohhhh...I see.” A smirk played on his lips. “Then I think it fits perfectly."

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. The way he looked at you—the confidence mixed with mischief—made your stomach flutter. You felt yourself blush, caught between wanting to call him out and being completely distracted by how effortlessly charming he was. "I'd agree if the entire team didn't think the same thing," you muttered, trying to deflect.

Jaemin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Kinda like how the gym feels about you and your cute little spandex shorts during summer practice?" he asked, voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You felt your face heat up as he mentioned your shorts. You'd always thought they were just a comfortable choice, until the day he told you how much they showed off your ass and banned you from wearing them. "They're comfy," you said defensively, trying to brush it off.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow.

Okay, whatever," you huffed, eager to shift the topic. “But back to the point, this was supposed to be about finding you something that actually fits.”

"So what if it's a bit stretched out now? It's got character. Plus, it's like my lucky shirt now."

You shook your head, laughing. "Lucky shirt?" You echoed, incredulous.

He nodded, a fierce look on his face. "You can't keep your eyes off me when I wear it, so it must be lucky,” he says.

You groaned inwardly; he was going to be so insufferable in that shirt now. Why had you ever mentioned how it affected you? You could already tell he was going to exploit this newfound power over you.

Rolling your eyes with a shrug, you replied, “Whatever.”

You’d just have to come up with another plan to get rid of that shirt once and for all.

—

Ever since you discussed your thoughts on Jaemin's shirt, you could swear it had gotten tighter. You were convinced that the shirt held some sort of magical power of enchantment because you couldn’t focus. You were missing cues and forgetting routines left and right, all while Jaemin pranced around in his annoyingly snug shirt.

It was almost as if he was wearing a compression shirt that not only accentuated his chest but also highlighted his stupidly disgusting slutty waist that you definitely didn’t want to grip onto while he pounded you into the nearest surface. You were losing your grip on reality, and all of it was thanks to him and that evil shirt.

You found yourself watching Jaemin when you really shouldn’t. He was in the middle of his routine, and you had only seconds left before your cue to come in on the opposite side of the mat. You didn’t have time to think about your face buried in his chest, or how firm it would feel under your fingertips.

Your teammates began to notice your distraction, and whispers started to circulate about your sudden lack of focus. "Dude, you okay?" one of them asked, nudging you playfully. You forced a smile, trying to brush it off, but you knew you weren't fooling anyone.

Suddenly you hated cheerleading. If it weren't for cheer, Jaemin would never have become a cheerleader, he wouldn't be sporting that top, and these thoughts wouldn’t be plaguing you now.

You missed your cue because of course you do, and the irritation in Seungkwan's expression was immediate.

“Okay, how about we take a break? I feel like everyone isn’t checked in today,” he said, his gaze sweeping over you with a pointed intensity. You roll your eyes instantly regretting making him your second co-captain next to Nayeon.

As you step off the mat you go straight to your water bottle, you need to cool down. Your eyes naturally find Jaemin and you swore you saw a brief smirk flicker across his face, only to vanish just as quickly. Did he think this was a game? Did he find it funny?

You would show him funny.

When you showed up in the spandex shorts Jaemin had banned you from wearing to practice, there was no humorous twinkle behind his eye anymore when he'd caught sight of you. His face fell, eyes glued to your thighs.

“Oops,” you said playfully, walking past him with a bounce in your step. As you moved, you could feel his gaze lingering. "Let's have a good practice today, everyone!" you called out to the floor

Nayeon leads the stretches, and you follow along with the rest of the team on the floor. You don't bother pulling the hem of your shorts down when they roll up, knowing full well what it did to Jaemin. You  sit on the floor with your legs straight out Infront of you in a seated pike stretch. You reach out to touch your toes, tilting your head just enough to catch Jaemin’s reaction in the corner of your eye. Just as you expected his eyes haven't left your ass since you walked into the gym.

You pulled yourself back up straight, trying to play it cool as seungkwan announced for everyone to find a partner for stretches. Jaemin was at your side in a heartbeat.

“Next break, you’re changing out of those,” Jaemin says firmly, leaving no room for argument. He pulls you to stand in front of him, your back to his chest. His grip on your waist is strong. His hands travel and In one fluid motion, he grabs your thigh spreading your legs apart, then slides down the back of your thigh until he hooks under your knee. With a gentle lift, he raised your leg into a heel stretch, his fingers gliding sensually up your leg until they rested at your calf.

“Says who?” you challenged, trying to maintain your composure. “These are comfy, and they let me stretch to my full potential.” You tilt your head to look at the position he’s bent you into.

He’s so close that you can feel his breath against the back of your neck, the heat radiating from his body pressing against you. You could feel that he’s hard pressed up against you.

“Also, I don’t remember asking for your permission to wear whatever I want,” you add.

Jaemin stretches your leg a little further, not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to make you feel the burn.

“You’re going to take them off, or I'll do it for you.”

As you stretched, a whine escaped you, and your lips instinctively pouted. "Fuck you," you spat out.

His response came swiftly: "Watch your mouth." He spits back.

He slowly lowered your leg, and once you caught your breath, he met your gaze with a challenging look in his eye. Jaemin was the sweetest thing but he would always be quick to put you in your place when you step out of line. He gestured for you to drop into a split, and with a subtle dip of your head, you secretly rolled your eyes but reluctantly obeyed.

You ease into a split and Jaemin situates himself on his knees behind you, his body leaning against yours in a warm press of heat. He gently pushes you forward, his hand gliding down to rest on your lower back for support. You lean into a saddle split, hands splayed out in front of you as you stretch forward.

Jaemin adds pressure and you're forced to delve even further into the stretch. His body provides an added push against yours, testing your limits. You grit your teeth, drawing on your flexibility to hold the position, but you could feel the burn.

It's not easy to hold the position, even with how flexible you are. You're used to bouncing back up, shaking out your muscles, and moving on to the next stretch. But with Jaemin's guidance, you're forced to push your boundaries and remain still, letting your body adapt to the demands of the stretch.

"Jaemin let me up." You huff.

“Gonna take ’em off?” he quips, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Fine!” you relent.

Jaemin allows you to sit up and once you catch your breath he helps you stand. He looks you in your eyes as he tugs on the hem of your shorts, pulling them down just enough after they’ve rolled up, raising an eyebrow at you in a silent dare. "Keep them that way," he stated with an air of authority, making your cheeks burn in annoyance.

“Okay, guys, back to your positions! We're going to start routines soon!” Nayeon called out.

With Nayeon and Seungkwan in charge of leading stretches, it was now your turn to step up and guide the rest of practice. You burn holes into the back of Jaemin's head as he joins up with Shotaro as practice officially starts.

—

After everyone else had cleared out, you found yourself cornering Jaemin in the locker room.

“This isn’t fair,” you grumble, crossing your arms. “If I can’t wear my shorts, you aren’t allowed to wear that stupid crop top.”

Jaemin turned to you, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Is that what this is about? Can’t keep your eyes off me, so you decided to pull this stunt? I thought you were more mature than that, baby." His smirk widened as he leaned against the locker, arms crossed over his chest. The way that obnoxious top clung to his newly bulked-up frame was maddening.

“Newsflash, Jaemin. I wear those because they’re comfy.” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer to confront him. "You wear that shirt because you like, some kind of attention whore. How do you even breathe in that thing?” Your voice echoed slightly in the empty locker room, bouncing off the tiled walls.

His laugh was low and utterly infuriating, the casual way he dismissed your frustration only stoking the fire inside you. He pushed off the locker, closing the distance between you in two easy strides. Suddenly, his hands landed on your hips, warm and firm, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“And what if I am?” Jaemin murmured, his breath brushing against your ear. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you firmly in place. “It got your attention, so what are you going to do about it? You gonna punish me for it?”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to be mad at him. But the way he looked at you, all dark eyes and that cocky grin, made it hard to think straight.

“Maybe I will,” you shot back, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your voice wavered just a fraction, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.

Jaemin’s smile deepened, and before you could react, he spun you around, his body pressing your back against the cold metal lockers. He pinned you there, solid and unyielding. One hand slid up your side while the other gripped your thigh, lifting it over his hip slightly so he could press himself closer.

“Go ahead,” he dared, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Punish me.”

The challenge in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel how hard he was pressed against you, and it took everything in you not to squirm. Instead, you raised your chin defiantly.

“Don’t think I will?,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

Jaemin’s lips curved into an amused smile, and he leaned in, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “You won't.”

His hand slid to your hips, fingers slipping past the waistline of your shorts to toy with you. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, but it escaped anyway, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.

“Let me hear you baby, I know.” he teased, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your clit. “I can tell, you know. Every time you look at me during practice. You get that naughty look in your eyes when you know you're supposed to be focusing. Bad girl.” He coos.

“Shut up,” you muttered, though your protest lacked any real conviction. His touch was too distracting, his words too close to the truth.

Jaemin chuckled, pulling his hands from your shorts. “Make me…or are you done pretending to be in charge.”

That did it. You shoved him back, pressing your palms against his chest. He stumbled slightly, his back hitting the row of lockers opposite you.

For a moment, you just stood there, breathing heavily, staring each other down. Then, without thinking, you closed the gap between you, grabbing the hem of his stupid uniform top and yanking it up.

Jaemin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t stop you. You tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. You let your gaze roam over his body, taking in the changes that had occurred. His shoulders were broader than before, his chest more defined. The faint trail of hair leading from his navel downward made your mouth go dry.

“Happy now?” he asked, his voice rough.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, catching his bottom lip between your teeth in a quick, punishing bite. He hissed, but his hands immediately found your hips again, pulling you flush against him.

“Not even close,” you whispered against his mouth before kissing him properly, hard and demanding. Jaemin responded instantly, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands roaming your body with a urgency that made your head spin.

Somehow, you ended up on the bench, his weight pressing you down into the hard wood. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just above your collarbone.

“Jaemin,” you gasped, your voice barely audible.

He lifted his head, meeting your eyes for a brief moment before capturing your mouth again. His hands slid under your shirt, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation made you moan into the kiss, and Jaemin grinned against your lips.

“Not so bossy now huh captain?” he murmured.

You glared at him and opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue as his hand slipped lower, past the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brushed against the slick warmth between your legs, and you couldn’t stop the tremble that ran through your body.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Jaemin’s smile was downright predatory as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “You’re so wet already,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All because of me? or maybe it was because of that crop top you claim to hate so much? You like it, admit it.”

You wanted to deny it, to push him away and regain some shred of control. But instead, you tilted your hips, silently urging him on. His fingers dipped inside you, slow and deliberate, and your head fell back against the bench.

“Jaemin,” you moaned, his name becoming a broken chant on your lips. His thumb circled your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. You writhed beneath him, desperate for more, but he kept his pace agonizingly slow, drawing out every sensation until you thought you might explode.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice dark and commanding.

You shook your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction but Jaemin wasn’t having it. He withdrew his hand, leaving you aching and empty, and propped himself up on his forearm above your head to look down at you.

“Say it,” he demanded, his eyes burning into yours.

You swallowed hard, your pride warring with the need coursing through your veins. Finally, you gave in, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I want you. All of you. Now.”

Jaemin didn’t need to be told twice. Jaemin swiftly strips you down, his hands moving with practiced ease. The cold wood of the bench bites into your back as you make contact, sending a shiver down your spine. The locker room was cool and you can’t help the goose bumps that prickle your skin. He reached for the waistband of his pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself. Once he's between your legs you reach out, gripping him in your warm palm and stroking him over a few times. His mouth hangs open in pleasure. He watched, breathless as you brush his tip against your entrance. Once you dip the head in he's taking over again and pushing his hips forward to drive into you in one smooth motion. The gasp that escaped your lips was swallowed by his mouth.

He starts at a brutal pace, not in the mood for anymore games. His hips snap against your ruthlessly and you have to wrap your legs around his waist to stop yourself from sliding off the bench. Jaemin groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he moved.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your body trembles as the pressure builds inside you. He slips a hand between your bodies to toy with your clit. You arch your back in response. As your legs began to tremble, you felt Jaemin's smile pressed against your skin when he kissed your shoulder.

“That's right baby. Is this what you needed?” he murmured between choppy breaths, his voice low and sultry.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his unrelenting thrusts and cruel fingers. You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mouth opens to respond; you know better than to remain silent, but nothing comes out. You nod your head lazily instead.

He shakes his head at you disapprovingly. “You know that's not good enough princess. Use those fucking, words.” He punctuates each of his words with a toe curling thrust of his hips as he pumps into you.

“Yes! F–fuck, don't stop.” You cry.

“Mmm,” He moans before leaning down to kiss you again. The kiss is wet and full of tongue as he licks into your mouth. “Gonna fill you up.”

When you finally came, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls, your nails scratching down his back. Jaemin followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you. You shiver as his hot seeds spill inside of you. When he pulls out his eyes watch as his cum drips out of you. You reach down in between your legs and collect his cum before pushing it back inside of you with a moan.

“Don’t want to waste a drop.” Your voice comes out in a whisper.

Jaemin eyes you hungrily before he closes his eyes to take a deep breath. He needed to calm himself before he had you pinned up against the lockers next.

Jaemin gets up before he decides to have you again, getting off the bench to rummage through his bag. He comes back to you with a towel and cleans you up. He gathers your clothes and helps you dress again before following suit.

“So,” he said after a while, his voice still rough, “how do you really feel about the crop top”

You turned to look at him, incredulous. “Are you serious?” You couldn’t wrap your head around how he effortlessly switched from driving you wild to being your sweet boyfriend in an instant.

He laughed, a warm, rich sound that seemed to fill the chilly locker room, and pulled you closer. “Dead serious.”

You sighed, unable to meet his gaze. “I… I like it.” You admit.

Jaemin's smile widened, but just as he was about to respond, you jumped in to clarify.

“BUT! That doesn’t mean I’m letting you wear it to practice. We’re going to order you the correct size, and as for that one,” you said, your gaze narrowing playfully at the shirt still lying on the floor, “that one is for my eyes only.”

“Deal.”

[gf2bellamy]

explanation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: an officer won't stop talking to you content warnings: annoyed spencer, light flirting between reader and spencer a/n: had to write something for glasses reid also he looks so good in this gif ohymgod also this is short sorry

You forced a polite smile, though your patience was wearing thin as the police officer in front of you continued his overly enthusiastic explanation.

His words blended together, a relentless drone that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Still, you nodded along, trying not to seem rude despite the growing urge to check your watch or glance elsewhere. 

What you didn’t notice was Spencer standing just a few feet away. He had been watching the exchange, his hazel eyes flickering between the officer and you.

From his position near the evidence board, he clutched a file in one hand, the papers inside creased slightly from the pressure of his grip.

His other hand, balled into a tight fist, remained at his side. 

It wasn’t like him to eavesdrop—at least not intentionally—but something about the way the officer leaned just a little too close to you made it impossible for Spencer to look away.

His jaw tightened as he struggled to focus on the task at hand, attempting to study the crime scene photos tacked to the board in front of him. 

But his mind wasn’t on the case.

It was on you.

On the way you shifted uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded at the officer, and the way your lips curved into that soft, practiced smile that Spencer had seen you use before when you were trying to be polite but had no real interest in the conversation. 

He knew you well enough to read the subtle signs.  

He didn’t want to interrupt—he wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate as he took a step closer. 

“I’ve already explained it to her,” he said flatly.

The monotone delivery caught you off guard, and you turned around quickly to face him, your eyes meeting his behind the familiar frames of his black glasses. 

Spencer wasn’t typically one to interrupt, especially not in such a dry way.

The officer, clearly thrown off by Spencer’s blunt interjection, shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a half-hearted nod. “Oh, uh… right. Well, if you’ve got it covered, then…” His voice trailed off as he stepped back, offering an awkward smile before retreating. 

You raised an eyebrow at Spencer as the officer walked away, leaving the two of you alone near the evidence board. “What was that about?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer shrugged, the file still clutched tightly in his hand. “Nothing,” he replied, his gaze darting to the board as if suddenly engrossed in the timeline pinned there. 

But you weren’t convinced. Spencer Reid was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them—not when it came to how he felt.

You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the faint crease in his brow, and the tension in his posture. 

“Spencer,” you pressed, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his fingers flexing around the edges of the file before letting out a small sigh. Finally, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I just didn’t think it was necessary for him to keep… explaining things to you,” he said, his words measured. "I already told you everything."

You frowned, trying to piece together the odd behavior. “I mean, he was being—” 

“He was wasting your time,” Spencer interrupted, his tone firmer now. His eyes flicked to yours, the frustration evident behind his glasses. “You already know what you’re doing. You don’t need someone like him hovering over you like that.” 

The realization hit you like a slow-moving train, the pieces falling into place.

Spencer wasn’t just irritated—he was jealous. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched him try to keep his expression neutral, though the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Spence,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, “were you jealous?” 

His eyes widened briefly, and he immediately shook his head. “Jealous? No, I… I wasn’t—” He faltered, his ears turning red as he fumbled for a convincing denial. 

“Sure you weren’t,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned slightly toward him. “It’s okay, though. It’s kind of… sweet.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing there was no way to argue without making it worse.

Instead, he sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

Your smile softened, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But you don’t have to worry—I’m not interested in anyone hovering over me. Unless, of course, it’s you.” 

That earned you a shy smile from Spencer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with relief. 

And just like that, the two of you returned to the case—but not before you caught the subtle glimmer of satisfaction in Spencer’s eyes. 

[bigthingsforeverintheworks]

Ok I almost took a media literacy L here before I decided to check out their website. First off it is just a publishing company, they're not writing them with AI or writing them at all.

The core business model is that you pay them a (relatively small, starting at $1500 dollars, they say up to $5000) sum of money up front and then they publish it, and you get all of the royalties, and much quicker than normal at that. Now that may seem odd, how are they making money from this?

Luckily their website has a list of famous company names

no clue what that means but those sure are companies (they do say on a different webpage that these are places they have "appeared in". Always glad to see that a company has articles that were made about it.

They have this testimony and yep the book sure does exist and was published by these guys, you can buy it from 6 different sites (none of them have any reviews but some have a preview and I mean. it looks fine, I don't know a lot about it but it doesn't seem that good on first glance).

So what they do is:

Proofreading (there's an option to get a human to do it for a "small extra fee", no numbers are given), this seems fine enough although I'm sure a human could do it. But weirdly enough they have this testimonial

First off this guy is talking about editing not proofreading which. kind of weird. But also it's just one of those things where like. Granted I haven't published a book but generally my understanding is editors are not evil and these types of people tend to be too protective of their work. Also this is just digging at traditional publishing.

2. AI design covers for you

Sure why not. I mean it won't be as good & you're not paying artists but whatever.

Stunning picture of a guy who discovered what AI does

3. They make AI audiobook & does advertising/printing (unclear if you need to pay for this)

Now looking at their blog-posts. First off we see this wonderful one where they explain how online publishers work.

Hm. Any conflict of interest there? This is a relatively standard practice (at least among tech companies) to put your own product in the same "objective" stance.

Anyhow they also have one about AI publishers.

Shockingly they're talking about it from a "make the numbers gooder" perspective but it's fine (besides the part where they don't link their sources but ok). They do keep talking about how editing in a way that makes it just seem like "that thing you do where you pay a company money and then they let you publish it" instead of a process wherein another person tries to help you improve the book.

A lot of it is just stuff where I have to either take their word on it or not.

Like ok optimizing a book for marketability is already on the wrong track but if i wanted to do so is AI the right place for that? Who knows. I do have a suspicion these articles are written by AI not just based on the AI-generated images

(look at the keyboards) but the redundancy and their classic list format does make it seem somewhat likely, Granted they do have human authors listed & I'm not really that interested in AI-vestigating companies but worth noting.

As for the article screenshotted in the original post, https://www.thebookseller.com/news/new-publisher-spines-aims-to-disrupt-industry-by-using-ai-to-publish-8000-books-in-2025-alone

For the record they were already in publishing before shifting to AI

And... they just seemingly don't get the point? Or they view all of these professions as just obstacles to the core essence of the book. But this is pretty clearly a non-answer.

Now for how they make money.

let's do some quick math. We assume they have 6 books at 20 ratings each, and 1 in 5 people leaves a review. Each book costs around 15 dollars (based on looking up one of the book's prices). That means they make 9000 dollars. (Probably less given the book sellers take a cut) but still that would be a decent profit for the author. Except I don't know where the 100% royalties they boast comes from. On their terms and service they say this:

and this is only when you earn more than $25 in a certain period (the period gets shorter as you pay them more)

But don't worry about literally anything financial that's not the point!

"I want to help bring books to the masses" yeah that's what publishing does. Ok but he means writing books as a hobby and/or legacy, same thing. Well no the writing you do on your own it's the publishing. Because the physical copies are very necessary. Like I don't know if i'm in the minority but I'd rather read a free PDF than buy something with an AI-generated cover, and if authors don't care about profit then they should too.

This guardian article has points about how it actually works & its similarities to existing types of publishing.

Initial reactions that still hold:

Why that image?

Why are they called Spine?

What are they even disrupting?

Things that don't really hold: Oh ew they're writing 8000 books with AI? Why?

Things I'm mixed on:

Anything about the actual humans; they do actually employ as of now 15 people who provide some services (e.g. a production manager) but also their goal is mostly to replace the traditional humans (who they view with disdain) with as much AI as possible before it becomes bad

Everyone involved in this should be catapulted into the sun.

A new publisher plans to churn out 8000 books in 2025 using AI. Everything about this from the massive waste of energy to the absence of any creative curiosity is utterly fucking depressing.

[plethorawrites]

I feel like we skipped over Club Owner Jason way too fast. Think of all the possibilities...

Club Owner Jason: Who thinks it's a chore more than anything but does it because he trusts himself to have control of the iceberg lounge more than Oswald.

Club Owner Jason: Who shows up every night, purposely scaring some guests, making a scene of throwing someone out once in a while just to prove a point and pass the time because it's boring sitting in the back, just watching the large crowds.

Club Owner Jason: Who spots you out of crowd, curious as to how he's never noticed you before when he knew every dancers name, as he did with all his staff for their safety.

Club Owner Jason: Who realizes you cut your hair recently, dying it a different shade, which wasn't unusual for dancers to do from time to time, but God, you suddenly stood out.

Club Owner Jason: Who pulled you from the floor to satisfy his own curiosity and when you—who was oddly enough not afraid of him the way most of his staff was—complained that he was eating away at your tips by doing so, suggested you dance for him instead. He was a much better tipper than any possible guest.

Club Owner Jason: Who watches your every move, his eyes hardly ever leaving your body unless it was to look you in the eyes, which, were just as stunning, he quickly realized while feeling mesmerized.

Club Owner Jason: Who is true to his word and tips you exceptionally well to compensate for being your only client that night, sliding several hundred dollars into your palms before twirling a strand of your hair in his fingers and asking you to dance for him again tomorrow night.

Club Owner Jason: Who keeps pulling you from the floor so often you stop asking your manager where you're going because you know it'll be to him, like always and to be entirely honest, you don't mind, because he's twice as respectful as most clients and far better at paying you what you're worth.

Club Owner Jason: Who one day, after especially hard day, wants to do more than just stare at you and dates to ask for your permission to touch you, just for a few minutes.

Club Owner Jason: Who pulls you onto his lap, his hands resting on your hips gently, staying completely still as he lays his head on your shoulder, breathing quietly against your neck.

Club Owner Jason: Whose hair you gently run your hands through, letting him rest against you in such an oddly intimate moment you wonder if this is really the guy everyone is so scared of. (Multiple of your fellow dancers has asked you how you were so calm always going to see him.)

Club Owner Jason: Who can't stop himself from shifting his head a bit, pressing a kiss to your exposed collar bone before immediately apologizing for doing so, clearly having lost his mind for a moment.

Club Owner Jason: Who moves to let you up, knowing fully well that this isn't your job and he's not willing to ask for those kind of services from you, only for you to stop him, enjoying the feeling of his hands on your hips. It felt almost natural.

Club Owner Jason: Who quietly asks you, almost hesitantly, why you're not afraid of him, only for you to shrug, not even sure if the answer yourself.

Club Owner Jason: Who brushes a piece of hair from your face, staring at you in silence for a long time before eventually asking if you'd ever let him know you outside of work, if you'd ever let him do this without getting paid for it..

Club Owner Jason: Who feels his heart clench when you tell him yes without hesitation.

[just-watch-and-calculate]

ooh writing that is related to time loops but not conventional time loop narrative is interesting. the idea I have now is a bit of a different direction in terms of the underlying concept though

TW/CW: death (mentioned in the 2nd person, implied ending) (also a slight warning: the following is fiction written in the second person and is about being disoriented in spacetime, and about the existential dread from that; also I don't know how much other people get out of this without some rather specific physics knowledge)

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

The rest of your life is ahead of you.

You get ready to end the day by waking up into the comforting embrace of sleep. This is the end of the day, right? Mind already— or still?— groggy, you are not sure. Faint recollections of today make themselves known in your mind. Recollections of one of the two ends of your life. Just whether it is the celebrated or grieved one you are not sure right now. At least you are headed away from it, right?

Thinking about that, you realize that you might be moving away from the moment you will(?) end he day by waking up. You are awake enough to notice that the phrasing of that sounds… off, somehow. The sun is still a bit away from setting— or is it rising right now? By definition the night ends with the sun rising and starts with it setting, so that is no help in figuring out which way is future and which way is past.

You remember somewhat how today went goes. And you remember a bit less clearly how tomorrow yesterday the closest day one night from now goes. That is a sign that the future is that way, right? That we know little enough about that temporal direction to think we have free will there.

But you know better than to think you truly have free will, don't you? You know that when you learn about it you are shocked. And you know that at some other point in time you are not shocked about it, at that point in time you accept that the universe is deterministic.¹

But will that be in the future, or has that been in the past? You hope that that is your future, because you remember enough to know that one direction is much longer than the other. Something goes went will go goes wrong today.

You realize that you should not have such clear memories of both past and future. Maybe that is why today has been— will be?— so confusing. You do know that it does make sense for it to be possible though: the direction of time is surprisingly ambiguous unless entropy is involved, so those memories do little to help.

Entropy! You remember: you can find out what direction is generally regarded as the future quite easily. You grab an ice cube. As you hold it you remember that you have(?) let it go right as your hand hurts slightly from the cold. It slides across the floor towards/away from you. Your hand is wet and cold from it. You know enough about entropy to know that the cube melted from holding it.

Which means that today is still mostly ahead of you. And then… nothing. Not the faintest recollection.

You feel cold panic. You are clinging on to the irrational, desperate hope that somehow you can change this. But you know that you can't. Shattered, disjointed recollections of today are burnt into you memory so much deeper than anything else.

Has some attempt to go back just reinforced fate instead? But that isn't how causality works. It shouldn't be. You hope you are not doomed already. You know you are.

Maybe— maybe your colleagues can help you. They've been working on this kind of thing for some distance time (but it's a lot less in time than what that length would be in space, isn't it?). Your research group is working with small controlled systems to better understand what time is. Most that you remember coming of that research so far only has potential for some parlor tricks, but that can change, even on such a short notice, right? (Hah! 'Short' notice, as if we all already know that time and space are not that different.)

There it is again, that irrational thought that somehow the universe doesn't work as you know it does. That things you know cannot be changed, things you know you cannot change, could be changed.

You stand at the bus stop. Why would you have to wait there if you know the bus has arrived early at its destination will be late at the bus stop?

You are on the bus. You just look out of the window disinterestedly, watching the world go by, letting distance pass like time. Is the bus driving forwards or backwards? Are you headed towards your end or away from it? In any case, part of what has you so disinterested in the bus ride is that you know it is uneventful. You have already ridden here from one of the stops you got on/off the bus at and remember that part of the drive. You also remember the other part from/to the other stop you will get on/off the bus at.

You arrive at the laboratory. "Good morning!" you respond. "Morning!" is the answer you receive from the only other person currently at the lab. You can't shake the feeling you should've responded with 'bye'.

You look at the current setup: two almost identical experiments that can run simultaneously — except one of them has opposite charges and is mirrored. And most important of all, one of them starts as the other ends — one of them is backwards. And you truly do not know which one that is anymore. (Anymore? Or will you just come to learn it later?)

It looks different from the other times you see it. "Hey, could you check my calculations? Something's not adding up, I've found a configuration where I don't know where some of the energy comes from" your colleague asks. "It's just, trying to figure it out has kept me up all night. I'd really appreciate a second pair of eyes on this."

You consider what she says: 'all night', not 'all day'. That clears up how she perceives time. It does not fix how you do though.

You remember what is written on the piece of paper she hands you as you first read it. And she is right, it should all add up, it just somehow doesn't. It is as if the Formulas just 'know' that something will be there to fix things. And if not, who knows what would happen. You would rather not know. With a sigh you say "Whatever is wrong with that calculation, I can't spot it either."

"It's alright, I already modified our setup to test this. Want to give it a try?" she responds. Not waiting for your answer in her eagerness to learn she fiddles with the controls of the experiment.

You run between her and the experimental setup. You suddenly know where the extra energy is: with you, somehow. The setup is currently powering up/down. You have to do something or you really will risk finding out how the universe deals with mathematical inconsistencies.

She calls your name, voice full of worry. You are in the experiment room. The setup is powered. You know what fate lurks here. You want to leave this room so badly.

It is too late. Your path through spacetime is not exactly subject to causality — it kind of is causality. Your path through spacetime is not something you have carved out. It just is. And here it leads you. And one of its ends is here.

You want just one more day.

The last, or perhaps the first thing you know is just how wrong you still were about how time works.

_____ ¹ I'm too much of a nerd to completely gloss over quantum randomness possibly not being deterministic, but for the purposes of this story it can be ignored.

I love time loop stories. Really, I do.

But I'd love to see a story about what happens after you emerge from the time loop.

When, after months or years of repetition, you have to learn how to live with a choice you can't redo tomorrow.

When you meet someone new for the first time and have to figure out how to navigate this brand new conversation.

When you reach for the same day's clothes and realize that you can't wear them because they got dirty. Your laundry, your dishes, your body, your teeth, all the tasks that reset with the loop are suddenly stacking up and you need to set aside time to do them.

When you reach that first weekend and your schedule radically shifts and you don't know what to do with yourself, which is terrifying but also exhilarating in ways you can't explain.

When you casually drop facts learned from those books you spent a dozen loops reading, and you realize you retained something worth keeping.

How your memory gets weirdly good all of a sudden, despite not having all that repetition to fall back on, because suddenly every experience is fresh and new.

And when the seasons change, and your hair grows long enough that you want to cut it, and when you realize it's shocking because you didn't think you'd ever see something as incredible as the passage of time.

[sxcretricciardo]

I’m back… pt.3

social media au

part two here

•

f1 BREAKING: Norris and Y/L/N are out of the race ⚠️

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username1 omg they’re gonna end up killing each other

username2 damn, but it was clearly Lando’s fault

-> username3 right?? Why didn’t he leave enough space???

username4 the fact that Y/N got out of the car and almost threw hands at Lando she’s a BADASS

-> username5 she isn’t taking shit from him, go girl 🤭

-> username6 as she SHOULD

username7 Oscar asking on the radio if she was okay before asking about his OWN teammate 👀

•

real life

The post-race chaos was a blur as you stormed into the McLaren garage, your pulse hammering in your ears. Every muscle in your body was tense, your mind replaying the sickening crunch of metal and the stomach-lurching spin off the track. The collision with Lando had been entirely avoidable, and you knew it.

Lando was sitting on a workbench, still in his race suit, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. When he looked up and saw you, his jaw clenched. He set his water bottle down, clearly bracing himself for what was coming.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Lando?” you spat, your voice sharp enough to cut glass.

He stood, matching your intensity. “Don’t start with me, Y/N. You were just as much at fault.”

“Don’t you dare try to put this on me!” you snapped, stepping closer. “I gave you enough room! You turned in on me like you wanted to take us both out!”

His eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t respond right away, and that silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“This wasn’t just a racing incident,” you pressed, your voice shaking with fury. “That was personal. What were you thinking, huh? That you’d knock some sense into me? Scare me? Or were you just trying to hurt me because you still can’t stand the fact that I walked away from you?”

“Stop,” he said, his voice low but warning.

“No, I won’t stop!” you shouted. “You’ve been acting like this ever since I left you—since I finally decided I deserved better than someone who cheats!”

The words hung in the air between you like a live wire, and you saw the flicker of guilt cross his face before he masked it with anger.

“Don’t bring that up again,” he said tightly, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” you shot back. “You ruined us, Lando. You did. And now you’re trying to ruin me on the track, too?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t like that out there.”

“Then what was it like?” you demanded, your voice shaking. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked like you were trying to prove a point.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he muttered.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said bitterly.

Lando looked up at you, his expression cracking just enough for you to see the regret underneath. “I lost my head, okay? Seeing you… seeing you so happy, like none of it even mattered—it got to me.”

You stared at him, disbelief flooding through you. “So you risked my safety—our safety—because you’re jealous? Because you can’t stand the fact that I’ve moved on?”

“Maybe I can’t,” he admitted, his voice quiet but raw. “Maybe I hate seeing you with them—watching you smile at other guys like you used to smile at me. Do you know how hard it is to see that and know it’s my fault? That I’m the one who screwed it up?”

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you like a punch to the gut. But it didn’t soften your anger. If anything, it made it worse.

“You don’t get to play the victim here, Lando,” you said coldly. “You made your choice. You cheated. And I walked away because I deserve better than someone who couldn’t even respect me.”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of your words clearly hitting him, but you weren’t done.

“And now? Now you’re letting your jealousy and regret turn into something dangerous. You could’ve ended my career out there today. Or worse.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” you replied, stepping back. “I’ve moved on, Lando. Maybe it’s time you try to do the same.”

He didn’t say anything as you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there in the quiet of the garage. But as you stepped out into the paddock, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over—that whatever unresolved emotions still lingered between you would find a way to surface again.

•

yourusername not the result I wanted for this weekend… but I’ll keep pushing to get back those lost points! See you next weekend 💪🏻🫶🏻

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username1 clearly not your fault! That penalty was well given to Lando!

fernandoalo_oficial you got this chica 💪🏻

alex_albon let’s go! glad you’re not hurt

username2 get it girl!! 😍

oscarpiastri 💪🏻

username3 the next dts season is gonna be INSANE I can’t wait 🤭

•

real life

The day had been long and emotionally exhausting. After your fight with Lando, you had barely made it through the mandatory media debriefs without snapping at someone. Now, standing in the paddock under the setting sun, you were relieved that the weekend was finally over.

“Rough day, huh?” Fernando’s familiar voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to find your teammate leaning casually against the wall, his helmet bag slung over one shoulder. Despite the chaos of the day, Fernando always seemed composed, a stark contrast to your current state.

“That’s putting it mildly,” you replied, managing a weak smile.

He nodded knowingly, then tilted his head slightly. “I heard you’re heading to the Aston Martin headquarters tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “Have to go over some data with the engineers.”

“Same here,” he said, his tone casual. “Why don’t you skip the hassle of a commercial flight and ride with me? My jet’s leaving in an hour.”

The offer caught you off guard, but it also sounded like the perfect way to escape the mess of today. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Fernando said with a small smile. “It’ll be nice to have some company.”

An hour later, you were seated across from Fernando on his private jet, a glass of wine in hand. The plush interior and quiet hum of the engines felt like a world away from the chaos of the paddock.

“To surviving another race weekend,” Fernando said, raising his glass with a smirk.

You chuckled, clinking your glass against his. “Barely.”

As the jet cruised through the night sky, the wine kept flowing, and so did the conversation. Fernando was surprisingly easy to talk to, his sharp wit and dry humor making you laugh more than you had all weekend. You found yourself relaxing in his company, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

But somewhere between the second and third glass, the atmosphere began to shift. His gaze lingered a little too long, and your laughs turned into soft smiles. You couldn’t ignore the way his voice dipped when he said your name, or the way his hand brushed yours when he reached for the bottle.

It was reckless, you knew that, but when he leaned closer, his dark eyes searching yours for permission, you didn’t stop him. His lips were on yours before you could think, the kiss slow and deliberate, leaving no room for doubt about what he wanted.

One thing led to another, and soon you found yourself tangled in the sheets of the jet’s private cabin. It was a blur of heated whispers, soft gasps, and the kind of passion you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Afterward, as you lay beside him, reality began to sink in. You sat up, pulling the blanket around you, your mind racing.

“This can’t happen again,” you said, your voice firm despite the lingering warmth of his touch.

Fernando propped himself up on one elbow, his expression unreadable. “I know,” he said simply.

“I mean it, Fernando,” you pressed, turning to face him. “We’re teammates. This… this could complicate everything. It was a mistake.”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “I get it. One time, no strings.”

His calm response surprised you. You had expected more pushback, maybe even an argument, but his easy acceptance only reinforced why you had always respected him.

“Nothing changes between us,” he added, his voice steady. “We’re still teammates. Still focused on the team. This doesn’t leave this jet.”

You exhaled in relief, appreciating his maturity. “Thank you.”

Fernando gave you a small smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly. “Get some rest. We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

As you settled back into the seat, your thoughts swirled. You told yourself it was a one-time lapse in judgment, a fleeting moment of weakness.

•

yourusername alexa play “kill bill” by SZA 🔪

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oscarpiastri I hope you liked the cake

-> yourusername you spoil me too much, pastry🥐

-> georgerussel63 you’ve never sent me cake, I’m jealous oscarpiastri

-> yourusername come get your man carmenmmundt 😴

username1 omg Oscar sent her the cake?? What am I missing???

-> username2 RIGHT?? her dating her ex’s teammate would be an amazing revenge 😭

username3 the caption 💀

•

thatf1podcast here’s a sneak peek of our episode with the one and only Y/N Y/L/N 👀

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username1 I need all the teaaaaa 😏

yourusername it was a pleasure 🤭

username2 I NEED THIS EPISODE NOW

username3 I’m loving it 😌

•

tag list: @samantharaytanner @stressed-cherry @anamiad00msday @book-obsesseds-world @hurtblossom @tagteamedbitch @hoeforsirius @jxnellat @tillyt04 @danielshoe @tvdtw4ever @raynetargaryan2 @sadiemack9 @henna006 @wordesthatics @whosluce @mikaalvesreal @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @littlegrapejuice @bakingpiastries @ietss

- part 4 coming soon

[milkoomi]

finding & knowing your worth. ᥫ᭡

i wanted to take some time and talk about self-worth. this is something that was extremely difficult for me to find and realize for myself, but as i look back on my life and reflect on my growth, i’ve found myself truly knowing my own worth. of course, i still have those days that are more difficult than others, but i’ve been able to quickly pick myself back up. why? because i know my worth. i want to share a few things that have helped me realize that for myself, so i hope this post is able to enlighten you. ㅤ♡

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — lose interest in outsider opinions

in simpler terms: stop caring. i kept asking myself, “why do i care so much about what others are thinking of me?” and then i came across a couple quotes where one said, “if you wouldn’t trust their advice, why would you take their criticism?” and the other said, “i would never want to trade lives with someone who hates me.” those two quotes really stuck with me because it reminded me that those people who didn’t have a good opinion of me were the same people i needed to stop caring about.

so what if someone didn’t like me? that person is either no longer a part of my life (for good reason) or they don’t know me in the ways that my loved ones or my own self do, so why should what they have to say or think about me matter?

i knew myself better than anyone, so whatever anyone had to say about me shouldn’t have bothered me, and i let it stop bothering me. i also realized that as my day goes on and i find myself not thinking about what someone said, i tell myself that it wasn’t even worth a single thought in the first place because, clearly, it doesn’t bother me anymore!

if it won’t matter to you in 5 years, don’t continue to give it any more of a meaning.

୨ৎ — stop seeking validation

to piggyback off of my previous point, seeking outside validation is 1. not worth your time and 2. pointless. other people should never be the ones who define your worth. you have to seek validation from yourself. nobody else has a right to tell you whether or not you’re worthy.

i was always looking for validation from others, and it made my own journey to finding myself even more difficult. there were so many different opinions about me that i kept hearing, and it made me feel lost. it felt like i was getting further and further from truly discovering myself and feeling like i was worth something.

i had to pretty much force myself to seek validation within myself rather than from anyone else. it was hard, but the longer i kept searching for some kind of worth to others the more miserable and empty i felt.

୨ৎ — self reflection

time to bring out that journal, babe. we’re going to write about ourselves.

no, seriously, take some time to reflect on yourself. look within yourself and understand yourself a bit more. getting to know yourself and taking the time to focus on yourself can help you figure some things out and even bring you one step closer to truly knowing your worth.

prompts for reflection:

what are 3 characteristics about your personality do you like about yourself? why?

what are your strengths? how do those things about you make you a better person?

what’s your favorite thing(s) about you? how would they compare to what a loved one would say about you?

what are the things that weigh you down? what can you do to lift that weight off your shoulders?

how have you changed within the last 3 years? what about you has changed that you’re really proud of?

self reflection has helped me grow so much. i’ve learned so many new things about myself and it’s helped appreciate myself way more. you’ll be surprised at all the things you find about yourself, and guess what? one of those things will be your own worth.

୨ৎ — surround yourself with positivity

the people who you surround yourself with will play a huge role in how you feel about yourself. i spent too many years surrounded by people who made me feel like i was never enough, and i continued to keep the same kind of people around. i was sick of it. i was tired of being mistreated and feeling betrayed. those people made me feel miserable and they only ever brought me down rather than lifted me up.

even the media i consumed didn’t help me. i was always so focused on comparing myself to those instagram models and tiktok girls who looked nothing like me, and it made me feel worse about myself. even watching videos or shows that brought me down made my esteem drop too.

it’s important to surround yourself with people and media that make you feel good, that lift you up, and that help you feel confident because that kind of good treatment is what you deserve! you shouldn’t have to submit yourself to negativity, it only makes you feel worse and it’ll continue to get worse the longer you keep those things and people around.

now that i have people in my life that make me feel genuinely loved and cared for, i feel like i can offer that same energy those people give me to myself! it really makes a huge difference who your close circle consists of, so make sure those people are people who are genuinely and unconditionally there for you.

୨ৎ — final notes

if you do need a reminder: you are worthy, and you always have been! finding and knowing your own worth is no easy feat, but the journey you’ll go on to discover it and implement it into your life will be so extremely worth it. i promise!

you will always be more than enough, and i hope you can continue to remind yourself of that. treat yourself with genuine love and kindness, and don’t ever take yourself for granted. you have achieved so much and you have so many things to offer in life. you may not see it now, but once you do, you’ll see just how beautiful and bright your own light is.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[leighsartworks216]

could you write for #17 on the prompt list? any character would be great <3

Mud Masks

Sylus x gn!Reader

Prompt from this list

17 - holding the other's chin up

Warnings: fluff, silly, established relationship, kissing, implied height difference, slightly suggestive, banter

Word Count: 804

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Just a little more."

"You already said that."

"Yeah, well, I mean it this time."

Sylus chuckles softly as you tsk, focused on not messing up all your hard work. For what it's worth, he's been nothing but compliant so far, even after your weird request.

He opens his eyes as you gather more of the mud mask onto the little silicone applicator. You're ethereal - in your pajamas, disheveled from the work day, frowning with concentration. He doesn't think he could fall more in love, but you always manage to prove him wrong.

You look back up at him and roll your eyes. "Close 'em, mister."

"Don't I deserve a reward for staying so still, kitten?" he teases. His eyes shamelessly glance at your lips as he steps closer between your legs, hands sliding from the marble countertop to hold your waist.

"You'll get a reward as soon as I'm done." You don't bother waiting for him to close his eyes. He ends up closing them anyway when you carefully put the mud between his eyebrows and down his nose. "And you have to do me, too, remember?"

"Bad choice of words."

"Down boy."

He sighs, low and playful. "I do so love when you're cruel."

You don't dignify him with a response. Instead, you finish smoothing the last bit of mud over his face. He looks silly - cutesy animal-ear headband holding his bangs back, sharp features slathered in a dark clay mask, white eyebrows breaking through. Still, despite all the teasing, you're all too happy to have a partner willing to go through all this trouble for you. He clearly enjoys it just as much, if only to have all your attention on him.

"There! Now it's my turn." You hold out the applicator to him and nod to the jar of mud on the counter.

He lets you go. The warmth of his hands lingers on your clothes. It looks strange to see such a big, imposing man with that little applicator in one hand and the jar held in the other, both dwarfed by their size. "I thought I was promised a reward," he says as he gathers clay on the silicone and sets the jar aside. He glares without any malice down at you. "After I was being so good."

You smile, amused by his antics after the day you had. Self-care like this was a rare occurrence, and absolutely necessary tonight. "Fine. Don't let it be said I'm someone who goes back on their deals."

"I'm glad you understand, sweetie."

He takes his time, after all that. He brushes hair from your face, though it's securely held back just like his is. His knuckles caress your cheek softly, trailing down to your jaw. Calloused fingertips trace the angle of it, where his index finger curls just under your chin, and his thumb graces your lower lip.

Chills run down your spine in anticipation. The hairs on your arms stand on end, waiting eagerly. He knows it, too. He knows you, the damn bastard. Knows just how much this effects you.

With his hold on your chin, he gently tilts it up, lifting your head to be the perfect angle, as he finally leans down. Your eyes flutter shut. Your heart races so loud in your ears.

Something cold touches your cheek, startling you out of the moment with wide eyes. The applicator hangs just in your periphery.

"Hey!"

He catches your mouth suddenly, silencing whatever insults you were prepared to throw his way. All of them are forgotten as his tongue licks into your mouth. Thoughts dissipating in the wind as he lifts your chin just slightly higher to give him even more access. And if that wasn't enough, the appreciative groan he breathes into your mouth makes you forget about the mud masks entirely.

He pulls away slowly. You're chasing after his lips for more without thinking about it; you can feel his grin as he grants you one more. His thumb brushes soft circles into your chin, coaxing you back to him. When your eyes flutter open, he guides your head to the side and begins spreading the dollop he left on your cheek around.

"Don't worry, kitten," he hums. "When I'm done, you'll get a reward, too."

You look at him from the corner of your eye, praying he can't feel how warm your cheeks have become. You're sure he already knows. "A reward like that?"

Red eyes flicker to yours with an amused quirk of his eyebrow. "You can be greedy. Ask and it's all yours."

"Including you?"

The drying clay cracks at the corners of his mouth as he smiles. He guides your face back toward him, leaning down until his every breath ghosts over your lips. "I'm always at your disposal, my beloved."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[deadsetobsessions]

‘Was I that small?’

The waterlogged Red Hood had stopped dead in the streets, helmeted head frozen in place by the sight of a young boy lifting tires from an older (newer?) version of a car he knew by heart. Water dripped off of his jacket, the steady and quiet plops of water cracked like gun shots in between the sudden silence.

Blue eyes widened, darted down to assess his threat levels (high, screamed the guns in his holsters. Run, screamed the plated armor covering his entire body), and the boy stiffened.

Red Hood knew the boy as well as he knew himself, because the boy is him, and lunged before the little shit made a break for it, knocking the tire iron out of the kid’s hands as he does.

“No!” The boy- himself, a younger Jason Todd- screamed. Desperate and terrified, he flailed in the air as Jason lifted him up and out by the back of his sweatshirt. “No! Fuck you, you boob!”

Jason put his hand over the kid’s mouth and, in a move made with only stupidity in mind, dashed towards an alley. The kid kicked harder. Jason approved of mini Jason’s actions, even if it made it that much harder to escape without Batman being alerted. Never let them take you to a secondary location. Jason did, and look where it got him. Killed within years of becoming a child soldier. Good thing for his younger self- Jay, Jason decided arbitrarily and definitely without input- Jason’s about to save him the same fate.

“Listen kid, I need you to-” that is a child, do not tell a child to shut the fuck up “-quiet down, or Bat’s gonna get both of us.”

“Fuck you!”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, alright. Look.” Jason took off his helmet, yanking off the domino underneath with an impressive feat of acrobatics.

Jay went limp in his hand, mouth agape.

Jason grappled up to a roof and set the kid down cautiously. He waited.

And waited.

And-

“Are you another older brother?” There it- wait, what?

“Huh?” He grunted, baffled. Then he gagged a bit. That sounded like B. Ew.

“Y’know, like Danny?”

And oh, he hadn’t thought about Danny since forever. The brother that joined a gang to support them only to die. Jason felt a bit like a piece of shit.

But it made for a good cover. Jason barely managed to keep the grimace off his face.

“Yep.” What was it Alfred said? In for a penny, in for a pound? Jason already changed the future by snatching the kid before B could, even if he was half confused from his trip into the bay and apparently through time. “Yeah. The old man slept around.”

Bruce really did sleep around some. Fuck if he remembered anything about Willis though.

“Of course he did.” Jay grumbled, looking less wary but still ready to dip. “So, uh, what’s with the get up? You some kind of… criminal knockoff of Batman?”

Jason looked down. Right.

“Thought it’d be funny to steal his symbol,” Jason replied shortly. It rankled, but he didn’t have any other explanation that wasn’t a defensive ‘the symbol is mine by right.’ He sighed. Jason couldn’t believe he was already missing the old man. He’s not in his timeline though, clearly, and Jason’s been through enough bullshit to know he had a lot of work to do to get back to his time. For now…

“Name’s Peter. Peter Jason Todd.”

Jay wrinkled his nose. “We pretty much have the same name, gross.”

Jason, no, Peter, snorted. Jay didn’t know the half of it. “Never said our parents were creative, kid. Now, how about we get some burgers? I’m starving.”

“… Ya gonna go like that? People looking atcha can tell you’re a threat. Ain’t no way I’m bringing you back to my bolt with you looking like that. Ms. Rand’s gonna have a heart attack.”

Peter rolled his eyes, making sure his counterpart could see it. “Be right back. Don’t move.” He pointed sternly at the kid’s forehead.

“Where the hell am I gonna go, over the edge?” Jay snarked back.

——

Jason’s heart was still thrumming in his throat. If you told him he’d be sitting with another older brother in a burger joint two hours ago, he woulda hit you with a tire iron. But shit, he would have appreciated the heads up.

Coming face to face with an unknown Bat built like a brick shit house and packing enough heat to mow down the Alley’s mobs was terrifying enough, considering he was actively robbing another Bat of his tires.

Then, confirmation that Willis slept around? Great. Perfect. At least the chances of this ‘Peter Todd’ killing him went way down.

“Damn, how are you putting away more food than me?” Jason watched as Peter all but unhinged his jaw to inhale the burgers he bought. Jason’s own burger was sitting in front of him.

“These muscles don’t maintain themselves, shrimp.”

Jason scowled, taking a bite of his burger before promptly inhaling it too.

“Slow down. Your stomach’s not used to that much food in one go. Give it time to adjust or else you’ll end up puking.” Peter advised. And yeah, Jason can tell what kind of life Peter’s lived before he became… whatever he is now. The man looked suspiciously unsuspicious in sweats and a t-shirt. Where he procured those, Jason didn’t know. Nevertheless, Jason begrudgingly slowed down. Jason’s gonna interrogate this new brother of his, and then he’ll decide if he needs to ditch or keep.

The image of Peter’s gear and obvious competency in beating the shit out of people flashed through his head. He’ll decide to ditch if Peter lets him ditch, Jason amended. There’s no way he’ll be able to run if Peter doesn’t let him.

——

Jason: I need a fake name

Also Jason: Peter Jason Todd

Jason, trying to calm his younger self: quick! Brag about yourself!

Baby!Jason: ew what a dork *relaxes*

Baby!Jason is all judgmental sass and zero fucks.

Little Jay has a run in with an unknown bat on that fateful night

Day 1 for @jasontoddweek2025 prompt for “time travel” and “the Batmobile tires”

[folkwhoreberry]

Hello hope you are having a warm day! I have a percy jackson x reader request if you don't mind!

Percy mistakenly hurting reader like in a game of capture the flag reader is on the opposite side and when reader is about to get Percy team flag Percy in a fit of adrenaline hurts reader?

If not your writing style you don't have to do it at all! Thank you for your time to!

Snakes And Stones Never Broke My Bones

percy jackson x reader

or... the one where playing capture the flag on opposite teams wasn’t quite the best idea

word count : 605

warning : mentions of a cut and blood, english is not my first language!!!

🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🍓🌙🩵🌙🍓🩵🌙🍓 🩵🌙🍓🩵🌙

🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊

sweat dripped down your forehead.

you were so, so close to winning capture the flag. sneaking in behind Percy with the long stick you found in the woods, ready to push him away from here he’s standing in front of his team’s blue flag, guarding it. you held the long piece of wood up, and slowly, as quietly as possible, crept behind him and managed to position the stick behind his back, ready to attack.

but, he could sense you. he could smell you, feel your presence. yet in a moment or an adrenaline rush, he didn’t recognize you right away, too caught up in the game. he turned around in a split second, willing out his pen-sword and pointing it at you before his face quickly switching from being alarmed by the predator to calming down once he saw that it was you.

what he didn’t notice though, was how close the blade of his sword was to your arm.

he cut you right on your upper arm. he reached up to touch it but you push him away.

“shit, shit... you alright, sunshine? I’m so sorry, baby..” he quickly apologized, dropping his gold sword to the ground as you dropped your wooden stick as well. tears welled up in your eyes, your hand coming up to cover the bruise on your bicep, a whimper leaving your lips as the pain of the scrape finally hit you.

“i-it hurt, perce…” you whined, feeling your boyfriend’s arms wrapping around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “so sorry, angel. I'm so, so sorry…” Percy mumbled into your hair, leaning his head down to press a few comforting kisses to the top of your head. “is there anything I can do?” he asked, clearly wanting to help you with your pain.

“let me look, yeah?” he said, pulling away from you, taking your hand in his, and moving it away from your injured arm. fixating his eyes on the scratch, he saw exactly where his sword cut through your skin and left an open wound trickling with blood. “this might leave a scar, princess…” percy whispered, letting go of your arm and leaning in closer to your face to kiss away your tears. he reached up to his left shoulder, ripping the hem of his shirt’s sleeve. bringing it to your hand, he slid the fabric over your arm and up to the cut, wrapping it tightly over the wound to help stop the building and keep it as clean as possible. “oh, my angel…” he said with a sigh, wrapping his arms around you once again, resting his chin on top of your head and holding you close to himself. “want me to give you the flag for free as of saying sorry?” he asked, making you sniffle and sob-laugh at his words. “mmh, maybe…”

“go ahead, honey.” percy said while laughing, releasing you from his hold and pushing you slightly toward the flag. reaching out your hand, you take the blue flag in your healthy hand and take it out of the ground, holding it up above your hand just as your game teammates reached the secluded spot with the rival team chasing behind them, the red team chanting in delight as they saw that they won while the blue team audibly sighed in defeat.

“you know I could have done it without your help, right?” you whispered, just loud enough for percy to hear but quiet enough so that the other won’t hear you. he snickered, “sure you would, angel. keep telling that you yourself.”

“now, can I take you to the infirmary?”

————————————————————————————

a/n : was listening to hamilton while writing this lol took some inspiration, try to find the reference!!

[ikkyfics]

Drive-In Heartbeats

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: In which Dave discovers that being just a friend was never enough.

Warnings: fluffy, pre relationship, first kiss, no use of y/n, a few fun facts, provocative!reader, suggestive

A/N: I could hardly believe my luck in finding a photo in a drive-in with Back to the Future

and thanks to @lilyypotter1234, I've been feeling a bit unmotivated to write and your message helped me, thank you very much <333

Masterlist

The huge screen of the drive-in displayed scenes from Back to the Future. The familiar soundtrack filled the air with nostalgia, but Dave’s focus wasn’t on the movie. He was sitting in the car, that old model he loved, with a front seat that seemed made for moments like this. You were so close that your shoulders and thighs touched, and that was all he could perceive. The sweet smell of chocolate mixed with the aged scent of the upholstery, and every time you rustled the candy bag or let out a soft laugh, his heart raced.

The movie was halfway through, but your conversation hadn’t slowed down. It was easy to be next to him — comfortable, yet with that tension hanging in the air, like something more was always about to happen.

“Did you know the original ending was completely different?” you asked, nibbling on the last piece of chocolate in your hand. Your voice was soft, but carried the excitement typical of someone who loved those little tidbits.

“Different how?” Dave adjusted his glasses and turned his head toward you, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. He always seemed more alive when the topic was something nerdy.

“In the first draft of the script, the 80’s George McFly would grab an old 1955 newspaper with a photo of Marty at the dance. He’d look at his son and be shocked, saying something like ‘This can’t be… this is the...’” You paused dramatically, smiling when you saw Dave completely focused on you. “And then the movie would end right there, without him managing to say the name.”

Dave blinked, the expression torn between fascination and slight indignation. “You’re kidding? That would be so frustrating! Who ends a movie like that? I’d want to blow up the cinema.”

“And you don’t think you’d blow up the cinema with that ending where Doc shows up out of nowhere saying they have to save Marty’s kids?” you teased, leaning a little closer to him.

Dave opened his mouth to respond, but ended up laughing and shaking his head, surrendering. “Okay, you’ve got a point.” He smiled that shy smile that made the air feel lighter — but at the same time, his proximity made the atmosphere warmer, more intense.

You reached out for the candy bag, only to realize it was in Dave’s lap. Before you could say anything, he grabbed a piece of chocolate and held it out for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, but instead of taking it with your hand, you leaned in and opened your mouth, hoping he’d understand. Dave froze immediately, as if his brain was trying to process the gesture.

“Wait, you... want me to—?” He didn’t finish the sentence, his voice coming out quieter than usual.

“Uh-huh,” you responded, tilting your head slightly and keeping your gaze fixed on him, amused by the way his ears turned red.

He hesitated for a moment before leaning in slowly and placing the chocolate on your lips. But before he could pull his hand back, you lightly closed your lips around his finger, biting it gently and deliberately.

Dave made an indistinct sound, somewhere between a nervous laugh and a surprised sigh. “Did you... just bite my finger?” He blinked, clearly unsure what to do with the moment.

“It was an accident,” you lied shamelessly, the corner of your lips pulling into a mischievous smile.

He kept staring at you, his eyebrows slightly raised behind his glasses. His eyes were locked on yours, as if trying to decipher your intentions, but the heat building between you both said everything.

“You do that on purpose,” he whispered finally, his voice barely audible. He looked away for a second, as if trying to regain control of the situation, but the parted lips and the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away.

“Do what?” you asked, leaning in just enough for your knees to touch his.

Dave looked down, at the almost nonexistent space between you, then back up to your eyes. He was so close you could count his eyelashes, and there was something in his expression that felt more intense than ever. The slight tremor in his breath was impossible to ignore.

“You have... chocolate here,” he said finally, his voice hoarse and low, as if the words were struggling to come out. He pointed to the corner of your lips, but his hand lingered in the air for a moment, unsure if he should move.

You tilted your head slightly, the smile on your face barely hiding the provocation. “Here, where?”

Dave seemed to be fighting with himself internally, but then, as if summoning sudden courage, he leaned in even closer. His hand moved slowly, hesitantly, and his fingers touched the corner of your mouth gently, wiping away the chocolate residue.

The gesture lasted only a second, but it was enough to ignite the air between you. The touch was soft, but the intensity in his gaze while doing it was almost overwhelming. He tried to pull his hand away quickly, but you held his wrist, stopping him from going too far.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice low and heavy with something you knew he understood perfectly. His thumb still brushed your skin, almost involuntarily, and his fingers remained where they were, creating an undeniable connection.

Dave opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. His eyes were locked on yours, as if searching for something — or perhaps waiting for a sign. The silence was as thick as the tension between you, and the movie continued in the background, completely ignored.

You let go of his wrist, but didn’t move your hand. Dave hesitated for another moment before moving again. His thumb slid slowly, almost reluctantly, across the corner of your lips, as if he wanted to be sure there was no more chocolate left. But his gaze said the gesture meant much more.

“All set,” he said, but the word sounded strangled, almost as if he had to force it out.

“Are you sure?” you asked, leaning in just a bit more, your voice soft but carrying that challenging tone.

“I... think so,” he answered, almost in a whisper, his eyes dropping quickly to your mouth before returning to yours.

The space between you was so small now that just one move would bring you together. Dave seemed to be holding his breath, and the way he pressed his hands against his lap showed just how hard he was fighting something. But the way he looked at you — like it was impossible to look away — betrayed that he was holding on by a thread.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “It’s okay, Dave. No need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he immediately retorted, but the blush creeping up his cheeks and ears told a different story.

“Oh, really?” you teased, your fingers moving to lightly touch his arm, sliding along the sleeve of his sweatshirt almost absentmindedly.

Dave chuckled softly, but didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, as if trying to gather the courage to do or say something. When you stopped touching his arm, his fingers moved almost reflexively, gently resting on yours, as if he wanted to keep the contact.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, his eyes still locked on yours. There was a desperate tone in his voice, but at the same time, he seemed completely fascinated.

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning in just enough for your faces to be inches apart. “And you?”

Dave blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at you, his blue eyes shining with something between desire and doubt. It was as if he were frozen, his thoughts racing at high speed as he struggled to find something to say.

You could feel his breath, short and almost shaky, mingling with yours. Dave’s eyes didn’t stray for even a second, and the way he was so focused on you made it feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His chest rose and fell, the nervousness evident in every little movement.

You broke the silence. Your voice came out softly, almost as if the words had slipped out before you could stop them.

“I know we’re just friends...” you started, the phrase hanging in the air for a moment, as if you wanted to make sure he was listening. “But I would kiss you if you asked.”

His reaction was immediate. Dave blinked quickly, as if shocked, and his parted lips froze. He seemed like he wanted to respond, but the words were stuck in his throat. You saw his hands move slightly, as if he were about to do something, but he froze, his gaze becoming even more intense.

“Are you... serious?” he finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse and hesitant. He tilted his head slightly, as if needing to confirm that he had heard right.

You shrugged, a soft, teasing smile playing on your lips. “Looks like you’ll have to find out.”

Dave’s eyes briefly dropped to your mouth before returning to yours, and the way he bit his lower lip made your heart race. He seemed torn, as if fighting against the barrier that had existed between you — the barrier that until now was the certainty that you were just friends.

“I…” he began, but stopped, his fingers absently tracing the steering wheel as if he needed something to hold onto. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do.” Your voice was firm, but there was a sweetness in the way you spoke, an attempt to reassure him. You leaned in a little closer, enough for your knees to press against his again, and gently placed your hand over his.

Dave held his breath at the touch, and his eyes fixed on your hand for a moment before looking back at you. “I... I don’t want to ruin anything,” he murmured, but the hesitation in his voice revealed that he was on the verge of giving in.

You smiled, a small, confident smile, but there was something vulnerable in it too. “What if it doesn’t ruin anything? What if it’s exactly what needed to happen?”

Dave seemed incapable of processing what you were saying. He was so close now that it would take just a move from you to close the distance between you. And as he stared at you, as if trying to decide what to do, you saw determination slowly rising on his face.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, almost in a whisper, the words laden with sincerity and something deeper.

The silence between you was louder than any sound around you. It felt as if the entire world had stopped at that moment, waiting to see what the next step would be. You could feel the tension growing with each passing second, and the proximity was so electrifying that it made your skin tingle.

“Then kiss me, Dave,” you murmured, your eyes locked with his, not looking away. “Unless you prefer me to take the lead.”

He laughed softly, nervously, but there was something more in the laugh. Something that showed he was finally giving in. “You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low, but full of affection.

And then he leaned in, hesitant at first, as if checking if it was really allowed, but the hesitation lasted only a moment. When his lips finally met yours, the touch was gentle, almost shy, but quickly became something more intense, more sincere, as if he were pouring everything he had kept inside for so long into the kiss.

The world around you disappeared completely. All that existed was the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers found their way to the back of your neck, holding you as if afraid you might disappear. And when you leaned in even closer, deepening the kiss, it was as if something had finally clicked into place.

When you separated, breathless, Dave’s eyes still shone with that mixture of nervousness and euphoria. He laughed softly, but it was an uncertain sound, as if he were still trying to process what had just happened. Resting his forehead against yours for a moment, he whispered, almost out of breath:

“So... friends?”

The hesitation in his voice was evident. It was as if he were trying to gauge the situation, figure out how far he could go without crossing an invisible line he didn’t even know existed. His fingers, still resting on your neck, traced a small, nervous circle, as if even without realizing it, he was seeking something to hold on to.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes fixed on his, and raised an eyebrow with a small smile on your lips. The kind of smile that could either reassure him or make him even more anxious.

“Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice low and carrying something that made his breath hitch for a second.

Dave blinked, surprised by your direct question. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. But then you saw something change. Doubt gave way to quiet determination, as if he were finally willing to be honest with himself and with you.

“No.” The word slipped out before he could hold it back, but he didn’t retreat. On the contrary, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, that’s not what I want.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you let his words hang between you, feeling the weight of them. The silence that followed was almost palpable, but not uncomfortable. It was full of possibilities, full of what you both knew was coming.

“Then what do you want, Dave?” you murmured, leaning in a little more, enough for your lips to almost touch his again.

He swallowed hard, his gaze briefly dropping to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “I want you,” he finally said, his voice coming out as a whisper, but filled with so much sincerity that it seemed to echo in the small space of the car.

His confession made your heart race, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. He seemed so vulnerable, but at the same time so sure, as if he had just laid all his cards on the table.

“And you’ve got me,” you replied, the softness in your voice contrasting with the intensity of the moment.

His eyes softened, but the desire still shone in them. As if to test the waters, he moved the hand that had been on your neck, tracing a slow path to your cheek. His touch was so careful it almost seemed reverent, but there was something in his fingers — a slight tremble, perhaps? — that showed just how much he was feeling.

“I think I’ve always wanted this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“And why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice coming out softer than you meant.

He laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Because I thought you’d never see me like this. I mean, look at you...” He stopped, the sentence unfinished, but the look in his eyes said it all.

“And look at you,” you shot back, a smile forming as you leaned even closer. “I think you underestimated how much I see you, Dave.”

He seemed stunned, but before he could say anything, you took the initiative this time. Your lips met his again, and the kiss was anything but hesitant. It was as if all the nervousness, all the doubt, had disappeared. The intensity was palpable, and the way he responded to the kiss, his hands firmly on your waist, showed that he too was determined not to hold anything back anymore.

When you finally pulled apart again, breathless and even closer, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed for a moment. “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore,” he admitted, almost like a confession, but with the firmness of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

“Good,” you replied, a soft but teasing smile on your lips, “because I don’t want to be just your friend anymore either.”

Dave laughed, the tension easing a little, but there was still an electricity in the air. He gently ran his thumb along the line of your jaw, the touch so soft it almost felt like a whisper.

“Does this mean I can kiss you whenever I want now?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of playfulness and genuine hope.

“It means you should,” you replied, leaning in again, leaving no room for doubt.

The kiss that followed was even slower, deeper, as if each movement was a silent promise. Dave seemed to lose any trace of hesitation, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you firmly but still with that care that seemed to be so characteristic of him. The car, small and cramped, became a space where you needed nothing else but each other.

The sound of the movie continued in the background, but you both no longer paid attention. It was almost comical that Back to the Future was playing in front of you while you were creating a new moment, one that no one but the two of you could witness.

“I can’t believe we paid for this just to ignore the movie,” you murmured against his lips, your voice full of provocation.

He laughed, his forehead still resting against yours, as his fingers slid along your back in distracted touches, but ones that sent shocks through your skin. “I think I’ve never been more grateful for not paying attention to something,” he replied, with a smile that lit up his blue eyes.

You smiled, running your hands along his shoulders, your fingers tracing the outline of the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing. “And you don’t want to watch it after all?”

“Not even a little,” he answered immediately, leaning in to kiss you again, more briefly this time, but still enough to leave no doubt. “I prefer this.”

The heat building between you made the space even tighter, more intimate. He shifted a little, adjusting so you could be even closer, his arm slipping behind you, while your head rested on his shoulder. It was almost ridiculous how natural it felt to be this way, as if you belonged to each other and hadn’t realized it until now.

You looked at him, your faces so close that it was impossible not to notice the rosy tint on his cheeks, the shine in his eyes that said more than any words could. And when he spoke again, his voice was so soft it seemed like a secret.

“I don’t know how it took me so long to figure this out. You... are everything.”

The intensity of the sentence made your chest tighten in a good way, as if something had finally clicked into place. You didn’t need to respond immediately, because his hands were holding yours now, fingers intertwined as if he wanted to make sure you were there, that this was real.

“Dave,” you whispered, the word heavy with emotion, “if this means we’ll have more nights like this... then please, keep taking so long to figure things out.”

He laughed, a soft, carefree sound, before leaning in to kiss you again.

[plethorawrites]

So we’ve seen all of the batbros as cats but what about the reader? What would happen if they were turned into a cat?

This took forever, sorry! But yes, I totally can!

Bruce: Weary and worried.

• Before all else, he's concerned with making sure you're alright. He calls Zatanna immediately to ensure it's not permanent and then after he knows it's not, he can relax enough to try to comfort you.

• He was never a cat person, only ever owning dogs, so he really has no clue how to take care of a cat. Let alone a cat who's really the love of his life. He tries, though. He gets Alfred to make you dinner, something that's fresh and not gross Tuna or Salmon from a can. He gives you your choice of every throw pillow in the manor to tear up when he sees you get antsy, your claws flicking in and out in stress. And of course, everything poisonous to cats like the peace lilies in the living room are moved far away.

• Bruce still has to go to work, unfortunately and with no idea how to keep you entertained, puts on those "Soothing cat videos" on the big TV in his bedroom for you to watch. A six hour loop of a fishtank is less than ideal but seems to work well enough.

• You're in the same place as when he left you, so he assumes you didn't mind too much. He notices you grooming yourself, not because you want to, but out of some strange instinct you've developed and he can tell you're grossed out by your own actions, so he does his best to clean your fur himself. You might be a cat, but you seem to like water so he puts you in the bathtub and scrubs your fur with your normal soap which makes you pur.

• Until he takes you out of the warm water and you're absolutely freezing, shivering from the cold. He wraps you in a towel and holds you to his chest until you're mostly dry, then, despite the dampness of your fur, let's you curl up under the covers since you're still a bit chilly. It makes his own skin wet, but he doesn't mind since at least you seem a bit happier.

---

Dick: Amused and empathetic.

• He tries not to laugh. He really does. It's just...so much harder than it should be. You look so small, so adorable, so fuzzy. You have a tail, for God's sake. How could it not be hilarious? He only stops chuckling when you swat your paw at him, catching him with sharp claws, cutting him. He doesn't get upset since he knows he deserved it.

• Goes to the pet store with you, letting you sit in the cart and pick out your own things, which, he can tell you dislike but reluctantly comply—otherwise he'd buy you a rat themed toy instead of the feather one you wanted. You gurgle and growl repeatedly when he picks up those stupid cat costumes, but he still buys them anyway.

• And yes, he does force you to wear them. You resisted, at first, of course, but eventually gave up when he gave you those puppy dog eyes. If you thought being a cat was humiliating, you couldn't have prepared for being a cat wearing a sombrero and poncho. "Those are our Christmas cards this year," he tells you, kissing the top of your head while you meow in protest.

• Despite that, he's still sweet to you, apologizing for you having to go through this and swearing he'll fix it. In the meantime, just try to stay positive. He'll say you can rip up the drapes if it makes you feel better. You do and it does. You always hated them and he refused to get rid of them, but now there was a valid reason to.

• He sits on the floor with you, swinging the feather toy around as you chase it, gaining a good amount of height the longer you play. His arm gets tired but you're clearly not, so he sits there until you eventually get sick of it and he sets it down while you crawl into his lap for a nap. He was going to make something to eat, but he supposes he can wait.

---

Jason: Paranoid and terrified.

• His initial response is to reassure you that you'll be fine. He'll do whatever it takes you turn you back into a human, no matter what. His second response, is to freak out. He has no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone his partner who's a cat! What if he hurts you? What if he can't fix it?

• Being a cat, you, unbeknownst to him, sense him apprehension and almost immediately start rubbing against his legs until he hesitantly picks you up, cradling you in his arms as gently as possible. You rub your head against his jaw, trying to soothe him and he takes a few deep breaths, relaxing and nuzzling your fur.

• It takes him a while, and a lot of trial and error to figure out how to take care of you, be it buying food you don't like, to accidentally leaving the window open and panicking that you escaped (you were under the bed, because it was warm and safe) but he eventually calms down once the day is finally over.

• Cuddling with you on the couch, he can barely even feel your claws kneeding on his arms because there's so much scar tissue it's too hard to scratch and hurt. Your purring is what calms him down the most though, after an extremely long, stressful day. You sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your back as he slowly and accidentally falls asleep.

• When he wakes up, you're still a cat, still sleeping on him. He picks you up carefully, taking you to the bedroom so he can sleep in his bed and you aren't left alone in the living room. He has a feeling you'll be yourself soon enough, even if he doesn't know exactly when. He'll keep you safe until then.

---

Tim: Shocked and Frantic

• He immediately starts to panic. You're a cat. A freaking cat. How? Why? What does he need to do to fix it? He has a million questions and no answers. But his stress only adds to your own and he quickly tries to calm down before soothing you: "No, no, no. It's fine. You're gonna be fine. I swear."

• Still, the second he gets you out of the room, convincing you that you'd be more comfortable in the living room than in the batcave, he starts to pace and freak out again. It's actually Damian, of all people, who gets him to snap out of it, literally slapping him across the face and telling him to be there for you instead of worrying about the details.

• He listens, to an extent, going back upstairs to where you were chewing on the fern in the living room, ripping a leaf apart. Pulling you away from it as you meow in protest, he cradles you in his arms, apologizing for fretting and promising he won't leave again.

• And he doesn't. He does, however, keep working on a way to fix you. He tries to be annoyed when you start knocking things off his desk, pushing stuff into a water bowl, jumping into his bottom drawer, laying on his papers, but he can't do it. You're just acting too cute to genuinely be mad. Eventually, he takes a break, closing the drawer you were sitting in and hauling you to his bed.

• He'll admit, he threw you with a little less caution than he probably should have, but you didn't mind, crawling onto him the moment he laid down, eager to close your eyes after being awake for far too long. Aka 5 straight hours, which, for a cat, was a lot. He didn't quite realize that, but notices almost immediately how fast you fall asleep once you lay down, curling into a ball, tucking your nose under your tail to keep it warm.

---

Damian: Is both fascinated and prepared.

• He has over a dozen pets, so when you're turned into a cat, he already knows everything there is to know and gets you anything you could possibly need. A nice cat bed, toys to keep you entertained, a post to scratch so you don't ruin any furniture.

• His others pets want to play or chase you, but he scoops you up before any of them can get even close to you. And he insists you stay close to him and not wander off, because you could get lost, kidnapped, or hurt.

• You always knew his knowledge of animals was extensive but didn't realize how much so until he was petting you, explaining how the hair follicles on cats work, which is why they never like to be pet in certain areas.

• Despite having an extremely nice bed, you'd really rather prefer his and he allows it, reminding you not to scratch the pillows or the sheets. "They're Egyptian silk. Don't ruin them." Still, when he catches you clawing at them in your sleep, unaware you were doing it, he doesn't stop you.

• In the morning, he switches feeds you breakfast, in a human bowl so it's not so degrading and takes you with him while he works on a way to fix you. He quickly gets distracted, though, by how you're looking around at everything like it's the most interesting thing ever.

[twoplayergaymers]

A Sign Of Affection—

Part One // Part Two// Part Three coming soon..

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ a note before you begin:

After the lessons, every dialogue between bkg & the reader is signed and also verbally spoken simultaneously (unless stated otherwise or unless it’s in ASL gloss, it’s only signed.. lowkey I got lazy writing out the gloss) somewhat proofread, also idk if I ever specified but they’re like 24.

It’s been a few weeks since you caught Bakugo practicing his signs in his office that night. The sight stirred something warm in your chest, feelings you knew might be there but had been pushing down. You had no idea how long he’d been practicing on his own, but knowing he was doing this for you made your heart swell.

Your lunch “dates” with Bakugo have become a routine—Monday, Wednesday, Friday. On Tuesday, Thursday, and the occasional weekend, whether you’re working or not, you spend time with Talia. It’s a good system, one that keeps everyone happy. Most of all, you.

You’d gotten to know him better, comfortable enough to tease and joke with him, not missing the way his ears would tint pink, sticking out from the neck of his winter costume. Surprisingly, he’d become a little more talkative—at least, talkative for Bakugo. You do most of the talking, rambling about the stupid TikToks you see when scrolling before bed, how your favorite time of year is approaching, or how every time it snows it reminds you of making snow angels with the other kids in elementary school. He listens, head resting in his hand, nodding occasionally. He always listens.

One day, as you’re rambling on, hands flying as you speak, you catch his eyes. He’s watching you softly, his gaze intense but not unkind. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by the way his focus never wavers from you. It’s different from the usual Bakugo—no sarcasm, no annoyance. Just… quiet attention. Your heart skips a beat, and you clear your throat awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.

“What?” you ask, your voice a little unsure, unsure if you’ve caught him in a moment of distraction or something more.

He leans back slightly, crossing his arms with that familiar gruffness, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Teach me more.”

Your brow furrows. “Teach you more? What are you talking about?”

“Sign language,” he clarifies with a slight frown, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been practicing on my own, but… it’s harder without someone to help. So teach me more.”

You blink, surprised by the request. You didn’t expect him to ask, especially after all this time. “You want me to teach you more?” You repeat, feeling a little stunned.

“Yeah, unless you think I can’t handle it,” he adds, his tone rough but with a hint of something softer underneath.

You pause, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “Woooow THE Katsuki Bakugo aka greatexplosionmurdergoddynamight asking ME for help?”

He glares at you, unamused. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his attempt to act tough. “Oh, I’m serious too. The mighty Dynamight wants me to teach him how to sign? This is a day I’ll never forget,” you tease, hands dancing in the air as you laugh lightly. “okay, okay, fine!”

He nods, rolling his eyes but seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous, a little excited by the prospect of spending even more time with him in a completely new way.

“But,” you add, “we’re not just doing signs. You can’t really understand the language without knowing the culture behind it, so I’m gonna teach you about Deaf history too. You good with that?”

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, then he grunts, giving you a half-shrug. “Fine. Whatever. Just teach me.”

“Alright, then. Let’s start with something easy. You know this I’m sure. Repeat after me.” You make the sign for thank you, your fingers gently moving in front of your chin.

He watches for a moment, clearly studying your movements, and then mimics it, though with an exaggerated, almost sarcastic flair. “Thank you,” he signs, the expression on his face a mix of concentration and something close to pride.

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “You’re gonna need to tone down the ‘grumpy old man’ vibe when you do that. It’s a simple gesture, not a declaration of war.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I’ll sign however I want.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” you say, trying to hide your smile. “But if you want to be understood, maybe tone it down a notch. Sign’s all about facial expression.”

Bakugo groans, rubbing his temples. “This is gonna be a pain.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” you reassure him, still grinning. “You’re already halfway there. You were learning without me! Just try to be a little more… chill about it. You don’t have to yell at the signs to make them work.”

“I’m not yelling at the signs,” he mutters under his breath, looking as if he’s ready to start up a verbal war with the hand gestures themselves.

You can’t help but laugh, enjoying the easy camaraderie between you two. “Alright, alright. Let’s move on to something else..”

And just like that, your lunch breaks change. They’re no longer just casual moments between coworkers—they’re lessons. Every day, you help him practice new signs, dive into Deaf culture, and teach him about the history behind the language. At first, it’s awkward, but as the days pass, Bakugo’s determination shines through, and you find yourself getting more and more comfortable with him. Little by little, he’s picking it up, surprising you with how fast he learns, his focus sharper than you’d ever expected.

It feels like something more than just teaching. It feels like you’re both learning—not just language, but something deeper, something unspoken.

Some days, Bakugo doesn’t need help. He’ll quietly practice the signs you’ve gone over, occasionally glancing at his notebook and muttering under his breath, and you watch him with a soft smile. Other times, when he’s frustrated, his hands move erratically, and you gently correct him. “Remember, sign’s grammatical structure is different”

He groans but tries again, this time a little more carefully. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

Your bond grows in these moments—subtle, but noticeable. The quiet pauses in conversation aren’t uncomfortable anymore. Instead, they feel like small, private moments that neither of you need to explain. The warmth between you is growing steadily, unnoticed by anyone else but you two.

You’re getting closer, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like the inevitable disaster you might’ve expected. There’s no awkwardness, no anxiety—just a quiet understanding that this, whatever it is, is worth investing in.

Lunch breaks are still your favorite part of the day. But it’s no longer just about teaching him signs; it’s about the little moments in between. The way he chuckles under his breath when he gets a sign right, the way he quietly listens when you talk about your day, and the way his eyes follow your hands as you sign to him—intently, like you’re the only thing in the room.

And though he rarely says it out loud, you can see it in the way his confidence grows. He stops hesitating as much, his movements becoming more fluid, and the frustration he used to carry when he couldn’t get a sign right is replaced with a sense of pride when he nails one. You feel that pride too, making your heart swell.. well that and.. something else

The changes in Bakugo don’t go unnoticed. He’s still the same stubborn, hard-headed hero you met weeks ago, but there’s a gentler side to him now, one that’s more patient, more willing to learn, especially when it comes to you. The way he listens, the way he looks at you when you’re teaching him—there’s something different about it, something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. It’s not just admiration for his progress; there’s a deeper connection growing between the two of you, even if you’re not quite sure what to call it yet.

You’re not sure when the shift happened, but somehow, his presence doesn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. His quiet moments with you, his small smirks when you catch him in a mistake, and the soft way he signs “thank you” at the end of each session—those moments become your favorites. It’s almost intimate, the language only two of you in the office understand.

The moments consume your mind more than you care to admit. You try to convince yourself it’s just your ego at play. You’re a great teacher, after all. You tell yourself the way your heart flutters and your skin flushes when you see him genuinely smiling at himself is simply the pride of seeing your little prodigy succeed. It’s what you want to believe.

But somehow, these thoughts slip out during your rambling, and you curse yourself silently for being such a yapper. Now, across the table, Talia’s smirking at you, tapping her French manicure on the surface.

Talia raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider as she leans in slightly. “Girl,” she starts, her voice playful, “you are so into him.”

You freeze, suddenly self-conscious, your face going hot. “What? No, I’m not.”

She shrugs, tapping her nails again. “Sure, okay. But I’ve seen the way you talk about him, the way your eyes light up when you mention his progress. You’re practically glowing”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t help it. He’s improving so fast, and it’s just… nice to see him genuinely trying. He’s not just doing it for me, either. He’s really putting in the effort.”

Talia smirks, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. Sure, it’s just that. Nothing else.”

You shoot her a glare, but it doesn’t stop her teasing. “Come on, I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. You can deny it all you want, but I know what I see.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the playful tone in your voice betrays you. You’re caught, and you know it

You know it, but you’ll never admit it—not even to yourself. It’s complicated, and frankly, inappropriate on so many levels. You’re his ‘teacher’ and he’s your coworker… practically your boss.

There’s a million things that can go wrong, so many that scramble around in your brain as you stare down at the cup of frozen yogurt before you

You try to focus on the cold swirl of yogurt, the way the spoon sinks into it with a soft, satisfying scoop, but your mind keeps drifting back to him—Bakugo. How everything feels so easy when you’re together, yet it’s so complicated at the same time.

You know you’re crossing lines, blurring boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. He’s your coworker, your boss, and you’re his teacher in this odd, quiet way that nobody else really understands. This is all risky, too risky for someone like you. The heart flutters and the rush of warmth you feel when he looks at you, when he smiles, aren’t supposed to mean anything. But somehow, they do.

A sigh escapes you, and you drop the spoon into the cup with a thud. What is this? What’s going on here?

You’re not sure you can keep pretending it’s nothing.

But you’re sure as hell going to try.

Talia’s voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and teasing, as she watches you play with your frozen yogurt. “You’re looking like you’re about to have an existential crisis. What’s going on in that head of yours?” She leans back in her chair, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, an amused glint in her eyes.

You glance at her, shaking your head but offering a small smile. “It’s nothing,” you murmur, but even you don’t believe it.

Talia raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I’ve never seen you look this spaced out, don’t think I’ve ever heard you stop talking for this long” she giggles

The teasing tone is there, but you can see the curiosity in her eyes. She knows you too well, and it makes you nervous. You try to keep your voice light. “I’m just tired. Long week.”

She leans in, her expression suddenly serious “don’t lie to me, y/n. What’s going on in that cute little head?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out and you just shrug in response, trying to laugh it off.

Talia raises both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. Keep your secrets. But just know, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” She takes a bite of her own frozen yogurt, leaning back in her seat as if she’s already won the conversation.

“So,” Talia begins, spoon halfway to her mouth, “you too busy wallowing in your mystery feelings to come out with me tonight?” She pops the yogurt into her mouth with dramatic flair, chewing slowly.

You roll your eyes, and a hesitant look adorns your face. “I’m not wallowing I just—”

“Uh-uh!” she cuts you off, waving her spoon at you. “You owe me, remember? You ditched me for your little project—your boy,” she says with a smirk, emphasizing the last word as if it’s a scandalous secret.

You groan. “He’s not my boy—”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe,” she interrupts again, leaning back in her chair with a triumphant grin. “But tonight? You’re mine. No excuses. 9pm. Dress real pretty.”

“Fine, you’re so lucky I love you” you say with the shake of your head, taking another bite of your frozen yogurt

And that’s how you find yourself in the dimly lit jazz bar. not what you were expecting from Talia, thinking you’d be finding yourself in some dark, crowded club with music so loud you could feel it vibrating through your bones. Her energy is so playful, so lively you could’ve almost bet she’d be in a scene like that. A bet you apparently would’ve lost.

Your fingers drum idly against the bar as you wait for her to arrive, late, per usual. The jazz music surrounding you is nice, making you hum absentmindedly. You’re about to pull out your phone and text her in all capitals that she’s late and leaving you susceptible to creeps but you hear the click of heels behind you.

Acrylic nails rake lightly along your bare shoulders, making you jump. “Hellooo, gorgeous!” Talia’s voice lilts as she slides up beside you, gesturing dramatically at your outfit. “I see you, little black dress! Lookin’ like dessert!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Flattery won’t make me forget that you’re late, as usual.”

She gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest like you’ve wounded her. “Excuse me! Fashionably late, babe. I had to give you time to get all this attention before I showed up and stole the show.”

You shove her playfully. “Yeah, yeah. I forgive you, though, because damn, my wife is sooo fine.” You drag out the last words, laughing as she strikes a pose.

“Don’t I know it,” she quips with a wink, sliding onto the stool next to you. “Now, what’s the vibe tonight? We drinking to forget, or are we scheming about your boy?”

You roll your eyes, flagging down the bartender. “Neither! You invited me out, we’re having a fun time together.” Talia arches an eyebrow, propping her chin on her hand as she studies you. “Mmmhmm.”

The bartender slides your drink across the bar with a smile, you return it and eagerly take a sip. “Stop looking at me like that. There’s nothing to say.” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Talia! I’m serious. He’s my coworker. My.. my boss!”

“Uh-huh.” Talia’s smirk widens as she leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’re telling me that you spend all your lunch breaks teaching him sign, watching him practice, and—what was it?—listening to you ramble? And you’re just coworkers?”

You groan, hiding your face behind your glass. “Why did I come here again?”

“Because you love me,” Talia says sweetly, patting your hand. “And because I’m not letting you mope around in your little apartment pretending you don’t have feelings for that man.”

“I do not—”

She holds up a manicured finger, cutting you off. “Nope. Let me finish. You’re allowed to have feelings. It’s not a crime. What’s the worst that happens? He likes you back? Shocking. Scandalous.”

You go to open your mouth again but her finger is still hanging in the air and she pushes it closer to you again, she’s not finished. “Let me be real with you baby, cause I love you. You know that. That man does not do anything he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t do shit to be nice. Nothing. He wants you, y/n, I fucking know it”

You shake your head in disbelief, nervous smile plastered in your face “you make it sound so simple”

“That’s because it is.” Talia waves her hand as if to dismiss your doubts. “But I get it. You’re scared. You’re like a deer in the headlights of his grumpy charm. It’s cute, really. Annoying, but cute.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Phil,” you deadpan, but you can’t stop the grin tugging at your lips.

Talia lifts her drink with a wink. “Anytime, babe. Now, cheers to you, me, and your inevitable realization that you’re head over heels for Dynamight.”

You clink your glasses, the sound light and musical against the backdrop of jazz. Maybe she’s right—maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. For tonight, though, you let yourself laugh, let yourself relax, and let the music carry you away.

A few drinks and much tipsy laughter later the bartenders sliding another drink across the bar to you

“Oh? I-“ “it’s from him.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder to a man sitting on the other side of the bar.

“Ooo he’s cute!” Talia whispers, leaning closer to you as the man raises his glass in your direction. You return the gesture with the drink he sent, offering a polite smile before taking a sip and turning back to your conversation with Talia.

Minutes later, just as you’re mid-laugh at something Talia says, the same man appears beside you. He clears his throat softly, a friendly, slightly nervous smile on his face. “Excuse me, ladies. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to say hi—and I hope you’re enjoying the drink.”

Talia raises an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching into a mischievous grin. You set your glass down and smile up at him. “Thanks for the drink. That was kind of you.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just thought… well, I couldn’t help but notice your laugh from across the bar.” His smile grows a bit more confident. “It’s contagious.”

Talia nudges your arm with her elbow, and you swear you’ll never hear the end of this late.

You feel your face flush and you can’t tell if it’s from his words or the liquor, but you give a small smile back. as Talia, ever the wingwoman, leans in and whispers, “I’ll give you two some space. I’ll be right over there.” She walks away with a subtle grace, but the second she’s out of his line of sight—and firmly in yours—she shoots you a wide grin and two enthusiastic thumbs up. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing into your conversation.

“I swear I’ve seen you before..” he starts “I can’t forget a face that pretty. You’re.. on tv right? Wait don’t tell me.. I know this.. interpreting!”

You blink, caught off guard by the leap in logic. “Uh, yeah,” you admit, half-laughing. “I do some interpreting work for heroes sometimes.”

He snaps his fingers, grinning. “I knew it! You’re the one who works with Dynamight, right? That’s so cool.” His tone is earnest, though the mention of Bakugo makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not unpack right now.

You nod, swirling the drink in your hand to focus on something other than the sudden knot in your chest. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s, uh… an interesting gig.” You try to keep your tone light, though the thought of Bakugo lingers in the back of your mind.

The man leans on the bar, clearly intrigued. “Interesting’s an understatement. I mean, you must have stories. He’s kind of… intense, right? Like, what’s he like off-camera?”

You can’t help but smile at the question, though it’s small and guarded. “He’s… dedicated,” you say after a pause. It’s not a lie, and it feels safe enough. “Takes his work seriously.”

“Dedicated, huh?” he muses with a chuckle. “Well, I guess that’s a nice way of putting it.”

You laugh softly, sipping your drink. “Something like that.”

The conversation drifts into safer territory you learn his name is Mason, you talk about his job, your favorite drinks, his love for the jazz band currently playing—and it’s surprisingly easy. He’s charming, polite, and not pushy, which you appreciate. Still, there’s something tugging at the back of your mind, pulling you out of the moment.

Talia eventually meanders back, her arrival announced by her heels clicking against the floor. “I hate to interrupt,” she says sweetly, though the mischievous glint in her eyes says otherwise, “but I’m stealing her back for some girl talk.”

Mason doesn’t seem too fazed. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, though. Hopefully, I’ll see you around maybe not just on my tv screen?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Talia slides back onto the barstool, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you into him, or was that just free drink bait?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “He was nice.”

“But…?”

“But nothing,” you insist, though the teasing smile on her face tells you she doesn’t believe you.

Talia leans closer, her voice low and knowing. “It’s because he’s not him, isn’t it?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. Because you should be into mason and you’re not. The truth is, she’s absolutely right—but admitting that feels like stepping onto shaky ground you’re not ready to navigate just yet. Instead, you take another sip of your drink and let the music fill the silence.

You quickly change the subject. “Forget men what if I just marry you instead?”

“Now you’re cookin’!”

You wake up the next morning to the blaring of your phones ringtone. With a groggy “hello?” You find out you’re being called into work on your one day off this week. Great.

You drag yourself through your morning routine, repeating a mantra to keep yourself sane: It’s just one meeting. Just one. Then I can go back to bed. Shower, clothes, aspirin, keys, coffee—you’re out the door, though the dull ache in your head reminds you of last night’s decisions.

When you finally trudge into the office, you immediately feel a pair of sharp eyes on you. Katsuki’s leaning against the desk, arms crossed, with a barely-there smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look like hell,” he comments, his tone casual but undeniably amused.

“Good morning to you too,” you mutter, gripping your coffee like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Wasn’t supposed to be,” you reply, sinking into the nearest chair. “But apparently, nobody respects a day off anymore.” “Hah,” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’re too soft. Should’ve told ‘em no.”

You scoff and glance up at him, brows furrowed in annoyance “I’m YOUR interpreter you know damn well you’re the only reason I’m here”

His expression flickers for a moment—something between amusement and slight irritation—but then he leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the desk. “And you get paid for it, so quit whining.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “You know, you could’ve sent someone else today. Let me have one day off.” “Yeah, but they’d screw it up,” he says bluntly, waving off the idea. “You’re the only one who doesn’t piss me off.”

The comment stirs something in you that you wish it wouldn’t— an overwhelming fluttering in your stomach, millions of butterflies rapidly stirring. God, it makes you feel nauseous, but you quickly push those feelings down. because it’s katsuki, that means nothing.. right?

The meeting goes by in a blur, your hands moving on autopilot, barely registering what you’re signing anymore—it’s just second nature at this point. God, you’re so exhausted.

So exhausted, you almost miss the subtle way Katsuki’s hands move to communicate with you.

TIRED, YOU?

You ball your hand into a fist, thumb resting in front of your knuckles and bend your wrist forward twice

YES!

The way you raise your eyebrows, the look on your face, ‘enthusiastic’ YES.

FOOD, OFFICE, LATER?

Lunch. He’s asking about lunch. You were gonna go straight home.. but.

YES.

You find yourself saying yes.

The meeting finally wraps up, and you both shuffle into Bakugo’s office. You’d planned on today being a half day, so you hadn’t even thought to pack a lunch. You silently hope he doesn’t bring it up, because honestly? You don’t have an excuse.

As soon as you step inside, you slump down onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the cushion swallowing you up like it’s begging you to stay. Lifting your hands, you sign lazily:

TODAY, LESSON, NONE, EXHAUSTED.

Bakugo, who’s in the middle of grabbing a water bottle from his mini fridge, glances over at you and smirks. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus,” he mutters, twisting the cap off the bottle.

You glare at him half-heartedly, lifting your hands again “wow. Thanks, you’re so nice Bakugo!”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before Katsuki is slumping into his chair, leaning back with a heavy sigh. He raises an eyebrow at you, signing with practiced precision

LESSON, NONE? LAZY.

You narrow your eyes at him, too tired to respond with anything clever. Instead, you let out a breathy laugh, flopping your head back against the couch. “Not lazy. Tired. Huge difference.”

NOT, LAZY, TIRED, DIFFERENT

His lips twitch, not quite a smile but close enough, and he lifts his hands again. “Excuses. Weak.”

You let out a fake gasp, dramatically clutching your chest like he’s just wounded you. “Mean.”

You’re giggling to yourself and for a moment the office is filled with a comfortable silence, the type that settles when two people are at ease.

You look at him, a flash of curiosity falling over your face and you mouth opens, your hands move quicker than your brain even thinks “why don’t you want people to know?”

His brows knit together in confusion, he’s not sure if he understood you correctly. “What?.. know.. what?”

“About you” your bring your index finger and tap it on your ear, then your mouth “being deaf”

He doesn’t respond immediately, taking a second to bask in your question, his eyes fall to the floor. When he finally looks at you, there’s something raw in his expression, something he usually keeps hidden behind all his usual gruffness

“It’s not about shame” his hands move simultaneously as he speaks. “I just… I don’t want anyone thinking I’m weak. That they can use it against me. I have to be the strongest.”

You nod, letting his words settle between you. “I get that. But Deaf doesn’t mean weak, Katsuki” you use his first name without even realizing. “It’s not a weakness—it’s a part of you. And it’s…” You hesitate, searching for the right words before finally signing, “It’s beautiful. There’s a whole culture, a whole community, that sees the world differently. You’re part of that, whether you realize it or not.”

His hands fall to his lap, and he studies you with an unreadable expression. “You really believe that?”

You smile softly, your hand touches the side of your forehead with the tips of the fingers ,your hand in a flat shape. “I know that.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just lets your words linger. Then he lifts his hands again, slower this time, almost timid? “You… make me think about it different-“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, there’s a knock at the door. You glance over as an intern pops their head in, holding a bouquet of flowers so vibrant it practically lights up the dull office.

“Uh, these are for you,” they say, stepping in and handing them to you. “For me?” you ask, confused. You take the flowers, and the intern nods. “Yeah, there’s a note. Looks like your name’s on it.”

Your stomach flips as you glance down at the card tucked between the stems. You open it, reading the handwritten message:

Had a great time meeting you. Would love to see you again. Call me?

There’s a phone number scrawled underneath, and you immediately know who it’s from.

Katsuki, meanwhile, is staring at the flowers like they personally insulted him. “What the hell is that?” he doesn’t bother signing, instead speaking sharply

You feel the flush creeping on the back of your neck as your gaze breaks from the flowers “flowers.. from some guy I met last night”

His jaw tightens, and he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Lame” he mutters while shaking his head

That earns an eyebrow raise from you. “Lame? I think it’s sweet

“It’s desperate.” He shoots back almost immediately “don’t call him.” There’s a sternness in his voice that a few weeks ago would’ve given you chills but you can’t help the laugh that flys past your lips.

“Excuse me?”

He won’t repeat himself, instead his eyes narrow and he stands up abruptly, shoving his wallet in his pocket and resuming his signing. “Come on. We’re going to lunch, my treat”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by the sudden change of pace. “What?” “You heard me,” he signs, already heading for the door. “We’re getting lunch. Now.”

You can’t help but laugh as you set the flowers down on his desk, grabbing your bag to follow him. There’s no way he’s jealous, right? but he’s definitely not thrilled about the guy from the bar…and, for some reason, you don’t mind that one bit.

The walk to the café down the block is quiet—well, mostly. Katsuki has his hands shoved into his pockets, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression, but he’s impossible to crack.

The café is small and cozy, the kind of place that smells like fresh bread and espresso. Katsuki orders for himself without hesitation, then turns to you with a raised brow, waiting for your choice. When you tell him, he nods and adds it to the order, swiping his card before you can even think about reaching for yours.

As you settle into a booth by the window, you can’t help but notice how relaxed he looks here, away from the office and the weight of his hero persona. He’s still gruff, sure, but there’s something softer about him in this moment.

“So,” you start, signing carefully to make sure he catches every word. “What’s with the sudden lunch invite? You’re not usually this… spontaneous.”

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t read too much into it. You looked like you were about to pass out in my office. Figured food would keep you from keeling over.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so it’s for my benefit? Not maybe because you might be.. I don’t know.. jealous of some guy from the bar?” You’re teasing, you shouldn’t be but god isn’t it fun?

His smirk falters for a split second, just long enough for you to catch it. He quickly recovers, though, leaning forward to sign, “I’m not jealous. Just don’t like idiots wasting your time.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Right,” you sign back, your movements slow and deliberate. “Because you get to decide who’s worth my time.”

“Damn right I do.” His hands move with a confidence that’s almost infuriating. But there’s something else there too, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between you.

Before you can even respond, the food arrives, breaking the tension. He begins eating without another word, and you follow suit, though your head is still spinning. There’s no way he doesn’t realize what he’s doing to you…right?

You’re eating together in silence for a few long moments when you see little eyes peering over the table in your peripheral vision. You turn your head to see a little girl, she couldn’t have been older than five. Her big brown eyes bouncing between you and Katsuki like she’s starstruck.

You chuckle softly, nudging Katsuki under the table to get his attention. He glances up, confused, before following your gaze to the little girl.

“What?” he mutters, completely missing her awe-struck expression.

“You’ve got an admirer,” you tease, keeping your voice low. Katsuki frowns, but you wave him off and turn to the girl. “Hi there, sweetheart. Can I help you?”

The girl’s hands start moving as she signs, “I know you! You’re on TV! You talk when Dynamight is on tv!”

Your heart melts instantly. “That’s me,” you sign back with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

She signs back—“Emma.”

“Hi, Emma. It’s so nice to meet you,” you sign, keeping your movements slow and clear. “Do you want to tell Dynamight something?”

Emma nods eagerly, then hesitates. “I’m deaf,” she signs shyly, looking between you and Katsuki.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” you sign back, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let me get his attention for you.”

You tap Katsuki’s arm, and when he looks up, you sign to him, “You have an admirer” You repeat. He furrows his brows in confusion but glances at Emma, his expression softening slightly when he sees her beaming up at him.

“She’s deaf,” you explain.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow but quickly switches to signing. “Hey, kid.”

Emma gasps, her jaw dropping as she stares at him in shock. “You can sign?!” she signs back, practically bouncing in place. “Oh my gosh, you’re my favorite hero! I didn’t know Dynamight could sign!”

Katsuki huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Course I can sign,” he replies. “How else am I supposed to talk to cool kids like you?”

Emma giggles, her eyes sparkling with admiration. She leans closer, signing quickly, “My mom says I can’t have Dynamight toys because they’re for boys, but I don’t care! You’re still my favorite!”

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrow, and he signs back immediately, “That’s dumb. Dynamight’s for everyone. Tell your mom I said so.”

Emma giggles even harder, glancing back at her mom, who’s watching nervously from across the café.

“Do you fight bad guys every day?” Emma asks, her little hands moving excitedly. Katsuki smirks. “Pretty much. But they’re not as tough as me.”

“You’re so cool! Can I be a hero like you one day?”

Katsuki leans forward slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Yeah, you can. But only if you promise to work hard. No slacking off.” Emma nods so enthusiastically you’re sure she’s going to tumble over. “I promise!”

You can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as you watch them. Katsuki, for all his rough edges, is handling this so naturally.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Emma signs after a few more moments of chatting. “You’re the best hero ever!”

Katsuki grins faintly, his hand ruffling her hair briefly. “Go tell your mom you’re cool now ‘cause you met Dynamight. Emma giggles again, waving goodbye to both of you before running back to her table. Her mom mouths a thank you to you, and you nod politely.

“She was adorable,” you say, turning back to Katsuki. “Tch. Kids are annoying,” he grumbles, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he picks up his drink.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “You’re good with them, you know.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, but his ears are a little red.

You toss onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you as sleep continues to evade you. Your mind drifts back to the scene at the café, playing it over and over again—Katsuki sitting there, so naturally at ease with that little girl, his sharp eyes softening, his movements fluid and comforting. The way he spoke to her, so effortlessly kind, so… genuine.

Your face flushes at the memory, a quiet warmth spreading across your chest. And, of course, he’s fucking good with kids. He’s everything—strong, confident, and… that kindness.. in the way that katsuki can be kind. You can’t help but think about the way he told Emma, the young girl at the café, that she could be a hero—despite her deafness. How he made her feel seen, empowered, strong.

But then, why did he act so differently when it came to himself? Why did he view his own deafness as something to be hidden, something that made him weaker? That’s what he had said, after all—a weakness—when you asked him why he didn’t want anyone to know. And you can’t help but frown, confusion tightening in your chest.

It’s not a weakness at all… not like he thinks. You know that, deep down. Deafness doesn’t make you less—it’s part of who you are. And yet, here he is—someone so capable, so strong, so undeniably powerful—acting like it’s something to hide, something to shy away from.

Why couldn’t he see what you saw? How empowering it could be, how beautiful. How much it could mean to others to have someone like him—someone so fierce—representing that strength.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, and you shake your head, rolling over onto your other side. Why does he get it for someone else but not for himself?

The frustration eats away at you because Katsuki Bakugo has always been someone who’s never cared what anyone thinks, someone who’s been proud to stand alone, to prove he’s the strongest, to fight for what he believes in without hesitation. So why now? Why does he suddenly feel the need to hide parts of himself from the world?

That’s what gnaws at you—this contradiction in him. He’s fearless, bold, and unapologetically driven… so why, with this, does he shrink away, like it’s something to be hidden or kept separate? You know it’s not shame.

The thought lingers, burning in your mind as you shift restlessly in bed. It gnaws at you—how easy it was for him to tell Emma she could be a hero with her deafness, while he himself clings to the idea that it would make him be seen as less. it doesn’t make sense! Not with someone like him. It’s not about what others think—it’s about what he thinks… and what he’s been telling himself.

You wake up the next morning with a start, blindly feeling around your bed for your phone and when you see the time your stomach drops—you’re late. So late. Of course, after all the tossing and turning you did last night, you didn’t double-check your alarms.

If you’re going to make it only five minutes late, you’ll have to skip breakfast. You throw on clothes, shove whatever else you can into your bag, and practically sprint out of your apartment. With any luck, no one will even notice your absence.

When you finally sneak your way into the office, it’s swarming with press. You make a beeline upstairs, dropping your things at your desk and scanning the chaos for someone who can explain what’s going on. Your confusion must be plastered on your face because a passing intern mumbles, “Last-minute press conference,” as they rush by.

You nod in understanding, silently cursing the timing. Of course today, when you look like you got ready in five minutes—because you did—is the day you’re interpreting on live television.

You barely have a second to process the chaos before someone’s calling your name, a frazzled assistant waving you over. “Y/n! We’re live in five!”

Perfect. Just what you needed. You rush to a mirror, smoothing down your hair and attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable. There’s no fixing the bags under your eyes or the crease in your shirt, but you do your best.

By the time you make it downstairs to the press area, Katsuki’s already standing at the podium, arms crossed and his usual scowl plastered on his face. His sharp eyes flicker to you the moment you walk in, and you swear you see the faintest hint of amusement in them.

“’Bout time,” he mutters under his breath as you take your spot across from him, beside the speaker for the agency. You shoot him a glare and roll your eyes. You don’t even have time for some witty remark, you’re frantically trying to smooth down your shirt.

As the cameras start rolling and the reporters quiet down, you slip into work mode, your hands moving fluidly as you translate his speech. But in the back of your mind, you can’t stop thinking about how, even now, he’s managing to get under your skin. And, annoyingly, how much you don’t mind.

Your distraction is evident, the signs are messy and your brains all over the place, there’s a pause in dialogue as the audience is directed to view something on the screen and you take a breath, so frazzled you almost missed Bakugo trying to get your attention off camera

RELAX

he signs, his expression calm but firm, his sharp eyes meeting yours. You start to shake your head as if to say I can’t, I’ve barely had time to breathe and I look like I barely slept

And it’s like he reads your mind.

YOU, PRETTY.

you practically choke on air, as you watch him, You try to keep your composure because—oh, right—you’re still live. Your heartbeat quickens as his hands move one more time, his gaze steady.

ALWAYS.

He looks away with a smug expression his face unreadable to anyone else, but the moment feels unbearably intimate—more than you want it to be. His message is meant just for you, spoken in a language only the two of you in the room understand.

But you don’t have time to unpack that right now, you’re working. You take a breath, as much as his words stirred up the most confusing emotions they also comforted you, you’re fine. This is the job you love, the job you’re great at.

The press conference ends without any further hiccups, your hands moving fluidly through the signs as you finish the broadcast. You can feel Bakugo’s presence, and while you’d never admit it, the occasional glances he throws your way seem to steady you more than anything else.

As the room clears out and the camera lights dim, you exhale a sigh of relief, rubbing your temples. You don’t even notice Bakugo stepping closer until he’s right next to you, arms crossed, an unreadable look on his face.

“You good now?” he asks, his tone softer than you expected, though he still looks more smug than concerned.

“I’m fine,” you reply, a bit defensive, standing straighter. “It’s just… it’s been a morning.”

“Tch, no kidding,” he mutters before his eyes narrow slightly. “But you pulled it together.”

You glance at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks, I guess.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he signs, slow and deliberate, like he wants you to really pay attention.

YOU, STRONG. ALWAYS.

You feel your heart skip a beat, your mind replaying the earlier moment from the press conference. He doesn’t look away this time, holding your gaze like he’s daring you to argue.

And you want to. You want to tell him you don’t feel strong right now, that everything’s a mess, that he can’t just say things like that and expect you to be fine. But you can’t. The intensity in his eyes stops you.

Instead, you swallow thickly and sign back: THANK YOU.

He gives a small nod, satisfied, before turning and walking toward the door. Just before he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, “Don’t be late again.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself throwing you hands up to sign a quick, “Thanks for the pep talk, boss.”

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking as he leaves.

And you hate the way that smirk affects you because you know he knows he’s pretty, and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. That stupid, cocky grin lingers in your mind even after he’s gone, making your blood boil and your chest tighten all at once.

You slump back into your chair, running a hand down your face. It’s exhausting, being around him. Not just because of the work or the constant press conferences, but because he has this way of getting under your skin in ways you didn’t even think were possible.

It’s not fair. It’s him. Katsuki Bakugo. The man who scowls at everything, talks like every word is a challenge, and somehow still manages to have moments where he’s thoughtful, protective, and… sweet? Ugh. You hate it.

You hate how he’s in your head. But the worst part?

You’re starting to think he knows that, too.

—

A/n: yayy pt 2 finally! Part 3 coming soon (next few days!)

Tags: @poemeater @beebunsx @mimzyu @beabamboo

[lananiscorner]

Perhaps I was not clear enough in my original reblog, but I think you may have misunderstood several points of my post.

I was not trying to invalidate anything about the OP or miss its point--I was adding onto it, because for some adults who enjoy media for children, nostalgia is part of the appeal. I am sorry that the nature of your childhood meant that this could not be the case for you, but that doesn't change the fact that it is a factor for some, including for me. Your experiences are not universal, and neither are mine.

Personally, I occasionally rewatch cartoons from my childhood because they take me back to "simpler times". I occasionally watch shows or movies like them, designed for kids, even today as a grown adult long out of childhood, because there is something comforting for me in enjoying a well-made show/movie that focuses on the core messages we try to instill in future generations in terms that nobody can miss: be brave, be understanding, be kind, make friends.

The reason why I went into the second topic of my post (the stigma around adults consuming media for kids being puritanical panic around the potential of adults corrupting or hurting kids if they engage with the fandom) is because this is precisely the reasoning I see flung around most often by other people as criticism of adults who are in fandoms for child media or who enjoy media for children.

Gonna repeat that again: BY OTHER PEOPLE. I do not agree with that take.

I cannot count the many times I have either received asks myself, or have had mutuals receive asks, saying we should not be in fandoms X, Y, Z, because a grown adult enjoying stuff for children is creepy.

I was pushing back on said argument, to state why it is, in fact, beneficial to have people of multiple age ranges enjoying the same thing, precisely because it is the argument I most frequently had people try to wield against me and my mutuals.

I WISH I had no need to bring it up. I WISH that sentiment (that all adults who enjoy stuff for kids or are hanging out in fandoms for said media are creeps) did not exist, but it does, and so I decided to address it, before anybody tries to jump into my ask box and go "hurgh, hurgh, that post you reblogged about how we shouldn't shame adults for enjoying media for kids--do you not realize what massive creeps you are?"

You also grossly misinterpreted what I meant by "not every". "Not every" does not automatically mean "a good chunk" or "most". It means "not 100%". At no point, did I make any statement about how many percent of adults who enjoy kids media or enjoy hanging out in fandoms about kids media may be abusers, but I did acknowledge that they exist, because they do. They do exist in kids media fandoms, as they do in any sphere of life where kids may be present. So let me state this clearly for the record: In my experience, it is an incredibly small number, but it is not 0%. It is also not 100% though, which is what some other people like to assume.

There are plenty of people who are into children's media or part of those fandoms for entirely normal, healthy reasons:

They enjoy the simplicity of it.

They enjoy the quality of the writing/animation/music/various other parts of the work.

It helps them work through trauma or tough times.

It gives them nostalgic comfort.

They have loved ones or friends who enjoy it and want to be able to connect with them about it.

[Insert probably around half a dozen reasons here that I cannot think of at the moment.]

I do not judge anybody who likes media for kids for liking media for kids. As long as you are not harming anybody, you do you. Have fun, live your best life, enjoy the things you enjoy.

And regarding your question "How do you think about people who WORK in animation??" - In general, I think most of them are incredibly talented people. Whether they are decent people in a moral sense is something I cannot judge, unless:

A) I get to know them personally (highly unlikely).

B) They use their amazing talent to create something bigoted/hateful.

C) They publicly interact with others in a bigoted/hateful/abusive manner, or records of them interacting in such manner in private become public.

And if B or C ever happen (e.g. Rowling), I simply block them, stop interacting with their material, and move on with my life.

I like to think of people as innocent until proven guilty. I do my best to treat strangers with respect, understanding and kindness, and I say "do my best" because nobody's perfect--we all mess up sometimes and there have definitely been days when I have been physically or emotionally drained enough to be a sad ball of rage lashing out at anyone who interacted with me, and also because I am well aware that I have certain culturally-ingrained biases that I am actively doing my best to unlearn. But my default is always "assume decent person, until proven otherwise".

I will conclude by saying this: I wish you the best and I hope I made my point clearer this time.

Quick edit to add: I will also mute this post now, in the interest of not getting into any further arguments and derail OPs post even further. My initial reblog was meant to be a simple addition in further support of letting people enjoy what they enjoy.

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[midnightsmusings]

-Kneel, Alpha- Pt.1

I love the trope of an alpha hiding just how much they crave a dominant partner. Even sweeter when said partner is an omega. It's very Ghost coded and I had to get it out of my brain. (I also just wanted more Ghost getting hard when Soap yells at him)

CW: Top Omega Soap x Bottom Alpha Ghost (smut not in this part but in part 2), miscommunication, they argue..well soap yells and Ghost gets hard over it, minor angst, suggestive so MDNI.

I had a lot of fun with italics in this.

"I can't be the alpha you need"

The words were bouncing around Soap's head the whole day. They left him distracted. Left him getting pinned more than usual in sparring and missing shots in the range. He was mulling over each syllable. Each tinge of accented words that were snarled at him. It was his fault really, his lack of a filter always got him in trouble.

He'd finally pushed Ghost too far, the uptight alpha no longer able to brush off his insistent prodding about being more.

Ghost had whirled around when they were going to cool off after sparring, growling down at him and silencing any future flirty comments with that phrase.

Soap poked at his food, frown set heavy on his usually cheerful face. He'd given up on training, instead sulking to the mess hall to distract himself with food. The seats around him were empty, the stench of angry omega meant everyone was giving him a wide berth.

"I can't be the alpha you need"

Soap snarled and stabbed a potato hard with his fork, those words were haunting him. He's moved on from pouting over it now, settling firmly in anger. Seething at the words, the way he could practically hear the alpha baring his teeth even if the sight was hidden behind that damned mask.

Soap stood suddenly, chair screeching loudly. He left his tray on the table and his chair overturned. He had only one mission in mind now. He wasnt going to let the alpha push him away, he was either going to force the man to transfer him out of sheer spite or finally give in let Soap give him the shag he clearly needed and some loving.

Stalking out of the mess hall with a hardened face and determined gait Soap headed right towards the man's office. He didn't even bother to knock, instead bursting in and immediately let out the mess of words he's been choking on all day.

"Cant be the alpha I need? Yer a right fookin bastard for thinkin I even need an alpha in the first place LT" he started, chest heaving and fists clenched at his sides.

Said alpha was sitting ridged in his chair, eyes lidded and appearing bored behind his mask. The only proof that he heard the omega was his shoulders hiking up around his ears as Soap barely took a breath between words.

"And don't even get me started on tha' shite. Yer sayin' yer not good enough for me? Bloody arsed teenager ye are Ghost as if I wouldn't take you as ye are. Damn it all LT, has nothing I've done proved that? Ye think that lowly of me aye? Think I'm a soft omega who would shy at yer collection of knives ye right fuckin numpty"

He rambled, accent sloppy with anger as he pours out the frustration that's been building since he started trying to get close to the alpha. He didn't even have anything more to shout other than incoherent insults but he was far from done.

Uncaring about the wide open door he continued, hands waving as he got closer and leaned over the desk. Ghost was inching back in his chair the closer Soap got.

Deeply, Soap knew this wasn't the way to deal with the man. He knew this could potentially lead to Ghost fully pulling back and solidifying that wall between them that he's been painstakingly chipping away at. Soap couldn't help it though, he tried the soft route. Tried to be patient and it got him nowhere.

"I do think you need an Alpha" Ghost rumbles when the omega's face was turning blue from lack of oxygen and he paused finally to take in a big gulping breath.

"One that knows how to shut you up, but as I said, 'm not that man Sergeant" Ghosts words were a mask similar to the one over his face hiding what he was really feeling. They were both toeing dangerously close to the line of saying something too far.

Soap scoffed a harsh sound, another rant ready on his lips. The use of his rank cut harder than the insult. Ghost only ever used that title when he was truly distancing himself. Soap obsessed over the aloof man enough to understand his unspoken tells.

He knew Ghost used MacTavish when he was fondly irritated. Soap was a casual, tactical greeting and Johnny was something else, something deeper and meaningful. Or so Soap thought, now he wasn't sure he didn't imagine the feelings between them.

Ghost, to his credit was ever the picture of boredom in the face of the Scott's anger. Inside he was thankful for his mask covering his deep red cheeks, thankful for his desk hiding his hard cock.

His fists clenched as he fought to keep that unaffected aura about him while Soap readied himself to go off again. The words laced thick with anger only made Ghost's nails dig into his palm to keep himself steady. He always got a little fuzzy headed when Soap's accent got more prominent from anger.

"I cannae believe yer sittin there like a right arse sayin' that shite-" Soap started before pausing abruptly, eyes wide as they stare at Ghost, at his tense posture. Soap straightened up in realization at how flat Ghost's words fell, how strained his voice sounded. There was a desperate tinge to them instead of the usual dry delivery that accompanied an insult from him.

"Yer tryna push me away" Soap said with a clenched jaw. He growled lowly and walked around the desk, looming over the man as he just sat. Soap's eyes were too fixed furiously on the mask that hid all he wanted from him to notice the growing problem in Ghost's trousers.

"Think I'll back off after a few harsh insults that it? Think yer too much for me? Bloody fookin idiot" Soap snapped furious the man was still trying to push him away, thinking a simple insult would be enough to get rid of Soap. He was more furious that Ghost was so stuck on the idea he was too much for Soap.

Soap. Who his whole life was told he was too loud, too cocky, too dominant for an omega, too much. Soap, who his whole time in the task force did nothing but admire Ghost and his efficiency in the field. Never shied away from a blood soaked hand behind held out to him.

"I...bloody hell Johnny" Ghosts strained voice came out lowly in the middle of Soap's seething, the man finally having had run out of ways to express his frustrations and just stood panting and glaring down at him instead. He couldn't stand Soap thinking he was pushing him away because he didn't like him. The problem was Ghost liked him too much.

Ghost didn't know how to articulate his swirling thoughts. Could never hope to express himself as freely as the omega always did. How does he admit to Soap he wasn't the stoic alpha he's been pining after. That it was just a front.

Unwilling to let Soap spiral any farther into this anger he steeled himself. He was afraid to potentially lose the one person on base who actually liked him. Ghost made a last second decision and reached out. His gloved hand grasped Soap's tightly, yanking it down to his lap unceremoniously and let the omega feel just what he was hiding.

Oh.

Soap froze, breathing out a harsh breath when his hand made contact with Ghost's clothed cock, clearly aching and pressing against the zipper. Soap couldn't help but give a slight squeeze, watching raptly as the man's eyes slid shut behind his mask and a gruff noise escaped.

Oh.

[coffeegnomee]

There's something about how Mapicc will go full out on the attack over an assumption or something that fits with your reputation.

But then when confronted that that is not the truth, he will back off and say, maybe i was wrong.

But then he keeps you on the watch list and his trust is forever wavered.

There's two instances and both came up in the past month, though one was season 6 and the other season 4.

When Zam confronted Mapicc about Mawn on the first day, Mapicc confronted him back saying he only ever calls on him to fight and nothing else: tldr Zam uses him.

Zam of course is shocked and horrified that Mapicc would think that, and after going back and forth and a lot of insisting from Zam, Mapicc goes,

MAPICC: "I don't think you did. I don't think you were intending to like, use me for personal gain, but i think lowkey even if you don't agree you did- i think you did”

And then after more confrontations he goes,

MAPICC: “[pause] i think.. That maybe just a lot of people subconsciously do that and now I see it in people when it’s not happening. It's possible”

(12/15/24 "RECOLLECT" zam, conversation starts at 2:45:00)

And that interaction bothered me a lot. When it happened I thought it was a sign that Mapicc actually did start changing his mind about mawn, but by the time I wrote the post there were more mawn streams and Mapicc had clearly not been changed by that convo. So what was going on?

The rest of mawn continued, Mapicc kept denying it was all about Zam while making it all about Zam.

And on the last day, Mapicc brings back up the feeling used by Zam.

MAPICC: “i don't feel abandoned. I feel used. [..] i'm perfectly fine bro. I- I can make it back to 20 hearts, i can live on my own. Like [..] like i do some crazy ass action out of nowhere and like i die in the middle of it and the first thing you message me it to come bail you out of a bunch of wardens pit?"

Mapicc does an entire takeover of spawn and Zam doesn't enter into the play. He doesn't reciprocate. He doesn't embrace mapicc's idea. He doesn't care about him and what he cares about.

Zam just wants Mapicc when he needs help.

Stab the knife and twist it.

And all this after Mapicc put aside his "oath" (killing people whenever he thinks they deserve it) for Zam and Zam's plot. Mapicc changed himself to do stuff with Zam, but Zam wouldn't change himself to do stuff with Mapicc.

They go back and forth debating on whether or now mawn was good. Mapicc is less and less confident, while zam says he thinks it did do good but he couldn't be involved.

MAPICC: ‘what is it you would like from me” ZAM: “i don't know. Thats what im trying to figure out. Cause like, i don't even know” [..] MAPICC: “i think im in the wrong.” ZAM: "really?” MAPICC: "im sorry”  [..] Zam asks if he wants to join his team with derap and poafa. Mapicc just looks at zam. Zam says he can think about it MAPICC: "i just don't want to team with derap and poafa” ZAM: “fair enough” MAPICC: ”lets just- why can’t you just be in two teams? [..] why can't we be in the mapicc-zam team and then you have your teammates” ZAM: “[jumping on it so fast] im okay with that as well”

(12/23/24 "to ashes and blood" zam. convo starts 2:49:00)

All of mawn has been about getting Zam back to spawn, Mapicc shouting once, "just- COME OUT OF EXILE! Just come back to spawn” (1:31:40 zam "dynasties and dystopia")

There's this war within Mapicc over knowing he will continue to feel used by Zam, but still just wanting to be by Zam. All of it centers back to wanting to be teammates - doing plots together.

Bc "teammate" means something for Mapicc. It's a "do everything together" type relationship. "Support each other in all things" type relationship. Look at how he was in dualities. (before the finale. which is actually really interesting to think about)

Which brings me to the second moment Mapicc reacted aggressively only to take it back and say it was all based on assumptions: the Dupe War.

Spoke dropping the unreleased footage within the same month as the above really created a parallel within the Mapicc characterization.

57:00 MAPICC: "honestly no, honestly, here's the thing, i think, i really do, okay? I really do think it might've just been the reputation [..] you were saying some ominous things. and me and zam thought about it [..] and you kept saying things that were making your case worse and worse."

After feeling like Spoke was playing them, Mapicc went and killed Spoke. Spoke, enraged and upset, confronted Mapicc and eventually Mapicc said he acted out of turn, it might've just been the reputation.

It's so similar to the s6 belief, now I see it in people when it's not happening.

And so similar to s4, he'll admit defeat in the battle, give the benefit of the doubt. But the nagging suspicion continues and he's never quite able to shake it.

MAPICC: "I wish this guy wasn't such a snake, i would like 5 minutes hanging out with Spoke" ZAM: "[finishing sentence] without thinking he has some kind of ulterior motive"

("Night of the End", zam vod 1:54:40)

Mapicc's mind runs at a million miles an hour, making connections, providing assumptions, giving gut checks.

And he's right a lot of the time.

But he doubts himself all of the time. Going back on his observation when someone presses him in the opposite direction. Caving and placating so as to not loose a friendship.

but that self-doubt seems to be louder in the conversation that it really is within his own mind. And once he notes something it's very hard for his mind to be changed.

And it's interesting how his assumptions that Zam would oppose mawn and would be responsible for these things that kept happening, were wrong. He said during the final mawn convo that he felt like zam kept 180-ing after every convo, though he admits he was wrong about who did the suspicious things.

But the assumption that started this whole thing was that Mapicc felt used, not that Zam would oppose him.

And that assumption has still not been proven incorrect.

Though Mapicc will go along with it for now, being more cautious than before. Just like he was with Spoke after that dupe war confrontation.

It's a haunting ending, and it's not helped at all by how Mapicc ended his video. My general belief is that Mapicc went 180 on what actually happened bc the video is public and all the lifestealers will watch it, and he did say he would keep mawn going and just let it exist in people's minds. You can't do that if you end your video saying it's all over.

And yet.

MAPICC: "Me and Zam had made up, but it didn't mean we could team. If i could go back in time i would have never done mawn, but now that i have full control over spawn, i can't just stop"

it is a complete 180 from what was decided in the conversation.

and that was mapicc speaking days later, after reflection. What went on in his head, alone while editing?? Where will this go? why did he have to go skiing??