#and his ''because she doesn't love you!'' is so good

[library-windows]

man I am sorry to start chewing on stuff on a shitpost but I think about this scene sometimes and I started spitballing to myself and, well,

Mikage looks and sounds bored/disgusted/dismissive when he says this, at odds with the content of what he's saying, that Tatsuya is a "truly good person". And we also see that Tatsuya really isn't a good person; not a monster, just kind of a shallow jerk. He likes Wakaba, but he wants her to be the one to make the move. He wants her to be the one giving love, and himself to be the one accepting it. He assumes that she must love him, despite him never actually doing anything to merit it.

Even in their little-kid hijinks, when Wakaba proclaims him her Onion Prince, he's just confused and unresponsive. He doesn't try to defend her or comfort her. (Granted, they're four or whatever, but he's already not earning the role of being somebody's "prince" by taking the initiative to protest against Wakaba's bullies; even when he's Assigned Prince By Wakaba, he fumbles it.) We're probably not meant to love the fact that Wakaba is back on her bullshit with Saionji (albeit with a different power dynamic), but we're also meant to see that she's way too good for what's-his-nuts here.

He's neither outstandingly good nor exceptionally bad. He's just kind of an immature, stupid teenage boy. So what's this exchange about?

And I think my interpretation ends up being that "you are a truly good person" here isn't a moral judgement. Mikage isn't saying he's a good person sincerely or ironically. He's saying Tatsuya fits in with Akio's system. Tatsuya is unquestioningly, and unfailingly, trying to hold up the prescribed roles of "prince and princess", "boy and girl", "powerful and dependent". He's decided he likes Wakaba because they conveniently knew each other as children, and assumes she must feel the same way, that she'll delightedly fall into his arms -- even that she'll plead with him for his attention and strive to "win" him. He is the prize by virtue of being "the [male] prince". And he fantasizes that her error in not doing what she's supposed to do and being his childhood-friend-turned-lover trope will come back to hurt her, and he'll be the gracious savior who corrects her and lets her be happy at last, but always holding that over her.

His failure isn't his own, it's that Wakaba isn't falling in line the way she's supposed to. Tatsuya himself is fitting perfectly into Ohtori's/Akio's mold. He never goes deeper because there's nothing deeper there; Tatsuya has the inner depth of a puddle on the sidewalk.

What are the Black Rose duelists? They're "bad kids" in some way. Not in the sense that they're delinquents (though Kozue plays with this), but because they're somehow failing to fit into the system, and they sense it, even if they refuse to consciously recognize why. When Mikage pushes them, they reach a point of breakdown where they face whatever deficiency makes them unable to perform their roles the way they're supposed to, and that's what gives them their power as duelists. They let their anger and grief and jealousy about whatever is broken drive them.

The Black Rose duelists can't fit into the system like the mob, but they also lack the ability to make themselves exceptional* as the Student Council duelists do. So unlike the Student Council duelists, who (at least initially) see the dueling system as a way to seize the power that they want, the Black Rose duelists want to break the system -- not to remove it altogether, but to remake it in their own image so that they become it. If they can't force themselves to fit within the limits of the system, they'll instead warp the system to fit them -- just as Mikage isn't really trying to destroy the idea of a Rose Bride or of a power structure, he's trying to make it into what he wants/needs it to be.

Tatsuya isn't failing to fit into the system, though. His failure here isn't internal; it's external, in that Wakaba hasn't correctly fallen in line with the role she's been given. He's angry and upset that she's deviating from her half of the script.

Tatsuya himself fits Akio's prescribed system perfectly; by Ohtori's definition, he's a "good person". Mikage wants to alter that system, and to do so he needs the people who can neither fit nor transcend* the system; he needs "bad people". The Black Rose duelists are ultimately driven by obsessive jealousy and inferiority (Kanae toward Anthy, Kozue toward Miki, Shiori toward Juri, Tsuwabuki toward Touga, Keiko toward Nanami, Wakaba toward Utena). Tatsuya isn't jealous of Wakaba, nor does he feel inferior to her. If anything he believes himself superior, the one she should be grateful to for choosing her. Wakaba is the inferior, and she's not acting like it.

The path he must take doesn't lie through Nemuro Memorial Hall, because it lies through Ohtori.

I think Mikage's coolness and disgust here is just because Tatsuya has wasted his time; there's nothing here for Mikage to work with. I don't think he actually cares that Tatsuya is kind of a shithead. But the choice for his rejection to be framed in terms of morality reinforces that what's good for Ohtori-as-Akio's-structure doesn't equate to goodness or individual wholeness, and it foreshadows Akio's own nature.

ionno just wanted to hash that out and articulate it for myself I guess

*Also obviously the Student Council duelists/Utena are not actually transcending the system or exceptional on that level, but they perceive themselves and are perceived as others by such; that their exceptionalism proves the rule is of course by design.

[rafeysbunny]

rafe fucking maybank!reader

being with rafe cameron is a mistake —one you keep making over and over again, despite knowing better. you both fight, you push him away, you tell yourself you’re done with him… and yet, every time, you come crawling right back. and rafe? he fucking lives for it.

he’s mean, rough, possessive. he fucks you like he hates you, like he’s trying to break you. and in some way, maybe he is, because nothing in this world gets him harder than seeing jj maybank’s precious little sister falling apart beneath him, whimpering and completely soaked for the one guy she shouldn’t want.

he loves making you beg, loves reminding you who owns you, and no matter how much you fight it, no matter how wrong it is, you love it too.

his truck smells like sweat and sex, the windows fogged up as rafe pounds your sloppy cunt from behind like he owns it. one of his hands is in your pretty head, pushing it down onto the leather seat to make you arch your back for him, while the other is holding your wrists bruisingly tight at the bottom of your spine —yanking you back onto him, forcing you to take his cock deeper.

"god, you’re such a fuckin' mess," rafe groans, relishing in the way you’re dripping down his dick from all the times he's made you cum already, ruining his seats. "soakin' me like a desperate little whore."

he’s so mean, spitting filth that makes your insides tighten, your walls clench around him harder. every cruel word that falls from his lips has you growing wetter, despite the shame churning in your stomach. and he swears he could cum just from the way your greedy pussy is squeezing him, like it doesn't want to let go.

"this what you wanted, huh? my dumb little slut needed to get fucked stupid?" he mocks, lips curling into a dark smirk when he hears you moan in response.

every time his hips snap forward, he hits so deep you swear you might break, the fat tip of his cock almost brushing your cervix and making you literally shudder beneath him.

"rafe–" you whimper, big tears running down your flushed cheeks.

"fuck, baby, you cryin' f'me?" he groans, wiping those tears away, "god, you look damn beautiful when you cry."

but you cannot say anything in response, pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head as he keeps bullying your g-spot, and that makes him chuckle, large hand fisting your soft hair to yank you back against his hard chest, which causes your scalp to sting.

"so fuckin' pathetic, aren’t ya'? can’t even think, can’t do anything but let me use you," he whispers in your ear, his voice teasing —petty.

his other hand slips between your thighs, rubbing slow circles that have you crying out from how good it feels, little clit throbbing under his rough finger pads.

"look at you. so fuckin' sensitive..." he purrs, and he sounds really fucking pleased with himself for what he's doing to you. "gonna cum again f'me, princess?”

you try to shake your head no in response, try to beg for a break and squirm away from him —overstimulated, but rafe doesn't let you, gripping your throat to keep you in place.

"yeah, you fuckin' will." you can almost hear the smug smirk in his words.

you cry out, overwhelmed, but you don’t tell him to stop because you don't really want him to. your lewd moans break into something closer to sobs, and your fingers clutch desperately at the leather seats while he thrusts into your poor, sensitive cunt, pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm.

and when you finally fall over the edge, pleasure crashes over you so violently that it knocks the air from your lungs and makes your whole body tremble like a leaf while you scream against the seat, leaving you nothing but a shaking, incoherent mess beneath him.

rafe is right after you. he cums hard, dick twitching inside your hot, spasming cunt, which is fucking strangling him —the feeling so good that it has him trembling as he curses and moans out loud. wanting to draw out the pleasure all he can, he keeps fucking you through it, thrusts uneven and sloppy, until he's collapsing on top of you, completely spent.

for a moment, all you can do is lie there, face pressed against the leather seat, body still twitching with the aftershocks and mind fully blank. rafe doesn’t move right away either, his weight heavy on top of you, one hand smoothing over your back in slow, lazy strokes.

then, he pulls back, withdrawing his softening cock from your pussy with a grunt. he slaps your ass gently, watching with pure satisfaction in his blue eyes how his cum oozes out of you, and you can't help the little moan that follows.

“god, you look so fuckin' pretty like this. all used up. just f'me...” his fingers would definitely fuck his cum back inside you, not giving a shit that you're squirming and whining from overstimulation. "my good fuckin' girl."

more.

[demigodsanswer]

Headcanon: Percy and Annabeth, as a result of being a loving, functional, equitable couple, have caused no less then 8 break ups among their acquaintances.

Annabeth's friend in New Rome watching Percy run two blocks to the drug store to get her Advil for her ankle, because she left it at home that day by mistake:

Friend: Gods, how did you train him that good?

Annabeth, barely paying attention to what she said: huh? Oh I didn't train him much, really. I taught him Ancient Greek, some myths and stuff. I mean, I guess I kind of trained him in battle strategy? But that was more of a "learning on your feet" kind of thing.

Friend: No I mean train him to do whatever you ask, or do things without even asking.

Annabeth: What?

Friend: Like if my back was hurting, I don't think my boyfriend would run two blocks to Walgreens for me.

Annabeth: That's fucked up.

Friend: You ... didn't teach him to do that?

Annabeth: To be nice to me? No, I didn't.

Friend: Ugh, you're so lucky.

Annabeth: I ... think I'm going to kill your boyfriend, actually.

~

Percy forgets to print his paper and somehow manages to leave his computer at home. Annabeth is still home when he calls, and she logs into his computer, prints it for him, and brings it to him before the deadline with his favorite smoothie (she had time to spare, and her best friend was stressed).

Percy: You're amazing, babe. Thank you so much.

Annabeth: Of course. See you later. Love you!

Percy: Love you too!

Some guy in his class: You're so lucky. My girlfriend would never.

Percy: Oh, why not?

Some guy: I don't know. She just doesn't do things like that for me. And the smoothie? Fuck, you're lucky.

Percy: I mean, I know I'm lucky, but ... I don't know, it didn't even occur to me that she wouldn't do me a favor.

Some guy: And she doesn't, like, call you stupid for forgetting?

Percy: No. I mean, she might call me seaweed brain, but that's different.

Some guy: She didn't call you seaweed brain just now.

Percy: You're right she didn't ... hold on [calls Annabeth]. Hey are you mad at me? Well, it's just that I did something silly and you didn't call me 'seaweed brain.' Well, sure anyone could do it, but I did it. No, it doesn't hurt my feelings. Yeah, I like it. Thanks, I love you. [hangs up]. You should break up with your girlfriend by the way.

[whumpster-fire]

Someone in the notes said:

and he makes sure that his (also grumpy) daughter feels safe loved and self assured

Okay, like... I think he gets marginally better in the 11th and 12th movies (which I'm not rewatching to confirm because "The series actually finally addresses the fact that Cera's mom is dead and that his dad rekindling a relationship with someone she doesn't even know is hard" is pretty much the only thing those two films did well and is very much a B-plot that doesn't actually get enough screen time to justify sitting through the rest of those movies) but Topps doesn't do a very good job of this for at least the entire first half of the series.

Original Film: taught his daughter to be racist. Which to be clear was not working nearly as well as he hoped and the whole reason Cera got separated from her herd is because she snuck off to play with Littlefoot in the middle of the night. She got worse after the whole Sharptooth Attack / giant earthquake separating her from her family thing but, like, Cera started imitating her father's racism more after ending up in a very traumatic situation as a result of disobeying her dad's order to not play with Littlefoot.

Second Movie: Cera makes an incredibly stupid and reckless decision that nearly gets the entire gang killed. Cera, later: "I suppose you all got the same lecture I did? Don't hang around with longnecks, beakfaces and spiketails." (everyone else is shocked because their safety lectures did not involve racism). Just to be clear, the gang tried to cross a lake of quicksand over some stepping stones. This was entirely 100% Cera's idea, nobody else wanted to try it, and her friends putting themselves in danger trying to help her literally saved her life. She would have died before any adult could even get to her. Topps proceeded to try to blame this on her friends being bad influences and is racist about it. Anyway Cera then proposes the group run away from home to prove to the adults that they can take care of themselves, which is also a horrible idea but like. Reading between the lines here Cera is acting out because her idiot father is trying to isolate her from her support system.

Third Movie: this is the one where Topps sings a cool song that some people in the notes mentioned. This moment is somewhat undercut by the fact that this happens while he's trying to bully the rest of the Great Valley into accepting an incredibly stupid water rationing plan and attempting to justify it with the "I'm a parent too and I'm just doing what's best for my child and all our children" card. His plan seems to have been to give every species a set time of day when they were allowed to drink. Nobody else expected him to be stupid enough to include the children who are probably like <1% of the adults' body weight in this, but then it turned out he was that stupid. He then tried to isolate Cera from her friends again, and capped it all off by almost getting himself and Cera killed because he started a pissing contest over not wanting to follow a wildfire evacuation plan because Littlefoot's grandparents came up with it.

Fifth Movie: okay so the Great Valley got hit with a massive locust plague and the entire interspecies herd was forced out of it to look for food. The herd discovers a skeleton of a dinosaur of Ducky's species out in the desert. Topps proceeds to say they can't make any deductions about there being no food in the direction the corpse was traveling from because this species are infamously stupid and the dead one probably got lost. In front of several members of said species. He then instigated such a massive fight that the herds decided to re-split up by species although it's not totally clear if everyone was doing this individually or if it was just the Threehorns. In any case the gang actually runs away this time to avoid being split up with the idea that if they all obviously ran off in the same direction their parents will be forced to search for them in the same direction.

Sixth Movie: Cera is stuck babysitting her much younger niece and nephew (she presumably has an adult sibling that we've never seen) and is sick of it. I do not know what any of the adults involved in this was thinking making the kid who is consistently some random location with her friends instead of hanging out anywhere near her herd and also has run away from home like four times by this point responsible for supervising two gremlin toddlers.

Seventh Movie: Topps is finally right about something: not trusting Petrie's sketchy con artist uncle. Nobody in the friend group except Cera trusts his opinion at all because usually when Topps doesn't trust someone it's because he's racist.

He's not, like, abusive and Cera loves him and is trying to have a good relationship with him, but also his daughter is the one kid in the friend group with a kind of messed up home life, and Topps's role in the adult community of the Great Valley is basically "The worst guy on the HOA board."

Cera's dad in the Land Before Time movies is called Daddy Topps

i need to make sure you all know that

[yandere-wishes]

Okay I have another idea for the Batwoman!fam au

Imagine if Damian’s darling wasn’t good at training at the League of Assassins, sure she is the child of two assassins who were hand picked to make her, but she is also being trained to me a wife and mother, and those two roles don’t always line up. She just can’t make herself kill, no matter how hard she tries. She is a perfect fit for being a vigilante because she can fight and extremely well at that, she just can’t kill.

Or another idea, because Cass was made to be the perfect weapon and, there is the idea of her parents being skilled assassins, so like what if Cass and Damian’s darling were sisters, half sisters maybe or full blooded, but just they never knew it because they were raised away from each other and they had no idea because there was no reason to know because they were born for very different purposes.

-lots of love❤️🪽

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Darling, I love how your brain works. It's true Damian's darling would be a perfect vigilante. Strong but kind. I think maybe that's what draws her to Kate in the first place seeing someone so strong, so skilled yet still riddled with compassion. For the first time in forever she doesn't feel weak or misplaced, she's finally found another like her…

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ As for her and Cass being sisters, that would be a cool dynamic!! Lord knows I have the BIGGEST crush on David Cain (I want to be sandwiched between him and Deathstroke so BADLY) so having him be the reader's bio dad would certainly be interesting. I mean reader wouldn't know it, she never needed to know it. Her whole world was supposed to be Damian, he was the only relevant thing in her life Talia made sure of that. I guess that could add to the reasons Kate was so eager to take her away. She wanted the poor girl to at least experience having a semi-normal family. I seriously wish there was more media for David Cane, it would make it easier to incorporate him into the story lol.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Anyway have my rambles on "No Killing" (Corvid) reader and the tortures she gets put through thanks to Damian~❤️❤️

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Song: Crimson and Cloverby Joan Jett

There's a contradiction festering within you. You try to gulp it down, to drown its bitter taste with rich irons and salts. But the dreaded thing won't die, it screams and wails into the night. The iron rots between your teeth, pricking needles into your tongue.

Satisfy or defy. You don't know which is which any longer.

Damian holds your hand as you lurk through the foreign palace, his fingers are curled tightly against yours squeezing at random intervals as he twirls his sword. "I've beheaded their king, rotten old man didn't even put up a fight." you offer him a sweet smile, as silent congratulation. Not that he needs it, no, Damian Al'Ghul doesn't need to be reminded of his worth, his merit. Instead, you do, you need to follow the rules laid out, down to the miserable T. If you don't, well, you wouldn't know what else to do.

There's a soldier writhing on the cobblestone floor, he spits when he sees the two of you when the emerald green of the uniform registers for an omen of death. Damian scowls "You dare disrespect the demon's heir?" he's about to slice the man's neck when he stops. The sunrise reflects terribly off the silver of his sword.

"I apologize," he says turning stiffly towards you, there's specks of pink blooming across his cheeks. As he shifts from one foot to the other. "You may have this kill, my lady."

The way he calls you his, makes your blood run cold. It's like being reminded to breathe, being reminded of rigid realities.

"I-I don't really feel-" he cuts you off by dragging you closer. Pushing you down until you're kneeling above the man. Damian slips his hunting knife into your palm and laces his fingers with yours once more. The oriented blade comes down bursting the jugular vein wide open. The soldier's blood spills onto your face painting you in that unholy crimson shade.

You feel the bile rising, the acid burning as you try to hold it in. Damian gingerly laps at the blood on your cheek. His warm tongue feels like the embers of hell melting through your flesh. He pulls you onto his lap, giggling sardonically as he kisses the gore clean, teeth pecking at your neck and collarbones. Wringing the skin in definite signs of himself. You stay frozen, suffocating, you don't bother guiding his hands or whispering love stories into his ears. You don't do as you were taught. Instead, you stand still. Waiting for the world to pass.

The sun oozes from the horizon. It looks like a blood fountain. You feel sick again.

That night you claw at your throat until the blood sweeps out. The tears don't stop, they flow down your pretty face until your eyes are as red as the soldier's crimson blood across the blade. Your nails pick at the lovebites, at Damian's essence across your skin. You wish you could peel them off like stickers. You wish you could be clean again.

You pray Damian dosen't notice your eyes when he sneaks into your room. But he never does, instead he nuzzles into your neck lulled off to peaceful sleep. Never once haunted by the lives he's taken.

You try to close your eyes. To sleep away the dread. But his body reeks of the insufferable substance, crismon and iron. Your most hated endeavor. You push your face into the pillows, trying to ward off the scent.

By morning the smell will cover you too. That perfect murderous perfume. Shouldn't you love it though? Shouldn't it remind you of your husband-to-be?

Master Talia says your father was one of the greatest assassins the league has ever fostered. His skills rival Batman and Deathstroke. You don't like how the information coils across your brain, slithering into the neurons filling you with anguish. How your veins pulse with the blood of a killer.

'You did this to me' you want to scream when your master's back is turned. 'You broke me!' Your master may be the only parent you've ever known, but you still can't stifle the blame. She had you birthed to be a contradiction. A mother and a killer. She had her finest birth an anomaly just so she could ensure her son a lover. You hate her for it…

And yet whenever she hugs Damian you are reminded that she loves you too. That she raised you to be her place holder once her time has come. She is in everyway your mother and in every way your tormentor.

You can never be her. You can never stomach the blood.

The problem with Gotham, your master says, is that it always finds a way to send its filth to the league.

You watch tentatively as she lands a kick across the intruder's back. Watch as she stabs her blade between the woman's ribs and claws at her eyes with her nails.

Damian stands beside you blade drawn. He's ready to engage upon command. Ready to protect. But Talia never calls her son, there is a personal vendentate in the way she mauls the woman.

The woman never once draws her blade. The batwoman with the blood-red hair doesn't kill. Her stance, her punches, her kicks. They hold no mortality. They are used in defense, offense, to hurt and protect…

But they are not made to kill. She is not made to kill.

She is just like you.

There is a bat who flies into your window on nights when the Demon's hire is not lurking inside your chambers. She tells you tales of a land shrouded in darkness, where a single king quarrels vigorously against the evil permeating his kingdom. She speaks of him with such respect, with a stiff adoration like resisting patronymic psalms. She tells you how brave you are for sparing blood. She says you are like her, like him, in every way. Singing lullabies of a world where blood isn't shed. Where justice reigns supreme.

She makes your chest swell with hope.

"I had a nightmare" you confess. The lady in red…and black -Kate as she insists you call her- only kneels down, her bloody smile pleasant, calming.

"What kind of nightmare?" she asks with a tone you can't quite place. "I was drowning" There was a pause, four heartbeats, yours and hers before you continued. "The water was red, I could feel them pulling me down." She looks at you with slight terror ringing across her eyes.

She cradles your cheek in her hand before pulling you close. It's not the bone-crushing hugs Damian gives you. The possessive vice of a dragon who knows you belong to him. It's not the rare ceremonial pat on the back that Master Talia offers from time to time. No, it feels warm and worried. Tight and soft and all so sweet. There is no warning no definitive. It is simply meant to comfort.

It feels like love. At least you hope it does.

Damian pulls you into an empty room after your training. His lips are on yours biting the chapped skin, licking your teeth, and pushing his tongue inside. "I missed you" he mumbles sternly as he cradles your body closer.

He's been gone all week. Accompanying his Grandfather on a mission in the east. You don't ask for details, because you know that he will tell you. He will spare no macabre piece as he tells you how he snuffed the life of those Master Ra's has deemed sinners.

You can still smell the blood on him as he rakes his fingers through your hair. Kissing down your shoulder and arm. Sucking and biting the pulse point on your wrist. "I love you" he admits through a sigh. Like a gulp of air after being submerged for far too long.

"I love you too…" you lie.

"You could come back with me" she offers one night sheepishly biting her lip and looking out at the crescent moon. "Back to Gotham I mean, you'd be safe there, happier too I think." You pause for a moment, staring at her, she doesn't smell of bloodshed or duty. Only lavender and responsibility.

Kate Kane, you roll her name around in your mouth, letting the letters morph and crack until they almost spell "Mother".

You nod.

In Gotham, you thought you were free. Free from that atrocious scent of blood. Free from the man you didn't love. But now the demon's heir has come to Gotham.

Damian's hands wrap around your neck, it reminds you of the times you used to hold hands. His voice is distorted all anger and accusations.

He no longer omits that gruesome aroma. But you know better, you know who's holding his leash. You know he'll snap the moment his father looks away.

He's violence born, and violence raised. That will never change.

You're in an alleyway having been confronting a thief mere moments ago. Routine patrol, until he had showed up. Emerged from the shadows just like in your nightmares. You'd thought he'd tackle the thief, play Prince Charming, and try to "protect" you. But instead, he'd targeted you. Thrown you to the ground and screamed as he laid punches across your body.

"Why did you leave me?"

It sounds so innocent, so juvenile A little boy with a broken heart. But your bones start to bruise under his fists. And you know this is no little boy, no, this is a monster.

Damian gets up quietly, he stalks closer and closer to the terrified man. You hear the haunting sound of a sword being unsheathe, close your eyes and wait for the misreable sound of blade against flesh. But it never comes, instead there's a painful tug on your hair, pulling you up.

Damian wraps your hand around his sword, fingers entwined his breath hot on your neck. "Please don't" You beg between sobs. "I have to" he mutters as he brings your hands down slicing the man from his shoulder to his hip. The body falls and so do you.

Damina kneels next to you, wrapping his arm around your body and tucking your head beneath his chin. There are blood drops on your face, the odor invading your senses, suffocating you until your breath hitches far too tightly.

"Kill me, please just kill me and end this." you plead looking up into his sparkling emerald eyes.

"Darling I can't. I wouldn't. You were born to be mine, it's your legacy, your destiny. You are mine, no matter how far you run, no matter who you masquerade as. You are mine and you always will be."

You bury your face into his chest, crying harder and harder, silently you plead for your mother to find you to save you. You don't want to belong to the demon again…

I have an interesting twist I'd like to implement into the story for who her mother could be…. But we'll talk about that some other time.

[sillyzeta]

i read a lot of fanfics with platonic yan batfamily x neglect!reader butt, i just got a idea, a reader who loves GUNS, every type of guns, even the smallest ones, even shotguns and etc.

inspo Nancy wheeler and Caitlyn Kiramman bc i love women ><

You, the forgotten and least loved daughter, or so you suppose.

You never received love or affection, maybe from Alfred but that man was too busy with family movie nights to think about you and your feelings but you didn't mind, your mother had told you about this, They all only cared about their own world, their own family, and clearly you don't belong there.

That was fine, you learned to vent your sadness, your anger in the pistol practices you had, every day you improved more and more, obviously you didn't say anything to anyone because really you no longer cared about the approval of your father, or your brothers, or anyone else. Your mother taught you to be strong and always stand up for yourself, and that's what you did.

Years passed and you dedicated yourself to training to be an officer, but an officer in the armed forces, the FBI or simply some organization. Your knowledge of weapons helped you reach higher levels, and perhaps clearly your last name, both last names, from your mother and Bruce.

From one day to the next you were the child prodigy, a prodigy in weapons and basic boxing.

You finally turned 18 and without hesitation you left to return to the old mansion where you lived with your mother. Once you moved from that place, you continued with your classes and training until you finally arrived, received your commission as an officer and soon joined an organization, And curiously, they supported every move made by Batman and the vigilantes, how absurd they were.

You didn't pay attention to either of them, no one had noticed their absence and it was better you wouldn't have to deal with them in your life but obviously fate doesn't seem to be on our side.

One of the many days that Batman was fighting crime, he had put himself in a very difficult situation and unexpectedly you appeared, with your aim and eagle eye you simply shot until finally the criminal fell. You knew who Batman was, you knew who the former and current Robins were, you knew everything about that family because once upon a time, you belonged to that mansion far from everything.

How cliché.

At the end of it all, Batman or Bruce had been impressed to see you in an officer's uniform and how big you looked, you were no longer the little girl who had arrived and was too shy even to speak to him, who was your father. You knew everything, but he thought you didn't, that you were still an innocent woman unaware of the secret identities.

‘u okay?’ You broke the silence as you looked around carefully. ‘You should be more careful, Batman.’

‘—ugh... yeah, thanks.’

You nodded and focused on putting the safety on the gun to help get the old man up.

Bruce really didn't know how to act, what tone of voice to use or how to treat her, after all she was his daughter, the little girl who ignored her entire childhood to find her again in her adulthood and— wait.

You left the mansion? When?

The sudden reality check had left him stunned, you just looked at him trying to decipher what was on his mind, you sighed tiredly and started to walk away, leaving the alley. ‘Well, have a good night. I have to keep working.’

Did the others know? Did they know you'd left the nest so long ago? And— since when did you know how to use guns?

[meanbossart]

Astarion and Drow's antics are wonderful and I love them ever so. You've mentioned that Drow is effectively immortal (which makes sense; Bhaal had a lot of work planned for him), and eventually, even those two chaos gremlins will figure it out.

Have you ever thought about what that's going to look like? Who do you think will notice first? Will Astarion be happy he won't be alone? Is Drow going to have to figure out what to do with the idea that friends like Shadowheart will die but unless a lot of things go wrong, he won't? ....If he lives long enough for people to invent it, do you think Drow would like Bubble Tea?

Well, it is exceptionally optimistic to assume they will live long enough for that to become apparent, but not impossible!

It's kind of already in DU drow's nature to not contemplate on death at all. He thinks he's immune to it despite having zero knowledge of his own (potentially infinite) lifespan, so, in a way, he already operates as an immortal. Meanwhile, Astarion assumes he will age like a normal drow despite the godly origins, which means he would get a good 800 years outta him - if they don't both perish for some other reason long before that, which is what he's realistically expecting.

Elvish and Drow (the race) aging also works differently depending on the version of the lore which you're looking at - some places say they completely stop physically developing once they hit 25, other versions - BG for one, I think - implies that they do age, but at a much slower pace. I'm of the the school of thought that elves grow up normally until they hit their twenties, and then things gradually slow the hell down, with them eventually start to look like seniors at around 400-500 years old.

SO, if the fellas make it another six centuries, Astarion would definitely take notice of the way DU drow's body isn't really showing any signs of aging. Changes? Sure. His scars would have probably faded into near non-existence and been eventually replaced by new ones, and his skin is still subject to things like sun damage and his body overall isn't the SAME - but it's not necessarily older. I think Astarion would be ecstatic about this revelation, because if they have stayed together for that long, then that probably means that things are still going well - and that he had likely just started to panic a little bit at the prospect of his partner eventually growing old and dying.

As for DU drow, he would be exceptionally nonchalant about the news. Of COURSE he's immortal, it just makes sense that he would be - he's already got plenty of practice taking his own life for granted at that point.

Shadowheart's mortality would be something he had to deal with long before then. With her being a half-elf, her life expectancy is much shorter, at about 150-200 years I believe. DU drow would have seen her age and pass centuries ago by that point. As long as she gets to go peacefully (and all indicates that she probably will) he wouldn't have as difficult of a time grappling with her death - he doesn't like having things or people taken away from him by force, but nature's course is inevitable, and a concept he can actually wrap his head around and even appreciate.

Anyways, he would really like boba tea, but only the chewy kind.

[dependell]

People act like the only reason you could dislike the 13th doctor is because you're misogynist. I'll be the first to say I love Jodie Whittaker, but her entire run as the doctor was tainted by Chris Chibnall, who seemingly lacked an understanding of how characters or stories should work.

I used to keep up with the show as it aired, I watched The Doctor Falls and Twice Upon A Time live and was completely engrossed. I was optimistic about series 11 and eager to see what fresh direction the show might go.

I was treated to stories befitting the worst of the classic era. This was some Sixth Doctor level bad writing. I couldn't make it through series 11 at the time of airing. It was only after Chibnall had finished his run and handed the reins back over to RTD that I had the bravery to actually go back and see what he did with the show. I finished Series 11 recently.

The closest to decent episode was It Takes You Away but even that was still a rushed and half-baked mess. Episodes like Kerblam! and Rosa are downright insulting to the viewer, one performs apologetics for Amazon's treatment of its workers using the Doctor as a mouthpiece (the Doctor never considers the managers' complicity in the system and after giving them a stern talking-to trusts them to turn it into a Good™ megacorporation off-screen... This is after she unnecessarily and brutally murders a revolutionary worker). The season ending on The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos is another half-baked slap in the face, Chibnall trying to pretend he can do series-long arcs just as well as Moffat or Davies, except he absolutely cannot.

Surprisingly, Resolution was actually pretty decent, probably better than any Series 11 episode, not least of which because I can understand the danger, the stakes, and the Doctor gets to actually care about something instead of being written to bumble aimlessly about the entire episode.

Admittedly I've only made it a little bit into Series 12, but that's because it's genuinely difficult to watch. I feel like my intelligence is being insulted at every turn. It feels like Doctor Who for the TikTok generation. Spyfall was a sad, sad excuse for a Doctor Who spy thriller. Half of the setups it gives go genuinely nowhere, dozens of mystery boxes reduced to red herrings, because it turns out it was The Master! He did it all, because... uhm... well... A-AND he convinced these interdimensional beings to help him by, uh... well... he uh... well I guess it doesn't matter! They were helping him in the first place because they wanted to... uh... They wanted... Hmm... Well there was that tech CEO guy! He was super involved, because he wanted to turn humans into hard drives, for uh... Well... He wanted that because... I guess he had a lot of data to store, which would be... Hmm...

Dhawan's Master exemplifies the flattening of every character under Chibnall. All the work Moffat did to add layers of complexity and depth to Missy gets thrown out the window (k, admittedly it does seem Moffat was the one to break that particular toy before Chibnall got to it, but when has "the Master gets killed at the end of the story" ever stopped them from showing up unscathed later on?), Dhawan takes Simm's craziness and cranks it up to 11, now he just laughs maniacally and seems to do completely random things for no particular reason, just if he finds them amusing in the moment. But he also brought back his shrink ray so they can pretend this is more faithful to the classic era. Nevermind that the classic era Master was always a suave Machiavellian mastermind. I'd personally love to see Dhawan do that, but instead he just giggles like a doofus all the time. At least give them romantic tension like Missy/12 or something, jeez!

And then only last night did I finish Orphan 55, which is probably a low point not just for the Chibnall era but for the entire modern run (I won't say it's the worst of the entire show, the classic era has its... moments). It is literally an unfinished episode of television, self-admitted by the production crew, the entire latter half is so sloppily edited that you will actually struggle to follow what is supposed to be happening. They clearly did not get all the shots they needed and had to just toss whatever they had together and pray. My favorite part was their land tank being surrounded by monsters so they flee... by, uh, climbing out the bottom and running away from the tank that is clearly not surrounded by monsters at all. But that's not all, no no, the writing is miserable, nobody talks or acts like a human being, there is zero charisma, none of the subplots matter or leave any emotional impression (the grandma almost made me feel an emotion, until her reaction to hearing her husband was killed is "ugh! how could you?"), the twist can be seen coming from miles away and it's all just so the Doctor can lecture us like a neoliberal politician who wants to sound mad at "the system" without calling any one thing or person out because the system lines their pockets.

I am still going to force myself to finish Series 12 and 13 because I am a fan of this show and that means I must subject myself to as much of it as I can. But watching Orphan 55 is the type of stuff that makes me put the show down for a few weeks. It's the kind of thing that made me stop tuning in live every week.

The saddest part, really, is that the show is still like this, in a lot of ways. Yeah sure Davies came back, but he seems ill-fitted to the modern style of television where you get 8 episodes and ten billion dollars. "Season One"/Series 14 was a hugely mixed bag, with highlights like 73 Yards and Dot & Bubble underscored by flops like Space Babies and the finale that calls you an idiot for following the threads Davies purposefully laid out for you to follow. And he seems to share Chibnall's inability to convey any sense of character or who these people actually are.

Who is the thirteenth Doctor? She's the eleventh Doctor's autism turned up a few notches until she acts genuinely stupid in ways the Doctor usually didn't (well, Moffat had his moments with 11 and 12...). She doesn't have much beyond that, any deeper philosophy must be inferred to have carried over from previous incarnations.

Who is Ryan? Well, he's a black teenager with a contentious relationship with his stepdad. And him being black does matter so we can make sure to only give him black love interests 🙄. In the first episode we see he has a motive disability and a YouTube channel. Neither of these things come up again. So that's his character.

Who is Graham? Well, he's the step-dad Ryan has a contentious relationship with. His wife died, and that comes up exactly once in It Takes You Away, and then doesn't matter.

Who is Yaz? She got the worst of the bunch. She's a woman... Well, an Indian woman, so she can have a personal connection in Demons of the Punjab, but then her race never matters again. We see she's a cop in the first episode! That never comes up again. So she's just... A woman. Who is there. And as I understand it tries to get kissy-kissy with 13 in the last season. I mean I can't blame her, it's Jodie Whittaker.

And even though I haven't finished Series 12, I know exactly where it's going. The Timeless Child. I used to be much more upset about it, but now I see it for all that it is - a desperate, cloying attempt to claw back some relevancy for the show since its viewership and ratings had been steadily falling for years. A no-holds-barred, "throw the emergency Lore Change lever!" that gives the illusion of being a really big deal while truly having very little impact on the Doctor or her character. What does the Timeless Child really change about the Doctor? On like a core, character level. All it does is shuffle some facts around on a Wikia page.

I just wish 13 had better material to work with. Here's hoping Big Finish can step up and give her some decent stories.

seeing 12th doctor fans trashing 13.... let's all hold hands and be fandom pariahs together... peace and love....

[deathofacupid]

Don’t know if you take requests but something about gojo with an insecure, loser, socially anxious, nervous, pessimistic reader? Like in high school.. he is trying to get to know her, she thinks he is too good for her etc?? Plz

"stop following me," you mutter, a low scowl beneath your breath.

"what?" gojo scoffs, the sound exaggerated, a theatrical flourish. "i would never."

"quit that. i'm serious," you insist, your voice sharpening with a hint of exasperation.

"so am i!" he counters, his tone mirroring yours, but with an underlying playful lilt.

"go away."

"i happen to be heading the same direction," he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"oh, so, you have chemistry next?" you ask, gesturing with a flick of your wrist towards the looming science hall, its sterile windows reflecting the midday sun.

"…no," he admits, a momentary pause, then a quick recovery. "but, hey, can't a student drop by to say hi? to teachers that love him?" he emphasizes the word, a smirk playing on his lips.

"what teachers?" you ask, the words barely audible, a murmur lost in the hum of passing students.

"hey!" he exclaims, clutching his chest dramatically, feigning offense. "you know, i still don't know why you insist on hating me."

"i don't hate you," you correct him, your gaze fixed on a distant point, anything but his face. "i just strongly dislike being in your presence."

"that's, like, the same thing," he says, shrugging off your protest. "i like you, and i know you like me."

"bold assumption," you retort, a flicker of annoyance in your eyes. "just 'cause a girl exchanges a few syllables with you, doesn't mean she wants you."

"maybe not," he concedes, a sly grin spreading across his face. "but i'm pretty sure you're the exception."

"go. away," you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose, attempting to quell the rising tide of frustration.

"c'monnn. you still haven't answered me!" he whines, his voice drawn out into a playful plea.

"and, if i do, you'll leave me alone?" you ask, your tone laced with skepticism.

"maybe," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"i'm not answering you, then."

"please?" he begs, widening his eyes into comical puppy-dog eyes, a classic gojo maneuver.

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him, the movement abrupt. "we don't work together, alright? it'd be weird."

"what?" he asks, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "why?"

you sigh, the sound heavy with exasperation. "do i really have to spell it out for you? you're all… you. and, i'm all… not you."

"so? what do they say? opposites attract?" he counters, his voice laced with a confident charm.

"jesus. you're hopeless. why can't you take 'no' for an answer?"

"because i'm a catch. who doesn't want a catch?"

"me."

"but, why?" he asks, his voice laced with a touch of sincere curiosity.

"i already explained this to you. it's not my fault you can't get it through that thick skull of yours."

"okay, first of all, mean. my skull is average-sized," he protests, a mock-injured tone in his voice. "and, second, yeah. i don't get it."

"gojo, look. you're a lot different," you pause, wincing slightly, "social-wise. i couldn't keep up with you. i don't do parties. or, like, talking."

he cuts you off, a wave of his hand dismissing your concerns. "then don't do parties. or, talking. i run my mouth enough for the both of us," he offers, a playful grin spreading across his face.

"there are prettier girls out there. go yearn for one of them."

he makes an ulcer-inducing buzzer noise, a loud, obnoxious bzzzt! "nope, there's not. you're the prettiest of them all," gojo sing-songs, his voice laced with a playful melody. "pretty, and smart, and kind —well, we'll work on that part. but, you're perfect. don't start making up reasons to get me to leave. it won't work anyways."

"you're insufferable," you sigh, the sound a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement, though the flush creeping up your neck betrays your true feelings.

he takes your hand in his, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle, and you don't pull it away. "you don't have to change who you are, just to be with someone who's not the same as you. besides, you're throwing away what we could have, without even trying."

you chew your lip, the nervous habit betraying your inner turmoil. it feels like a horrible idea, a collision of personalities that could end disastrously.

but, you've never been good at resisting him, his charm a persistent, inescapable force. "i don't know," you say, finally, the words laced with uncertainty.

"i do, though. so, why don't you trust me?" he asks, his eyes locking with yours, a depth of emotion in their blue depths.

he pulls you closer, his hand gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. and, you do. you do trust him, in all his annoying, infuriating, and undeniably captivating glory.

banner credits to @/im4yeons <33

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 9 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 2.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes:

abby and y/n had been living with quinn for 2 months. y/n and quinn were both incredibly busy so they barely had time to see each other.

however, when y/n would work a longer than a normal shift, she would come home to a nice hot meal that seemed to have been prepared just in time for her arrival. but when she would check on quinn, he would already be asleep.

and on the nights she worked a regular shift, she would come home to find quinn and abby curled up together on the couch. abby was asleep every time but quinn stayed awake some of the time. he wanted to make sure y/n made it home safe. but on the nights he had failed to stay awake, y/n would cover the two with a blanket and head to her room.

for quinn, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the feelings he was developing for y/n. he knew he loved her and he was very fond of abigail. but he knew he couldn't say a thing to y/n. or anyone for that matter. it would scare her away and it was the last thing he wanted to do.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

on a day during the week before christmas, y/n had the day off so she was spending it with natalie and bella while quinn had taken abby to spend the day with his brothers and brock.

the girls were helping y/n with the rest of her christmas shopping. it was almost done but she was having trouble deciding what to get quinn.

"this shouldn't be as hard as it is." y/n groaned and turned to her friends. "you guys have known him longer. what do you think he'd like?"

"just because we've known him longer than you, doesn't mean we know him better." bella smiled. "you can do this, y/n. reach into your heart and figure out what he likes."

"yeah. you got this, girl." natalie looked around the store. she still had a few things to buy but nothing was catching her eye so she turned her attention back to the girls.

"i'm trying to think of something he needs but he already has everything i can think of." y/n sighed.

"you could honestly get him anything and he'd be happy." bella smiled. "i don't think anything could ever top you agreeing to move in with him though."

"yeah. he was over the moon the day after it happened. i remember him telling j.t. how excited he was and how full he felt having you around." natalie nudged y/n with a knowing smirk.

"that's good, i suppose." y/n checked her phone as it dinged. quinn sent her a photo of abby on brock's shoulders. the girl was staring down at him with a smile on her face.

think she's over her crush on jack now 😂 the text read.

y/n flipped the phone around to show bella. "i think you may have some competition."

"i can't compete with her. she's too damn adorable."

"indeed she is." y/n put her phone back in her pocket and looked at the stuff she had in the cart. "i think it's time to head home. i'll figure out quinn's gift later. plus, we have a game to get ready for."

"that's right. and the guys are gonna kick some ass tonight."

"but if they don't, i hope you can cheer up quinn. he's especially grumpy after a tough game."

"i'm aware. and don't worry. i know how to cheer him up. wouldn't be the first time." she piled all the stuff onto the conveyor belt. when she looked back at the girls, her eyes widened at their expressions. "no. wait. i didn't mean it like that. i swear."

"relax. we know you didn't mean it that way."

"but i'm sure quinn wouldn't mind being cheered up that way." bella smirked. "i mean, he definitely loves going home, knowing that you'll be there waiting for him."

"we've become quite comfortable as roommates. and abby adores him to no end." y/n smiled and put everything in the cart after she paid. "it's a good thing we got going on. so i don't want to ruin it by reading too much into that comment."

"was that a somewhat tiny confession?" bella eyed her friend suspiciously.

"i do believe it was." natalie smiled and after she paid for her things, she followed the girls back out to the car. y/n rolled her eyes as she got in the driver's seat.

once she dropped the two girls off at their own homes, she was alone with her thoughts. things between her and quinn were really good and she knew she couldn't ask for a better friend.

as she parked in her spot and climbed out of her car, she felt excited to be going home. she couldn't stop replaying bellas' comment from earlier.

he definitely loves going home, knowing that you'll be there waiting for him.

she knew it was true because she had witnessed it firsthand how happy he got when he saw her on the couch after coming home from a particularly upsetting game.

as she approached their door, she could hear abby giggling on the other side. and just knowing that quinn was responsible for it, made her heart soar.

she opened the door and watched as quinn ran around with abby on his back. they were both laughing and when abby spotted y/n, her smile grew.

"momma, you're back!"

quinn turned around and just like abby, his smile grew wider when he locked eyes with y/n. he gently set abby down and let her run to her mother.

"hey. how was the shopping trip?"

"it was great. got a present for almost everyone on my list." she set the bags in her room and returned to where quinn was. "i couldn't find you anything that felt good enough."

"that's alright. you don't have to get me anything." quinn chuckled. "i already have the one thing i wanted."

"and what's that?"

"you and abby living here with me."

"bella said something similar earlier. but i didn't believe her." y/n smiled and looked at quinn. "i'm still going to get you something. and it's going to be perfect."

"i suppose we'll see." quinn raised an eyebrow and headed for the door. "you guys are coming to the game, right?"

"yeah. we just have to get ready then we'll drive over to the arena."

"great. see you there." quinn picked up his bag and walked out.

y/n went over to abby and smiled. "alright. let's get you ready for the game."

3 hours later, y/n was watching the boys closely. they seemed to be doing better this game than they had all season. and in their 3rd period, it seemed as though florida wasn't holding anything back. they were checking vancouver players into the boards every other minute.

and at one point, one of the florida players checked quinn into the boards roughly, causing his face to hit the glass. quinn slid down to the ice as the whistle was blown.

"florida number 19. 2 minutes for cross-checking." the ref spoke through his mic and made all the necessary gestures as the linesmen escorted matthew tkachuk to the penalty box.

quinn got up and skated slowly over to the bench. he sat down and y/n kept a close eye on him as he got checked over by the team medic.

after a few minutes, he was given the all-clear to head back onto the ice to finish the game. and he came back with a vengeance, scoring 2 times in less than 30 seconds.

the canucks ended up winning in a 7-0 shutout and everyone cheered. y/n walked with bella and natalie down to the players' hallway to wait. abby held onto her hand tightly and the second she saw brock exit the locker room, she released y/n's hand and ran towards him.

"brock, that was amazing!" she hugged his leg tightly.

bella rolled her eyes playfully and walked up to brock. "she's right. you played a great game, babe."

y/n watched as j.t. came out and went to natalie, pulling her into a hug and kissing her head. she so badly wanted a loving relationship like that, but she didn't have much luck in that department.

quinn was the last one out of the locker room. abby ran to him immediately.

"you were awesome out there, quinn." she smiled as he picked her up.

"thank you, abby. i'm glad you had fun."

"how's your head feeling?" y/n looked at him as he stood next to her.

"a little better now than when i got hit." he offered her a kind smile. "i'm glad you came tonight."

"me too." they stared at each other for longer than two friends should before abby broke their moment.

"i'm hungry. can we get food?"

"the only place open this late is mcdonald's." quinn looked at the girl he was holding.

"and i'm okay with that." abby smiled and glanced between them.

"alright then." quinn chuckled. "did you drive here?"

"no. took a cab. figured everyone would want to go out after the game and i figured it would be the smartest option to carpool."

"well, it's a good thing you had faith in the the team then."

"i always have faith in you, quinn." y/n grinned.

as quinn admired her, something inside him shifted and he was suddenly free falling. his feelings were going wild and he had to fight to keep the words inside.

thankfully, they were still in the company of brock and bella.

"mind if we join you guys at mcdonald's?"

"absolutely. the more the merrier." quinn handed abby to y/n and they walked to the garage. he helped get abby in the seat before he held the door for y/n. she climbed in silently and as quinn drove, he could feel her eyes drift in his direction every few seconds. "i need to talk to you when we get home later."

"okay." y/n smiled at him before turning her gaze out the window until they reached mcdonald's. before y/n could get out herself, quinn was already out and opening her door. he walked over to abby's door and got her out, carrying her into the restaurant.

y/n was about to order when quinn spoke up and ordered for her. he knew exactly what she wanted and she loved it.

bella was already sitting by the time the order was placed and brock was waiting for the food. y/n decided to take abby from quinn and join bella at the table. as she sat down, bella couldn't stop the question.

"how obvious can you guys be?"

"i beg your pardon?"

"you and quinn." bella pointed like it was most obvious thing in the world. "you guys are not very good at hiding your feelings."

"what feelings?"

"do you really need me to spell it out? you're not an idiot, y/n. i know you can feel the way quinn looks at you."

"i feel the way everyone looks at me. so what?"

"that man is obsessed with you. like, he's really in love or something."

"and how do you know that?"

"because he looks at you the way brock looks at me. and unless my boyfriend doesn't love me, it's clear that quinn loves you. or at the very least, has feelings for you."

"i love you, bella. but you are insane." y/n glanced over at the boys to find them already looking at the table.

"it's true, mom." abby giggled. "and i think maybe you like him too."

"you know what? just for that comment, i'm going to eat all your fries."

"go ahead. i only wanted the nuggets anyway." abby smiled and stuck her tongue out at her mom.

on the other side of the restaurant, quinn kept glancing at y/n. brock slapped his arm.

"why don't you just tell her already?"

"what? no idea what you're talking about."

"oh come on. you're not stupid, quinn. and you're far from subtle. you keep looking at y/n every 3 seconds."

"i do not." but just as he finished his sentence, he found himself glancing back at her. "okay. fine. i like her. like, really really like her."

"was that so hard?"

"yes, actually. the last time i liked someone this much, it blew up in my face. remember olivia?"

"of course i do. but the past isn't doomed to keep repeating. you owe it to yourself to at least tell her."

"she lives with me. what if i tell her i like her and she doesn't feel the same? then it'll be awkward and i can't have that happen to her."

"do you want me to ask bella to do some recon or something? because you're only going to be hurting yourself by keeping this a secret."

"whatever, man. do what you gotta do." quinn grabbed his tray and walked over to the table.

an hour later, brock and bella were saying goodbye and driving away. quinn helped buckle a sleeping abby into her seat before he opened the door for y/n. the drive home was quiet. neither of them wanted to speak. their separate conversations with their friends were repeating.

by the time they made it home and y/n put abby to bed, they were both exhausted.

"hey, i know you wanted to talk when we got home. but i'm tired. is there any chance we could wait until tomorrow? i have the day off again."

"yeah. sure." quinn smiled and watched y/n retreat into her room.

the conversation would have to wait.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle @justagingerliving @marroonwitch @hwalllllllelujah @lovelyhishier

[seitmai]

Oh so many thoughts

Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.

Oh I'm sure he did 🤭

Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change.

It's the small things 👀

Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours. Words were your weakness.

Facts lol

You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing.  But Bucky never cared about lines.

Oh I'm sure he doesn't 🫣

“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady. "Of what?" "Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.” You should have been. But you weren’t. The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.

🥰🥰🥰

Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence. But love like that didn’t come without consequences. 

Oh 🫣👀

What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care. You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.

He fell in love head over heels and certainly not planned

No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air. And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts. But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze. And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain. This time, he wasn’t letting you run.

He is determined that he made that mistake once and will never make it again

Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.

And he can't wait 🤭

And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched. Because you both knew. Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.

😍😍😍

“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.” Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued. “Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”

His audacity to call her Trouble lol

“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface.  “She used to belong to me.” The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity.  “Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.” Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.

👀👀👀

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show.  “Damn. She’s quick.” Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.

They both love the show 🤭

“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous. You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to. “And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.” “I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.” You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.

He so deserved that 👏🏻

You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest. “But tell me this. Was it worth it?” The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed. Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke. “Absolutely.”

🥺🥺🥺

Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it. “I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.” You meant it. Every word. But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.

Oh is he only knew 👀🥹

“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing. Steve shrugged. “Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…” “We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.

Of course they know a place or two 😅

Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.

They are pretty likable 🤷🏻‍♀️

Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured. You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat? And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew? 

Oh this is interesting 👀

“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life. Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes. “I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.” “And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.” The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew. Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”

🥹🥹🥹

His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

He is taking in every single second

Then his hands were on you. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.

It's been a long time coming...

He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time. Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.

Valid reaction 🤭

“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you. Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel. “Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.

Oh I'm sure he will keep his word

"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed." You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke. "Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."

Oh he is in love and ready to worship

"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—" He stopped. Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly. "Oh, shit." His tone was different now, understanding. "It’s okay, Baby. I got you."

I am obsessed with his instant switch! It shows that beneath his hard shell, he is still just head over heels for her 😍

Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth. Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly. Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.

What a great way to get into action after six years 🤭🥵

And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours. And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew. You were his again.

Like it's signed with a seal

His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.

I love those little details!!

"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up." Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little. Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them. So he let you go. But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.

He wants to ask about everything so bad, he is really holding back not to lose her again 🥺

You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open. Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms. You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear. Like you’d done it a thousand times before. Because you had.

🥹🥰🥹🥰

"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily. You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms. "Yeah? What do I smell like?" Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake. "Like trouble," he sighed.

This one seems to have more in common with his dad other than looks 👀

James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you. For both of you.

A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street. Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.

In Bucky's case that doesn't mean a thing..

I sure hope he does! He has 6 years to make up for lol

Jokes aside, I love this already and I'm so invested! I would love to read more of those two/three if you feel up for it 🤗

Trouble in Mind

Summary: Las Vegas, 1952. James Buchanan Barnes is the newest, and youngest, Capo in town. But amid the glitz and shadows of the Strip, he never expects to find you, the beautiful singer who vanished from his life six years ago without a trace. Bucky wants you back. And he wants answers. But you're only willing to give him one of those things.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Lounge Singer!Reader

A/N: This is an absolute fever dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Mafia Bucky.

I went back to 50's Vegas because I need another world to get lost in. This is a little longer because this world is so fetch. I can't quite decide if he is going to be dark!Mafia! Bucky after this. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Angst. Lots of cigarette smoking, longing, forbidden romance, Steve and Sam (they are warnings!), Bucky is an ass, cocky Bucky, smooth talker Bucky, young love, heart break, a slap (which he deserves), rough sex, wall sex, 50's foundation garments, long time no sex, oral (f receiving) squirting praise kink, raw p in v, lies, deceit, and crime, along with 1950's race relations and allusions to Jim Crow. Whew.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Las Vegas, 1952

Vegas glittered at night.

Neon lights buzzed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and money. And tonight, a set of eyes was watching you that you thought you’d left far behind. 

You felt his gaze before you even saw him. It burned into you from the darkest corner of the club. The kind of stare that made your skin prickle, which was both a warning and a temptation.

Bucky.

You’d heard a new Capo was coming to take over the casino, an up and comer from the East Coast, one of the youngest Bosses ever. 

You never imagined it would be Bucky Barnes.

------ 

Brooklyn, 1946

Bucky saw you before you ever looked his way.

James Buchanan Barnes was fresh out of the war and already sinking into the life waiting for him back home.

The one his mother prayed he’d stay away from. 

The one he walked into anyway.

The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery down the block as Bucky leaned outside the corner store, trading laughs with his boys, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching the world pass him by.

Then you walked past, on the way to your vocal lessons.

Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.

He knew your type, a daddy’s girl, from a family with expectations. A good girl from Bed-Stuy, the kind who kept her nose clean and didn’t look twice at trouble.

Trouble, like him.

Down on the corner, they could hear your voice carry over the city noise, rising like a bird above the clatter of the el train.

Lark. That’s what they called you when you weren’t listening. Never to your face.

They knew better than to get too close, and Bucky knew better than to look too long.

But he looked anyway.

And when you finally met his eyes, something in you flickered.

Your father had warned you about guys like Bucky Barnes. 

‘Young punks’, he called them, hanging outside that shop owned by the local boss. Nothing but dead ends and broken hearts. He told you to keep your head high and your eyes forward, and to remember who you were. 

And if that warning wasn’t clear enough, there was another, unspoken one layered beneath it: Girls like you don’t mix with boys like him. Not in this world.

But when Bucky looked at you with those blue eyes, you knew you were already ruined. 

He found ways to get close. 

Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change. Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours. 

Words were your weakness.

"You gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me, Doll?" he asked one evening, stepping into your path as you left the bakery. 

You could smell his cologne and feel his heat and why were you thinking that his lips were nice? What was the tingle in your lower back that you just knew would go away if he touched you there?

You shook your head, remembering you couldn’t entertain this.

"You gonna keep acting like it don’t matter?" you shot back, heart pounding. 

You continued on your way but that night you couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him. 

One day, he whistled as you walked by. And that day, you stopped.

"You want a problem, Barnes?"

He smirked, looking you over blatantly and licking his lips.

"A problem’s not what I want, Doll. Just enjoyin’ the view."

That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve listened to your father. But you didn’t.

Because Bucky Barnes had a way of making himself impossible to ignore.

It was stolen glances at first, then hushed conversations on the stoop when the sun was setting. His voice curled around your name, making it sound like something precious. It was the thrill of his hand ghosting over yours, his fingers rough but careful, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

Except you never did.

You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing. 

But Bucky never cared about lines.

He didn't care when people whispered, when your father tightened the reins, when your friends warned you that even if he wasn’t afraid, the world wouldn’t be kind.

“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady.

"Of what?"

"Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.”

You should have been. But you weren’t.

At first, you told yourself it was just curiosity, just a bit of rebellion before you settled down and did what was expected of you. But curiosity turned into something more, something dangerous. 

Something like love.

Because when he kissed you for the first time, heat pressing against heat in the shadow of an alleyway, you didn’t care about the rules. Bucky tasted like smoke and sin and the promise of something reckless. And suddenly, all the warnings in the world didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that Brooklyn had unspoken rules. Because Bucky knew what he wanted. And he knew you wanted him back. 

He savored those stolen nights in dark alleys, the way you melted under his touch, the way you let yourself need him, even if only when no one else could see.

And you knew that it wasn’t just about the thrill of sneaking around, or the way he could make your breath hitch with a single look. It was about him, the way he softened when it was just the two of you. The way his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, memorizing you like you were something sacred.

The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.

Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence. 

But love like that didn’t come without consequences. 

What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care.

You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.

The one thing that made the rest of the world fade away.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t see it coming.

One day you were there, warm and real beneath his hands. And the next, you were gone.

No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air.

And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts.

But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain.

This time, he wasn’t letting you run.

—-

Vegas, 1952

The man that you had to leave in the middle of the night was sitting in the lounge that you sang in. The man that you dreamed about at night as you sang love songs was right here in the room with you.

And you didn’t know how to act.

You should have run. But you didn’t.

He was seated in the VIP section, flanked by two other men in sharp suits, but he was the only one that mattered. The way he lounged, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he never relinquished his ownership of you, made your head spin.

—--

Bucky leaned back in his seat, cigarette burning low between his fingers, letting the familiar hum of the casino settle into his bones: the money, the women, the men who thought they were untouchable.

Las Vegas glowed like sin, neon and greed dripping down its streets. It wasn’t Brooklyn, but it had its own kind of pull, its own kind of power. And now, it belonged to him.

It all revolved around him.

But none of it held his attention. Not like you did.

He saw you before you saw him, and for a moment, the world tilted as the air sucked straight out of the room.

Then you stepped onto that stage, looking like something spun from a dream, and for the first time in years, Bucky almost believed in fate.

He’d spent too long clawing his way up in this world to let anyone, or anything, decide his future for him. But seeing you again? It felt like something supernatural.

Because here you were.

In his city.

Singing like you owned the damn room.

You had changed. Not just older, not just more poised. It was in the way you carried yourself, the way you commanded the stage with a presence that made every other woman in the world fade to nothing.

And your body. It was a marvel, showcased in shimmering fabric that clung to curves he remembered all too well.

Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.

You weren’t that wide-eyed girl from Brooklyn anymore. And yet, you were still his Lark.

He saw the exact moment you felt his gaze, the subtle tension in your spine, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around the mic. Even after all these years, you could still feel him.

Then your eyes found him in the dim glow of the club, and Bucky saw it, the sharp inhale, the slight part of your lips, as if you were about to say his name.

It was enough to make his chest ache.

—--

You should’ve kept walking.

You should’ve ignored the butterflies in your belly and that tingle in your back that only Bucky Barnes had been able to inspire.

But you didn’t.

Instead, after your set, you let your feet carry you straight to his table.

Bucky smirked, his fingers tapping lazily against the glass in front of him. 

Like he knew you would come to him.

Six years gone, and yet the moment your eyes locked with his, it was like no time had passed at all. But you weren’t that girl anymore. And Bucky wasn’t that boy.

He was something else now. Something more defined. The suit fit too well, the watch on his wrist cost too much, and the men flanking him sat too still, waiting for his command.

Still, when he looked at you, it wasn’t the infamous new Capo of Las Vegas James Buchanan Barnes staring back.

It was him. Your Bucky.

The boy who once kissed you breathless in the back of a borrowed car.

The boy who called you ‘Baby’ like the word belonged to him.

The boy you left behind in the dead of night, never looking back.

Until now.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

His smile was the same one that decimated you back in the day.

“Funny,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. 

Bucky had always been too good at reading you. Way too good. And then he did something dangerous. He nodded to the empty seat beside him.

“Sit with me, Doll.”

The way he said it, low and easy, like it was a foregone conclusion made your body obey like you had long ago. Your fingers twitched at your side. But instead of walking away, you lowered yourself into the seat beside him, your skin prickling with goosebumps under his gaze.

And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched.

Because you both knew.

Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.

—--

The moment you sat down, you knew you’d already lost something. Maybe the upper hand, maybe your damn mind, but something shifted the second you met his eyes and made the choice to stay.

Bucky took another slow drag from his cigarette, like he was savoring this moment. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, peering at you through it with those blue eyes, then finally turned to the two men sitting beside him, as if he’d just remembered they were there.

“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.”

Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued.

“Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”

Steve, the blonde with the sharp blue eyes, nodded at you, his expression unreadable. He was the kind of man who didn’t say much but noticed everything.

Sam, on the other hand, smiled a beautiful gap-toothed grin. 

“Trouble, huh?” 

He extended a hand, and you hesitated before taking it, but his grip was warm and firm.

“I gotta say, any woman that can put that look on Barnes’ face is someone I gotta know.”

You arched a brow, tilting your head. 

“And what look is that?”

Sam’s grin widened. 

“Like he just won the jackpot.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your face neutral. Instead, you turned back to Bucky, leveling him with a look. 

“Trouble?”

Bucky’s lips curled, and something wicked danced in his eyes. 

“You always were.”

You didn’t blink. 

“And you always loved it.”

There was a silence thick with sex between you, and again the other men were forgotten.

Then, Steve cleared his throat. 

“How do you two know each other?”

Bucky chuckled darkly, and leaned back in his seat.

“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface.  “She used to belong to me.”

The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity. 

Your fingers curled into a fist in your lap, but you kept your expression steady. 

You weren’t the girl anymore who let Bucky Barnes own her with a smile and a whispered promise in the dark.

So you tilted your head, letting your lips curve.

“Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.”

Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. 

“Damn. She’s quick.”

Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.

You leaned in slightly, just enough to make Bucky’s eyes flicker to your mouth and down to your cleavage before he dragged them back up. 

“If I remember right, I was the one who left.”

Bucky exhaled a slow breath through his nose, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray again, his voice a shade lower now. 

“That’s what you think?”

You raised a brow. 

“That’s what I know.”

He made a sound low in his throat before taking another sip of his drink. He gazed at you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you now that you were sitting right in front of him again.

Then his eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“So tell me, Trouble. If you walked away so easy, why are you sitting here now?”

That’s the question, you thought.

So instead of answering, you reached for his glass, plucked it from his fingers, and took a slow sip before setting it back down.

Then you met his eyes and smiled.

“Maybe I just wanted to remind you,” you said softly. “That you don’t own me anymore.”

Bucky stared at you, unreadable. That muscle in his jaw twitched again.

Then, slowly, that wicked smirk crept back onto his face and he tilted his head at you, those blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll see about that, Lark.”

—----

Bucky watched as you set his glass back down, the ghost of your lipstick staining the rim, taunting him. Six years apart, and you still knew how to get under his skin with a single look, a single move. 

A single sentence.

Maybe I just wanted to remind you… that you don’t own me anymore.

You challenged him in ways no one else dared to. And Bucky fucking loved it.

Steve and Sam were watching, though they had the good sense to stay quiet. Sam was chuckling, and Steve’s face held a small crooked smile, one that appeared after Bucky said Lark.

Bucky didn’t give a damn about either of them right now.

His eyes stayed on you. You were trying to be tough, but you had to be feeling the same pull that he was. Bucky leaned forward, closing the space just enough to catch your scent and see your pupils blow wider. 

Gotcha.

“Never needed to own you, Doll.” 

His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. 

“That was never the game.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you caught yourself, chucking your chin up instead. 

“Then what was your game, James?”

He smiled again. He wasn’t about to hand you that answer.

Yet.

Instead, he sat back, dragging his gaze over you slowly, and licking his lips. 

You were still the most beautiful thing in the damn room, and you had to know it. That dress, those eyes; every man in this club was probably watching you, and wanting you.

But only one of them had ever had you.

And only one of them was going to again.

He tapped his fingers once against the table before rising smoothly to his feet. 

“C’mon.”

You blinked, “What?”

He nodded toward the back of the club, where the private booths were. Where you two could talk without an audience.

“Walk with me.”

A challenge. A test. A door you could still choose not to open.

Bucky saw you hesitate, for just a moment, but then you stood, smoothing out your dress and holding your head high like you hadn’t just made a decision that would change everything.

Bucky’s smirk widened.

That’s my girl.

—-

Bucky’s smirk deepened when you stood, like he’d known you would. That alone made something tighten in your chest, but you swallowed it down, lifting your chin as you followed him through the club.

The noise of the club, the conversations, the clinking of glasses, the jazz band, it all blurred as he led you toward the back, past the heavy velvet curtain that separated the VIP section from the private rooms. It infuriated you how easy it was to fall into step with him, how your body remembered before your mind could protest.

The moment you were away from prying eyes, he turned.

“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous.

You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to.

“And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.”

His smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. He pulled out a cigarette, tapping it against his lighter before the soft flicker of flame cast his face in gold. He inhaled slow, exhaled even slower.

“I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.”

You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.

Bucky only grinned.

“You must wanna see if it’s true,” he murmured, stepping closer, “because you know that turns me on.”

Your breath hitched, anger curling hot in your gut, and you turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm.

“Sorry, Doll.”

You knew he was anything but.

Although he let you go the moment you glared at his hand, the heat of his touch lingered.

“Stay,” he said, quieter this time. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

You lifted a brow. “About?”

He studied you like he was searching for the right words.

“You left Brooklyn.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a wound, still fresh after six years.

You met his stare, steady. 

“I did.”

“Didn’t say a damn thing to me.”

You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest.

“Would it have mattered?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“That’s cute, Doll.”

His voice was rough.

“You really think I would’ve let you go?”

Your stomach clenched, but you didn’t flinch. 

“That might be why I didn’t tell you.”

His jaw ticked, frustration creeping into the lines of his face. He leaned in, forearms bracing against the table, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You ran. Fine.” 

His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t name. 

“But tell me this. Was it worth it?”

The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed.

Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke.

“Absolutely.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “You were mine.”

You exhaled slowly. 

“I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You meant it. Every word.

But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.

—---

Bucky’s eyes flashed, then he sat back in his seat, appraising you yet again. 

“It’s okay, Doll. I turned out okay. And here we are, together again.”

“We’re not together, Bucky.”

He took another drag of his smoke.

“Only a matter of time, Baby.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself, lifting your chin. 

“I have another set.”

Bucky smiled at you.

“I know.”

Of course, he knew. He ran this town and he always paid attention, always saw more than you wanted him to.

You stood, ready to walk away, to put some space between the past and the present before you lost yourself in it again. But before you could take a step, something small and cool slid against your palm.

You looked down.

A key.

Bucky’s fingers lingered over yours just long enough to make your pulse jump. He looked into your eyes and leaned down and it was like your lips were connected by magnets. 

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and regrets as his tongue slid into your mouth, establishing ownership yet again. 

He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

“Royal Sierra Hotel. Top floor,” he gruffed.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You should have dropped the key right back into his palm. Should have told him no, should have walked away, should have done a thousand things. 

But you did none of them. You just curled your fingers around the key, just for a second, then slipped it into your dress pocket like it meant nothing. 

Bucky didn’t call you on it. Didn’t press. He just smiled, slow and knowing, then stepped back.

“See you soon, Doll.”

Then he was gone, and you were left standing there, with a key in your pocket and a storm in your chest, knowing damn well you were about to make a mistake.

——

Your second set of the night flew by in a blur. Your voice soared through the rafters, full of emotion, carrying the weight of things you couldn’t say out loud. The memories all spilled into the songs, wrapped in melodies that weren’t yours but might as well have been. 

You poured your soul into every note, and the crowd felt it. They responded with enthusiastic applause and with generosity for the waitresses and bartenders. At the end of the night, the club manager pressed extra bills into your hand, murmuring something about record-breaking tips.

You barely heard him. 

Your mind was already made up.

You stepped out into the cool night air, exhaling as you raised your hand to hail a cab, but before you could, a smooth voice cut through the darkness.

“Need a ride?”

You turned, heels clicking against the pavement as you took in the sight before you.

Steve Rogers, all broad shoulders and quiet authority, leaned against a gleaming black Continental, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. 

Your brows lifted. 

“Didn’t peg you for a chauffeur.”

Steve chuckled.

“Just trying to be nice.” 

He nodded toward the passenger seat. 

“We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Your gaze shifted past him to Sam, watching you from inside the car, his smile just visible through the window.

“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing.

Steve shrugged. 

“Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…”

“We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.

Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.

“I’ll take you up on that,” you said, sighing as you stepped forward. 

“Standing on a stage in heels all night isn’t exactly easy on the legs.”

Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip.

“Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured.

You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat?

And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew? 

You didn’t have time to wonder. Steve was already holding the door open, waiting. You slid inside, sinking into the plush leather seats, and shot him a tired, knowing smile as he shut the door behind you.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror, his eyes catching yours in the reflection. 

“Which way, Miss Y/L/N?”

You hesitated.

Bucky was making this hard.

You closed your eyes, reaching back, searching for the girl you were six years ago. The girl who ran. The girl who had every reason to. But she was gone, her memories worn thin, fragile as cigarette paper.

You could stand to make some new ones.

And they would have to last. Because this would only be one night.

“The Royal Sierra,” you said softly.

Steve’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life.

Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes.

“I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.”

You let out a soft laugh.

“It’s nighttime, Sam.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. 

“He’s never introduced me to a dame before. Plenty have tried to get to him through us, but he doesn’t let ‘em. He just shoos ‘em off like stray dogs.” 

Sam’s smirk deepened. 

“But you? You’re different.”

Something in your chest tightened. You turned toward the back of Steve’s head. 

“What about you, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve cleared his throat, his hands flexing on the wheel.

“I’ve known Buck since we were kids in Brooklyn,” he said after a pause.

“And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.”

The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew.

Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”

Your heart clenched.

You didn’t ask any more questions after that. You just let the city lights blur past the window, let the neon colors bleed together as they carried you to the man waiting at the top of the Royal Sierra.

Waiting for you.

——-

The Royal Sierra was a loud kind of quiet. The kind that came from power. Bucky’s kind of place.

Steve pulled up to the entrance, stepping out with effortless authority, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he belonged here. Like you belonged here. No one stopped you. No one asked questions.

His presence alone was a key. A shield.

Bucky Barnes’ reach extended farther than Mr. Crow’s.

Before you knew it, you were stepping into the elevator, watching the floors tick by, your pulse a slow, deliberate drum in your throat. And by the time you reached the penthouse, your body had made a decision your mind refused to acknowledge.

You lifted a gloved hand and slid the key into the lock.

The door opened instantly.

And then, there was Bucky.

His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

Then his hands were on you.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.

You melted, even though you knew better.

You knew this was dangerous. That this wasn’t just about lust, or longing, or the years between you. But none of it mattered as you wound your arms around him, tangling your fingers in the dark curls you missed too damn much.

Bucky groaned, dragging you flush against him. His hands roamed lower, exploring this new version of you, the one with fuller curves, wider hips, a body that had known things he hadn’t been there to witness.

He needed to erase it all.

He deepened the kiss, his breath ragged as he backed you against the wall, pinning you there, swallowing the soft sound you made.

God, that sound.

He had dreamed about it.

You pulled back. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, you were beautiful. But there was something else in your eyes.

A flicker of hesitation.

Bucky smirked.

He didn’t want to talk. Not tonight. He wanted to taste you, to relearn every inch of you. 

He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time.

Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.

Bucky Barnes was still so goddamn hot.

“You staying?” 

His voice was hoarse with desire.

Your lips parted slightly. Then, slowly, you nodded. That was all he needed.

With deliberate slowness, he backed you toward the couch, his blue eyes never leaving yours.

He didn’t know why you left.

Didn’t know why you were in Vegas.

Didn’t know how long he had.

And tonight, he wasn’t asking.

"Missed this," he murmured against your throat, his breath hot, his fingers digging into the roundness of your ass. His voice sent a shiver down your spine.

He turned you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. You felt it slide down, the cool air kissing your bare skin as the rich fabric slipped from your shoulders, revealing the decadent silk and lace beneath.

Bucky let out a rough exhale.

The longline bra molded perfectly to your curves, the underwire and boning lifting your breasts high, the lace trim barely concealing your peaked nipples. The silk garter belt cinched your waist, accentuating the swell of your hips, its straps fastened to sheer stockings that clung to your legs like a whisper.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands ghosting over your sides, gripping, kneading. 

“Jesus, Doll… you always did know how to drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped.

He trailed a finger along the edge of your bra, teasing you through the lace with his knuckles grazing the soft swell of your breast. 

“Look at you… all wrapped up like a goddamn present,” he muttered, voice thick with reverence.

His hands slid down, and his thumbs traced slow, reverent paths along the edge of your garter, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs. He tilted his head, lips curving against your jaw.

“Been dreamin’ about this,” he whispered, voice dripping with possession. 

“And now it’s real.”

You shivered beneath his touch, and Bucky smirked, satisfied. He trailed his fingers lower, slipping beneath the garter belt to palm your ass, squeezing greedily, pulling you flush against him.

“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you.

He was losing patience. Six years was too damn long.

His hands found the hooks of your bra, and he made quick work of them, peeling the garment from your body and tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled back for just a second, just long enough to admire the sight of you, bare, breathless, your eyes fully dilated.

“Damn, Doll” he whispered, voice almost reverent. 

Then his mouth was on you, trailing down your neck hotly, over your collarbone, lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking, groaning when your fingers tangled in his hair, when your body arched into his mouth.

“Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.

His hands roamed lower, curling around your thighs, gripping hard as he lifted you effortlessly, walking you backward until your spine hit the cool surface of the wall.

Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel.

“Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.

Bucky pressed a kiss into you, his hard length grinding against your soaked panties. The heat of him, the sheer size of him, had you trembling.

"Need inside you, Doll… so fucking hard for you," he groaned, his voice rough with need.

You gasped as he rocked into you, your damp panties and his boxers doing little to separate the friction between you. Your hips rolled in response, dragging a throaty grunt from his lips.

"Fuck!"

Bucky hooked a finger into your panties, yanking them to the side. The first brush of his bare cock against your slick folds sent a shudder through you. It was heaven. The aching kind. The kind you felt.

"Bucky, please!"

You needed to feel him again after so long.

His thick cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with every slow stroke. You felt everything, the ridges, the veins, the swollen head nudging at your entrance.

At the same time, his mouth latched onto your nipple, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. His calloused fingers kneaded the roundness of your ass, pulling unashamed whimpers from your throat.

"Mine," Bucky growled.

Your breath hitched. But just as you prepared for that first, deep thrust, he pulled back.

You gasped in protest.

"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed."

You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke.

Your breath stuttered with anticipation.

"Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."

Confusion flickered in your eyes, until you felt your legs being thrown over his shoulders. Then, Bucky was between your thighs.

You scrambled up on your elbows, heat rushing to your face as he spread you open with two fingers, stroking the sensitive, slick folds hidden beneath. His gaze locked onto your glistening sex, mesmerized.

"So beautiful, Lark."

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he ran his fingers through your wetness, spreading it.

"So wet… dripping… coating my fingers, Baby."

The filthy words, the intensity of his stare, made fresh arousal seep from you. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, aching for more.

"Pinch those nipples for me," Bucky rasped,

Your lips parted in shock, but his stare was unwavering. With a shaky breath, you obeyed.

The added sensation sent pleasure rippling through you, making your back arch, your ass pressing into the mattress as Bucky pumped his fingers nice and slow. The other hand fisted around his cock, stroking in time with the movement inside you.

Your gaze dropped to watch him touch himself as he touched you. Fuck.

A gush of slick spilled from you. Bucky cursed under his breath, scissoring his fingers, stretching you, preparing you.

"So fucking tight, Doll. Need to get you ready."

Then, his head dipped lower. Your gasp filled the room. Bucky smirked.

"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—"

He stopped.

Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly.

"Oh, shit."

His tone was different now, understanding. 

"It’s okay, Baby. I got you."

Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth.

Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly.

Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.

When he pried your thighs apart and plunged two fingers back inside, curling them just right, you detonated. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, your body seizing, your walls fluttering around his fingers as a flood of wetness spilled into his mouth.

"Bucky!"

He pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"S’okay, Baby. It’s natural."

Then he leaned down again. And drank from you like a man dying of thirst.

You whimpered, overwhelmed, your body trembling as he held you down, refusing to let you escape. The overstimulation was brutal, unbearable.

Too much, too good.

"Really have been such a good girl for me…" he murmured against your sensitive skin.

Then, his voice dropped to something sinful.

"Gonna give you this cock you been waiting for."

When he finally kissed you, his lips slick with you, the last shred of restraint dissolved.

You moaned into his mouth as he lined himself up, dragging the thick, swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds. He parted your lips, teasing you with tiny, torturous strokes. Then, with a sharp slap, he tapped his cock against your clit, making you cry out.

"Shit, Doll…" 

Bucky’s voice was strained, his jaw tight as he fought for control. You rolled your hips, desperate, pleading.

"Inside, please!"

"You’re gonna feel… so… goodddd…"

He bit it out through clenched teeth as he pushed forward slow, steady, and stretching you inch by inch. You choked on a moan as he filled you. He was so big. You had forgotten how thick, how deep, how perfect he felt inside you.

"Ohhhhhh, Bucky!"

"Right here, Baby."

His eyes locked onto you, greedily drinking in your bouncing breasts, your trembling stomach, the way your body took him. The sight alone nearly ended him. His head dropped back, his grip on you tightening as he bottomed out, grinding his hips into yours, making you wail in pleasure.

"You feel amazing… so fucking good. Never felt anything like this, I swear, Lark."

Your walls clenched around him, and Bucky’s face twisted, his control slipping.

"I need you to cum all over my dick."

You gasped as his hand found your clit, circling it with the same practiced precision that always ruined you. His other hand pinched your nipple, sending another bolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Cum for me, Doll."

You had no choice. Your body seized, pleasure obliterating you as you came, gushing around his cock, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you.

Bucky’s grip turned bruising as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His breath caught. 

"Mine!" he growled. 

And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours.

And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew

You were his again.

—--

Bucky collapsed beside you, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You did the same, but while he was basking in the afterglow, warmth spreading through his chest like hope, your stomach twisted into knots.

"Where you going, Lark?"

His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.

"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up."

Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little.

You disappeared into the harsh fluorescent glow of the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

—--

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, watching as you slipped your shoes back on. You moved quickly, deliberately. Like you’d planned your exit before you ever walked through his door.

"You don’t have to run out like this," he said, voice rough.

You hesitated, just for a second, before fastening your coat.

"I have to get home."

Bucky’s fingers flexed against the sheets.

"Home."

He rolled the word over his tongue. He didn’t like the way it tasted.

Your gaze lifted, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered there, regret, and sorrow buried so deep he almost missed it.

Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them.

So he let you go.

But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.

—-----

Bucky sat in the back of the Continental, silent as Steve drove.

He hadn’t said a word since Steve muttered, “I’ll take you to where she lives.”

Vegas never slept, but the streets were quiet this early. Bucky stared out the window, jaw clenched.

He should’ve stopped you from leaving. Should’ve asked the damn questions instead of letting you walk out. But you were good at slipping away. You’d done it before.

Not this time.

Steve glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"You sure about this?"

Bucky’s eyes stayed on the road ahead.

"Just drive."

Steve sighed but didn’t argue. The car veered off the Strip, where the lights weren’t as bright, where the buildings weren’t as tall, where the money wasn’t as loud. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it sure as hell wasn’t where Bucky expected you to be.

The car slowed.

A modest duplex came into view, its porch light flickering on.

Bucky barely registered anything beyond you were here. Until he saw the front door open.

You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open.

And out ran a little boy.

Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms.

You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear.

Like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Because you had.

The realization hit like a bullet to the ribs.

You had a son.

Bucky’s world tilted.

Then, the boy’s voice, small and sleepy, carried through the quiet street.

"Mama, you’re home."

His breath left him in a rush.

"Yes, Jamie, I’m home."

Steve tensed, hands gripping the wheel.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists.

"Buck—"

"Drive," he rasped. The word barely made it past his lips.

Steve hesitated.

"Now."

The car pulled away, but Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on you.

Six years.

Six years, and you had kept this from him.

—---

The moment Jamie crashed into your arms, the world melted away.

"Mama, you’re home!"

You exhaled shakily, smoothing his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Miss Thea stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her housecoat, watching with quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions. Never had. Just gave you a slow nod before retreating inside.

Jamie yawned, burrowing into your shoulder, his little arms tightening around your neck.

"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms.

"Yeah? What do I smell like?"

Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake.

"Like trouble," he sighed.

Your breath caught.

A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street.

Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.

You swallowed hard, clutching Jamie closer as you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. You couldn’t shake the feeling.

Bucky knew.

And no matter how much you wanted to believe you could keep him away….You knew better.

James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you.

For both of you.

[kenzdolls]

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

MEETING SHOTO TODOROKI:

he probably notices you studying in the common room, always meticulously organized. he respects the dedication.

if your quirk is related to warmth or fire, he's automatically wary but intrigued. he'll observe you carefully, trying to understand how you control it.

accidental encounters are his weakness. bumping into you in the hallway, dropping his soba… he'll apologize profusely, then retreat into himself.

he appreciates directness. if you're the one to initiate conversation, he'll be surprised but relieved. small talk isn't his forte, so dive into a topic he can actually discuss.

if you're good at reading people, you'll notice the subtle shift in his eyes when he acknowledges you. it shows he's paying attention, even if he doesn't say much.

he is most likely to have met you because you were partnered up in class together for hero training. he was surprised you weren't afraid.

he first thinks you're pretty when he sees you smile; he hasn't seen you smile, though, but he believes your smile is worth protecting.

he finds himself having to protect you in class a lot, but you're strong for yourself.

SHOTO CRUSHING ON YOU:

he doesn't understand the warm feeling in his chest when you are near him. he wonders if he’s sick so he asks recovery girl but she just gives him a knowing look and tells him to ‘rest’.

he wants to understand your quirk better, not just from a strategic point of view, but because he wants to understand you.

soba dates become a 'thing' because it's a comfortable, neutral ground. he's happy to share his favorite spot, and secretly pleased if you enjoy it too.

jf you tease him, he'll get flustered and look away, a slight blush creeping up his neck. it's adorable.

he starts using his fire side more in training to impress you, but he's also scared of hurting you.

training with you becomes something he looks forward to. he really enjoys analyzing your fighting style and strategizing with you.

he starts noticing the little things about you – the way you laugh, the way you concentrate, the little quirks that make you you.

he secretly asks fuyumi for advice on how to be a better friend, making her extremely happy.

if he sees others being rude or disrespectful to you, a flicker of cold fury passes over his face. he'll step in, but subtly.

he starts spacing out in class and ends up getting in trouble.

he asks you to show him your quirk again.

his resting face is now soft when he is around you, and it makes everyone notice.

DATING SHOTO TODOROKI:

dates are quiet, thoughtful, and often involve food of some kind. he likes taking you to hidden ramen shops or quiet parks.

physical affection is something he's still learning. he might start with gentle touches like holding your hand or putting an arm around you.

he worries constantly about his father. he will never be a man like him, and he is afraid you will think he will be like him.

he loves cuddling you. he's warm and cold at the same time, so you're always at the perfect temperature.

he'll open up about his family, but it takes time and trust. be patient and listen without judgment.

he wants to protect you and keep you safe, but he also respects your strength and independence.

he’ll bring you small gifts – a flower he found in the garden, a limited-edition soba flavor, or a book he thinks you'll enjoy.

he listens intently when you talk and remembers everything you say. he shows he cares by paying attention.

comforting him after a nightmare about his past might involve a hug and a promise to stay by his side.

he burns himself on purpose in order to feel something other than the burning desire he has for you.

he will do his best to be your partner despite his anxieties and worries. he will make sure to put you first.

he will always cook soba for you, and he will always ask you what he can do to be better.

he will be flustered when you kiss him, but he will kiss you back.

his favorite thing is listening to you ramble about books that you love.

he gives his whole heart to you and trusts you will take care of it.

he'll get jealous, but he won't show it... just expect extra cuddles and attention to you that day.

he's very protective of you and makes sure you're comfortable in every situation. he will be your safe haven.

he loves to hold your hand, especially if you're nervous or scared. it's his way of grounding you.

he will make sure to show how much he loves you.

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

[lostinlovingrevery]

Hiiii! I'm sorry to hear about your PMS :( If it's not too much trouble I had this idea:

Logan finds a lost dog/cat that won't leave him alone, finally Logan gives in and feeds them/takes them in. Reader (the owner of said pet) is desperate looking for them, maybe yelling their name in the street, or putting posters everywhere, and when Logan finds out and heads to return the pet they meet and it's love at first sight :3

OR!

Logan and reader are already together and their pet gets lost. Reader is heartbroken and Logan comforts them, and then drive around all night, using his sense of smell to track the pet down and bring it home

(I recently got a puppy and she's already my whole word, I'm in love! So now everything I see/think about is puppy related)

HIIII, and thank you <3, it really do suck! To top it off, I have PCOS, so my hormones would go from nearly non existent to sky-high. it can be rough, but that's another story I'll tell one day (I may even make a fic about it!)

Congrats on your new puppy!!! What breed? and her name??? I have my Zuzu and we got her as a puppy 2- almost 3 years ago and she's my baby girl so I completely get it!!

This was picky in which option to choose, because they're both SO cute. I went with option 1 for now so I love me a good meetcute, but I may write option 2 one day :) apparently Im on a worst Logan roll rn but that's okay bc he needs the love <3 I named the dog after my cat in this too lol

Missing

Worst! Wolverine X Reader

A handsome stranger brings back your beloved friend

Warnings: Missing pet, distraught reader, love at first sight type of meetings, fluff, your dog is your wingman <3

"C'mon bub, go back home."

Logan glanced down at the small creature that has been following him for almost block. He had reached the apartment building, about to walk inside- but the cute little 4 legged furry friend stood at his side and waited for him to open the door.

He was not going to allow the cuteness of the dog break him. The pup looked up at him with a small pant, and big eyes, with a little wag of it's tail.

Logan stared down at it, and it let out a little whimper. He sighs,

"Fine. Just for the night." He mumbles, pulling the door open and allowing the dog to trot inside, where they look back at him expectantly and waited.

Althea and Wade weren't home fortunately, as he didn't feel like listening to either of them. Mary Puppins doesn't seem to be aware of what was happening 99.8% of the time, so there was no issue there either.

He gave the pup a dog treat, and offered some of Mary Puppins kibble and water, before trying to figure out where- or who, the animal belonged too. Discovering they knew tricks, had a very clean coat, and trimmed nails. Very well taken care of.

"You obviously belong to somebody don't ya?" He hums, scratching their chest. "Did ya sneak out, lil scamp?"

The wag of their tail told him everything.

"Mmph." He chuckled, now fully petting with both hands. "You are cute...Lets go see if we can find your folks."

Grabbing Mary Puppins leash and leashing the dog, to ensure the puppy won't run away and put itself into danger, they both left the apartment and began walking the streets as he searched for signs of a distressed owner, also watching the dogs body language for signs of familiarity.

"Poppy!"

Both Logan and the dogs ears lifted their head at the sound of your voice. He looked around, spotting you across the street- your face in distress as you held a bundle of papers to your chest. You were stopping random people on the street, showing them the paper and asking if they seen a loose dog.

Damn, aren't you pretty?

Logan looked down at the escapee, who was now patting their feet excitedly on the concrete as it watched you, looking up at him.

"That your owner Lassie?" He quirked a brow. He assumed yes, from the way it's tail wagged happily, as he moved to cross the street to meet with you. "Miss?" He calls out, and you turned around at the sound of his voice.

If you were a cartoon character, your jaw would've dropped to the floor at the sight of this handsome specimen who had your precious Poppy in hand. You did however, drop the nearly hundred copies of missing dog posters you made once Poppy had decided to break free from her leash this morning, and you couldn't catch or find her anywhere.

"Poppy!" You beamed, kneeling down with open arms as she breaks free from the stranger and ran up to you. You shed a few tears, that she quickly licked up as you hugged her, pressing kisses all over her sweet face. "Don't do that again! You hear me?!"

You looked up at the stranger, who had a faint smile. Grabbing a hold of the leash that was around Poppy to ensure she didn't escape again, you stood up, "Hi." You say.

"Hey." He nods.

"Thank you- For finding her!"

"More like she found me." He let out a soft chuckle. "Followed me from my workplace for almost a block."

You looked at Poppy, raising a brow at her, and secretly wondering if it was some sort of coincidence that she has now met you up with this strangers who's hazel-colored eyes are making you weak in the knees every time you look into them.

You smiled, "She took off from me at the park. Chasing a squirrel or something I don't even know. I couldn't find her anywhere, I was so worried. Thank you, thank you!" You reached out, placing a hand on his chest, attempting to be genuine as possible.

"It's nothing, sweetheart." He smiles. It sent a heat blooming in your cheeks at the use of a pet name and you ducked your head to hide your goofy smile, and removed your hand from him.

"Still I'd like to...Show my appreciation." You say, "Could I buy you some dinner? After I drop Poppy off at home first of course..."

He looked like a deer in headlights when you made the offer, which you regretted, until he smiled, a small sparkle in his eyes you didn't miss.

"Sure." He says. "Sounds nice."

You beamed at him, relief- and excitement filling you as you both began to walk together. It occurred to you that you just asked his guy out and didn't even know his name yet. Still, there was a strange familiarity between you both, like you've always known each other. "So what's your name?"

"Its Logan. Yours?"

[bluemantics]

Lance McClain is a good kid. Really, he is! His mom always told him that he was a good person with a kind heart, and that was the end of the story.

Being expelled from six schools in six years was just… well, a casualty of circumstances. Now, though, he was really going to try with The Galaxy Garrison Private Academy, even if they took boring field trips to look at Greek art from three millennia ago.

The halls of the museum echoed with footsteps and murmuring around Lance, light streaming in and highlighting old marble artworks. He frowned up at a carving of a furry humanoid with big ears. It looked more like a cat person than a monster, but he dutifully marked it down on his scavenger hunt paper.

Suddenly, he felt something hit the back of his head, followed by giggles from somewhere behind him. He turned around to see a little paper airplane, which made him annoyed and thankful all at once. Annoyed, because who the hell was throwing stuff at him, but thankful that it wasn’t a real airplane. Yee-owch. Lance had just heard a news broadcast that day about a freak plane accident somewhere off the coast of New York. He briefly recalled mentions of a thunderstorm.

Anyways, in typical Lance fashion, he found out that the paper plane belonged to Nancy Bobofit and proceeded to flay her (verbally of course. It’s not like he’s some sort of crazy weapon-toting sixth grader).

After five minutes of arguing over whose curls were greasier, Hunk finally found Lance and dragged him away.

“You gotta stop doing that, dude,” Hunk bemoaned. “You’re going to get expelled again. Or get both of us kicked out.” A pang went through Lance at that— he didn’t want to risk hurting his mom, Maria, and getting another expulsion would at least disappoint her. She was an angel on Earth who deserved better than another stressful phone call.

With a reluctant sigh, Lance continued their scavenger hunt with his best buddy Hunk at his side.

The rest of the day? Chaos.

Lance didn’t know what happened. One second, Nancy was picking on Hunk at lunchtime. The next, she was facedown in a water fountain, even though Lance could have sworn he didn’t touch a greasy curl on her stupid head.

His math teacher, Mr. Iverson, brought him aside to the museum rooms for a lecture before promptly turning into a fucking bat lady. He then started attacking Lance, which was irresponsible for an educator in his humble opinion. If it hadn’t been for a beautiful girl with white hair, Lance would probably have died. She appeared out of nowhere and threw him a pen as he scrambled behind columns to avoid Iverson's talons.

Lance snatched the pen out of the air with reflexes that surprised him.

"Are you crazy?" he yelled at the girl, pointing to the pen.

"Open the pen!" she yelled back.

Well, fuck it. He uncapped the pen and watched in shock as it morphed into a sword.

Lance wouldn’t have put slaying a bat lady on his bucket list for a field trip. This time, it isn't his fault when the school calls home and expels him. Guilt claws its way up his throat despite his "innocence." When he and Hunk make their way back into New York City, he loses Hunk somewhere along the route, too ashamed and frustrated with himself to share in it with his best friend.

His mother instantly envelopes Lance in a hug he doesn't deserve. Lance lets all his weight fall into her comforting arms.

"Oh, sweetie," she murmurs. "It's gonna be okay."

Maria packs their things soon after comforting him and wiping his tears. She tells him that they're going to Montauk, sneaking out before Lance's horrible stepfather gets home from work. They take his car, so he makes sure to kick his feet up from the dash and ignore his mother's clucks of disapproval.

When they get to their little beach cottage, instant relief crashes over Lance. He's always loved the ocean: the calm of the surf crashing relentlessly, the smell of salt dancing among swift winds, the feeling of sand beneath his feet. It always melts away his worries and fears, and he knows it does for his mom, too. Her eyes always soften as she stares into the distant horizon.

After they get back to their cottage, Lance finds out why. His mom seats him at the breakfast nook and grabs his hands in hers, her thumb making circles across his knuckles.

"Hijo, I have something to explain. It's important, so listen closely."

So Lance listens. He just hadn’t expected that his mom would reveal the existence of the gods. And that he was a demigod. And that his life was in danger. Oh, did he forget to mention that “best buddy Hunk” was also half-goat?

Yeah, his mom didn't tell him that. Hunk did, appearing in the beach house doorway with wild eyes and urgency and goat legs. His best friend demanded that they leave in a shaky voice, pointing to some unknown force that was after Lance.

Fuck everything, honestly. He might only be 12, but this was a situation that called for some adult language.

The remainder of the night happened so fast, it was almost like some sort of sick nightmare. Lance remembered piling into his stepdad’s car in the pouring rain, running into the fucking Minotaur, and being told by his mom to escape to some camp.

He also remembered… the rain soaking his clothes, dragging him down as his mother stood up to protect him. Lance was forced to watch, a beat too late, as the Minotaur gripped his mother and crushed her in his fist, her silhouette disappearing into a shimmer of golden light. Is she... Anger surged through Lance, propelling him forward to grab the Minotaur’s horn in his hands and stab it in the head.

Everything in his head went silent. The pain dulled, light blacked out, and cold washed away.

And then… he was in bed, blinking awake to see dark eyes hovering over him with a scowl on their owner.

“You drool when you sleep.”

Lance was too delirious to say anything clever.

“You have a mullet.”

The rest was history.

[jamie-potters]

remus doesnt actually like chocolate, he thinks its too bitter. but he eats it because he thinks of it as a disgusting punishment, and he hopes it'll kill the wolf in him. sirius is the only one who knows this, he buys him sugar quills.

james doesnt actually like running, he hates being sweaty. he does it to feel alive, and because hes addicted to adrenaline rushes. its causes him to have a huge fear of being sweaty. marlene finds him having a panic attack over it, and now they do qudditich in the morning instead.

peter doesn't actually like gardening. but his mother loves it, so he does it to feel close with her, when hes at hogwarts. he thinks the dirts nasty, and disgusting, but its the only thing hes ever been amazing at. he only stops when pandora finds out, and instead puts him onto magical creatures. which love him

sirius doesn't actually like being dramatic. he finds himself annoying, and attention seeking. he is always exhausted after, because hes an introvert. but he also knows if he isnt, he wont be included. remus is the only one who knows this, and shows him he doesnt have to always be loud.

lily doesnt actually like being known as the "smart kid". she personally, would like to slack off. but sees it as a way of disrespect her parents, since they barely let her come here. she also feels she needs to prove shes not just some muggle-born.

marlene doesn't actually like getting drunk. she thinks it a stupid idea, a stupid situation, and a stupid decision. she instead would like to play cops and robbers. but nobody takes her up on that, so she drinks. until dorcas.

mary doesn't actually like makeup. she wears it to cover her acne. its so rare to see her without it, everyone never thought twice about it. but when she confides in peter, who also has terrible acne. he helps her be confident, without it.

dorcas doesn't actually like being tall. she used ot hunch her shoulders, she chose to sit as low as possible. she was bullied for it during elementary. they called her bigfoot, giant, and other horrible names. its only when lily says she loves how tall she is, and marlene agrees. does she find beauty in her height.

pandora doesnt actually like her name. she would rather any other, too be honest. she had so many pandoras box jokes, that she grew tired of her name. but then someone, she doesnt even remember the poor girl, she says "i think your named pandora, because you show that while there is bad, theres also good." she cried after that, because she now felt bad everytime she said she hated her name.

evan doesn't actually his eyes. he doesnt like how their not symmetrical. he hates how their different colors, because it means two sides of his face always look different. he breaks down after watching Blade Runner 2049 and The Witcher. he cries and cries, while he searches up more models, actors, and singers who have heterochromia. he finally finds people like him, and realizes hes not alone.

barty doesnt actually like sex. he finds it heartbreaking to not even like the person, yet have have a intimate moment with them. he hates being treated like thats all hes good for. regulus asks him why he does it, and when he doesnt answer. he finally realizes, he doesnt have to.

regulus doesn't actually like being cold. he'd much rather be able to be vulnerable, or able to express his emotions healthily. but instead he crys, shouts, and throws up. and there's only certain people who he can let himself cry with, but if they're not there, he will suppress and never speak of it again.

[justn0t]

okay I did the beastancient tierlist thing yap under cut. I also only really did the popular ones

- sv is peak no commenr 100000/10

- bc is great cycle of life and death also religious romantic connotations 10/10

- mc is much more interesting to me when mf can't or refuses to like him back and dc hates himself for feeling how he does. more comical suffering for dc as he fantasises about the only person who could truly give him a break from it all who he can never have. everyone he loves is always out of reach. do u see the vision.

-i like and support purelily, shocking I know.. but I feel as though most of the content of it misrepresents their relationship. pv depends on her an unhealthy amount, and she doesn't love him as much as he loves her. they also explicitly say they can't be together like twice in beastyeast. I like it only in a tragic way that will never work out

- pc is valid,, they have lots of very cute moments and I see the vision

- gl good doomed yuri creates amazing fics and art. their kingdom interaction kills me oh they're so tragic

- yellow tier -> very excited but I can't give that much comment about characters we don't know yet.

- light orange tier -> I don't care about these moving on

- I understand shipping characters that don't like eachother but wl and sm viscerally hate eachother for very important reasons and I feel like the only way this works is if they magically get over those. sm hates wl for being the guardian whose life mission is to imprison him and for helping pv escape his mind games in ch1 beastyeast. wl hates sm for indirectly killing elder faerie, putting her kingdom in chaos and tormenting pv. it doesn't work in any context sorry

-i was originally going to put burningmilk in light orange tier but then I realised I respect cacaolily a lot more and they shouldn't be on the same tier. feel like there is little reason to ship them other than size diff fetish and everyone I've seen explaining it hasn't worked for me sorry

- I don't like bs and dc for reasons similar to burningmilk

- observant people may have noticed that purespice is in a separate bottom tier. This is because i hate it a lot. I don't see a reason to like it other than pornagraphic size difference yaoi garbage. they haven't met, bs hates soft and nurturing people, and pv helps the injured. they are literally only put next to each other for yaoi reasons. both are well written characters that deserve to be explored beyond yalls fetishes. it isnt "hes only soft around pv...." omfg would it kill you to not completely change and misrepresent a character so you can shove them into a stupid fandom made mold.