#and what i hate is that I was SO VERY MUCH ENOUGH

[cathnospam]

Showers with Katsuki are almost always domestic until it’s not and it’s your fault.

Your blondie is actually very comfortable in his skin with you, he doesn’t mind walking around in your room naked even if it’s to grab the towel he definitely left on your bed on purpose in front of you.

You’ve seen his dick so much you could practically draw it from memory.

But the main reason you’ve seen him naked so many times is because you and him almost always take a shower together.

“C’mon.” Is all he says when he takes your hand into the misty bathroom, shower already on scalding hot just how you both love it.

It’s giggling and scrubbing until it’s your turn to scrub him.

“Turn around, boo.” You tap his shoulder, he does so, trying to relax his body, but also flexing in the process. His back was such a sight to see.

He’s gotten so much bigger since graduating and his just can’t get any smaller, you can’t help but your bite your lips when your eyes lock onto his body.

Especially his very cute ass you really wanna poke, but you’d probably get cussed out in German.

Almost worth it.

Instead you scrub him, humming and throwing up compliments that makes him blush everytime.

“Shut up.”

“What I’m just saying…I’m happy you’re all mine. A girl can’t appreciate her man?”

“Yeah yeah. Right here too.” He points at his other shoulder blade, you get in your tippy toes to reach and leave a kiss on his ear, your cold soft lips dragged a chill down his spine, it was practically a warning sign for what’s to be asked next of him.

And he didn’t mind it even if he acted like he did.

“C’mon…” His voice has no bark in it, almost as if he’s being sarcastic, “We have to be up in the morning, N/N.”

“I know i just…” You puncture every other word with a kiss, your slippery soapy hands exploring his abs from the front, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your words dripping with lust like honey, your hands do most of the speaking when you take hold of his soft shaft and stroke up to under his tip to down to cup his balls. You knew he was sensitive there, you giggle a kiss on his back again when he grunts.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Uh huh.” Brushing his comment off, you already knew you had him, so you pick up the pace, one hand on his dick the other massaging his balls made him lean in the cold tile shower wall with one arm, “Baby—ugh— Y/N!”

Bakugo hates calling you anything other than your name or nickname, but it sometimes slips off the tongue when he’s completely getting lost in your touch, “Ganna—-fucking cum dammit—!”

“Then…” Letting go of him you firmly turn him around to have his back on the wall and he looks down at your figure on your knees, “Do it in my mouth.”

Words could not describe how much he wanted to fuck you silly right now. For you to turn him on this much when he just wanted to take a simple shower and then cuddle in bed with you and talk about your day because he missed you, you just had to turn it into something else.

And he still loved you for it.

You take it slow, holding your breath to slide all 7.5 inches down your mouth, he wasn’t also long, but girthy too. He knew this which is why he didn’t always let you suck his dick, your pretty little mouth shouldn’t be sore because of him…even if it was hot to see your eyes prickle with tears to take him all in.

“Shit.” He threw his hand on his face, the temperature of the water suddenly got hotter and steamier, his hair was down, but reverting back to its natural wavy state feeling how warm and tight your mouth was around him, it was ALMOST as good as fucking you.

Almost.

You felt yourself get more aroused hearing your blondie surprise his moans and whimpers terribly, he hated hearing himself, but you couldn’t get enough, he felt a knot forming in his tummy. Throwing his hand on your scalp he bucks his hips with caution back at you and you let him have at you and take full control.

When he notices you were giving him full access to use you he still never did. He never enjoyed the thought of just using you like a fuck toy even if his body was showing something completely different, he thrusted quickly inside your throat until he held you still, groaning and moaning your name while your hands clawed his thighs, “Fuck!—-“

Bakugo lets go to catch his breath and help you up to kiss you, it was hungry and sloppy, you didn’t even completely finish swallowing all of his semen when he swallowed some of it himself while sucking on your tongue, he didn’t fucking care he just needed to show his appreciation.

And he did when he lifted your legs around his waist, you always seem to be so shocked when your man can pick you up with ease, no matter your weight, and he didn’t mind proving his strength from how he fucked you with hot steamy water hitting your chest and in the bed.

You love showering with Bakugo <3

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

This type of condescending post is why the LGBT is losing acceptance.

I just want that to be understood. Because let's break this down.

OP's picture compares "Flamboyance" to Joy. These things are not the same.

"Gay joy reminds the straight man of what he has suffocated himself in exchange for social acceptance or power". Ok this is another one of those "Gay is ackchewally the default" arguments. Or one of those, "men loving other men is normal but you are just giving that up for power and acceptance". No they aren't giving up jack shit. THEY ARE JUST STRAIGHT. Wtf. And you people claim you are born gay but straight people aren't real? Please justify the double standard.

"He folds himself into whatever shape looks like" Yeah. Men generally do that regardless. Unless you are telling me that gay men are incapable of being "Proper men" because they are gay. The funniest bit about this argument is that you think you are pointing out that straight men don't know what real men are when historically, men help foster the next generation. They help train the next generation to protect and defend. They hunt for the settlements and explore the world around them to keep the village safe. This has always been true. Men FOLD themselves into whatever they need to be in order to keep life going forward. That "Folding" isn't "stopping myself from being gay and happy".

Also just to point out this last bit-

#and remember you've contorted yourself into the shape of a Real Woman in exchange for soc acceptance & power#and denied yourself the gentle acceptance of doing what is comfortable on this earth

People opt for whatever standards they want. If not enough people care about those standards, they fade away. That's how society works. You are making a jab at the idea of "Real woman" when often the term historically I've heard is "Proper". Real and Proper have two different meanings. And what's more, earlier before this line, you act like, condescendingly so, that "society has created a bad standard for what a real woman is and women mindlessly go along with it." <Paraphrasing here. Even more, you posit this-

#similar w straight women hating butch lesbians#you see a woman not shaving not wearing make up wearing comfy clothes and still being loved and desired

And let me mention something here. 1. Butch Lesbians are a very small minority in the Lesbian community. 2. The way you say this is almost the same condescending way that top post implied that "Gay" is ACTUALLY the way to be a "real man". Except here it's "growing out your body hair is how you be a "real woman". Except I'd be willing to bet FemLesbians do not agree with you. Especially not Fem for Fem.

Posts like this are often fucking stupid, made with possibly good intent but fall short as they only go, "WOW STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE SO MAD". YEAH. I've been pissed for years that gay men have targeted me, a red head, and tried to get me to do sexual acts with them. And have tried to force their lifestyles on me.

SO YES. A little pissed off. But not for the reasons you claim. I don't care if a person is flamboyant. Unless they are really obnoxious about it. Because after a point, you are just putting on a performance so that everyone around you has to see you. And it's actually fucking annoying. What's more, misery and joy can't be quantified by whether or not you shave. A lot of people actually prefer to groom themselves by shaving because it's easier to keep themselves clean and make them sweat less. Take it from me as the fucking missing link, I'm the embodiment of wishing I could afford laser hair removal. And if I hate my own body hair as much as I do, color me shocked that as many women willingly shave for just themselves as do.

Posts like this are actually quite demeaning. And very condescending. Now to punt this over to my gay ally -> @theconstitutionisgayculture

EXACTLY!

[mediumgayitalian]

"Try some."

Nico wrinkles his nose. "It looks like plastic."

"And you look like someone who's getting on my last nerve." Will shakes the offending -- thing. At him. Nico leans back, refusing to let it touch him. "Oh -- it is not contagious, you goober!"

"It's gross!"

"You've never even tried it!"

"I can tell!"

"You're a priss!"

"You are a human trash can who ate a strawberry that fell on the floor last week!"

"Hey Nico. Quickly. Where do strawberries grow from."

"It is a different thing!"

"In your grand delusions, maybe."

Nico kicks Will in the shoulder, sending him sprawling. He is unfortunately a weird noodle and absorbs the impact easily, shifting so he's lying backwards on the bed, head upside-down over the edge, feet tapping on the wall. Nico pinches him in disgust, only Will catches his hand so it doesn't work. Nico huffs louder.

"For someone with as much of a sweet tooth as you, it is crazy that you have a candy superiority complex."

"Not everyone is addicted to Twizzlers."

"...I'm not addicted. I could stop any time."

Nico looks pointedly at the two empty -- family sized, he would like to add -- wrappers, and the third pack currently being worked through. If it was possible he'd make himself sick off it. Instead he lives in hubris. And shamelessness; he meets Nico's eyes and sends him an exaggerated wink.

(Which.)

(Because he cannot wink.)

(Is just this. Really endearing. Hard blink.)

(Gods, he is so stupid.)

(Nico hates him.)

"You're such a humiliating dweeb that being around you makes me less cool by proxy. Not addicted, he says."

Will shoves another seven -- seven. -- Twizzlers in his mouth. He does not bother to chew before speaking.

"I'm not!"

"You are in actual debt! To the entire Hermes cabin! For the rest of your life!" Nico takes a Twizzler, for the sole purpose of using it to emphasize his point, and also smack Will in the leg with it. "Do you know how hard that is? I have tried to gamble away your debt four times! I have not put a chunk into it!"

"Well, maybe you suck at gambling."

Nico's eye twitches. Will does not even pretend to keep his snickering to himself.

"I was stuck in a casino for seventy fucking years --"

"Damn, and you still can't play poker. Embarrassing."

"I CAN FUCKING --" Nico stops. He takes a deep breath. He stands, putting his book to the side, and does several deep breathing exercises. Will laughs until he cries, because he is a word Hazel made him swear not to say even in his own head.

"Your face," Will wheezes. There is a thump as he falls off the bed and crumples to the floor.

"Kill yourself," Nico says calmly. A muscle in his jaw jumps and he starts his exercises anew. "Better yet, let me."

Will blows a kiss at him. Nico mimes catching it and throwing it on the floor and stomping on it, which makes him genuinely gasp in offense, which is gratifying. Except there is enough hurt in the action that Nico panics a little and hurries to grab the kiss off the floor and brush off the dust and stuff it in his pocket. And then he realizes what he's doing, and that Will is full of shit and is going red with the effort of trying to hold back his giggling, and he goes so violently red himself his vision swims a little.

"That was very cute," Will manages, snickering.

"I am going to blow up this camp and everyone in it," Nico seethes, hotter technically than a red dwarf star.

Will swallows back his giggles. It doesn't work, exactly, and what happens instead is he tries very hard to keep his face pleasant and neutral, except every few seconds his shoulders shake and his chapped lips twitch and his blue eyes sparkle like playful frost. And he stands, and steps towards Nico, and Nico is frozen, and his heart hammers, and his palms, suddenly, get very very sweaty.

"I mean it," Will says, and the worst thing is that he really does sound sincere, even as he smiles teasingly. "It was very cute." He steps closer. What is left of Nico's rational brain leaks out of his ears and fizzles through the floorboards like acid. "You're very cute."

He has no shame. None. Surely it's his damned father's fault; Will gets like this, sometimes, determined and bold and affectionate like all the flailing gangliness that afflicts him every other day of his life disappears, cowed in the grandness of his affectionate determination. He steps closer, enough, and now he is close enough that Nico can hear him humming, can hear the rocking of his heels. Can smell the artificial strawberry on his breath, can almost taste the sweetness in the air between them.

His lips part.

He swallows, dry.

His palms are clammy, and he curls them into weak fists.

"Very cute," Will repeats, leaning closer. "I like how much you care about people even though you are embarrassed about it. Makes me think of a groundhog."

"You are such a weirdo," Nico says weakly, but there is no wit to it, because he cannot taste anything but the wanting behind his teeth, and cannot see anything but the huge pools of Will's sparkling eyes, and the quirk of his red-stained lips. "Genuinely, it's --"

"Hey."

Will ducks down. He's breathing, suddenly, milimeters from Nico's mouth, and Nico stops breathing at all.

"If I gave you some now, would you try it?"

"Yes," Nico says, small and strangled, because that would be the answer for anything Will asked him right now. "Yes, fine, you can --"

But Will does not produce a licorice rope from his pocket. He does not reach over and dart across the cabin to where the open bag lay, abandoned, on his bed, he does not tease out any of the strands curled around his fist. Instead, he -- drops them. And then he reaches his wide, open palms forward, and he --

Nico squeaks.

Will doesn't move, for a moment, lips still pressed to his, eyes open, head tilted, observing.

Nico's eyes flutter closed.

He feels Will's smile, against his lips. Feels the smugness in his warm hands, curled around his jaw, feels the sweet satisfaction sticking to his teeth.

They don't taste so bad after all, Twizzlers.

"Told you," Will murmurs. "See, they're good, they're --"

Nico backs him against the wall, and kisses him until they candy taste is gone from his tongue.

[pinkolve]

Sharing Is Caring

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Summary: You’re Aaron Hotchner’s daughter who works in human resources, after a few weeks at your new job you finally go to visit your father. He offers to introduce you to his team, and you quickly take a liking to a certain skinny nerd.

Genre: Fluff!

CW: fem!reader, early seasons!spencer reid, second person point of view, one use of y/n, probably ooc aaron hotchner, pretty sure that’s it!

Word Count: 1.0k

A/N: Very short one-shot that I kind of hate!! I was bored and needed something to write so…This was the result of that. 

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

You walk into the bullpen, heels smushing over the carpet. You’re used to your heels being extremely loud, the freshly mopped floors making them clack. You make your way past several desks, people focused on piles upon piles of paperwork. You spot a desk further back, home to the cutest brunette you’ve ever seen. He’s the only one who glances up, making direct eye contact with you. You give him a small smile and a wink. He quickly looks back down at his papers with pink dusting his cheeks. 

You knock on Aaron’s office door. You stand there for a moment before his voice calls out, “Come in!” You push the door open and walk in, shutting it quietly behind you. 

“Hey.” You greet, hoping to get him to finally look up from his desktop. He does, eyes lighting up when he sees you. 

“Hey! What are you doing up here?” He asks, immediately standing from his chair to walk around and hug you. 

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, plus I don’t have much to do downstairs.” You smile up at him and he shakes his head. 

“I’m sure you have plenty to do, you just don’t want to do it.” He chuckles a little when you nod. 

“Very true!” He pulls away, leaning against the front of his desk. 

“Well, if you really don’t want to do your job, I’m sure the team would love to meet you.” You look at him with wide eyes. 

“No! No, I wouldn’t want to bother them! Besides, I really should do some work.” You insist. But Aaron knows you, and he knows you’re just making excuses. 

“You aren’t going to bother them. They’ve been doing paperwork for nearly five hours straight, I’m sure they’d love a break.” He stands back to his full height and gently grabs your shoulder. “Come on.” He says, pulling the door open and nudging you outside. He follows right behind you, shutting the door and leading you down the small steps. Once he reaches the group of desks closest to his office he clears his throat. The entirety of his team looks up at the sound, all attention on him. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She works for human resources, just started a few weeks ago.” Aaron says proudly, smile wide. His team looks at him in terror, none of them have ever seen him smile this big. 

“Nice to meet you! How are you liking the job?” Emily asks you first. You look over at her before answering. 

“It’s nice! I haven’t had much to contribute yet, but I’m hoping that’ll change soon enough.” You answer, a hopeful smile taking up your features. 

“Oh, it definitely will! My first few weeks here, I was practically useless.” Emily assured you. You simply nod at her, having no proper verbal response. You start to feel that social anxiety bubble up inside you, making you feel insecure. You’re about to zone out when you see the brunette boy open his mouth. You can see words tumble out but your ears are ringing. You feel a nudge at your side and you quickly look up, ears clearing. 

“What?” You ask timidly. 

“Reid was asking how old you are.” Aaron says, resting a hand on your lower back. He can see the nervousness all over your face. 

“Twenty-one.” You respond simply, staring back at him. He nods with the hint of a smile, his pink cheeks returning. You stare at him with sparkling eyes, your own smile widening and all anxiety seemingly disappearing from your body. He glances away from you for a second, only to look back not long after. You stare at each other for a while. Spencer should feel uncomfortable, just staring back at someone like this, but for some strange reason you make him feel so calm. 

“Okay, well you should probably get back to work.” Aaron says, cutting off your trance. You look back up at him, shaking your head frantically. 

“Right! Right, sorry! I’ll see you later!” You say quickly, before running out of the bullpen. 

“So, who is that?” Morgan asks, eyebrows raised. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks back. 

“Who is she to you? Cousin, niece…girlfriend?” Morgan trails off, hoping to god the last option is out of the question. Spencer looks up at the mention of ‘girlfriend’ , his heart racing. Why was his heart racing? 

“She’s my daughter.” Aaron answers simply, making Spencer’s heart slow down. Morgan stares at him in utter disbelief, the rest of the team shouting at him from different directions. He only laughs before making his way back up to his office, ignoring their begging for answers. 

***

You make your way out of the building, staring down at your phone. The screen mere inches from your face as you try to get an uber. You push open the front door and run into someone the second you exit. You stumble backwards, looking up quickly. 

“I’m so sorry!” It’s him, Spencer Reid. You stare at him with a slack jaw, all words failing you at this moment. 

“No, that’s alright! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He says, voice cracking slightly. 

“Neither was I.” You reply honestly. “I was trying to get an uber but it’s not working at all.” You look back down at your phone, pouting with furrowed brows. “I really am sorry for running into you like that, I haven’t been thinking properly at all today.” You chuckle a little, rubbing your forehead. Ever since you saw him in the bullpen, it’s like your brain completely shut down. 

“I haven’t either, honestly.” Spencer practically whispers. “My lyft should be here soon…If you want to share?” He proposes. 

“That would be perfect! Thank you so much!” You yell happily. You look at him, smile so wide it pushes up your cheeks. Spencer can’t help but think it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

[babydollseraph]

oh man i love this trope. and this pretty much sums up the male lead in one of my romance novel wips:

he is the last remaining dragon, a mythical race that is pretty much immortal

they can die of old age, but their bodies regenerate so fast that pretty much nothing can kill them

so what the hell happened to the other dragons, i hear you ask

that's where the holy kingdom (name pending lmao) comes in

they're essentially vatican aesthetic meets crusades on steroids

aka they go around dressed in white and gold (cool)

while massacring half the continent in the name of their goddess (not cool)

and the dragon kingdom, which was very much a threat because these motherfuckers are practically immortal and just refuse to abandon their "heathenous deities" and convert to the "one true religion"? they had to go.

so the holy kingdom used black magic to set a fire that ravaged the entire dragon kingdom for weeks (how do you kill something unkillable?)

bastards really went "if i can't have you no one can" smh

but they did take one specimen to use as a weapon in their wars

a baby boy, taken from his home and then raised to be a tool for a kingdom that hates him and sees him as a monster

tortured since a young age to "test the limits" of his healing abilities

beaten to "keep him in check"

treated like filth, like a monster, not even something to be feared, but something to be despised

and brainwashed into thinking he deserves it

at the age when he should have been playing on the green fields he was sent to the battlefield

and the thing about this kind of immortality is?

it hurts. it hurts bad.

every. single. wound.

and yet he still sacrificed himself, day after day. using his body as a meat shield. jumping in front of a soldier about to be struck, taking the sword to his own gut instead.

for people who looked at him like he was less than dirt. for people whose lives he'd save only for them to kick him around after the battle like a ragdoll

and at first, it hurt. physically, but also... his heart.

it hurt to see the disgust in their eyes when they looked at him. to be talked to by his "comrades" with such disdain. to fight day and night and sacrifice himself and save lives and yet it was never enough.

but after years of that... he became dulled to it. desensitized. to the pain. to the stares. to the harsh words.

and then she came into his life. but that's a story for another day lol this post is already waaay too long

Notes on Torturing The Character In The Science Facility

my takes on this trope rarely if ever have anything to do with the character being "special" or being studied for powers they innately have, if they are special its something that was done to them

it's about the medical trauma

it's about the violation and lack of bodily autonomy

the "living weapon" trope, but the key characteristic is catastrophic functionality

i love, love, love the concept of "catastrophic functionality" in a person: character that can tank ludicrous amounts of damage and just Keep Going in virtually all circumstances barring outright dismemberment. They can keep going, so do they "deserve" rest and/or pain relief?

after a lifetime of having their distress treated as whiny and unreasonable, they have what would be a dangerously high tolerance to pain and exhaustion.

another key function of the Science Facility is to fix the damage Character takes, maybe using enhanced healing technologies or 3D printed organs or something. this leads to Character's body being treated as relatively disposable cause "we can just fix them"

extreme version of this: Character can't die even if they wanted to

people who work with Character are informed that they're dangerous and arbitrarily violent, and their fear of Character makes it easier to justify restricting autonomy

It is TRUE, cause Character does not have tools to set boundaries or protect their body other than violence. vicious cycle of being perceived as dangerous and therefore denied autonomy, and being forced to use violence to defend autonomy

the restraints used to hold Character look like major overkill, which underscores how dangerous they are. LOVE this trope

character being desexualized to the point that their non-consent to touch, to being stripped down and examined, or to procedures is trivialized. There is no non-clinical context for their body, and the "clinical" framework eclipses any possibility for bodily violation to be understood as violent.

types of uncanniness: Character looks human but has some subtle inhuman traits or characteristics. (I'm obsessed with reflective eye shine, personally.) OR Character looks like they've been taken apart and put back together, like flesh pulled over a much more unforgiving and indestructible metal scaffold. OR Character gives off "undead" vibes; they're just not quite alive in a way that sets off air raid sirens in people's brains

Often, Character is dead and Came Back Wrong (varying levels of literalness)

anyways yeah. i never stopped writing this trope and probably never will. it's a good one

[fruitiesss]

bob reynolds !! sfw alphabet

let me know if ur interested in an nsfw alphabet! enjoy <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

bob comes across as very shy and closed off with newer people, but with his friends he's very touchy and sweet. he wants the people he cares about to understand how much he cares about them with hugs and gifts and acts of service. he needs the reassurance so he assumes everybody else does.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

kind of like how the thunderbolts took one look at this sad wet cat and decided 'that's mine now', he kind of has that affect on everybody. he trusts you a lot.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

he would cuddle with an s/o or a best friend. bob loves the contact, it grounds him and makes him feel human so best believe he's all about cuddles when he's comfortable enough with you. He likes to spoon the most, he doesn't mind being the big spoon but he prefers little.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

as i've said before, bob can't cook great. he makes decent sandwiches thanks to his horrible upbringing but he's used to survival foods since he spent most of his time high or backpacking and homeless. he's hesitant to have kids though he does want one or two if you're interested.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

he would hate himself for it, but it would take a LOT for him to even consider it. like a lot. he wouldn't end it over text, he'd want to treat you first with dinner and maybe let you down easily, staying friends if it wasn't an absolutely horrible thing.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

you're gonna have to propose. he's a nervous wreck, scared of committing in case he messes it up. he has a lot of past trauma and baggage that he doesn't want to put on anyone, despite you telling him it's okay. once you're over the first part of your relationship and he's comfortable with casual affection, he'd 100% want to get married.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he's very gentle. like you're fine china gentle. after he voided out and learned what he was capable of, he was scared of himself for so long and would hate himself if he was even a little rough with you. emotionally, too, he's very hesitant to share his feelings and emotions, he's very much a push over and easily manipulated.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

when the thunderbolts defeat the void with the power of friendship. send post. yes, he likes hugs. yes, he initiates them often and he is very soft and warm, he runs hot.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

he says it platonically, so he's fast to say it with his partner. his friends are very close to him and he truly does love them all.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

bob doesn't get jealous, he just gets really sad. he needs the reassurance. if you're touchy with a stranger, he's stuck in his head and thinking that he's not doing good enough for you, or he doesn't satisfy you enough.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves forehead kisses but regular chaste kisses on the lips are great too, makes him flustered when you pepper them all over his face. he wasn't so experienced when he kissed you at first since he's never had time for anything romantically charged, but he gets it quickly!

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

he likes children, he's good with them, but they make him uncomfortable when he's babysitting or have to be around them a lot. he hates children in restaurants.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

mornings are slow. he gets out of bed late, slips out quietly and reads a book with a mug of tea. very calm, very nice.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

nights are also slow, very relaxed and sweet. he likes to cuddle in bed and is very touchy when he's tired, his hands glued to your hips or waist. the physical contact helps him feel like everything is real.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

he does it very slowly and needs to be prompted. he works through things with his therapist, helping him with his memory issues. those would be a big hurdle in getting to know much about him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

he gets angry and sad at the same time. like the shaking with tears. if he's being annoyed nonstop he will cry, but if something's happening to his friends and he can't do anything about it. boom. void.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he tries his best, bless him, he's not the best with remembering things. he knows your full name, birthday, but that's pretty much it. unless there's something big about you that's similar to him, he's already forgetting it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

he loves the little things but his absolute favourite moment is when he was trying to bake cupcakes for you because you told him you liked them, and absolutely making a mess of the kitchen. you caught him in the act and helped him clean up the mess. the look on your face when he told you he's done this for you is burned into his retinas. he loves your smile.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

bob's protective in his own way. he's always got his eyes on you whenever he's concerned or worried, and if you're out of sight he'll text every 30 minutes or so to check up on you. he's not too bothered with being protected, he knows he's safe and he wouldn't purposefully put himself in danger again.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he sets reminders on his calendar for things like these, and yes he absolutely goes all out. he likes to be romantic. he wants to give you everything he's got. it's really sweet. everyday tasks are really all he has, so yes he goes above and beyond for these too.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he picks and bites his nails. it's a habit he's had since he was small and he has no interest in trying to stop, so his nails are always short. he also still gets withdrawals from meth so he scratches at his arms or tugs on his hair when he's feeling them and hides it from you because he's ashamed.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he's not too concerned. he's looked much much worse than he ever will again so he's just happy to be healthy again.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

yes. once you're in a relationship with him you are a part of him. his arms feel empty when you're not there and his heart aches when he's not with you. he's clingy and it's sweet.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

he's very specific with his hair. he likes it cut a certain way and he doesn't like getting it dyed (he only did it because valentina really wanted him to).

he loves fidget toys.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

drugs, alcohol, anything with an addictive nature. it scares him. otherwise he can adapt, he's happy to take what he can get, and he loves you too much for something to get in the way of it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

he doesn't sleep much. a lot of the time he lays awake and still, it's quite creepy when you wake up and he's just staring at you wide-eyed. he sleeps more when the sun's out than when it's dark because he doesn't feel safe when it's dark.

[sincerelyneo]

life is a highway | n.jm

“i wanna ride it all night long”

💿now playing: life is a highway by rascal flatts

❯ summary: Being a nervous learner driver is hard enough, but throwing in your older brother’s hot, smug, patronising best friend to be your instructor? Yeah...definitely not making things easier.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: enemies to...fuck buddies? smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, arguing, hate sex, public sex, car sex, swearing, heavy petting, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, dirty talk, very tame degradation kink, literally them just arguing with each other for the entire 3k words.

an: this is very influenced by the british driving experience—hence the manual car propaganda.

Look, driving a manual is hard. There’s just too much stuff to remember all at once—gears, pedals, mirrors, observations. Honestly, you don’t understand why anyone who values their sanity would choose to drive a manual car. If it were up to you, you’d be driving around in an automatic. But it’s not up to you. Because your brother, Mark, is paying for your driving lessons.

And Mark, being the car-obsessed gearhead he is, insists that everyone should learn manual—“So you can drive any car, no limitations,” he preaches. Even when you dragged yourself through the front door on the Friday night of your third failed driving test, you thought maybe, just maybe, your stubborn older brother would show a little grace. Let you switch, take the easy route.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He sent Jaemin.

Na Jaemin.

Mark’s old college roommate—who, according to your brother, is the best teacher in the world, a saint suited with endless patience and encouragement. But if those qualities exist, they’ve never made an appearance around you. Because, from the very first lesson (four torturous sessions ago), Jaemin’s been nothing but a snarky, patronising ass. 

You hate him. And he hates you—clearly.

Sure, you may have driven on the wrong side of the road once. And stalled on a hill. And very nearly veered the two of you into oncoming traffic. But those were all accidents—you’re a learner. It’s not your fault.

Honestly, it’s Mark’s fault. 

Because you’re already a nervous driver, and throwing in a hot, built guy who slouches into the passenger seat like he owns the car doesn’t exactly help. Not with his long legs spread wide, and that muscled arm draped casually along the window, long fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against the doorframe.

It’s a distraction. He’s a distraction. A hot, smirking, condescending distraction with perfect teeth and zero empathy.

“The light is on green,” Jaemin says flatly.

You blink. “W-what?”

He doesn't even turn to look at you. Just gestures lazily toward the windscreen. “If you stopped checking me out, you’d see the traffic light has changed. That means go.”

Your jaw drops, and you finally peel your eyes off him, squinting at the green hue now glaring in your face. “I know, asshole.”

“Then go.”

You want to scream, but you don't. Instead, you slam the clutch, jam the car into first gear with more force than necessary, and the car jerks forward. You thank God, because you just narrowly avoidied stalling again, but Jaemin is never grateful. 

“You’re snapping the clutch up too fast,” he comments. “You have to find the bite, then add gas. Keep revving the engine like that and you’re gonna wreck the clutch.”

“I was not revving the engine,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. But of course, that doesn’t stop him.

“You were. Because you’re scared of stalling. But if you actually planned ahead and stopped rushing—”

“I won’t stall, yeah, yeah, I know.” You cut him off, gripping the wheel tighter. 

“Then apply it.”

You’re about to lose it. You hate the way he talks to you like you’re ten years younger than him—like you’re some clueless kid. It makes you want to punch him in that smug mouth of his. But that’d only prove his point that you’re immature and feed his ego. 

So, you grit your teeth, suck in a breath, and try to ignore the way your heart’s thudding against your ribcage and your palms go slick on the wheel. You’re trying. God, you’re trying. But he makes it impossible to concentrate.

“You can’t drive around in first gear, this is a thirty zone.”

“I know—”

“No, you clearly don’t—fuck—pull the car over!”

His voice slices through the air and your stomach flips violently. You yank the wheel toward the kerb, the tires bouncing as the car lurches to a halt. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jaemin’s lip twitch (about to make some smartass comment about you mounting the pavement) but the fury in your expression makes him think twice.

The second the engine cuts, you explode.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, unbuckling your seatbelt and twisting in your seat to face him. “If you hate this so much, then don’t show up! Mark’s not forcing you to sit in this car with me, Jaemin. I could find someone else to help me.”

“Oh, totally. I’d love to make room for driving instructor number eleven,” he bites.

"Then do it," you sneer, slumping back into the driver’s seat with a shrug, arms folded tight across your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "Seriously, Y/N, I’m trying to help you," he says. "But you don’t listen. You never listen—"

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must��ve missed the part where you actually helped. All I’ve heard for the past four weeks is how shit I am at this.”

“Because you’re not even trying! You act like my help is beneath you. You refuse to take any criticism.”

“Beneath me?” You laugh, bitter and breathless. “I’ve failed my test three times, you absolute dick! I clearly am trying! I’m trying so fucking hard. And all you do is sit there and mock me, which just makes it worse.”

“You need tough love! This isn’t a joke—driving is serious. People's lives are on the line. Your life is on the line.”

That makes you swallow.

“If you’re talking about that time I almost hit that cyclist, that wasn’t my fault—he came out of nowhere!”

Jaemin scoffs, shakes his head and tongues the side of his cheek. “You know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me.”

“You’re so terrified of failing again, so you never give yourself a real chance to get it right. You can’t let go of your pride, so every little mistake makes you panic, and you do something stupid. And then you blame everyone else for it.”

Your jaw drops. Then a furious exhale leaves your lungs. “You are—unbelievable. You’re such a—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Jaemin growls, cutting you off. “Again. You’re not listening.”

“I don’t care. Fuck you—”

But before you can finish the very creative insult forming in your throat, his hand shoots out—fisting the front of your hoodie, yanking you toward him. And then his mouth crashes into yours. Brutal and angry and heated.

You freeze. For one heartbeat. Then another.

Your whole body goes still—except your lips, which betray you, parting instinctively for him. You sink into it before you can think better of it, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like it might steady the way your heart is rattling against your ribs. It doesn’t. 

Because he tastes like cinnamon and black coffee. So fucking predictable. So him. And, of course, unfairly good. Which just pisses you off more. He tastes good, and you like it. 

The kiss is harsh. Messy. Teeth knock, lips drag, because even now, the two of you are fighting for control. There’s no rhythm. No grace. Just lust and resentment colliding together in the ugliest way possible.

His hand grips your hoodie tighter, like he doesn’t trust you not to pull away. Honestly, he half expected you to slap him for kissing you. He didn’t expect you to gasp, to open your mouth and let him in. Let his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and so damn hungry.

You feel the press of his thumb against your sternum, the subtle tremble in his wrist, and it hits you—weeks of tension finally snapping loose.

It’s not romantic. It’s not soft. It’s—what the hell are you thinking?

You pull away first, shaking his grip off your hoodie. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaemin blinks, looking just as stunned as you feel—pupils blown wide, chest heaving. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I don’t know... you just—fuck, you drive me insane," he mutters. "I just wanted to shut you up."

“Oh, so your first thought was to kiss me?” you snap, swiping your sleeve across your mouth like you can erase the feel of him. A small part of you is glad it doesn’t. “That’s how you deal with people who annoy you? Because if so, you need a HR department!”

“No,” he grits out, jaw clenched. “You’re not just people. You’re—you’re impossible to be around.”

"Maybe you’re the one with the issue!” you hiss. “Plenty of people enjoy my company. You just don’t know how to be around me without being a smug, condescending prick!"

His expression twists "I’m trying to fucking help you," he says. "But, clearly, you don’t want help. You just want to fight, don’t you? You want to pick a fight because that’s all you know how to do."

“Because you infuriate me!” you shout. “You barge in here, all patronising and hot, acting like you know everything, acting like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me—”

You don’t get to finish.

He lunges across the console before either of you can think better of it, grabbing your face and kissing you hard. Again. 

His seatbelt strains as he twists toward you. You meet him with equal force, kissing him back like you can knock some sense into him with your mouth.

He groans into it, deep and guttural, and then he’s hauling you closer, shoving his seatbelt over his head and dragging you half onto his lap. The centre console digs into your hip, but you don’t care. Your knees press against the door, your hand grips the headrest behind him. Every inch of the car feels too small for the way he’s kissing you. Too hot.

His hands are everywhere. One tangled in your hair, the other pressing flat against the small of your back like he’s trying to fuse you to him.

You gasp when his mouth trails briefly to your jaw, your throat. “You’re such a jerk,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Shut up,” he mutters, before his lips crash into yours again.

And you do. You shut up (for once) letting him kiss you breathless while his fingers slip beneath the hem of your hoodie, calloused pads dragging over overheated skin. You shiver, nerves buzzing from the way your body is betraying you in all the worst ways. With the worst person,

“You're a nightmare,” he growls against your mouth. 

“So stop kissing me,” you bite back, fingers fisting his t-shirt.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Your back hits the glovebox as he shifts, pulling you fully into his lap. Your knees knock against the dash, thighs bracketing his hips, breath catching as you straddle him in the cramped passenger seat. Your head tips back, knuckles going white where they clutch his shoulders. 

“This is so stupid,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, lips brushing your throat. “Say that again when you’re not grinding on me.”

You shove at his chest—but not hard enough to hurt. “Fuck you.”

His hands slide lower. Gripping. Pressing. Desperate. “Oh you’re going to.”

He rolls your hips against him, firm and rough, and you feel him—all of him. Hardening beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. The pressure sends a jolt through you, because if you’re really ‘going to’ fuck him, the size of him already has you intimidated.

You whimper despite yourself. It’s pathetic. Weak. And it turns him on so damn much. 

His head falls back with a dull thud, eyes squeezing shut like he’s in pain. “Fuck—why can’t you make those sounds with me all the time,” he groans, voice hoarse, “instead of running that pretty little mouth?”

You don’t answer. Not with words. Just keep grinding down, breath catching with each pass over his straining cock. You’re soaked. Your jeans are too tight. Everything is too hot. Too much.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He huffs a laugh, then brushes your hair over one shoulder, exposing your neck. His lips find your ear. Teeth grazing. “We’ve already established you’re going to,” he smirks. “But first—”

His hand slides between your bodies. 

“—you’re going to get yourself off on my thigh like the filthy girl I know you are.”

You’re about to repeat those two words again, but he captures them with a kiss—swallowing them down with a simple swipe of his tongue before he looks down to where you’re rutting against him.

You’re not sure when your jeans became the enemy, but they are now—tight, rough, in the way. Every twist of your hips adds to the unbearable friction, your breath catching in your throat with every grind. You’re not supposed to be doing this. Not here. Not with him.

But Jaemin’s thigh is solid beneath you, and his hands—God, his hands—know exactly where to go, how to hold you steady and drive you crazy in the same breath.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he grits, fingers digging into your waist. “Can’t follow a single instruction when you’re behind the wheel, but now? Suddenly you’re fucking little miss obedient.”

You want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. Probably both.

“You think you’re funny?” you hiss, but your voice cracks as his thigh flexes, and your hips jolt in response. “You think you’re winning right now?”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek—just shy of a kiss. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, condescension dripping from every syllable, “I know I am.”

“You’re soaking,” he adds, palm skating down your front before slipping inside your jeans, into your panties.

“You are the most arrogant, insufferable, smug bastard I’ve ever met,” you pant against his mouth. “And I hate you.”

“Good,” he breathes, before surging forward again.

His mouth trails downward—jaw, neck, collarbone. Tongue licking over one of the few marks he just made. Your hips jerk when he bites, just a little too hard—and he groans  like he felt it in his own skin.

“Can’t believe you’re this wet for me and still have the nerve to talk back.”

“I can multitask,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist as he reaches for your jeans. He pauses, looking up so his eyes meet yours—and for a moment, the lust between you stutters.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, low and serious.

You hate how long you hesitate. Hate how breathless you sound when you whisper, “No.”

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

Then your jeans are open, and his fingers slide into your underwear—hot, teasing, and maddeningly slow. You cry out, head dropping to his shoulder, clutching at the back of his neck as two of his fingers start to circle your clit. 

“God, you’re shaking,” he groans, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna cum like this? From barely anything? What happened to all that attitude?”

“Shut up,” you whimper, grinding shamelessly into his hand. “Just shut the hell up—”

“Not a chance.”

His fingers dip lower, circling the wet entrance of your pussy before he presses in deeper, and your whole body tenses, that coil in your belly winding tighter with every thrust.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Come on, sweetheart. Prove me right. I love it when you do.”

You hate him. You really do. But your body doesn’t care. It burns and trembles and demands more. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he curls his fingers just right—and then you’re falling apart, hips jerking, a strangled cry ripped from your throat before you can stop it.

Jaemin doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in his lap, wrecked and slick with sweat. When you finally lift your head to look up at him, he’s watching you intensely. Quiet for once. Hell, if you knew letting him finger you would shut him up, you’d have let him a long time ago.

Then, slowly, patronisingly slowly, he pulls his hand from your jeans, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

You slap his shoulder. Hard. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins around his fingers. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, still breathless. You glance down. His hands are still on your hips. “Let go of me.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

He leans in, lazily sucking another finger. “I already did.”

Your hand moves before you think—gripping his chin, nails digging into his jaw. Not a slap. Not a kiss. Just heat. Just challenge.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” you whisper. “Keep pushing, and I might actually lose control and kill you!”

That look flashes in his eyes again—that dangerous glint that says he likes it when you fight. But instead of rising to the bait, he just smirks.

“I am pushing,” he says. “But you’re the one currently dripping down my thigh. So tell me, sweetheart…” His fingers slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Who’s really in control?”

You don’t answer. Just stare. Flushed. Still trembling, still aching. Then, leisurely, you lean in—close enough that his breath stalls.

“I am,” you bite, nipping his bottom lip as you yank his hoodie up over his shoulders. “And I’m going to prove it.”

He grins—wild and eager. “Then fucking show me.”

Your fingers tighten in his hoodie, dragging it off with enough force to make his smirk falter, only slightly. His eyes are black now—blown wide with want, with need—and for the second time ever in his life, Jaemin is silent.

He just watches.

And you take.

Your mouth slams into his, teeth biting at his lip before you drag your mouth down to his neck, sucking onto the skin to return your own mark. His hands fumble with your jeans again, this time yanking them down your thighs enough to slip your panties to the side. 

You help shove his sweatpants down past his ass—just far enough to free his cock. And then he’s wrapping a hand around himself, fisting his length with slow, deliberate strokes—taunting, as you watch with parted lips. 

He’s so big and thick and pretty, your brain starts pounding like it’s bitten off more than it can handle. You hesitate for a moment, but then you remember—this is about proving you still have control. You want this. You want to prove him wrong.

So, you slide back into his lap, straddling him fully, your bare skin meeting his with a gasp that rips through both of you. His hand slides between your thighs again, not to guide—just to tease. Just to feel how ready you are.

“Scared?” he mocks in a we whisper.

You glare, reaching down to line him up with your pussy. “Shut up.”

Then you sink down—slow, agonising—and you both break at the same time.

“Fuck—” he grits, head falling back, eyes rolling. “You feel—holy shit.”

You can barely breathe. He’s thick, hot, stretching you just past the edge of pain—grounding you in something that feels too good to be allowed. It’s not fair that a guy like him gets to be this good at fucking. But here he is. Fingers digging into your hips, guiding you into a rhythm that’s filthy, desperate, and anything but slow.

You ride him like it’s a fight. Like you want to ruin him. And he meets you stroke for stroke, jaw clenched, sweat collecting at his temple as your bodies slap together—fast, ruthless. No pretense. No sweetness.

Just want.

Just need.

Just hate.

“I hate how good you feel,” you choke out.

He bites down on your shoulder. “Say it again.”

You moan, louder this time, not caring about the volume or the fact that you’re fucking your instructor at the side of the road. Not caring that it’s Jaemin. 

“I hate you,” you breathe. “I hate you, I hate you so much—”

His hand snakes up to curl around your throat. It’s not tight but barely there. A light pressure, just enough, to make your head spin.

“Then cum on my cock,” he growls. “One more time. Hate me for it.”

And you do.

You shatter around him, body convulsing and twitching as your mouth falls open in a broken sob that catches against his lips. He follows a heartbeat later with a ruined, throaty moan, driving into you one last time as he spills inside you—deep, hot, messy.

And then it’s quiet.

You stay there, slumped against his chest  for a moment. His hand drifts up your spine, strangely gentle now, thumb brushing the back of your neck. But then, a moment later, it does hit you. 

You scramble off his lap, cheeks flushed, thighs sticky, panties already ruined as his cum starts to leak out of you. You refuse to meet his eyes.

“I still hate you,” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says, casual as ever, tugging up his sweatpants with a smirk. “I’m giving you another lesson tomorrow. Same time.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting in a car with you again.”

“You’ll show,” he says,” Because you want to pass your test, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing,” he chuckles, brushing a finger against your cheek. “Now that I know you can follow instructions, if you listen to me—I'll make you cum again. You seemed to really enjoy yourself.”

You hate him.

[illbegottenfaith]

the one where theo gets glasses

"What did you say you needed again?"

Theo was standing in his bathroom, staring at three equally incomprehensible bottles. From his bed, you called out something unintelligible. He pushed back his hair, damp from the shower, now sticking to his forehead in stubborn clumps.

"What?"

You looked up from the issue of Witch Weekly you had nicked from the common room and were now flicking through. You sighed, repeating yourself.

"Dreamless Sleep potion. The one with the blue label."

A brief silence. Then, his voice echoed from the bathroom, dry and irritable -

"They're all blue."

You huffed, swinging your legs off his bed.

"Just - hang on."

You entered the ensuite to see Theo squinting at the bottles under the bathroom light, holding them up close then far away from his face.

"You look like an old man at the apothecary," you teased. Theo didn't look half as amused.

"I am in an apothecary," he grumbled. "What are all these - so many - and why are their fonts all microscopic?"

You plucked the right potion out of his hand. "They're not microscopic. You just need glasses."

He frowned. "I keep telling you, I don't need -"

"Teddy, you're holding them like it's a tea leaf reading."

He put the remaining vials down. "It's - the lighting."

You didn't look impressed.

"Really? You're going to stand there and tell me you can't read under bright, fluorescent lighting?"

Theo took on a sulky look. "I had it narrowed down," he muttered.

"To what? The cabinet?"

He gave you a look.

"You know, it's very rude of you to be coming in here and insulting my perfectly acceptable vision."

You raised your eyebrows. "This coming from the man who washed his hair with muscle relaxant last week?"

Theo huffed. "I keep telling you, my eyes had soap - "

"Muscle relaxant."

"Oh my god."

"How did you not realise in the shower? You reeked of menthol." You padded out of the bathroom with your potion. "We'll get your eyes checked at Hogsmeade first thing tomorrow."

You pulled the covers up as Theo walked out of the bathroom, dressed for bed, with a faintly petulant look on his face.

"Fine," he mumbled, drawing you close as he joined you under the covers, smelling refreshingly clean of his unscented soap. You dimmed the light just enough for your magazine.

"You look hot," you tried encouragingly as Theo glared at you from behind his dark tortoiseshell lenses.

It was barely 10 am and Theo had already had his eyes examined and his glasses chosen. He didn't seem much appeased by your efforts in finding the frame that would best suit his features and colouring. You were starting to realise him rushing you through breakfast that morning had less to do with his eagerness to get his glasses and more to do with him wanting to finish before everyone else started arriving. Now, as the two of you waited for the bill to be drawn up, he scoffed.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious. I'll have to beat off all the fifth year Ravenclaws with a stick, trust me."

"Now you're just mocking me."

You grinned. "Only a little."

You meandered at the door while Theo paid. Outside, spring was in full bloom this time of year. The air was fragrant with the perfume of flowers in the chilly, stagnant morning air.

When Theo stepped out to join you, you stuck your hand in his as you walked back. For a moment, it seemed like he was refusing you before he finally relented and curled his fingers around yours. You watched his expression concernedly.

"Do you really hate them that much?" you asked softly. "Are they really that bad?"

He sighed. The slight weight on his nose felt foreign and the newfound sharpness made everything feel more vivid in a nauseating way. But at the same time, walking down the cobblestone path as the first morning rays filtered through the dissipating clouds felt like seeing spring for the first time all over again.

"I'm just not good with change," he settled for instead.

"But doesn't everything seem crisper? Brighter? Doesn't everything look different? Don't I look different?"

You batted your eyes exaggeratedly at him, earning the first genuine albeit faint smile from Theo in the past 12 hours.

The two of you paused in your tracks as Theo looked at your face. "I don't remember your eyelashes being so...distinct." He cupped your face, dragging his thumb across a faint smudge near the corner of your eye. "And since when have you had this birthmark?"

"Since forever." You stepped back and put your hands on your hips. "Don't tell me you don't even know what I look like."

Theo mock squinted.

"I think I liked you better blurry."

You made a sound of mock indignation.

"I inhale my eggs, come down all this way, go through the headache of picking out your frame for you, and this is how you repay me?"

You sniffed disapprovingly, crossing your arms.

"And to think I used to have a thing for guys with glasses."

Stunned, Theo could only watch as you continued down the path without him at a brisk pace. He thought back to the months you spent badgering him to go and get his eyes checked.

"You couldn't have led with that?"

[ailurinae]

... no. Element, and I cannot stress this enough, sucks ass. And it is generally considered one of the best Matrix clients.

And I was using it with paid hosting (high level, not "VPS and I installed it", so it wasn't an issue of me setting it up wrong), not free on matrix.org or whatever. It regularly got into a jammed state where I could seem some messages only on one device and others only on another. Mostly my phone and my main desktop computer. And that was with a pure DM with one other person. I'd hate to see what happens with E2E encryption on in multiparty room.

Also many features are not there or limited or hard to use. You have to do a whole song and dance to setup "stickers" (I never bothered). If you run a whole discord server with fancy features like roles and stuff, you will find matrix rooms very limited in comparison.

Still, one could accept the limited features perhaps depending on use case... but not being able to read your messages properly is kind of a big issue. Or I guess disable E2E encryption if that feels ok to you. Might work ok then? Not like Discord has it, so you aren't loosing anything... (but that is supposed to be a big selling point of Matrix, so kinda wild that it works that poorly)

Matrix is just a bad protocol, and its issues have made it hard to created good clients (and servers... don't get me started on servers for matrix).

I mean, give it a try if you want, and maybe you will have better luck than I did. But I am a professional computer nerd, and it was not worth the headache to me.

I unfortunately don't have a good alternative. For one-on-one and small, simple groups, Signal might work for you. But nothing like Discord servers, or even Matrix rooms really, much more bare bones and not for large groups. Signal also has "stories" for some god-awful reason, so I guess if you like those, uh, yay? (you can totally disable them though at least)

You could also try XMPP (formerly Jabber), but I haven't used it practically speaking in a long time, so I don't know just how good or bad it really is now. Lots of work has been done on paper, but IDK how it translates to real user experience. The group stuff there is closer to IRC than to Discord. And the Windows desktop client situation is god-awful unless you love 90s aesthetic in your programs. Linux, Mac, iOS and Android have at least fairly modern-feeling clients...

Remember when I told ya'll last month to be ready to start looking for a Discord alternative?

Yeah things aren't looking good for discord.

[minxipinxi]

✨ Oracle of Stars is Back — and It’s Still the Worst Event in the Game

Hey lovelies. Buckle up, because the infamous Oracle of Stars event is making a return, and I cannot stress this enough: THIS IS A TRAP. Whether you’re a veteran who remembers the pain from last year or a new player tempted by the pretty art and soft ASMR, read this before you spend a single diamond.

🧨 What is Oracle of Stars?

Oracle of Stars is a gacha wheel event that first dropped in Feb 2024. It was instantly hated by much of the player base due to:

Absurd costs

No pity system

Terrible drop rates

A frustrating and predatory design that punishes unlucky players It’s back and unfortunately, nothing has improved.

🎡 How the Wheel Works

No more free spins: In the original release month, we got 1 free spin every 48 hours. That’s gone now. Zero free attempts. You pay for every single spin.

Each spin costs 100 diamonds, or 1,000 for a 10-spin.

What you can get: - A random 4★ Memory (with very low odds) - An accessory (cosmetic, very niche appeal) - Oracle Dice (used for shop redemptions)

Mechanics: - If you land on a Memory you don’t own, you get the full card. - Land on it again? You get shards to rank it up. - If you land on an accessory, it disappears and turns into a dice space for future spins.

💎 Redemption System and Costs

Didn’t get lucky? You’ll need to redeem with Oracle Dice. Here’s how that works:

Each 4★ memory in the shop costs 880 Oracle Dice.

At worst, that’s 17,600 diamonds if you had to spin until you reach that amount.

Even if you count the milestone rewards (which give you a few free dice here and there), you’re still looking at around 15,000+ diamonds to get just ONE 4★ memory.

Let’s say that again: 15,000–17,600 diamonds for a single 4★ with no pity or guarantee.

Accessories can also be redeemed with dice, but they show up in milestones too (up to the 150th spin), so if you really want them... still not worth it, honestly.

⚠️ DROP RATES: They’re Worse Than You Think

This is the real kicker. The drop rates are appalling:

4★ Memory: 0.33%

Accessory: 1%

Oracle Dice ×100: 4%

Oracle Dice ×50: 12%

Oracle Dice ×20: 15%

Oracle Dice ×10: 50%

Oracle Dice ×5: 15%

That means:

You have a 1 in 300 chance to get a 4★ Memory per spin.

Most of your spins will give you only 5–10 Oracle Dice, which isn’t even 1% of what you need to redeem the memory.

Accessories (at 1%) are also stupidly rare, and once you get one, it’s gone from the wheel and replaced with dice, reducing your chances even more.

🧠 Why Older Players Hate This Banner

Take it from someone who was there during the first Oracle of Stars:

You feel punished for bad luck. There is no mercy mechanic. No pity. No safety net.

No free spins make this inaccessible to F2P players entirely.

You can’t select the character or memory you want. It’s all RNG-based.

It’s deceptive. Beautiful card art and nice voice lines lure players in, but once you start spinning, it’s a massive diamond sink for nearly nothing.

We were begging for pity or better odds last time. The devs didn’t change a thing.

🗣️ Community Sentiment: It’s BAD

Quotes from across the fandom:

“No pity, no guarantee, no free attempts, can’t select a character… all for a random 4★. It’s a scam.”

“Don’t do it girlies. Stay strong. Save your dias for real banners.”

“As someone who got burned by this last year: DO. NOT. PULL.”

“Just read the story on YouTube. Don’t support this predatory design.”

And honestly? They’re right.

💡 What Should You Do Instead?

SAVE your diamonds. There are far better uses coming:

Myth reruns

New Myth releases

Upcoming Wedding Multi

Zayne: Master of Fate banner (coming soon and confirmed)

These banners have pity, guaranteed pulls, and a selection of characters. Oracle of Stars has none of that.

But is it worth gambling that much for a random 4★? Absolutely not.

Friendly reminder: This event is a SCAM. Please do NOT waste your hard-earned diamonds.

Save yourself the pain. Read the story online on YouTube. Wait for banners that respect your time and effort.

We’ve been here before. Don’t let history repeat itself. Stay strong, Hunters. 💔

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

CODES OF CONDUCT - S. HARUKA

codes of conduct masterpost codes of conduct playlist

cw ; afab!reader, swearing, semi-canon au, all characters are aged up (sakura and reader are 19-20), sort of wind breaker spoilers(?), mentions of sex, alcohol, mentions of drugs, thank you @aquazero for the amazing black n white dividers🫶

@x3nafix @neeeooon @narcjsistx @ohagiyoo @levihanmyotp @yorubl1d3 here ya go babes🫶

chapter one ; parties

word count ; 2.2k

you really hated this.

april had only just started recently, and yet your school year had already begun. something that sounded like a mix of a sigh and a groan drawled out of your throat and lips, your chin in the palm of your hand as your elbow rested on the counter of cafe pothos.

the sound of eggs and oil sizzling in a pan absolutely failed to console you, but the moment the smell of omelette rice entered through your nose, your eyes lit up. “thanks, kotoha!” you exclaimed, picking up the spoon set next to the plate of freshly made omelette rice. kotoha smiled, gazing at you as you shoved the omelette rice down your throat.

“yeah, no problem. you looked ready to faint during lecture today.” kotoha hummed. “did you skip breakfast again?” your face reddened, an embarrassed smile making way to your lips.

“well, no way was i going to be late again, right?” you remarked. kotoha's lips pressed into a thin line, raising an eyebrow at you as you continued to scarf down the plate of omelette rice in front of you.

“mhm. whatever you say.”

the moment you finished your food, kotoha took the plate away and washed the ceramic until it gleamed a pristine white. your eyes lingered on her as she did so; you really admired kotoha. she was amazing, majoring in both education and psychology while still having enough free time to work at the cafe and go to parties and social events.

unlike you, she's been in makochi since childhood. you only came to makochi last year to attend university here. you could have gone to tokyo university, especially since you were accepted there, but you rapidly realized that there was no way in hell you'd be able to live in an entirely different and heavily populated city with expensive tourist scams left and right. well, maybe you could go there for medical school. you majored in psychology anyways.

“i know this is really sudden, but there's going to be a party later at shiroko's house. you know, the one who's majoring in business and is so rich that he wipes his tears with lots and lots of cash.” kotoha began. “i know that you don't really like parties and socializing too much, but y'know, it's your sophomore year now, and i don't want you to be as lonely as you were last year, especially since we're not roommates anymore.”

for a moment, you stopped eating, meeting kotoha's hazel eyes. as embarrassing as it was, she was right. you didn't have any friends other than her, and you were too nervous to socialize. but not that you've moved out of the university dorms--the very reason you met kotoha in the first place--, you would really be seeing kotoha way less.

and you didn't know if anyone else would ever be kind enough to invite you.

you bit into the inside of your cheek before managing a shaky smile. “yeah, uh, sure. send me the address and i'll try to go. i don't think i have a shift at the library today.” that wasn't a lie. your part time job at the library indeed didn't happen to take place today. kotoha grinned, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears.

“great! it starts at nine. i'll see you there, okay?”

you nodded, finishing your plate of food and sliding it to kotoha. you left the cafe, walking back to your apartment while scanning the streets to see if there were any new stores or restaurants. your eyes lingered at the front of the town, where a large sign stood. it changed every week, advertising different stores from around town. but the locals--including kotoha--always looked at it with what seemed to be grief.

but whenever you asked, they always replied with something similar to or the exact response of “you'll understand when you get to know about bofurin.”

you've never heard much about bofurin, but when you did hear something about it, it was never good. usually the words “violent” or “ruthless” would be muttered under someone's breath whenever they spoke of bofurin. at least, the people who weren't the locals who spoke of it. the locals always seemed so uncomfortable when bofurin or furin are brought up. but you knew that furin was one of the old high schools in makochi that was torn down and rebuilt a few years ago in favor of a new hospital.

stepping into your apartment, you nearly fell face first into your futon, a long groan exiting your lips. finally, you could rest, even if it’s just for a little bit. god, how you fucking hated lecture. your apartment was miniscule and run-down, but it was livable. it had air conditioning and heaters after all.

you leaned over to your table, taking your computer out to complete your homework as quickly as you could. but your mind began to wander elsewhere as you researched about mental disorders, and before you could stop yourself, you opened a new tab and typed “bofurin” inside of the search bar, eyes unblinking as the page loaded.

nothing. truly nothing appeared in the search results.

frustrated, you typed in “furin”. this time, a few results appeared, though most of them were either about how the school was once extremely violent a few years ago or it was about the school being torn down and rebuilt into a hospital, though all of those articles had little--if any--views. after a bit too long of doom scrolling, you found a single article about how furin was being shut down. but that article was from over three years ago. it probably wasn’t even of much use anymore.

annoyed, you closed the tab and began your daily dose of doom scrolling on tiktok. liking videos here and there, giggling at an edit of gojo here and there, just the usual. of course, you couldn’t abandon your homework completely, researching a bit more every time you reached the “liking too frequently. try again later” mark on tiktok.

before you knew it, it already reached eight fifteen. shiroko’s house was, if you remember correctly, thirty five minutes away by foot. makochi was safe after dark, and you didn’t want to spend your scarce amount of money on an uber, so you might as well just walk there.

at eight thirty, after throwing on a cardigan and some jeans, you stepped out of your apartment, your heartbeat in your throat. you still really didn’t want to go in the least. loud music from the speaks made you nervous, and the heavy smell of alcohol mixed with drugs and vape made you feel nauseated. you also didn’t want to go to another singular room and walk into a couple in the process of making out.

but you know what, it’s okay. everyone had to step out of their comfort zone, right? and you didn’t want kotoha to worry about you anymore. she had to balance work, being a double major, and caring for the elderly in the town. she had enough on her plate already, and worrying about you would only make her life so much harder than it’s supposed to be.

but there were more reasons than just that. kotoha was definitely hiding something from you. you didn’t know if she was hiding some sort of secret boyfriend or if she was talking shit about you behind your back--not that you think that she’s the type of person to do that, but things happen--or if she just doesn’t even like you that much and is only friends with you out of pity. but you needed to know. you had to know.

the night was chillier than you would have expected, the gooseflesh crawling up your arms when you stepped into the inky night full of dots of stars. it was april, it usually wasn’t this cold. oh, whatever. you wouldn’t even be staying at the party for too long anyways.

after the long thirty-five minute walk, you arrived at the largest mansion in the town. neon lights illuminated through the curtains, and you stepped in stiffly. instantly, you were hit with waves of heat and far too loud music screeching in your ears. already, you wanted to leave. but no way you were that weak. you had to stay. for the sake of your pride and curiosity.

you awkwardly snaked around the house to the kitchen, a group of juniors drinking beer together. you weren’t old enough to drink yet, and you wanted to save your first drink for your twentieth birthday. fuck it, you came here to socialize, and yet you’re hiding in the kitchen like a coward. you should be out in the living room talking to the hot senior girl who was laughing with her friends or something.

after a few minutes of negotiation with your brain and your heart, you finally decided to walk to the living room. but before you could even take a step, you felt a large hand on your back, and the reek of alcohol contaminated your senses.

shit.

turning around rapidly, you saw a man standing in front of you, red faced and stupid. he was definitely drunk, from what you could tell. you’ve seen him around campus before. he was a senior. “hey, you’re pretty cute. wanna come with me upstairs and--”

“uh, no thanks!” you exclaimed, stepping away from the situation nearly instantly. you slithered your way to the front door, holding your breath the entire way there. this was like one of those horror games on roblox, where you don’t wanna get jumpscared.

finally, you reached the front door and shoved it open. you would have to apologize to kotoha later, but your concerns were valid. you really fucking hated this. when you gulped in the cold night air, you thought you were safe. but the moment the reek of beer stung your senses again, it was almost as if shards of ice were slipping down your throat.

shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit! thank you mom for giving birth to me and raising me. thank you dad for raising me. thank you--

“hey pretty, don’t be such a bore. come on over here and we can--”

you began to walk away rapidly, pulling out your phone to call the police. did this guy not know how to take a goddamn fucking hint? big ass footsteps stomped behind you, and you could feel the white hot heat bubbling in your chest. god, why was he so fucking annoying? you really needed to file a restraining order.

but eventually, all of your irritated thoughts vanished as the footsteps got closer and closer. your stomach twisted and turned into knots, and before you heard a swish in the air. you were dead. you were definitely dead after this one. you prepared yourself for the impact, whether it would be a hand on your shoulder or a hand clasped over your mouth. you raised your hands to your face and shut your eyes close, begging for the impact to be not too painful.

but the impact never came.

“take a hint. can’t you see that she clearly doesn’t want to talk to you? you’re pissing me off.”

you heard a loud crack along with the sound of a hit, along with something falling on the dark road. you squinted an eye open, and slowly, you dropped your arms. a figure stood in front of you, and in front of the figure stood the guy who had been following you, laying on the concrete with a bloody nose.

for a few moments, all you could do was stare at the figure in front of you. the person who had saved you. your savior. “i, uh…thank you.” you stumbled over your words, eyes blinking furiously and palms sweaty.

they remained silent, but you could feel a sudden wave of heat radiating off of them. “uh…uhhhhhh, i-it’s nothing. he was just-- just pissing me off. nothing else.” their back was still turned to you, and you could see that their hair was two different colors. even if it was dyed, it was still gorgeous.

before you could process their words, they suddenly seemed to turn unbelievably irritated. “why are you walking in the dark streets alone at night, and as a girl? don’t you know how dangerous it is?!” they exclaimed, finally turning to face you. they had different colored eyes as well. how pretty.

“you’re alone too.” you pointed out, albeit still undeniably grateful for them.

“well i’m a guy, which lowers my chances, and i know how to fight. clearly, you don’t.”

as thankful as you were for your savior, you were definitely getting a little bit pissed off. you brushed the topic off. “well still, thank you. is there anything that i can do for you?” you asked, already taking out your phone once more to enter your bank account. you had little money, but it was the thought that counts, right?

you expected money. maybe to treat him to a meal. maybe to give him a home for a few days. who knows. but instead, your eyebrows raised at his request.

“take me to cafe pothos.”

[rosenclaws]

Okay, I'm in love with your first kiss headcanons and I wanted to ask, how do you think the Logans would react to being the readers first kiss and first boyfriend? Thank you so much!!

EEEE this is so cuteee

Origins Logan -

He loves it. Also apparently x men origins wolverine only takes place only 6 years after we see 70’s logan in dofp and ik the timelines different now but thats a crazyyy switch up. Anyways sorry thats off topic but origins logan would be so damn sweet. He thinks you’re adorable and honestly wondering how no one has swept you off your feet yet. He knows you deal with a lot of assholes and so he’s pretty protective of you too.

He’s a bit of a tease and loves making you all flustered. He’s still haunted by his past so he’s not the perfect boyfriend. He tries his best because he knows you’re new at this. If you ever get insecure about how much life he’s lived he tells you it doesn’t matter because you’re all he wants now. Your first kiss is a peck and he watches as you just melt and want to do it again and again. He happily obliges you

Trilogy Logan -

Oh he lovessss knowing he’s your first everything. First kiss, first boyfriend, first fuck, ahem anyways. He loves showing you off and takes pride in know that he gets to be the one that holds you and kisses you and wakes up next to you every morning. He loves teasing and making you shy. You tell him you don’t know how to kiss and he just shrugs and tells you it’s alright because he’ll teach you how. He takes you on dates and threatens anyone who stares a little too long because you’re his and no one elses.

DOFP Logan -

He’s a little shocked that you’d want him as your first boyfriend but he’d be an idiot to say no. You’re sweet and kind. Way too kind to an old man like him. But he’s very loving and caring. He knows you’re a little worried about his past and how much…experience he has but that doesn’t matter to him. Whether he’s your first kiss or 1000th the only thing that matters to him is that you love him now. He does like to kiss you a lot so be prepared to be pulled into an empty classroom and make out like you’re teenagers.

Old Man Logan -

He’s much more cautious. A part of him likes knowing a pretty thing like you wants to be his but the other part is saying it’s a bad idea. You don’t know what its like to be with a man like him and he can’t promise he’ll treat you the way you deserve. But you beg with those big eyes that you don’t care and it doesn’t matter how much he warns you. He should stay away but he can’t and your first kiss is messy and hot. He’s like an animal being let out of his cage, desperately trying to hold back with every move. He makes a lot of mistakes but he does try his best. He just hopes its enough for you.

Worst Logan -

He doesn’t think he deserves to be graced with your damn presence. Like I said before he’s kind of a guilty perv and he really hates how much he perks up hearing you’ve never had a boyfriend. He would love to be your first boyfriend but he’s convinced you don’t want him when you could have. Well anyone well adjusted. Then again are any friends of Wade’s looking for people who are normal? Either way I think he walks on egg shells at first. Trying so hard to be that model boyfriend. And while you do love the flowers, everything else just feels wrong. You fell in love with the messy Logan not the picture perfect boyfriend in khaki pants. It takes a bit but you convince him to drop the act and just be him. And fuck does he love hearing your little noises when you kiss and the shy look when he says something suggestive. He’s not new to dating but it feels like he is so its a lot of figuring stuff out together.

[tuttle-did-it]

This is essentially my stand, as well.

Chakotay/Janeway is just... no.

Seven/Janeway, I'll accept... especially in Killing Game, which, as you may know, I have opinions about. Out of all the incorrect options, I hate this option the least.

But no. The only correct option is that Janeway is just SO MUCH Janeway, no one-- NO ONE-- will ever be enough for Janeway except Janeway. Which is why she's not only doubled repeatedly, but 2 very different Janeways depending on the scene.

Which means Janeway/Janeway is actually

Janeway/Janeway/Janeway/Janeway

And I don't care what a whore Kirk was, he could never manage that.

Admit it. If you were separated into good and evil versions of yourself your evil version would totally make your good version their bitch

[transformers-spike]

Here u go, tis I, Squibsformers. Pls enjoy the Breakdown Softness. I totally had a specific one of my ocs in mind with this one so yknow Whatever but yeah heres the blurb. AMAB reader. I have no clue if i nailed BD at all sgdivdjdb.

—

Tiny. Fragile. Killable.

That's all you were. All this was. He fully planned on crushing you after this. One less fragging parasite on this ship. On this planet.

One less of your horrible, conniving little species to repopulate.

And yet… as his big hand pressed down more on you, and you let out a squeak of discomfort… he couldn't bring himself to go through with it. Not when you let out the sweetest little noises. The prettiest little groans when he rubbed at your array with a digit. Prodding at the expanse between- “Perineum” as Knockout had told him. Sensitive in its own right, reat for teasing.

Breakdown despised. Loathed you and every breath you took.

Why did he feel jitters when your breaths quicken..?

He pressed more firmly as the slickened flesh, and as he put juuust enough pressure, you writhed. Making a noise so pathetic it made him want to crush your head and dump your corpse. His spike in hand, stroking it as he prodded again and worked his littlest digit deeper in your clenching depth.

Apparently, that strip of flesh between your array and rear port was soft enough that, if he knew what he was doing, he could bully your prostate from inside and out.

You clung to his thumb, making his work get impeded, and he growled at you. Though when he felt you let go, his tanks shifted and he felt unease pour through at how you seemed embarassed at being told off.

He was just going to crush you after. It would be done. Be fine. This was simply something so he could… get relief. And Primus, Breakdown wasn't a *selfish* lover, even if you were just a means to an end, he at *least* would get you off. He had more integrity than that.

…It didnt explain though, when your nails dug into the sleek steel of the berth and you keened, cumming a THIRD time and sobbing from the blissful hell of overstimulation, why he slowed down. Took his time to stroke and soothe you before grunting and chasing down his overload. His fingers caged you. Tightened you. He waited for the crunch. The pop. The splat.

His own release came when he heard you let out a squeak of pain, and he eased his grip before blowing his load. Index stroking your spine as he vented and growled. He put a little pressure on your spine. But it eased when you squirmed.

I love this so fucking much I could just explode. Look at Breakdown CARING - look at him hating your squishy ass but not murdering you despite his intent. I love how messed up he is in this, his softness with the reader juxtaposed with what he's thinking

And don't even get me STARTED on the implication that Knock Out has already fucked the reader. Omg, it's like being their little human pet

(also - can I say it's really therapeutic to read AMAB Reader content? While I don't have the bits, it really helps out with my transmasc identity, especially because I typically discuss valveplug ideas with AFABs and I'm just not used to getting a different perspective on it. I usually try to keep the reader's gender vague (altho sometimes I slip into AFAB stuff because my knowledge of dicks and balls is very limited). Legit, if anymore AMABs wanna send out valveplug ideas, go ahead, I'd love to see them)

[catssluvr]

drunk, travis martinez

loser!travis martinez x popular!reader (1.4k words)

in which travis takes care of a very drunk you, unaware of the reciprocity of your feelings for him

warnings: throwing up (sorry 😭), pre-crash,

꩜ ꩜

Travis doesn’t want to be here, not at some frat boy’s house party after getting a call from one of your friends asking him to come to your rescue.

Every corner smells like alcohol, he fights the urge to give up and go home. You probably don’t even want him here, not him. But he doesn’t trust your friends enough to let you at their mercy.

Making his way to the backyard, he finds you sitting on a chair by the pool, lost in thought with a red cup and an empty look on your face.

He has to hold himself back from smiling. Even with a smudged mascara and a disveled looking hair, you still look like the prettiest girl in the world to him.

He slowly approaches you, being careful not to startle you as he slightly crouches to make his presence known.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” He asks gently, making you lift your gaze to him.

“Who are- Travis!” You practically squeal, catching him by surprise as you throw yourself in his arms for a hug.

He stumbles slightly at the force, catching you before the both of you almost trip over into the pool.

“What are you doing here?” You ask beaming, nuzzling into his warm and very much pounding. chest. He doesn’t remember ever being this close to you.

“Taking you home.” He answers simply, hoping you’ll be easy to convince.

“I don’t want to go home.” You pout, grabbing onto his arms for balance.

“Look, i don’t think it’s a good idea to stay for much longer. Not in your state, at lea-“ Travis stops trying to reason you once your expression starts to show discomfort.

He calls your name softly, immediately understanding once you pull yourself away from him to run towards the bin. You empty your stomach with a pained noise, making his heart soar at the sight.

Travis holds your hair, fingers pulling back the strands that fall onto your face.

“Maybe home is okay.” You groan after a moment, frowning at the weird taste in your mouth.

He doesn’t feel mean to say ‘i told you so’, but one raise of his eyebrows says enough of it. Softly, he pulls you up and guides you towards the house so you can finally leave, letting you lean on him for support.

The boy picks up a water bottle on the way out, swiftly moving through the crowd of drunken people until you can feel the cool air on your cheeks again.

His arm is around your shoulder and he enjoys the way you seem to lean closer than you have to because of the cold.

"Why would you even get so wasted?" He huffs.

"It's a party, silly." You giggle, eyes glassy from your hazy state. He's glad the walk to your house is quick.

"Right." He clears his throat trying to ignore your staring.

"My turn." You say excitedly and reach to boop his nose with your finger.

"What?" He raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"To ask a question." You clarify before adding, "Why would you be here?" You search his face intently with your eyes.

"Uhm- to take you home. I said it before." Travis feels himself flushing as he answers.

There is absolutely no chance you are about to find out about his rather obvious feelings for you in a drunk state. That would feel even more humiliating.

"You're so nice to me, Trav." Your voice comes out sweet like honey.

"Just trying to help." It takes everything to act cool when you're giving him compliments, he realizes even more now that he'd do everything to make you say it again.

"I had my friends to help me." You quip teasingly, like you want him to say something.

"I don't like your friends a lot." He practically grumbles, hating the thought of you sitting there for the whole night.

"Okay." You whisper softly, leaning your cheek against his shoulder on a thankful way. "Thank you for caring about me."

"Everybody cares about you." He finds himself blurting out. Why can't he not be a defensive jerk for a second? You've only been nice to him all evening.

"Not like you do." You mumble with a scrunch of your nose, thinking expression on your face as you look at the ground ahead.

It’s not long before you reach your house, his heart tightening at the thought of loosing the feeling of your warm cheek on his shoulder.

You stand on your porch for a moment, fishing your key from your pocket before playing with them awkwardly.

“No one is home.” You say tentatively, “You can come in for a while” With a shy smile on your face.

And how can he say no to that? He couldn’t even if he wanted to. You being shy is also not a usual

“Oh uhm- sure.” Travis blurts, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

You guide him inside, taking him up the stairs to your bedroom and sighing in relief once you catch sight of your bed. Throwing yourself on it, you bury your face into the soft pillows.

Him presses his fingers against his smile, taking in your comfortable form.

“You should really take these clothes off.” He quips, cheeks growing red as he realizes his words. “I mean- change them into pajamas or something, you know.”

“Too tired.” You mumble, seeming to ignore his awkward moment.

“I’ll get it. Tell me what drawer they’re in.” He offers, deciding not to give you a hard time and just help you get on with feeling better.

“Second.” You grumble, pulling yourself up from the bed. “I’ll brush my teeth while you do that.” Before disappearing into the bathroom.

Travis opens the drawer, pulling the clothes that look the comfiest and settling them down on your bed. He sits at the end of your bed, scared to even move and do the wrong thing.

"Sorry i look like a mess." You cringe as you walk back into the room, your makeup now removed and face glowing from your skincare. You sit by his side with a sweet tired smile.

"I think you look pretty." He finds himself saying, eyes widening at his own bluntness.

"Yeah?" Your expression suddenly softens, eyes practically burning into his soul as you tilt your head.

His breath catches, feeling like every dream he's ever had is finally coming true when you lean closer and brush your fingers past the strands of hair falling to his face.

But then his mind wonders, you're drunk. And that's all this is, you don't want it at all.

Gripping your hand gently, he pulls it away just to leave it by your lap. A confused frown forms on your face, eyebrows pulled together in what he can swear looks like hurt.

"You don't want me?" You question, slightly dramatic with your tired state.

"No- i mean yes. You know i do." It's all he's ever wanted, actually. Just not when it might be the first thing you regret when you wake up next morning. "Just not when you're drunk."

"I'm very lucid." You huff, eyes pleading as you pout. It makes him want to kiss it off.

But no. He's more respectful than that. With a sigh, he picks up your pyjamas from where he left them.

"You should change." He decides on saying.

"Yeah." You say in almost a whisper, making him pray you're not angry at him.

Travis can't help but dread the fact he's actually managed to be the one rejecting you - it was always meant to be the other way around. Turning away, he waits for you to get changed.

"Can you stay for a bit?" You plead as he turns back to you.

He should said no, his parents are going to kill him for getting home so late. It was already weird when he told them he was going out to a party.

"Course." He smiles gently, sitting on top of the covers next to you as you snuggle under them with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you, again." You reach to squeeze his hand.

He doesn't answer, retributing the squeeze before you both settle in a comfortable silence.

Travis stays until he's sure you're asleep, when you're breathing is even and your hand feels limp on his. Reaching to adjust the cover over you, he leaves with quiet steps.

Hoping that he's able to look you in the eye at school tomorrow.

[httpvomitello]

hey beautiful human💕

I just had a thought and had to share

so could I please request Bucky x gf reader, Bucky and reader get a call from Cap that there’s a mission and they need to leave asap but buckys growing his hair out again and he gets annoyed when it gets in the way while he fights so on the quinjet reader braids it out the way for him and they have a quiet moment before they get to the mission guns blazing

have a lovely weekend, make sure to rest🫶🏻

Hiii beautiful person, I don't know if you've seen the movie How to Train Your Dragon (the second movie), but there's a part where Astrid is sitting with Hiccup and she braids his hair. When I read your request, I immediately remembered that scene and I thought it was really cute! I hope you have a really nice week too, and don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well. Hope you like it ~ ♡

Tangled, Then Untangled .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Bucky’s been growing his hair out again, and it's starting to annoy him when it falls into his eyes during fights, so you braid it back for him.

bucky barnes x f!reader

The early morning light was just starting to peek through the curtains when your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You groaned, rolling over to see the caller ID: Steve Rogers.

Bucky stirred next to you, half-asleep, shirtless, and very much not ready to deal with the world. “Tell him no,” he mumbled into the pillow.

You snorted. “You want me to tell Captain America to handle it himself?”

Bucky waved a dismissive hand, face still buried. “Exactly.”

But you answered anyway. “Yeah, Steve?”

“Sorry to call so early. We’ve got a situation. We need you and Bucky suited up and ready to move in twenty. Quinjet leaves from base.”

“Copy that. We’ll be there.”

Bucky groaned louder this time as you ended the call. “Traitor.”

“Come on, soldier. Time to be a hero.”

He sat up slowly, hair wild and falling into his face. You caught the look he gave it in the mirror across the room—the way it flopped into his eyes, then tangled at his jaw. He muttered something under his breath and combed his fingers through it, only making it worse.

“You’re the one who said you missed it long,” you reminded him, tugging on your clothes. “The mess comes with it.”

“I missed the look, not the knots,” he grumbled, grabbing his tactical gear and sliding it on.

You made it to the Quinjet just in time. Steve greeted you both with a nod, then filled you in on the mission—standard extraction gone sideways, possible Hydra involvement, high-value intel.

Bucky leaned back in one of the metal seats, his legs spread out and arms folded. His hair was already sticking to his cheekbones, strands falling over his eyes again. You watched him try to shake it away, annoyed.

You moved closer, kneeling in front of him between his legs. “Come here.”

He gave you a tired look. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing your damn hair before it gets you killed.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move away. “Knock yourself out.”

You reached up and gently combed your fingers through the strands first, detangling the worst of it. He closed his eyes at the touch, letting you work. Your fingers were slow, practiced—starting at the crown, dividing the thick dark waves into sections.

You worked in silence, the soft hum of the jet surrounding you. It was one of those moments where everything slowed down. You felt the warmth of his knees against your sides, the rhythm of his breathing, the way he was still leaning into your touch even with the mission ahead.

He opened one eye lazily. “This domestic enough for you?”

You smiled. “Extremely.”

When you were done, you secured the braid with a band from your wrist and leaned back to admire your work. “There. Battle-ready.”

He reached up, fingers brushing the braid, then let his hand drop to your cheek. “Thanks, doll.”

“You’re welcome, soldier.”

He pulled you gently forward by the collar of your tactical suit, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t needy. It was calm.

“I hate that we always get pulled into hell right after moments like this,” he muttered.

“I know,” you whispered. “But we’ll come back. We always do.��

The jet jerked slightly as it began its descent. Steve called back, “Two minutes out!”

You stood, adjusting your gloves. Bucky followed you, sliding a knife into his boot and checking his gun. You both stood at the open door of the Quinjet as the ramp lowered.

Wind rushed in, loud and fierce.

“Ready?” you shouted.

He nodded, braid whipping behind him. “Let's fucking go.”