#but if you say he’s straight you’re wrong

[gardenwons]

The road to rejection

SYNOPSIS: Three miles, a pocket full of poems, and one stubborn poet knocking on the same door, hoping that no might eventually rhyme with yes. PAIRINGS: poet!jungwon x hard to get!reader GENRE: fluff just fluff, angst (if u squint), literally hopeless romantic vibes also lowk loser!jw i lovv A/N: inspired by henry wadsworth longfellow’s story with his wife, it was too sweet to not make jw a lovesick puppy. anws i highly suggest u guys read about his life lol

It started with a wrong turn.

Jungwon had been walking home from his poetry class, his head full of verses and not enough sense to look up from his notebook. The ink on the page was still wet when he crashed straight into you- books flying, curses slipping, and a coffee cup spilling down the front of your perfectly pressed blazer.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me" you hissed, stepping back as the dark stain spread across your perfectly pressed blazer, the smell of cheap espresso filling the air like a bad punchline to a joke you didn’t find funny.

Jungwon’s mouth fell open, eyes darting between the puddle on the pavement and the damage on your clothes. His heart stuttered, embarrassment rising faster than the heat in his face. He fumbled with clumsy hands, patting down his pockets for something..maybe a napkin, an apology, or even a way to reverse time. Nothing.

“Some tragedies are best written in stains” he blurted out before his brain caught up with his mouth. The words hung awkwardly between you as his eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to erase them from existence.

Your brows shot up, and your lips curled with scorn. “What?”

When he dared to look again, his gaze landed on your face, memorizing every curve and crease, the sharp arch of your brow, the twist of your lips as you exhaled in disbelief. Heat prickled the back of his neck, and his heart raced as if his own words had betrayed him.

You wiped at your ruined blazer with a resigned sigh, shaking your head as if dealing with a hopeless case. "Then I hope you’re a better poet than a pedestrian" you snapped, brushing past him with quick, purposeful steps.

He turned to watch you walk away, the words lingering like a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. The sound of your voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgettable

The next morning, a poem sat crumpled in his hand as he knocked on the door he’d seen you vanish behind.

And so began his journey walking three miles, one heart, endless rejection,  and a muse who never made it easy.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

For weeks, Jungwon walked.

Three miles from his dormitory to your corner of the city, each step a steady rhythm against rain-soaked pavements and autumn leaves that crunched beneath his worn sneakers. The crisp evening air carried the familiar scent of jasmine from your mother’s garden, a fragrance that marked the final stretch of his journey, a pilgrimage guided by longing and stubborn hope.

He knew you would not answer. He knew you would not say yes.

Yet he knocked.

Every time, without fail, you opened the door. Your brow lifted in amused curiosity, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips. You stood there, a picture of untouchable grace framed by the golden glow of the porch light, looking as if you belonged to a world far beyond his reach.

“Still here, Poet?”

“Still here.”

The ritual remained unchanged. He asked if he could walk with you to the market, along the riverside, or anywhere you might let him follow. And, as always, you refused, laughter slipping from your mouth like soft, mocking music, as though he were nothing more than a foolish boy chasing impossible dreams.

“Try again tomorrow, Jungwon. Maybe I’ll say yes when the moon turns green.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

His friends called him mad.

“She’s never going to say yes” Sunghoon sighed, his voice heavy with the kind of exasperated sympathy reserved for fools in love. He slung an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder as they trudged back from your house yet again, the scent of jasmine still lingering faintly on Jungwon’s clothes, as if the very air mocked his persistence.

Jungwon’s gaze remained fixed on the ground ahead, eyes burning with quiet determination as he stepped over fallen leaves and cracked pavement. “Some flowers bloom only in the wild” he muttered, the words low and resolute, as if willing them into a truth he alone believed.

Sunoo, walking just behind them, let out a sharp laugh that bounced between the streetlights. “You’re writing poetry for a wall, my friend” he said, shaking his head, his grin filled with amusement and pity. “She doesn’t even read it. What’s the point?”

Jungwon’s lips curled into a small, stubborn smile. His fingers tightened around the frayed edges of a folded poem resting in his pocket, ink smudged from too many readings, too many dreams scribbled into desperate verses.

“Then I’ll carve it into stone if I must” he whispered, as if confessing a secret only his heart could hear. His voice was soft, but his resolve was unshakable, each word heavy with the weight of devotion that no rejection could crush.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The next day, he walked again.

Three miles stretched out before him, step by aching step, each one an echo of his unshakable devotion. The autumn wind bit at his cheeks and tangled in his dark hair, but he didn’t slow. His feet knew the path as intimately as the lines of his own hands, worn smooth by repetition, driven forward by a longing that lived too deep to name.

In his pocket, a new poem lay folded and creased, the edges softened from the restless grip of his fingers. Ink smudged the corners where he had touched it too many times, tracing words meant for you alone. His heart was a raw, beating thing as he approached your door once more, a fragile offering wrapped in stubborn hope.

When the door opened, it wasn’t the jasmine-scented air or the golden light that stole his breath. It was the sight of you, effortless and unreachable, with eyes that seemed to dance between amusement and something he could never quite catch.

Jungwon drew in a slow breath, his chest tightening as he met your gaze. He spoke before you could beat him to it. “I know you’ll say no.”

You leaned against the frame, crossing your arms as if this were all a game you had already won. “Then why do you keep coming?”

For a moment, silence hung between you, taut and heavy. His eyes held yours without flinching, and in that stillness, the weight of his soul stood bare- raw, unguarded, and fierce with a feeling too vast to contain.

“Because you’re the only answer I want.” His voice was steady, low, and sure, each word cutting like the edge of a blade. “And if I have to write a thousand verses, take a thousand steps just to hear one yes, I will.”

The wind stirred the space between you, cold against his skin, but he felt nothing except the pounding in his chest. His truth had been spoken, a prayer and a promise laid at your feet.

—-----------------------------------------------------

That night, you sat by the window, the dim light of the moon casting long shadows across the room. The stillness of the evening wrapped around you like a quiet secret, and yet, your thoughts raced, unsettled and restless. A strange, unfamiliar warmth had settled in your chest, a warmth that felt like it didn’t belong to you, something uninvited, a quiet stirring that wouldn’t be ignored.

You thought of him. The boy with ink-stained fingers and weary shoes, whose every step seemed to carry the weight of his unspoken feelings. His face, flushed with both embarrassment and determination, came to mind, the way he held himself, always so sure of his purpose, even when you shut the door in his face. You thought of his poems, the ones left unread on your doorstep, crumpled by the cruel wind but still clinging to the faint hope that you might one day read them, might one day understand. You had ignored them, tossed them aside with the same coldness you had shown him, but now, they lingered in your thoughts like the trace of an unanswered question.

His words echoed in your mind, cutting through the silence like a quiet thunder. "Because you're the only answer I want."

You bit your lip, looking out at the darkened streets. The thought of him, the persistence, the belief that something in you was worth the fight, made the warmth inside you grow, unfamiliar but undeniable. What would it feel like to stop turning him away? What would it be like to open the door, to let him in, to finally answer him in a way he hadn’t expected?

For the first time, you wondered if you were the one who had been running all along.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Jungwon went away, seeking peace of mind and space for his scholarly pursuits. The quiet of distant places was a balm to his restless soul, a necessary separation from the world he had tried so hard to win. His letters, once frequent, became infrequent, each one carrying the weight of his thoughts, his poetry, and his quiet heartache. In the last one he wrote to you, he poured his heart onto the paper, the words raw and unguarded, as if he knew this would be the last time he would try to reach you this way.

The letter lay unopened for days, then weeks, and finally, months. You never meant to ignore it, but life had a way of slipping by. The rejection had made it easier to push him aside, to lock away the words that might force you to confront something you weren’t ready to face.

But one evening, after so much time had passed, you finally sat down and read it.

"I leave, not because I want to, but because I need to. I need to find my own way, not as the boy who walked miles to see you, but as someone who can stand on his own, who can breathe without the weight of unrequited love on his chest.

I will never regret these steps, these words, or the way I believed in something that, in the end, was only meant for me.

But perhaps, in time, you will come to understand that my poetry was never about you. It was about me. And even if you never say yes, I will still be the poet who writes, who walks, who lives.

I hope one day, when the moon turns green, you will find yourself ready to say what I long to hear. Until then, I’ll be walking my own path, where I can finally stop chasing after something that can never be mine."

You read those words, and for the first time, you understood. The sting of his absence, the weight of what he had carried all along, settled deep in your chest. You had been too afraid to open your heart, to let him in, and now it was too late. The quiet, stubborn boy had walked away, not in defeat, but in hope for something he had never been able to find with you.

But now, with the words in front of you, you wondered if it was truly the end.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Seven years.

Seven whole years had passed, but the weight of those years felt more like a single breath than the stretch of time they represented. Jungwon had left, chasing peace, running from the ache that had clung to him for too long. In his absence, life had moved on, his friends had changed, she had changed- but he remained tethered to a past that refused to loosen its grip.

When Sunghoon had called for a reunion, Jungwon had agreed without much thought. It wasn’t so much about reconnecting with old friends as it was a quiet test for himself. How much had changed? Had those seven years reshaped him, or had they only deepened the parts of him he’d tried to forget? He hadn’t expected her to be there, not really. But when the door opened and he saw her standing in the room, everything stopped.

It was her- the same face, but sharper, a little more guarded, like she had learned how to protect herself from whatever weight the world had put on her. The smile she gave him was thin, more of a polite gesture than anything else, and it didn’t reach her eyes. For a moment, he was paralyzed by the recognition of everything he had left behind, everything he had lost.

"Jungwon" she said, her voice tentative, as though unsure whether they were still familiar to each other.

He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to have words for this moment, but all that came out was a soft, “Hey”

Her gaze flickered over him, and he felt the tension coil between them. There were no pleasantries, no casual laughter. Only silence that seemed too loud for everything they had once shared.

"I didn’t expect you to be here" she said, and there was something fragile in her tone, something he hadn’t expected.

Jungwon managed a wry smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his heart. “I could say the same thing.”

The air thickened between them. The years felt impossibly long, but somehow, the moment felt like they were standing in the same place they had been seven years ago. The gap between them wasn’t just time; it was everything they hadn’t said, everything that had been left undone.

“You’ve changed” she said, her voice careful, almost as if she were trying to figure out if he was still the person she remembered.

Jungwon looked at her and shrugged, the faintest surprise pulling at his features. “Yeah, I guess I have. But I think you’ve changed too.”

There was a pause, a beat where neither of them knew what to say, but both of them felt the weight of everything that hadn’t been spoken over the years. Jungwon had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, running through apologies and explanations, but now that he stood before her, those words felt foreign, as if they had been left behind in the past where they belonged.

“I never meant to hurt you-” he blurted out, the words slipping from him before he could stop them. “I thought... leaving would be the only way to find peace, but it wasn’t. It didn’t fix anything.”

Her gaze softened for a moment, and for the briefest instant, it felt like she was seeing him again, like the years hadn’t erased everything they once had. Jungwon’s heart twisted. Maybe it was too late, maybe the distance was too wide to cross, but he couldn’t help the flicker of hope that burned quietly in his chest.

“Maybe we’ve been walking in circles all this time” he muttered, almost to himself. “Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, looking at him like she was weighing the possibility of what he had said. Her lips quirked, the faintest smile touching the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a smile full of questions, of hesitation, as if she wasn’t sure if they could move forward, or if they even should.

“Maybe” she whispered, barely audible. The word lingered between them, suspended in the air like a promise that could either be broken or fulfilled.

Jungwon stood there, a quiet storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was a sign of hope or just the end of something that had never really started. But as they stood there, inches apart and yet a lifetime away, there was something in the silence, something fragile but undeniably real that told him maybe, just maybe, this was worth fighting for.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The soft murmur of the café wrapped around them like a blanket, a comfortable hum that masked the quiet tension between them. The table was small, just a few inches separating them, but it felt like a world apart, the kind of distance that could either keep them apart forever or draw them closer. Neither of them could tell which.

She stirred her coffee, her fingers delicate around the spoon, her movements slow as if she was trying to draw out the moment. Jungwon watched her, his eyes tracing the curve of her fingers, the way she absentmindedly traced the rim of her cup. It felt so familiar, so heartbreakingly normal. Yet, everything about this moment was different, charged with something neither of them was willing to name.

"So, you still write?" she asked, her voice quiet, but there was a softness in it that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke, a gentleness that made his heart skip, just a little.

Jungwon nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I do. Sometimes. Though, I think my poems are a little less hopeful than they used to be."

She met his eyes then, her gaze steady but searching. "What do they say now?"

"Mostly about missing things I didn’t even know I wanted," he said with a half-laugh, the words escaping before he could stop them. His fingers tightened around his cup, the weight of the admission heavier than he expected.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something, maybe something sharp or maybe something sweet. Instead, she simply nodded, her gaze flickering away to something outside the window. "I guess we’re all writing those kinds of poems now" she murmured.

Jungwon’s heart ached, but he couldn’t look away. "I never stopped thinking about you" he said, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think about them.

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide and unreadable, but there was something softer in them, something more open than before. The way she held his gaze, the way she didn’t look away felt like everything had led to this one moment, the space between them shifting, the distance slowly closing.

"I thought you were gone for good" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought maybe I was better off without you."

Jungwon’s chest tightened at the honesty in her words. He leaned in slightly, his hands clasped on the table, feeling the heat of her presence like it was burning through him. "I thought the same. But I guess some things are harder to forget than others."

There was a long silence after that, a silence that felt thick with everything they had left unsaid, everything they hadn’t been able to say in all the years that had passed. She looked down at her cup, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and for a moment, Jungwon wondered if it was because she was remembering something, too.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was light, but there was a certain warmth to it that made his heart beat faster. "You know, you always did have a way with words."

He smirked, the familiar teasing glint in his eyes. "I think you liked it better when I was just a poet."

Her gaze softened, and she let out a soft laugh, the kind of laugh that only came from long, shared memories. "Maybe... But now? I think I like it better when you’re just here."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the words hanging between them like the unfinished lines of a poem, both beautiful and unresolved. Jungwon couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way, like something was on the edge of being real, but still so fragile that it could slip away at any moment.

When she stood up to leave, Jungwon didn’t move, not right away. There was something in the way she smiled at him that made his chest tighten. She seemed like she might say something more, but instead, she simply glanced at him with that same half-smile he remembered so well.

"I’ll see you again, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

He nodded, his heart in his throat, and smiled. "Yeah, I think you will."

She turned to walk away, her footsteps soft against the floor, and for a moment, Jungwon didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. He could feel the pull between them, the gravity of everything they had yet to say. But as he stood and made his way to the door, he knew one thing for certain:

Maybe they weren’t together yet, maybe they weren’t even sure what they were. But somewhere in that café, in that unspoken moment, there was something real between them, something neither of them was ready to walk away from.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon allowed himself to believe that they were walking toward something worth waiting for.

[thef1diary]

teamprincipal!carlos fingering you after he heard you say bad things about yourself after a race and making you praise yourself 😵‍💫😵‍💫

— good god nonnie 🥵 he will never let anyone speak badly about his driver. 18+ content below

The door to Carlos’ office slammed shut behind you, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate. You paced the room, tugging at the sleeves of your race suit, anger and self-loathing swirling in your chest. The race had been a disaster—or so you thought—and the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking useless,” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I’m a goddamn joke out there—”

“What did you just say?”

Carlos’s voice stopped you in your tracks. It was low, sharp, and full of disbelief. He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing on you like you were a problem he needed to fix.

“I—” you stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, one gripping your chin to tilt your head up, the other slipping around your waist. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your apology, silencing every self-deprecating word you wanted to say.

The kiss was rough, possessive, yet tinged with something almost tender. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your bodies flush. His hardening cock pressed against you, and your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with both anger and something softer—almost hurt. “How can you think otherwise?”

His hands found the zipper of your race suit, tugging it down to your waist. Beneath it, your fireproofs clung to your body, but Carlos was quick to strip you of the top, exposing your bare skin. His gaze raked over you, dark and hungry, as his hands cupped your tits.

“Let me remind you,” he said, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they hardened under his touch. The sensation sent sparks straight to your pussy, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Sir,” you breathed, your body arching into his hands as he pinched and teased. The attention he lavished on your nipples had you squirming, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. “So beautiful, so fucking perfect.” His hands continued their work, alternating between gentle caresses and rough pinches that left you gasping.

The heat pooling between your legs was unbearable by the time he pulled back, his hands sliding lower. He turned you around, pressing you against the edge of his desk. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your fireproof leggings, finding your bare, slick cunt.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his tone low and full of approval. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers dipped into your folds, spreading your arousal.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit. His pace was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you started, but his fingers froze. His other hand grazed up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged harshly.

He leaned closer, and you were able to feel the heat of his body surrounding you. “Wrong answer,” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and slapped your clit, the sharp sting making you cry out.

“Sir, please!” you whimpered, your body trembling as he teased you mercilessly.

“Try again,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside you with a rough thrust. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I—I’m good enough,” you stammered, the pleasure building in your core.

“Louder,” he commanded, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I’m good enough!” you cried out, your hands clawing at the desk for support.

“And?” he pressed, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, making your legs shake.

“I’m a good driver,” you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes as you struggled to believe your own words while focusing on the pleasure building.

“The best,” he corrected, his pace quickening. “Say it.”

“I’m the best!” you sobbed, your body shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked you closer to the edge. “Now cum for me. Show me how much you believe it.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as he continued to thrust his fingers into you, drawing out every drop of your release. The wet, filthy sounds of your orgasm filled the room, your cries of pleasure muffled by his hand over your mouth.

As you slumped against the desk, breathing heavily, Carlos carefully flipped you over, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed your tinged cheeks. He leaned down, grazing his lips over your neck before pressing a firm kiss to the spot behind your ear.

“Remember this, princesa,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “You’re mine. My driver. The best one on the grid. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about my driver.”

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I love your sweet comfort Jazz fic. He just fits that perfectly.

I’m wondering about a moment where he goes protective mode. I love sweet fic where the bots goes switch mode on demeanor. Could be platonic or romantic. Something like they’re out and about being goofy then something happens he goes almost feral in protection mode. Does that frighten or impress?

Im their Guardian.

Jazz x reader

a/n : Thanks im glad you enjoyed the fics, personally im never sure if i get the characters personality well, so im glad ya like it. Also thanks for the ask i loved this idea <3

———————————————————————

Now, Jazz is an amazing guardian. His love for human culture and chill personality definitely made it easier for you to get along with him.

And in all the time you have known him, he’s always been the same. Usually when describing him your go to words were “hard worker” and “cool dude”. 

Never once had you truly seen any serious sides of him, unless he was fighting in the war. 

Which is why your image of him never changed.

But that’s the thing with personalities. They can be so complex to the point certain sides only are seen in special circumstances.

Which is why today shouldn’t have been any different.

Jazz knew how much you wanted to go (an event of something you like). You had gotten dressed up and everything. How could he not take you himself? Especially when you’re so excited about it as well.

Once there, he didn’t mind if he had to wait in a parking lot or be in a garage. You both prepared a bunch of things he could do while being in aft-mode.

And time definitely went a lot faster when you called him and stayed on call the rest of the time. 

He felt as he were there with you. 

Both of you continued talking about the surroundings and stuff you got from giftshops. Even buying a shirt that says “I ❤️ Robots”

The whole time his spark was warm at the smile on your face. He loved seeing you light up as you continued talking with him about your interests, and how you got stuff for him and yourself.

But, his first suspicion of something being wrong was from your movement on the screen. You seemed to have speed up your pace. But when the call got cut off he was long gone from the parking spot.

Speeding towards the entrance hoping to pick you up.

When he arrived he saw you not far ahead, but you were worried… and, scared? 

Getting closer he saw someone older than you following behind. … too closely 

Observing a bit more, he saw they had your phone in hand, and were taking you somewhere and trying to not make it obvious. 

His motor went full power as he rushed in alt-mode. And when you turned around with a tear stained face, all of his sense was lost. 

Revving his engine as he not so subtlety headed straight for the person, he stuck out his arm and pulled you in. Tucking you safely inside him and bumping pretty hard into the person hurting you. 

He was pissed.

No one should dare think they could get away with hurting the person most dear to him.

You are everything he has. And no one was going to take that away. Only calming down when you do.

And you were definitely shaken up by the whole thing.

Honestly, it was a bit of a roller coaster. First, you felt extremely relieved you’re big guy had found you. Next, feeling terrified at the thought he might actually put someone down with the fishies. Finally, calmed down cause he didn’t, and the whole time after he treated you with extra care. 

Still inside him as he drove back to base, you place a small kiss on the dashboard and thank him. Feeling him chuckle as the car vibrates. He’d tell ya to rest and start playing a playlist he created for you.

——————————————————————

Masterlist 

[solxamber]

Genshin, 5, fluff please!!!

oh!! the first and only genshin rq for the event!

Whispers in the Rain || Neuvillette

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "It's always been you" ; Genre: Fluff (+ very mild hurt/comfort)

The rain hadn’t let up all day, pouring down in sheets and soaking everything in sight. You’d started to think the weather was getting a little too reflective of emotions, and when the puddles were practically swallowing the streets, you decided to head straight to Palais Mermonia.

Neuvillette had to be the reason for this gloomy deluge. It wasn’t the first time his feelings had leaked into Fontaine’s weather report, and you were worried something had really gotten to him this time.

But before you could even knock on his office door, a couple of melusines surrounded you, tugging at your sleeves.

“Hey! What—okay, okay, I’m going!” you huffed, letting them push you into his office like you weren’t already on your way.

Neuvillette was sitting at his desk, gazing out the rain-streaked window. He looked so serious, his hands folded on the desk and his jaw tight. His usual calmness was there, but it felt... heavier.

“Neuvillette?”

His head snapped toward you, his eyes wide for a split second before they narrowed. He stood up slowly, his frame towering as always, but there was something different in his posture—something guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone soft but strangely distant. “Not in this weather.”

“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, stepping inside fully. “What’s going on? It’s been raining all day, and you’re—”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His voice was clipped, and that caught you off guard.

“Okay, ouch.” You crossed your arms, not budging. “It obviously concerns me if you’re this upset. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He sighed, turning back toward the window, his shoulders tense. “I’ve heard things. From Furina.”

“Furina?” you repeated, already bracing yourself for whatever nonsense the former Archon had put in his head.

“She said you might have feelings for someone else,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “That perhaps I misjudged everything between us.”

You blinked, caught between laughing and smacking your forehead. Of course, Furina was stirring the pot. She did tell you she was going to give him a little 'nudge', whatever that meant.

“Neuvillette, seriously?” you asked, stepping closer. “You think I’m here in the middle of a storm because I like someone else?”

His gaze finally met yours, and there it was: vulnerability. That small crack in his usual composure that made your heart ache.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said softly.

You reached for his hands, gently pulling them into yours. “You should know me better than that. It’s always been you, Neuvillette. I know why Furina said that, but she’s wrong. Dead wrong.”

His expression shifted—relief, surprise, maybe a little disbelief—but the rain outside started to ease, the downpour softening into a drizzle.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Every word,” you said, giving his hands a squeeze.

Something in him seemed to break free, like the weight of the storm had finally lifted. Before you could react, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms firm and steady around you.

“I’ve been so foolish,” he murmured against your hair.

“You’re not foolish,” you said, though you were pretty sure you were muffled by his chest. “Just... a little dramatic.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “I’ve never been told that before.”

You grinned. “Guess you’ll have to keep hearing it, because I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze softened, and before you knew it, he was leaning down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as soft and warm as the sunlight breaking through the clouds outside.

When you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh! Rain’s already clearing up.”

“It means you’re my light,” he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

“Cheesy,” you teased, but your heart was soaring anyway.

Masterlist

[shybluebirdninja]

Bloodheat

Summary: His rough, feral mouth trails lower, and suddenly every vow you made to your husband burns away in the heat of Logan's desire.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Fem!Human-reader

Note                : Infidelity and cheating, cunnilingus, smut

The night air is thick, the kind that wraps around you like a heavy blanket, sticky and humid. The rumble of Logan's beat-up truck is the only sound cutting through the silence as he pulls off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The cabin of the truck feels too small, too intimate, and your heart pounds louder than it should. You know this is wrong—so wrong—but fuck, the second Logan's hand brushes your thigh, all that guilt slips away like water through your fingers.

You glance over at him, his jaw set, eyes focused on the dark road ahead. There's something raw about Logan—something feral. His beard’s a little rougher tonight, and those strong hands gripping the wheel send a shiver down your spine. There’s no room for doubt, not anymore. You knew what you were doing when you climbed into his truck. You knew this wasn’t just a casual drive.

His voice breaks the silence, low and gravely, sending heat straight between your legs. “You wanna keep playin' house with him, or you gonna admit you’re already mine?”

That damn voice. It’s like whiskey and smoke, rich and dangerous. You don’t answer, but your body does, leaning closer, like it’s instinctual, like it’s always been him. Logan’s hand drifts higher on your thigh, his fingers rough and calloused, and you can’t stop the soft gasp that slips out.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and pulls the truck to a stop. The engine cuts off, leaving only the heavy sound of your breathing in the cab. His eyes meet yours, that familiar heat simmering just beneath the surface. “You got somethin’ to say, darlin’?”

You bite your lip, torn between the voice in your head telling you to run and the heat pooling low in your belly, making your skin buzz with anticipation. “Logan, this—” You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a rough, demanding kiss.

It’s not gentle. Nothing about Logan ever is. His lips crash into yours, a fierce hunger behind every move. His hands are everywhere at once, sliding over your waist, gripping your hips. It’s wild, untamed, and fuck, it’s everything you’ve been craving for weeks.

The guilt melts away, replaced by that electric fire he ignites in you every time he gets close. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair, tugging him closer. You can feel the low growl vibrating in his chest as he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands sliding under your shirt, calloused fingers rough against your bare skin. Every nerve in your body is alive, buzzing with need.

Logan’s mouth moves from your lips to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. He bites down just enough to leave a mark, and you gasp, arching into him. “Fuckin’ missed you,” he mutters against your skin, voice thick with need.

Your hands fumble with the button on his jeans, desperate, but Logan grabs your wrists, holding them still. “Not yet,” he growls, his eyes dark and dangerous, pupils blown wide. “I got plans for you first.”

Before you can process his words, he’s sliding you off his lap, pushing you back onto the worn leather seat. His hands are on your jeans, undoing the button and yanking them down in one smooth motion. The air hits your skin, cool against the heat radiating from your body, but that’s the last thing on your mind when Logan settles between your legs, pulling you closer with that trademark Wolverine smirk on his lips.

He spreads your thighs wide, eyes locked on yours, and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s about to devour you whole—sends a shiver of anticipation through you. There’s nothing rushed about the way he leans in, taking his sweet time, letting you feel every second of his lips ghosting over your skin. “You taste so fuckin’ good, y’know that?”

Your breath hitches as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, so close to where you want him, but not close enough. “Logan, please…” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, need dripping from every syllable.

He grins against your skin, rough and teasing. “Beggin’ already?” He lets out a low chuckle, then finally—finally—his mouth is on you. His tongue flicks out, slow and torturous, and your back arches off the seat as pleasure floods your body. It’s like he’s claiming you with every lick, every pull of his lips around your clit, and it’s so fucking good you can’t think straight.

His beard is rough against your inner thighs, rubbing deliciously against your skin as he works you over with his mouth. You can’t stop the soft moans escaping your lips, can’t stop your fingers from tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Logan groans against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips bucking up against his mouth, but Logan grips your thighs, holding you down with that impossible strength of his. His tongue moves faster now, flicking and sucking, and the tension inside you coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

It’s too much, too good. “Logan, I—” You can’t get the words out, and he knows exactly what you need. He sucks hard on your clit, and that’s it—you’re gone, your whole body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

The pleasure hits you like a freight train, intense and overwhelming, and you feel yourself gush, the slick wetness covering Logan’s mouth and beard. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, drinking up every drop like he’s starving for it, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin. You whimper, overstimulated, but he just smirks, beard soaked and glistening in the dim light of the truck.

“Damn, you taste even better when you’re comin’ all over my face,” he growls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s far from done. He leans back, eyes raking over your still-trembling body, and the hunger in his gaze makes your breath catch. “Think you got another one in you, darlin’? 'Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

You can only nod, the words lost somewhere between the lingering pleasure and the heat building inside you all over again. Logan’s already got you addicted, and you know you’ll never be able to go back.

[undercoveravenger]

Premeditated

Pairing: Criminal!Soap & Ghost x Detective!Male!Reader (Eventual poly 141 & reader)

This is Part 2 of this AU - to check out part one Click Here

Warnings: Suggestive (Soap’s a horny mf), allusions to crime (arson)

-----

Johnny’s “second date” with you happens exactly as he’d planned. Price and Ghost had been able to clear any evidence linking him to the explosion on Makarov’s side of town while Gaz had “miraculously found” footage of him at one of the relatively legitimate businesses the 141 operated timestamped precisely at the day and time of the incident. With nothing to link him back to the crime, Soap was released from police custody and he’d even had the chance to blow a kiss to his favorite detective on the way out.

He’d accepted his admittedly-deserved tongue lashing from Price about consorting with cops, but eventually Price agreed that you could prove quite useful once you were brought around to the idea of working with them. 

So then it was with Price’s blessing that he’d traced down your number and coerced convinced you to meet him for dinner.

The restaurant is empty, aside from the two of you and the staff, so he’s free to tease you more openly than if this whole thing hadn’t been arranged.

“Nice suit,” he says as you shift uncomfortably across from him. He can tell it’s probably just some cheap suit you wear to court when you’re required to testify and makes a mental note to buy a new one and have it delivered to you. “Bet it’d look even better on my bedroom floor while we-”

“You said,” you interrupt and God, what he’d give to have a sense of you. To see your expression and know whether this was you blowing him off or if he’d managed to actually fluster you. “You have intel worth my time.”

Straight to business, Johnny muses, Price’d appreciate that in a future son in law, wouldn’t he?

“You’ll get your information,” Johnny says, waving a hand dismissively. He thinks of the flash drive tucked away in his pocket and wonders what exactly you might be willing to do to get your hands on it. “After our date.”

“It’s not a-” your protests are interrupted by the arrival of your waiter, a towering blond with a black surgical mask over his mouth and nose. Johnny can see the way your eyes trail the length of the scar that runs down the side of Ghost’s face and something bitter twists in his stomach as you smile at him.

“Whotcha want?” Ghost grunts, as few-worded as always, but there’s something in the way that Ghost looks at you that Johnny recognizes. It’s the way he looks at you too.

Ghost takes your order and then disappears into the back without waiting for Johnny’s order. Typical Ghost.

“So,” he says, if only to get your eyes off of Ghost’s retreating figure and back onto him. “Tell me about yourself?”

It’s the wrong question. The invitation to make this more than a transaction, to make it real, and it has your shoulders tensing and your hand dropping to your hip like you were itching for the familiar weight of your gun. 

Johnny hums, sweet and low and soft, holds up his hands like a surrender even though he knows he’d never give up on something as special as you.

“Doesn’t need tae be somethin’ big,” he tries, needling for any little thing you’re willing to offer up to him. His lips twitch into a grin with an idea, “Matter of fact, I’ll tell you somethin’ for everythin’ you tell me.”

There’s a spark in your eyes at that, at the promise of something to work with and Johnny has a lot of things he’d like you to work with actually. Matter of fact, if you wanted to bend him over the table and- 

“I’ve been a detective for three years,” you say, voice pulling Johnny out of his daydreams. He’d known that - had seen it on the background check they’d pulled on you. He’d been hoping for something more personal, something just for him, but it was a start. 

Johnny forces himself to grin like that was new information, “Betcha couldnae tell by the accent, but I was born an’ raised in Scotland. A little town near Glasgow.”

You nod, eyes focused like you’re filing away the information for later and Johnny can’t help the delighted little kick in his chest that you’re eager to learn about him too, even if you might currently be planning on using it against him. He’s just gotta persuade you that you’re better off at his side.

“Before I decided to join the force,” you start, and Soap leans in, enraptured by the idea of learning something new about you. “I was nearly killed by a drive-by shooter.”

Johnny sits back at that, flummoxed by the idea that he might never have known you. That he’d have never even known what he would’ve been missing.

“My friends call me Soap,” he says, trying to brighten the mood a bit. He can see the confusion as you process what he’d said. 

“Soap?” Shivers creep down his spine at the way you say his callsign. He wonders what it’d be like to have you talking him through a job on comms. How hard it’d be to focus on anything but the sound of your voice. “Why?”

“Cause ‘e’s got a dirty fuckin’ mind,” Ghost rumbles as he reappears, a plate balanced in each hand. He deposits your plate in front of you carefully before dropping Johnny’s in front of him unceremoniously. He looks between Johnny and you for a long moment before dragging over a chair from a neighboring table and sits on it backwards, crossing his massive arms over the back of it, pitch dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “What’s a nice lad like you doin’ with a punk like ‘im?” Ghost asks and Johnny would’ve been offended if he didn’t know that this was just Ghost’s way of playing.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, intense gaze fixed on Johnny. He does his best not to squirm.

“He promised he’d be worth my time,” you say finally and Soap wants to applaud you for it. It’s a perfect answer, really - ambiguous enough of a promise that you could just be two men out on a date if Ghost didn’t already know otherwise.

But Ghost did know. He had to. The only reason he’d be here doing something as menial as serving tables is if Price asked him to. And if Price asked… his eyes cut over to the blinking red light of the surveillance camera in the far corner of the room. His suspicions are confirmed by the barely perceptible nod Ghost gives him when he turns back to the table.

Great, he thinks, Not only are you interested in Ghost, but Price and Gaz are both watching. He feels like the three of you are on some stupid reality show.

Ghost lingers while you and Johnny eat, interjecting every now and then with some terrible joke or to tease Johnny, and Johnny is baffled by how easy this feels. He trusts Ghost with his life, has to in their line of work, but he’s never seen him this open before. Never as at peace as he is right now, sitting next to you and listening intently. Even that ever present tension has started to bleed out of his shoulders the longer he’s near you.

Johnny grins as a wicked thought pops into his mind. He feigns a sigh as he looks down at the emptied plates and pulls out the flash drive with the information he’d promised you. “Well, a deal’s a deal. Your time for my intel,” he says, dangling the flash drive temptingly. He waits until you move to grab it before closing his fingers back around it, “On second thought,” he says, grin spreading at the look on his face, “One last thing and then it’s all yours.”

You don’t seem surprised that he’s changing the deal on you, though you look resolute and he takes that as a good sign.

“I’ll give this to you,” he starts, grinning fiercely, “After you give us a kiss.”

You huff and Johnny’s glad he made sure you weren’t wearing a wire when you arrived. There was something so much more satisfying about knowing that this was all your decision and you weren’t just following orders as you lean in.

“Nuh-uh,” he says when you’re just inches away, amusement covering that twinge of disappointment at not being able to kiss you just yet. “Him first.”

Johnny’s not sure who’s more shocked, you or Ghost. You’re stunned, eyes darting between the two of them like you’re trying to puzzle out the pieces of him saying to kiss ‘us’ not just being one of those odd little colloquialisms. 

Ghost is paler than Soap’s ever seen him, dark eyes wide and wild at being thrust so suddenly into the spotlight and Johnny almost calls it off until he sees the way Ghost’s hands twitch, fingers flexing like it’s all he can do to not grab hold of you and not let go.

“C’mon love,” Johnny croons, trailing his fingertips along your jaw until he can hook them under your chin and turn your head to face Ghost, “Look ‘ow much ‘e wants it.”

You’re still for a split second longer before you take his encouragement and shift toward Ghost, trailing your hands over kilometers-wide shoulders and up until your fingertips brush the edge of his mask.

Johnny can barely hear the quiet “this okay?” that you ask Ghost before Ghost is telling you to close your eyes and ripping off his mask.

He’s on you in seconds, lips on yours like you’re fresh air and he’s asphyxiating and Johnny doesn’t even feel jealous because what a show. He can hear the slick of Ghost’s mouth against yours, can see just how tight he’s clutching at you, and he can see that you’re giving it right back - hands tight around Ghost’s jaw and up into his hair to keep him close to you, to keep him kissing you, and there’s this wounded gasp that leaves you when Ghost eventually pulls away, but he’s already got his mask back in place by the time your eyes open. 

Johnny’s quick to take his place, taking your face in his hands and tugging you in like he’s been aching to do for weeks. He can’t help the needy little sound that escapes him when your mouth is finally on his and he can feel you lean into - feels the sharp sting of your teeth against his lower lip and then the heat of your tongue against it right after. He can’t stop his hands from roaming, clutching at your hair, your shoulders, your ass - it’s like he’s starving for you, like he’ll never get another chance to touch you so he has to memorize every inch of you now but he wants to do so much more than memorize and there’s not enough time. 

Eventually he forces himself to break the kiss, though he knows he’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of time in your arms. 

“As promised,” he says, still catching his breath as he pushes the thumb drive into your hands. 

His heart warms at the second of hesitation before you turn and go and he’s quiet for a moment before he turns back to Ghost, who ditched the surgical mask in favor of his usual skull hood as soon as the door closed behind you.

“Super fuckable, right?” Johnny asks as he stands and starts to clear the table, if only to give himself something to do.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ghost agrees, joining him.

Johnny would be sad that the night had ended where it did, he thinks, if he didn’t know that the information on that drive would have you back in his arms within the next twenty four hours. No, once you learned that your dear chief of police, Shepherd, was compromised, you’d come running right to the 141 for help exposing him, and the bigger the ask, the higher the cost. You’d never be rid of them at this rate.

[revelboo]

Would it be okay for a chapter two for Sunder and reader? I love this mech and I wanna know how he'd feel with reader just blocking his access to their memories. Memoryblocked 🙏

Sure!

Whipped Cream Pt 2

Sunder x Reader

• Servos flexing, his smile grows strained. That you can shut him out unexpectedly fascinating. “So much fear. I understand,” he croons as you watch him. Tensed like you want to bolt, but there’s nowhere to go. And you are calming, responding unconsciously to his soothing voice to let him slip back inside your mind. Keeping his touch light so you won’t kick him out again as he shivers and delights in your fears, your dreams. “Poor little love, to wake up somewhere strange. Alone and afraid? I’m here now, though.” Wants a taste of you, to touch you.

• That voice is crushed velvet stroking over you, almost hypnotic. Soothing the fear away until you want to find a way up there with him, curl up against him and rest safe there. That feeling of well being whispering through you even as there’s still the sense of something being very wrong jangling in the back of your mind. He shifts and the chains binding him clatter and you focus on that sound. “Chains,” you whisper, head lifting to find those blue optics. “Why are you chained down?” And when had you gotten so close to him? Hadn’t ever realized you’d moved, but now you notice the thin, sharp needles extended from his fingertips, skin crawling as they retract.

• “They don’t understand me. They fear me, but you have nothing to fear from me. I’d never hurt you,” he says, straining against his chains, hips lifting. You keep slipping out of his control, distracting him from gorging himself on your memories. Challenging him and it spreads like liquid fire through his lines. Goes straight to his spike. What would that feel like? To frag you while he gluts himself on your memories? Mnemonic needles slipping back out, his hips rock upward. Can’t reach his spike even if he freed it to touch himself. And the collar around his neck is keeping him locked mass displaced. A laughable attempt to mitigate how much of a threat he is, but this size? He could have you. “I’m so lonely for the feel of a hand in mine, little love.” So hungry. Starving and you’re deliciously tempting.

• The surface he’s chained to is taller than you are, but you’re almost certain you can jump enough to catch a chain and pull yourself up with him. No. Why would you want to do that? Cup his face between your palms and lean down to brush your mouth against his mindful of those spikes on his chassis. You don’t even know him, shaking your head, you press your fingers against your temples. “Stop that. Stay out of my head.” Because it’s him again. Screwing with you. Confusing you.

• “Such a clever, love.” Grinning, he laughs as you scowl. Oh, you’re going to be a delight to break, twisting you to his will. “I only want to touch you. Make you feel so good. You want that, don’t you? My body, my spike yours to use?” Sees your brow furrow, tastes your confusion, and he undulates his hips as much as he can bound, rocking his hips up and pretending he’s rutting against you and your face reddens. But you don’t look away.

Previous

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (matthew sturniolo)

pt 10

A couple of days had passed and Nick just posted the vlog from our drive around LA. Charlie and I were lounging on the couch, scrolling through our phones. My notifications had been blowing up all day. Every few seconds, a new comment popped up, most of them about the kiss Matt and I had shared in the vlog. The hate comments didn’t faze me—they were ridiculous and honestly kind of entertaining. People had too much time on their hands.

“Oh my God,” Charlie said, leaning over to peek at my phone. “They’re actually mad about a kiss? Like, of all things to care about.”

I shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, I’m public enemy number one. Should I frame this?”

She laughed, but before either of us could say more, my phone started buzzing. Matt’s name flashed on the screen. I answered quickly, putting the call on speaker.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, expecting him to laugh about the comments with me.

“Have you seen my comment section?” His voice was tense, his tone clipped.

I sat up straighter. “Uh, yeah. People are being dumb. Who cares?”

“I care,” he snapped. “It’s not just about you, Y/N. They’re not even saying awful things about me. Its just about how I ‘picked the wrong girl’ or whatever. It’s everywhere.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me, mouthing, ‘Seriously?’

“Matt, they’re just bitching,” I said, trying to stay calm. “You know none of that matters.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. “Your TikTok isn’t flooded with comments about how I ‘deserve better’ or how you’re ‘using me for clout.’ It's pissing me off.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, so what do you want to do? We can’t control what people say.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again, his tone softer but still firm. “Troll back. Lets just start making whatever we are way more public give them a real reason to be mad.” 

I hesitated, glancing at Charlie, who was already nodding eagerly as if to say, ‘Just do it.’

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s do it, I love being a dick online.”

Matt let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his voice. “Deal. I’ll come over later.”

As I hung up, Charlie smirked at me. “Hes gonna make you do porn on tiktok.”

“We havent even fucked,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“WHAT?” She yelled jumping up sitting straight up “What the fuck was going on the other night than?” 

“He just ate me out and oh my god the hottest thing ever, he was so turned on that started jerking off. Just to eating me out” I said feeling a warmth between my legs rethinking about the night me and Matt shared.

“Wow. Thats really fucking hot, hes inlove with you” Charlie said looking away from me “Im picturing it in my head. I'm jealous” I laughed at her response as we laid back down going back to our phones. 

Later that night, Matt came over, his irritation over the comments still lingering but hidden under his usual calm demeanor. I greeted him at the door, grinning as I waved him inside. "Ready to show the internet who's boss?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "You mean, ready to show the internet that I don’t care, but also kind of care? Yeah, let’s do this."

Charlie, lounging on the couch with her popcorn, chimed in. “Make it iconic, okay? Something that makes the haters cry.”

Scrolling through TikTok, I landed on the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend. I turned the screen to Matt. “How about this one? It’s simple, it’s bold, and it’ll get them talking.”

Matt glanced at the screen, then at me, his lips quivering into a smirk. “You really think you can handle me lifting you like that?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “The question is whether you can handle me.”

Charlie snorted from the couch. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

We set up the phone, positioning it on the kitchen counter for the perfect angle. Charlie jumping around on the couch in the back, I stood in front of Matt as the trend’s audio began playing. The line “A boy who’s jacked” came up, and right on cue, Matt’s hands slid to my hips. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted me effortlessly, placing me on his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me as I balanced on his shoulder, gripping onto him for support. The audio continued, transitioning to “and kind,” and Matt gave the camera with a playful grin, tapping my leg lightly.

Matt walked over grabbing his phone while I was still on his shoulders, added the caption: “my lady” and hit post.

Charlie shrugged, looking over Matt’s shoulder. “I like my cameo.”

Matt gently lowered me back to the ground, his hands lingering on my waist. “Think that’ll do the trick?”

I leaned into him slightly, grinning. “Oh, it’ll definitely stir the pot. But at least this time, it’s on our terms.”

We flopped onto the couch next to Charlie, refreshing the post to watch the views climb almost instantly. Matt wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as the first wave of comments rolled in.

As we sat on the couch, watching the likes and comments roll in from Matt’s TikTok, I turned to him with a mischievous grin. “Okay, now it’s my turn. We’re making one for my account.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see,” I teased, grabbing his hand to pull him up. “We need a parking lot for this one.”

Without hesitation, he stood, grabbed his keys, and intertwined his fingers with mine.  I laughed as he practically dragged me to the door, his excitement contagious. 

“BYE LOVERS! Chris and Nick will be here when you get back!” Charlie yelled from the couch.

“Bye baby!” I yelled back to her

By the time we reached the car, I was giggling uncontrollably. “You don’t even know what we’re doing yet.”

“Don’t care,” he said opening the passenger door for me. “You said parking lot, so we’re going to a parking lot.”

The drive was filled with us singing to old songs wed listen to in college. His curiosity clearly bubbling under the surface. “So,” he finally asked, “are you going to clue me in, or do I just wing it when we get there?”

I smirked, looking out the window. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he turned into a small, dimly lit parking lot. “This good enough for your tiktok?”

“Perfect,” I said, hopping out of the car. I grabbed my phone and propped it up against the tire, adjusting the angle until it captured the open space behind us.

Matt leaned against the car, watching me with amused curiosity. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s the move?”

I pulled up the audio and played it for him, explaining as it went. “Okay, so, I start spinning in the frame when the music begins, and then you run in, pick me up, and keep running off-screen.”

He nodded, walking away.

I laughed, hitting record and jogging into position. The audio started, and I spun slowly, my arms outstretched as the music swelled. ‘You better lock your phone-’ Right on cue, Matt dashed into the frame, scooping me up effortlessly. I squealed in surprise as he kept running, the camera capturing the two of us disappearing into the shadows.

When he finally stopped, both of us were laughing uncontrollably. “That was perfect,” I said, catching my breath as he set me down. 

“Obviously,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Now, let’s see it.”

We walked back to the car, reviewing the footage together under the soft glow of the streetlights. The video was exactly what I had imagined.

“You’re posting that, right?” Matt asked, his arm draped casually over my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I said, uploading the video with the caption: “my future baby daddy.”

As we got back into the car, I glanced over at him, grinning. “You really don’t question anything, do you?”

He shrugged, kissing my forehead. “Not when it comes to you.”

When we got back to the house, the sound of voices and laughter greeted us as we stepped inside. Chris and Nick were now sprawled out on the couch with Charlie, the TV playing in the background.

As soon as I walked in, a wave of excitement hit me. Everything had been going so well lately, and I couldn’t help but feel like life was finally falling into place. “Guys!” I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. “We should celebrate tonight!”

Nick perked up, looking intrigued. “What are we celebrating exactly?”

“Everything!” I exclaimed. “Life!”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Yes Y/N! I LOVE CELEBRATING LIFE!” Chris jumped up wrapping his arms around my shoulders behind me as we jumped like school girls.

Nick’s face lit up. “Well, if we’re talking about celebrating, I know Tara Yummy is throwing a party tonight. Should we go?”

Charlie’s eyes widened with excitement. “I’m in! We haven’t been to one of her parties. We've only ever dmed her a few times about a collab”

Matt looked over at me, smirking. “You good with that?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation, “Let’s go, I can tell Chris is gonna match my freak tonight” I said while patting his arm that was hanging on me.

Charlie laughed at me and Chris jumping around, we exchanged a quick glance before I turned, pointing toward the door. “Alright, you three. Go home and get ready.”

Nick groaned but stood up, dragging Matt with him. “Fine, but you better not take forever.”

“No promises!” Charlie called out as the boys headed out, leaving us to start planning our outfits for the night.

The moment the boys left, Charlie and I raced upstairs to start getting ready. The excitement of the night buzzed between us, making us laugh and talk over each other as we dug through our closets for the perfect outfits.

“I’m thinking something bold,” I said, pulling out a burgundy strapless corset top that hugged my figure and showed off just the right amount of cleavage. I paired it with a tight black cloth skirt that barely covered my ass and my black heeled boots. “What do you think?”

Charlie whistled, grinning. “Matt’s going to fuck you infront of everyone.”

I laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “We’re celebrating life, remember? What about you?”

She held up a black crop top with thin straps that fit her perfectly and paired it with a jean mini skirt that showed off her long legs. She added a pair of cute ankle boots. “How’s this?”

“Absolutely stunning,” I said with a grin. 

We got to work on our makeup and hair, After straightening my hair and leaving it sleek and shiny, I turned to Charlie, who was curling her hair into loose waves.

“You’re going to have every guy at that party eating out of your hand,” I teased, spraying her hair with setting spray.

“Please, as long as Chris is that's all I care ‘bout,” she shot back, but her smile was wide.

By the time we finished, we took a couple pictures in the mirror, grinning like excited to finally meet Tara, and get drunk.

“Let’s do this,” I said, grabbing my phone to text the boys to let them know we were almost ready.

“They better not keep us waiting,” Charlie added with a laugh as we headed downstairs, our heels clicking against the floor, excitement building for the night ahead.

Charlie and I were halfway through our second nip of vodka, as we danced around the kitchen. The boys walked in just as I tipped the tiny bottle back, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down my throat.

“Starting without us?” Nick teased. Chris followed close behind, already laughing at the scene.

Matt came in last, his eyes locking on me immediately. I caught the smirk tugging at his lips as he walked over. Just as I was placing the empty nip on the counter, his hands slid around my waist, and one moved down to grab my butt firmly.

I shrieked, startled, and spun my head around to glare at him, but he leaned down to whisper in my ear, his voice low and teasing. “Let’s go.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned back around, trying to hide my flushed face as I reached for my bag. Charlie wiggled her eyebrows at me but said nothing as she grabbed her purse and slid her phone into it.

“All set?” Chris asked.

“Matt’s driving,” Nick said with a grin. 

“Lucky me,” I said, giving Matt a playful smirk. “That means you can take care of me when I'm hammered.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, gesturing toward the door. “Per usual.”

Charlie and I followed the boys outside, the cool night air hitting our skin as we clicked down the driveway in our heels. Matt opened the passenger door for me, and I slid in, adjusting my skirt as he walked around to the driver’s side. Charlie climbed into the back with Chris and Nick, and we were off, heading for Tara’s party.

The car was filled with excitement and music as we drove, everyone hyped for the night ahead. I leaned back in my seat, sneaking a glance at Matt as he drove, his hand gripping the wheel tightly, the other holding my thigh. 

The house was packed with music blasting through the speakers and groups of people talking and laughing in every corner. As we walked in, the energy was electric.

“Y/N! Charlie!” A high-pitched squeal came from across the room, and Tara was practically sprinting toward us. She threw her arms around me first, then Charlie, her excitement contagious. “I was so excited when Nick told me you guys were coming! Finally, I get to meet the infamous Y/N and Charlie. You’re even prettier in person!”

Charlie and I exchanged amused smiles. “You’re so sweet, Tara,” I said, hugging her back.

“Come on,” Tara said, linking her arms with ours. “Let me show you where the drinks are. We’re getting started right now.”

She led us through the crowd, leaving Matt, Nick and Chris to socialize with other people, to a makeshift bar setup on the kitchen counter, complete with every type of alcohol imaginable. Tara wasted no time, grabbing shot glasses and pouring tequila like a pro.

“Let’s go, ladies,” she said, holding up her shot glass.

“Cheers!” we all yelled, clinking glasses before throwing back the first shot.

And then the second.

And then the third.

Before long, Charlie and I were fully committed to a shot-for-shot competition with Tara, each round getting harder to keep up with her.

“Come on, lightweight!” Tara teased as Charlie hesitated before the seventh shot, but I wasn’t about to back down. I threw our shot back, wincing as the burn hit my throat.

By the time an hour had passed, the three of us were absolutely obliterated. Tara was laughing so hard she was leaning on the counter for support, and Charlie and I were clinging to each other to stay upright.

“I love you guys,” Tara slurred, throwing her arms around us. “You’re my favorite people in the world now.”

“You’re my favorite!” Charlie yelled back, equally as drunk, before dissolving into giggles.

I nodded enthusiastically, my head spinning but too far gone to care. “Best friends forever,” I declared, raising my empty shot glass in the air like it was some kind of victory trophy.

The party was in full swing, the music pounding in my chest as I stumbled my way through the crowd, drink still clutched in my hand. My vision blurred slightly, but I was riding a wave of tipsy confidence—until I spotted him.

Matt.

He was leaning casually against the wall, talking to some girl. She was laughing at something he said, leaning in just a little too close. A flash of annoyance surged through me, cutting through the haze of alcohol. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to our college days—Matt fucking girl after girl.

Fueled by jealousy and bad judgment, I stormed across the room, stumbling slightly but determined. “What the hell is this?” I blurted, my voice louder than I intended.

Matt straightened up, his brows furrowing as he looked at me. “Y/N—”

“No, seriously,” I slurred, gesturing wildly at the girl. “What’s happening here?”

The girl blinked in confusion, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, I’m gonna go...” she muttered, excusing herself quickly as the tension between Matt and me became palpable.

Matt’s jaw tightened, and before I could say another word, he grabbed my wrist. “We’re not doing this here,” he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. He pulled me through the crowd, ignoring my protests, until we were in a quiet, empty room.

He let go of my wrist, closing the door behind us. Turning to face me, his eyes were sharp, his tone clearly pissed. “What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” I shot back, swaying slightly on my feet. “Talking to some random girl like I don’t even exist? What’s the deal, Matt? Back to your old habits?”

His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in frustration. “Are you serious right now? She’s just a friend! And even if she wasn’t, that’s not what this is. You’re drunk and making something out of nothing.”

“I saw the way she was looking at you,” I accused, my voice trembling. “And you weren’t exactly pushing her away.”

He took a step closer, his voice lowering as he leaned in. “Y/N, you’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight. Chill the fuck out.”

As Matt’s words echoed in the small, dimly lit room, I could feel the tension building, the weight of everything from the party to my frustrations pressing down on me. But then, unexpectedly, the alcohol made everything feel lighter.

I giggled, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably from my chest. "I love you," I blurted out, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Matt looked at me, eyebrows raised, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in mood. "What?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

I shrugged, the smile on my face turning mischievous despite the still-present anger in my head. "I mean, I do," I said, a silly grin stretching across my face. 

He stood there, speechless for a moment, his eyes searching mine. His lips quirked upward into a small, amused smile as he let out a deep breath. "You’re drunk, Y/N."

"Yeah, I know," I said, still grinning, "but I still love you."

He shook his head, chuckling lightly, before stepping closer. "You're lucky you're cute when you're drunk."

"You still love me, though," I teased,

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, his expression softening. "But let's get you back to the party before you start loving everyone."

I laughed again, “How about you just let me love you..” I pushed Matt back as he stumbled onto the bed.

“y/n don't… you're drunk.” Matt said as I walked towards him, placing myself on his lap.

“Just shut the fuck up Matt and kiss me” 

And when he finally gave me what I wanted, his lips crashing against mine as he moved against me, the world disappeared. There was only Matt—his touch, his voice, his everything. 

Matt’s hands gripped my hips, his hold firm but controlled, as if he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me. 

His body was flush against mine, every inch of him radiating heat. “Wait till tomorrow,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine, teasing but not giving me the kiss I desperately wanted. “I refuse to fuck you this drunk, y/n. And you are making it oh so hard”

“Shut up,” I whispered, tugging at his hair to start kissing his neck as I grinded my hips into his.

His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

“Get off me before I go against all my morals,” he said, his voice rough and full of promise. “I say full of love and respect.” he moaned out as I perfected my last hickey on him.

“There, I just needed you to shut up so I could show people. You belong to someone” I said as I leaned back looking at my work.

“Good to know.” Matt said as he leaned down, starting his own art peace on my chest. 

Once he was finished he grabbed my hips standing me up. “Lets go baby” He grabbed my hand pulling me towards the door. I stopped in the mirror fixing my hair and seeing Matt's two hickeys, one on each breast. Matt walked over to the mirror inspecting the couple I left trailing down his neck. “God you are so sexy” He said, kissing my cheek as he guided me out to the party. 

As Matt and I stepped back into the party, the loud music and chatter hit me like a wave. The room felt like it was spinning a little, but I held onto Matt's arm for balance. We were just about to make our way back to the group when Chris spotted us from across the room.

He ran over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There you are," he said, stopping in front of us. His eyes flicked between Matt and me before landing on me. "Y/N, I need you bad."

My eyebrows shot up, and Matt's posture immediately tensed beside me, sensing something was off. Chris, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the undercurrent of tension.

"I'm sorry," Chris said with a playful shrug, glancing over at Matt, "No, not like that anymore. I need you as my beer pong partner." He laughed realizing how bad his first sentence sounded.

Matt's grip on my arm tightened, but before I could even ask what he meant, Chris waved a hand dismissively and added with a wink, I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a bit. "You scared me for a second there," I joked, shaking my head at Chris.

Matt let out a small laugh too, his shoulders loosening as he realized it was just Chris being his usual, over-the-top self. "Yeah, she’s off-limits for now," Matt said, his tone affectionate but teasing. "But you can have her for beer pong."

Chris grinned and pulled me toward the game, but not before giving Matt a quick look. "Don't worry, I only need her to win this game. And you," he added, glancing at me, "are the best person for the job."

"Let’s do it then," I said, grinning and ready to dive into the chaos of the game, trying to push any lingering doubts aside.

Chris, despite being a bit too drunk to focus, had an energy that was hard to ignore. He bounced on his feet, grinning like a madman as he lined up to take his first shot. “Alright, we got this, Y/N,” he said with way too much confidence, raising his beer.

Across from us, Jake and Tara stood ready, both giving us playful smirks. Tara was already holding her own drink, clearly just as drunk as me, while Jake had a look of determination on his face, obviously eager to win. “You’re going down,” Jake said with a laugh, tossing the ping pong ball up and readying himself to launch it across the table.

Nick and Matt stood off to the side, cheering us on. Nick was practically jumping up and down in excitement, while Matt pushed himself off the wall, going behind me whispering in my ear. "Come on, Baby" 

The game started off slower than I expected, with Chris getting distracted by anything and everything—whether it was a drink on the table or someone else at the party walking by. But even in his drunken state, he was surprisingly good. Tara missed her first few shots, but Jake was still hitting his, making me sweat a little. I had to focus, but thankfully, Chris and I managed to keep our heads in the game.

We took turns, and each time, I felt the tension rise. Tara and Jake had their competitive energy going, but it was clear Chris and I had the upper hand��probably because Tara and Jake were having more fun than they were serious about winning. Chris finally got it together after a few more missed throws, throwing his ball with incredible force and sinking it into one of the last cups.

“Fuck yeah!” Chris shouted, stumbling and almost tipping over. I had to grab him to stop him from falling off balance.

In the final round, it came down to one last shot. Jake was up, and I knew he was going to give it everything he had. He took a deep breath, lined up his shot, and threw the ping pong ball—only for it to bounce off the rim and miss entirely. The room fell silent for a second before Chris and I erupted into cheers.

“We did it!” I yelled, laughing as Chris grabbed me in a half-hug and spun me around. “I can’t believe we won!”

Nick and Matt, who had been watching from the sidelines, immediately started clapping and cheering. “FINALLY!” Nick shouted, high-fiving Chris.

Tara and Jake laughed good-naturedly, though I could tell they were a little disappointed. “Alright, alright, you guys earned it,” Jake said, tossing a playful glare in our direction.

An hour had passed, and the energy of the party was starting to get to me. I could feel the buzz starting to wear off, and I was ready to head home. I looked over at Matt, who was leaning against the wall, talking to Nick. He caught my eye, and I gave him a small nod, silently telling him I was ready to go.

I walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. "Matt, I think it's time to head home," I said, trying to keep the smile on my face, but feeling the exhaustion from the party creeping in. The lights were too bright, the music a little too loud, and I just wanted to go back to the comfort of my place.

Matt nodded, his hand immediately finding mine. "Alright, let's get out of here," he said, pulling me toward the door. We waved to Tara and a few others as we made our way out of the party and into the cool night air.

Nick, who went to get Chris and Charlie, was already making his way to the car, pulling Chris and Charlie along with him. We all piled into the car, with Matt driving, me in the passenger seat, and the rest of the crew in the back. The ride was mostly quiet, everyone content in their own thoughts after a long night.

As we drove through the city streets, I could feel the tension finally easing. The party was fun, but there was something about heading home with Matt, knowing the night was winding down. I leaned my head against the window, watching the streetlights blur past as we made our way home.

Matt glanced over at me, a small smile on his face. "You good?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling back at him. "Just ready to be alone with you."

We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the sounds of the car and the occasional laugh from the backseat filling the air. The night had been eventful, but now all I wanted was the peace of being home with Matt.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0lliess @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend

[antinousletmehit]

hi! 👋 can you pretty please write more polities x reader? He’s adorable and I would love to see more polities x reader fanfic stories maybe of him getting home and after he helps ody with the suitor problem, he runs straight to his wife, reader, who has also been waiting for him and he get done onto his knees and hugs her sobbing 😭 almost ugly crying on how sorry he is that he was gone for so long and beg for forgiveness

Or maybe of polities gets turned into a pig by Circe because he ate food with the crew even though he is a sweetheart and reader starts fawning over his adorable pig form with glasses and red bandanna

sorry so many cute short stories ideas involving polites and other characters from epic love your writing though 😍

୨୧┇pairing: Polites x reader

୨୧┇I don’t get enough requests for him ngl

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

After twenty long years, he was finally home.

He dropped his sword, the clang echoing in the silent hall, and turned to Odysseus. “My king, with your leave…” Odysseus, though weary, gave him a knowing nod. “Go to her, Polites.”

Polites didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted from the hall, his heart pounding as he ran through the familiar streets of Ithaca. The village had changed in some ways, new faces, new buildings, but his feet knew the way. They carried him to the small cottage on the outskirts of town, the one he had built with his own hands before the war.

The moment he saw the warm glow of firelight through the window, his breath hitched. You were inside. You were there.

He pushed open the door, his voice breaking as he called out, “Y/N?”

You turned from where you stood near the hearth, and the world seemed to stop. Your eyes widened, your hand flying to your mouth as you took him in. disheveled, bruised, and teary eyed, but alive. “Polites,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. He crossed the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face against you, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice muffled. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You froze for a moment, stunned, before your hands came up to thread through his hair. “Polites…”

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he cried, clinging to you like a drowning man clings to a lifeline. “I didn’t mean to—gods, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought…I thought you’d have moved on, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I—”

“Polites,” you interrupted gently, pulling back just enough to tilt his tear streaked face up to yours. “Stop. You’re home. That’s all that matters.”

“But I left you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I left you alone for twenty years. How can you forgive me for that?” Tears welled in your eyes as you knelt down, cupping his face in your hands. “You didn’t leave by choice. You went to war to protect our home, our people. And you came back to me. That’s all I ever hoped for.”

His lip quivered as he stared at you, his brown eyes filled with so much love and regret that it nearly broke your heart. “I don’t deserve you.”You smiled softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You’re wrong. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Polites.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything. More than words can say.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, your own tears falling freely now.

For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, the weight of twenty years melting away in the warmth of your embrace. Polites vowed then and there to spend the rest of his life making up for the time you’d lost, cherishing you with every breath he had left.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Cynic Pt.2

Here's part 1

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing:  RB! Sebastian Vettel x Engineer! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

She sat at the breakroom table, the remnants of a sandwich abandoned on its wrapper as her fingers gently turned the page of a book. It wasn’t a technical manual or a dense engineering tome, but something far more tender—a collection of love letters exchanged between a philosopher and his lover, their words brimming with yearning and passion. The book leaned open against the table, unhidden but still an anomaly in her otherwise composed, pragmatic persona. Her eyes moved slowly over the page, her expression soft, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

She didn’t notice Sebastian approach until he was already across from her, sliding into the seat with the easy confidence that always seemed to disarm her. “What’s got you so focused?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows. His tone was playful, and she could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before she even looked up.

She stayed quiet, letting the words on the page anchor her. She didn’t need to play into his teasing—he could entertain himself just fine.

Seb, never one to back down, craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the book’s cover. When he finally read the title, his eyebrows shot up in exaggerated surprise. “Albert Camus, María Casares. Correspondence?” he said, dragging out the words for maximum effect. “Wait, this is what’s got you so enthralled? I was expecting blueprints, not… love letters.”

She exhaled slowly, her eyes still on the page, but the faintest flush bloomed on her cheeks. “What’s wrong with love letters?” she asked evenly, finally looking up.

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s just… not what I expected from you. Miss Stoic, Miss ‘I don’t believe in feelings.’”

Her lips twitched, almost smiling. “I never said I don’t believe in feelings. I just don’t waste my time on ones that don’t matter.”

Seb let out a low laugh, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “And yet here you are, reading letters from people who probably spent their whole lives pining over someone they couldn’t have.”

Her blush deepened, but she kept her tone steady. “Maybe I appreciate people who aren’t afraid to say what they feel, even if it’s not practical.”

He paused at that, his expression shifting just slightly. For a moment, she thought she might have caught him off guard.

“Fair point,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair, though his gaze remained locked on hers. After a moment, his smirk returned, softer this time. “If you’re that into love letters, though, I could write you some. Straight from the heart. Very personal. What do you think?”

Her heart jumped, and she was sure he could hear it from across the table. His words were teasing, but there was something in the way he said them that made her chest tighten. She forced herself to scoff, brushing him off with an air of practiced indifference. “I’ll pass. I’m fine with the classics.”

Seb laughed, standing and giving her one last grin as he ruffled her hair—a gesture she pretended to hate but secretly cherished. “Your loss,” he said lightly, his tone tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

She watched him walk away, her fingers brushing the edges of the book. Her heart was still racing, and for a moment, she couldn’t help but wonder if the letters she admired so much weren’t that different from the words she longed to hear from him.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: I will probably do a third part.

I just thought about this while reading the Correspondence between Albert Camus and María Casares book, and idk, this came to mind.

English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

[zahri-melitor]

Hi! I’m a steph fan and your steph post really is good. IDK what post/person you’re talking about (I assume it’s going around, because I’m seeing the tumblr posts about it) but I love steph, and I think her sense of retributive justice and almost like instinctual violence towards men makes complete sense with her character. Even if I don’t think every writer was doing it intentionally (BQM certainly wasn’t thinking about Steph’s history with men when he had Steph get startled and punch Tim accidentally or whatever), these traits I think speak to feelings a lot of abused and wronged teenage girls have. I think it’s genuinely bizarre to want to remove these traits that IMO make Steph interesting in order to make her more palatable.

While I can actually understand people wanting her to grapple with restorative vs. retributive justice (again, i think this is a really common thing for young abused people to question and struggle with so seeing it on-page could be interesting), I think there’s more and more this sense of because Dixon wrote her this way, you should throw it all out which is so catastrophically boring to me. As much as Dixon is a conservative, and wrote Steph as a bit of a mouthpiece (and leaning on stereotypes about young girls in her characterization), plenty of it i think makes complete sense and genuinely works for her character.

Which, again isn’t to say I think every single aspect should be immutable forever (I think that would also be boring, especially for Steph who very rarely has gotten to be seriously introspective or have a fully realized arc in which her beliefs change past like 2000), but plenty of them straight up work for her teenage years in particular. Like of course the girl with no friends we meet on-page and no real support system when shes introduced is going to be possessive and desperate and catty! She started coming on to Tim after he REMEMBERED HER VIGILANTE NAME. That’s what it takes for teenage steph to like a boy, which I think speaks a ton for her dynamics with her male peers in her life. Like the minute you think even a second about what Steph’s life was probably like pre-Spoiler, I think most of her character flaws as a teenager (even those born of a conservative era or sexist writing) make complete sense.

I understand people not liking Steph (although I think she gets a lot less leeway than her male counterparts), but I think buffing out her canonical traits and flaws so she’s just like this freakish exaggerated version of herself (a perky, hyper-feminine stereotypical blonde thats super chaotic and doesnt think and does everything unintentionally) that only exists as a character foil to Tim or Cass or as a like cookie cutter snarky young female sidekick is way worse.

The thing about Steph in particular compared to a lot of other characters is that she has two very distinct, separate versions of her story that exist in an overlapping form (rather than before and after a Crisis like a lot of other characters who have a similar discontinuity in their characterisation).

The main character Steph you get reading Batgirl 2009 and Batgirls 2022 is a quite different personality to supporting character Steph that forms her appearances from 1992-2004, Batman RIP, Tynion's 'Tec, and Mariko Tamaki's 'Tec and One Bad Day.

Now personally, what I enjoy in a character is complexity and personality traits that are simultaneously assets and flaws (This is part of the reason I adore Barbara Gordon: she's a stubborn, grudge-holding hypocrite, and it gives her character so much depth). Another thing that you particularly see with female characters is they often develop a lot of complexity via stories that don't quite line up but when analysed turn into patterns of behaviour that various writers didn't even realise they were contributing to.

Supporting character Steph tends to be allowed to be messy (to help move stories along!) and that's where a lot of her most interesting personality traits pop up. As you say, there's a lot of solid background to why she hates to see criminals 'get away with it' based in her background and childhood and storylines. There's reasons for why she seems such a loner who has trouble forming friendships and who clings to the people who do put up with her for validation, and is so territorial over her relationships with Tim and Cass. She's desperate for approval and will cling to any shred of it she gets. And that desperation and determination is where her stubborn commitment to get back up again and ignore everyone trying to convince her to stop comes from, and how she keeps fighting, to prove her naysayers wrong.

While I tend to feel the Batgirl 2009 and Batgirls 2022 version of Steph is really flattened out into Generic Perky Blonde Optimist, because she's not allowed to face consequences of her actions or be at fault for anything in those titles.

It also obviously makes discussions difficult, with the overlapping contradictory characterisation versions, because if you're talking to someone who's only read a small chunk of her canon, you have to work out which bits they know, and with the added problem that what looks like obvious entry points (her solo or Batgirls) tend towards more uncharacteristic and flattened personality versions of her. Someone who's only read, say, Batgirls, has a very different view of who Steph is than someone who's only read Steph's Robin appearances, and if they try to discuss it without realising the significant differences in characterisation they're going to end up talking at crosspurposes.

[jugheads-choni]

Saw some people in my twitter circle and on here fighting about AroAce Jughead and man am I tired of the discourse.

Jughead is CANONICALLY asexual in the Chip Zdarksy. But does that mean he’s aromantic too? Not by default. But I personally believe there is evidence that supports he is not just in the Zdarksy run, but other comics as well. He’s always portrayed as a “girl hater”, there are comments made like this: “averse to romance” or his “I don’t go on dates. I don’t like people like that” or “I am in no way romantic”. Zdarsky himself says aro, for the purpose of his teen years. Demi-romantic is 100% valid too, as he gets older and his life changes.

My point is that sexuality is FLUID. Each one of these: aro, ace, demi-romantic are all present in the comics and to try to invalidate any of them, is incredibly silly. Especially since his sexuality is RARELY confirmed by any means. And for what? Because you ship him with a girl? Because you don’t?

One of the best parts about Archie comics is that there is something for everyone. If you ship him with Betty or Ethel, go for it. Go read a comic with them. But to attack people for seeing themselves in him and interpreting his character as AroAce is fucked up. Canon, non-canon, who freaking cares. Most of these stories are left up to our own interpretation anyways. Stop being awful people about it. Let everyone think what they want, and ship what they want. Be kind.

Alright. Mini-rant over. 🤣👌

Edit:

Wanted to tack this on. This is what Chip Zdarsky said a few years ago at a New York Comic Con. And I think it’s incredibly important to note that Jughead has historically been asexual coded, they just didn’t have the same language for these things that we do now. IMO, same goes for aromantic as well. A lot of people just don’t understand it or WANT him to be a certain way so they ignore the subtext.

[dekusleftsock]

Y’all reading the newest chapter scans is like whiplash

I forgot how unhinged he can be, and tbh how much more unhinged he’s currently being.

Anyway Izuku is my favorite character so, sorry y’all, I know everyone is excited about Katsuki

However. Everyone else can talk about Katsuki. I live on my scraps.

Love how Shigaraki tries to get a dig at Izuku about Katsuki like how Monoma did when he unlocked blackwhip, so his immediate reaction is diverge diverge diverge.

Talk about repressed but this is a whole new level.

And his eye bags, they just make him look so exhausted.

I said this before but the chapter after Katsuki woke up Izuku looked relieved to me yes, but also… very scared. Very afraid of Katsuki’s well being.

Especially since, if we compare what Katsuki is doing now (using the pain as an extension of his quirk), you could EASILY COMPARE to when Izuku unlocked danger sense with shigaraki. How concerned and afraid Katsuki was in those chapters.

The thing is though, Katsuki was honest. He was honest that Izuku shouldn’t be doing this on his own, he’s being honest now—“I’m Kacchan of the Bakugou’s!”

He knows how he’s feeling and he’s letting himself feel it.

Somehow, Izuku still isn’t.

Hell, when afo ignores Katsuki, what he does is laugh about how much pain he’s in, but that it’s the key.

Let’s compare how Katsuki is using pain to how Izuku is using pain with danger sense. Let us not forget, danger sense is a physically taxing quirk, much like the rest of ofa. It causes a migraine when in any immediate danger.

Idk about y’all, but I get migraines so bad sometimes I vomit from the buildup of pressure. I can’t focus on anything. I just cant really imagine Izuku using danger sense that well in a fight… yet he does.

And, what exactly is danger sense for? To get out of danger? Maybe to avoid the danger? Ofa is an extension of Izuku’s inner turmoil, every single quirk exhibits this, and it would make so. Much. Sense. For danger sense to mimic his avoidance of emotions and vulnerability.

Katsuki’s quirk as it is now uses pain in a very odd way to me—he doesn’t try to use it to exit himself from the danger or pain, but actively searches for it. The pain is the key.

Danger sense is also a relatively self serving quirk, only really useable for himself. And for him to reference danger sense of all his quirks rn, it would make sense since…

Izuku has been self serving and avoidant since before even this fight. Hell, before even the war arc. Maybe this has gone on his entire life.

I want to hit him so bad for this y’all don’t GET IT.

And, just so we all know, he did this in 348 too. When confronted with emotional conversations, his first thought will always be “but how’s the fastest way I can win this fight?”

MY PROOF YALL IM SO DONE WITH THIS DUDE

“You see I have never once thought about hurting the people I care about like that!” Okay maybe be less boring

HM I WONDER WHY

THATS SO CRAZY DEKU

YOU TELL ME

WHY IS THE GIRL WHO YOU REJECTED AND THEN SAID THAT HER WAY OF LOVING IS SOMETHING YOU COULD NEVER DO TO OTHER PEOPLE (ALSO IMPLYING JUDGEMENT IN THIS STATEMENT), SAD RIGHT NOW?

LETS USE SOME COMMON SENSE PLEASE

I’m hyped for when Izuku is forced to be honest y’all don’t understand. It’s gonna be an angst fest and it’s gonna be romantic and I literally can’t see it not heading down the “explicitly canonical” path.

[myfairkatiecat]

Y’all if you’re gonna criticize keefe at least criticize something he’s actually doing wrong, there’s literally so many of those things do you want a list

[simcardiac-arrested]

do you think wayback would be a dom to ns' subconscious sub. i think that if ns experienced being a sub he would begrudgingly like it

[lezbianz]

oh i Have to quit this fucking job