#is it the story that is bad or is it you?

[zeropro]

What does bumblebee think of skywarp? Or the other way around?

Bee used to hear horror stories during the war of the ghost seeker who will appear out of nowhere to rip you to pieces with his bare hands all while laughing maniacally as he did so, but now he's friends with TC and he knows Skywarp is TC’s brother, so he’s like, eeeh about him. Skywarp spends a lot of time moping because he’s upset about losing his warp drive, and also Thundercracker isnt around anymore, and also he’s not super comfortable being surrounded by Autobots, and Starscream is also on edge so he doesnt spend a lot of time with him. When he does break out of his funk he’s usually causing trouble with the Lambros or Cassettwins, which Bee then has to pick up after. Not to mention he never watches where he’s stepping when humans are around. So he really isnt endearing himself much to Bee. After having him around the base for a while Bee does start to realise he’s not like, a malicious person, and Bee does feel bad for him and what he’s going through, but they don’t hang out or anything.

[norrisainz33]

simp || cs55

summary: carlos has a massive crush on one of hollywoods it girls, y/n and he desperately wants her to notice him

pairing: carlos sainz x famous!reader

fc & warnings: madelyn cline and suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

requested: yes! thank you for your patience!! i know this took forever

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, tatemcrae, adrianalima, lhughes_06, joeburrow, and 2,508,388 others

ynuser: can’t even tell i’m jet lagged to all heck right now thanks to my incredible team!! thanks for having me dior

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carlossainz55: jet lag has never looked better princessa

user1: how does this man always beat me here im

user2: when u show up to a who loves y/n most competition and this mf there

user55: its getting hard to make excuses for you carlos

user1: your hair omgggg you look so good

yourbff: no you're glowing

ynuser: thank you 🤍

user4: god i’m obsessed with you

joeburrow: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

yourcostar: ok i see you gorgeous girl

ynuser: i miss you

williamsracing has posted a video

liked by carlossainz55, lando, alex_albon, user55, robertomerhi, charlesleclerc, yourcostar, yourbff, and 658,234 others

williamsracing: they had a lot of fun with this quiz! check out the latest grid games with lia, carlos and alex!

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user2: carbonooooooooo

user4: i love that lia is here too omg

carlossainz55: ynuser shooting my shot 😌

user55: carlos go 1 minute without mentioning y/n challenge failed

user5: since my goat said to tag her ynuser hello did u see this

user55: god he’s down so bad ynuser please im begging

user43: ynuser carlos saved my cat from a burning building

user77: carlos built me a house ynuser

lando: ynuser hey

carlossainz55: my guy 😉

yourbff: lmaoooooooo ynuser you gotta put this man out of his misery

user55: EVERYONE STAY CALM CARLOS STAY CALM MY MAN DONT EMBARRASS US THIS IS HER BEST FRIEND

carlossainz55: yourbff ynsuer please

user4: god hes such a simp this is painful

user8: i love this trio sm

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yunser: fun in the sun ☀️🤍

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user1: you are the definition of beauty

carlossainz55: you should try the spanish sun. i think you’d have a lot of fun under it 😉

lando: not your best work mate

charlesleclerc: mon ami what was this line

lewishamilton: next time be less obvious

user55: not even the drivers can defend him anymore

user22: body is tea

zendaya: the prettiest lady 🤍

ynuser: daya 😭😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍

user33: so you can paint now too?! what can’t you do

user44 the literal love of my life

ynuser has posted a private story

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yourbff: Y E S! he is so fine it’s sickening

ynuser: he is really attractive……

yourbff: anyone with eyes can see that bb

ynuser: alright…… i’m gonna dm him

yourbff: YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS

yourcostar: i laughed out loud at this and then checked your posts and man is trying his hardest

ynuser: stoppppp 😭😭😭 he is committed and honestly i’m into it

zendaya: tom knows him!!! he’s a super nice guy. i say go for it

ynuser: if you and tom approve i’ll do it

zendaya: double date!!!!!

yourfriend1: DO IT FOR THE PLOT

ynuser: on it

yourfriend2: i have been begging you to get into f1 for years now

ynuser: you’re right…. my bad girl

ynuser has posted to their story

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user2: you’re doing just about anything but filming that new season huh

user55: no way. no way you’re in spain. oh my god this better be about carlos. i’m gonna crash all the way out

yourbff: OMG YOIRE WITH HIM!!! AGAIN?!?!?!

ynuser: i am!! having the best time with him 🥹 after our first date in monaco he convinced me to go to spain with him over his break from driving and it has been like a dream

yourbff: you have to facetime me later and spill the beans

ynuser: if i get any alone time i will 🤭

yourbff: are you….. staying in the same hotel room?! OMG DID THEY DO THE THING WHERE THEY GIVE YOU A HOTEL ROOM THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 2 BEDS BUT WAS ONLY 1?!

ynuser: AHAHHAH no i am NOT in a romance book tho it feels like it. we chose to get a hotel room with only one bed 😏

yourbff: i’m giggling, goofing , freaking out. how dare you not tell me this !!

ynuser: i promiseeee ill call tomorrow!!

yourbff: fineee enjoy your night of f*cking. you gotta tell me how he is 😉

ynuser: STOPSJDK

carlossainz55: i’m glad you love it mi amor 🥰

ynuser: might just be because i have the best tour guide ever

carlossainz55: that definitely helps i’m sure

user4: aesthetic af

charlesleclerc: thank GOD!

ynuser: it’s been a long time coming

charlesleclerc: you can say that again

user12: on god this better be about carlos sainz

carlossainz55 has posted a story

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ynupdates: is that blondie in the corner who i think it is you ain’t slick

user2: you’re my love

lando: you in amorrrrrrrrr?!

carlossainz55: yes 😍 she’s just as amazing as i imagined

lando: awooga that’s the best news ever

user4: i can’t wait for you to get back on track

alex_albon: are you having fun????

carlossainz55: so much fun…. some would say the most fun especially because she agreed to be my girlfriend 😉

alex_albon: thank GOD. george owes me £400

carlossainz55: que?

alex_albon: we took bets on if she’d fall for you or not. i said she would 😌

carlossainz55: i’m going to have to give george a call it seems. who else bet on this????

alex_albon: the whole group chat 😅

carlossainz55: give me a list of everyone who bet against me

carlossainz55: DONT LEAVE ME ON READ

carlossainz55: ALEXANDER ALBON

user55: you’re in barcelona. y/n is in barcelona…. she’s blonde… there’s a blonde in this photo that looks a lot like her….. did you do the unthinkable and get y/n to notice you?

user13: when you getting back in the car king

carlossainz55 has made a post

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carlossainz55: you know what they say - pics or it didn’t happen

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user3: oh my god he’s done it

user55: THATS MY GOAT!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU

lando: i can’t believe my eyes

carlossainz55: me neither

williamsracing: so this is why you were in the best mood i’ve ever seen and asked for a paddock pass for every race for the foreseeable future

carlossainz55: 😌🤍

alex_albon: incredible work mate

user23: wondering what insane level of simp he’s gonna reach now that he’s bagged the baddie

charlesleclerc: you are welcome!

ynupdates: claiming credit i see charles

charlesleclerc: well i helped

ynuser: my friends did send me your tweets so really you both did this

carlossainz55: and i thank you both charlesleclerc ynupdates

user34: i just stood up and applauded

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!!! likes and reblogs appreciated. been very busy recently, hopefully will have some more time to writing soon!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[yenhan]

TF141 X Retail worker!Reader

Masterlist

a/n: tf141 x retail worker!reader because the international student au reader is busy, lol

Synopsis: Kyle is the best customer you could ask for, but his teammates aren't as easy.

At first, London seemed like a dream. Hustle, grit, fashion week, the chaos of creativity all bottled into a city that never took a breath. Too bad the reality was different. It wasn’t the long hours that crushed you, it was the people, the endless ladder climbing, the sneers hidden behind faux-kind smiles, the stinging burn of rejection from agencies that only saw numbers, not vision. For someone like you, soft around the edges, it was suffocating. So, you left. “I didn’t fail,” you told yourself. “I just chose something else.”

Now, you were here, in a sleepy tiny town tucked far from madness, working in retail in a cozy boutique on the corner of a cobbled high street. The shop had charm. All reclaimed wood shelves and vintage Edison bulbs, racks lined with pre-loved jackets, silk scarves, old military coats with stories stitched into their hems. Some days were slow. Most were, but you liked the pace. You liked knowing the regulars by name, their styles by heart.

Your signature Ferrari bomber jacket hung over your shoulder, bright red, bold white racing stripes down the sleeves. It had survived seven years and at least three attempted red wine assassinations. Half the people who walked in complimented it. The other half gave you a knowing look when they spotted the prancing horse.

“I know,” you’d sigh with a smirk. “Being a Ferrari fan is practically a tragic personality trait.” The jacket made people smile. It made you smile. And in your world, that was enough.

Your favorite customers were a group of four men who’d started showing up sometime last year. You didn’t know how they found you, though it wasn’t surprising. Most of your customers came from word-of-mouth; a recommendation from a friend, or sheer luck during a caffeine-fueled detour. Either way, once they got in, they kept coming back.

Kyle was the first. Friendly, easygoing, with a sparkle of curiosity behind those warm chocolate eyes. He liked trying new styles, often picked your brain about fabrics and cuts, and wasn’t shy about flipping through racks with genuine enthusiasm. The two of you hit it off quickly. You’d talk fashion—designers, eras, tailoring techniques, so on and so forth. Every now and then, you’d catch him scribbling notes into his phone like he didn’t want to forget what you’d said. You had a stupid smile plastered on your face for the rest of the shift.

Johnny followed soon after. Something about his roguish charm and mischief wrapped in a thick Scottish accent made your heart flip. He made a game of flirting with you, asking which shirt made him look like a rockstar, which trousers “hugged the right bits.” You didn’t mind. It wasn’t sleazy and disgustingly creepy like Mrs. Lambert’s husband’s comments; it was just cheeky. “’s fun, right, hen?”

The Scot had been through something, there was a scar that curved into his hairline, and sometimes, you caught him checking exits a little too carefully, but he always smiled at you as if the world wasn’t heavy on his back.

One day, Kyle told you the others would drop by the shop for a quick tour. “The captain and lieutenant,” he explained, hanging a pressed crimson sweater on the rack. “Figured you might help. Price—John—needs to stop dressing like a dad who bought a motorcycle to impress his ex. And Ghost... well, he’s allergic to color. I won’t be there, love. Good luck.”

You laughed, finding his concerns exaggerated. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And oh boy, you did.

—

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked two figures whose attires screamed ‘suspicious crime syndicate members.’ One was broad-shouldered, bearded, and wore a low cap over his brow. The other looming shadow wore black jeans and a hoodie, eyes unreadable under a dark skull-printed mask.

“Y’alright?” John Price’s voice was gravel and warmth, all wrapped in one delicious burrito. “You’re the one tryin’ to make us fashionable?”

“I try to guide people. Whether they listen is another matter.” You corrected him.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He stood by the door like a gothic statue, gazing from wall to window to floor, like the entire place might collapse under the weight of vintage cardigans. You offered him a polite smile. He didn’t return it.

So. That was Simon, you’d find out his birth name much much later.

Gaz had warned you. But warnings didn’t quite prepare you for the presence of someone who could dissolve into a shadow if he really wanted to. You felt your smile falter a little. “Be gentle with the lieutenant, bonnie. He’s got the fashion sense of a funeral director. Easily spooked, tha’ one.” You remembered Johnny saying it. That Hulk of a man didn’t really seem easily spooked or affected by anything at all. But you’d learned not to trust the Scotsman’s judgement on people. Last time he said your newborn nephew looked like Sid from Ice Age and you’d never felt so offended.

“Well, let me know if anything makes you feel like you’re on a runway show,” you offered lightly, mostly to Price. “Or at least less of a fashion crime.”

That earned you a huff of amusement from the captain. “That obvious, huh?”

You studied him openly, eyes running over his old leather jacket, faded jeans, boots that looked like they’d seen more mud than pavement. “I'm getting 'I'm about to start a podcast about whisky and post-divorce toxic masculinity' vibes.”

Ghost let out a short snort. Yes, that sound had come from him. Price, on the other hand, barked a laugh and pointed a finger at you.

“Cheeky. Sorry for the trouble, birdie.”

—

The next thirty minutes were… interesting.

Price started by rejecting everything. Every coat was too soft, every shirt too ‘bloody posh’, every jumper looked like something his dad would’ve worn to the pub. But he kept trying them on, kept letting you adjust the collar, roll up sleeves, hold a mirror just right. “Don’t see what’s wrong with the leather one I’ve got.”

“John, you don’t want women to guess you’re divorced and why just by your looks.” You deadpanned behind a rack. The man stopped complaining after that.

“Tell me the truth,” he inquired once, eyeing a fitted navy peacoat. “Do I look like someone who owns a boat?”

“You look like someone who pretends to own a boat to impress his Tinder date.”

He gave you a mildly confused look. “What’s Tinder?”

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t moved an inch. You tried subtle nudges. Held up a long black coat with silver snap buttons. No response. Picked out a designer knit jumper with a high neck. Nothing. Finally, you took a risk.

You stepped closer, gentle but not meek. “Look, I’m not gonna try and make you wear lime green or anything. But you’re a tall guy. Broad frame. You could make half of this stuff look terrifying in a clever way.”

He tilted his head just enough to make the skull motif shift with him. “Not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair. But comfort isn’t just about fabric. It’s about feeling like yourself. Or... the version of you that you don’t mind being seen.”

Silence. Again. After a moment, he reached out and you had to stifle your holy hell as he plucked the coat you’d offered off the rack. Then he disappeared into the changing room.

You turned back to Price, whose eyes held something vaguely amused. “I owe Kyle a pint,” he winked.

Ghost walked out of the fitting room, and the entire shop seemed to still for a moment. The coat suited him like it had been tailored specifically for his bulk. The wool draped across his shoulders and the belt cinched just enough to emphasize the lean strength of his torso.

…

“Could be worse.”

You beamed. That was a five-star review coming from him.

Eventually, both men found something they liked. Price left with the peacoat and a rugged forest green henley. Ghost kept the long coat and to your absolute delight, picked up a navy blue shirt as they were checking out. You didn’t mention it. You figured calling attention to it might break the spell.

At the register, Price handed over his card with a smirk. “Suppose I owe you an apology, birdie. Thought this’d be a waste of time...”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend you were a nightmare and insulted my entire stock.”

“Attagirl.”

—

Later that evening, Kyle poked his head back in while you tidied the place back into shape. “They liked you,” he cheered.

“I’m irresistible.”

“Nah, seriously. You made Ghost wear something that wasn’t from a tactical catalog. That’s magic.” You rolled your eyes. However, when he left and you locked the door behind him, a little glow lingered in your chest.

[reallysaneguy]

going to McDonalds after the Renaissance Fair was magical as in everyone there was in cosplay.

I also worked at McDonalds, and Halloween was one of the best days because seeing everyone come in with their costumes was so fun. we even got to dress up (somewhat) and everyone just enjoyed acting in character for the day

My friends and I used to do this thing where we'd dress up on a theme and go do something totally normal.

We dressed up as pirates and went bowling.

We dressed as vikings and went to the grocery store. The security guard told us we had to move our longship because it was illegally parked.

We dressed as Romans and went to Blockbuster. The staff chanted, "toga! Toga! Toga!" at us.

We dressed up all steampunk and went to the museum. Tourists kept taking our picture.

[3liza]

after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

[jinxbabys]

cw: sub-bottom vi. fem-top reader. mean dom reader. degradation. strap-on referred to as cock. 1k words. men and minors dni.

synopsis: after the breakup, vi realizes you’re the only one who can give her what she craves.

a/n: rewrite of one of my old fics!

since your breakup with vi, there’s been numerous rumors circulating around campus—stories of her charming girls with sweet, romantic dates, only to take them home and leave them thoroughly fucked. under normal circumstances, it might bother you. except you know vi, you know how tightly wound she gets, how unsatisfied she must be, because it’s clear none of those other girls have put in the effort to actually fuck vi. 

you haven’t heard a single whisper about any of them actually giving vi what she needs, stretching her out the way she craves, pressing their cocks deep inside her tight pussy. you imagine it must be eating her alive. vi’s always had a greedy hole—an orifice that’s bottomless and sweetly pathetic.

besides, you’ve seen them; the women she dates. they’re harmless, prudish, well-mannered, pretty in a conventional way. not one of them could fuck vi properly. they wouldn’t even know where to begin.

so it’s funny, really—watching vi try to provoke you. the way she flaunts them like costume jewelry, hoping to catch your eye. but you offer nothing in return. no reaction, no flicker of interest or jealousy. there’s simply nothing there worth responding to.

which is why you aren’t surprised when vi appears at your doorstep a week later, shy like an abandoned pet. she’s blushing, trembling, her sea-glass eyes rimmed with guilt and some shadowy element of hope.

“can i help you, vi?” you ask, not unkindly, but with practiced indifference.

”i just—i feel bad about the way things ended between us,” she stammers, the lie crumbling on her tongue like wet sugar.

”mmm, you do?” your fingernails tsk-tsk against the doorframe. “okay then. will that be all, vi?”

when you begin to shut the door, vi thrusts her hand against the wood with a thud, face suddenly stricken with shame. “baby, wait i—fuck. i miss you, okay?” she reluctantly admits.

you smile. you already knew that.

that’s how vi ends up in your bed, silk sheets wrinkled like the petals of a crushed rose. her legs are held up to her chest and your strap is buried deep inside her cunt, pressing painfully against her cervix. it’s a fitting consequence for her betrayal—for being such a stubborn slut that she sought out pleasure in other people, instead of coming to you.

”you missed me, huh?” you murmur, thrusting sharply, your voice velvety with cruelty. “that’s funny. i heard you’ve been keeping pretty busy.”

the sight of her stretched open, pussy weeping around you, is so familiar that it nearly bores you. but no, there’s joy in it more than anything. the sadistic kind of joy one only feels when their favorite toy remembers its owner.

vi goes cross-eyed as you slam into her again, a noise halfway between a sob and a prayer tumbling from her open mouth. you touch her slit—just a trace—and she shivers, instinctive and pathetic.

“yes, yes—mmffuck!”

it’s overtly apparent; no matter how many girls vi brought home, no matter how many times she tried to replace you, nothing could compare to this. the realization fills you with a sense of pride; a deep feeling of assurance that you are, in every way, irreplaceable.

”fuck, baby, your pussy’s a mess,” you murmur in astonishment. after all these months, how could you forget what a sloppy, wet hole she has? “bet none of those girls knew how to take care of this greedy little thing.”

vi shakes her head with something like reverence, her voice catching. “ahh, only y-you—it’s only ever been you—hunghh—i swear!“

you meanly grope vi’s breasts, admiring the way her fat tits jiggle. once upon a time, the sight of vi’s naked body might have stirred something possessive in you—jealousy, perhaps, at the thought of someone else witnessing her like this. but now, as you watch vi unravel beneath you, all you feel is a quiet, amused detachment. an urge to murmur something soft and cutting about how pathetic she is.

her legs tremble as she holds them back for you, muscular thighs quivering with exertion. her puffy cunt is laid bare, exposed to you without shame. she looks like an easy whore, like she’d crawl across glass if it meant getting filled by you again.

you know vi—know her body better than she does herself. she needs to be filled, used like she’s a worthless doll, stripped of all purpose except pleasuring you. she needs it hard and unyielding and constant. from the look on her face—wrecked and anguished—you were right to assume that nobody else came close to giving her what she craves.

“you just needed someone to fuck you right,” you coo. “someone who knows what a sick little baby you really are.”

“yes,” she gasps. “please—need it harder, fuck!”

you relish in how desperate she is for you. vi’s so cute when being fucked open; demanding everything from you, whilst unable to give anything back but cries and spasms. it makes you feel delirious—fuckdrunk, even. all you can hear is the wet percussion of your hips against hers, and her high, helpless mewls. you’re hitting all the right spots, striking cords deep inside her gummy walls that make her jolt with electricity. you’re fucking vi in a way no one else will ever be able to replicate.

"fuck, vi... you're so tight," you notice, stunned, but still relentlessly jackhammering your cock inside her.

her pussy is creaming around your strap, leaking down the curve of her ass. her body—that magnificent machine of muscle—is locked up tight, close to tipping over the edge. her abs twitch involuntarily, plump breasts bouncing, arms trembling as she attempts to hold her legs apart for you, and her thighs—those strong pillars—quake like leaves in a storm.

vi squeals suddenly, pressing her hand against the taut plane of your abdomen—a futile attempt to slow your unrelenting pace.

”i’m gonna—gonna—ohhh!” 

her eyes roll, those bright coins of consciousness swallowed by the dark. vi’s tongue spills from her mouth, silly and helpless. her thighs snap shut instinctively but you pry her open again, unwilling to let her escape the pleasure you’re giving her.

“come for me, vi,” you say. “who knows if i’ll ever want to fuck you again after this, so make it count.”

taglist: @2ftall @jinxedbambi @mxchi-mxxn @g4ys0n @maddiluvsu @just4jinx @rhian88 @mars4hellokitty

[illustratedjai]

A lot of places use NPS (Net Promoter Score) ranking systems. NPS is asked as a 0-10 scaled "How much would you recommend X?" These scores are then grouped in Detractor, Neutral, and Promoter. Promoter counts 9s and 10s, Neutral is 7-8, and Detractor is everything else. The final NPS score is then figured by the Promoters minus the detractors to get a whole number. (This can be a positive or negative number.) (The argument for this is that only people who rate 9 or 10 are likely to actually actively *promote* the company / product / etc. My personal opinion is that the Detractor group is far too wide, and most folks who leave a 6 aren't saying they would never promote it, but that the would only promote in certain circumstances, etc. This is borne out by qualitive data from follow-ups questions to the NPS question. I haven't done a huge sample test on it yet, but across the dozens of times I've done analysis on NPS follow ups compared to regular Likert (5 point or Strongly Agree-Strongly Disagree) questions, people who leave 6s in NPS are far more likely to leave roughly posiitve feedback in their qualitative answers. I'd personally widen Neutral to be 5-8 and Detractor 0-4, but alas, that won't ever happen.) Either way, this means that when you're asked an NPS question, if you give a considerate, well thought out 8, you're actually being counted as a neutral, and you won't do anything to the employee/department's NPS. If you do the same with a 6, you're actively hurting them, and as numerous people above and in notes have pointed out, NPS is often used to determine bonuses, end of year promotions, raises, etc.

I really wish there was an option on those Customer Service Surveys that says specifically, “The representative I spoke to was lovely and helpful and deserves all of the raises but I think that you, as a corporation, should die in a fire.”

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist (coming soon)

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You check the time on your phone, waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Bolter

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Two months after you and The New Avengers moved into the tower, you decide to stay home from a mission, exhaustion and stress catching up with you, figuring it would be good for you to catch up on sleep and spend time with Bob. But instead, a memory resurfaces, one that the Void dragged out of you, and you’re struggling to cope with the potential ramifications.

fem!reader, fluff, mentions of mental health, vague descriptions of trauma, general MCU/Thunderbolts* TWs, Thunderbolts* spoilers

4.1k words

I’ve been obsessed with Bob since I watched this movie, and apparently Avengers tower fics are coming back so had to give you guys my take on it. Part 2 will be coming guys don’t worry - lmk if you want to be tagged. Am also taking requests so drop me an ask <3

TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

“I’m not coming.” You stated firmly, arms crossed in the lobby of the New Avengers tower, scowl set into your face. Bucky sighed your name dramatically, mechanical fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration.

“Valentina said…” He started.

“I don't give a fuck what Valentine said. What happened to us owning her?”

“We do, but it’s still not good for our image if…” You cut him off again, voice cold and unyielding.

“Good thing I don't give a fuck about that either.” He sighed again, louder, looking towards the rest of the team for help, but they just shrugged.

“If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to come.” Yelena added, tone nonchalant. You nodded along with her, softening your voice slightly now. You didn't actually want to piss him off; you just wanted him to see your point of view.

“It’s just a publicity stunt, Buck. You don't actually need me for it. I’m tired and I want a break. Now is as good a time as any.” A third sigh. A hand running through his hair. A glance at the ceiling, then back to you.

“Fine, stay here. Bob could probably use the company anyway.”

You had been in this tower for two months now, and somehow, you and Bucky had clashed the most. Sure, Walker pissed everyone off most of the time, but he was an easy target to wind up so he had learnt to keep his mouth shut. And Alexei was loud and obnoxious, but his booming laugh and positive spirit redeemed most of his irritating qualities. You got on well with Ava and Yelena - your senses of humour and tortured pasts making an easy bond between the three of you. And Bob… well, you honestly had nothing bad to say about him. He was a calming presence, a breath of fresh air in a tower of tactically trained agents and super soldiers. You knew what he was capable of - you all saw it that day - but he never let it define him. It was a footnote in his character, undetectable until you read too closely. And he was as traumatised as the rest of you, if not more, but it was such a human trauma, more relatable and tangible, and it was something the two of you shared that made your bond just that little bit closer than with the others.

Your relationship with Bucky was a different story though. You had no history with your other teammates, so beside the run of the mill teasing and domestic debates that came with regular roommates, there was no animosity there. But Bucky on the other hand…

In all fairness, you had been created to kill him. You went through everything he did: the serum, the torture, the pain, but you didn't remember any of it. You remember the missions, you remember trying to eliminate him, you remember who you were before you were taken… but not the process you went through. The last thing you remember before was being shoved into a van, bag over your head, and the first thing after was waking up in a cell, all autonomy lost. Nothing more than a weapon. So while you had a mutual respect and admiration for each other, you had fought to the near death more times than you could count, and anger like that doesn't fade overnight. You had no malice towards him, obviously, but you could tell he harboured resentment for you, simmering quietly below the surface. What you couldn't tell was if it was because you tried to kill him so many times, or because they had the decency to wipe your memory of the pain you endured. And you knew from the screams that echoed through the wall of your adjoining bedrooms that it was a kind of pain that still brought him nightmares.

So usually, you humoured him. You went on every mission - publicity stunt or real. You sat through the interviews, the photoshoots, the promotional bullshit. You worked twice as hard as everybody else to get in his good graces, even though you didn't care about the publicity of it all. You were just happy to be doing good.

But you were burnt out. You had always had a darkness within you, one that snarled at the sidelines, waiting for your guard to drop. So, to a point, keeping busy kept it at bay. Until it didn't.

The last time you’d seen that darkness was two months ago in The Void. Reminding you it was still there, that it always would be. Bob had seen it too, when the blast of the incinerator knocked you out and his hand had knocked into yours. The memory that had emerged, tinged in the familiar greyscale, the colour that swirled around all of your bad days. The glimpse of the hospital gown, the monitors beeping, the nurses bustling around the room. The fear you had felt.

He’d asked you about that darkness soon after, how you dealt with it. You weren't sure how to tell him you didn't. Instead, you made sure he got out of the facility, that he was safe. And then, one thing led to another, and half of New York was a black void, swallowed whole. A Void that stemmed from him. A Void that you stepped into not knowing if you’d live or die. And it was there that you saw something new.

“You good?” Ava asked subtly as she finished suiting up, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you breathed the word automatically, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to hide the fact it was shaking. “Tired.”

“You look it.” She replied, soft smile playing across her lips before she placed the mask over her face.

“Thanks.” You responded, laughing dryly. It was how she showed affection - gentle teasing. “Good luck.” They all headed for the elevator, and you stepped back, pulling the arms of your sweatshirt down and over your hands.

“Bye guys!” Bob shouted from the kitchen over the sound of running water, and Yelena called back in kind.

And with that, they were gone.

You knew it would only be three days until they were back, but you could feel their absence immediately.

You couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad thing.

You strolled into the kitchen, a yawn escaping from your throat. You were still wearing what you’d slept in - tattered black sweatshirt and joggers, hanging loose around your form. Bob was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the mugs and glasses the team had used this morning at breakfast. His clothes were similar to your own: light blue sweatshirt and grey sweats that had become his uniform at the compound. His hair was starting to get long, dyed back to his usual brown basically the minute you all moved into this place. He glanced back at you, smiling warmly as he switched the water off, placing the last cup on the drying rack. There was something about him that was so comforting, a quiet strength that emanated from him even when he was just standing there. Not a confidence, not by any means, his shyness endearing as it was. It was the strength of an oath. In every movement or lack thereof, every glance that met your eyes, he was showing solidarity, subtle and unbreakable. A promise that he wasn't going anywhere as long as you weren’t. It was a stability you weren't used to.

“Hey.” Your heart fluttered slightly at the tender way he said it, involuntary smile dancing across your lips, half-hearted as it was. He knew better than to ask if you were alright, the exhaustion and emptiness in your eyes familiar to him in both your memories and his own. “Anything you want to do while they’re gone?”

“I think I want to go back to bed for a bit.” You sounded so broken it surprised you, but if he noticed, he didn't show it. A soft, barely there laugh escaping his lips.

“Sounds like a good plan. D’ya want me to wake you at any point or just let you sleep?” Your heart hurt at his consideration.

“If I’m not up by midday just knock on the door. And wake me if you need anything.”

“You got it.” He called as you walked away, back to your room, and you wished you had the energy to stay. Having breakfast with him was a luxury you weren't often afforded. If only you had the energy to make the most of it.

You closed the door behind you, darkness filling the room instantly, blinds still drawn. You found the bed, collapsing in a heap. You were surprised how quickly you started to drift, the exhaustion catching up to you so fast, and after a few breaths, your vision faded.

A slap stung across your face, harsh and sobering. You staggered back with the force of it, blinking rapidly.

“Do better.” The man in front of you muttered, shaking out his hands and reassuming a fighting stance. You could taste blood in your mouth, but you did the same anyway.

What alarmed you most was that you didn't recognise him.

There was a mask covering half his face, but even his eyes didn't hold even a glint of familiarity. Before you had time to dwell on that though, his fist was moving towards you. You ducked, landing a neat blow to his side before rolling forwards, standing up behind him and planting a firm kick to the back of his knee. It took him by surprise, the joint buckling beneath the force, but as you rounded to kick him in the neck, he caught your ankle, pulling you forwards until you were essentially straddling his shoulder, leg still firmly in his vice-like grip. You raised your arm, trying to make the best of a bad situation by elbowing him in the head, but he was faster, slamming you to the floor. You were struggling for breath and scrabbling for purchase, trying to get back at him, but he was on top of you before you could even flinch, knees on your wrists, entire bodyweight locking you in place. The pain was biting, but the panic and fear was debilitating, any part of your body you could move thrashing around helplessly. He chuckled darkly, the tone of it making your blood run cold. He leant down, inches from your face, and you waited until he was close enough before jerking your head forwards. The crack you heard was satisfying, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“You bitch…” the man spat beneath the mask, pulling the fabric below his nose and letting the blood drip onto your face. “You’re lucky I’m under orders. There are worse things I can do than kill you when I have you like this…” Your heart stopped at the weight of his words, the implications not missing you. “But for now, you failed. And you know what that means…” You didn’t, but your body screamed anyway, a bloodcurdling noise rushing from your throat before you could stop it.

“Hey, hey it’s ok…” Strong hands were shaking you awake, and you flinched instinctively, pulling away and scrabbling backwards until you had pressed yourself into the headboard, tucking your limbs into your body to be as small as possible. “It’s me, it’s Bob. You’re ok.” You looked up, body stiff and sore, to see him gingerly perched on the edge of your bed, concern etched into his features. You slowly started to notice the rest of your surroundings. Your bed, completely dishevelled, sheets still twisted around your shins and ankles. Your face felt wet, and when you brought your hand up to your cheeks, there were tears there. You finally let out a breath, shaky, laughing to yourself in disbelief.

“Sorry, I…” You ran your hands through your hair, messy and tangled. “Was I…”

“Screaming a lot, yeah.” You took another shaky breath, stretching out your legs a little. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to meet his eyes, but you felt the bed move slightly as he shuffled closer. “Are you ok? You seem really… detached at the moment, like you have something in your mind. And not going on the mission, the nightmares…” You felt the tears welling up as he spoke, the weight of everything hitting you suddenly, and before you knew it, you were sobbing. Bob closed the gap in an instant, sighing your name gently as his arms wrapped around you. You welcomed him without even thinking, hands gripping his sweatshirt in fists, face pressed to his chest.

“It’s gonna be ok. I’ve got you…”

It took a long while for your breathing to slow, and as the tears finally stopped, you released your grip. You wanted to apologise, but the sound stuck in your throat. You wanted to explain, but the idea of even speaking that dream into existence made you want to cry again. So you just wiped your tears.

“Wanna talk?” He murmured, voice calm and soothing. You noticed he hadn’t completely let go of you, hand still resting lightly on your shoulder, the warmth radiating from it grounding you back to reality.

“No. I..” you swallowed back another sob, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry about all of this, Bob. It’s just..”

“You don’t need to apologise. It’s all good. We all have bad days, at least yours didn’t nearly wipe out half of New York.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his self-deprecating joke, a harsh expulsion of air that almost ended in a snort. You finally allowed yourself to look up at him, satisfied you wouldn’t start crying again, but you were met with his bright blue eyes scanning your face, full to the brim of worry. It made your heart lurch. You hadn’t seen him like this since you told him what had happened in his blackout that day, and now he was pulling the same face because you had a breakdown. Great, the screaming must have been really bad, then. Good thing you didn’t have neighbours.

“I’m ok, I’m good now. Thank you.” You choked the words out, barely believing them yourself. His eyes met yours again, and his scepticism was immediately evident.

“Bullshit. Just lay back down…” he started to shuffle back as he spoke, moving to stand. “I’ll go and make you a cup of tea and…”

“No.” You said it so fiercely it surprised you, fear clouding your mind. You took a breath, and softened your tone. “I mean, can you stay please? Just for a bit, until I get my breath back.”

“Of course.” His response was so fast it was almost automatic, shuffling back to the head of the bed and resting gingerly against the headboard. “As long as you need.” You curled back up next to him, close enough to feel his presence, but not quite touching. A silence fell across the room, but it was a peaceful silence, one born of comfort and familiarity.

“Thank you.” You breathed the words, as though to not break the calm.

“Always.” You squeezed your eyes closed, ignoring what you had just seen in your dream and instead, visualised him. You could hear his breaths, slow and shallow, as though he was afraid of spooking you. You pretended he wasn’t still worried, instead imagining the smile you knew all too well, the one that showed teeth and reached his eyes, the purest joy you had ever seen.

You were reminded of a night a few weeks ago, when you realised how few movies the rest of the team had seen.

“You’re telling me none of you have ever seen The Princess Bride?” Yelena shook her head, and Alexei chimed in.

“Nope. Never showed Lena that when she was little.” She groaned like an embarrassed teenager.

“Ok, we need to start a movie night at least weekly and educate all of you…” You said, a smile lighting up your face when Bob laughed beside you. “And let’s start with this…”

It was only twenty minutes in when Walker started complaining.

“But why is he saying ‘as you wish’ so much?”

“Guess we know why you’re divorced…” Ava snapped back, and everyone snorted at his expense.

“Separated, but whatever…” he muttered, put out, and you and Bob giggled. You were squeezed between him and Alexei on the sofa, and instinctively, you leant towards Bob as you laughed. His arm was on the back of the sofa, and without realising, you had leant into the crook of his arm. So you stayed there. As you continued to watch the film, as everyone else made dumb jokes and stupid comments, but nothing else was relevant to you but his proximity. His presence drowned everything out. And as you curled into his body, you could feel his heartbeat. Slow and steady. Stable. Him.

Everyone else went to bed as soon as the film finished. You moved away from him slightly as the lights came on, cautious of prying eyes, but he didn’t move. Arm of the back of the couch, eyes fixed only on you.

“Any other films you want to show me?” You grinned widely.

“A lot.”

You decided on the Goonies - your favourite film as a kid - figuring Bob wouldn’t have seen it when he was younger considering his home life. And you were right.

You felt a wave of nostalgia rush over you as you started the film. You sat back down on the couch, back up against the arm where Alexei had been sat, the seat still warm. You stretched your legs out into the space between you and where he sat facing forwards, his own legs on the coffee table. You didn’t want to move away from him really, but you wanted to see his reaction to the film, to see him watch something fun and childish for the first time, to see if it brought him as much joy as it brought you. And it did. He smiled more than you’d ever seen, and you were trying to be subtle about looking at him, but occasionally, you couldn’t help but gaze at him openly when you felt he was distracted enough. The line of his jaw, his dimples when he laughed, the curl of his hair that framed his face and was starting to fall into his eyes. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue that you could lose yourself in. That were looking right at you.

Oh shit.

You blushed, turning back to the movie, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“What is it?” He muttered, tone playful, and you glanced back, smiling shyly.

“Nothing, I… um…” he was holding eye contact with you, earnest expression on his face, and it was just making you blush more. You turned back to the screen. “It’s just really nice to see you happy. You know, after everything.” You cleared your throat slightly, awkward now.

“It’s thanks to you, really.” He sounded so sincere you could’ve cried.

“Oh, no I just put on a movie I used to like in the hopes that…”

“No.” He interrupted you softly. “Not just the movies. It’s everything. It’s the late night chats when we can’t sleep, it’s doing the dishes together while the team argue at the table, it’s making sure about 50 times before you leave for a mission that I’ll be ok on my own for a few days, and that I’ll text if I need you.” You forced yourself to look at him again, tearing up, but now he was the one looking away, features wrought with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “I mean, hell, according to the rest of the team you were the one who stepped into the Void for me not knowing if you’d even survive. You went into that hellhole, and from what I saw it can’t have been easy…” Oh. Your blood ran cold at the mere mention of it, muscles stiffening, and the tears that had started to fall from something akin to appreciation were now streaming in panic. Blood rushed between your ears, vision blurring, and his voice was swallowed into the pit that was your anxiety. A dark chamber. A voice telling you to bite down. Something tasting disgusting in your mouth. And then pain. So much pain.

“Hey, what’s happening?” He muttered, and you were back in the room, legs tucked to your chest, Bob’s concerned face scanning you from the other side of the couch. “Are you ok? Did I say something?”

“No, no, sorry Bob, I…” You wiped your tears, trying desperately to get your breath back, heart still racing. Your vulnerability took hold, head spinning as you tried to dispel the new memories. “I just… I remembered something when you mentioned the Void. I thought I’d buried it but apparently not.” You tried to laugh, but it came out slightly choked.

“I’m sorry, I..”

“Hey, no you’re fine. Thank you for saying that, it means a lot.” You smiled at him warmly, trying to convey how much his words had meant to you, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was, panic still coursing through you. “Do you want a drink? I really fancy a Diet Coke right now..” He paused, scanning your features for signs of distress but you put on your best brave face, and it seemed to do the trick. He sighed.

“Yeah sure, just a lemonade please if you don’t mind. If I have caffeine now I won’t sleep…”

You took a few seconds in the kitchen to compose yourself, before returning with the drinks, setting them on the coffee table. His attention was back on the film, smiling again, and you couldn’t help but feel bad. Your panic attack had ruined his beautiful sentiment, the kindest words ever spoken to you. You sat closer to him again, where you had been before, but crossing your legs on the sofa this time so your knee touched his just slightly. You couldn’t help but smile as his leg shuffled closer to yours, almost imperceptible, but you felt it. How could you not?

“Thank you.” You spoke it quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace. “I really do mean it.”

“I know.”

You were just over halfway done with the film when you felt your eyelids starting to droop. After your head rolled forwards a few times, drifting off, Bob spoke up.

“We can finish this tomorrow if you’re tired?” He was being genuine, but you knew from his intonation that he wanted to keep watching.

“No, no, I’m fine..” A lie, your words slurring ever so slightly with tiredness. “Let me just…” You sunk down further on the couch, tucking your legs up to your side and letting your head fall to his shoulder. “That’s better.”

“You’ll still fall forwards if you doze off again.” He muttered, tone imperceptible now, almost a forced calm. You took it for annoyance though, blushing as you realised what you’d just done.

“Oh sorry, I can lay that way and then…” You started to lift your head before he interrupted.

“No, no, just let me...” He shuffled forwards slightly so he was closer to being horizontal, opening his arm so you could lay comfortably on his chest. “There, that would be more comfortable in case you do fall asleep.”

“I won’t.” You muttered petulantly, lying in the space he had created for you anyway. He laughed, a warm, intoxicating sound that bloomed from his chest, and his arm rested on top of yours. It was comforting, a surety that made you feel drowsy again. Safe to sleep around him. Secure.

“Sure you won’t.”

You woke in the darkness of your room to find yourself curled into his body tightly, arm draped across his stomach and head resting on his chest. His arm was wrapped tightly around you, protective, warm hand splayed across your ribcage. The sound of his gentle snores brought you out of the memory, grateful that his presence allowed your subconscious to lull you to sleep with pleasant memories. That you didn’t need to be on edge, that you wouldn’t need to fight for a few hours at least. That he was holding onto you, and everything was going to be ok.

[no-144444]

hiii can u pls make a kimi fic that has angst and fluff??? u can make the story☺️☺️☺️🩷🩷 tyyy

sacrifices- k.antonelli

꩜summary: everyone has to make sacrifices...

꩜pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

“We need your full focus, Kimi,” Toto sighed. “You have a chance this year. You need to capitalise.” 

The way he said it sent off alarm bells in his head, and he gulped. There was something about the way Toto was looking at him, that silent sympathy but tough love he was used to. Last minute light night meetings were reserved for real problems, and it wasn’t like Kimi was underperforming. He had won a race already. He was qualifying well. He was on the podium constantly. There was a certain silence in the motorhome that always made him uneasy, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping the way this conversation made him feel. 

“I plan on,” he shrugged. “And the team is my full focus.” 

Toto sighed. “You don’t understand what I’m asking, do you?” he looked down, exasperated, as Kimi shook his head. “Y/n. You won't… I’ve talked to Y/n.” 

That was all kinds of fucked. Kimi’s jaw dropped, his brain bringing him to his feet before he could think about what he was doing, who he was threatening, or what this all meant. The air in the room vanished, replaced only by a thick tension, one Kimi would only add to. His whole body went cold. “You do not get to meddle in my life!” he shouted, crossing the table and getting right up into Toto’s face, a pointed finger at his chest, hitting it, hard. “I have a girlfriend who is nothing but supportive of me and what I do, what I give to this team, even though it takes away from her! And I know you like to pretend I’m your son because it makes you feel better about the fact that your actual sons barely speak to you, but you’re not my dad,” his chest was heaving, head burning with anger, and he scoffed. “Fuck you.” 

Toto took a deep breath, shocked at his outburst. Stupidly, he thought this was going to be easy. He thought Kimi would do what he asked blindly. He was wrong. “We all have to make sacrifices-” 

“I will not sacrifice her,” he demanded, his voice cutting through the Austrian’s. “Not more than I already have to.” 

And he turned and left. He couldn’t do this right now, not when he just got you back from an argument about something stupid he did. He was working hard everyday to make you feel how much he cares about you, how much he loves you, despite the thousands of miles of distance. He dialled your number, terrified that Toto had gotten to you before him, and fucked up any chance he had of reconciliation. 

“Kimi?” You sighed. “What?”

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Toto talked to me,” you sighed. “Is that what you want?”

“NO!” he practically screamed down the phone. “God no!”

You let out another teary sigh. “Kimi, if it’s what you want I’ll understand,” you sniffled. “You’re busy now, you’re a famous F1 driver, you don’t have to just keep me around because you feel bad-”

“Baby please,” he begged. “Just please don’t. I love you, I have always loved you. I’m not giving you up just because Toto asked me to,” he shook his head, his feet working as fast as they could to get to his room before he had a breakdown. “Just- please don’t leave me.” 

You were quiet. “We can talk about this when you get home, alright?”

The silence was deafening when you hung up the phone and his mind raced as he sat in his driver’s room, his life falling apart. 

“Ready for quali?” a knock at the door signalled his time for leaving all of this shit in his driver’s room and making sure it didn’t touch his helmet. He wasn’t sure if he could. 

The dim light of the setting sun made the perfect backdrop for your quiet evening alone. You usually liked evenings like this, just you and your dinner, finishing up some college work, making yourself dinner, and calling Kimi. Little candles all over your apartment, a cosy blanket and couch, maybe the cat from next door would come in through the balcony and lie down beside you where Kimi usually sat. 

Except, that evening there was no calling Kimi. And the apartment felt much too cold. You couldn’t unhear Toto’s points about how Kimi performed better when you were there, because he had less to work about and juggle, but you couldn’t always be there. You had your own life and friends, your own family to take care of, your school and your work. You couldn’t drop it all just to follow Kimi around the globe. You adored him, but come on, that’s a huge ask from someone. And then Toto suggested breaking up and your heart just… broke. 

But if that’s what it has to be, then so be it. 

The door opened. “Y/n?” His voice was clearly tired but determined. You turned your eyes to the door, a puff of smoke leaving your mouth as your eyes found his. He hurried over to you and took the cigarette out of your hand before stomping on it, mumbling something about ‘Peccato per te. Giving me heart attacks’.

It was a bad habit you'd picked up from some of your college friends, but you'd gotten it down to only doing it when you were really stressed. You thought this situation more than applied to that.

You sat on the couch as he closed the sliding door of your apartment balcony and sighed. “Congrats on the weekend. Pole and podium are huge.” 

He sat down beside you, sighing. “It was… alright, I guess. Didn’t feel as good with you not there,” he turned his head with a small smile and saw the way you dropped at his words. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say in the prolonged silence. 

“I think Toto’s right,” you practically whispered. “You don’t need me coming in and giving you more stress.”

He shook his head, taking your hands. “No, si sbaglia. You’re everything to me-”

“I shouldn’t be. Racing should, Kimi,” you sighed, dropping his hand. “Let’s face the facts, you’re going places in that sport, you’re going to be a household name. You don’t need me fucking up your first season just becasse-”

“You’re not fucking anything up,” he shook his head, calmer than you’d even seen him during a fight. “And I don’t care what Toto says, I love you, and I’m not giving that up. Fine della storia,” he shook his head and took your hands again, bringing them to his mouth to kiss them. “You’re brilliantly smart,” one kiss. “And stubborn,” another. “And everything I want. I’m not giving you up because Toto doesn’t understand me.”

You were quiet for a long moment. He was so sure. So soft with you. There was something in his voice that almost made you believe him. So you nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he questioned, making sure. 

You turned your head and nodded. “Okay.” 

He leaned in and kissed you, and it felt right. But that growing pit in your stomach made you feel sick, and you didn’t know how long you could act like everything was fine. 

Toto had begged you to break up with him. 

You were considering it, for his own good.

navigation for my blog :)

mercedes & williams masterlist

[katnipp]

idk if this is fluff lol but like idol Rina and yn (from different groups) caught shopping and holding hands together and being lowkey romantic and lovey dovey (it's karinas fault) and fans freaking out

it’s not fanservice if it’s real— yu jimin

genre: FLUFF👅

synopsis: karina and y/n keep “accidentally” getting caught being in love. fans lose it. karina leans in. y/n tries not to.

a/n: had to let a few stories marinate before i posted them💔💔

—

it starts with a text.

pretty girl [3:14pm]:

come shopping with me

i’ll buy u stuff

also i miss u. a little. maybe. whatever

y/n [3:16pm]:

how do u manage to make flirting sound like a threat

i’ll be there in 20

—

twenty-five minutes later, y/n finds karina in a black hoodie and dark shades, standing in front of a vintage boutique like she’s waiting to get recruited for a spy mission.

“you look like a celebrity trying not to get noticed,” y/n teases, pulling down her own bucket hat.

“i am a celebrity,” karina deadpans, then grins and holds out her hand. “hi. missed you.”

y/n hesitates for a split second—but karina’s already lacing their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“rina,” y/n whispers, eyes darting around. “what if someone sees—”

“so what?” karina says, too casually. “we’re just two besties shopping. in matching shoes. and with insane chemistry. nothing suspicious here.”

“we’re not even wearing matching shoes.”

“we could be. if you’d let me buy you the ones i picked earlier.”

y/n rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are already warm. “you’re going to get us caught.”

karina grins wider. “no i’m not. i’m very stealthy. stealthy and affectionate. tragic combo.”

—

they walk down the street with hands swinging lightly between them. at one point, karina stops abruptly and points into a small accessory shop.

“wait—this. i saw a photo of winter wearing a ring from here. you’d look hot in one too.”

y/n raises a brow. “you want to buy me a ring now?”

karina shrugs. “it’s not like a wedding ring. unless…?”

“don’t even start.”

“too late.”

—

inside the store, karina picks up a silver band and slides it onto y/n’s finger. “look at that. you’re already mine.”

“karina,” y/n hisses, but it’s breathless. her fingers don’t move away.

karina leans closer, whispering, “you’re lucky the cctv in here doesn’t have audio.”

“you’re lucky i like you.”

karina gives her a proud smile. “you really do.”

—

they’re standing too close at the counter, y/n’s head tilted just enough to bump into karina’s shoulder every time she laughs. the cashier looks mildly confused, mildly starstruck, but says nothing.

they buy matching rings. karina pays for both.

—

back on the street, y/n finally pulls her hand back. “okay. we’ve pushed our luck enough. people are starting to look.”

karina blinks. “i thought that was just ‘cause we’re hot.”

y/n stares.

karina sighs dramatically. “fine. fine. i’ll behave. just—wait, no. cross the street with me first. that way.”

as they wait at the crosswalk, karina leans in and mutters, “just pretend you’re cold.”

“what?”

“trust me.”

the light turns green. they step forward.

and then—karina reaches out and grabs y/n’s hand again. not discreetly. not sneakily. just full-on public hand-holding. and not the platonic kind. the fingers-laced, soft-smile, thumb-rubbing kind.

“karina—”

“you said you’d pretend to be cold.”

“you said pretend. this is romcom lead in the third act behavior.”

karina snorts. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

—

three hours later, they part ways quietly at a side entrance to a practice building.

karina squeezes y/n’s hand one last time before letting go. “text me when you get in. and wear the ring tomorrow. i wanna see how long it takes the fans to notice.”

y/n rolls her eyes. “you’re evil.”

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.”

—

by the time y/n gets home, the internet is already on fire.

[THEQOO] [HOT] two idols spotted holding hands while shopping???

“is that karina????”

“wait is that y/n from le sserafim?”

“THEY’RE WEARING MATCHING RINGS?”

“who holds hands like that unless they’re dating??”

“be serious. they look so into each other. karina’s SMILE???”

a blurry but damning photo is circulating—karina mid-laugh, eyes crinkling, hand wrapped around y/n’s like it belongs there. their heads are tilted toward each other. it doesn’t look accidental. it doesn’t look fake.

someone zooms in.

“YOU GUYS. LOOK AT THEIR RINGS.”

“is this a soft launch? is karina soft launching a GIRLFRIEND??”

“don’t mind me i’m just screaming into my pillow bye”

“i knew it. i KNEW they had chemistry. they were literally giggling in that behind-the-scenes video last month. i KNEW IT.”

karina texts her ten minutes later.

pretty girl [8:07pm]:

we trended in three countries.

you’re welcome.

y/n [8:08pm]:

this is your fault

you’re out of control

i should’ve worn gloves

pretty girl [8:09pm]:

too late

u looked cute

wanna get matching gloves next?

y/n [8:11pm]:

gosh help me

i do

—

in the end, neither of them address the rumors. not directly.

but the next time y/n goes live, fans notice the silver band on her finger. and the next day, karina posts a mirror selfie on bubble—hand clearly in frame, same ring visible.

and beneath it, a caption:

karina:

just shopping with a friend.

she has cold hands.

i have solutions.

—

[bizarrelovetriangel]

okay mc running to the boys arms and just staying there saying I feel safe here

nooooo don't fall into their trap you'll never escape it's like a blackhole that'll just suck you in. maybe literally

sylus

- will absolutely drop everything he's doing from the moment you run into his arms. if he's in the middle of doing something like working on a weapon or one of his motorcycles, his focus will 100% shift to you. if he's in the middle of a phone call, he'd give them the "i'll call you back" just to hug you back tightly but gently

- he'll def tease you at first and be like, "looking for the brooch, kitten? what're you up to?" and that grin of his will melt into a soft smile when you tell him that you just want to be there because you feel safe in his arms.

- hearing those words absolutely mean the world to him. all his life, he's been rejected and feared and even now he still intimidates people but to know that the one person who's special to him feels safe in his arms ????? it'll really hit him that he's Loved and seen for his true self and just !!!! he'd be so so so happy

- arms are preoccupied indefinitely

caleb

- will also immediately give his undivided attention to you from the moment he sees you running towards him. like if he was in the middle of assembling some models? it could disintegrate for all he cares. pip-squeak is here. he'll always be prepared to catch you and welcome you into his arms. mc loves doing this ever since they were little.

- caleb has always been mc's safe place since Day One and he knows that. whenever there's thunder and lightning during storms, she'd go to caleb and he'd literally cover her ears and hold her just so she could calm down and fall asleep. she might've grown out of that habit but caleb being her safe place will never change ever ever

- he knows that you feel safe in his arms but still, hearing you say it out loud directly will make him feel so fulfilled and proud. like everything is right. he's made it his life mission to be your protector, so for you to come to him even when there's no danger involved, that you're just relaxed and comfortable in his arms, just like a home would be, he'd take it as his greatest achievement even beyond all the awards and recognitions he's ever received in his life.

- once you're in his arms, he'll embrace you so softly as he always does. but be careful what you wish for — he might not let you go easy. if you have to go to the bathroom, too bad. you gotta wrestle him or tickle him in order to escape. good luck <3

zayne

- okay so funny story just this morning i saw this art of zayne on twitter of mc running into his arms and it's just so precious

- zayne will quite literally drop whatever he has in hands if he sees you running to him. at first, he will be worried about why you were running, but he'd relax when he sees that there's no danger and he senses that you're just there for cuddles. he'd give no further questions and embrace you softly

- like caleb, zayne had made it his goal to protect you in his own ways, so if you tell him that you feel safe in his arms, he'd freeze up for a hot sec and then he'd be flustered, shake his head and chuckle, and then he won't be able to stop smiling for the rest of the day because that means a lot to him

- if he's at the hospital in his office, yvonne might have to cut off the moment short because zayne would get distracted and hold you for so long that he'd be just a little late to wherever he's being summoned. and his colleagues will be playfully dramatic about it like, gasp, dr zayne fell a few seconds behind schedule ????? and when they see that it's because of you, they'd just be like "that explains it" bc they just know how important you are to zayne. they'd catch him looking happier than usual and they'll know it's because of you.

xavier

- at first he'd be too sleepy to be aware of what's happening around him. if you run into his arms, he'd hold you out of instinct, half-awake and everything. he probably won't even ask why you suddenly decided to hug him like that. he'll just accept his fate.

- but if he's not sleepy, like let's say he's in the middle of playing a video game and you suddenly decided to dive into his arms, he'll automatically envelope his arms around you. he still might not ask tbh lmao but if you tell him why you're in his arms, he'd become so cuddly he might as well become Bunbun

- "i'm glad to hear that." his words might be simple but he really will be overjoyed about it. he literally spent centuries just to be by your side, doing everything in his power just to keep you and your precious heart beating, even if it meant possibly seeing you fall for someone else. and so he'll never take for granted the fact that you chose him, time and time again. knowing that you feel safe in his arms, xavier will continue to fight anything to keep it that way

rafayel

- like sylus, he'd drop a playful remark at first too. if he sees you running to him, let's say while in the middle of painting, he'd open his arms wide open to catch you and then act like a hostage once you wrap your arms around him. "wha — what are you doing of all a sudden? is this a trick?" but he wouldn't dare to move away. not when you look so peaceful in his arms.

- "it's nothing. i just feel safe here." rafayel will become a blushing mess, you know how he gets. "that's my line, miss bodyguard." rafayel has always felt safe with you. after all, you are is anchor, his beloved bride. he's the happiest and most comfortable with you.

- so for you to say the same back to him, rafayel will definitely be surprised for a minute, repeating your words over and over again until it clicks. then he'd tighten his hold on you as the feeling of pride and content overwhelms him

- he'll absolutely hold you for as long as possible. he will attempt to paint while hugging you, do not underestimate his skills. in fact, hearing your words might just motivate him to paint a whole different, newly-inspired art piece, because now his heart feels warm and racing. he feels like he can do anything. you, out of all people, feels safe in his arms? he feels invincible. fishie's vibrating with joy just a little. but oh no, maybe he can't work in this condition, after all. mc, let's go out for a walk ~

[saul-tortellini]

Sudden uptick in "oh ai isn't that bad you people are just reactionaries" posting right after stories about ai data centers poisoning the air of entire communities break is a coincidence, I'm sure

[mushyposts]

OKAY I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.

MY BEST FRIEND FUCKING HATES THIS HANSTER. Or more specifically, she hates ME and this hamster happens to be in the crossfire.

I sent this to her for the first time at LEAST three years ago. I don’t even remember the original context, I was having a phase of sending unrelated images as reaction photos and that last one in the thread got me so bad. I spammed her saying it was important, and then sent the hamster. She got so mad at it that I made it a point to send it whenever I could just because I couldn’t understand WHY she had such a deep hatred for this lil guy who’s just cheeked up!!

Her hatred for this image has led to her having to go on actual, honest to god walks because I’d just send it for NO reason. It’s a sticker on my iPhone, it’s saved to my phone and my laptop in a special folder for easy access, I have it open on a tab at all times. I am always ready, and the rage this mad her feel was unmatched.

Now. Important thing about me. I am VERY good at the long-con. Sort of ridiculously good, actually. I have “hamstered” her three times since the time I got temporarily blocked for it. It’s important to also note that aside from me sending it nonsensically, she has 0 reason to be so knee-jerk aggressive around the hamster. Anyway. Onto the three times I’ve hamstered her in the most BRILLIANT ways.

1- I did not use the hamster for over a year. I had moments I could have, but I didn’t. She even pointed this out!! Saying “I expected hamster ass.” But I did not rise to the bait, for I knew if I waited, the result would be oh so sweet.

I travelled HOURS to meet her, I took a plane, I used a train for the first time, I LABOURED!! And finally the moment was upon us. We met for the first time in person, we hugged, we exchanged thoughtful gifts, we went back to her house so I could force her to watch the hunger games, and then my time to strike came. I said “oh I have an edit to show you!” And I brought up an edit I had made using a capcut template, the “say yes to heaven, say yes to me. I’ve got my eye on you.” And then at the “you”, hamster ass flew across the screen.

The betrayal. The rage. The horror. It was cinematic. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was beyond anything I had ever seen before in my life. I played the long con, and it paid off. “In my own house?? Under my roof??” Yes, Soap. In your home. Under your roof. My hubris is unmatched and you consistently let it go unchecked. This is a saw trap you designed, enjoy the hamster.

2- I had just gotten back into contact with a mutual friend of ours who I hadn’t spoken to in years! It had been around eight months since the amazing first-meet-hamster-ass, and I once again hadn’t used it since then. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

I sent a photo of the hamster ass to our friend and asked him to use it when he felt the time was right, and I wish I could have seen it when the time was right. Out on the beach, I think, and he goes “hey, look at this!” And shows her the hamster ass. The confusion, the betrayal, the shock. I would give my afterlife to be a fly on a rock observing that interaction. The rage in the message she sent me was beautiful.

At some point it becomes something she brings unto herself. I don’t gain anything from the hamster but her reaction, and yet even though she fully understands this, her rage for the hamster out matches her understanding that if she stopped reacting, I’d stop hamstering.

3- now. This one took prep, and I can’t take all the credit. I got my friends sibling in on this one and we planned it for MANY weeks before. I sent a document with ten hamster asses on it, and they cut each one out, numbering them 1-10, with little witty remarks on the back of them to keep things interesting.

I distracted my friend with our homestuck re-read, such perfect planning, and her sibling hid the hamster asses around their home. Coming to the end of the call while we discussed how wild everything was, and how we always forget the crazy little details, sibling walks in.

“I got some chocolate!” “Oh! Thank you-“ the pause. The silence. THE ERUPTION OF CHAOS AND RAGE. “THERE IS SOMETHING SICK AND WRONG WITH YOU!!” The HORROR!! Shakespeare could only ever HOPE to get to the level of drama and chaos exhibited in that discord call.

Nothing, however, could match when I went, “enjoy the hamsters!” And she goes “… hamsters? Plural?” And realises that yes, indeed, the hamsters are numbered. One to ten. She had number one handed to her, and yet nine more await her, hidden in her own home.

Has she found them all, you ask?? No. No she has not. How do I know for a fact that she hasn’t? Because if she had found number 10, I would know within on second of her realising, because the shock and horror when she finds it will be completely unmatched to any horror film identity reveal. No plot twist will ever compare to how she will react to number ten.

Anyway, that’s the very brief story of cheeked up hamster. I could add some screenshots of her reactions to being hamstered but it’s also late at night and I can’t be bothered. Just wanted to share with the world that sometimes the most fun pranks are the completely harmless ones.

Breaking your friends shit is out, sending them a cheeked up hamster is in.

[epickiya722]

So I'm looking through the comments of this one video about the reveal about Wasuke being the reincarnated and this comment actually put me in my feelings.

Like??? Nah, it's too early for me to cry right now.

[bogkeep]

ok so i think that my favourite fantasy subgenre is The Inherent Tragedy Of Being Born Into Royalty. which mostly means that i like to read about gay princes but with some nuance