#like what do you mean someone cared about what he had to say or what preference he voiced and packaged it all neatly to impress him??

[ariestrxsh]

bsf!chris x bsf!reader

🤍 content warning: smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, sexualization of religious imagery

🤍 summary: after a date gone bad, your best friend chris is there to make you feel better with his cock

this fic was inspired/requested by this ask that was sent in forever ago (and it was also inspired/requested by someone who asked for a plot where reader goes to chris for comfort after a bad date but I forgot to save their ask </3)

angel like u

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

You buried your face into Chris' chest, tears staining the front of his shirt, but he didn't mind at all. He didn't mind the tear stains, and he didn't mind that you'd interrupted him playing video games on stream. All that he cared about was that you were okay.

He cradled your head with one hand, and with the other, he tenderly rubbed your back. You hadn't even been able to explain to your best friend why you were so upset yet, and he still held you against his chest, smoothing down your hair.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said in a comforting voice. You pulled away, sniffled, and looked up at him with your big, misty eyes. "It's embarrassing, really," you started off, wiping away a tear with the sleeve of your sweater.

He listened quietly without judgment as you continued on. "I went on a first date with a guy, and I don't usually do this, but we were getting along really well. So I went back to his place, and things got a little heated," you started to tell him, searching for his reaction and hoping he didn't think differently of you.

"What happened?" Chris sharply asked, clenching his jaw and imagining the worst-case scenario. "It's not that it was bad or anything. It's just that he didn't make me.." you started to say, but you turned away, too flustered to finish your sentence.

"He didn't make you.. cum?" Chris speculated. "Exactly," you said, somewhat relieved that Chris had finished your sentence for you.

"He came, and then it was just over. He didn't even try to get me off after or even cuddle with me. I just put my clothes back on, he told me he didn't feel anything for me, and then he suggested that he take me home," you admitted, your lip quivering and your eyes welling with tears again.

"What an asshole," Chris muttered under his breath, wiping away your mascara-stained tears from your cheek with his thumb.

"I didn't want to cry in front of him, and I didn't want to be alone, so I asked him to take me here since it was only a few minutes away. I hope you don't mind that I just showed up unannounced on your doorstep, sobbing at midnight," you apologetically said.

"Of course I don't mind. You know I'm here for you whenever you need it," Chris comforted you. "Thank you, Chris," you replied, pulling him into another hug, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he'd float away if you let go.

"Boys like that don't deserve angels like you. How are you feeling right now, pretty girl?" Chris wondered, resting his head against yours.

"I know I agreed to it, but I just feel so used, you know? I feel stupid for giving it up on the first date. And listen, I know this is weird, but I still feel kind of.." your voice trailed off as you cracked an embarrassed smile.

"Turned on?" Chris guessed, finishing your thought again.

"Yeah, I mean, it was good up until he stopped. I was so close," you admitted, almost forgetting you were talking to your male best friend instead of your therapist. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. You didn't need to know that," you buried your head in your hands after your confession.

Chris let out a small chuckle, caressing your back with his fingertips again. "You don't have to be embarrassed to tell me things like that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I could, you know, finish you off if you'd like," Chris offered, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips as his gaze fell to your mouth.

Your eyebrows flew up. "Y-you'd do that?" You asked, seriously considering his proposal. "Yeah. I hate seeing you cry," Chris whispered, wiping away another tear as it fell. "If I could go back in time and make sure the whole situation didn't happen to begin with, I would. Making you feel good is the least I can do."

He tilted your chin up to look at him, searching your face for permission to kiss you. "What do you say? You want me to make you cum?" He sweetly asked, his gaze lingering on yours. "Yes. Pleeease, Chris," you softly begged, the words surprising you as they tumbled from your mouth in such a desperate manner.

He smirked down at you before his eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. It started off slow - a few soft pecks here and there and a gentle caress of his fingertips along your jawline, sending goosebumps across your warm skin.

Before you knew it, the two of you had been swept up in the moment. His lips passionately engulfed yours, and his velvet-like tongue gently brushed against yours, filling your mouth with the taste of a blue raspberry-flavored piece of candy he'd eaten shortly before.

You softly moaned into his mouth, the vibration tickling his lips and sending blood rushing below his waist. He reached up your shirt, gently pinching your sensitive nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He pulled your top off over your head and admired the sight of you half-nude on his bed.

His hand wandered to the button of your jeans, and he slipped his long, slender fingers into your waistband. He gasped and pinched his eyebrows together when he felt how wet you were, his face only a few inches from yours as he explored your folds.

You relaxed against his body, a few breathy, textured moans spilling from your lips. "Let's get you out of these," Chris suggested, removing his hand from your waistband and motioning for you to lift your hips, so he could pull your jeans and your panties off of you and have better access to you.

Once you were completely naked, you leaned back on Chris' bed and slowly parted your legs, showing yourself off to him. "Look at that. She's so happy to see me," Chris seductively cooed, sliding his middle finger up and down your slit. You shuddered at the sensation and his words.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your best friend toyed with you, spreading open your labia and admiring how pretty and pink it was. He placed two digits at your entrance and watched them slowly disappear into your drooling hole.

"You weren't kidding. You are turned on," Chris observed, pumping his fingers and slightly curling them. You bit back a moan and grasped at the bedsheets beneath you. "Don't be shy. I wanna hear you," Chris responded with a smile on his face, indicating to you that he didn't care that his brothers were asleep upstairs.

You nodded and released your lower lip from between your teeth. As Chris picked up the pace, another sensual sound tore through you, but you didn't hold back this time. "That's it," Chris purred.

You peered down at the way he pistoned his fingers deep inside of you, your eyes traveling to the silver chain around his wrist and his prominent veins on his arms. With his blue eyes locked on yours, he lowered his head between your thighs and took your clit into his mouth.

You jumped and squealed at the feeling of his soft tongue exploring you, fluttering around on your needy pussy. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bundle of nerves and started gently suckling on it.

"Oh, Chris," his name fell from your lips as your tipped your hand back and started combing through his soft, brown hair with your hand. He worked tirelessly, his mouth and his fingers caressing your sensitive flesh, and he was determined to do so until you were finishing all over his tongue.

"Chris.." you whispered, his name falling from your lips again, but this time in a tone that indicated that you needed something from him. He peered up at you with his perfectly blue eyes and his drunk expression as he drank from your center. "Hmm?" He hummed against your clit, causing you to raise your hips and grind against his face.

"Your tongue feels heavenly, but I need more. Please," you requested. "More?" He asked, pulling away for a moment. You reached down and gently tugged on the collar of his shirt. "I need you to fuck me, Chris," the words tumbled out of you with fervor.

He was towering over you while you laid on your back, staring up at him like he was a god whose cock was going to bring you eternal salvation. He pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing his gorgeous body to you that had become more muscular in these recent months due to how often he'd been working out.

Your eyes danced over his chest, his stomach, and the prominent lines on his lower abdomen that directed your attention to his hard on that was struggling against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

Before you had time to take in just how flawless he looked shirtless, he was hooking his thumbs in his waistband and tugging down his bottoms. His dick sprung out, and your gaze followed the way it gently bobbed.

"You ready, angel?" Chris asked, positioning himself between your legs. You stared down at his smooth, pink cockhead that was glistening with precum, and you nodded. Your jaw fell slack at the initial stretch as he pushed the tip into your weeping hole. Chris was much thicker than the man you'd been with earlier that night.

"So big.." you whimpered as he pushed it in a little deeper. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know, angel," he said in a breathy groan as you fluttered around him. He started to rock his hips back and forth, inserting more of his length with every thrust. You let out a relieved sigh as he found your gspot, and your eyes rolled around in your head.

Chris gazed down at you beneath him, arms outstretched and tightly gripping his soft sheets. You loved the way he looked hovering above you, his flushed cheeks, his desire-filled blue eyes, and his pouty, pink lips parted as the room filled with his moans.

You felt his hand brush against the inside of your thigh as he spread your legs open further. His thumb found your clit, and he started moving it in circles as he drove himself into you over and over again. You let your sounds of pleasure pour from your lips with reckless abandon as Chris skillfully brought you to the edge.

You felt that divine feeling brewing deep within your core as Chris drilled his cock into you at an increasingly harder and faster pace. He could feel you sucking him in, and the way your pussy was throbbing around him. "You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl?" He purred, looking into your eyes. "Mhmm," you hummed back desperately.

"How many times?" He asked, smiling down at you. His question surprised you. The man you'd gone on the date with couldn't even make you orgasm once, and now Chris was offering multiple? You were nearly too fucked out to answer him, but you regained your composure long enough to tell him, "three."

"Three? Greedy girl," he teased you, still making circles on your clit with his fingers as he rammed his tip into your gspot. "Show me what you've got, angel," Chris whispered, jolting his hips into you in a rhythmic pattern that he loved the way you reacted to.

Before you knew it, he was driving you over the edge, and your muscles tightened around him before you started to shake violently. You practically screamed in pleasure as you came on his cock, clenching around him uncontrollably which made it hard for him to hold on until your second orgasm, never mind your third. You felt the tension leave your body.

You'd been waiting all night for this feeling, and as you were sinking into the pleasure rippling throughout your system, you felt a second wave coming on. The pressure built so quickly this time, but the release was just as incredible as the first, resulting in you curling your toes and tearing at the sheets beneath you.

Chris was holding on for dear life, trying to get you to your third climax before he let himself cum, and with every powerful thrust into your drooling cunt, the harder it became for him to control his orgasm. He was begging to finish inside of you.

However, he maintained his stamina, pistoning into you at the perfect speed and pressure to get you what you asked for without giving in just yet. You trembled as you came onto his length a third time, leaving a thick ring of white at the base of his shaft.

Once you were completely spent, he snapped his hips forward and held them still, a guttural moan passing through his lips while he pumped you full of his heavenly substance. You could feel him release his load into you, his cock pulsating in your hole and leaving you with an incredible post-orgasmic state. He slowly pulled himself out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he'd left behind.

"How was that, angel? How do you feel?" Chris asked, checking in with you and cradling your face in his palm as he ran his thumb across your cheek. You smiled in sheer bliss, your chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath.

"That was divine. Your cock is like heaven," you whispered into his ear. "Well, angels like you are who heaven was made for," he whispered back.

[gayfertilitygoddess]

I see where @yaoist is coming from, and I think the misunderstanding is about who this quote is addressing. It’s true that studying why people became Nazis is important for making sure we don’t get more Nazis. The quoted author literally agrees with this, according to the summary for his essay collection, Very Fine People (source):

For some people, the rise of Donald Trump's MAGA cult represented only ongoing proof of a supremacist nation they had endured all along. Author A.R. Moxon was not one of them. He was caught unaware. Thus begins this confession of an American fool, a methodical mapping of the nation the author failed to see—a nation of "very fine people" too convinced they are exceptionally good to acknowledge the ways they participate in abuse and harm.

This essay collection contemplates what to do about a populist far-right authoritarian uprising involving so many of our friends and family members. Written from 2016 to 2023, it is a work of progressing awareness, pondering the questions "how did we get here?" and "what do we do about it?"

With clarity and wit, Moxon charts the insidious and destructive nature of American supremacy—the foundational lies empowering it, the social instinct accommodating it, the systemic sabotage of shared human society entrenching it into all of our lives—and finds some tools that might let us oppose it by becoming people who fix what is broken...which means realizing, at long last, who the "very fine people" truly are.

Rather than assuring people that they’re not The Bad Guys and giving them a pat on the back, I think this quote is urging everyone to look at their own actions to check who they’re aligning themselves with. It’s directed at the kind of people who voted for Trump, not because they hate immigrants or trans people, but for some reason that seems legitimate like struggling with rising grocery prices. It’s telling them, “You’ve aligned yourself with this movement. Untangle yourself now or you’ll be bound to whatever comes of your choices.”

If you want to nitpick the wording…okay. “Nobody cares” is a sloppy way of putting it and doesn’t cover every possible interpretation of what he’s trying to say. But what this quote means if you read it in the context of his other work is exactly what @thatweirdguyinthebushes is saying it means: that by co-signing a movement, whatever your reasoning, you are responsible for what comes next. “Nobody cares” means it doesn’t make a difference to the victims why you decided to attack them. Your reasoning doesn’t absolve you of responsibility.

I think this reading is especially important for leftists, who have been time and again proven capable of incredible cruelty when they think their reasons are legitimate and The Bad Guys are someone else.

[vettelsvee]

I'M SORRY, JULIET | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher x Secret Girlfriend Vettel!Reader

SUMMARY: You're secretly dating Mick, both of you hiding it from everyone in your families until you get so happy about him getting his first points in Formula 1 that your father, Sebastian, ends up finding out

WORD COUNT: 2404

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of teen pregnancy (age 17 from Seb and Hanna), angst. Settled on 2022 British GP

VEE'S NOTES: I missed so much posting about Mick so I had to bring him back... even that means Seb is the "bad guy" here. Hope you like it and thanks for reading! I'll be waiting for your opinions <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You hadn’t attended a Formula 1 race for longer than you could remember, and truthfully, you never thought you would again until Mick Schumacher started turning your world pink.

The boy had known you since you were a child, back when you would occasionally attend races hand in hand with your grandfather, Norbert. Your relationship deepened every time you saw each other in the paddock or at family gatherings, and despite the age difference between you, you grew closer and closer until you eventually fell in love with each other.

Even before your relationship began, you were both fully aware of the obstacles in your way. It wasn’t just the fact that Mick was six years older than you, but also that you were the children of two drivers who weren’t just former rivals and friends, but also were like family.

All of that, combined with the inevitable pressure from the press if they ever found out about your relationship, mattered little to Mick. One afternoon in mid-June, when the Schumachers and the Vettels had gathered together, he had decided to confess his feelings for you. At first, you were completely in shock, hearing from the lips of the very boy you had loved for years that he loved you too.

So, of course, when Mick asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you didn’t doubt to say yes.

Neither of you cared what others might say because, for now, no one knew about your relationship.

And there you were now, standing in the Aston Martin garage alongside your mother and your three younger siblings, watching the race with great enthusiasm as Sebastian drove the emerald-green car.

To the outside world, it might have seemed like you were simply there for one of the most important days in your father’s career since it was his 35th birthday. But in reality more than watching your father, you wanted to see your boyfriend.

Hanna noticed the tense expression on your face. Smiling warmly and without taking her eyes off Emily and Matilda, who were playing tag nearby, she stepped closer to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You seem like you’re in another galaxy.”

Your body tensed at the question, something that happened every time someone in your inner circle mentioned directly or indirectly your secret boyfriend. You tried to hide what was on your mind, but the combination of your mother’s presence and your nerves made you say more than you actually wanted.

“I’m nervous because I want dad to finish in the points,” you said with as much conviction as possible, though it wasn’t enough to convince Sebastian’s wife. “And well… I’m also worried about Mick.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow, curious, but not pressing. She had once been seventeen too. More than that, she had gotten pregnant with you at that age, and she knew that your concern for Mick went beyond simple friendship. Mothers developed a sixth sense when it came to their children, and she knew you too well to be fooled.

“Mick? Why would you be worried about Mick?” she asked, making sure not to pry too much or reveal how much she already knew.

“Well… he’s having a really good race today,” you replied, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’d like him to get a high position,” you explained, “even though with the piece of crap car he has we can’t expect much.”

Hanna nodded understandingly, reading between the lines of your words.

“I get it, sweetheart. I was the same way with your dad when he started racing,” she said, deliberately choosing her words to make you overthink. “Mick has a lot of talent, but he’s not in a team that helps him shine, so I understand why you care so much.”

“If you ever need to talk about Mick you know you can trust me, right?”  Hanna added,

You appreciated your mother’s words, though you remained cautious just in case she was digging for something that might expose your relationship. How naive you were to think she didn’t already know you were dating one of Sebastian’s best friends’ sons.

When the checkered flag waved and the twenty cars crossed the finish line, your eyes remained glued to the leaderboard. Not only had Carlos, one of your best friends, taken his first victory, but both Mick and Sebastian had finished in the points, placing eighth and ninth respectively.

Your father earning two points on his birthday was amazing. Your boyfriend earning three? Even better, especially since it was his first time scoring points in Formula 1. Saying you were emotional was an understatement, and no matter how much you tried to hold it in, a few tears escaped down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly to avoid drawing attention.

Hanna, still by your side as she fed the youngest member of the family, noticed you approaching with a hesitant expression, as if you wanted to ask something but were afraid to.

“Can I go to Mick’s garage to congratulate him?” you asked cautiously. “It’s his first time scoring, and I’d like to say something to him in person before we leave for Switzerland.”

“I know you’re excited for him,” your mother said while burping the baby, “but I think it’s better if you stay here. It’s your dad’s birthday, and honestly? I doubt Haas would even let you see Mick.”

You nodded, though sadness crept in. You looked at the monitors, seeing the top three drivers already celebrating on the podium. Even from your location, you could hear the Spanish national anthem playing over the speakers.

“Mum,” you tried again, “come on, let me go congratulate Mick. I’ll be back quickly, and I’ll be here by the time dad gets back!”

Your exaggerated gestures and the way you waved your arms were too adorable, and Hanna couldn’t help but see herself in you. She remembered how she had felt when she started dating Sebastian, wanting nothing more than to see him every chance she had. As much as she tried to be the responsible mother, sometimes she just couldn’t help it. This was one of those moments, one where she gave in to the charms of her eldest, the spitting image of her father.

“Make sure you come back as soon as possible,” she relented with a small smile. “I don’t want your father calling me a bad mother for letting his baby do grown-up things.”

“Thank you, mum!”

With that being said, you sprinted off, weaving through mechanics, fans, and celebrities scattered around the paddock. You checked your phone to see if Mick had texted you, but there was nothing. That only made you hurry toward the Haas garage. Seeing it empty, you quickly turned around and headed toward the hospitality area, which was further away. While dodging anyone in your way, you sent Mick a message telling him you were on your way and that you had to be quick before your father returned.

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was Mick soaked in champagne, holding a bottle in his hand. The Haas team members, including Guenther, were celebrating. You felt out of place and your insecurity crept in, making you want to turn around and leave. But then Mick saw you, and the moment your eyes met, you knew you had made the right choice.

Mick immediately broke away from the group and rushed to your side, hugging you tightly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, even if just a quick peck, but his rational side reminded him that now was not the place.

“Congratulations, Mick!” you exclaimed, your excitement taking over you. “Oh my God, oh my God! I’m so proud of you!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I finally get to see you, princess. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to,” he murmured playfully. “Although, I’d love to do a few other things with you.”

Your face turned bright red, something you had grown used to ever since you started dating Mick and were used to hear his endless compliments.

“How was the race?” he asked. “Did you like it, even though I probably looked like an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick!” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm. “You scored points for the first time. If that’s being an idiot, then I don’t know what that makes me.”

“That makes you the love of my life.”

Mick pulled you even closer, and just as he was about to kiss you, completely ignoring the risks, a voice interrupted.

Or rather, someone did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mick Schumacher?!”

As soon as you heard your father’s shouts, you and Mick pulled apart. You stood frozen, your face turning completely pale as Mick began cursing himself. How was he supposed to explain to the man who was like a father to him in many ways that he was dating you, his daughter?

You didn’t stay silent. You, who had a temper as strong as the man who had given her life, stepped between Mick and your father, trying to ease the tension that had formed over a simple show of affection.

“Dad, stop! It’s not what it looks like!” you exclaimed, nervous but determined.

“What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?” Sebastian scoffed, unwilling to believe your words. “Come on, Y/N, you were about to kiss him!”

“Yes, because Mick is my boyfriend,” you stated without hesitation. “We’ve been secretly dating since last month because we didn’t want to say anything just yet,” you explained without caring about the consequences. “So don’t act like this and use your fucking head and be reasonable for once.”

The Aston Martin driver was stunned, unsure how to react to the news that his daughter had a boyfriend, and that it was none other than the son of the man he considered his best friend, who had once been his mentor.

Mick watched as Sebastian looked at you in disbelief before shifting his gaze back to you, focusing all his attention on you.

“Y/N, this is insane… Mick,” he gestured toward him, “isn’t just any driver, he’s the son of—”

“I already know, Dad!” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “And? Does it matter? I don’t care who his father is, or who mine is, or the relationship between you two,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “We love each other, we take care of each other, and that’s the only thing that should matter to you.”

Mick alternated his gaze between father and daughter, finally mustering the courage to say something. But, before he could even open his mouth, Sebastian raised his right hand, silencing him immediately:

“Stop trying to fix this. You’ve fucked up, Mick,” he muttered as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that not even you could hear it. “My daughter is too young, and you know you could get into serious trouble if this gets out,” he added before stepping away and moving back toward you. “ I just sort of saved you from shit talks about you, so consider yourself lucky.”

“You can’t blame Mick for this, Dad,” you interjected defiantly. “We’re adults, and we can make our own decisions, so just leave us alone already.”

“You are not an adult, Y/N Vettel, you’re still a kid,” Sebastian snapped, his voice filled with unfiltered anger. “Stop acting like you are, because all you are is a reckless little girl.”

“Let me remind you that when you were 17 you fucked mum and you got her pregnant.”

You threw it out without thinking, and immediately, you regretted it, placing your hands over your mouth as if that could fix what you had just said. You knew you had been the most beautiful mistake your parents had, but you didn’t think about the impact it could have in their lives, especially in your father’s.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," the older driver began, trying not to let his anger and, especially, the pain he felt from your comment show. "But it's time to leave."

"Dad..."

"Not 'dad' or anything, Y/N," Sebastian said, raising his voice and making it sound harsher than he had intended at first. "Do you think it’s funny for me to see my daughter rubbing herself up against the one I consider my son?"

Mick paled as he heard his mentor’s words, feeling completely awful because he knew Sebastian was right. You threw him a look, but didn’t have the strength to answer. You were so in shock that you didn’t know how you hadn’t just left yet.

"And you, Mick," he said now, shooting a penetrating look at the young man, "I thought you could show a little more respect for our family and everything we’ve built together all these years."

Having said that, Sebastian took you by your shoulders carefully and started walking back to where the rest of your family was, not giving you or Mick a chance to say goodbye.

"We don't choose who we fall in love with, Sebastian," Schumacher blurted out, still frozen in place.

Your father and you turned around. The look of disappointment on Seb’s face made Mick feel a thousand times worse than he ever thought he could, but it was the sight of your tears falling rapidly that made him start crying.

"I expected you, more than anyone, to agree with this," he continued, pointing at you and himself, "because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that your daughter deserves someone good who can make her life the best it can be. If I can’t be that person because you won’t let us..." he pointed at himself, "...then I’ll be okay with it being someone else."

Vettel swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to the German’s words.

"I just want Y/N to be happy," the boy said again, "and if I have to let her go for now until you can accept and see that I’m really in love with your daughter, and that she’s the love of my life, I’ll be willing to do so."

With that, the young man turned around, trying not to look back, hoping to hear some words from those he had considered his family for so many years.

But, unfortunately for him, you and your father didn’t.

[parker-artio]

I had the funniest idea….

SO imagine that Jason accidentally takes in a kid, he doesn’t want to do the fostering thing because he knows how emotionally hurting that can be for a kid, so he tries to find a term for it and settles on ‘just taking care of the kid till they’re 18.’

Stupid he knows.

But only a few weeks in and he’s already arguing with this kid over small things, they won’t eat dinner he cooked, they aren’t doing their homework, they’re fighting kids in school, and Jason doesn’t know what to do. So what does he do? HE GOES TO BRUCE.

Bruce is surprised, because considering how much Jason would willingly tell him, he might not even know that Jason’s watching this kid. So when he says ‘How do you manage a kid?’ He thinks Jason got a girl pregnant. But he can’t lecture Jason on this, he’s an adult now, and doesn’t see Bruce as a dad anymore. So he just tries to lightly tell Jason that he has no fucking clue.

Bruce: Well uh, I only got you kids when you were older, plus, I mean, it’s not that bad, yeah? Just some perspective things, probably think about that, and what’s going through their mind and how they’re reacting to it.

Jason who thinks Bruce knows (a chronic ‘I thought I told you?’ Person) and is confused why he said he got all of them older, considering that his kid is like 12-14 ish: Right, perspective.

But the thing is, the advice actually helps.

Jason actually starts looking at their perspective and it helps. A lot. The kid slowly becomes more open, and Jason starts to feel more parental. Then before he knows it he’s going to Bruce asking for advice on how to start the adoption process.

Once again- Bruce thinks he got a girl knocked up- quickly realizes he very much in fact did not, and was taking care of a kid. Like he does.

Bruce, as the realization sets in: Well, I’d ask them what they think about being adopted first…

Jason watching as Bruce keeps blinking and looking away: B are you about to cry?

Bruce tearing up: No, no, I’m not. Got dust in my eyes…



Obviously Jason takes his advice, especially since the first time it helped so much. The kid is hesitant, but after a bit is slowly getting okay with the idea.

But when Jason gets a last minute tip about Black mask going to Cuba for something, he needs someone to watch the kid. And who does he know that loves kids, and would babysit any kid even if they’ve never met the kid? That’s right, Bruce!

So he tells the kid everything they need to know and sends Bruce a single text message saying ‘You’re babysitting.’

Bruce is scared. What does he mean by that?

Then he shows up with this preteen-young teen kid, who’s short and looks like Jason after he was first taken in by Bruce and lived with him for a while (aka a street kid who’s actually starting to eat right and looks healthier) and everything clicks into place. This kid is older.

But Bruce wants to cry- because this is his potential first grandchild, and that’s amazing.

Jason to the kid: It’ll only be three days at most, okay?

The kid: okay.

Bruce a few feet away trying not to sob: Hi- I’m Bruce, you are?

Jason disgusted at Bruce’s such obvious emotions- no one shows their emotions in their face in this family: Chill out, you’re scaring them.

Bonus points if the kids a girl. Jason is a girl dad at heart. Tell me I’m wrong.

[plaidcowboy]

a lil smth for !guarddog!rafe love?

he’s so mean and so tough in front of ppl always glaring with those pretty eyes but the moment he’s with u in ur room after a long day of woe he switches up like he’s not the same rafe AT ALL

Tysm queen n love ur acc

୭‎ ‎ 𓈒 GUARDDOG!RAFE ゜✸ having another side when with you ❞ ❞

˙ ˳ ✱ love this ᵎᵎ and i so appreciate it pretty ‹𝟹 ˚ ゛ ° ✱ being rafe’s soft spot ⩩ meanie rafe ⩩ softie rafe ⩩ ˚ ゛ °

he could’ve moved the bone out of place with how quick and aggressively he moved his arm from the back of the couch when a girl grazed it. the girl in question flinched, turning back to rafe, having grazed his arm by accident. rafe mugged her, flinching right back. the girl scampered away . . good. his knee bounced as he scanned the room, not catching onto anything the people sitting around him were chatting about.

“rafe knows what i’m talking about.” no, no he doesn’t. rafe turned to the voice, raising his brow.

the guy chuckled, the noise fading off as he took in rafe’s face. “the . . some girls just don’t think. bump into people and don’t say anything.” rafe realized he was referring to the girl who just ran off from him. rafe shrugged, looking elsewhere, not being able to appear more uninterested than he was. “ jus’ don’t like being touched . . or looked at . . or talked to . . ” he looked back to the guy at the last part.

luckily, he took the sign and turned back to his friends, talking with them instead. rafe looked over the group in front of him, his lips pulling into a frown, eyes filling with disdain. who were these people anyway. he pushed from the couch, only taking a few steps away when someone stepped in his way. with no hesitation, he shoved the guy aside, continuing forward. he ignored the shouts of complaint behind him.

he had spotted the exit when he saw a glimpse of hair amongst the crowd in front of him. he immediately directed his path toward it. some shoved bodies out of the way later, rafe caught up to you. you noticed him first, smiling big up at him. rafe grasped your sides, pulling you closer to him, scanning you for anything off. seeing nothing, he moved his grip up to your face. “i am so glad you’re here” he murmured softly. you giggled, scrunching your nose at his relieved expression. he looked as if he just just been through it, and you were his calm.

then rafe realized where you were. he scrunched his brow at you, not completely upset, never being able to be upset with you. not with that pretty face. he glanced to the people near you. he doesn’t know these people. not okay. one of the guy’s gaze was lingering a little too long on you. not okay. he sneered at the guy, pulling you even closer to him. the previous annoyance he felt earlier came back less intense with you in his arms. he looked around for a door, grabbing your hand. he led you two to a random room where he closed and locked the door.

he turned back to you, grabbing your arms to place around his neck and burrowed into you. “baby, you know i don’t like you at parties, but i missed you so much and touching you right now is something else. how do you feel so good? i don’t even care, just don’t let go of me” he mumbled into your top.

you giggled, holding on tighter, per his request. “yes, sir” you responded jokingly. rafe groaned, pulling back to look at you. he quickly turned to nip at your arm next to his head, catching you by surprise and causing you to yelp. “rafe!” you laughed again as he stared intently at you. “i missed it, you had to do it again” he referred to your giggle that he didn’t see, head squished to your side and all. you showed teeth, making rafe chuckle at you.

“i wanna leave. i wanna leave with you. don’t wanna be here anymore. this place sucks. you can tell me who those people were and i’ll deal with them later. i want you, please.”

you giggled at his ramble, nodding your head before he finished. “okay, rafe.”

[nilla03]

“𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣' 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨“

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛！

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠： 𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔，𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡， 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑒，𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛，ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛

The baby monitor cast a dim glow on your nightstand, the soft static filling the silence of your empty bed. You had just put your daughter down for the night, her tiny body finally relaxing after hours of fussing. Your body ached, exhaustion creeping into every limb, but sleep was the last thing on your mind.

Not when Armin still wasn’t home.

You sat at the edge of the bed, fingers curled around your phone, staring at the unanswered texts. Where are you? Are you coming home? Armin, answer me.

Nothing. Just like the last few nights.

Your stomach twisted as the familiar wave of resentment crawled up your spine. This wasn’t new—him disappearing for hours, showing up in the middle of the night with vague excuses. You used to believe him when he said it was work. Used to tell yourself that being the provider, the one out handling things, put pressure on him.

But you weren’t stupid. You knew what a man smelled like when he’d been around another woman.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made you stand, heart pounding. Heavy footsteps echoed through the quiet house, his movements unhurried, like he had no reason to hide anything.

That only pissed you off more.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, you were already there, standing in his path with your arms crossed. His blue eyes met yours, and for a split second, something flashed across his face—guilt? Annoyance? He covered it quickly, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

“You’re up?” His voice was calm, like you weren’t standing there ready to rip him apart．

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m up. Because unlike you, I’ve been home taking care of our daughter all fucking day.”

Armin exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was already tired of the conversation. “（ఌ）don’t start with this right now. I told you, I had things to—”

“Things to handle?” You took a step closer, fists clenched. “You mean someone to handle?”

His jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

You ignored the warning. “No, you watch yourself,” you snapped. “You come home smelling like another bitch, after leaving me here alone again—”

Armin’s eyes darkened. “I told you, it’s work.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your chest heaved, your breath sharp, but Armin just stared at you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t even trying to deny it anymore, and that shattered something inside you.

Your vision blurred with tears as rage bubbled up, making your hands shake. Without thinking, you grabbed the first thing in reach—a picture frame from the hallway table—and hurled it at him.

“Fuck you, Armin!”

He dodged it easily, the glass shattering against the wall. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he still wasn’t raising his voice.

That only made you angrier.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Your voice cracked, frustration choking you. “Leave me here to raise our baby alone while you go fuck around? Do you even give a shit about us?”

Armin’s calm façade snapped.

In a flash, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands gripping your wrists. His breath was hot against your face

“Say that shit again,” he growled.

You struggled against him, but he didn’t budge. “Let me go.”

Armin let out a low, humorless laugh. "You know nothing," he muttered, shaking his head."You sit in this house and assume shit about me, but you have no fucking clue what I do when I'm out."

His eyes were dark, tired, but there was that usual mocking glint behind them, like he found this whole thing entertaining.

Your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "You-"

"Lower your fucking voice," he hissed.

His free hand pointed toward the nursery door down the hall. "She is sleeping."

Before you could get another word in, he picked you up completely, his veiny arms manhandling you so quickly made you wince before he dropped you onto the couch, your body bouncing against the cushions as he ripped his shirt over his head. The glow from the streetlights outside cast harsh shadows over his toned chest, the dark ink of his tattoos.

You didn't get a chance to admire him before he was on you again, his hands yanking your thighs apart, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

Your hips rolled up into his, your nails digging into his biceps as you dared to push back.

"You think you can just come home smelling like another bitch and I'll just-"

Armin cut you off with a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, swallowing your words, stealing your air. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp burn.

"You think I touched her like this?" he taunted, lips brushing against yours, his hands roaming, gripping, possessive. "Think I let her talk back to me the way you do?"

His rough hands spread your thighs, gripping the tan inner skin so hard you could cry before rubbing his fingers beneath the soft fabric. He moved your panties to the side

Feeling how soaked you already were, how easy it was for his fingers to slip through your folds, teasing, taunting.

shoving two fingers inside you without warning, making you cry out. "You were just screaming at me, now you're dripping down my fucking hand?"

Your head turned to the side refusing to look at how pathetic you really were

"That's my girl," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. "Always talking shit, but always taking everything I fucking give you."

You didn't even have time to respond before he was ripping your panties off, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock, his tip red and angry already leaking, aching to be inside you.

He spread your folds, fucking into you, his hips snapped into yours. He was so mean, one hand gripping your throat while the other pinned your wrists above your head.

"This what you wanted?" he taunted, his hips snapping against yours, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Wanted me to come home and put you in your fucking place?"

You whined, back arching, your body overwhelmed by the way he was owning you.

"Look at you," Armin sneered

“F-fuuck you armin!” You could cry at how good this felt, you let out a choked out whine while his grip was tightening around your throat, forcing you to meet his eyes.

the way your legs twitched with every deep thrust. "All you do is bitch and whine, but look at you now-taking this dick"

You glared up at him, tears burning in your eyes, but your body betrayed you. Your walls clenched around him, your thighs tightening as if to keep him from pulling away.

Armin chuckled, shaking his head. his free hand grabbing your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. "You were just throwing shit at me ten minutes ago, now you can't even think straight, can you?"

he sneered, picking up his pace again, slamming into you now, dragging a scream from your lips. "Think you get to tell me what the fuck to do? You don't run a fucking thing"

Your head was spinning, your hands twisting in his grip. "I hate you," you choked out, voice shaking.

"Yeah?" He pulled out completely before slamming back inside, knocking the breath from your lungs. "Then why's this pussy sucking me in, huh?"

You sobbed, nails digging into his arms, body shaking with every brutal thrust.

"You don't get to hate me," he murmured, voice dark, low. "You belong to me, baby. This pussy?" He grabbed your thigh, spreading you wider, fucking deeper. "Mine. That little attitude?" He dragged his lips against your ear, his breath hot. "Mine. You can scream, throw shit, slap me all you want, but at the end of the day?"

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

"You're still gonna let me fuck you like this."

Your body was on fire, your pride crumbling with every rough snap of his hips, with every filthy word he spat down at you.

"You gonna cry, baby?" Armin taunted, watching the way your lashes fluttered, the way your thighs trembled. "Go on. Cry for me”

Your lips parted, a choked, desperate moan escaping before you could stop it.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body still trembling from the force of everything. His body was still pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Armin stayed there for a moment, his hands lightly gripping your waist as if to keep you in place, as if he needed to keep you there.

But then, his voice cut through the tension, low and a little rough, like he'd been holding something back the entire time.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else”

You froze, your chest still heaving as you slowly turned your head to look at him, unsure if you'd heard him correctly.

His eyes met yours, unwavering, dark with an intensity that matched the rawness of the moment.

"You think l'd do that to you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, but the question hung in the air like an accusation.

"I've been working late," he continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing, as if trying to ease the tension between you. "But it's been work. Nothing else. I swear."

"You sure?" you murmured, still unsure, your voice shaky.

"Yeah, baby, I'm sure."

𝑈𝑔ℎ 𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑏𝑎𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛 <3

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 4)

The final two weeks before Agatha moves to Albany

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff

The following Sunday, Agatha drives you to Albany so you can look at apartments with her. She found three online that she really likes and is hoping that she can sign a lease today. 

Since her new job starts next week. 

You’ve never exactly known what she does for a living — you never really cared to ask when she was married to your dad and once you got together, she just kind of assumed that you already knew — so you have to ask about three times for what this new position entails so you can try to work it out. 

So far you’ve gotten that she advises the company on how to raise capital, financial modeling, legal and compliance issues, and general advice. She did try to explain what she does when you found her looking over a contract one night, but it went so far over your head you didn’t realize she had stopped talking until she kissed you to bring you back to earth. Agatha did say investment banker once, but even with all the job descriptions, you’re still not sure you actually understand. 

“All right, here’s the first one,” she says, squeezing your hand that’s interlocked with hers over the center console, and parallel parking on the street in front of a high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. You peer into the lobby to take in the crystal chandelier, dark floors, and mahogany wood panels on the wall by the elevator. “See, it’s not that bad of a drive. As long as you leave pretty early Saturday morning, you should be able to get here in under two hours.” 

You look at her and shoot her a smile. Agatha’s been overly nice to you the past week, telling you how pretty you are and how lucky she is and buying you flowers and cooking you all your favorite foods, so you’re trying to just sit back and appreciate it. 

She took the job. You told her it was okay. All that’s left to do is accept it. 

“It’s really nice,” you tell her, turning back to the building. “It’s in a good area, too.”

Agatha turns the car off and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Only about ten minutes from the office, so even better. And it’s not too far from the interstate for traveling to and from here.”

Another thing she’s been doing is talking about how much you’ll be able to come visit and vice versa. It should be reassuring, but it just feels like she’s overcompensating slightly to make the move sound better than it is. 

It’s not fair to still be upset because Agatha is trying. And you are feeling good about this, you feel secure that what you two have is real and strong, and you’re going to start working on your application to the University at Albany this week. If you get in, you’ll start in January, which really only means four months of long distance, and you know you’ll both make an effort to see each other on the weekends and during breaks. 

When you put it like that, the pit in your stomach lessens. Your tendency to overthink and blow up problems in your head is definitely something you need to work on. 

The moment you step out of the car, the first thing you notice is the smell, almost like rotting plants and sewage. You wrinkle your nose and Agatha walks around to you, the same expression on her face. 

“Think you’ll ever get used to that?” you joke and she solemnly shakes her head. 

“Guess I’ll just need to bury my nose into something else until I forget it,” she says with a wink and you laugh before following her up to the glass door of the apartment complex. 

There’s a man sitting at a desk, maybe about ten years older than you and wearing a flannel shirt, typing something at his computer, and he doesn’t look up at you until Agatha clears her throat and taps her fingers on the counter. 

He raises a bushy eyebrow, unimpressed and annoyed that someone dared interrupt him. “Can I help you?” 

Agatha tosses her hair back over her shoulder and straightens up. “My name is Agatha Harkness and I made an appointment to see a two-bedroom.” 

The man sighs and taps his mouse. “Yo, Dottie,” he calls, swiveling in his chair to face an open door to the right of him, “I’ve got a ‘Harkness’ here to see the two.” Whoever Dottie is, you hope she’s friendlier than this man. Even his mustache seems to be frowning at you. 

A tall, blonde woman steps out of the room, beaming brightly at you two, wearing a brightly colored floral dress. She walks around the desk, shakes both your hands, and introduces herself. 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” she claps her hands together and you wince at the loud sound in the otherwise-silent lobby, “let me get the keys and then I’ll show you and your daughter the model apartment on the seventh floor and then the one that’s open, which could be yours! We also have some specials on leases if you sign one within twenty-four hours of your tour, which I’ll go over after this.” 

Dottie waves you along and you catch Agatha’s eye behind her back, mouthing your daughter? at her with an amused smirk. Agatha playfully rolls her eyes and swats your arm. 

You still remember the first time she took you out in the spring, when the waitress had assumed you were a couple. You had choked and almost died from coughing so hard, flabbergasted at the thought that anyone would look at you two and see anything other than a mother and her daughter, even if she was your step-mom. 

But now, it kind of bugs you that someone does see you that way. You’re almost tempted to see what Dottie would say if you kissed Agatha or if Agatha squeezed your ass. 

Dottie’s rambling about the safety features of the elevator as she presses the button and you stare at the reflection of yourselves in the bronze doors, blurring the sound of her voice out. You watch Agatha nodding attentively and you probably should be paying attention, but you just can’t. 

Something about looking for apartments with Agatha seems so surreal. You had helped her pick out the one in Westview and it felt like you were picking out a place for the two of you, even knowing you were going to live at the dorms. 

But now, you’re picking it out for her and she’s breaking her lease on the apartment you shared. 

It’ll be back to being both of yours in January, you remind yourself. 

The elevator doors slide open and the three of you step into it, the tile a fancy black marble with gold cracks and the walls a dark wood with the top half covered in mirrors. Dottie touches the fob to a pad and then presses the button for seven. 

“It only lets you get to the floor that you live on, and the roof for the pool and the game room. We take our security very seriously,” she explains and Agatha hums before looking at you for your approval and you nod like you’ve been paying attention this whole time. 

She takes you down the hall and pauses in front of a door, fumbling with the key ring and then finally inserting one into the lock. She pushes it open and lets you and Agatha step in first. 

The floor is a cool gray color, all white walls except for the blue accent in the living room, and it’s pretty spacious. The kitchen has an island with quartz countertops that match the other counters against the wall, all stainless steel appliances, a double oven, and a hood over the stove. The backsplash is green and blue and gray tiles. There’s a deep sink and three pendant lights over the island.  You have to admit it looks really good.

“Wow,” Agatha says, tracing her fingers over the countertop and crossing the threshold into the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city of Albany. It’s the model, so there’s comfortable-looking couches around a coffee table and a rug, facing a television on an entertainment center. Even with all the furniture, it’s easy to imagine exactly where Agatha’s stuff would go. 

You follow her into the first bedroom, the bigger one. It has the same windows as the living room and your only thought is that Agatha will certainly need to invest in some curtains if she picks this place. It’s a huge room; Dottie tells you that the bed in there is king-sized and there is still plenty of space for the nightstands and lamps and dressers. The walk-in closet is probably half the size of your dorm room right now, and there’s a standalone shower next to a tub across from the double vanity in the bathroom. 

“This is nice,” Agatha whistles and you nod your head in agreement. 

“Let me show you the other bedroom,” Dottie says and leads you to the other half of the apartment. “This door closes off the hallway to the second bed and bath, so plenty of privacy. Will your daughter be living with you?” 

It’s hard not to laugh when you and Agatha glance at each other out of the corner of your eyes. “Um, no, I go to college in New Jersey. But I’ll be visiting a lot,” you answer, and then, just for the fun of it, add: “How thick are the walls, though? Like, apartment to apartment.” 

Agatha stifles a laugh that turns into a cough and Dottie looks back over her shoulder. “We don’t get a lot of noise complaints. If you’re worried about the TV being too loud, it shouldn’t be a problem because the living room is in the middle of the two bedrooms. But if you’re watching something in either bedroom, there’s a chance a neighbor might be able to hear a bit of it.” 

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” you mumble and Agatha nudges you, even though she’s smirking too. 

The second bedroom is a bit smaller than the other, but still a good size. This one has a window-sill and only one long window and the closet is only about half as big. The bathroom has an alcove tub and matching countertops to the other bathroom and a lot of cabinet space. 

Dottie also shows you the three extra closets for extra storage and then takes you to the empty apartment on the ninth floor. 

Agatha walks around, gesturing wildly with her hands and pointing out where things could go, while you trail after her like a lost puppy, occasionally adding a yeah and I like that and I think that’ll look really good. 

Seeing her plan the space feels like a hammer in your gut going it’s happening it’s happening it’s happening over and over again until it almost overwhelms you, but Agatha is so engaged in it that she doesn’t even notice. You’re being completely irrational. Everything is fine.

“So, what do you guys think?” Dottie asks when Agatha finally stops and comes to stand next to you as you’re leaning on the island and picking at your fingernails. She puts a hand on your lower back and you stiffen, eyes darting up to look at Agatha, who’s looking back at you inquisitively. 

“Could you give us a second, Dottie?” It’s clear from Agatha’s tone that it’s not a question and Dottie gives you both a tight smile before leaving the apartment. 

You rub your forehead, trying to stave off a headache you can feel slowly budding, and walk over to the windows. Her footsteps are soft and then she’s wrapping an arm around you to pull you into her and kiss your head. 

“You know what I’m thinking about?” she asks and you hum inquisitively. “Fucking you against these windows so anyone down below could look up and see how well you take me. See how good of a girl you are for me.” 

A burst of heat flashes through you but you smirk, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make a joke. “That’s quite an inappropriate thing to say to your daughter.” 

Agatha snorts. “Good thing Dottie isn’t here.” And then she softens against you. “Do you like this place?” 

You shrug. “It’s pretty nice. Aren’t we going to go look at the other places though?” It’s a stupid thing, but you feel like it’s not real until she signs a lease. And maybe you just want to keep it not real for a little bit longer. 

She makes an equivocal sound. “This one did look the nicest online. And honestly, I really like it. I can definitely see myself living here. I can see us living here.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, melting on the inside. As long as she’s picturing you here with her, you’d be good with anywhere. “I think this is the place, then. Let’s go tell Dottie, mommy.” You go to move but instead, she turns you by the shoulders and grabs your cheeks, pulling you in for a long kiss and then gives you another one for good measure. 

“You are so perfect,” she says against your lips. “I l—” 

The door opens and you jump back from Agatha and whirl to find Dottie standing there. Your cheeks heat up, but she doesn't look scandalized so you’re guessing she didn’t see anything. “How’s it going in here, ladies?” 

Agatha gives you one last look-over, giving you all the time in the world to object, but you just swallow hard and nod. “Dottie, we’ll take it,” she says and you plaster a smile onto your face when Dottie gasps and exclaims excitedly. 

She ushers you back to the lobby and leaves you sitting at a desk while she runs off to go print out papers. You’re tapping your foot impatiently when your phone buzzes. 

Thinking it’s just one of your parents — you didn’t actually tell either of them that you were going to New York — you pull it out of your pocket. 

Hey, it’s Carol. Want to get dinner tonight? You vaguely remember giving her your number the night of the party last week. You’ve only seen her once or twice since then and the first time, she asked how you were feeling, and the second time, she shot a finger gun at you. 

“Who’s Carol?” Agatha murmurs, having leaned over your shoulder. You fight the instinct to turn your screen and type back, Sorry, out of town tonight. Rain check? before slipping it back into your pocket. 

“Just this girl that lives in the dorms. She was the one who drove me to your place when I was hammered last Sunday.” 

“Ah.” She’s opening her mouth to say something else when Dottie comes back over and plops down a thick packet and starts rattling off the rules of the complex, the extra fees, and where to sign. Dottie says because you’re not living here full-time, you don’t have to fill anything out and you inwardly sigh in relief. 

Agatha barely looks at the papers before signing her name in big cursive letters and you can’t help but long for that kind of financial security and stability, where you don’t even have to worry about the cost of rent. When you do transfer and if you do end up living with her at any point, you know she won’t let you pay for anything, but you make a mental note to start looking at jobs, maybe even just part-time, so you can buy her things with your own money. 

“Perfect, let me just run a quick background check on you, make sure your credit is good, and then I’ll get back with you. And you want to move in…?” 

“Next Saturday would be great,” Agatha says and your foot starts bouncing even more erratically. Dottie leaves to go back into the office and Agatha’s head drops back to look up at the ceiling. “That means I need to set up electricity, water, internet, I need to schedule movers, I need to talk to my complex.” She groans and sits back normally, rubbing her face with her hands. 

You’ve done the whole moving thing a few times and it absolutely sucks so you reach over to pat her leg. It’s the first time you’ve seen her even the slightest bit overwhelmed with all this and it’s honestly refreshing. “I’m here. Anything you need, I want to help.” 

She gratefully smiles and leans across her chair to give you a kiss on the head. “How did I get so lucky?” 

“Um, you married my dad.” Agatha wrinkles her nose but laughs anyway, resting a hand on top of yours that’s still on her thigh. It’s an anchor for both of you and neither of you move until Dottie comes back about five minutes later. 

“All right, you guys are all good! We will see you next week. Any more questions?” 

Agatha stands up and shakes Dottie’s hand. “I think we’re okay. Thank you so much for all your help.” 

The drive back to Westview is filled with mindless chatter and no mention of the move. You make plans for the week — you’ll stay with Agatha every night, she’ll cook dinner, movie night on Tuesday, picnic in the park on Thursday. She knows that school is starting to pick up for you, so it goes unspoken that you’ll be doing homework with her. 

“And of course, plenty of sex,” you add when she asks you if there’s anything else to plan for. 

“Oh, sorry, was that not implied?” Agatha simpers and her hand sneaks its way into your lap, dipping under the seat belt to play with the elastic of your leggings. 

You let her slide inside and let out a small moan when she brushes a finger against your clit through your underwear. “Better keep your eyes on the road, mommy,” you say tightly.

“I can multitask.” 

She rubs your clit and you shift in your seat to give her easier access to you. It’s an odd angle — her wrist is bent in a way that is surely uncomfortable — but Agatha is determined to make it work. She teases you slowly and before long, you can feel how wet you’ve become. Your breathing has deepened, cheeks hot, and you start to roll your hips to get more stimulation. 

“Mommy, please,” you beg, and she looks over at you to say something when the car in front of her stops suddenly. Your stomach lurches. “Watch out!” 

Agatha slams on the brakes, sending you both flying forward, the seat belt putting an immense amount of pressure on you, and she yanks her hand out of your pants to put her arm in front of you. 

The car screeches to a halt about two feet from the one in front of you. You’re both panting and Agatha tosses her hair back before assessing you. 

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. You nod, still gripped by a cold sweat. She takes a deep breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel when the cars begin to move again. “I think we’ll save car sex for another time.”

You huff out a laugh in agreement. “It went pretty well that one time. But we were in a parking lot on the way to get pizza in rural New Jersey, not on an interstate in New York.” 

“Who would’ve thought there’s a big difference,” Agatha quips and the tension from almost getting into a wreck lifts the more she drives. You’re back to giggling and talking in no time, although you both keep your hands to yourself. 

The rest of the day passes quickly, with Agatha busy setting up everything she needs for her new apartment while you finish up some homework for the upcoming week. 

On Tuesday, you’re leaving your dorm after your third class of the day to go to Agatha’s for the night when you run into Carol. She brightens when you see her and you give her a quick smile, determined to keep moving. 

“Hey, where are you off to? You still owe me that dinner,” she says, catching you by the arm. 

“Yeah, sorry, this week is going to be a little tough,” you tell her apologetically. “My…girlfriend is moving on Saturday so I'm just trying to spend as much time with her as I can.” You’ve never really had to define your relationship with Agatha, but it seems natural to call her that. 

A stormy look flits across her face before she’s back to normal. “The same girlfriend who broke up with you?” 

You hadn’t exactly found the time to fill her in on the whole story. “Turns out she wasn’t cheating, it was me jumping to conclusions. She had a job interview in Albany and she got it! So she starts next Monday.” 

“Be careful with long distance,” Carol warns, instead of being happy for you like you thought she would be. You raise an eyebrow. “It always starts out so nice and happy and everything is okay…but then the distance sets in. Texting and calling aren’t the same as just being able to see them and talk to them in person. Traveling becomes exhausting. The traffic makes you mad and then you’re in a bad mood and you can only think about the drive back and—”

“Stop,” you snap, stepping away from her. This is possibly the worst thing you could hear right now and you can’t take it any longer. “That’s not how this is going to go, okay? Agatha and I are different. We’re solid. And besides, it’s probably only going to be like this for a few months. She trusts me and I trust her. We’re going to be fine.” 

Carol scoffs, a cold look in her eyes. “You trust her? Is that why you were so quick to believe she was cheating on you?” 

The blow knocks the wind out of you and you just stare at her blankly. Who the fuck does she think she is? 

She softens, realizing that she cut deeper than she intended to. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is your relationship and I should’ve stayed out of it — I’m sure you’re right, okay? You guys will be fine.” 

But you don’t want to hear anymore from her, so you turn on your heel and walk to your car. The rest of the night, you’re a bit out of it and you can’t stop cursing Carol for putting those thoughts in your head. 

The next few days fly by in a blur with classes and homework and avoiding Carol around campus, but your evenings are absolutely perfect with Agatha.

She keeps the light low in the kitchen while she cooks for you each night while you sit at the table and ramble on about whatever you’re learning. She hums at all the right times, but when you take a break to look up at her, she’s staring at you with a fondness in her eyes that you’ve never seen before. 

Each time it happens, you think it must be what love looks like. 

Growing up with parents that should’ve been divorced, you never had a good model for what love was. You used to think that everyone’s parents were like yours — cold, didn’t actually like each other, and just stayed together for their children. You thought that love meant complacency, or even that maybe there was no such thing as it. 

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to fall in love and be loved back. But with Agatha, there’s an intimacy your parents never had. You didn’t know what that was like until her. 

And you know that you love her more than anything in the entire world, and when she gives you that look, you think she might feel the same. 

The three words are constantly on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you just can’t say them again. You don’t even say it when she makes you cum, which is a lot of times over the week. 

She bends you over the countertop and fingers you. She shoves you against the wall after you get back from your picnic on Thursday, gets on her knees, and eats you out. She makes you sit on her strap while you finish your essay and then pushes you onto all-fours and pounds into your pussy until you’re crying. She fucks you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the hallway, in the living room — even in her car and your car. Both while you’re safely parked in an abandoned lot, of course. 

It’s like she’s determined to give you as many orgasms as she can before she moves, and she’s doing an excellent job of it. 

Saturday, after everything gets moved into the new apartment and you’re finally done unpacking most of the stuff, Agatha takes you to a fancy Italian steakhouse in Albany. The atmosphere is romantic, with classical music playing softly and candles lit at every table. Agatha looks absolutely stunning in a tight black dress and curly hair, and you’re wearing your best outfit as well. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” she asks and your cheeks heat up as your head ducks down shyly. 

“Once or twice,” you answer coyly, finally meeting her gaze again. 

She holds out her hand across the table and you take it, feeling the normal electricity that her skin on yours always gives you. “We’re going to be okay, you know that, right? I know you’re more worried than you’re letting on. I know how you’re feeling — I know how easy it is to get swept away with doubts. But I really appreciate you telling me to take this job and I promise we’ll be okay. I care about you far too much to let anything happen to this.” 

You nod and squeeze her hand. “I do know. I feel the same.” 

“Oh — that reminds me. I got you something,” she says and digs around in her purse before pulling out a small black box with a red bow neatly wrapped around it and handing it to you. “You might want to open it beneath the table. Might be embarrassing if someone sees it.” 

Brows furrowing in confusion, you dip the box under the white tablecloth and undo the bow quickly before lifting off the lid. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shoot up to meet hers. 

“Agatha,” you hiss, flushing. 

Resting on stretched out cotton in the box is a small, purple vibrator, curved to be able to rest on your clit while also vibrating against your g-spot, with a gold engraving along the side that goes inside you: Mommy’s cunt. Your clit throbs.

She holds up what looks like a small key fob and presses a button and the toy starts vibrating. You drop the box into your lap while gaping at her and she smirks triumphantly. “Works from anywhere in the world,” she says casually and your stomach sears with heat. 

“Oh, fuck,” you rasp. You’re suddenly feeling very excited about this move. Something about the distance, about the anticipation and the teasing and the pining that it will bring, doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

Suddenly, the food can’t come fast enough and then you’re both in the car, Agatha speeding while you sit on your hands so you don’t distract her, and then she throws the car into park and you both race into her apartment. 

Her mouth finds yours the moment you step through the door, pushing you against the wall as a muffled oomph slips out of you, and she sucks on your tongue and then bites your bottom lip and then kisses her way down your neck. Your brain is going foggy and your underwear is soaked and you quickly tug her into the bedroom. 

Agatha tears off her dress and then pounces on you, knocking you onto your back on the bed, hands coming up to cup your breasts and you keen. 

“God, Agatha,” you groan and she scrapes her teeth against your neck. It’s so good, but it’s also your last night before everything changes. “Wait, fuck, stop.” 

She jumps back like she’s been burned. “What — is everything okay?” 

You nod, panting, and run your hands up and down her hips. “Yeah, everything’s great. I just…can we just cuddle tonight? I just want to be close to you.” 

Agatha runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinks, and she chokes out, “Of course, honey. Whatever you want.” 

Smiling gratefully, you take off your clothes and slide under the covers next to her so you can feel all of her warm skin against yours before she tucks an arm around you. You nuzzle into her body and your face twitches with restrained emotion. 

“I’m going to miss you,” you say softly and she presses a kiss to your head. “I know it’ll be okay though. I’m almost done with my application to the University at Albany.” 

She hums and kisses you again before breathing in your scent deeply like she’s making sure she doesn’t forget it. “I have no doubt you’ll get in. And then it’ll be us in our own little world.” 

“That’s right.” 

The two of you lay like that for what feels like hours, and eventually, Agatha’s breathing starts to even out. A quick glance up at her face confirms that she fell asleep. 

You know you should too, but you’re reluctant to let this moment go. Right now, it feels like you’re frozen in time, just the two of you. 

So you stay up as late as you can, just soaking in the feeling of her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg @m1vfs

[kissingmilfs]

˚☽˚.⋆ 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 | 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂

18+ minors please dni. this is all purely fictional and no i do not condone cheating.

content warnings: cheating, douchebag boyfriend, fingering, masturbation, slight internalized homophobia (addressed more in later parts)

˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you met sevika at a night out with all your friends at a nightclub you had no business being at. you and your boyfriend were on another “break.” break entailing he says something really mean to you and you storm out and crash with someone until he apologizes.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you were leaned against the bar, looking rather bored and out of place when sevika approached. she did not necessarily come up to talk to you but you happened to have the only open seat left. and when she approached you cautiously stepped back and she quickly extended her prosthetic arm around your waist to keep you from colliding with the bar stool.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika didn’t even end up sitting in the stool. after her chivalry you insisted on buying her drink then leaving her alone. but now sevika was intrigued. you didn’t look like you came here often. she knew you didn’t. this was sevika’s favorite nightclub for a reason. mainly populated with lesbians; single, taken and everything between.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you were nothing of the sort. least not at first glance sevika thought. you wore a mini skirt and far too tight crop top. it looked like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. (you were).

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika did accept your drink. then she easily coaxed you into shots. it only took one time asking and sevika calling you, doll, for you to oblige. then one shot turned to three.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ then she was unexpectedly sweet. sevika made you drink a whole glass of water and ordered a plate of fries for you. you had insisted sevika have some between bites but she just shrugged and said she ate already.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ somehow you both found yourselves on the dance floor. both your arms draped over sevika’s shoulder and bodies pressed firmly together as you sensually danced against her. you hadn’t felt so free in ages. and when you felt sevika’s hand on your ass—you hadn’t flinched or protested.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ next thing you knew—sevika had you atop the bathroom sink with your lacy thong pooled around your ankles and two fingers deep within you. and she made these filthy animalistic noises in your ear. her hips thrusted with each stroke of her fingers. your head was tipped back against the mirror and you swore you saw heaven in that bathroom.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you never told anyone about what happened that night or where you ended up. your friends hadn’t bothered asking which you assumed they either knew and didn’t care. or they figured you were a wallflower most of the night.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you, like always, returned to your boyfriend. you spent two more nights with your friend then he came knocking on their door with a large bouquet of flowers and a puppy dog look in his eyes. so you forgave him and went home. and when he uncoordinatedly jerked off inside of you and grunted in your ear — you found yourself imagining it was sevika.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika hadn’t forgotten about you or that night either. she couldn’t. not when she took your pink thong in her back pocket. not when she rubbed herself with it almost every night while she held. she couldn’t get the noises of your mewls, or pathetic attempts to quiet down out of her head. if she thought hard enough—she could still feel how unbelievably wet and warm you were on her fingers.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika went back to the club every night in hopes you’d show up. she fucked some random girl in the alley the first night looking for you but was so disgusted with herself—she threw up after the girl went back inside.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ on the second week of looking for you—sevika stumbled in line for street tacos and somehow saw you. you were there. with…a man? with his arm around your shoulder. and whispering in your ear. but the look on your face was distant and glazed over. and not in a good way.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ something had told you to look up. it gnawed at the front of your head. when you lifted your eyes finally—you immediately locked eyes with those intense grey eyes.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you had made up some excuse to leave the table which your boyfriend didn’t even second guess. sevika cornered you behind the food truck—somehow towering over you more than she had that night. and when you opened your mouth to explain sevika simply didn’t care. you could’ve had two kids with a husband and she wouldn’t have cared.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ her lips swallow any explanation and pour out the two weeks of searching and missing you. sevika tasted like tobacco and whiskey. you tasted like salsa verde and pineapple jaritos. she knew you missed her too because you whimpered into the kiss and immediately latched your arms around her neck.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika left that night with your number and three of each taco on the menu.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

"D-D-d-do I like…girl with soft boobies and thighs? Um…"

"Y..Yes: do you? I didn't know what type of girl you were looking for. I know others like Yuria and the other girls keep telling me that you...you had a crush on me. I mean, I know we are going slow and I know we....ummm..might have confessed or did we?" she was blushing hoping so but she tends to be always nervous.

Mi-sun was still in shock while being dragged behind the curtains to hear this. It still was shocking to hear. Even the other girls were silent with Hana and Yuria listening. Nobara Maki and Miwa was listening too being quiet.

'What are they saying?' Miwa whispered.

'I don't know. Do you think Miko is confessing to him?' Maki asked.

'He could be or she could be. I can't tell!' Nobara hissed listening.

~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~

Todo pouts sitting on the ground being treated but he sighed. "I am proud of myself! I mean yeah..I..gotten beat up but for a reason! I mean it is shocking to know that someone like that cares about him." Todo said.

"Even if that same girl beat your butt?" Megumi said with a sweatdrop.

"Same thing!"

~~~~~~~Nurse's office~~~~~~~~

"I don't mind if it's you, Miko. y-you're my type..."

"H..Huh? What did you say?" She didn't hear him but she was nervous now to look down. ".......So am I.....your type? I mean..to be honest...I know your my type. I really...I..Umm..." she was now hiding her hands in the long sleeves of her hoodie blushing worse to look away.

'I really really believe and hope you will accept my feelings and become my boyfriend...' she mutters under her breath.

"Yeah, you did but at least it was not a bad one." Miko was still worried but looking at him, she wanted Kisho to be alright even so. Now came her question if he really did like that sort of thing.

Even Mi-sun was shocked almost dropping the tray she had when hearing this. What the heck!? Miko wanted to know if that was true even if she looks to him wanting a answer.

"Uh…well…I mean…I-I was…" Kisho answers, looking unsure. He needs to change the subject!

"You see Todo has been asking me what is type of woman or man, right? So that's how this fight went down. So you know…" Kisho's eyes shifted back and forth.

"I..I see. Though, I was not expecting that given that Todo would suggest that. Even if not all girls have big asses as he says.." she sighed closing her eyes but she looks to him.

"By the way, Miko…what's your type? What's your type of guy?"

"Huh? M..My type?" She blinks to think about it but Miko looks down to think for a moment. "Well, my type of guy is someone that's fun to hang around with, someone that don't think I'm weird.....s..someone that wouldn't mind going on dates with. I like someone that loves adventure and just having fun. That he is willing to do what makes him himself but has a sweet kind side. I'm into someone that's not scared to prove someone else that they can whoever they want.." she said yet her face went pink to poke her fingers. "Even if we fight for what is right or for one another and our friends.."

"A...also, I sometimes hope that the someone I like..wouldn't mind giving snuggles and hugs if we were along together. I don't even mind them snuggling into my boobs or my thighs......honestly." She blushed worse saying that.

"I even wouldn't mind hearing them say they love me for who I am like I do with them. Or them freaking out if I see things without being called a freak. I don't have picky taste on who I look for in someone. I'm not trying to judge someone for anything." she said yet she sighed.

"Though..you didn't answer my question....d..does this mean you really do like girls with soft boobies and thighs? D..does this also mean you wouldn't mind a girl with them? L...like me? Or am I not your type?" she asked that Mi-sun even drops her tray now shocked.

What in the world are these teenagers thinking right now?! What was Todo even trying to start!?

[marifilue]

Unraveled

Wordcount: 3.2K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Mutant!Reader (no use of y/n)

Tags: Violence, blood, established relationship, fluff, language, mature content.

Oneshot: You find Logan’s overprotective side endearing most of the time, but it can also be downright infuriating too. If only you knew how much he cares.

Being indestructible was a privilege Logan had, but it didn't mean he was invulnerable. And when it came to him, no enemy ever hit harder than his own damn temper.

People on the X-mansion have always had something to say about it before you got together with him.

"You know what you’re getting into, right?”

“Logan’s got a temper. That man’s a ticking bomb.”

His anger simmers beneath the surface like a ticking bomb, just waiting for the right trigger. And honestly? You get it. If you’d lived as long as he has—seen what he’s seen, lost what he’s lost—you’d be just as grumpy and short-tempered too. What you can’t wrap your head around is how, after all these years, he still manages to be a good man, the good man.

For someone labeled as hotheaded, Logan has a level of self-control that never fails to leave you in awe. He never lets his emotions get the best of him—not when it comes to you.

He’s never snapped, never lost himself in front of you. He’s just Logan. Rough around the edges, a little too protective at times, but always sweet, always caring. You wouldn't even change a thing about him, you love every part of the package.

He's your man, your Logan.

You’ve fought alongside Logan on plenty of missions. With your ability to absorb kinetic energy and immaculate combat skills, Professor send you in the field often.

Logan, on the other hand, isn’t always thrilled about it. His overprotectiveness grates on your nerves—he acts like it’s his job to keep you safe, even though you’ve proven yourself more times than you can count. A few scratches are nothing, but to Logan, even the smallest bruise is unacceptable.

Tonight’s mission is no different. The Professor is sending you and Logan to investigate an underground mutant fight ring—captured mutants, forced to battle for entertainment, all for the amusement of some sick humans.

Logan is not happy about it. Not just because of what’s happening inside that ring, but because Charles is only sending the two of you. His reasoning? You and Logan are the most skilled in hand-to-hand combat in which he's not wrong, and all you need to do is pose as a fighter. The rest of the team will be outside, monitoring the situation and ready to move if things go south.

Logan doesn’t trust it. And, knowing him, he sure as hell doesn’t like you walking into that kind of danger.

As the two of you walked toward the place, Logan brought a cigar to his lips, rolling it between his fingers before biting down and sparking his lighter. The brief flicker of flame illuminated his face as he took a slow drag, the ember glowing at the tip. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cold night air, his voice cutting through the haze, low and firm.

"Remember, get in line and—"

"Step back—bathroom emergency excuse. I will not stepped into the ring for any reason. Just navigate the waiting room, look for an escape route—I get it, Logan. You've been at this a dozen times."

You cut him off, irritation slipping into your voice before he can finish yet another rundown of the plan. What was supposed to be a simple fifteen-minute walk now feels insufferable with him constantly reminding you of your own damn mission.

Logan shot you a sideways glance, one brow raised as he held his cigar between his fingers. You didn’t even spare him a look, your steps heavier than necessary as you stomped ahead.

"I will—"

"You will look for that Jeffrey guy—aka the big boss. Try to make a reasonable deal; he’s usually hanging around the bar, enjoying the show. If it doesn’t work out, we step back and come up with another plan. No mess."

You cut him off again, finally glancing his way—just in time to catch that look on his face.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply before planting a hand on his hip in that all-too-familiar stance. He stopped in his tracks and called your name. Once. Then twice.

"What, Logan?" you sighed, though the edge in your voice wasn’t as sharp as you wanted it to be.

"Just watch your back, darlin’. That’s all I’m asking." With that, he stubbed out his cigar and flicked it away.

"I know. I can take care of myself," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking ahead.

Logan slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and followed, his heavy footsteps trailing close behind.

What did he say about not getting into the ring? Right. Don’t.

And yet, here you were.

In front of you stood a terrified little boy, no older than ten. His skin had a reptilian sheen, scales catching the light, his wide eyes darting around in panic. He was next up in the ring. His opponent? A grown mutant with his skin made of a rock—bigger, stronger, and with a look that said he wouldn’t hesitate to rip a kid apart.

How the fuck were you supposed to let that slide?

Your mind raced. There was no time to argue, no time to negotiate. You pushed the boy back, stepped onto his foot as a silent stay put, and took his place. You wouldn’t kill the guy—just cause a scene, throw everything into chaos, and run. That way, the kid lived, and hopefully, nobody got hurt.

Meanwhile, across the room, Logan leaned back in his seat, cigar resting between his fingers, his free hand drumming against the bar.

“So whaddya say, buddy? My boss is willing to offer up to three hundred grand. Tempting, ain’t it?” His voice was smooth, calculated—playing the part just enough to keep Jeffrey’s attention.

The obese middle-aged man took a slow sip of his drink, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Three hundred grand? I almost made that last year.” He chuckled.

“Almost, right?” Logan pressed. “I could push it to five hundred. That is, unless you’d rather—”

Something shifted in the air. The crowd roared, a deafening wave of cheers shaking the room. Logan barely processed it—until he caught a glimpse of the ring.

And you.

His words died in his throat. The second he saw you standing behind that cage, facing off against a man twice your size, his entire body went rigid.

“What?” Jeffrey prompted, waiting for Logan to finish.

But Logan was already out of his chair.

He stormed toward the ring, moving faster than anyone could stop him. The metal chain-link fence buzzed with electricity, flashing every time someone made contact with it.

“HEY! STOP THIS! THIS IS A MISTAKE!” His voice cut through the noise, rough and furious, his knuckles turned white.

Inside the ring, your ears rang from the cheers. Through the blinding lights, you barely made out Logan’s silhouette, one arm raised to shield your eyes.

Yup he's there, yelling and frustrated—oh, the look on his face.. He's pissed.

Sorry, babe.

Logan’s heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched you square up against the rock-skinned mutant.

He didn’t give a damn about the deal anymore. Five hundred grand, a million—none of it mattered. Not when you were standing inside that ring. Not when you were about to get hit.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw locking as Jeffrey chuckled beside him.

“Well, well,” Jeffrey mused, swirling his drink. “Isn't she a sight for sore eyes”

Logan didn’t answer, his eyes locked on you. Under different circumstances, he would’ve smirked, said hell yeah, you are a sight for sore eyes, and maybe even thrown in a proud that’s my girl. But right now? What the fuck are you doing?

Inside, you could practically feel the heat of his glare from across the room.

Your opponent shifted his weight, cracking his knuckles. “You sure about this, lady?” he asked, voice like grinding gravel. “I don’t hold back.”

You ignored him. Instead, you glanced at the crowd, the flashing lights, the electric fence humming behind you.

Then, you locked eyes with Logan.

He was furious.

Not just pissed—but furious.

The kind of anger that made his entire body tense, veins pulsing in his forearms, his stance screaming don’t test me.

Yeah, you were in trouble.

But right now, you had bigger things to worry about.

The bell rang.

The rock-skinned mutant lunged.

You dodged, barely missing a fist that would’ve knocked you flat. The crowd erupted in cheers, fists pounding against the metal barricades.

Logan’s claws twitched beneath his skin. His control teetered on a razor’s edge.

Jeffrey let out a slow whistle. “Gotta admit, she’s got guts. But guts won’t save her.”

That was it.

Logan moved.

Without a word, he reached back—grabbed Jeffrey by the collar—and slammed him face-first into the floor.

The crowd was too fixated on the fight to notice. But the bouncers? They noticed.

Logan barely spared them a glance. “Anyone touches me,” he growled, voice low and lethal, “they lose a hand.”

Nobody moved.

Good.

Because Logan had one thing on his mind—and that was getting you the hell out of that ring.

He turned back to the fight just in time to see your opponent land a hit.

Not a clean hit—you’d blocked most of it—but enough to send you skidding backward, your boots kicking up dust. A bruise was already forming around your left eye, a small cut near your eyebrow marking where his rock-hard fist had landed.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, hands tightening into fists. “End this fast.”

And you did.

You twisted on your heel, faking left before darting right. Your opponent fell for it, leaving his side wide open.

One hit.

That was all you needed.

You slammed your palm into his exposed ribs, absorbing the kinetic energy from his movements and sending it right back into him. The impact sent him flying, crashing against the cage with a crack. The electric fence buzzed—and he went limp.

The crowd lost their minds.

But Logan wasn’t cheering. He was already grabbing a steel chair.

With one brutal swing, he smashed it against the electric fence. Sparks flew, and the power box short-circuited, cutting the current.

Then, he climbed the cage.

People screamed. Guards scrambled. But before anyone could react, Logan had already dropped inside.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was in front of you, his hands gripping your arms, his voice rough and low.

“Y'alright?”

You blinked. “Yeah—”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.”

Then, in one swift motion, he scooped you up—actually picked you up—and threw you over his shoulder.

“Logan!” you hissed, squirming. “Put me down—”

“Not a damn chance.”

His grip was firm, unyielding. He stepped over your fallen opponent and marched toward the broken part of the cage.

By now, the entire place was in chaos. People running, guards shouting. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was getting you out.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo arrived at the scene in no time, tending to what was left of the cage fighter mutants. Logan? He didn’t even look back, just left the cleanup to the rest of the team.

At some point before boarding the Blackbird, he finally set you down without a word. He took a seat, arms crossed, staring out the window as the rest of the team and the rescued mutants filed in. You sat across from him, watching as he deliberately avoided your gaze. But at one point, you caught him looking—just for a second—before he turned away just as quickly.

Once the mission was settled and the rescued mutants were given guidance, you found yourself talking with the Professor. That was when you saw Logan walk past the room, heading for the exit. He probably hadn’t realized you were there, deep in conversation, but the way his shoulders were set, the way he moved with purpose, told you everything.

You excused yourself and followed.

He walked fast, straight out the door and toward a cabin tucked away in the backyard of the X-Mansion. You picked up your pace, but you didn’t call out to him—tonight had him on edge, and you weren’t sure he’d want to talk. You’d barely spoken to each other since the mission ended.

Logan disappeared inside, shutting the door behind him. You hesitated just outside, only for a muffled groan to catch your attention. You took a step closer. Then—a loud crash.

The hell?

Your fingers brushed the handle just as another heavy thud echoed from inside. That was enough. You pushed the door open.

Logan stood with his back to you, fist slamming into the concrete wall. A fresh crack splintered across the surface, blood smeared where his knuckles had connected. But even as the wounds stitched themselves back together, he didn’t stop.

The door creaked, and he stilled. Then he turned—eyes widening when he saw you.

Shit. When did you get here? How long had you been standing there?

“Logan…” Your voice was quiet.

“I… What are you doing here?” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I didn’t know you were there. I—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You shouldn't be here—” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking exposed, like he’d been caught in something scandalous.

Your grip tightened on the doorknob. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question—you already knew the answer. He was frustrated, needed an outlet. And he thought no one would see.

Especially not you.

Logan turned to leave the cabin, brushing past you with no force but you weren’t letting him walk away that easily.

“Logan, just listen to me will you?!” You called after him, your voice sharp with frustration.

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense. Taking that as your chance, you stepped closer "There was a boy, god he was so scared. He's supposed to fight that big guy, I can't let that slide Infront of me, Lo.." You stepped in front of him—giving him space, but making sure he had to see and hear you.

“Come on, that boy was walking straight toward his grave. I had the power to stop it, so I did.” Your fingers fidgeted, nerves creeping in despite your resolve.

Arms crossed, he kept his gaze ahead for a moment before finally looking down at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. You held his gaze, refusing to waver.

“You would’ve done the same if you were in my position,” you said, firm but pleading.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but a scratch wouldn’t do a damn thing to me. You?” He trailed off. His jaw clenched. “Anything could’ve happened to you.” His voice was quieter now.

“But it didn’t. I’m alright, okay?. Even if it had, it’s not gonna be your fault. It isn't your job to protect everyone, Logan.”

The second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up. His posture went rigid, his head tilting as if he couldn’t believe what you’d just said.

“But it is my job to protect you,” he shot back, voice rough, raw. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you—if I was right there and I let it happen. How the hell do you think I’d live with that?”

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Alright, let’s just calm down—”

“No.” He said your name, voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You always do this. Always act like some goddamn saint, and I hate it. Hate how you care so damn much about everyone else’s life but your own.” He unfolded his arms, hands flexing at his sides. “Your life it’s.... fragile, alright?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. “One day, you’re here. And the next… who fucking knows? That scares the shit outta me. Please, just—”

His voice wavered. He shook his head, frustrated at himself, at you, at everything.

“Just have a little survival instinct. For your own sake. For mine.”

Your breath hitched. You’d never seen this side of him before—not like this. Not so openly terrified.

Slowly, you reached for his arms, his hands still twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. He was shaking. Gently, you guided one of his palms to your chest, right over your heartbeat.

“I’m still here, Logan,” you murmured. “Still beating.” You pressed his hand against your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm.

His gaze flickered from your hand to your eyes. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, like he needed to remind himself you were here. That nothing bad happened.

His arm slid up as his gaze caught on the bruise near your left eye and the cut on your brow. He brushed away the blood with careful fingers.

“I don’t like that,” he muttered.

“I know.”

After a beat, he exhaled, finally breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t get caught screwing shit. Nobody were supposed to see that.” His hand dropped back to his side, suddenly withdrawn, like he didn’t think he deserved to be standing this close to you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You could see the way he was trying to distance himself again, convinced he wasn’t worthy of your love. But you weren’t about to let him pull away—not tonight. Not after everything.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” you teased, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, tiptoeing to reach him. “Didn’t see a thing.”

His body went stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure how to react, he felt like he didn't deserve your touch. But then, with a quiet exhale, he melted into you. His arms circled your waist, pulling you in.

“Careful what you’re gettin’ yourself into, darlin’,” he muttered against your neck, voice low, warning.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, close, the space between you nonexistent.

Then Logan did what he always did when words failed him.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say. His lips pressed against yours with a firm but aching tenderness, like he was trying to apologize and promise you the world all at once.

You melted into him, your hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, “we do it my way.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, brushing your nose against his. “No promises, sweetheart.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Nah. You’re immortal, remember?”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Doesn’t mean I’m invincible.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. I’d hate to think I don’t have an effect on you.”

Logan let out a soft growl, pulling you flush against him. “Oh, you’ve got an effect on me, alright.”

And just like that, the tension from the night melted away—not forgotten, but softened by the simple truth of what you were to each other.

A team. A pair. A damn disaster waiting to happen.

And neither of you would have it any other way.

[beomcoups]

Stupid Cupid (teaser)

➻❥ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are madly in love with your best friend and it's eating you alive. One day you will tell him how you feel, but you have to deal with his girlfriend first.

➻❥ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend!hansol x reader

➻❥ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 18+, roommates au, best friends to ?, angst, fluff, implied smut (for teaser)

➻❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of sex, cursing, kelsey is a bitch (full fic will all all the warnings)

➻❥ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 753 for the teaser; actual fic will be over 8k

➻❥ 𝐀𝐍: This for the collab "Lonely Hearts Cafe", hosted by @camandemstudios. I plan to post it on Valentines day :)

You are in love with Hansol. 

Hopelessly, stupidly, trip over your feet when he’s around, butterflies in your stomach kind of love. He’s everything you could want in a guy and your best friend, someone you can just chill with no expectations. You both love Star Wars, attend anime cons together, and are allergic to peanuts. You share a home with him and it feels like home in your heart when he’s near. You’re in love with Hansol. There is only one problem: he has an on-and-off girlfriend. 

A girlfriend you particularly hate. 

Kelsey is always around, taking up your space, and it’s aggravating. You wish you could say that it’s not serious, but to your chagrin, they have been on and off for a couple of years. It’s bad enough that you can’t tell Hansol how you feel, but then you have his girlfriend, a huge social media influencer, always at your condo every time you’re there. You would think she would like to take her “influence " elsewhere. It’s exacerbating. 

“Hey there girl,” Kelsey calls out as you walk to the kitchen. She is sprawled out with her laptop on your living room floor rug, wearing a cut-off shirt, the tiniest shorts you have ever seen, and knee-high socks. Where does she live again?

“What’s up?” you respond, barely hiding the irritation in your voice. 

“Oof, you’re definitely not a morning person,” she scoffs. “Do you think you can stay out tonight? Vernon has this Hollywood thing he has to attend to tonight, and he is stressed about it. So I want to help him relax if you know what I mean.” 

You raise your eyebrows at her referring to him as Vernon, which he only tells his coworkers to call him. Hansol is a cinematographer, and a damned good one. He works for a major film studio and is invited to parties all the time. He only goes for the free food and booze, he says, because those people don’t care about anything but themselves and their pockets, let alone pronouncing his first name correctly.

Kelsey is not a coworker; she is, unfortunately, his girlfriend. Why doesn’t she call him by his preferred name?

“What does you wanting to help Hansol relax have to do with me being here?” you ask, making yourself a cup of coffee. 

“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “It’ll be pretty awkward for me to be blowing his brains out while you’re here, ya know?”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from saying what is on your mind, instead focusing on making your elaborate coffee with whipped cream and caramel syrup on top. This girl really has some nerve. 

“Kelsey,” you let out a small sigh. “I’m not leaving my house because you want to fuck. Do whatever you please.” You slam the whipped cream can on the container. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

Irritated, you walk past her and speed into the hallway, almost running into Hansol, who is leaving his bedroom. Wearing a red shirt and pajama pants, he has bedroom hair and a hint of sleep in his eyes. He looks adorable. 

“Where are you running off to?” His voice is deep and groggy. 

“I am running away from that peach of a girlfriend you have in there.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, I have to get ready for work.” 

“Oh no, what did she do now?” 

“Nothing, aside from asking me to stay out of the condo that I pay for tonight so she can fuck you as loud as she wants,” you say bluntly. 

Hansol’s eyes widen in shock, the little sleepiness he had evaporated. “She didn’t say that?” 

“She just about said that,” you sigh, leaning on the wall. “Look, I have to get ready for my day, but we have to have a conversation later. Not tonight, because I know that party is happening. But at some point, we do.” 

“Okay,” he says, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” you sigh again, deeply this time. “Let’s just chat soon, okay?”

You step into your room and shut the door, your heart beating out of your chest. That was not a conversation you want to have early in the morning, and Kelsey being around more and more makes you erratic. Eventually, a conversation will have to be had about how much time she is spending here and everything. But right now, you will sip your elaborate coffee and try to get through the day. 

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You

Nerdjo x nerd reader!

Part 1 no next part sorry I lost the motivation 😔 and lost most of my works

♡Gojo, the paranoid investigator.He is now on a mission to prove you’re human.He starts stalking (observing is the word he prefers) you, noting down every tiny habit.But every time you catch him staring, you don’t call him out.You just stare back. Unblinking. Unfazed.His brain short-circuits. His soul leaves his body. Suguru finds him sitting in a corner later, mumbling, “She’s not real… she’s not real…”

♡Gojo, the humbled flirt.He’s never failed at flirting before. Ever. So when he dramatically tells you, “I’d bring the moon to you if I could.”He expects something a scoff, an eyeroll, a blush. Instead, you say, “That’s scientifically impossible.” The way you deadpan it makes him rethink his entire existence.Suguru and Shoko witness this and nearly die laughing.

♡Gojo, the desperate competitor.He stays up all night, studying harder than he ever has in his entire life, just to beat you in the rankings. The results come out. You still top. He’s second. But the worst part? You don’t even react. No smile, no satisfaction, no nothing. He’s not mad that he lost he’s mad that you didn’t care. He dramatically flops onto Suguru’s shoulder. “She’s a machine, man… I’m up against a machine…”

♡Gojo, the secret romantic.No one knows, but he loves romance novels. It’s his guilty pleasure.One day, he’s in the library, nose deep in one, when you suddenly sit next to him.He panics. He immediately slams the book shut.You glance at the cover. You say nothing.You just… nod slightly and continue reading your own book.For some reason, that’s way worse than if you had teased him.

♡Gojo, the horror movie victim.He once fell asleep in the library and woke up at 3 AM. Everything is dark. Silent. He feels like he’s in a horror movie.Then he sees you. Sitting at a table, reading, like some paranormal entity that never moves.He has never known fear like this before.He contemplates running, but his legs don’t work.He watches in terror as you slowly… turn the page of your book.He passes out.

♡Gojo, the human experiment conspiracist.He is convinced now. You are not normal. You are not real.He asks Shoko to run a “human test” to confirm.

She plays along and casually tells you, “Hey, mind giving me a blood sample?”Gojo watches you for any sign of panic.You blink. “No.” And walk away.

He gasps. He screams.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY. SUGURU, SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY.”

♡Gojo, the fool in denial. He refuses to admit he finds you interesting.

“I don’t like her, okay? I just wanna know more about my rival.”

Suguru and Shoko exchange looks. “Sure.”

“I MEAN IT.”

“Mhm. Sure. Do your homework.”

He storms off in frustration.

♡Gojo, the dramatic love announcer. One day, out of nowhere, he slams his hands on the lunch table, eyes wide with revelation.

“I THINK I FOUND MY MATCH.”

Suguru and Shoko don’t even look up. “Yeah, we know.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. SHE’S—”

“Yeah, yeah. Do your homework, Gojo.”

He stares at them in betrayal. They’re supposed to be shocked.

He’s suffering, and they don’t even care.

♡Gojo, the haunted. One day, he catches you staring at him.His heart stops. His brain malfunctions.You just tilt your head slightly, as if analyzing him.And then you go back to your book.That moment haunts him to this day.

♡Gojo, the theorist.He starts developing wild theories.Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe you’re a hacker. Maybe you’re an escaped AI prototype from a secret lab.

Suguru literally smacks the back of his head. “Shut up and focus on your work.”

♡Gojo, the secret simp.He doesn’t even realize he’s simping for you.One time, someone called you boring for always studying.

Without hesitation, Gojo fired back, “At least she exists. You just stand around judging people who do.”

The entire room went silent.

He immediately realized what he just said and pretended to choke on air.

♡Gojo, the needy puppy.When he wants something from you, his voice turns softer.

“Show it to me please… send it to me, Y/nnnn.”

He stretches your name out like a whiny kid.

Suguru stares at him in disgust.

♡Gojo, the unshakable, now very shaken.His ultimate goal? Make you react.

First, he starts leaving anonymous cute notes.

You glance at them for two seconds, then toss them in the trash.

His heart shatters.

Then, he tries challenging you. “Bet you can’t solve this.”

You solve it in seconds. He gasps. He didn’t even know the problem had an answer. (He made the question)

As a final resort, he sends you a fake love letter, thinking you’ll finally get flustered.

You read it and say, “It’s technically impossible to climb Everest in three minutes for a girl.”

He wants to scream.

♡Gojo, the ignored.He gets petty. Tries ignoring you for three hours to make you notice his absence.You don’tyHe snaps.

“Missed me?”

You blink. “Oh, I didn’t even know you were here today.”

♡That one physically hurt.

♡ Gojo, the fool who fell.He’s never met someone like you.You challenge him in a way no one ever has.He hates it. He loves it.He’s completely doomed.

@syrooo @hel1nn @ourfinalisation @dekusdante @naomigojo

[fagsystem]

This would mean Tim stays at the 3rd Robin and that is both hilarious and can create such a compelling narrative.

He and Steph having a shared history... Did they date prior to her death? How close were they?

It would make Tim being Robin so much more personal. It being to preserve the legacy of someone he cared for so deeply. He wouldn't let Batman's grief destroy it, he knows what it meant to her. But would he dare say it out loud? Would he be capable of admitting that it's not just for the greater good? That would mean accepting she is gone, nothing more than a legacy.

And Steph... Did she know Tim knew about her being Robin? Maybe she did maybe she didn't. All she knew was that she died and instead of grieving her, someone she cared for took her place. Had it all been a ruse? Bidding his time until the moment to live out his hero boy fantasies presented itself?

How complicated the reveal would be.

Tim would be overjoyed at her being alive. Of course he would be. But she had become the very sort of murderer he had to fight tooth and nail to prevent Batman from becoming-- all to preserve a legacy he thought she wanted.

Perhaps, while fleeing instead of fighting, he would try and make her understand it was for her. That he was just trying to protect what she had been fighting for.

'I never asked you to,' Steph would say. She would mean more than just that. She never asked to be his muse, she was sick of being a pawn not a person. A motivation, not a person. Not a dead loved one. A made up end to justify his means, that's how he viewed her.

But she was a person. One who had not been truly avenged, despite how much people like Tim claimed to have cared for her.

Titans tower was personal. It was about crushing any lies Tim was telling himself about her wants being his motivation. No, she would show him what she wanted.

She wanted others to avenge the child soldier who died at the hands of a monster that didn't deserve to live. She didn't want to have to do it herself. She wanted Batman to do it--for Tim to help.

If Tim really cared about her, he would take off the uniform and help her confront Batman. He would help set up getting Batman to choose to kill the Joker, and do it himself if Batman refused. If Tim was just doing things for her he could do that, it would be all she'd ever ask of him.

But it would not be something he could give.

In part he couldn't accept that the girl he once knew would want that. He feared her regretting something she could never take back.

Deep down he knew it didn't matter. He couldn't do it either way. Even if he couldn't accept it, he knew even if she truly meant it, he couldn't. He was a hero in his own right, one crafted specifically to stop Bruce from becoming a murderer. He knew the world would never recover. And the world meant more than him.

He would hold onto the idea that Steph was just understandably traumatised. It was just a trauma response. He could fix things. He brought Bruce back from his spiral, and sure Steph was further along but he could fix it. And he would still love her every step of the way as he did.

And Steph? Steph would hear the heroic delusion in Tim's voice as says, "You don't really want that. You're not a killer, Steph. You're better than him." The confidence, the naivety. Something she might have once thought.

Tim would learn the hard way, just like she did. If she lets him live long enough to.

(And maybe she wouldn't be able to kill the naive part of herself that truly believed he loved her. The part that was singing at his devotion to what he thought she wanted--the part that knew deep down that if you asked her before she died she would say she did want this. That he did everything she ever could have and would have asked, if she had known to.

But she wasn't that person anymore, so she wasn't going to think about it too hard. She knew better. Even if he did have any 'feelings', which she doubted, they were for the idea of her. The fantasy of a dead girl. Not the woman who came back.)

I love the Reverse Robins au but everyone always forgets Steph, because if you go with the whole “second Robin dies thing” Steph as Red Hood would be sick as fuck. I’m begging someone to draw some Steph Hood.

[opal-owl-flight]

John. John Splatoon. The man, the goofball the sweetest man youll see. Chatty, bubbly, and gives really good team morale.

But things arent all sweet.

I wonder if he shuts himself up when he feels hes being *too* jolly.

His family is kind. Its not their fault. Yknow how people are fucking mean to those who are very excited abt things.

I think he had an experience like that. Tanara was thankfully there when things started getting really bad.

John was made fun of when he first started turfing. He was just sooo excited abt it all. So enthusiastic!! He studied abt the greats, the top players, all that. And the bitchass mean kids thought itd be funny to crush his dreams.

They made fun of him when he rambles abt strategy. They mocked him whenever he tries to be a hero and gets fucking splatted for it (OH GEE, IF HIS TEAMMATES WERE ACTUALLY *HELPING* HIM HE WOULDNT HAVE GOTTEN GOT).

One time I think some bastard jammed his weapon so it was unusuable for a while, and he was unable to turf.

"Good riddance," the team had said. "That beak is finally quiet for once."

Tanara saw this happening and decided to stand up for him.

They saw this boy getting picked on, and didnt hesitate in open firing at the bastards. Didnt care if theyll get banned for a week for firing a weapon off the field.

"|Hey, are you the guy who cornered me in the last match? Color me impressed.|"

Tanara doesnt stand for bullies. Ever. They hate seeing these kinds of people in the leagues. They hate the fact that these nutjobs are so good at the game!!! they want to make the leagues a fun place for everyone. None of this fuckinh bullshit. From a young age theyve already defended others. Wanted to make a better world where everyone can just be who they wanted to be, grow into their best selves.

The orange squid was a big help. With them actually recognizing his talent and running by his side,,,

They made him believe in himself. Fuck what everyone else says.

"|We won because of your strategy,|" they sign. "|If it werent for you, we'd have lost the tournament.|"

And hes given a smile of encouragement. Oh, sweet understanding, sweet recognition.

For a tender year they and John built a strong team and friendship. John became this cheery man bc of them.

They helped him stand up for himself. Helped him in the art of not giving a fuck. Or raining retribution where it is applicable (the duo have sent bullies crying after giving fjem say -- a 20 second rainmaker match)

Whenever someone tries to make fun of him in the later years, or now -- even if Tanara is out of the picture bc theyre getting blended -- he will literally ignore the naysayers. Bc he knows. He knows Tanara believes in him. He knows his team believes in him. He knows many others do, as well.

He knows his own capabilities. He knows what his limits. And hes. God, theres a reason hes second in command. Hes smart about the sport. Hes scary on the field. Dont let the goofy attitude fool you. Hes having fun but you on enemy team wont!

Some people are recently saying that Tanara left their old team bc John was lagging too far behind them, that Ink Typh∞n is the natural next step for them.

Dead wrong dipshits. If anything, those two are eye to eye.

If Tanara wasnt forced to retire, theyf still be fighting by his side.

-----------

Ofc its not all perfect. He still shuts down sometimes. Shuts himself up if he gets scared of offending someone/in general.

If he doesnt get reassurance or proves to himself/his naysayers of his own capabilities, he starts going quiet, smiling less.

Those wounds still hurt, Im afraid....

-----------

And what about after Octo Expansion.

What was going through his mind?

Like....this is your best friend. The one who helped you become the man you are. They were your role model. Theyre so strong, so assured. Confident. Ruthless on the turf. So skilled that nothing can faze them. Believed in you like no one else did.

And youre watching them seem to get worse day by day.

Theyre closing up. Theyre not telling you anything. You reach out but they dismiss you. And their colors only get more desaturated with time. They still believe in you, but its clear that theres something bothering them.

You try to share your joy with them, talking about the things you liked. Like old times. It turns out however, that the character you idolized in the media you consume, is them.

And it explains everything.

An entire secret double life and they didnt tell you.

You were their best friend. They were by your side when you struggled to make it in this city. They gave you assurance when your confidence started to fail.

They were your hero.

Where were you then, when they needed one themself?

They slump into John's arms,,

Theyre only older than him by a year. but they feel so,,

They feel so frail. A shadow of how they used to be. A body broken by war, a mind and heart ravaged by worry and vigilance and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

They tell him that they dont want him to take this load. They tell him he doesnt deserve it.

He says he has no plans of getting into this, not directly. He just wants them to come back to him after duty, or allow him to help in any way he can.

He'll just wait by the door, like he always has.

And hes holding them. He wants to keep them there til everything becomes okay again.

[goldenroutledge]

serendipity

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i'm telling you all of a sudden, but it isn't new with me. i love you. ❜

summary: fluff. in which daniel doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: for the lovely @katsu28! thank you so much for requesting <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a beautiful couple!” An older woman stops in her tracks to do a double take of you and Daniel dressed to the nines, blending in with the rest of the wedding guests decorated in black tie. Maybe it was the way you brushed a few bread crumbs from his beard or the way he draped his arm around the back of your chair during the meal that made you two appear like any other couple in the room.

“Us?” You question, looking around just to be sure her comment is directed towards you. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone made this mistake. “We’re not-”

“Why, thank you!” Daniel interrupts, giddy as ever as he raises his glass. “She is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Makes up for the two of us, I’d say.” Your heart flutters under his gaze, one that’s convincingly lovestruck. He gently squeezes your waist to drive it home, pulling you close.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think anyone can look bad in Venice, must be something in the water.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” Daniel muses, turning his attention back to the woman as she smiles fondly. “So humble, this one.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s still suffering from some whiplash and needs his eyes checked.”

“Please, my eyes have never deceived me when it comes to you. You’re stunning.” His tone is sincere, and if you didn’t know he was putting on a charade, you’d believe him. Still, your cheeks are growing undeniably warm, regardless if he actually means it or not. Daniel’s always been a flirt.

“Just trying to keep up with you.”

“Maybe you two will be next.” The woman wonders out loud, a playful glint in her eyes as she winks at Daniel, leaving the two of you to enjoy the reception. He doesn’t miss a beat, feeling no need to acknowledge what just happened.

You, however, can’t brush this one under the rug. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Daniel questions, playing clueless.

“Either I hit my head earlier or you just told that lady we’re a couple. You do realize you just lied to an old lady right?”

“I prefer the term method acting.” Daniel quips, all the more amused at your very unamused expression. “Come on, two great looking people together at a wedding? My jacket matches your dress? We’re not exactly avoiding the assumptions.”

“And that was purely coincidence, might I remind you.”

Daniel rolls his eyes playfully at your recollection of the morning. The look on your face when you first realized the matching colors was priceless. It won’t be the last stunt he pulls off, for now he’ll let you believe it really was a coincidence. “Oh please, you love it.”

You shrug, indifferent to what he’s insinuating. At least that’s what you hope he receives from it. Internally you wince every time you have to shut down his relentless positivity with another cold shoulder. “Your performance was convincing, I’ll give you that.”

“Just don’t wanna let anyone down. She’s not the first person to say something y’know, we might as well just accept our fate now.”

You avoid his eyes, finding the drink in your glass to be the safer of the two options. Whenever you do lock eyes with him, you can’t be held responsible for what you might say. Confronting the spark between you two has weighed on your mind, and heart, for more sleepless nights than you care to admit. Here and now, at your friend’s wedding, certainly isn’t the time to start.

–

The night stretches on and the mood is much lighter. Tears of joy for the happy couple have already been shed and the celebration was ongoing well into the night. Dinner was everything you expected it to be, each course more perfect than the last.

Daniel had been asked to give a toast in the upcoming weeks of the grand event. Not that he was the smoothest speaker to ever hold a microphone, but his humor was undeniably perfect for every crowd and setting.

He was rarely at a loss for words. For this speech in particular, when he tried to picture the moment and sit with his thoughts, he realized he had none. It may have been the first time he was truly out of his league. Ask him to write a speech about racing and the intensity that comes with it? No problem. Writing about love, in its truest and most passionate form? That poses a greater challenge.

Scribbled on the notecards tucked away in his suit jacket are a few quotes from philosophers or books he’s read, hoping one will inspire some profound words.

When the microphone finds him, Daniel takes one good look at you smiling back at him, and drops the cards on the table. A rush of confidence flows through his veins, telling him that he may not be so hopeless after all. He takes a deep breath and greets the room.

“I’ll be honest, when the bride and groom asked me to give a speech on their big day, my immediate response was ‘Are you sure’?” Light laughter falls over the crowd, putting him at ease.

“I’m no expert, but when I think about why we fall in love, the answer is simple. We fall in love when the idea of spending the rest of our days alone with someone feels more like paradise instead of a punishment; when we wake up and fall asleep to the thought of them, and happily let them run through our mind every hour in between.”

Everyone in the crowd lovingly gazes at their person. Daniel notices that your eyes have remained fixed on him this whole time. He feels himself blushing, and smiling at you before continuing.

“The way I see it, falling in love is this feeling of unwavering commitment, of being unwilling to give up on someone no matter how much they beg you to. It’s knowing that even if your love is never reciprocated, you’d still feel like the luckiest person on planet Earth, knowing they hold a place in your heart no one else ever could. Loving somebody, to me, means accepting that you couldn’t un-love them even if you tried.”

Daniel catches your eyes and they sparkle, whispering everything you wish to say back to him. A pause lingers over the crowd. You wonder if anyone else can hear your heart beating out of your chest. Under Daniel’s gaze, it feels as though you’re the only two left in the room.

He turns towards the bride and groom once again to end his remarks. “It’s for all those reasons that we’re here celebrating today. My deepest congratulations to the happy couple, may your love story never end.” Daniel raises his glass of champagne and everyone else follows suit, cheering loudly.

The bride and groom beam with joy, tears in their eyes as they resonated with every word he spoke. Everyone in the room had someone they thought about, someone they picture standing across from at the altar, hands held while they swear to keep their promises. The more Daniel went on, the more you realized that for you, it’s him. By the way he was looking at you, you have a pretty good idea that he was thinking of you, too.

Daniel shares an embrace with the bride and groom as they thank him for his heartfelt words. If they only knew the speech didn’t come from those notecards left discarded on the table. Daniel’s speech came straight from the heart, purely inspired by the burgeoning love he feels for you. Other guests sing his praises as he walks past their tables as he makes his way back to you. Romantic notes of the piano pick up from where they left off, and the floor opens up for guests to dance their night away. It gives him the perfect segway, unsure of how you’ll. If you react at all, that is.

“Congratulations, Plato. That was a pretty great speech.”

“I felt inspired,” He charms, extending his hand for you to take. “May I have this dance?”

Your lips curl into a smile, letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Do you even have to ask?”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Deflecting by speaking in sarcasm and responding with rhetorical questions.” Something that admittedly drives him crazy, for better and for worse. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do you wanna know?” He gives you a pointed look, silently telling him that you’ve just proved his point. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for me that way. To imply how I feel because I can’t say it.”

The music is soft and the way Daniel holds your body to his… it's intimate. Like you could bare your deepest secrets to Daniel and leave it here in the ballroom once the song’s over. Insecurities only seek to discourage, they’re little reminders that this music isn’t for you. This night of romance doesn’t belong to you and Daniel, two friends that have blurred the lines so many times that they now cease to exist.

The last thing Daniel wants to do is rush you or scare you off. It’s a shame that he doesn’t think more before he speaks. “Do you ever get tired of keeping it in? Not saying what’s really on your mind?”

“Not always. I’d say it’s better to keep people guessing, never let them know my next move. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Am I just ‘people’?” He questions. His tone is soft and smooth, not accusatory in the slightest. It’s what makes Daniel so easy to talk to, even when it hurts. You never have to hide from him, he’s always waiting for you with open arms.

“No, you’re not just ‘people’, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Are we talking about me or you? Because I’m pretty sure this entire party knows that I’m madly in love with you. I think you might be the last one to realize.”

You freeze, and instinctively feel like taking a step away. “We’re at a wedding, Daniel. Love is in the air. You’d kinda have to be a psychopath to not let your heart soften when you’re around all of this.”

“Has yours softened? Is that what I saw in your eyes when I gave my speech?”

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you talk all romantic like that. If there weren’t about a hundred witnesses here I wouldn’t believe it.” You giggle and he smiles at your joke, knowing that you’re absolutely right. This wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for him.

“Well, believe it. I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me. I love you.” Daniel pauses, gauging your reaction. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m still the luckiest man in the world, remember?”

They say actions speak louder than words, and the way you kiss him says more than you can express in this moment. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and Daniel is relieved in knowing that it won’t be the last. He kisses you back, and this time it means something. It’s a chance at having more than you ever thought possible. Less of keeping your love locked away and more accepting what’s been here all along.

“It’s not new with me either. I love you too, Daniel.”

“If I knew that was coming, I would’ve said it sooner.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, just happy.” Daniel shows off that signature smile, one that won’t be erased anytime soon. The maid of honor interrupts your moment, asking for all of the men to clear the floor. “Now go, it looks like you have a bouquet to catch.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his boldness. Then again, the Daniel you love has never been one to back down from being unabashedly himself. “You mean you want me to catch it? You know that means we’re next right, are you sure you can handle that?”

Daniel lets his fingers trail down your arm as he backs away, bowing slightly and planting an affectionate kiss on your hand. He’ll be gone before you can scold him any further for what he’s about to say.

“With any luck, we will be.”

💌: i miss danny so much 🥲 feel free to request more from my blurb event here! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[vortexbloom]

I just had the funniest idea, how would the HSR men react to their child's first word being a curse word, someone cursed while they were near the child.

Sounds Interesting hehe 😉

Btw I decided to pick some HSR men myself, since you didn’t specifically say wich characters you wanted.

But of course, you can tell me if you have a certain character in mind 😘

I also did it a bit different, but I hope you still like it 😅

Your child‘s first word is a curse word (Separate OneShots)

Pairing: Sampo Koski/Boothill/Jing Yuan x Female Reader

Fandom: HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

Warnings: Curse Words, fluff

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Marvel

Boycott List

☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆ ────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── ☆

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters !

Have fun reading this :D

It was supposed to be a sweet moment. Your child, barely a year old, had been babbling for weeks, and you and Sampo had been eagerly waiting to hear their first real word. Would it be "Mama"? Maybe "Papa"? Something cute and wholesome?

And then, out of nowhere, your child looked up at you both, smiled sweetly, and—

"Shit!"

Silence.

You froze. Sampo, sitting across the room, nearly choked on his drink. The baby giggled as if they had just said the most normal thing in the world.

"…Sampo." Your voice was dangerously calm as you turned to your husband, who was now failing spectacularly at hiding his amusement.

"W-Whoa now, sweetheart," he said, hands raised in mock surrender, his lips twitching. "Let’s not jump to conclusions. I mean, kids pick up words from all kinds of places…"

You crossed your arms. "And I wonder where our child could’ve possibly learned that one."

Sampo cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. "Uh… maybe from me? Maybe not? Could be the wind, really! You know, the way words just kinda float through the air…"

Your glare intensified.

Sampo sighed, finally dropping the act and rubbing his temples. "Alright, alright. So maybe I might have, uh, let a few choice words slip now and then." He glanced at your child, who was now happily babbling nonsense, completely unaware of the chaos they’d just caused. "But, hey, at least the kid’s got good pronunciation, huh?"

"Sampo."

"Right, not the point." He grinned sheepishly and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Tell you what—I’ll be real careful from now on. No more bad words from ol’ Sampo. Pinky promise."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what about the fact that our child’s first word wasn’t ‘Mama’ or ‘Papa’ but—"

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll make it up to you," he said quickly, waving you off before picking up your child. "Alright, little buddy, let’s try something else. Say 'Dad-da' C’mon, you can do it."

Your child blinked up at him, then grinned mischievously.

"…Shit!"

Sampo snorted, immediately turning away so you wouldn’t see him laugh. You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

This was going to be a long parenting journey.

The evening was peaceful in your little home, a rare moment of calm. You were rocking your child in your arms, their bright little eyes staring up at you as they cooed and babbled. Boothill sat nearby, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching with his usual laid-back grin.

You had been waiting for this moment for weeks. Your child had been making little sounds, but now…now was the time for their first real word.

And then, with the sweetest little voice—

"Damn."

Silence.

You slowly turned your head to look at Boothill. He blinked once, then pushed his hat up slightly to meet your stare. "Well, I’ll be damned."

"Boothill." Your voice was a warning.

He chuckled, shifting in his chair. "Aw, c’mon now, sugar. That’s a mighty fine word choice for a first, don’tcha think? Real strong. Real decisive."

"Booth, our child’s first word was a curse word," you said, exasperated.

He tilted his head, smirking. "Technically, 'damn' ain’t that bad. I mean, coulda been worse. Coulda been somethin’ I say when I get real mad."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Where do you think they even heard that from?"

Boothill leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, darlin’, we both know who they got it from." He tipped his head toward himself with a smirk. "Ain’t no use pretendin’ otherwise."

You shot him a glare. "And you’re proud of this?"

He laughed, standing up and walking over to you. "A little," he admitted, placing a hand on your shoulder. "But, tell ya what—I’ll make sure their second word’s a little more…parent-approved."

Boothill then leaned down to your child, who was still staring up at him with innocent curiosity. "Alright, sugarcube, how ‘bout somethin’ different? Try 'Mama.'"

Your child blinked, gurgled, then—

"Damn."

Boothill let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, shoot. Looks like this one’s got my spirit."

You groaned, covering your face with one hand while Boothill, entirely unbothered, took the baby into his arms. "Ain’t no worry, sweetheart. I’ll teach ‘em all the right words. Just…might take some time."

You sighed. You should have expected this. Raising a kid with Boothill was bound to be interesting, to say the least.

The grand hall of your home was unusually quiet, save for the soft crackling of incense and the distant hum of Xianzhou’s city life. Jing Yuan sat beside you, his long silver hair slightly tousled from a day of work, his golden eyes half-lidded with relaxation. Your child, nestled comfortably in his lap, babbled happily—small, incoherent sounds that made your heart swell.

For weeks, you had both been waiting for this moment. Jing Yuan, ever the patient and composed general, had taken his time encouraging your child to speak. He had whispered gentle words, taught them simple names, and had even placed small bets with you on what their first word would be.

"Perhaps it will be 'Daddy' or 'Mommy,'" he had mused one evening, a lazy smile on his lips. "Or maybe something amusing, like 'nap,' given how much they see me resting with them."

And now, finally, the moment arrived. Your child looked up at him with bright, eager eyes, opened their tiny mouth, and said—

"Fuck."

Silence.

You stared. Jing Yuan blinked. The baby giggled, seemingly proud of themselves.

"…Hm." The general cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the child as if that would somehow reset reality. "I see."

You pressed your fingers against your temple, exhaling sharply. "Jing Yuan."

He turned his gaze towards you, his expression unreadable—except for the unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. "Now, my dear, let’s not be too hasty in placing blame."

You crossed your arms. "Who do you think they learned that from?"

He sighed, but his smirk betrayed him. "Admittedly…there may have been a few instances where I expressed my frustration in less-than-graceful terms."

"Oh? A few instances?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, shifting your child so they were facing him properly. "My little star," he said softly, his voice full of warmth, "how about we try something else? Perhaps 'Daddy'? Or 'Mommy'?"

Your child tilted their head, as if considering, before gleefully repeating, "Fuck!"

Jing Yuan, the great and respected Cloud Knight General, sighed in resignation. "This…is quite the predicament."

You smirked. "What happened to all that wisdom and patience? You look defeated, General."

He let out a deep chuckle, placing a hand over his forehead in mock exhaustion. "This may very well be my most humbling battle yet."

You reached over, gently taking your child from him, shaking your head with amusement. "Well, you get to fix it."

Jing Yuan smiled, watching as the baby clung to you happily. He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with something unreadable.

"Of course," he murmured, voice filled with amusement and something softer—something utterly devoted. "But regardless of the words they choose…they are still our greatest treasure."

And despite yourself, despite the chaos and the mischief, you couldn’t help but agree.

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽