#yeah did I ever mention I was doing this...

[winkofcharm]

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 1

Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.

Batfam x Reader {platonic} [Previous]

Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know. 

It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family. 

She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?

 First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you. 

Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand. 

She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to. 

It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.

You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion. 

Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times. 

For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is. 

5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff. 

And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on. 

Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded. 

The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown. 

Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine. 

She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something. 

You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth. 

She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there. 

You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward. 

In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.

 It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous. 

She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument. 

“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.” 

And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten. 

Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk - 

“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -” 

Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be? 

“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:

“Drop it.”

So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler? 

Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.

Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.  

It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour. 

The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close. 

So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today - 

You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.  

It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled - 

You queued everything.

You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week. 

So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.

Alfred.

Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know. 

He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered. 

Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given. 

Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.

The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world. 

Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible. 

An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you -  there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess. 

Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it. 

The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best. 

A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds. 

He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection. 

He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words. 

Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again. 

How futile a wish. 

You never stood a chance. 

Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it). 

You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you. 

He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was. 

He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead. 

It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron. 

It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after - 

“Did Bruce take you in too?”

And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off - 

“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”  The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:

“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side. 

He should have known better. 

He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done. 

 Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high. 

You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you. 

You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer. 

Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off. 

“Please leave a message after the beep - “ 

Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled. 

A laugh. 

Not a laugh, a cackle. 

Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable. 

The Joker

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taglist: @holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam

(apologies if the tag didn't work, i'm new to this ;3; )

[le-trash-prince]

That KimKenta Scene

Kim truly has so much empathy and understanding. Here's a man that no one would blame Kim if he hated him, but all Kim can see is Kenta's hurt.

I also just uhhh need to scream at the sun because we've never seen anyone ask Kenta how he feels about anything, and here Kim comes and rips the bandaid off of the gaping wound of Kenta's heart.

Kenta tries to dodge Kim's question, so Kim responds in true Kim fashion, by being more direct. And more than that, he sits down next to Kenta, putting the two of them on even ground. If he wants honesty from Kenta, he can't talk down to him.

It makes me think of the most personal conversation Pete and Kenta have had with each other so far this season, and how much Pete towered over Kenta the whole time.

But Kim meets Kenta where he’s at. And sitting next to Kenta also lets him see Kenta's face, because that's where the answers lie. Yes, he's heartbroken, yes, he's in love with Pete. It's written all over Kenta's face.

cue Kenta's internal flashback that Pit Babe knows it doesn't even have to show us:

bc the visuals of Kenta and Kim sitting side by side in black and white are such a distinct reminder of That One Time Pete Found Out About Kenta's Feelings. And while there's ambiguity about whether Pete actually truly knows how Kenta feels, the man is a touch empath.

Kim's solution to everything is of course to tackle it head on. "Just tell him, and then maybe you can be happy." Kim assumes that Pete doesn't already know because 1. When do Tony Chen's kids ever talk about their feelings? And 2. If Pete knew about Kenta's feelings, why would he treat Kenta the way he has. (And 3. If Kenta loved you, how could you do anything but love him back? Impossible in Kim's opinion)

And this tiny, self-deprecating smile Kenta gives here tears me to shreds. "No way." He knows there's no chance. He's always known there was no chance.

This is translated as "He just doesn't feel the same," but what Kenta says is "kao kae mai dai chop pom." He just doesn't like me.

I think they probably translated it the way they did to remove the ambiguity of the word "like," to clarify that Kenta's romantic feelings aren't returned. But the ambiguity cuts me to pieces every time I listen to this line bc if Kenta feels like Pete just... doesn't like him? As a person? Like Pete only cares for him out of a sense of obligation, but doesn't actually want to be around him? Like a family member who you're tied to, but you don't actually like? I need to go outside and scream at the sun.

And there's the Oh. on Kim's face. Because yeah, sometimes honesty has its price, and that price is having someone knowing you love them and them walking away from you anyways without a single reassurance that they care about you.

And I wonder how much Kim is reassessing all the interactions he’s seen between Pete and Kenta. The way Pete left Kenta with Kim. The way he said he would find an escape route for Kenta and then never mentioned it again. The way Kenta was willing to put himself at risk by leaving Kim's apartment to go talk to Pete, only for Pete to ask, “Do we have to do this now?” The way Kenta could have been killed earlier that day, and Pete never once asked if he was okay.

"Never felt anything for me." "He just doesn't like me." I'm falling apart at the seams I swear to god.

Kenta has spent his whole life chasing affection from Tony and from Pete, only to be abandoned by Pete and treated like an animal by Tony. And he just accepts it. He accepts that he's never had a father and that Pete doesn't even like him. I need to bundle him into a pile of blankets. I'm going to chew my arm off.

But it's okay because Kim is gonna bundle him up in love for me. I'm certain this is the first time anyone has ever told Kenta he could be loved. And Kim says it so easily, so matter-of-factly, like it's a simple truth. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude from Kim, it just reflects the way he lives his life. If you meet an obstacle, you either find a way through it, or you shift your trajectory.

Kenta gives Kim such a dubious look in response, though, like the idea of being loved is a fairy tale he stopped believing in long ago. He can't believe that anyone would truly love him because no one ever has. As much as it's a truth for Kim that Kenta can be loved, it's a truth for Kenta that it's impossible.

Except Kenta still craves love anyways. It's why he immediately replaced Tony with Pete, why he's trying to make Pete proud, why he keeps showing up at Pete's in the middle of the night to go, "Hey look, I can be useful, won't you let me stay?"

I know it's impossible for Kenta to believe Kim right now. But even if he resists the idea of Kim loving him, Kim will be determined to prove it to him. Already, he's earned Kenta's trust through simple, concrete actions. More than anyone else right now, Kim is in a position to hurt and torment Kenta, and instead he keeps going out of his way to help Kenta. He has sheltered Kenta, he has kept Kenta from isolating himself, and more than that, he has seen Kenta without judgement.

And the fact that Kenta was willing to open up this much to Kim is proof of that trust. Kenta spent all of s1 hiding his pain and suffering, and the only time his mask crumbles around other people is when he is at a breaking point.

But with Kim, with the first person to ask how Kenta feels, he's able to let himself be vulnerable enough to say Everything I have ever done has been for men who never loved me. And in return for that vulnerability, Kim reaffirms that trust by telling him, It's okay, you can still be loved anyways.

[cod-bin]

you think i don’t notice?

part 2 to don’t tempt me

fuckboy!simon x nerdy!reader

wc: 6.7k

cw: slight mentions of sex, heavy swearing by simon, angst (only a little), angry!simon (not at reader), jealousy

Simon doesn’t leave your room.

Not after he kicks her out. Not after she slams the door like it’s you she’s mad at and not herself for getting caught.

He just… stays.

Sits on the edge of your bed like he has any business being there, like he hasn’t spent the last six months pretending you don’t exist. You, with your messy ponytail and hoodie sleeves stretched over your hands and tissues peeking from under your pillow like some kind of sick gremlin.

You don’t know what to do. What to say.

So you just sip the tea he brought you. Let the silence stretch.

“I thought you hated me,” you say finally, voice still raw.

Simon huffs a quiet sound. “Didn’t say I liked you.”

That makes you smile. Barely. But he sees it.

His gaze flicks to you — sharp, unreadable — and then just stays there. Watching.

You clear your throat and look away, suddenly too aware of how small your bed is. How close his knee is to yours. How he’s still here and hasn’t gone back to texting whatever girl he’d probably had lined up for tomorrow.

Your stomach flips.

You hate him a little. For making you feel like this. For confusing you. For being decent when he’s supposed to be a total ass.

“You can go, you know,” you whisper. “I’m not gonna, like… die or something.”

He doesn’t move. “Didn’t ask.”

“You’re not staying out of guilt, are you? ’Cause of what she said?”

Simon’s jaw ticks. That muscle again.

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Then why are you—?”

“Because you’re sick,” he says. “And you looked like you were about to fucking cry, and I didn’t like that.”

You blink. Hard.

“Oh.”

That’s all you manage.

Simon runs a hand through his hair and exhales like you’ve exhausted him, like you’re the problem, not the girl who stomped in and insulted you in your own goddamn room.

“You ever gonna tell me?” he says suddenly.

You frown. “Tell you what?”

“Who hurt you.”

Your blood freezes.

“What—?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, low. “You flinch every time someone raises their voice. Every time someone touches you. Even when it’s me.”

You look down at your tea.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

He doesn’t believe you. You can feel it.

But he lets it go.

For now.

You should feel relieved. But something in your chest twists, tight and aching.

You’re not sure when it started — the wanting.

Maybe it was when he wiped your nose without laughing. Maybe when he kicked out that girl without hesitating. Maybe it’s been building under your skin this whole time, slow and sharp like a splinter.

Whatever it is, it’s worse now. He’s too close. Too real.

You curl into yourself, trying to disappear.

Simon shifts. Leans back against your headboard like he lives there.

“You always this quiet?”

You shrug.

“Figured you’d be the type to never shut up.”

You glance at him. “Why?”

He smirks. “Glasses. Big words. You know. Nerd shit.”

“You think I’m a nerd?”

He grins wider. “Don’t play coy. You literally labeled your tea mugs.”

You flush. “I was sick. I didn’t want to—”

“You’re adorable when you’re defensive.”

You blink.

Did he just—?

Simon doesn’t look at you. Just casually tosses it out there like it’s not going to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

You sink deeper into your blanket.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

You grab it instinctively, thumb swiping across the screen before your fevered brain catches up.

Simon doesn’t move, but something shifts in the air.

“You texting someone?” he asks.

You glance up.

His voice is too light.

You hesitate. “It’s just— this guy from class. He was asking how I’m feeling.”

Simon’s eyes darken. Just slightly.

“This guy.”

You nod, oblivious. “Yeah. He brought me cough drops once. He’s nice.”

Simon doesn’t respond. Just stares at the wall like it insulted him.

You scroll. Smiling faintly.

Simon’s hand twitches.

“What’s so funny?” he mutters.

“Nothing,” you say, looking up. “He just said I sounded cute when I was all congested.”

You’re teasing. Sort of.

Simon isn’t laughing.

“He say that before or after he asked if you were alone?”

You pause.

“What?”

“Don’t trust guys like that.”

Your brow furrows. “You mean nice guys?”

“I mean guys who see a girl who’s sick and vulnerable and think ‘oh cool, now’s my chance.’”

Your stomach twists. “You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?” Simon snaps. “What, you think he actually gives a fuck how you’re feeling? You think he’s checking in because he cares? No. He wants something.”

You stare at him.

“Why do you care?” you ask quietly.

Simon’s mouth opens, then closes.

His jaw clenches again.

“Because I’m your fucking roommate,” he mutters.

You nod slowly. “Right.”

Silence.

Then—

“You like him?” Simon asks suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“That guy. You like him?”

You hesitate.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Simon doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then he laughs. Bitter. Mean.

“He wouldn’t last a day with you.”

Your throat tightens. “What the hell does that mean?”

He turns to you. Finally looks at you.

“You think he’d take care of you like this?” he says. “You think he’d sit here while you look like hell and wipe your nose and make sure you’re breathing okay?”

You flinch. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“I did it anyway,” he says, low.

You don’t know what to say.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he mutters. “Whatever this is.”

You stare at him.

“Then why are you here?”

He looks at you. Quiet. Serious.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I keep thinking about you. Even when I don’t want to.”

Your breath catches.

Simon leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clenched.

“I hear you through the walls,” he says. “When you cry. When you laugh. When you talk in your sleep.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You do,” he says. “You said my name once.”

Your heart stops.

“What—?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease.

Just looks at you like he’s watching something fall apart.

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to not want you.”

The air leaves your lungs.

Simon leans in.

Not close enough to touch.

Just close enough to ruin you.

“If that guy texts you again,” he says, “you tell him not to bother.”

You swallow. “Why?”

He looks at your mouth.

Then your eyes.

“Because I’m the one who hears you through the walls.”

And then—

He kisses your forehead.

Just once.

Soft.

Barely there.

But it shatters you.

Simon pulls back.

Stands.

Doesn’t say a word as he moves to the door.

He pauses.

Glances over his shoulder.

“You need anything,” he says, “you call me. Not him.”

You nod, speechless.

And then he’s gone.

Leaving behind a mug of tea, a thousand questions, and a silence that sounds a whole lot like the start of something else.

You were feeling a little better.

Not good, not normal, but better. Enough to shower. Enough to pull on fresh sweats and eat half a bowl of soup without gagging. Your nose was still red, your eyes still glassy, but the fever was gone, and you could finally breathe without feeling like your ribs might crack.

Still, you hadn’t left your room.

Not since that night.

Not since Simon kicked the girl out, sat on your bed like he belonged there, and touched you like you mattered. Like he saw you for the first time.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

He’d been distant ever since — not cold, exactly, just… unreadable. No more girls. No more music shaking the walls. He hadn’t said anything, but you could feel him in the quiet. In the way he paused in the hall. In the untouched takeout that showed up outside your door, no note, no explanation.

He hadn’t checked on you again.

And you hadn’t dared knock on his door.

You were curled up in bed, watching some old documentary through one barely-open eye, when you heard it — the heavy thud of boots in the hallway. His door creaked open. Then closed again.

Then silence.

Then your door.

It didn’t open. Just a knock. Once.

Your heart jumped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still scratchy.

The door cracked. And there he was.

Simon Riley.

Gray hoodie. Sweats slung low on his hips. One hand braced on the frame like he might change his mind.

You blinked. “Hi.”

He stared at you like he wasn’t sure why he came. Like he’d rehearsed something in his head and forgot all of it the second he saw you.

You tugged your blanket tighter. “What’s up?”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned you — flushed cheeks, hair still damp from the shower, sleeves too long over your hands. You knew you looked fragile. You hated that he was the one seeing you like this again.

He finally spoke.

“You look like hell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

He stepped inside anyway.

Shut the door behind him.

Then leaned against it like he had nowhere else to be.

“Didn’t say it was a bad look,” he muttered.

You stared. “Are you flirting with me or trying to pick a fight?”

“Why would I flirt with you?”

“Ouch.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to yours, and something there made your breath hitch.

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice rough, “don’t get any ideas.”

You almost laughed. “Believe me, I wasn’t.”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Like he hadn’t spent months pretending you barely existed.

He grabbed the empty mug off your nightstand. Frowned at it.

“No tea?”

“I drank it.”

“No shit.”

He turned like he might take it back to the kitchen, but you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He paused.

You shifted awkwardly under the blanket, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Why are you… here?”

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you — really looked — and it made your stomach twist.

“You’re still sick,” he said finally.

“I’m getting better.”

“Didn’t ask.”

You huffed, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to your chest. “You’re being weird.”

He snorted. “You’re the weird one. Sittin’ in here like a damn ghost.”

“I’ve been recovering.”

He looked at you over his shoulder. “From the flu or from getting screamed at by that silicone-sculpted banshee?”

You blinked. “Both?”

He turned back around. Set the mug down. His shoulders were tense.

“You shouldn’t’ve opened the door,” he muttered.

“I didn’t,” you said. “She did.”

He didn’t respond.

Just paced a few steps away, hands on his hips. Like he had too much energy and no clue what to do with it.

“What’s your deal?” you asked, quieter now.

He shot you a look.

You sat up a little. “You’ve been… off.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t brought anyone home in three nights.”

“So?”

“So I’m not complaining, but it’s weird.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. Frustrated.

“Maybe I don’t feel like listenin’ to some brat whine about thread count while I’m tryin’ to—”

He cut himself off.

You blinked. “While you’re trying to what?”

“Never mind.”

You tilted your head. “While you’re trying to pretend you don’t care about me?”

That stopped him cold.

His jaw flexed. His hands clenched. He turned to face you, slow and deliberate.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, low.

You smiled — tired, knowing. “You keep saying that, but you’re in my room.”

Simon stalked closer, eyes dark. “Because you’re sick.”

“You didn’t care before.”

“I didn’t know before.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Silence.

Thick enough to drown in.

Simon stood over your bed, jaw tight, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

You stared up at him, heart thudding. “Why do you care now?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then your knees pulled up to your chest. Then back to your eyes.

“You really wanna know?” he asked, voice like gravel.

You nodded.

He stepped closer.

And closer.

Until he was right in front of you, close enough that the heat from his body made your skin prickle.

Then he leaned down, braced his arms on either side of you, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that made him feel anything at all.

“I don’t,” he said.

You blinked. Breath caught.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, voice lower now. “You get sick, you get better — not my fuckin’ problem.”

Your chest ached. “Right.”

“But if I hear you cry because of someone I brought into this house again,” he said, tilting his head, “I will lose it.”

You swallowed. “Simon—”

“I’ll lose it,” he said again. “Because I’m not gonna watch someone tear you down when you’re already hanging on by a thread.”

You stared at him. “That… kinda sounds like caring.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s not.”

You smiled. Just a little. “Okay.”

He leaned in closer.

Close enough that his nose brushed yours. That his breath was warm on your cheek.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he whispered.

“You’re worse.”

He didn’t deny it.

And then — without thinking, without warning — his hand reached out. Fingers under your chin. Lifting your face to his.

Not kissing you. Not yet.

Just holding you there, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize the exact version of you that made him lose control.

“You still feel like shit?” he asked.

“Less like shit,” you whispered.

“Good.”

Then he let go.

Straightened up.

Walked to the door like nothing happened.

Paused there, hand on the knob.

You watched him, heart still racing.

He looked over his shoulder. Met your eyes.

“Don’t go thinking I care.”

Then he left.

And shut the door behind him.

Your room was still too quiet.

You hadn’t said anything since Simon walked out last night.

Not when he brought you soup. Not when he leaned against your doorway and asked, “Need anything?” like it didn’t feel like his voice dragged hot iron down your spine. And definitely not when he stayed longer than necessary, standing there like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start.

You didn’t answer because you didn’t trust your voice. Or your face. Or the way something was cracking open between you two and he didn’t even seem to notice.

But he did.

You just didn’t know it yet.

You were curled under the blanket now, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, glasses slipping down your nose as you flipped another page of the book you weren’t reading. It was easier than looking at the door.

Because you knew he’d come in eventually.

He always did now.

The shift had been slow — from silence to tension, from passing jabs to something warmer, if not softer. But the edge never dulled completely. Not with Simon. Especially not when he didn’t want it to.

You heard the door creak open behind you.

“Still alive, then.”

His voice was lazy. But there was a tightness beneath it. Like he’d been rehearsing sounding casual.

You didn’t turn. “Barely.”

Footsteps. Closer.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. “House’s been quiet. Almost peaceful.”

You scoffed into your blanket. “Guess your bimbos took the night off.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“I haven’t brought anyone home all week.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t like him. At all.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

Leaning against the frame. Hoodie half-zipped. Hair messy. Eyes dark.

You said nothing.

He stepped inside.

Something about his energy was different tonight. Less cocky. Less put together. Like whatever was usually holding him upright had been worn thin and now you were seeing what was underneath.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sleeves over your hands again.

Simon’s gaze flicked down. Noticed. Something flickered across his face.

“You mad at me?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked. “Why would I be mad at you?”

He didn’t answer.

You swallowed. “You’ve been… weird.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve been weird.”

More silence.

Then he said your name.

Just that.

Soft. Like a question and a warning all at once.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally, because your chest was too full and your head was too hot and everything about him made you feel like you were drowning in something you weren’t supposed to want. “Why are you being nice to me now?”

“I’m not,” he muttered.

You blinked at him.

Simon looked away.

“You’re just…” He exhaled sharply, jaw ticking. “You’re too fuckin’ quiet all the time. And then when you do talk, it’s like you think I can’t hear you.”

You frowned. “What?”

He stepped closer.

You felt the shift in the air immediately. The pull. The way he always managed to fill a room, even without touching anything.

“You think I don’t notice you?”

His voice was low, dangerous in the way a storm is dangerous — not because it’s loud, but because you can feel it coming.

“Every fucking night I brought someone home, you think I didn’t hear you breathing through the wall? You think I didn’t feel it when you went quiet, like you were trying not to exist?”

He leaned closer. You could feel the heat coming off him now, smell the faint smoke of his cologne.

“I see everything, sweetheart. That’s the problem.”

Your heart stopped.

Literally stopped.

“Simon…”

“You think I was ignoring you?” His eyes pinned you in place. “I was. I fucking had to.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I’d come home, see your light on, know you were in here reading some stupid ass book in that dumb oversized hoodie like you weren’t the most distracting fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You flinched. His voice wasn’t angry. But it was so raw it hurt to hear.

“And then I’d go in my room and I’d hear you—just existing—and I’d get fucking mad.” His tongue ran over his teeth. “At you. At me. At the whole fucking situation.”

You sat there frozen.

Still too sick to fight, too overwhelmed to speak.

Simon stepped forward again. You were face to face now, your knees nearly brushing his thighs where he stood.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never got it.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I didn’t bring those girls home because I wanted to,” he said. “I brought them home because it was easier than thinking about you. About the way you look at me when you think I don’t see.”

You swallowed. Your voice barely worked. “You’re always so mean.”

His mouth twitched. “Because I didn’t want you to look back.”

Silence.

He sat down on the edge of your bed like the first night, his knees brushing yours. But this time, he didn’t look away.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, almost to himself. “At—feelings. At being… kind.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffed a soft laugh. Ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He looked at you again. And this time, the weight of it was unbearable.

You shifted. “Why are you here, Simon?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“I heard you crying last night.”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “Just… stood outside the door like a fucking idiot.”

You stared at him. Eyes hot.

“I wanted to come in. But I knew if I did, I’d say something dumb. Or too much. Or not enough.” His voice dropped. “And I couldn’t handle you flinching from me again.”

You blinked fast. “You make it really hard not to flinch.”

“I know.” He leaned in, elbows on his knees. “That’s why I’m trying.”

You stared at him. Hard.

“Do you even like me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled.

Then he said your name again.

Soft.

Real.

“I think I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

Simon looked away, jaw tight. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “That’s not a problem.”

He turned back toward you.

And for the first time in forever, he looked like he believed you.

Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to break him.

Or you.

You reached for him without thinking, fingers wrapping gently around his sleeve. He stilled. Let you.

He looked at your hand.

Then at your face.

“You’re still sick,” he muttered, but he didn’t move.

You smiled. “I’m always sick.”

Simon’s mouth twitched. His eyes softened.

He leaned in just enough to let his forehead touch yours.

No kiss.

Not yet.

Just heat and breath and a storm that didn’t want to pass.

“I’ll stay,” he said quietly.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Okay.”

And for once, Simon didn’t run.

☆☆☆

part 3… will come with time. and my brain actually turning on

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @h0lydrag0ns @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pixiellove @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jokerivory @arrowacer @4ri3n @yasmin-003 @charliehunnamsleftsock @strawberrymilk99 @queenoflaflames @xigua2kuai5yijin @arnnf @genea-myers @elixir-of-dreams @turtlegreentia @pinkembodiment @bbygirl9

[serasalvatore]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚. PIROUETTE !

single dad!jh86 x fem!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. mentions of single parenthood, brief emotional vulnerability, mild language, lots of fluff, found family themes.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you’ve been teaching ballet for a few years, but no student ever made quite the same impact as winnie hughes, she’s a chatty six-year-old with wild curls, energy, and stories about her superhero dad. you’ve never met him, never seen him at drop-off, but you’ve heard plenty about he’s good at skating, he makes the best grilled cheese, and he’s apparently okay with winnie calling her ballet teacher her bestfriend ever. and then one day, he shows up and asks you to be his date to a wedding, because winnie refuses to go unless you’re there. maybe it starts with ballet slippers and a flower girl dress, but where it goes next… well, that’s a story still being written.

𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒚𝒏. an ask for everything, you can send questions, recommend fics, self-promo, or even share your thoughts on my work.

winnie hughes never walks — she twirls.

everyweek, she bursts into the studio in her glittery pink leotard, ballet shoes in one hand and a lopsided bun already falling apart on her head. she always greets you the same way,

“hi miss y/n!!” l like you’re the highlight of her entire day.

kind ellen, her grandmother or sometimes a sweet neighbor lady named sandy, drops her off and waves through the window before leaving. and yet every single week, winnie talks about her dad like he’s a legend.

you’ve never seen her dad. only know his name is jack hughes and nothing more.

“my daddy skates sooo fast. faster than lightning.”

“he used to be on tv! and he says ballet is even harder than hockey.”

“daddy said he tried to do a plié once and fell on his butt.”

you smile at each story. you learn that her dad makes blueberry pancakes every saturday. that he once let winnie wear his jersey to school because she spilled orange juice on her favorite dress. that he tells her bedtime stories in funny voices, even when he’s tired.

and then, one rainy tuesday, while tying the ribbon on her slipper, winnie says it casually.

“i told daddy you’re my bestfriend ever, miss y/n.”

you glance up in surprise. “you did?”

she nods with a grin. “yup. i said, ‘miss y/n teaches me to fly with my feet.’ and he said that was a very nice thing to say.”

your heart swells in your chest.

then comes the day he walks into the studio.

you’re cleaning up after class, stacking mats, helping a student zip her coat when the door creaks open. for a split second, you think maybe sandy came early today.

but instead, it’s him.

tall, blue-eyed, a little unsure as he steps inside, one hand shoved in his hoodie pocket. his hair is tousled like he’s run his fingers through it too many times. and winnie? winnie lights up like she’s powered by sunshine.

“dadaaa!” she squeals, running toward him and nearly tackling him at the knees.

jack hugs her back without missing a beat, lifting her effortlessly.

“hey, bug.”

then she turns in his arms and gestures right at you with a dramatic flair.

“look, dada, that’s miss y/n! my bestfriend that i told you about!”

you blink, a little stunned. your cheeks warm as jack’s gaze meets yours.

his smile is crooked and gentle. “so you’re the famous miss y/n.”

“and you must be the skating superhero,” you say, still caught off guard.

he chuckles, the sound low and kind. “she talks about you all the time.”

“she talks about you, too,” you admit.

he nods, there’s a pause just long enough to feel the buzz of something unspoken and then he clears his throat.

“so… this might be kind of weird,” he says, “but my cousin’s wedding is this weekend. and winnie’s supposed to be the flower girl.”

you nod politely, unsure where this is going.

jack glances at winnie. “she told everyone she wasn’t going unless you were there.”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. she told the whole family. says you’re her best friend and she wants to dance with you at the party. and she might’ve said… you were coming already.”

you look at winnie, who grins like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“so,” jack continues, “would you maybe come? as my date. or guest. or emotional support ballerina. whatever works.”

you smile, soft and a little amused. “well… how can i say no to my bestfriend?”

the wedding is held at a beautiful vineyard just outside of the city. you wear a dress that makes you feel light and graceful, and when winnie sees you, her eyes widen like you’re a princess from one of her storybooks.

“you look like a fairy, miss y/n!”

jack, beside her, just stares for a second too long.

“thanks,” he says, finally, clearing his throat. “for coming. really.”

winnie doesn’t leave your side the whole afternoon.

you help her tuck flowers into her basket before the ceremony. you hold her hand when she gets nervous walking down the aisle. you cheer the loudest when she nails her toss of petals and runs back to the front row giggling.

jack keeps glancing your way like he’s watching something unfamiliar and comforting all at once.

people make assumptions.

“oh, you must be jack’s girlfriend!”

“are you winnie’s mom? you two look so close!”

you always smile, always say the same thing. “no, i’m her ballet teacher.”

but the word “just” doesn’t feel quite right.

you hold winnie’s shoes when she wants to dance barefoot. you braid her hair when it gets messy. you wrap her in your cardigan when the night breeze picks up and she starts to yawn. she falls asleep leaning on your shoulder and you don’t move not even when your arm goes numb.

jack eventually walks over and sits beside you. he looks at her, then at you.

“she’s usually pretty shy at these things,” he says quietly. “but… not tonight.”

you glance down at winnie, breathing softly, hand still curled around yours.

“she’s such a nice little girl,” you whisper.

he nods. “she is.”

there’s a stretch of silence. the lights above you glow gold and soft.

“you’re really good with her,” jack says after a moment.

“i love being around her,” you reply honestly.

he doesn’t say anything else, but the way he looks at you, don’t know what this is yet.

you don’t know if it’s something or just a lovely moment made of lace and laughter and winnie’s sunshine smile. but when jack helps you carry her to the car and buckles her in gently, then opens the door for you, you feel something slow, something warm.

and maybe it’s the start.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

bed chem | m. murdock

a/n: hey guys guess who's back with a matt one shot! i started this a loooong time ago so i decided to finally finish it!! not much to add other than hi guys i've missed you so much and am excited to be back in my writing weird and quirky readers era. so. enjoy!! maybe if anyone's interested in reading a part two, i can write one. warnings: 18+, Smut, lots of flirting and pining, reader being emotionally unavailable and way too insecure, matt being flirty and dom, lots of pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, one kid), no one's ever made the reader cum, reader is super effing poor, has two jobs, hates her job, age gap, lowkey just strangers hooking up. lots of teasing, lots of banter, reader says 'hooker' a lot, matt makes you an offer you can't refuse, probably some other stuff i'm forgetting but isn't that kind of our deal by now? wordcount: 4.6k summary: A handsome stranger makes an otherwise dull and annoying night worth your while. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: bed chem - sabrina carpenter "come right on me, i mean camaraderie/said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be/where art thou? why not uponeth me?/see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy."

You meet Matthew at a party.

Your story starts like so many do.

Music is playing, people are chattering all around you. More than that, you feel out of place. You clutch your champagne glass immaturely, unsure how you’re supposed to hold it.

How did you get dragged here, anyways?

Wasn’t there some shitty early 2000’s apocalypse movie and an edible that you needed to attend to? Didn’t you long to order shitty bar food and use your vibrator for hours? Wasn’t there something, anything more important than your attendance to this party?

It’s too fancy for you, anyways.

Yeah, sure, your degree sits framed on your wall, but your soul tells you that you’re no academic, that if you wanted to go to a party, you deserve to be at a house party in your shitty neighborhood, the village that raised you, where your mother, the girl who gave you your first hit of a joint, and the teacher that taught you to read still lived, reliving the same high school gossip you’ve known for ten years. You’d be wearing ripped jeans and a too revealing top that your friend talked you into.

Instead, you’re trying to recall facts from your undergrad education that you haven’t thought about, trying to figure out how to impress these people.

Didn’t Ernaux write about the transition from being poor to being an academic? Didn’t she write about—

“You sure like this bar.”

The voice you hear makes you turn your head—You’re faced with a handsome man, red glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There are whisps of grey in his scruff. He holds a glass of.. Something.. maybe resembling whiskey? You’re not sure.

“I’m sorry?”

And you are. Men don’t really talk to you, and in your brain, maybe this blind man—you assume he’s blind based off his glasses and his cane but you don’t dare say this assumption out loud, maybe this blind man is playing some sort of trick on you.

“You like this bar. You’ve been standing here for a half hour.”

You struggle to find anything clever to say.

So, maybe because it’s all you can think, or maybe because you think it’ll get the handsome stranger to leave you alone, you respond,

“I’m just trying to figure out if everyone at this party can tell I grew up poor or if it’s all in my head.”

And though you’re one hundred percent serious, handsome stranger laughs.

Something sparks. Deep in the confines of your soul where you’ve locked away any routes to passion or excitement, having thrown away the key when you got your mind numbing poorly paid office job.

“I’m Matt.” He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you give him your name. At least you shake his hand properly. “So, if you feel so out of place, why are you here?”

“My boss told me I had to.” You respond, your voice carrying a bored edge as you mention him. “Told me I needed to come to make the company look good, because everyone brings secretaries to this thing to show their appreciation. Like it’s a privilege to have these men talk down to me, to have them coo and aw at my lack of money or maybe my lack of intelligence and have them go,” You lean over to this man who told you his name two minutes ago, and put your hand on his thigh—“Don’t worry honey, I’ll happily sit here and explain basic government systems you learned in eighth grade while you worry about paying your rent because you had to buy a dress for this stupid party and you only make enough money to choose between the dress and your rent,” You explain, your thumb rubbing his thigh for a little extra emphasis on your point.

Matt blushes.

That spark grows.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” He hums.

You withdraw your hand to take a sip of your drink.

“Just exhausting.” You sigh, neglecting to mention that you’re further unable to pay your rent because you had to take off your second job to be here. The job you’ve had since high school. The job you swore to quit one day. “Anyways. I’ve probably annoyed you, Sorry.”

“No, no, I appreciate the honesty. I grew up poor too,” He answers, “And now I feel like part of the problem.” He shrugs.

You look to him. In his finely pressed suit, his expensive scent.

“Prove it.”

His face twists into something of amused confusion.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. Tell me something only someone who grew up poor would understand.” You request, daring him. He knows this is serious to you, that if he’s lying to you, whatever he hopes to get out of this is not going to happen. So, he sips his drink and goes to the dark corner of his mind to when his dad was alive.

“Well, besides the fact that I grew up in an orphanage,” He starts, and you feel like an asshole, “When my dad was alive, I used to have to do my homework in the laundry mat, moving over our clothes, while he was at work. Then I’d wheel the load home in this laundry basket on wheels.” He told you. You smile, comforted—You can see through the graying hair and fine pressed suit. At his core, he is just like you.

At that shitty house party you don’t go to, he’s smoking a cigarette in a tee shirt and cargo shorts, and you’re just as attracted to him there.

“Alright, I trust you.” You promise. You take another sip of your champagne, looking around the room. The party is starting to dwindle down and bosses are taking their secretaries to dark corners. Your back hurts.

“Good.” He takes a sip of his drink and stands up, leaving the now empty glass on the bar counter. “How much?”

“How much what?”

Matt grins and holds a room key card to one of the many rooms in the hotel above this stupid fucking party.

“How much do you trust me, sweetheart?”

-

His room is on the 8th floor, and it’s.. bigger than any hotel room you’ve ever stayed in. It’s clean, the lights are warm, and you’re pretty sure you could sink right through the bed. You step into the room and find yourself taking off your heels, with no real idea if you were allowed to stay the night.

“Nice place,” You admire, and you predict his words before he says it,

“Thanks. Smells pretty fancy, I guess.” He shrugs. He listens to as you jump onto the bed, stretching out. Matt slips out of his shoes, and he lays next to you, groaning a bit as he lays down.

“Can I ask you something?” You wonder, just admiring his face. Your hand comes up to touch his cheek.

“Anything.” He hums, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“How old are you?” You wonder.

“Forty-two.” He responds, and he goes to say something else, but you lean in to kiss him. But just before he can gratify you, before you can learn the taste of his lips, his hand, quick as lightning, comes up and grabs your jaw, holding you in place, “Really, sweetheart? The fact that I’m forty-two turns you on?” he asks.

You can’t help but defend yourself—

“Well, just kissing you doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m turned on or anything—”

“So if I snuck my hand up this pretty dress of yours, you’d be what? Not soaking wet?”

You just look at him for a long time.

“Okay, what do I have to do to get you to kiss me, instead of just talking to you?”

“Why? I like the sound of your voice,” He smirks, and you roll your eyes. You feel defensive, like he’s making fun of you. Like he knows how badly you want him, and he’s withholding it from you on purpose, just to see you squirm. As your mind starts to spiral, you pull away from him, the lustful heat in your cheeks being replaced by hot, bubbling rage.

“You know what, I don’t need this shit—” You move to get off the bed, trying to find your heels when Matt grabs your wrist—with gentleness he’d use to care for a skittish animal—and pulls you back towards the bed, trying not to laugh when you stumble over your feet, now standing between his legs.

“Stop.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He hears the way you inhale, the way you try to mask your anger. It turns him on. “You really want to kiss me?”

You hesitate to respond—you want to kiss him so fucking badly. You can’t remember the last time you wanted anything other than wanting to pay your rent or wanting a new chair at work.

“Yeah.” You finally breathe. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “Well, if I ask you a question, are you gonna try to leave again?”

You clench your teeth.

“You just asked me a question and I’m still standing here, aren’t I?” You see him smile.

“Okay, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

“..A while ago.”

“How long ago since someone’s made you cum?”

Your silence is deafening—it’s revealing. Matt starts to chuckle.

“Oh, fuck this—” You turn to leave but Matt pulls you in, and then his hand is on the back of your thigh, pulling you close.

“C’mon, sit on my lap,” He starts, and hesitantly, and admittedly clumsily, you sit on his lap, your legs resting on either side of him, while his hands hold your sides, as if they were made for him to hold. “So, no one’s ever made you cum before?”

“No one except my vibrator.” You say, and Matt just shakes his head.

“I’m a lawyer.” He starts, and you groan, your head tilts back,

“Jesus Fucking—”

Matt’s hand squeezes your side.

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart—”

“Is this some sort of joke? Am I being—”

Matt comes forward to kiss you, his lips silencing your thoughts. He tastes like whiskey and vanilla, and it eggs you on. You deepen the kiss, any anger or frustration slowly melting. And when he pulls away, his teeth catch your bottom lip and he tugs just enough to drive you crazy.

“Are you going to listen now, sweetheart?” he asks, and all you can do is stare at his pretty pink lips.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He clears his throat. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, “So part of my job is to help deliver justice. And it is..” He laughs a little like his plans to fucking ruin you are funny, “a fucking injustice that no one has ever made you cum. That all you know is some battery-operated thing instead of my fingers or my cock,” He sighs, “So how ‘bout we deliver some well-deserved justice, sweetheart? How’s that sound?”

It sounds like you could die. What is happening? Weren’t you just complaining about how badly you wanted to get away from this whole scene? Why do you want him so bad?

“..Sounds like you have all the power in this situation.”

Matt grins like he knows it.

“Does sound like that, huh? Here, I’ll tell you a secret,” He leans in, his lips grazing your ear, “You have the power here. You say the word, and I’ll stop. I’ll stop, and you can stay here for the night, or you can leave, I’ll pay for your cab, or..” His hands begin to gently rub up and down your sides.

You smile. He’s trying to make you feel better, and it’s working.

“Or..?” You prompt.

“Or.. I could teach you how good it feels to cum from something with a pulse. And not something.. battery operated,” and the way he says it, you know he’s repulsed by the idea that your vibrator is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

And it makes you smile wider.

“My vibrator is very good to me, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh,” He chuckles, “Not nearly as good as I’ll be to you.” He promises.

It’s a big promise.

You just look at him for a long minute, trying to decide. As if there’s even a choice to make. You’d let him break your heart if he asked nicely.

“Can I take off your glasses?” You ask softly, and Matthew nods, and you find yourself taking them off and just holding them for a moment. You stare for a long time, to the point where you start to nibble on the ends of his glasses, and he smiles. He likes how authentic you are. How unable to hide yourself from him you are.

“So, what do you say?”

“Hm..” He suspects you’re fucking with him. “Well, I’d have to—”

“Yes or no?”

“I thought I had all the power here.”

“You do. But I’m running out of patience here, and,” He brings your hand down to his pants so you can feel his bulge, “I am way too hard to wait for much longer.” He confesses. He thinks he might die if he can’t feel you clench around him, so he quietly, desperately hopes you’ll say yes.

“Okay,” You smile, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“Not very enthusiastic—” You inhale, and he knows you’re close to leaving, so he tries to entice you, “C’mon, just.. humor me, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“Making a whole lot of promises, Mr..?”

“Murdock.”

“Matthew Murdock,” You hum, “Okay, Mr. Murdock. I want you to fuck me, just like you’ve promised. Make me forget all about my vibrator.”

And before the words finish leaving your mouth, his mouth is against yours, swallowing any insecurity you had earlier. His fingers begin to slowly move up and down your sides, and you already know that whatever is about to happen will ruin your vibrator for you forever.

You could see yourself becoming addicted to this feeling, to him, to the feeling of being wanted.. You could feel yourself already slipping down that rabbit hole.

As you kiss him, he lets out this soft moan into the kiss, and in response, your hands come up to play with his hair. You start to roll your hips a bit, as if you want to tease him. Matt’s hands squeeze your sides, and he pulls away from the kiss just for a second.

“Safe word?” He wonders, and you scoff.

“No one’s ever made me cum, you think I have a—Woah!” You cut yourself off, because Matt suddenly flips you over so you’re beneath him against these too expensive sheets.

“So, if things go too far, you’re uh.. you’re gonna say Lava, okay?” He wonders out loud.

“Yeah, Okay,” You nod, “Lava, got it,” and then he’s kissing you again, and his hands are slipping off his jacket, and then he starts to loosen his tie as he kisses you, but then he gives up on that to put his hands on your thighs and then beginning to travel up. You shiver as his hands travel up your dress,

“Pretty fucking dress..” He mumbles, between kissing you silly, “Pretty girl, too..” He mumbles, “Gonna need to rip this dress off you—”

You fully pull away from the kiss to say,

“Rip this fucking dress and I’ll leave so fast,” And Matt knows you’re not joking, but he smiles and says,

“How about I buy you a new one?” He asks, “Or two or three—”

“Oh, my god, just leave the dress intact,” You request, and Matt’s smirk begins to grow.

“Then how about I just fuck you in the dress, huh?” he wonders, “How would you like that, sweetheart?” You nod, letting out a soft ‘mhm’, but Matt shakes his head, “No, no, I gotta hear you say it, baby. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you in this dress. Maybe I will.”

You stare at him for a long moment, wondering where your dignity went.

“Matthew,” You start, “If you don’t fuck me in this dress, I think I’m gonna go crazy. I can’t.. I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this badly,” You confess, and the words start tumbling out before you can stop them, “I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel pretty like you have, and I can’t ever use my vibrator again because I already know how much better you’re going to be, and holy fuck¸ yes, it turns me on that you’re forty two and—”

Matt kisses you again, this time only for a short time, because he pulls away after a moment to tell you—

“I think we should work on your dirty talk, but, good. Was it so hard to just do what I asked?”

“..no.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He says softly, and then his lips are against yours again, while his hands explore, and when his fingers brush over your panties, you moan against his lips, barely registering it as he slips your panties off and stuffs them in his back pocket, because his fingers are caressing your folds, slipping inside you as you moan and writhe beneath him.

“Holy fuck,” You whine, “Matt—”

“Sh, sh, sh..” His lips press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure the first time someone else makes you cum is on my cock.” He tells you, and he chuckles when he feels your folds flutter around him at that. “I’m gonna fuck you in this dress now, okay?” He wonders, and you nod,

“Yes, please.”

“Aw, pretty girl does have manners under all that brattiness, huh?” He smirks, and before you can retaliate, he kisses you.

When he slowly eases your cock into you, you moan against his lips, and you try to really just feel it. You try to really remember how full you feel, the feeling of Matt’s breathless pants against your lips and skin, the feeling of being wanted by him.. and you know you can’t quit him.

His thrusts begin slowly, and that becomes a feeling you want to remember too. He thrusts into you while burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wait, hold on, Matt,” but when his thrusts don’t stop, you say, “Okay, Lava,” You offer, and Matt’s thrusts stop, and he very hesitantly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck,

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I just..” Your hands come up to rest on either side of his head, and you just stare at him for a moment, “I just want to memorize your pretty face so I can live in this moment forever.”

Matthew blushes.

You know you’ve won.

You’re not sure what you’ve won, but you definitely feel like you’ve won whatever it is.

Matt presses his forehead against yours and while you stare into his pretty brown eyes, he whispers,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” Then, after a moment, he asks, “Can I keep going now?”

“Yes, please.” Matt smiles and kisses you again as he begins to thrust into you, and you realize how dirty this entire situation is—an older man, still mostly dressed, fucking you in your expensive (rent stealing) dress just after meeting him, and it makes you want him more. Your hands move to play with his hair as his thrusts increase, one hand gripping the bottom of your chin and the top of your neck, the other sneaking up your thigh to rub circles in your clit.

You’ve never felt closer to God.

This is so much better than your vibrator.

Matt can feel you clench around him, and it makes him chuckle, so, in the most condescending tone he can muster when you are being so good for him, he asks,

“Wanna cum, sweetheart?” He wonders, and when you just whine in response, he continues, “C’mon, use your manners, I know you know how to respond properly,” He reminds, and if you didn’t want him to cum inside you so badly, you’d tell him off.. maybe.

“Please,” You manage out, “Yes, I wanna cum,” and Matt begins to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, and your neck, and only after leaving quite the bite mark on your collarbone, does Matthew say,

“Alright, pretty girl, let me feel you cum on my cock,” He says, and you do, and the way you clench around him makes him moan against your skin, his speed increasing, “Fuck.. Fuck, kid, I gotta..” He sighs.

“Inside,” You beg quietly, “I’m on birth control and—”

“Are you.. sure?” He asks, but his voice is shaky from how badly he wants the answer to be yes.

“Yes, please, please—” And before the third please can leave your mouth, he lets out the prettiest moan against your lips, cumming deep within you, filling you in ways you never thought possible. His hips roll a few more times, just to help you through your high (and just a little bit because he can’t think of anything clever to say that isn’t ‘Will you be mine forever so I can keep fucking you like this?’) but after a few moments, he whispers,

“So.. what did you think?”

You feel amazing. You could die happy. You can barely think, so you respond,

“I think I’m gonna throw out my vibrator.” And it makes him laugh, and you think he’s even prettier when he laughs than when he cums, so you kiss him. And in between kisses, you say, “We made a fucking mess,”

And he finally pulls away with a sigh.

“Well..” A smile tugs at his lips, “Wanna.. check out the shower, sweetheart?” He wonders.

“Do I have much of a choice, Mr. Murdock?” You smile.

“Nope,” And before you can say much else, Matt is grabbing you and swinging him over his shoulder to carry you to the most expensive bathroom you’ve ever stepped foot in.

-

In the morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of the shower running again. You slowly blink away your sleep, rubbing your eyes. You have a bit of headache, the consequence of a long night of drinking.. and bad decisions.

You blink, and anxiety begins to well in your chest. Your heart beats out of your chest quickly, and you kind of feel like you can’t breathe. What did you do last night? Well you know what you did, you weren’t that drunk, but if Matt was at that party last night he must’ve been important or—

Your eyes drift over to the side table, and you see a delicious smelling coffee next to an envelope, an envelope that is sloppily marked with your initial, the sign of a blind man attempting to write. You find your bra and then find yourself unable to find your underwear—whatever, you’ll deal with it later, you decide, so you begin looking in drawers and find a pair of Matthew’s boxers. You pull them on, and then take a long sip of the coffee that’s been ordered for you.

Then, you pick up the envelope, and halfway through the sip you stop. It’s an envelope full of cash, it would cover your rent and then some..

So naturally, you put down your coffee and then begin to bang on the bathroom door, hitting it over and over again,

“Matthew! Hey, we need to talk!” You demand, and you hear some shuffling as the shower turns off, and the door opens, and you see Matthew with his hair, and scruff, damp, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

And you have to admit, in the middle of your anger, he is so hot.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He smiles, handsome devil. “Everything—”

“What the fuck is this?” You ask, smacking the envelope against his chest, “I’m not a fucking hooker,” and your voice matches how badly you want to smack him.

“I know,” he starts,

“Well, only hookers get left an envelope of cash after they fuck some stranger,” You snap, “And I’m not a fucking hooker.”

“Are you wearing my boxers?” You see him smile.

“Do you think I’m a fucking hooker?”

“Boy, you sure like saying fuck and hooker.”

“I’m being serious,” You remind, “I’m not a hooker. I don’t need your money.”

Matt, although he won’t tell you this, doesn’t need his super senses to know that last part is a lie.

“Can I talk without you accusing me of thinking you’re a hooker? Because I don’t think you’re a hooker, I know you’re a very distinguished young woman, and—”

“Alright, I’m not president, I’m a secretary, relax,” You scoff, and start to move around the hotel room, trying to find your shoes, dress, accessories.

Quietly, it turns him on that you’re so difficult.

“Can you just—” he sighs, finding his own boxers and pants, and then starting to put his button up back on, but it hangs on him without being buttoned up as he sits down. “Can you please sit, so we can talk about this?” He wonders.

You’re still holding the envelope.

“Fine.” You grumble, walking over to the bed and sitting next to him. He’s really hot, so you just admire him, and wait for him to talk.

“I know you’re not a hooker.” He starts, “But I am a lawyer, like I told you last night. And.. I make more than enough money for me,” and You want to tell him he doesn’t need to brag about it, “And.. I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now, but.. I really like you.”

Your face flushes.

“You do?”

He smiles gently.

“I really do. So, here’s the deal, sweetheart—And you can’t get mad at me just for offering, okay?”

“Okay.” You concede.

“Let’s keep seeing each other.” He starts, “Nothing committal, we’ll just hangout, sleep together, I’ll get to hear your pretty noises.. and I’ll pay your rent, and.. and buy you things.” He shrugs.

You blink.

“You want to be my sugar daddy?”

Now it’s Matt’s turn to blush.

“That makes it sound so.. dirty,” he starts, “Which it is.. But you never.. have to do anything, I just.. want to hangout with you. Fucking you will just.. be a nice benefit. A really.. really nice benefit.” He breathes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”

You consider it for a long moment, thinking. You’d be able to quit your shitty second job, the one you’ve had since high school, the one you swore you were going to quit. And last night was amazing. You really do want to throw out your vibrator, but maybe you could convince him to show you some of his favorite toys.

He’d tell you that you are his favorite toy, and then you’d have to fuck him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

“I’d like that.” You smile, “But on one condition.” You say, and he nods.

“Anything.” He smiles.

“You can’t fall in love with me.” You say, “And I can’t fall in love with you either. We can be friends, and we can fuck, but no being ‘in love’ with your sugar baby.” You request, and he nods.

“Deal.” He holds out his hand to you, “Shake on it?”

Your fingers wrap around his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Deal.” You echo. “We won’t fall in love with each other.”

Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts.  

[dollyfiles]

frat!rafe trying to make raven!reader jealous with another girl, while they’re “on a break”

raven!reader mlist

cw: toxic relationship, jealousy, cussing, power play, mentions of alcohol and smoking

the party was loud. music thumped through the walls of the beachfront house, bodies swayed, smoke hung in the air, and liquor flowed like water. classic obx chaos.

rafe was three drinks deep, perched on the edge of an outdoor couch with some blonde pressed up against him. she was laughing at whatever stupid thing he’d said, her hand tracing patterns on his thigh.

he wasn’t even looking at her though. his eyes were locked on the dark figure standing near the firepit.

you.

dressed in full black, sipping something out of a red solo cup, rings glinting under the lights, that signature silver chain around your neck. your expression was unreadable—calm, detached, like you weren’t just twenty feet away from your ex acting like he didn’t care.

you weren’t even watching. and that’s what drove him crazy. because you hadn’t looked his way once.

not when he kissed the other girl’s cheek. not when he let her whisper in his ear. not even when he laughed a little too loud like he was having the best fucking night of his life.

you didn’t blink. you knew he’d try something. you already expected rafe to be around some bougie kook girl the moment you stepped foot onto this party, so it wasn’t a surprise to see her draped all over him.

but rafe? he was getting more and more frustrated.

he didn’t even know why he came tonight. well actually..he did. he came because he knew you’d be here. because the silence between you two was starting to suffocate him. so, yeah..he showed up, looking hot, brought a girl, and waited for you to snap.

you didn’t though. not even close. he was doing exactly what you expected. acting out. playing pretend. trying to get a reaction.

but you weren’t one of those girls you could rattle with a desperate display of attention-seeking. you saw through him. always had. that kook prince attitude, that cocky laugh—it was just a facade. and the second he felt like you were slipping away, he panicked, clawed at control, used whatever girl was dumb enough to be nearby.

and deep down, you knew the truth:

rafe couldn’t outrun you even if he tried.

he could touch other girls. he could flirt. he could lie to himself. but nothing burned him the way you did. and nothing ever would.

and just when he caught you smirking at something some guy said to you, that was it. he stood up abruptly, causing the girl next to him to pause, confused. “be right back,” he muttered, already walking away.

he found you near the fence, away from the crowd, calmly smoking a cigarette like you weren’t the only thing holding his attention hostage.“you enjoying the show?” he asked coolly, stepping into your space.

you didn’t even flinch, you let him play his little game. “which one?” rafe scoffed, growing more frustrated by the second. “don’t play dumb y/n. you know what i mean.”

you exhaled a curl of smoke. “oh, you mean your little attempt at making me jealous?” you looked him up and down, unbothered. “cute.”

rafe’s nostrils flared, eyes growing dark, “you didn’t even care.” you raised a brow, “was i supposed to?”

“you could’ve said something,” he snapped. you tilted your head, “why would i? you’re the one playing games.” yeah, let him stew in his own frustration, you thought.

his voice dropped, bitter and tight. “you don’t give a fuck, do you?”

you took one last drag and flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with your boot. “rafe,” you said, your tone calm and patient, “let’s just be real here.”

he stared at you, jaw clenched.

“you’re gonna come running back to me anyway,” you said simply, your shoukders shrugging. “whether it’s tonight, tomorrow, or next week. so i’m chilling.”

rafe felt heat rise up his neck. “you’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“no,” you said, stepping just a little closer, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made his spine lock up. “i just know what we are. and i know you. you can flirt with whatever little kook barbie you want. but you won’t sleep tonight unless it’s me.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off—smooth, razor-sharp. he had no chance.

“and if you do try something with her—” you slipped your hand into your jacket and pulled out the sleek silver blade you always carried. letting it rest against your palm, just for a second.

you smirked. “well.. i always come prepared.” rafe’s breath caught. not because he was scared—you didn’t scare him. you wrecked him. in a way no one else could.

you tucked the blade back into your pocket and turned, already walking away, like the conversation hadn’t just rearranged his entire night.

rafe stood there for a long second, heart pounding, fists clenched. and all that fire he’d tried to stir up with another girl? it burned right back into his chest.

because you were right. no matter how far he strayed, no matter who he touched or what he told himself—he was forever yours.

and you both knew it.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @beausling @rafecami @rafeysbrat @rafesangelita @drewsephrry @rafesbowbunny @rafessecret @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @lacyydollette @nemesyaaa @bruisedfig @rafekisser @rafeysbangs @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @deansbeer @tinythebunni

[sanjisblackasswife]

Blk fem Reader x Geto & Gojo (SEPARATELY)

Mentions of sex, kissing

Geto and Gojo are without a doubt lover boys in my opinion, but they express their love differently. I can’t list them all, but I’ll mention a few;

I think lover boy Geto is the kind of guy that when he falls in love with you, you literally become all he is worried about. Nothing you could do and say is a burden, if anything he wants you to solely depend on him for anything.

Lover boy Geto knows you’re strong, and don’t need to depend on him, and will always respect that, but he will also remind you that when you ever want to tune off your brain and just let him do all the heavy lifting in your life you can.

Mentally exhausted? Come lay on his chest and let him hear you talk about what’s been bothering you.

Physically exhausted? Don’t even worry about it he’s there putting prison salt in your lavender bath right now.

You will never have to worry about thinking when you’re with him. He adorns you to the point that you never need any reassurance if he loves you.

Everything that lover boy Geto says always includes you, even if it’s his idea;

“Oh yes we’d love to join you.”

“We have made reservations to rent out this beach for the weekend .”

The only time he ever says my is when he is mentioning you;

“Yeah, my Y/N loves those snacks let me go get it real quick.”

“She did what? Not my y/n, who are you talking about?”

The way he makes love to you is always so overwhelming, because he’s so expressive with his body, his tongue exploring areas on and inside you. He always says, “Look at me. please.” when he’s close. Geto just can’t have an orgasm with you without looking you in the eye.

You swear he’s ruined you for anybody else, but it’s you that ruined him. He doesn’t even masturbate anymore (unless it’s with you).

Lover boy Geto that is more than willing to make a space for you both separate from the world, he doesn’t want to admit it, but he has a slight weird possessiveness over you, that he can’t seem to hide.

His eyes are always on yours, any syllable you spew out he catches himself smiling like an idiot to see and hear what you have to say.

I also can see him being the kind of guy that if you’re under a cabinet or something he’ll come behind you and shield the back of your head with his huge hand to prevent you hitting it. He knows how clumsy you can be.

Lover Boy Geto is a sight , because he’s harsh around so many that are around him, but you?

He turns into mush for you.

Lover boy Gojo to me loves loud and exciting. You’re his world and he never makes you forget that.

He’s a clingy boy, never will admit it, but his actions show it. When he falls in love with you you are set on a pedestal that nobody can match for him.

Gojo can’t last not a one conversation without mentioning you.

“ Mochi likes the strawberry ones….my girlfriend y/n i mean—“

“Y/N and i went there before! Yeah, I plan on taking her again as a surprise next month.”

Lover boy Gojo that embarrasses you with his words of affirmation, he teases sure, but sometimes his words’ll get you so flustered you have to slap him on his arm to stop.

Lover boy Gojo that TRIPLES his gift giving when it comes to you.

Graduated? New car with money in the glove compartment.

Birthday? 2 week vacation at his own private beach

Just a random Tuesday? Here’s a few just because gifts.

He would want you to be completely comfortable with being someone you can go to with trouble. Whatever it may be regardless of how silly or serious.

Gojo’s demeanor changes as well, he’s still that silly and strong Gojo, but he’s just Satoru with you. Stealing glances, basking in your comfort, tapping your ear off about the latest pokémon episode—

Being COMPLETELY babied by you. I’m talking being held, occasional kisses, or else he’ll pout—-

he’s 29 and 6’6” btw

He loves being taken care of by you, he handles the heavy work like paying bills, shopping, and anything else you need, but you take care of his emotional and mental stability a lot. The way you hold and take care of him, the way you listen and endulge him even when he’s acting too childish for most.

Lover boy Gojo never had experience with being IN love. This was new, but he was willing to learn.

Sex even became something he wanted to learn more about, the first time you both finally decide to make love he’s like a curious puppy.

“Lick here? ….How’s that? What about here—oh! You made such a cute noise that time….this fast enough?….deeper? y-yes of course—“

He’s the strongest and feared man, but nobody know that you’re his kryptonite, his weakness.

And he doesn’t mind it at all.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

hi i rlly like ur headcanons and stuff and i was wondering if u please could do like how dif mha characters react to very paranoid reader (like being scared someone’s watching them, someone’s gonna break in, ect) thank u :)

Hey, thanks!!! 🥰 That’s super sweet of you! You didn’t mention anyone specifically, so I just did the characters I had initial thoughts on! Hopefully that’s okay hehe. My partner actually struggles with a little paranoia, so I pulled a some inspo from that…!

How they react to a paranoid reader:

Katsuki Bakugo:

- He doesn’t really understand where you’re coming from, and would probably struggle to make sense of what he feels are baseless fears

- He’s of the mindset that he could just kick anyone’s ass who tries to mess with either of you, so why would anyone even try?

- He’ll be a little frustrated when he checks the house for you for the third time that week to find it, expectantly, empty

- It’s only when Kirishima talks him through it that he starts to understand—it doesnt matter if the threat is ‘real’ or not, because your body still has very real reactions and stress responses

- And he feels like an asshole for not taking your fears and concerns seriously, because god, he can only imagine how many times you felt scared or paranoid and DIDNT tell him

- And his capacity for empathy improves a bit, and he’ll be more patient when you ask him to double check that the doors are locked and the blinds are closed

- “I wont let anything happen to you.” And you know he means it.

Izuku Midoriya:

- Girl, dont scare him like that!!! lol

- If you whisper you think someone is following you guys, he’s instantly tense and on alert

- He’s lowkey got a little trauma from all the villain attacks that happened at U.A. and so he’ll take it so seriously

- Will make you guys do all these crazy bus changes and turns to lose whoever you think is following you

- After a few occasions of this, he’ll figure out that you might actually have a bit of paranoia

- He’ll bring it up to you with the gentlest of tones, asking if you’ve ever talked to someone about your fears

- He’ll encourage you to find a therapist so you can learn ways to ground yourself and cope with your fears. He’ll ever offer to do therapy alongside you in solidarity!

- He does everything in his power to help reassure you and make you feel secure. Will never be frustrated if you ask him to check things, he’s very good about it

Tenya Iida:

- He’s probably one of the better partners to help you with any paranoia

- He’s a very structured and rational person, tending to view things from a logical and objective lens

- He’ll try to help talk you down through points of reason to navigate and dispel your fears. It works maybe 50% of the time

- Before you leave the house for errands, he’ll walk with you and have you take photos of the doors all set to ‘locked’ so you can look back at them and know its secure whenever you get the itch

- Helps you ground yourself and relax your nervous system with breathing exercises and affirmations. His voice is strong and steady and it genuinely helps

- While he can’t understand where you’re coming from on an emotional level, he understands on a logical one

- And so he helps you through reason and proven, scientific ways to regulate your system and make you physically feel better

Shigaraki Tomura:

- Yeah, he probably was a big contributor to your paranoia early on…

- He definitely DID follow you and watch you… but that was just because he liked you so much! Geez… cant a guy have a crush?

- No, he’s a freak. He’s not great for your condition, definitely makes it hard to see where rational and irrational fears blur

- Especially since he’s a wanted man, you get worried that you’ll become a target by association

- He’ll tell you that your paranoia is a good thing—its good to watch your back and be vigilant! There ARE nasty people in the world who will use you and manipulate you.

- He should know, he’s one of them.

- He’d probably use your fears against you as a way to make you more dependent on him.

- “There are plenty of sick fucks out there who are itching to get their hands on you. As long as you’re around me, you’ll be safe. Just don’t leave my side…”

- Girl, run now or you’ll never have peace of mind.

[demie90s]

Diane with a young reader who has a child???

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢 X 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You weren’t supposed to be on her radar. Twenty, a rising star in your own right, and a mom to a toddler who’s already got better court vision than half the league. Diana? She doesn’t do distractions. But you’re not a distraction—you’re direct.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Slow burn | Age gap | Soft found family | Protective mama energy meets intense vet energy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Mentions of single parenthood, emotional vulnerability, light cursing, Diana being both intimidating and gentle

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “I’ve got her.” “You sure?” “I don’t say things twice.” And you believe her. Because Diana doesn’t make promises she won’t keep. Especially not to little girls in bunny sneakers who call her ‘Di-Di’ and smile when she ties their laces.

I was just here to work—signed on as a reserve for a Phoenix practice block, getting reps, proving I could handle minutes if they came. I was 20, barely past my rookie year overseas, and a mom to a two-year-old who thought the world revolved around juice boxes and glitter socks.

Her name’s Noeli.

She was sitting courtside on a folded towel, munching Goldfish out of a plastic container while I did drills.

And Diana Taurasi was on the other end of the court, shooting like the basket owed her money.

I noticed her before she noticed me. Because how could I not?

She moved like pressure. Like she didn’t have to prove anything but still made everyone feel like they should.

I didn’t expect her to look my way.

But then Eli dropped one of her Goldfish, and I jogged over to pick it up.

And I caught Diana looking—not at me. At her.

After practice, I toweled off and sat next to Lila, tying her shoelaces for the third time.

She leaned into me, sticky fingers in my hair, whispering loud: “That lady scary.”

I laughed under my breath. “She’s not scary. She’s just… serious.”

Behind me, I heard a low voice: “That lady can hear you, y’know.”

I turned.

Diana stood there, towel over her shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look mad either.

Eli blinked up at her, wide-eyed, then buried her face in my neck.

I almost apologized, but Diana tilted her head.

“She’s yours?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed her back. “She’s not always this shy.”

Diana nodded, slow. “What’s her name?”

“Noeli.”

Diana crouched slightly, still holding her water. “Hi, Noeli.”

Eli peeked at her. Whispered, “Hi Di-Di.”

I froze.

Diana did too.

But then she exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh.

“I’ve been called worse,” she said.

After that, something shifted.

Diana didn’t start talking more. Not really. But she nodded at me during warmups. Tossed me the ball once when I wasn’t expecting it. And once, after a hard scrimmage, when I was packing up and Eli was asleep on a rolled-up hoodie, she walked over and asked—

“You good?”

I looked up, tired, sweat drying.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

She looked at Eli . Then back at me.

“I don’t know how you do both.”

I shrugged. “One play at a time.”

She nodded like that meant something to her. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder.

“If you ever need someone to watch her—when you’re shooting—I’ve got her.”

I blinked. “You sure?”

Diana’s voice didn’t waver.

“I don’t say things twice.”

Now.

It was supposed to be five minutes. I just needed to run tape with the trainers.

“Can you watch her?” I asked.

Diana didn’t even blink. Just nodded once and sat down on the bleachers like she’d been waiting for the question.

I left Eli with her. Bunny sneakers, glitter socks, sticky fingers and all.

When I came back?

I stopped in the hallway and stared.

Eli was sitting sideways in Diana’s lap, watching something on an iPad. Her hair—wild and frizzy from a half-day of chaos—was now parted down the middle. Crooked, messy, but clearly braided.

Diana Taurasi was braiding her hair.

One piece at a time. Fumbling a little. Concentrated. Her brow furrowed like this was a fourth quarter free throw and not a tiny girl’s scalp.

Eli was mid-explanation about something on the screen. “And then the blue dog gets mad, and he says ‘ruh roh,’ and—”

Diana nodded like she understood every word.

“Yeah? That’s intense.”

Eli giggled. “You’re funny, Di-Di.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched as Diana reached for another rubber band and secured the worst braid I’ve ever seen like it was sacred.

Then she looked up—and caught me.

“Hey,” she said like nothing was happening.

“You braided her hair,” I said.

“Don’t judge it.” She glanced down. “She told me not to pull too hard. I followed instructions.”

I smiled. Walked over.

Eli turned, reached for me, then paused—halfway between me and Diana. Then she wrapped her arms around Diana’s neck like it was nothing.

Diana froze for a second. Then hugged her back.

“She’s good,” she said softly. “She’s really good.”

I didn’t answer. Just sat next to them. And Diana didn’t move away.

[korilakkumauowo]

꒰ LOVE IS RED ꒱

𐔌 . . sypnosis damian is so inlove it hurts idk short drabble lolzz sappy & fluffy grr 𐔌 . . warning mentioned ; bl##d, wounds/scars. NOT s/h, the scars I refer to are from patrols/fighting, but there's nothing too violent here. that's it. i had a good cold shower and thought of this crazy idea. my frienf proofread thanks broski ⸝⸝ . . word count 1,215 hell yeah !! ^^

Damian thinks love is just like his scars. The deeper the cut, the harder he falls. He covers them up because they are an intimate part of his flesh. An open wound is like an open vulnerability.

It hurts when you know it's there; worse when you realize it'll stay. The mended skin of a scar in his skin tells him it was once there, it'll remain there. He doesn't want to put down too much pressure, he waits until the skin stitches itself together; He thinks, you are his other half, he waits for you to realize. He waits until you are both entwined in the same limbs to be stuck together.

When it's fresh, the bright red stains everything it touches, it crawls down his skin and the feeling of the moist that reminds him; he's real and alive. It bleeds and the red soils the worn out bandage that had wrapped it covered, that is his love seeping through. It's just so obvious. He's not ready for it to be.

So he rinses it away. The clear water soaks his human flesh and he feels clean, the stain is washed away but he remembers the sting it can bring. One wrong move, one wrong motion and the same flash of bolt can just zap him in the worst way; can love ever electrocute somebody like this? Maybe, he feels that exact rush when you look at him this certain way that he's sure you do on purpose. The rush doesn't hurt to be a sting, but the familiarity of the same sensation reminds him that he has to hold onto the bits of his composure to stand still completely and just take it like a man. He does.

The sentimental idea of love messes with his head. He sees it everywhere, the same going of the fact that everything reminds him of it. It starts with his sight.

He starts to envision you in his head when he's trying to paint out of his habit, the color red is right there. And suddenly, he drops the tip of his brush to gather a bit of that said red, starts brushing them on the canvas and is absentmindedly coloring the tint of your pinky cheeks—with the image of you flushed against the cold in his head—before his hands could even halt to a stop.

There is a woman on the street crouching down to pet a feline making itself comfortable; to be close to a human's presence. His mind holds on to a thought before he awakes to scratch it out and away.

You'd do something like that.

There is a newly opened local shop in the streets of Gotham that he had once passed by. It didn't blend in. It stood out in colors and a vibrant tinted glass, the inside was filled with pastries that had probably scented the whole lane, the fragrance was sweet and he hadn't expected to even like it—he did—unironically, it reminded him of you. If you were a local shop in Gotham, this would be you. Would that be offensive to say?

Maybe his head is fooling him now.

He hears the sound of rain outside his window, the water droplets splashing down the glass and the next comes with the blow of the wind in one weather-y night. The first thing in his head comes up with the thought of you. Are you home?

Before he even catches himself thinking that way, he starts getting a little worried; if you weren't, you'd be soaked, then get sick, and he wouldn't want that for you. But he does remember that the sound of the rain helps you sleep better at night. You had told him once in your passing.

He checks his phone, the screen lights up, and he's quick to go through his messages to be sure. You're offline, online an hour ago, and he knows you by now that you don't really go out during rainy days. You'd been cozy in bed, asleep.

He sees a displayed golden pendant, shaped of two distinctive parallel hearts on a plastic mannequin’s neck, inside a jewelry shop with the glass barrier. It’s opened, and it probably closes together. It’s a necklace, and it reminds him of you. The shape of hearts were just so cliché, but he thinks it’s perfect and completely fits you whole.

He sees the faint glow of the other side behind the slightly ajar door when he’s alone, and it reminds him of the light that you bring with you everywhere just before you enter a room.

Why is it that his mind comes up with these thoughts he thought he hadn't been capable of? It made him feel like adapting to the open world wouldn't be so hard now. It made him feel, more than just to think. It made him think back on the ideas considered as fantasies. Because he didn’t like imagining them he just.. thought of them. Of you.

When he fights off these criminals, he thinks he's staying alive for you. I don't like seeing you hurt. You'd said, when he showed up to your apartment late at night uninvited, but anticipated. He wouldn't have cared, if it wasn't for the fact that he hated seeing you frown at him as though he had disappointed you.

(He really cared.)

His own being must be fooling him. Because then so suddenly, you are everywhere. You have made yourself a point to be in his habit. In his life. In his veins. Because you are the reason the blood rushes through his system.

The kind of rush that didn't hurt, but the feeling of excitement that really made him feel like fireworks and the bright stars weren't so bad to look up to with somebody by his side. The lingering calm of assurance that yes, you bleed the same red that crawls out when adoration is to be shown. The new kind of phase in life that shows up when you least expect it to. The fate that is inevitable to escape from if you really fall into it.

You don't give him these wounds at late night patrols, but you make him bleed out in a way that he thinks is a weakness. It hurts to think that somebody else could reduce him to being so vulnerable. It hurts to know that one day, it’ll all come down to the fact that having a heart is really something everyone has to live up to.

That love is not just for anyone else but for him too. You are the love he finds himself to seek. The love that he adores by flowing out bright red for a worth to prove.

He has to remind himself that there is more of that same red—that had bled out of him—still inside him. There are more and they can't be away, it runs through his veins continuously and there's nothing to stop it but the inevitable end of life.

But he thinks if he loved you this much, he'd rather than love you even when his corpse fails to keep the heart that remembers yours–because he knows that by the afterlife, it wouldn't even be able to stop beating just for you.

n/a ; hi guys plz request lol im free divider creds : @/enchantings @/bernardsbendystraws best regards all rights reserved. ©𝐤𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐤𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐨𝐰𝐨

[whisperofwonder]

We Don't Need Memories

Miya Atsumu x reader - 1k words

I've had a vision of this in my head for a while. I'm not sure it came out like I wanted, but I'm sharing anyway!

Atsumu has been too quiet in the bedroom for a suspiciously long time. He could be folding laundry or finally organizing his dresser drawers, but something tells you that's not the case. You haven't seen him do either in the month and a half you've been living together. With a sigh, you set your laptop aside and get up to investigate.

In the bedroom, Atsumu's sitting cross-legged on the floor. When he hears you creak open the door, his gaze snaps to you, frozen with one hand inside a familiar shoe box - one that you'd tucked in the back corner of the closet. Some of its contents are already spread out on the floor. So - he's discovered your secret.

"Hi," You say in a small voice, feeling a little bit guilty, even though you have no real reason to be.

"This is yours?" He asks, watching you as you sink down next to him. It's a silly non-question. Who else's would it be?

"Yeah," You admit as you reach for a magazine clipping on the floor. The newest pieces had been on top, so this is from only a few weeks ago, when the Black Jackals had been featured in an article. Under that is the newest team profile booklet, and a newspaper cover page from the Olympics last summer.

"You saved all this?" Atsumu asks, paging slowly through the pamphlet you'd picked up at his first ever Black Jackals game.

"I did," You nod, watching him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. He's never been one for sentimentality, and you're afraid he'll think all of this is stupid. You've been saving things for quite a while now, because unlike him, sometimes you like to look back at where he's been, see how far he's come. Lately, you've even been thinking, maybe, if it comes to it, your future kids might like to see some of it too.

"How far back does this go?" He asks, digging through until he pulls out a cutout from your high school newspaper, featuring the team right before nationals in his second year. "Ya kept this from high school?" He asks in disbelief, looking intently at the faded photo of the old Inarizaki team. Finally, he looks up at you. "Why?"

You remember being 16, picking out your new boyfriend among his teammates on the front page of the school paper, so handsome in his uniform. You're not quite sure, even now, what had compelled you to actually cut it out and save it, but you're glad that you did. It had lived in the front cover of one of your notebooks for a while, until a few new clippings joined it. You'd finally converted to the shoe box after he joined the Jackals, and you'd cut out an article about him joining the team.

Since then, you've added advertisements he's done, glossy pamphlets from special games he's played in, and every article you've come across that so much as mentions his name. There's a whole chunk of Olympics memorabilia that you'd rubber banded together. Suffice to say, the humble box has grown pretty full over the years.

You shrug before answering his question. "Because I'm proud of you." It's the simplest answer, and it also happens to be the truth. You look down at the banner in the old article. "And maybe you don't need memories, but I like having them."

"Course yer proud of me," He says roughly, gingerly setting the old article back in the box. "Look at all this stuff I did." He pats the top of the pile.

"You don't think it's weird?" You finally ask with a quiet laugh.

"Nah," He says nonchalantly. "If ya wanna hang onto all this stuff, I don't care." He looks back down into the shoe box, perhaps blinking a little more quickly than usual.

"Okay then," You say, matching his tone. Something else in the box catches his eye, and he reaches for it. The two of you spend the next half hour paging through everything.

A few days later, after you've cleared the dinner dishes off the table, he hands you a thick envelope. You peek inside, and see that it's mostly photos. You look at him with a frown.

"I found some more stuff. For the box." He clears his throat. "I thought this stuff belonged in there, too."

"Oh," You carefully pull the bundle out of the envelope, surprised. The photos are glossy without a single fingerprint, almost as though he'd just had them printed. The first one is from after nationals in your third year, and features the two of you with matching wide smiles. You remember the feel of his sweat-slicked cheek pressed against yours. You smile looking down at your past selves. You look so young.

Most of the photos are similar. It's you and him, smiling together before or after his biggest matches. There's even one of you, wearing his Jackal's jersey, cheering in the stands. You have no idea when it was even taken.

Along with the photos, you're surprised to see some familiar scraps of paper. They say things like "I'm proud of you" or "I love you", decorated with cartoony hearts. There are even a few with goofy volleyball doodles you'd made. You've been hiding these silly little notes in his suitcase every time he travels, but you never dreamed he'd save them.

"Tsumu," You look up at him, his name the only word you can form. His expression is almost unbearably fond.

"Ya don't have anything like this in there." He shrugs. "Felt like it was missing something important."

"I didn't know you kept any of this," You say softly, spreading it out on the table in front of you.

He scoffs. "Yer not the only one who can save stuff." Abruptly, he pulls in close, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. "I love you," He murmurs into your hair.

You smile into his chest. "I love you too."

[jeyramarie]

The recruit- Yelena Belova x reader (Season 2 Part 3)

summary: when they thought it couldn’t get more crazy, Congressman Barnes shows up.

w.c: 3,862

warnings: angst, mentions of gun

a/n: my apologies for this part coming out later than anticipated. the clinic i work at has been… tough this week 🤡 but anyway, without further ado, lmk if you wanna be tagged and happy reading 🤍

part 1~ part 2

Previously on the recruit..

The honking continued, getting louder and louder until the limo stopped right in front of them. A tall man got out of the car, waving his hands in the air. 

“Yelena!” He shouted. “It’s dad! Don’t go into the vault! Valentina is going to burn you alive!” 

John and Ava slowly turned their head towards her while Y/n kept her eyes on the man. 

“Alexei?” 

“Y/n?” Alexei spoke in surprise, watching the widow walking towards him. 

He wrapped his arms around her, placing his hand behind her head for support. Alexei was almost fond of the y/h/c. Ever since he met her, he always felt a need to protect. The Russian never pinpointed the exact reason, but he always tried checking in on her from afar. Just like he did with Yelena all this time. 

“So good to see you.” He smiled, parting from the hug. 

“You too.” Y/n smiled. “How’s Melina?” 

“Oh no, that’s-”

“Can you guys catch up later?” John interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We need to get going.” 

Alexei raised his hands in surrender, walking backwards towards the driver seat. Yelena walked to the back, holding the door open for the y/h/c who pecked her lips before climbing inside. The blonde got in the front seat as Y/n moved next to Ava, right behind Alexei. 

“So I was able to catch up with Miss Fontaine to fancy event, I thought it would be good for networking, you know?” He started, turning to look at Yelena for a quick second. “But as soon as I overheard the coordinates of the vault, I rush back home, get this tactical beast, then I drive straight here. Oh, America is so big. Have you ever drive through Oklahoma? It’s so fast. Oh, forgot to tell you, don’t drink from the Big Gulp back there.”

“Ew.” Y/n muttered, staring at the cup in disgust, quickly moving her eyes to the blonde. 

“Alexei, have you slept?” Yelena asked, turning to face him. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead!” He shouted. 

“I’d like not to die today, so maybe someone else should drive?” Walker suggested.

“Yeah, I can drive.” Y/n added, nodding her head. 

“Mr. Walker, second coming of Captain America.” Alexie smiled, staring at the agent through the rearview mirror, completely ignoring the widow behind him. “You and I have much in common, you know? I, too, was a state-sponsored super soldier in Russia.”

“But also very different because Walker actually knows what he’s doing.” Yelena commented, staring out the window. 

“Ghost, ah, what a magician.” Alexei continued. “You disappear, you reappear. When you reappear, does sometimes things not pop up in right places?” 

“Oh, I find it best just to ignore him sometimes!”Yelena shouted to the back. 

“What impressive friends you’ve gathered.” 

“We are not friends, Alexei.” The blonde replied bitterly. 

“No, we’re disposable delinquents.” Ava said, throwing her arm over the back of the seat. 

“Whatever you are, the light inside you is brighter, you know?” 

“That was very nice, Alexei, thank you.” Y/n smiled, patting his shoulder. 

“How bout this?” He continued. “You are team of scrappy anti-heroes.”

“Yeah, right.” John scoffed. “Go Thunderbolts!” 

“What? Yelena.” The Russian smiled, staring at his daughter. “You named them after your peewee soccer team?”

“Oh my god.” The blonde muttered in embarrassment. 

“The West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Dimitri’s Elite Industrial Lighting and Electronics.”

“No, no.” Yelena shook her head, speaking over Alexei.

“Never won a game, Yelena had so much fun. There was a girl who pooped during a game, it was crazy.” 

“It was sponsored by Shane Tire Shop.” 

“Shane?” Alexei squinted his eyes. “What are you talking about, Shane?” 

“Yes, it was.” The blonde nodded, staring at her father with concern. “You really need to sleep.” 

“What about this Bob you mentioned? What’s the plan? Where am I driving?” 

“It’s not like that.” Yelena shook her head. “We need to escape and we need to hide.”

“Yeah, it’s much smarter for us to split up, there’s an airfield not far from here.” John shrugged. “We’ll just disappear from there.” 

“Split up? No, no, no.” Alexei commented, sounding almost disappointed. “You may not see what I see but I have been around long time.”

“Yeah, no shit.” The agent muttered. 

“This is the making of a team.” He started, lifting his fist. “That can raise to glory. A team that can bring light to darkness.” 

“That’s nice, Alexei, but I really doubt they wanna be a team.” Y/n commented, leaning closer to him. 

“A team of heroes that can be on the weakest spots.” He continued, completely ignoring the y/h/c.

“No, no, this is not a marketing opportunity, okay?” Yelena replied, raising her voice, feeling annoyed by her father. “Valentina is hunting us and we cannot win, do you understand?” 

“Baby, maybe tone it down a bit?” Y/n muttered. 

“Why?” She whispered, looking back at the y/h/c. 

“I do, you don’t.” Alexei argued back, raising his voice. “You said that Valentina was going to use the power of this Sentry Project to take over and get us killed.”

“Yes, yes.” The blonde replies as Y/n turns her head to look at Ava and John, who seemed uninterested in the conversation. 

“You need to stand up to her, you and your team-” The Russian continued but was quickly interrupted by John.

“Uh, you got a convoy approaching fast, step on it.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Alexei grunted, pushing his foot in the accelerator. 

“Is that it?” Ava questioned, noticing the slight change of speed of the limousine. 

“Can this go any faster?” Y/n asked, leaning into the window seal that led to the passenger seats. 

“Takes a second.” He muttered, hitting the steering wheel. 

“Alexei!” Yelena shouted, watching as the numbers on the dashboard only went up every 4 seconds. 

“They’re getting closer.” Y/n announced after moving next to John, wanting to stay vigilant of the trucks. “Oh no, they have machine guns.”

Bullets began hitting the metal of the vehicle, causing the back passengers to duck before lifting their heads from time to time to stare out the window. The military trucks got faster, leaving dust and bullet casings on the way. 

“Alexei!” John called out, ducking once again as the shots kept coming. 

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, she’s bullet proof.” He waved his hand. “Changing defensive measures.”

The Russian opened a small compartment under the radio, revealing a few buttons and switches. For a second, Yelena actually felt hopeful. For a second, she trusted that Alexei was gonna help get them out. Just like that mission in Ohio, right before she joined the Red Room. The bearded man pushed up a switch causing disco lights to turn on in the back of the limo. The song “Pony” blasted on the speakers, causing all three of them to look at him in question as Yelena sank in her seat in embarassment. 

“What kind of people do you drive, Alexei?” Y/n asked in disgust before peeking over the back seat to hear the gunshots again. 

The bullets hit the car rapidly, causing the back window to shatter as John placed his shield immediately. 

“What happened to bulletproof?!” The agent shouted, pressing the shield harder against the seat cushion. 

“Bullterproof-ish.” Alexei replied in panic. 

“Jesus Christ!” The blonde shouted. 

Gunshtos continued to attack the car, as John continued to shield the back window, restraining the bullets from coming inside. Y/n sat on the ground of the limousine, silently praying for a bullet to not catch her this time. Like she told Bob, it wasn’t the first time she was shot but considering the circumstances they were in and the lack of medical accessibility, getting shot was not an option. 

“Time to bring out the bottle service.” Alexei said, moving his hand on his shoulde.” Come on, Ghost, give me the good stuff.”

“Not very inappropriate!” Ava shouted in doubt.”

“Vodka!” The Russian shouted. “Vodka now!”

The brunette hands him the bottle and he immediately takes off the cap. Alexei takes a sip before shoving a piece of cloth inside. He lit it on fire, throwing it out the window for all of them to watch the bottle crash onto one of the trucks. They all felt a glimpse of hope as they watched the front start catching fire before it extinguish immediately. 

“Give me a break!” Walker shouted, covering them with his shield again. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” Ava announced before putting her helmet on again. 

“Where are you going?” Y/n asked, watching as she disappeared from the seat before appearing on top of the trunk. 

A loud screeching sound erupted from the trucks, causing Ava to press her hands over her mask. John grabbed her suit and pulled her into the limosine, before covering them from the bullets. Y/n reached for the brunette as she agonized, covering her ears. The y/h/c looked behind her to see the blonde pushing her body through the door to sit on it, taking out her gun in one swift motion. 

“Yelena!” She shouted, hurrying towards the front seat opening. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

A loud explosion came up behind them, causing all of them to turn to see each truck come into blazing fire. Alexei looked through the rear view mirror as the rest looked out the back to see a man riding a motorcycle. He held a gun on his left arm, dricing closer to the limousine. 

“Is that Bucky?” John spoke in disbelief. 

“Oh, oh, Winter Soldier.” Alexei spoke proudly. 

Bucky released the wire of the last truck, before stopping his bike to get off. He grabbed the wire, wrapping it around his wrist to push it to the ground, causing the truck to flip over. 

“Now that’s what I talk about!” The russian shouted with his fist in the air in victory. 

John shouted in emotion along with Ava who slapped the seat in celebration. It was then that Bucky lifted his gun again, shooting something that landed on the trunk of the limousine. The object started beeping rapidly, causing all of them to stare in fear. 

The device exploded, causing the limousine to lift up by the trunk before falling on its hood. John grunted as he lifted his head, looking around to see Ava crawling towards the broken window. They stepped outside and were immediately targeted by Bucky while Yelena began to open her eyes. The blonde felt confused, quickly remembering the y/h/c that laid a bit far from her. 

“Y/n.” She muttered as Alexei woke up as well, looking to the side to his daughter crawling to the back. 

Yelena reached Y/n, placing one hand on her chest while the other moved the hairs away from her face. Fear erupted in her mind, feeling as her chest began to close up. 

“Y/n, come on.” She muttered, rubbing her thumb over the widow’s cheek. 

“Is she okay?” Alexei asked, turning to look at them. 

“I don’t know, she’s not waking up.” Yelena’s voice broke as she shook Y/n’s shoulders. “Baby, come on, open your eyes.” 

After a few seconds, the y/h/c finally opened her eyes, immediately meeting the soft green orbs that always seem to bring her down to Earth. She took a deep breath, taking in her surroundings as the blonde kept pushing her hair back. 

“We have to crawl out of here.” Yelena said, grabbing the widow’s hand to pull her on her hands and knees. 

“Everytime I seem to feel okay, there’s always another freaking accident.” Y/n groaned in pain before looking up. “Anything else you got for me, God?” 

“I’m sure God has got you covered if you’re still breathing.” Yelena chuckled, crawling out the window before turning to help the y/h/c crawl out. “There we go, careful with the glass.”

Y/n held Yelena’s hands, standing on her feet as she caught her breath. She looked over the blonde’s shoulder to see everyone tied up, sitting on the ground with Bucky standing next to them, pointing a gun at them. Yelena turned around, lifting her hand towards him to release the widow bites when Y/n grabbed her arm, lowering it slowly. 

“Hi, Bucky.” She spoke, causing the blonde to stare in question. “Or should I say Congressman?” 

“How have you been?” He asked with a chuckle as the widow smiled. 

“I’ve been good.” 

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena questioned turning to Y/n. “How do you know him?” 

“I worked with him before Valentina recruited me.” 

“She helped me with all the tech stuff at the Avengers Compound.” Bucky replied, nodding his head with an awkward smile. 

“Okay, so, why are you here?” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I have to do this.”

“Do what-” Y/n began and was quickly cut off by a taser divide thrown at her. 

Her body convulsed rapidly as she lost all her ability to move, making her fall to the ground. Yelena attempted to fight but was quickly hit with the taser as well, falling on her knees. The blonde tried to reach out to the y/h/c but her arm was pulled back by Bucky, who placed electric handcuffs on her. 

A few minutes later they all sat in the garage of an abandoned gas station. Ava and Alexei sat next to each other while John, Y/n and Yelena sat across from them. Their restraints had been upgraded to metal wires and zipties, allowing Bucky to freely stand against the wall. He stared in deep thought, wondering why Valentina had recruited these kinds of people. Especially someone like Y/n, who to him, always had great potential. 

“No, no, no!” Alexei exclaimed. “Just when I’m getting my team together. Mister Soldier, you are making terrible mistake.”

“Save it for the committee.” He replied bitterly. 

“What committee?” Yelena asked, turning her head towards him. 

“All of you are evidence in the impeachment trial against Valentina.”

“We don’t even work for Valentina anymore.” Y/n rolled her eyes, scooching closer to Yelena. 

“She tried to kill us.” Ava chimed in, leaning forward to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“We were ordered to destroy all of her secrets.” John added, shaking his head. “Actually, she sent us to kill each other in this vault.” 

“But then we met Bob.” Y/n shrugged.

“There was a man in the vault.” Yelena spoke, looking at the Congressman. “She’s done something to him, it’s called Project Sentry.” 

“He shot up into the sky, he exploded and then he crashed into this mountain and then he died, didn’t die-”

“Yes, I got it.” Bucky spat, cutting Ava’s explanation. “He’s very, very scary.”

“Congressman Barnes.” John called out. 

“Alright, Walker.” He replied, walking behind Alexei and Ava to stand in front of the agent. 

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Whatever it was that these two men had, there was strong tension. Violent tension. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you know me, Bucky.” John stared with sincere eyes. “So cut the shit and listen to what we’re trying to tell you.” 

“Yeah, I know you, John.” Bucky spat, placing his hands on his hips. “And you made your choices. I know it’s been hard since Olivia left and took your kid, but still, this is on you.” 

“Barnes, that’s enough.” Y/n spoke, breaking the silence as she followed him with her eyes, returning to where he stood earlier. “There’s no need for you to speak about private things right no-”

“What? You’re defending him now?” 

“I’m just saying that talking about John’s… situation, it’s not something you can just blurt out.” Y/n argued, staring at the agent with apologetic eyes. 

“You know, Y/n, you’ve always been too nice for this line of work.” Bucky shook his head. “Bucky, there won’t be any committee left.” Ava spoke, changing the topic as she noticed the change in the energy of the room. “Okay? There might not even be a government, she has big-”

“Threads, yes, I got it, named Bob or Sentry, who flies, right?” Bucky spoke, feeling annoyed. “And you’re all heroes going after Val, ready to save the day.”

“We weren’t gonna go after her together.” John muttered in defeat. 

“We were just trying to get home alive, actually.” Yelena shrugged.

“That’s even more pathetic.” The Winter Soldier shouted, turning around to face the window.

Alexei muttered something in Russian causing the blonde to shush him. Bucky’s phone ran, he picked it up almost immediately. He spoke in a hush tone, as Y/n leaned over to speak into Yelena’s ear. 

“Are we really gonna testify against Valentina?” She whispered.

“I hope not, I just want to go home with you.” The blonde replied with a soft smile. 

Y/n leaned forward, connecting their lips in a quick peck before Bucky’s voice burst their small love bubble. 

“Bob?” He questioned, turning to them. 

“Bob!” They all exclaimed, nodding their heads. 

He remained quiet, furrowing his brows as he listened to the other person on the line. They all stared at each other in question, wondering if he wanted for one of them to speak or to just stay quiet. He finally hung up, looking up at them, quiet. 

“It’s bad, Bucky.” Yelena spoke. 

He walked behind Alexei, ripping away his handcuffs before moving to Ava. 

“What are you doing?” She asked in fear. 

“I’m letting you go.” He grunted, moving over to John’s side. “You’re coming with me.” 

“Why?”

“Shh, for the glory.” Alexei whispered. 

“Well you know Valentina, she's got this thing out there, people are gonna get hurt.” He groaned, cutting off Y/n and Yelena’s restraints. “And I gotta stop and her and you are gonna help me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena asked in disbelief. 

“Why? You got some place to be?” 

“Bucky, you have the wrong people.” The blonde shook her head. 

“Look, I’ve been where you are, you can run but it doesn’t go away.” Bucky sighed. “Sooner or later, it’s gonna catch up to you and when it does, it’s too late. See, you can either do something about it now, or live with it forever.” 

“Stop Val and save Bob.” Yelena spoke, breaking the silence before looking up at herdad who stared proudly. 

“I’m in.” Y/n smiled as John and Ava agreed before they all turned to the Russian. 

“Yes!” He shouted. “Yes!” 

They all stood up, following Bucky towards a storage truck. Alexei climbed in the passenger seat as John, Ava, Yelena and Y/n sat on the back. The truck was empty, perfect for a decoy car to be hidden in sight. The blonde grabbed the y/h/c’s hand, squeezing it before lifting it to kiss her knuckles. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet.” Yelena asked, as Y/n leaned against the wall before turning to look at her. 

“Just thinking about what Bucky said earlier.” She bit her cheek from the inside. “How I was too nice for this line of work… He told me that, my frst day at the compound. Everyone rejected me, no one wanted to work with me but I was always there helping them… even if they were mean to me.” 

“That says more about you than them.” The blonde smiled, tightening her grip on her hand. “When we first met, you were always so nice to me and I was clearly a bitch because I hated working with partners… and yet, there you were always looking out for me.”

“I’ll always look out for you, I love you.” 

“I know, I love you too.” Yelena smiled, leaning in to connect their lips in a soft kiss. 

She lifted her free hand, cupping the y/h/c’s cheek, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. Their lips fit together as if they belonged with each other. They were so in trance, that none of them heard John calling out for them. 

“Yelena.” He spoke, looking at Ava in disgust before turning to the couple. “Y/n.” 

They broke apart in awe with one another before Yelena threw John a death stare, causing him to shift in place. 

“What were you talking about?” Y/n asked, shifting closer to Yelena to wrap their arms together. 

“The weapons we carry.” Ava replied, leaning forward. 

“Oh well, I have these little widow, tzz tzz, zappy things.” Yelena spoke, lifting her right wrist, before taking out her gun. “I have this .19.”

“.45.” John said, showing his gun, smoothly realizing the bellet barrel. “The long barrel.” 

“Oh wow.” Ava nodded her head, not feeling amused. “It’s big.”

“It’s long.” Yelena added, causing Y/n to chuckle under breath. “What about your hat?”

“My hat? You mean my helmet?” 

“Whatever you wanna call it.” The blonde shrugged without a care. 

John and Yelena kept going back and forth over the appearance of the helmet as Y/n began to notice that the drive was getting a bit longer than expected. 

“Are we actually going to the Avengers tower? Is it even still the Avengers tower?” She squinted her eyes, looking at the rest of the group in question. 

“Yes and I don’t know.” Ava replied before shouting. “Are we there yet?!”

“Almost!” Bucky and Alexei shouted back as they stayed sitting down. 

Suddenly the van’s movement caused them to jerk to the side before quickly recovering. They all stood up and prepared their weapons to execute Bucky’s plan. Or what they thought was a plan. Gunshots were heard from inside the truck, queuing John to open the door upward. They piled out, finding one person to fight against. 

A guard launched at Y/n, causing her to duck, swinging her knife acrodd his abdomen. The man fell immediatly as another one came running towards her. She grabbed her wrist, stepped on his foot, watching as he released the gun. The y/h/c caught it in mid air, pointing it over her shoulder to shoot, where it landed on his neck. Out of nowhere, a strong arm came around her neck as she felt the hard barrel of the gun against her back. She elbowed the man’s ribs and took the opportunity to knee him in the abdomen before grabbing her knife once again to stab it into the back of his neck. Y/n ripped away the knife and turned to Yelena when-

BEEP

“Jesus, you guys, we literally just put that drywall in.” Valentina spoke through the speaker. “I left the door unlocked for you, come up.” 

They all stared at each other in confusion. She left the door “unlocked” so she was waiting for them. Valentina knew they were coming. Bucky walked towards the elevator first, pushing the button as the rest of the team walked closer to him. Yelena grabbed Y/n’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, silently reassuring each other that they were okay. The doors opened with a small ding, making them all pile into it. The y/h/c looked at the blonde, giving her hand a small squeeze before looking forward at the door. Y/n couldn't pinpoint the reason at the moment, she couldn’t tell her girlfriend, considering how crowded the elevator was. But a little voice inside her head told her that something was wrong, something was going to happen. She just hoped it didn’t have to do with Bob.

yelena taglist: @imfuckinggenius @yelenabelovasbxtch @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ilovewinter101 @s1ut4nat @nebulablakemurphy @theshippergal @kacka84 @an-evergreen-rose @wandaswifeyforlifey @loomontoia @zombies1ayea @baylegend6 @twentyonetornmyheart @screechcat

[yoiisa]

BABY, KISS IT BETTER ⋆˙⟡ HIORI YO

"But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs, The smell of smoke would hang around this long, 'Cause I knew everything when I was young." - "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of Hiori's toxic ass parents! Fluff as well though, reader's really smart

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums.

Folklore gave me so much shit! I love this album to death, and all the songs on it slap, but omg I couldn't for the life of me find a character to write a song for off of any of them! Finally, after listening to "Cardigan" for the nth time, I landed on Hiori, which I'm so excited about. My sweet angel, I love him so much. Again, mind the CW, and let's get on with it! ♡⸜(ˆᗜˆ˵ )⸝♡

Every child grows up thinking their mom and dad are soulmates, and the concept of transactional marriages is foreign. Well, at least most do. Hiori gained a type of awareness of the world at an age very few other kids do, or even should for that matter. His parents' arguments had most certainly shifted his perspective on everything, especially love.

It was an unhealthy connection that Hiori developed with video games. He devoted every second that wasn't for soccer to his controller. The code couldn't betray him the same way his folks did. They were his to command and he was powerful in a world where everything was the other way around.

Get up, go to school, go to soccer practice, come home and play video games until 2 AM, go to bed for four hours, and then rinse and repeat every day. Truly, he had everything figured out.

Then a girl hopped onto the VC one day.

It was a new person he'd never played with before. A friend from his gamer server invited you though, and within the first game, you proved well enough that you were a valuable asset. It was a first person shooter, akin to COD, with bunkers and abandoned buildings. You'd completely annihilated the other team within the first ten minutes of the round.

Your microphone was perpetually muted throughout the entire game, but Hiori could tell you were still listening in to everything him and the team were saying. Over the next week or so, he never asked for you, but he appreciated your presence nonetheless. His win stats were significantly improving thanks to your assists.

When you finally spoke for the first time, Hiori felt something stir in him that was foreign to anything he'd ever experienced.

"I might not be able to play for the next few days," you explain as the crew wraps up another two hour long session. "My soccer team is traveling for our championships, and I can't bring the PC, obviously."

You play soccer. He swears, he can feel his heart rot at the realization. Of course you do. That stupid sport has poisoned everything in his life, and is now infecting his games as well.

Probably against his better judgement, he grits out, "Ain't noo one's beggin' you to stay. Go."

Everyone on the call falls silent, before a soft and breathy laugh comes from you. Your icon lights up as the sound reverberates through Hiori's headset. The giggle alights something inside of him and he almost takes off the headphones entirely.

"A typical gamer," you giggle. "You've probably never played a sport in your life, hm Hiori?" When Hiori's silent, you press on, "Country boy? Hello?"

"You don't know nothin' ," he mutters, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Yeah, I guess not. You must know everything huh? About sports and video games. A total package," you scoff.

"Hiori's been playing soccer since he was young," another boy offers up. "He is actually really good!"

"Yeah?" you ask, "I'd like to see you play. Got any clips Hiori? Send them in the group chat."

Hiori remains quiet. He thinks he'd actually rather die than show anyone a video or photo of him kicking around a round checkerboard.

"I'm good," he says at last. "Y'all don't need to see that."

"Are you that bad? You gonna make Ken out to be a liar right now?" you tease.

"That's not it!" he sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. "I just . . . I'm here to play games, not talk about soccer. My parents already do that enough and I . . . I'm sick of it. I'm sick of soccer."

Everyone falls silent again, and Hiori mentally facepalms. He desperately hopes his parents weren't eavesdropping through the door and heard him say that. The ensuing argument would make his head hurt for a month straight.

"Then quit," you say.

Hiori balks. "What?"

"If it's that much of a bore, then give up and quit. Be a video game otaku for the rest of your life," you sigh and grunt as if you're stretching. "You boys, you think you know everything about the world and how it works. Y'all don't know anything clearly. Why torture yourself-"

"You don't know my parents, or me."

"I garnered plenty from the games we play though," you say, and Hiori can practically hear the smirk on your mouth. "You're assertive in the way you play, but I didn't know what to make of it at first but now I do. You probably mostly assist in actual games, and never want to shine too much in front of others. You're compensating for that in games, right?"

Hiori stutters and you laugh again. "Cute. In any case, I gotta go, but lemme give you some advice Hiori, soccer girlie to soccer guy.

"Find a balance in both. Don't try to keep games and soccer so separate. You'll probably find that combining them is more rewarding. In chasing both world, you'll lose one, and based off of how you've been talking right now, it won't be soccer. Anyways, gotta go! Bye y'all!"

As you log off, another one of the guys says, "She's kinda weird, huh?"

Hiori just stares at his monitor as if all the world switched to Greek.

A week later, he gets the letter for Blue Lock in the mail. He messages you a photo and you send a thumbs back.

you: rooting for you!

Maybe he didn't know everything about love after all.

a/n: me and the five hiori stans cheered!

[mrsimpurity]

do-re-mi-fa-so fucking done with you!

(credits for art: _3aem on twt/x <3)

inspired by this song!

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

cw: bit of angst, mentions of infidelity, reader is a brat, satoru calls her a bitch (it's justified dw), p in v, creampie, edging, MDNI

a/n: i love utahime i just didn't know who else to put pls spare me the lecture...

satoru never thought that the sound of glass breaking outside his house would send him into such panic. but accompanied by the sound of his car alarm blaring, he swore it was the most infuriating thing to ever happen to him.

and of course, it was all because of you.

let’s face it - your relationship with satoru was doomed from the start. you were jealous and obsessive and he was… well, himself. 

he knew his conscience was clear and that he would never even think about doing the things you loved accusing him of, but his attitude was so nonchalant and suspicious that it constantly drove you into these insane breakdowns.

“baby, put the knife down, i’m begging you. my phone died, i swear.” satoru would hear himself saying quite often, in his best attempts to calm you down, handing you his dead phone in defeat.

but you were untameable. 

at the start, it was cute. he loved this jealous side of you - which man wouldn’t? it made him feel special, knowing that you were willing to go to such lengths to keep him all to yourself.

but the honeymoon phase ended when he made the grave mistake of accepting a mission far away with a certain fellow sorcerer. a female sorcerer.

“you go on this mission and we’re done.” you threatened satoru. the mission was two days away and he had already accepted, but you didn’t know that… yet.

and now satoru was beginning to think that maybe telling you wasn’t really worth it - he’d prefer to die there than by your merciless (and psychotic) hand.

“i don’t want you being away with another woman. and it doesn’t matter if you’re planning to save orphans from a burning building. the answer is no.” you continued. satoru’s palms were only getting sweatier by the second.

did he really have to break it to you? for a moment, he considered just not accepting the mission. losing his job actually sounded easier than handling another one of your tantrums.

but indeed, there was no getting out of this. you are crazy, but there must be some way of taming you. right?

following his confession, satoru was left surprised. he thought that you’d reacted too quickly and had already killed him - perhaps he’d already been sent to heaven?

because why else would you just quietly get up, bottom lip caught between your teeth and eyes glossy, and leave the house without saying a word?

well, it all made sense when this evening, you woke satoru’s entire neighbourhood up for a quick midnight entertainment.

”you crazy bitch! that’s my range rover!” his voice wasn’t shaky like it used to be. 

during the time which had passed, he’d realized that your quiet exit meant something more than your meltdowns did - you guys really were over. and he’d never accept such behavior ever again.

for better or for worse, you had chosen not to lash out at him before. and now he was seeing that it was definitely for the worse.

“thanks, but i know what car brand it is. what a shame though, huh?” you shouted over the car alarm blaring, bat in hand, the windshield of satoru’s expensive car shattered to pieces.

“get away from the car before i make you pay the damages. i thought you said we were over.” satoru was fuming. there really was no getting rid of you.

“and that’s what you’d like, yeah? to never see me again? well, pretty boy, that’s not happening before i avenge my dignity.” the audacity you were speaking with and the emphasis you’d put on the stupid nickname only caused satoru’s blood pressure to skyrocket.

hell, he knew you were a bit fucked in the head, but this was absolutely absurd.

“vengeance for what? for me almost losing my life in kyoto so you could keep draining my bank account?” satoru was slowly beginning to approach you, moving from the threshold to the now destroyed vehicle parked on the street.

your figure in the shadows of the street lamps was… exquisite. satoru was angry, fed up and tired, but at the end of the day, he really was just a man.

a man who hadn’t had a taste of you in two weeks.

and it didn’t help his case that you’d thrown a flimsy zip-up hoodie over a tank top and paired it with your pj shorts to go out and wreck your ex’s car.

“you were out cheating on me!” you screamed at him, aiming for the rearview mirror.

“for the hundredth fucking time, i wasn’t cheating on you, i was dying!” his words stroke a chord in you. you slowly lowered your arms down, still keeping your guard but giving him some time to prove that what he was saying was worth listening to.

“you never answered my calls. i was on the brink of death and you didn’t give a fuck. i knew you were hurt, but i had no choice.” satoru’s voice was beginning to waver and he was only getting more emotional by the second.

but you were listening. he could see it with his own two eyes as he swallowed, trying hard to collect his thoughts.

“i know my conscience is clean. i’ve never even thought about utahime like that. hell, i was only thinking about you on that goddamn mission.“

two could play that game, is what he thought. you weren’t the first manipulator this world had seen and you certainly wouldn’t be the last.

so when you finally let your guard down (after a bark or two) and allowed his unsure fingers to trace up your arm, let his eyes roam over your body as his mouth ran a mile a minute, pointless apologies spilling from his lips, he knew he had you right where he wanted.

at the end of the day, you too, were just a woman. and which woman couldn’t be tamed with sex that was a little too good to be true?

that’s how you found yourself in satoru’s bed, naked and begging for his mercy underneath his body, which you were convinced was sculpted by god himself.

he had been edging you for over half an hour, the broken windshield of his range rover long forgotten, the only thing on his mind being making you learn your lesson.

“t-toru, please. i need you. so fucking bad.” your whines were music to his ears. what he had been doing to your body was in stark contrast with the way his calloused fingertips ran down your body ever so gently, coming up once in a while to stroke your hair or get it out of your now sweaty forehead’s way.

“you have me, baby. tell me what you need.”

“need you inside me. now.” 

“my bratty baby. so demanding.” he chuckled.

but you didn’t have to tell him twice.

satoru adjusted himself, the tip of his cock teasing your clit with light taps which only drove you madder. you were soaking wet, practically tearing up from how bad you wanted him inside your pussy, hitting all the right spots and pleasuring you all night long.

finally, when he buried himself inside you, you thought you’d cum on the spot. the moan you let out was more than embarrassing and satoru thought that this was the perfect moment he could get his version of revenge.

“you think i had utahime like this? wet and begging for my cock?” he teased. 

the way your gaze shot up so you could give him a death glare was almost comical and he thought that if you were to kill him right now, he���d happily die buried deep inside your tight cunt (and with an idiotic grin on his face).

“don’t say that shit while you’re inside me.” you only hissed back, too overcome by pleasure to say anything else.

satoru’s thrusts were relentless and considering how many times he’d stroked his cock in the shower to the mere thought of you while you were gone, it didn’t take long for him to cum.

his warm seed spilling inside you sent you over the edge and you came, body spasming wildly, your velvet walls clenching around satoru’s length.

he didn’t bother keeping his voice down, moaning at just how snug your pussy was around his cock, your eyes rolled back in feeling too great to describe, nails scratching his forearms for dear life.

satoru slowly pulled out of you, his cum spilling out of your clenching hole. you whined at the sensation, still catching your breath, chest rising up and down.

your ex was only staring at your tired body in awe, admiring what he’d done to you and placing kisses down your stomach.

you were still facing the ceiling, only choosing to relish in the feelings of his lips so intimately chasing your skin and touch.

“i’m still mad at you.” you said, but deep down, your cunt was still throbbing and your heart wanted nothing more but to have your little troublemaker back.

“don’t make me remind you of the condition my range rover’s in.” satoru replied, slapping your pussy playfully.

you rolled your eyes at him but your desperate whine only gave you away.

well, it’s fine, because satoru’s cock was still painfully hard and he was (almost) sure that his best friend had put him on a “crazy girlfriend” insurance plan.

[rafeys-angel13]

man of the house

summary: rafe has been yearning for his “stepmother” for years, now he actually has the chance to be with her.

warnings: rafe’s a tiny bit of a creep, wards death mentioned

writers notes: i’ve changed the storyline since i posted the sneak peak yesterday 😁

rafe had never understood why someone so young and beautiful would date a man as old as his dad. he remembers when his dad first introduced you to him and his sisters.

he thought you were the most beautiful woman ever, then to find out you were only a year older than him was even more surprising.

you and ward were dating for two years and engaged for 7 months before he had passed. rafe also remembers that horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach when he found out you’d said yes when ward proposed.

rafe always had that fantasy in his head that ward would break your heart and you’d come running to him, but he knew it was never going to happen. it was a stupid fantasy anyway.

when ward passed, it took him around a month to realise that his death may be a blessing in disguise. he missed his father, of course he did, but he needed to be with you one way or another.

he started making you meals, sitting with you while you cried over ward. he rubbed your back and wiped your tears as you sobbed, for days and days.

rafe spent most of the time after ward’s passing trying to figure out when the best time to make a move on you would be. he didn’t want to seem insensitive, but he couldn’t wait until you weren’t upset anymore. that could be months, years even.

this morning, he gently knocked on what was once yours and wards room, now only yours. he pushes the door open quietly to see you still sleeping. he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side and looking down at you.

god you looked so pretty. you always do, but there was just something about how you looked when you were sleeping. so vulnerable and cute. he could watch you all day.

you stirred and he snaps out of his daydream. he hesitantly reaches out and brushes some hair out of your face, still not being used to physically touching you after years of watching you from afar.

you wake up, your sleepy eyes meeting his blue ones.

“morning…” he smiles softly, pulling his hand away from your hair, resting it on your arm. his thumb softly stroking back and forth.

the corners of your lips curve into a sleepy smile. he smiles wider at your tired state.

“good sleep?” he questions with a soft tone. you nod and rub your eyes.

“yeah… comfy…” you sleepily mumble with a slight rasp of sleep in your voice.

“good… do you want breakfast?” he proposes, squeezing your arm lightly. you nod and sit up.

“mhm… that would be nice…” you look up at him as he stands up and heads to the door.

“okay… i’ll go make it now, come down in like 10 minutes…” he smiles slightly and goes downstairs.

you use this time to do your skincare, fix your hair a little and brush your teeth before heading downstairs.

you see rafe at the stove, cooking some bacon.

“smells good…” you smile and sit down at the table. “you up to anything today…?”

“uh… no i’m not busy today” he shakes his head, acting as if he didn’t cancel all his plans to stay with you.

“hm, me neither” you smile, his heart flutters at that.

“then i guess it’s just me and you today then…” he says quietly, plating the bacon up. he cracks some eggs into the pan as you watch from the table, making the most of not having to do anything.

you see him trying to flip the egg, he struggles then sighs, turning to you with a frustrated expression.

“can you help me please? the yolks gonna split if i flip it wrong…” he huffs and you get up, walking over.

you stand infront of him, his chest basically pressing against your back. you gently flip the egg over without bursting the bright yolk.

“see, if you do it without thinking too hard it’s a little easier.” you chuckle and he nods, taking the spatula from you and trying to flip the other egg. he struggles again and you guide his hand, helping him flip it successfully.

“thanks…” he smiles, hoping you don’t see the pink spreading across his cheeks from your touch. his stomach is swarmed with butterflies.

you guys sit down to eat, as you’re cutting up your eggs you notice him staring at you. weird… he speaks up.

“uh… you wanna watch a movie or something?” he tilts his head.

“sure, yeah… what do you have in mind?” you agree as you finish your breakfast.

“i don’t know… like… the notebook?” he suggests with a sly smirk.

“what the hell do you know about the notebook?” your eyes narrow at the thought of him watching the notebook.

“well, you and my dad used to watch it. i know you really like it” acting nonchalant about knowing one of your favourite moves, even though he has literally stored everything you’ve ever told him about yourself in his mind.

“sure… we can watch the notebook…” you nod and push your plate away slightly when you’re finished.

after breakfast you guys sat in the tv room, he had pulled your legs over his lap and was gently rubbing your thighs. you thought it was a little weird but you brushed it off as him doing it without even thinking. it felt quite nice anyway.

when the movie was near the end, you obviously got emotional as you always do. he hears a small sniffle and immediately looks over to you.

“you cry everytime, huh?” he chuckles and pulls you into a hug, pushing your head gently down onto his chest. you nod and cry into his chest.

“it’s just so sad…” you whine and wipe your tears.

he rubs your back gently and he pauses as he feels the urge to kiss your head, should he? is that too far? too soon maybe? fuck it.

he presses a kiss to your head, letting his lips linger there. he breathes in your fresh shampoo that he is familiar with. his hand firmly rubs your back as you sniffle. you don’t pull away, you don’t protest and you don’t even say a thing. you just let him hold you.

rafe is the happiest he’s been in a long time, he’s finally got you, the girl of his dreams, right where he wants you.

-

should i turn this into a series??

[emomattlover]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙱𝚘𝚢𝚜.

based loosely off of the 1987 film, ‘The Lost Boys’.

warnings: mentions of blood, loss, 18+ themes and topics, eventual smut, vampires, cursing, intense themes, suggestive content, sexual innuendos, lowercase intended, lmk if i miss anything!

as you arrived at your new home, you stepped out of the car, stretching and tussling with your hair a bit. “thank god.” you groaned, shutting your car door. your home wasn’t the middle of no where, but certainly wasn’t the suburban lifestyle.

you had two neighbors across the street, as your home lead on the main road back to the boardwalk—back to downtown santa carla.

before you could walk in, you heard the voice of a woman—a quite eccentric woman— call for you, “hello!” she called, making her way quickly across. “you are the new neighbor,” she smiled to you—extending a hand. hesitantly, you smiled taking her hand. “y-yeah,” you nodded. “how’d you figure?” you giggled quietly.

“my husband, paul, he’s the landlord. inherited these three homes from his father, paul sr.” she explained quickly. “our other neighbors are some ex cult members who moved up from florida, they don’t talk to anyone, so i was hoping i could receive more from you.” she explained, a cheery smile on her blushed face.

“oh for sure, i moved away from home to here, so..i definitely need friends.” you nodded.

as you invited her into your home, you’d realized that her name was star, she had just turned 32 in may, ten years your senior. she had a degree in art—and used it to be a stay at home wife and paint.

once star had went home, you spent time unpacking, thankfully your father and brother had drove up your belongings about a week before your big move.

that night you struggled to sleep, a choice you’d regretted as the alarm clock went off. with a sleepy turn, you’d rolled out of bed grabbing your scrubs.

you’d landed a job at a day clinic in santa carla, working from 8-4 pm. wasn’t bad, and the pay was fantastic. but man was it slow, especially since you’d traded in hours of precious sleep to thoughts preoccupied by those triplets, and their friend.

finally, by 4:20, you were back home in your driveway. you didn’t even have the energy to hop out of your car when a loud tap against your car window startled you out of ‘resting your eyes.’

“‘m goodness, star!” you laughed, holding a hand to your chest. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“sorry sugar,” she smiled brightly. “there’s going to be a fair at the boardwalk tonight, paul told me he’s too tired to go..was really hoping you’d come! would be a way to make some more friends here.”

“i don’t know star, i’m so tired—” you began before she abruptly cut you off. “i know, i know, but just think! it’s a fun opportunity, and my first night in santa carla, when my grandpa moved us up here, i met paul. i cannot possibly imagine my life away from him now!” she hummed, fond of the memory.

and that’s what landed you here.

a short white dress, the straps somehow slipping off of your shoulder ever so often as you walked, your sandal straps had broken as you and star had stepped off of a ride, so you chose to go barefoot, carrying them beside you.

the two of you were now at some street concert, watching as a man sang his heart out whilst performing with a saxophone. “well he’s talented,” you smiled for lack of better words up to star. “oh for sure! the boardwalk always has santa carla’s finest perform.”

soon enough the two of you began walking again, when you finally decided to check your phone. “shit,” you huffed. “it’s 8:40, i really do need to get home i—“

“c’mon, babe!” a voice behind you called, tauntingly yet it still made you curious— as you turned you were met with a boy, not super tall and had these piercing brown eyes that just drew you in. “night’s still young,” he hummed.

and you couldn’t pin point just how you knew him, but you were certain you did. though it sounds crazy, you were new here. and the only person you ‘knew’ was star.

“i’m sure it is,” you nodded nervously. “but i have work in the morning i—”

“he bothering you?” a different, more pronounced voice called. you turned, seeing a man with piercingly blue eyes.

“no,” you spoke softly. “just different opinions.”

oh for sure you were going crazy, you’d never seen either of these men in your life. but you were just sure you knew them.

and the staring and lost in thought? didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. “lost sweetheart?” the first men you’d spoken to teased. “n-no,” you shook your head, grasping star’s arm, turning as you began to walk away. “what is it then?” a boy, who had the same face as one of the men you’d just spoken with asked.

and then it clicked.

“you’re those missing boys!” you gasped, staring at the three of them. “missing boys?” the first one laughed, “oh we aren’t missing sweetness, we’re right here.” he chuckled, making the other two men smirk.

“but i saw—i saw the sign,” you huffed. one of the twins..triplets maybe, smirked at this. “that one?” he rubbed over top of his lip, just before pointing to the sign behind you.

there was absolutely nothing about those triplets, or their friend.

“but! it was on here yesterday, im not crazy!” you huffed, looking between the men. “didn’t say you were,” the boy with brown eyes smirked. “well,” the triplet with the nose ring began. “we’ll be seeing you around, ms. i’m not crazy.”

and at that, the three of them walked away making their way to their motorcycles. you stared at star, your jaw agape. “i saw them,” you huffed.

“i’m sure you did, honey. ‘m sure you did.” and at that, the two of you made your way home. where you’d spend another night losing sleep over those triplets and their friend, who you were sure you saw on that sign.