#hi. it's me from the day before this posts coming back to check up on the queue and add some tags to pokémon that were lacking

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Bob’s reaction when reader gets hurt??

A/N: I have another version of this with sassy bob <3

You never cried.

You refused especially not over a mission gone wrong, or a few cracked ribs and a shoulder that felt like it was being held together with duct tape and pride.

You limped through the compound like you’d rehearsed it. Steady steps. No flinching. A polite smile if anyone passed you. Straight to your room. Door shut. Done.

Except Bob was already there. Sitting on your bed, criss cross applesauce, waiting for you. You stopped in your tracks, breath caught mid-chest. "Shit" You mutter under your breath knowing you've been caught.

His eyes flicked up the second you stepped foot into the room. Calm at first. Measuring. Then narrowing in on every detail; the way you were holding your side, the smears of dried blood on your sleeve, the way you wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re hurt,” he said. Not a question. Not even surprise. Just… certainty. You tried to shrug it off, winced, and immediately regretted it. “It’s nothing.” Bob stood slowly. “You know you keep saying that. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

You didn’t answer. You just sat down on the edge of the bed, wincing again as your body protested every inch. And then he was in front of you. Kneeling. One hand reaching out but not quite touching, waiting for permission. “Let me see,” he said softly. You hesitated. Then nodded. He pushed your shirt up gently, careful of your bandages half-rushed, it really wasn't your best work. The bruise on your ribs had already darkened, angry and raw. His jaw clenched the moment he saw it.

“Fucking Christ.”

“It looks worse than it is,” you whispered. “No. No, don’t do that.” His voice was quiet, but sharp. “Don’t minimize it just because you think it’ll make me feel better. I don’t need you to be invincible. I need you to be in one piece.” You looked at him then, really, truly looked at him.

And God, the look in his eyes.

Like he was angry at the world for even thinking about hurting you let alone doing it. Like he wished he was the one in pain instead. Like if he could take that bruise and wear it for you, he would no hesitation.

“You scared me,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Scared the shit out of me. I waited. I paced. I kept checking the door. I kept telling myself you’d come back, but you were late, and then you come walking in pretending nothing’s wrong with your arm hanging off like a goddamn scarecrow—”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, mission failed.”

Your breath caught. And then Bob sat beside you, closer now, his hand finding yours, threading his fingers through gently like he was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. “You don’t have to hide it from me, you don't get to hide it from me.” he said, softer now. “Not the bruises. Not the bad days. Not when you’re tired. Not when the fight got a little too close to your heart.” You blinked hard. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“See everything.”

Bob smiled, just a little. “I pay attention. Especially to important things like you.” You looked down at your intertwined hands. Felt the warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight through the cracks. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “You just have to come back to me in one piece.”

And then, quieter: “If I had it my way, you wouldn’t ever go out there alone again.” You nod softly before saying, “I know.” in a whisper as if you were scared you'd break the tension between you.

“You gonna let me take care of you tonight?”

You didn’t answer with words. You just leaned into him. Tired. Hurting. Soft in the way only Bob could pull from you. And he wrapped his arms around you so carefully, so fully, it almost didn’t hurt at all.

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[itsnesss]

hii !! hru <3 love love ur acc !! i saw ur rq are open and im curious on how do u think ollie would be if he gets caught w his partner out or something since hes pretty priv or how would he introduce them to the paddock for the first time 😋😋

been eating up everything u write abt him btw ur writing on bearnelli always makes me giggle bc its so fluffy 😭😭 💗

𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 | ollie bearman × fem!reader

summary | you go out with ollie in monaco and get caught by the media. he’s uneasy but doesn’t hide you, he brings you to the paddock at silverstone

warnings | fluff, light media attention/paparazzi, public outing anxiety (mild)

word count | 0.8 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

It was almost routine. When the calendar showed Monaco, you knew exactly which suitcase to pack: a mix of comfortable clothes for staying at Ollie’s apartment and a couple of cute outfits "just in case," even though you both knew you wouldn’t be going out much.

Ollie was reserved. Not because he was embarrassed of you on the contrary, he looked at you like you were a shooting star caught between his fingers but in his world, everything became news, and he wanted to protect what you had.

So for now, his Instagram stories were careful, and the little notes you slipped into his lunches stayed just between the two of you.

That weekend, however, something changed.

“Do you want to go for a walk? Nothing crazy. Just… you and me. Like normal people.”

The offer surprised you, coming from him. But you said yes, because how do you say no to Ollie when he looks at you with that mix of nervousness and adoration?

And it was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

On a little street between cafés, while he offered you an ice cream and you tucked a rebellious strand of his fringe behind his ear, you heard the click of a camera. Then another. Then many more.

“Ollie, is that your girlfriend?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Smile for the photo!”

Ollie reacted instantly, his arm wrapping around your waist like he could hide you inside his jacket. He said nothing. Just looked down and guided you back to the apartment, never letting go of your hand for a second.

Once inside, the silence was long. He collapsed on the sofa, frustrated.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted for you. Not like this.”

But you sat next to him, cupped his face in your hands, and smiled.

“Ollie… if this is the worst that can happen, I think it’s a good problem.”

He laughed, quietly. Then kissed your forehead and murmured:

“You’ve got me so screwed.”

And for the first time, without thinking twice, he posted a photo of you two. You couldn’t see your faces, but your legs crossed over his, the half-eaten ice cream in his hand, and the caption:

“best day.”

It wasn’t an announcement, but it was enough.

From that unexpected outing in Monaco, the whole paddock started to suspect. Ollie didn’t confirm anything, but just seeing him get out of the car and check his phone before anything else was telling. That kind of thing didn’t go unnoticed among drivers.

Toto greeted him with a raised eyebrow. Charles and Lando watched from afar with “we know” looks. Even his engineer casually said, “You’ve been smiling a lot lately, Bearman,” while handing him the helmet.

And then came Silverstone. His home race.

And you, for the first time.

“I know it’s chaos, but I want you to see this. What I am when I’m not with you.”

That’s what he told you the night before, when he handed you the pass with your name on it. His voice had that mix of excitement and nerves he rarely let out.

He took you early, when everything was quieter. You wore his jacket, still smelling like him, and a smile you tried to hold back. But as soon as you crossed the hospitality entrance, all eyes turned.

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“The girl from the ice cream in Monaco?”

“The one nobody has tagged yet?”

Ollie said nothing. He took your hand firmly and greeted the few people you passed. You just squeezed his fingers to say “it’s okay.”

At McLaren, Oscar was the first to come over.

“So you’re the famous one.”

“I’m not famous…”

“You will be. He won’t keep quiet.”

Ollie shoved him playfully, but couldn’t stop laughing.

You stayed near the garage while he went to briefing. It was incredible to see everything so close, mechanics running, engineers talking in codes, screens full of data. But it was also his world. And for the first time, you were inside it.

When he came back from his first practice, tousled and full of adrenaline, he looked for you in the crowd without even taking off his helmet. As soon as he saw you, he smiled. You moved closer and he lowered the visor.

“Did you see it?”

“Of course.”

“Did you like it?”

“A lot. But I like you more.”

He laughed softly, eyes sparkling.

And for the first time, without worrying who was watching, he kissed your forehead in front of everyone.

That day, the official F1 account posted a photo of him getting out of the car with the caption:

“Bearman, unstoppable at home 🇬🇧”

But the detail everyone noticed was in the background.

You, standing at the edge of the garage.

Wearing his jacket.

And that look of pride only you gave him.

[itoshiierae]

INARIZAKI BOYS CAFÉ AU ☕️ ༘⋆

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: atsumu miya, osamu miya, suna rintarou, aran ojiro, kita shinsuke

ᡣ𐭩 notes: this one was highkey inspired by my bllk rin one that i did a while back. not the full team & just my fav inarizaki boys for this one, i’m allowed to be biased okay 🥹

ᡣ𐭩 cw: overall just fluff & the boys being absolutely silly (not proofread) <33

𝜗ৎ ATSUMU MIYA ᰋ the head barista who flirts more than he works

𖥔 at this point, he’s the face of the café; always smirking at customers and handing them their drink with a wink, like it’s part of the service

𖥔 lovesss writing cheesy puns on the cups like “you’re brew-tiful” or “don’t go matcha-less today.”

𖥔 tries to upsell pastries by saying “they taste better when you eat ’em with me,” and then proceeds to slide in a, “and lucky for you, my shift ends at 8.”

𖥔 constantly gets told off by aran for ‘flirting too much’ at the counter but honestly??? the customers love him for it and he’s the main reason why they keep coming back

𖥔 always messes up suna’s drink order on purpose just to get on his nerves — it’s his favourite form of entertainment during slow hours

──★

𝜗ৎ OSAMU MIYA ᰋ the café's baker (who wins everyone over with his pastries & bakes)

𖥔 runs the kitchen like a pro but still gets shyyy whenever customers compliment his bakes <33

𖥔 makes special edition mochi muffins and onigiri toasties that sell out before lunch

𖥔 lowkey flirty, just not as obvious as his twin brother… if you blush while ordering, he’ll lean in slightly and say, “relax… didn’t mean to make you nervous, sweetheart.”

𖥔 constantly has flour on his sleeves, and no one pulls off the ‘hot baker in a messy apron’ look like he does

𖥔 teases atsumu 24/7 but still makes his fav treats to keep him from crashing out mid-shift, especially after dealing with ‘rough’ customers

──★

𝜗ৎ SUNA RINTAROU ᰋ the sleepy barista who somehow ends up being everyone’s favourite

𖥔 always ends up doing closing shifts — doesn’t complain though, he actually enjoys the chill journey home at night after a long shift

𖥔 if a customer asks for something off-menu, he’ll still make it even if he’s technically not supposed to. now he has his own regulars who come in just to ask for “whatever he feels like making.”

𖥔 acts indifferent, but somehow still makes half the café swoon with just one look

𖥔 his uniform’s always slightly loose, sleeves rolled up, and the silver necklace he wears?? it always catches the café lights when he leans over the counter

𖥔 secretly runs an ‘aesthetic’ insta page filled with pastry and drink pics — each post somehow racking up over a thousand likes. he has a VERY specific filter he uses every single time before posting

──★

𝜗ৎ ARAN OJIRO ᰋ the dependable manager who's always cleaning up everyone's mess

𖥔 actually runs the café while the rest of the team is flirting, spacing out, or making “experimental” lattes. he does the schedules, takes stock, handles complaints — all without breaking a sweat

𖥔 greets customers with a smile, checks if the ac’s too cold, and always makes sure there’s a spare seat near the window for elderly patrons

𖥔 stays composed through the rush, remembers regulars by name, and casually carries 3 trays at once like it’s nothing

𖥔 has one playlist he always queues up when the café opens — r&b classics, soft indie, and a little bit of jazz. the rest of the team teases him, but they all secretly vibe to it

𖥔 once gave up his only break that day just to cover for atsumu, who needed air after a rough customer. he didn’t complain and just said, “go breathe… i got this.”

──★

𝜗ৎ KITA SHINSUKE ᰋ the responsible shift supervisor who quietly keeps everyone in line

𖥔 always arrives early to prep the espresso machine. leaves neat handwritten checklists and reminders for the team

𖥔 quietly corrects orders without ever making a fuss. never blames the customers, just smiles softly and remakes it like it’s no big deal

𖥔 keeps the counter stocked with fresh flowers and occasionally slips handwritten thank-you notes or small discounts to familiar faces

𖥔 has a calming presence that diffuses tension almost instantly. atsumu’s yelling?? osamu’s panicking about burnt muffins?? suna’s zoning out at the counter again?? and all it takes is one “boys…” from him — and they’re immediately back in line

𖥔 never raises his voice & never takes credit for holding the whole café together, but everyone knows he’s the reason it runs smoothly

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[zankivich]

Good Boy - Michael "Robby" Robinavich x female reader

Summary: 3.1k Post-finale fic in which Robby comes homes from the Pitt in the aftermath of the mass casualty event. The events of the day hit him all at once until you find him in a full-blown panic attack in your bathroom.

Warnings: 18+ content. angst. panic attack. soft bdsm undertones. smut, explicit content. Hand jobs as therapy. color system. comfort.

a/n: I can't believe it took a 54 year old emotionally stunted white boy with a stethoscope to pull me from the depths of fic purgatory. But a'las....for the girlies. I missed writing for sad boys.

It's the short huffy breaths that let you into what's going on.

You heard the initial thrashing as he closed the bathroom door to put space between the two of you, but that could mean anything. Could mean Robby finally hit his limit or your often smart ass mouth for the evening. Could mean the exhaustion of the shift had caught up to him. Sometimes Robby would shuffle over the threshold with the weight of the world on his shoulders, slightly catatonic until morning. He'd come out of the bathroom with water stains on his shirt and toothpaste in his beard, missing his glasses with that let you see the depths of his eyes. 

All of that would've been normal dealing with Robby. The two of you had been at this for 5 years and even still it sometimes got to be too much – just existing as humans in the world. You'd learned to listen to the signs even when you weren't asked. Let your body rest against the hallway arch closest to the bathroom for just a few minutes, just to check in. The gasping is what clued you in. You don't hesitate anymore. It's not your style. The need to be there overwhelms you every time.

He's still in his scrubs on account of he'd only gotten home from his shift a whopping 20 minutes ago. Long enough to pace around your kitchen while you got him a beer he couldn't slow down long enough to chug. The panic had been clear on his face after all. You'd should've seen it coming from a mile away. 

His back presses against the wall, his head resting shakily between his knees. He keeps trying to force the air past his lips but the rhythm is off kilter. His hands are in fists against his shins. A west gasp echoes in the stillness of the moment and before you know it you're on your knees in front of him.

"Hey. Hey Robby it's me. I'm right here."

Your fingers slide through the thinner parts of his hair at the top spiking the strands roughly in your haste for contact. He pushes into the warmth of the touch and shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably, still not getting the air he needs.

"Robby. I need you to listen to me. Do you want me to take control right now? I need you to use your words."

His chest heaves, the hiss of his lips pulling at the air audible .

"Take it. Take it, please."

And just like that the dynamic of the two of you pulses like a static shift in the air. You cup the back of his neck and pull him in close so that your words can penetrate the sinking hole he's wading in.

"Slow it down for me. I know you're scared. But follow my breaths. You're hyperventilating."

Your free hand works to unfurl one of his fists and lies his palm at the base of your throat. You practice over exaggerating your breaths, letting the rhythm pass between you. He struggles to align himself with you. It’s one good breath for every three that are shaky. 

"It's okay. You're doing so good for me. Such a good boy."

His breath hitches at the same language that typically has a much different effect on him. But now isn't the time for shenanigans, you just need him to fucking breathe. 

And he does. Slowly between chapped lips and his hand pressed firm against your chest. He breathes out, already exhausted, and the blood pulses bright beneath his skin in unevens swatches alerting you to the extent of his panic.

Robby collapses into you and the gasp of his breath is quickly replaced with sobs that come spilling out one after the other. You work to gather him up in your arms, body shifting against porcelain as you both collapse in a heap.

" it's okay. Let it all out for me okay?"

There's a subtle tilt to your voice. One only Robby would ever notice. A bit of authority and grit - enough to say, “I'm in charge right now”. So when you voice a command it is just that. The man who still struggled to voice his opinion on restaurants was left compelled to voice his own pain. Assuming of course he had any capacity at all to stop this wall from crashing down around him. If nothing else it saves him a little embarrassment, protects his pride long enough to get him through this. 

When it’s clear he’ll live to breathe another day, you reach immediately for the jacket shoved up the length of his arms, pushing at the sleeves to start to rid him of a few layers. 

“Let’s get you into the shower. Get you warm, hmm?” 

He doesn’t push nor voice enthusiasm but he does let you move his body like a rag doll. He lifts his arms over his head for you to pull at the scrub top and under shirt. There’s some creaking in his knees when he stands to let you at his bottoms and boxer briefs. You reach for his knuckles and kiss the skin there, dry from years of alcohol-based sanitizers, hand washing and chronic glove wearing. And finally he catches your eye for the first time since you walked into the room. Tears drip following the slanted slope of his nose, drifting down across curved frown lines from years of existential dread. They’re still present, collecting unevenly in the expanse of his beared as you press a kiss to his face.. Robby is tactile on his worst days. Right now, touch is the only thing keeping him from exploding all over your bathroom. 

“I need to get the shower running okay? Just give me a few seconds. ‘Gonna take care of you, I promise.” 

He sniffles and nods working his way through another gasp of air. 

The sound of the water pelting the shower floor just slightly mutes the sounds of Robby cries, though he doesn’t let up in the time it takes to remove your own sweats from a night long forgotten. Not that it matters. You'd let him cry for hours if that’s what it took. His face has found refuge in his hands and you gently pry one off long enough to lead him into the steam of the shower. 

You park him right in front of the heavy stream - letting the warm water do its magic. It gets you a soft grunt for your efforts. You reach for the scentless soap wishing more than ever you’d stuck to your feminine wiles on the use of lavender eucalyptus and lemon blossoms in the bath department. Instead you’d let the old man swap it for more sterile options that did nothing to alleviate the tension pooling in every body part. Also bathtime should be fun. Boo.

Armed with suds you aim first for his hips inching your arms around him from behind to touch at the softness of his belly. It has its intended effect, Robby arching bowed outward like a cat in need of a tummy rub. A man’s tummy is a sensitive place after all, and you wanted nothing more than to add another point of contact to the line up.

He hiccups another tear out and lets your hands sculpt across his form fingers tightening at dense muscle hardened by another day of trauma. His arm. His back. His shoulders. His body is clinging to every ounce of emotion but the dam has finally broken.

“You’re okay now.” you whisper between feather light kisses to his spine. “You’re with me. I only want to make you feel good.” 

There’s a hidden understanding between you. You both do this thing where you let all the ugly and the pain fill you up, high functioning your way through life until it eventually chokes you (sometimes literally). It always becomes too much. It’s destined from the beginning in its failure and yet here you are. And what each of you really needs is just someone to stand there and weather through the storm beside you. To seep away a little of the humiliation of feeling things you don’t want to feel.

He can’t speak yet but lets his hand cover yours against his hip. Squeezes in thanks, alarm even. It’s bad this time. How’d it get this bad again? 

“I love you, Michael.”

Anything to pull him back into his own body, back into the present with you. Even if it’s using his government name. 

Again you earn a little eye contact as he turns his body just slightly towards you, back facing the water now.  You reach for the shampoo he keeps in your shower for those nights he oversleeps and needs to make his shift with no time to stop back home. Your toes grip firmer at the tub as you arch up to busy yourself with washing his hair. The sweet nothings don’t stop. Anything to fill this space between the two of you. Try to replace it with something good.

“You’re perfect to me, you know that? Always do exactly as you're told.” You humm in approval. “I’m so proud of you. My good, sweet boy.” 

His bottom teeth jut out in pleasure, disrupting some of the mask of his pain and his grief. It’s a start. 

Robby lets you rinse the shampoo from his hair. Doesn’t even seem to mind when you scrub your fingers through his beard with that special shampoo you got him for his birthday this year. Typically the beard is sacred. Tonight, nothing is more sacred than your hands on him. 

And when he’s all clean and you back him gently up against the corner out the way of the stream, your hands still sudsy with bubbles, all that’s on your mind is pleasure. 

Your fingers brush against the length of him with more purpose than before. He jolts ever so slightly in your arms. 

“We don’t have to. I can get you straight to bed. You’ll still be good to me.”

He shakes his head. Still doesn’t really have the words to share. But his hands loosen slightly at his sides  and he presses the faintest of kisses against your shoulder blade. It’s the most you’ll get tonight. 

You slide to your knees letting your lips first get at that jut of his hip where the water just barely mists the skin. Above you somewhere you hear a sigh, notice the broadening stance of his legs as he makes room for you. Your knees give a little creak of their own reminding you of the tenuous nature of shower blow jobs. You’d say a prayer or a hail mary but your attention is a bit diverted at the moment. 

Robby thickens in your hand with each passing moment, the sensation alone enough to get him going tonight. Or maybe it’s the need to please you through submission. If only he could be a good boy for the night, then maybe everything else wouldn’t be so impossible in the morning. Breathing wouldn’t be so impossible in the morning. Being wouldn’t be so impossible. 

When your mouth is on him it’s hard to argue the semantics of good vs. bad. Your hand is sprawled against the dip in his sternum as desperate to touch him as he is to be touched. The weight of him on your tongue. The leftover hint of soap. His thigh twitching where your shoulder rests to steady yourself. Before you can fully swallow him his hands are circling your wrists to pull you to a stop. So you do. 

His voice comes out rough, hoarse from panic and tears. 

“Can you just please come up here. I want – want to be close to you” 

He helps you stand, opens his arms so you can step into them, and quickly rests his damp head against your shoulder. It’s certainly easier for your knees. And you’d never say no to the way his chest feels pressed against yours. 

“It got bad . . . I got bad today.” He admits slowly. “I let people down.” 

“I understand. It got to be too much. You got overwhelmed.” 

He nodded gravely. “Fucked up. I’m a fuck up.” 

You pause trying to parse through the last couple of minutes. Nothing with Robby is ever linear and sometimes you have to go backwards to piece it all together.  His hard on pokes against the base of your belly and he shifts to put space between you. You let out a sigh of your own. 

“Are you saying . . . that you aren’t worthy of this? You don’t want me to take care of you?” 

It’s important not to put words in his mouth. You play back what you hear but you’ve gotta let him paint the picture. 

“I’m saying . . . I don’t want you wasting your time on something that can’t be fixed.” 

Great so full blown nihilism would be the flavor of tonight's festivities. 

“Mhm. Color?” 

Robby paused. 

“I need to hear your color Robby.” 

“...Green. It’s green.” 

“Good. So tonight you’re not making decisions on how I spend my time. I am making the decisions. Is that still okay with you?”

He lowers his head but nods. 

“Need to hear you.” 

“It’s okay with me.” 

“Good boy.” 

You reach for the lube that also remains conveniently organized within your shower because the two of you are nothing if not organized. You lean back just enough to slide your hand in-between you and wrap your fingers around the head. The world gets a little quieter and his hands find their way to your hips, eyes scrunched closed. 

“Look at me.” 

His cheeks are blotchy which could be the shower or could be his body’s natural insistence on betraying him in times of anything remotely intimitate. You reach to cradle the swell of his balls massaging gently at the skin. His face lights up at the contact. Bodily reactions it is. 

“I love you. I’ll love you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. No matter what happens at work. Just let me show you that.” 

The swollen head peaks out of your fist the more you work him over and Robby starts to make the kind of sounds you can get behind. Broken whimpers, shuddering breaths (the good kind), and your name whenever you get the combination of stroke and tug just right. The best part is when he digs his teeth into your shoulder to try and silence himself as if that’s an option. 

“Uh uhh. I need to hear you. Please? I wanna listen to you come apart for me.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Not this time. Just lil’ ole me.” You grin. 

Was there science to suggest an orgasm immediately after a panic attack was clinically proven to return one to homeostasis? Who knows, you were too busy making your boyfriend cum. 

“Please, I–I’m close.” 

You feel a puff of breath against your neck as he ruts his hips trying to get closer to your hand. You couldn’t help but notice how good pleasure looked on Robby. The smile lines tightening in the corner of his eyes. And the way his cheeks puff when he’s struggling to keep himself whole, when all you want is the opposite. Want to make him splinter in his release. It’s fucking gorgeous if you did say so yourself. 

You let go of his balls and dipped backwards towards his perineum thankful to be with a man secure enough if his sexuality to make space for exploration. You place your thumb against the space there, rubbing with increasing pressure while you pump at the head. His arms shoot out to ground himself against the wall and you smile as you watch him tip delightfully over the edge. 

His orgasm comes just as quickly, the last of the panic washing out of him finally until he’s sobbing for a new reason all together.

“Beautiful, you know that? You’re fucking beautiful to me.” You assure him

The water washes away the remnants of the session and it gives you the space to kiss him softly for the first time tonight. His breaths are finally even and his heartbeat calm. It’s all you really wanted since you walked through the door. 

There’s fluffy towels on wet shoulder blades and forehead kisses in the hallway. You ease him back against your bed and he lets you take a moment to stare at him unabashedly at him boneless and sated against your sheets. 

There’s much to say, hopefully some healing to do. But tonight this is enough. Just the two of you here together sharing in each other’s comfort. 

“Thank you.” He mumbles against your chest all wrapped up tight in your arms. 

It's both a protection thing in making him feel surrounded by warmth and affection and all things good. It's also a bit of reinforcements so you know he won't go padding around the house working himself up again. Not your first time at the rodeo.

“You’re welcome. Go to sleep. We can figure it out tomorrow. Together.” 

“M’kay”

The End.

[monotonesmile]

Toleration

[Damian Wayne X GN!Reader]

[Word Count: 735]

[Warnings: N/A]

[Fic Genre: technically fluff?]

[Notes: all of these things just come from my own mind, randomness spawning. Enjoy. Posting this early because I’m doing things today and will be busy.]

[Premise: Reader and Damian are lost in a forest while on a mission, both are vigilantes, it’s been a long day and night is falling. They tolerate each other at best.]

———————————————————————

“Damian! Put me down!” They huff, squirming in his arms as he hooks his arms around their back and under their knees, holding them up as he continues to walk. “I can walk on my own two feet, you brute!” They frown as they look up at him, face filled with annoyance at him even carrying him.

“Don’t be slow and maybe I won't carry you, wannabe.” Damian grunts, adjusting them in his arms as he ducks under a tree branch, walking through the dense forest that they had been trapped in. “And if you'd stop tripping over roots, maybe then I’d let you walk on your own.” His words were unfortunately true, they were tripping over roots and rocks unlike Damian who seemed to completely avoid them all together.

They huff, crossing their arms as they begrudgingly allow him to carry them through the thick foliage and leaves of the forest of pine, grumbling all the way about him calling them a “wannabe”, much to Damian’s annoyance. His eyes twitch as he has to listen to their continued huffing and puffing, trying to focus on finding a clearing or some sort of landmark to find out where their location is so he can hopefully call for extraction.

“Do you ever shut up?” Damian sighs after walking for only a few minutes, starting to rethink his choice in carrying them because they would not stop stumbling over roots.

“How rude.” They roll their eyes, poking his cheek, causing a slight snarl to come from Robin as he glared at them through his domino mask. “No, no I do not for your information.”

“Of course not…what was I expecting from you.” Damian groans under his breath, head tilting back, met by the sight of the forest treetops above them, it almost feels like a cage with how he can’t see the sky past the leaves. The leaves crunch under his feet with every step he takes before he looks forward again, eyes following the shadows subconsciously, hoping for a glimpse of civilization or a clearing, anything but more forest.

Silence passed over them, the sounds of the forest filling the void of their voices, he could feel them growing heavy in his arms as their eyelids drooped slightly. Damian says nothing, letting them rest in his arms as he changes his objective to trying to find shelter, he may not be able to see the sun but he can tell that the sky is darkening and staying out in the forest at night doesn’t seem like a smart move.

It took a few minutes for him to find something he viewed as suitable, walking up a cave, he went to check to make sure it wasn’t occupied, setting them down by a tree as their breathing was even, having dozed off while he was searching for shelter. He peeked around the corner, checking the interior of the cave, luckily finding it empty and rather small, essentially a hole in a rock, but it’ll do for the night. Damian shuffles back over to where they were resting, they had stirred while he was away, sleepily glaring at them when he returned to their side.

“You…left me.” They grumble, their voice riddled with sleep and disgruntlement, their lips pursed as they scowl while he wordlessly lifts them back into his arms, staring at their face with a deadpan expression,

“I was checking a cave for security so we can sleep through the night.” Damian carries them over to the cave, crouching down when he enters, sitting down on the cold rocky ground, setting them in his lap without hesitation or question. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.” He spoke in such a way that he wasn’t asking them to sleep, he was telling them, not giving them the choice of taking the first watch.

They cross their arms, begrudgingly laying their head against his chest, face squished against the front of his suit as he wrapped his cape around them to keep them both warm, he watches as their eyes shut once again, their breathing evening out as they eventually dozed off, leaving Damian to watch the outside of the cave, green eyes peering out into the darkness ahead, his hold on them subconsciously tightening any time he hears a creak of the trees or a snap of a branch, making the internal decision to protect them until they escape.

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[Requests!] + [Masterlist!]

[strawbunni-shortcake]

SPF46 (Increased Sensitivity) | Rosquez | 4.4k | read on AO3

Another late prompt fill for RPF Summer Camp! This time it's week three's sunburn and week four's size kink. Thank you so much to all the lovely people who helped me write this thing, I couldn't have done it without you! This fic also features a brief mention of muffing, which if you've never heard about before then I suggest checking out Fucking Trans Women by Mira Bellwether, it's an awesome zine by a trans woman for trans women and the people they fuck.

Vale hisses as Marc gently touches the hot red skin that stretches up her back and across her shoulders. She prays that he doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t want to sit through another lecture about her health when she can feel a headache from the sun forming behind her eyes.

It’s just that she’s still not used to burning instead of tanning. Despite it definitely being on the list of side effects her doctor had told her about when she started taking the new medication, and Marc telling her again when he read over the little pamphlet she had immediately thrown in the trash. At the time, she had told him it didn’t matter to her and that having to get a spray tan instead of lying on a beach for a few days every two months was a small sacrifice in comparison.

Increased sensitivity was a mild way of putting it. 

She had been excited to spend the afternoon lying around, showing off how well she filled out the cups of the bikini she had bought last summer. Vale had put on some of the stuff they had boxes of lying around because of Marc’s sponsorship in the morning. Then she had forgotten about reapplying it somewhere between convincing Marc that he should come and do his post-workout stretches outside and joining him to cool off in the pool. 

Marc had noticed that she had started to burn before she did when the hand he was using to hold her against him in the water left behind bloodless white marks on her skin. 

Vale almost regrets it. Knows she definitely will the next morning when everything is thigh and peeling. But the smooth slide of Marc’s big hands against her back as he rubs aloe onto her sun-burnt skin is a nice consolation prize. 

She’s facing away from him, his naked thigh bracketing her’s as he works methodically at applying the gel all over her back. Vale can feel the water slowly soaking into the couch cushions from her shorts. They’re clinging to her and she can see as much as feel herself become blood-flushed as Marc’s hands skim over her ribs. 

“All done.” 

Marc shifts like he’s going to stand up, and she considers making a joke about how he’s leaving her in the wet spot. But Vale doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want Marc to leave her alone while she’s as hard as she gets these days.

“I think you missed a spot.” 

Vale lifts her hair to bare the back of her neck. Her curls are thick between her fingers like she’s 20 years younger. She hopes he understands what she wants without making her ask. Will know just from the sight of the thin ties that hold her top and how they beg to be undone. 

“I don’t see anything.” His voice is light and indulgent, and the smile in his voice is audible.

Marc drags a single calloused fingertip down her spine, pulling back when he snags against the knotted ties holding her top on. It pulls a low hissing breath from her, the sudden shock of sensation along her back walking the knife's edge between sensual and painful. 

“Maybe here?” He places his hand low on her belly, his crooked pinkie dipping low enough to brush the waistband of her board shorts. “Or is it higher?”

Vale gasps before he even touches her anticipating the aching almost overwhelming feeling of having her tits played with. She arches her back a little, pushing her chest up, putting herself on display. Vale worked hard for her tits and she wants them to be appreciated. It’s almost a disappointment when Marc stops at the last moment, letting his hands rest on her ribs, his fingers framing her chest instead. 

“Higher,” it comes out strangled, a different kind of high-pitched.

Marc leans in close enough that she can feel his breath against the aloe drying on her neck. It sends a shiver across Vale’s skin, and if he moved his fingers a few centimetres up he could feel how her nipples were pebbled under the half-damp fabric of her bikini. Marc being so close but not touching her prickles at the place in Vale’s brain that tells her when she’s being stalked on track or watched by a camera lens just outside her field of vision, almost a physical presence within her. 

“This high?” His hands are on her shoulders, pulling Vale close against his chest, “or maybe here?” 

Marc’s big mouth is gentle against the pink skin as he trails kisses up her neck, nipping at her ear before pulling back again. It’s not what she wants, and he knows it. He is playing with her. It’s a new game, one they never played the first time around. 

Vale still isn’t used to letting Marc decide, giving up control. She had spent so much of her life with an iron grip on everything and everyone around her, not able to trust herself with what she wanted. Knowing that she can trust Marc with herself and putting it into practice still feels very different. Learning how both of them have changed during the time in between then and now, even when sometimes it feels like they’ve never been apart, it’s still an adjustment. 

The game Marc wants to play might be new, but Vale is a quick study when it comes to getting what she wants.

“Ahh! Please, Marc,” She whines.

Voice training is a wonderful thing that she mainly uses for imitating the squeaky needy tone girls’ use in porn that makes them sound like pathetic and horny birds left out in the rain. Marc hides his in her neck as he snickers, and maybe she is laying it on a bit thick. 

“Please, please, daddy I-”

He’s laughing properly now. Cackling with his whole body so that Vale can feel it shake through both of them. Both of them remembering how she had reacted the first time Marc had tried out that title in bed without warning that she refuses to let him forget.

“Stop,” Marc struggles to breathe through the laughter, “Stop, okay. I said I was sorry.”

Vale can still feel him smiling against her neck, and she tips her head back against him so he can see the self-satisfied grin on her face in response. 

Marc rolls his eyes at Vale, “You’re awful,” He tells her, but he’s finally starting to move towards what she wants. 

Marc keeps his hands soft as he finally gets his hands on her tits. Vale thinks he’s still a little bit scared from the first time he had touched budding tits and how she had screamed when he sucked a nipple into his mouth as forcefully as she used to do to him. She’s still more sensitive now. Even as the growing pains receded the new found connection between her tits and her clit remained. 

Cupping her from below as he thumbs her nipples through her bikini top. Vale puts her hands over his as she pushes her chest up into his hands, letting him know that he can touch her properly. Marc responds with a pinch that makes Vale gasp from the pain and her clit twitch in her shorts. She fumbles for the ties of her top, wanting to feel his hands on her skin properly. 

It takes a bit of work. Now that he's got his hands on her, Marc is reluctant to let go of her again, but Vale manages to undo the bow at the back of her neck by herself. 

As soon as the cups of her bathing suit fall, Marc’s hands are on her again, his calloused fingers work over her nipples as he resumes mouthing at her neck in a way Vale knows will leave her with another set of marks to worry about tomorrow. Finally free of her top Vale sighs, letting herself lean back into Marc’s chest, and immediately regrets it. The burn on her back prickles sharply at the contact, and leaves her gasping in a very different kind of pain.

Marc lets go of her immediately, hands hovering over her breasts, awkwardly worried that he was the source of the pain. Vale probably isn’t helping as she’s curled forward with her shoulders up around her ears. The feeling of the tacky aloe sticking their skin together before being pulled apart is one she never wants to experience again. It had burned like salt in an open wound.

“It’s fine,” Even though it’s not. Marc’s worry feels like a physical force as he hovers, hypocrite.

“We can stop, and-”

There’s nothing she wants less than to stop. Instead, Vale crawls a little up the couch, pulling the tie at her back undone as she goes before flopping down. 

She has to bite back a hiss. The weave of the fabric feels rough against the tender skin on her back, but it’s not the same hot shock of Marc’s chest against her sunburn, and it settles quickly into something dull and manageable. It helps that Marc is quick to follow her, kissing his way back up to her tits to soothe her pain. 

Any lingering ache from her sunburn quickly disappears under his mouth as he licks a hot stripe across one nipple before switching to the other. His fingers rolling the pebbled tip before squeezing gently. He switches again, and the warm early summer air feels frigid on her skin once his mouth leaves her.

She’s happy to lay there and let him work her over, Marc’s cock is thick and hot where it’s pressed against her a sign that he is too. 

The thrum of arousal in her veins is back, and she can feel herself react to him playing with her tits. She was already struggling with getting hard, and starting estrogen had killed any dreams of things being exactly the same as before. Her shorts are still damp enough to hide the wet patch forming, but she can feel it. How the fabric rubbing against her as Marc grinds against her hip has taken on a different, smoother quality.

She rewards him by raking her nails down his back, pulling a moan from him that she feels against her skin more than hears. Marc pays her back by sucking a hickie on her chest, nipping at the sensitive skin before he lets her pull him away and into a kiss.

When he comes, he comes happily. Biting at her bottom lip, asking for access. She opens up for him. Marc licks into her mouth, eager and a little bit sloppy with want. 

Vale is the one to break the kiss too. Leaving her own mark high on his neck in retaliation before pulling back to look at him. She rubs a thumb across his cheek, tracing the shadows under his eyes. The sun catches the glittery stars and moons painted on the butter yellow background of her nails as she does, proof that they’ve both changed in the interim.

“What are you thinking about?”

“What lies are you going to tell everyone about how you got this,” She scrapes her nail over his neck to watch him shiver.

“Maybe I’ll tell them the truth, that a cougar got her teeth into me.”

Marc dips down, swallowing her laughter with a kiss, and Vale forgets about teasing him anymore as he grinds their hips together. She wants to feel him against her without the fabric barrier between them. But when Vale tries to wiggle out of her shorts, they get stuck around her hips, refusing to move anymore.

Vale wants to whine when Marc breaks the kiss to help her. But it takes both of them struggling together to peel her shorts off. She has to briefly contort herself into a position she wouldn’t have been flexible enough to hold before Marc had cajoled her into trying his yoga routine. When Vale lifts her hips to help Marc slide them off, she feels like the half-dry aloe on her back will leave her stuck to the fabric forever. And then finally they’re off. They make a wet smack when Marc drops them to the floor.

Vale locks her ankles behind his back, pulling him in closer. Only stopping when Marc is firmly in the cradle of her thighs. It destabilizes Marc enough that it forces him to pitch forward and catch himself on one hand or crush her. They're pressed together from hip to shoulder. He’s so hot against her cooler skin, hard where she's soft now. When she coaxes him into leaning down to kiss her Vale can't help the shiver that rolls through her as Marc’s dick rubs up against her. 

He’s big, he’s always been big. Long and thick, it was the kind of dick you see in porn. Obscene and only good for making girls cry as it splits them open. She's always known Marc to be waxed clean, even his fat balls and the tight furl of his hole were hairless. He was shameless about having everything on display. 

The first time she had seen his dick Vale had mocked him for it calling it useless. Even back when she could still get hard every time, the difference between them was visible. Vale was 16 cm, perfectly average, checked against an old school ruler and then rechecked several times with all the anxiety of a teenager worried about measuring up. When she had sized up Marc against her hand, wanting to see how many of her fingers it took to approximate his size, the sight of three of her fingers loosely pushed together had lingered long after she had left him well fucked and happily sleeping off his win in bed.

The thought sat within Vale all the way back home, stuck in her throat and tight in her chest. It wasn't until she was hidden away from the rest of the world with several locked doors and a few kilometers of hilly untilled land between her and the nearest person, an old race playing loudly on the tv at the end of her bed and the hair dryer plugged into the bedside outlet she let herself explore it. 

For all the noise outside the ensuite door, the sound of her breath, a little too ragged for a professional athlete, felt expansive in the relative quiet as she lay in the empty bathtub staring up at the ceiling. She hasn't brought lube, and had planned to use spit, half hoping that it might stop her prematurely. But there was already a tube perched on the edge of the tub from the last time she had jerked off in here. 

She hadn’t been fucked in years. Wouldn’t let herself be touched there if anyone was even brave enough to ask.

When Marc told her that usually he used two fingers instead of her suggested three Vale had laughed at the idea of anyone letting him fuck them with it. With three of her own fingers not thrusting just holding her open Vale had been harder than maybe she'd ever been in her life, leaking against her belly untouched like it wouldn't count if she didn't cum.

Vale had thought about how when she had fucked Marc he had been long enough that when she bottomed out the head of his dick would catch against her bellybutton and she was barely two knuckles deep, her hips has bucked instinctively. The sudden press of her crooked pinkie against the slick rim of her hole and the feeling of her body giving way to it had been enough to push her over the edge. 

Marc runs a finger along the seam of her ass jolting Vale back to the present. 

All he finds is just the normal dampness of skin after swimming. He still presses down, feeling how she gives way under him. Unlike Marc who stays ready and open for hours Vale needs to be opened up properly each time, and, she reminds him with a sharp squeeze of her knees against Marc's side that she wants to be fucked now . 

He tries to pull away, and she refuses to let him go.

“Vale,” Marc tries again, “Amor meu, I’m not fucking you dry.” 

She digs in harder.

“Use this,” Vale tosses him the aloe, which had rolled out from between the couch cushions at some point and ended up next to her head.

“That's not--it's water-based.” He reasons, but she’s still not giving in.

Vale was a bit of a snob about what kind of lube they used. “Silicon or nothing,” she had told Marc when he had tried to convince her to sneak off with him for a spit-slicked quickie after a victory he hadn’t thought he could win. At 46 she was too old to compromise about her comfort, besides she loved how it felt when Marc finally fucked into her where she was soaking wet, soft and open for him.

“Here,” Vale pulled one long leg back and swung it over his shoulder and pressed her knees together so her thighs touched, “You can fuck me here.” 

“Fuck.”

Her response of “that’s the idea” gets lost as Marc leans down to kiss her, licking into her mouth with newfound desperation. Vale's legs are pressed to her chest between them in a modified mating press and she can feel Marc's cock twitch where it's pressed against the shallow valley of her ass as she moans into his mouth. Marc fumbles to get his hand between them, but there's no space. When Marc pulls away to put more aloe on his hand, Vale leaves eight neat half-moon indents on his back.

She thinks that the pain she had endured after Marc had finally convinced her to let him wax her too might actually be worth it as she feels the smooth slide of Marc's wet fingers between her hairless thighs slicking the way for his cock. It feels different from when he usually preps her. The sensation is duller, but only just. She shivers as she feels the faint press of Marc’s fingers against her balls before he retreats completely. 

“Marc, please.” Vale is bordering on desperate now. 

“I don’t know, are you ready for me?” He rubs a knuckle against her taint that has her bucking against him.

Vale’s skin is like a live wire after being played with for so long, Her tits ache with the phantom feeling of his mouth and hands. She is so wet, a little pool has formed under the head of her dick like she's already cum. And every pass of Marc’s callused hands over her skin winds her even tighter. 

“I’m ready. Please, I’m so wet.” 

Marc must agree because he’s already fisting his cock and spreading the rest of their makeshift lube over his length. His hips twitch up, trying to follow his hand when he finally lets go, and Vale can see he’s already so hard the head is a gradient of purples and reds. She's not the only one whose wants are quickly becoming needs. 

Marc drags his cock up along the back of her legs through the excess lube that the heat of her body made run down her taint and over her hole. 

Vale holds her breath as he does, feeling light headed as the head of his dick presses against her hole. Marc doesn’t linger though, too eager to fuck into where she was wet and warm for him to keep teasing her. The first press of Marc’s cock against her has him bottoming out immediately. The fat of her thighs shiny with lube provide no serious resistance and his sharp hips slam into her ass with a sharp sound that surprises them both. 

Marc’s hips stutter against her, momentarily lost in chasing the feeling while Vale chokes on a gasp.

She hadn’t expected it to feel so good. 

There’s no slight discomfort as she adjusts to Marc’s size splitting her open, but when she flexes her thighs Vale can feel his length between them, solid and holding her open in an entirely different way. Marc must realize that too, because he doesn’t waste any time pulling out just to fuck back into her.

His hands are on her hips, holding her in place while he thrusts into her. Marc is just trying to limit any additional damage to the burn developing on her back, but Vale wants more, and it spurs her on in trying to meet his thrusts halfway. 

Every time he grids against her on the down stroke Vale can feel the head of his dick against the underside of her balls teasing at the hidden ring just beneath it. She has one hand clawed onto her knees, keeping her legs together, and the other tangled in Marc’s hair. Vale is strung so tight she can’t bear to let go or she would be pushing them back in and fucking herself trying to chase the arousal pooling in her belly to its peak. 

“Vale,” Marc chants her name as he thrusts into her, his smooth rhythm starting to falter. 

It’s so good and still not enough. 

She wants to be there with him, on the knife’s edge before cumming. Instead, her arousal keeps building. Her legs are trapped at Marc’s side, robbing her of even the faint pressure of grinding against her own thighs. Vale is leaking so much, every thrust focing a little more out of her the same way Marc cums when she fucks him.

His angle changes and it punches a breathy gasp out of her as he slides alongside the length of her instead of teasing at her cunts. 

“Vale, look.” His hips are pressed flush to her ass, still twitching. Marc repeats himself again staring at where his cock is buried between her thighs. She can feel the faint tremble of his core as he tries to keep still. 

She looks. 

Then, just as quickly, looks away. 

The sight stays with her when she does, all Vale can see behind her eyes is how his cock looked next to her’s. Laid out side by side, she looks so small in comparison. Whatever wasn’t covered by her thighs was still bigger than her entire length. She decides immediately, it’s not fair that Marc knows about the parts of herself she’s hidden for so long, she had thought they disappeared.

“You're taking me so well.” 

It's a dumb line, the kind best ignored, except for how it has Vale's core tightening as she clenches down around him. The feeling of cumming without touching her clit is a full body one. Vale can feel it in her nipples still pebbled in arousal, and how she can't feel her fingers or toes. It rolls through her in waves that are becoming more familiar than not. 

The first clumsy roll of his fingers over her pulls her back. Vale is sure she's still shaking as Marc carefully strokes her foreskin over the head of her clit mostly in time with his trusts. Her nails bite into her own skin as he keeps working her oversensitive clit. They've never done this before, and she doesn't even know if she can come again. 

“Your clit,” At least he sounds just as winded as she feels, “You’re so wet Vale.”

She doesn't have a choice between Marc's cock thrusting against her while his hand is still on her dick it's too much. The first one had been unexpected, but this one he pulls from her. Vale’s back arches off the couch pushing back into Marc, she can feel her clit kicking weakly in his hand as she cums again. 

Above her, Marc curses as she tightens around him one more time before collapsing back onto the couch. Her dick pulsing in time with the aftershock completely spent as he chases his own orgasm. He only manages a handful of thrusts more before he’s cumming between her thighs. One stray shot makes it as far as her collarbone as Marc jerks himself over her until Vale’s belly is covered in his cum and the tiny amount that she had managed has disappeared completely under it. 

Vale feels exhausted when she finally lets her legs drop back to the sofa. Her knees are still hooked around Marc’s side, and her balls are trapped between her thighs, but Vale doesn’t think she’ll move ever again. 

At least until Marc immediately tries to collapse on top of her, always wanting to be as close to her as possible afterward. She shrikes and tries to shove him off of her while he laughs. 

After some begging, Vale allows the cuddling, but only if he cleans her up first. It takes a failed attempt to use her shorts, which smears the mess on her stomach around, before he finally concedes and disappears back into the house for a towel. Vale watches as Marc bends down by the pool to wet a corner of the bath towel he had found. The naked curve of his ass, the strong line of his shoulders, but her eyes keep coming back to the pink scars that ring his right arm. He returns to her with the towel triumphant, running the cool, wet cloth over her belly before drying her off again. 

It's not perfect, and they'll have to shower soon, but she finally opens her arms to him. 

It takes them a minute to get situated, but soon Marc’s head is resting on her chest as she combs her nails through his curls while he plays with her necklace, the charms a golden sun and silver 93, catching the light and throwing little pools of light across his face. 

Marc drops the necklace tracing his finger over her chest, connecting the bruises he sucked into her skin or maybe drawing track maps, she's too tired to follow. She knows it will fuck her over tonight but she could happily fall asleep here right now. 

“Vale.”

“Mmmh?” 

“I think you got burned here, too.” He taps her chest.

Vale looks down, and there’s a crisp 93 between her breasts surrounded by rosy pink skin. She groans, screwing the heel of her palm into her eyes. It's barely 24 degrees out. 

“I'm moving back to London,” She tells him, “For real this time.” 

Marc just laughs at her misery as he reaches down to get the aloe again.

[straykidsnerd255]

I really like the request you made for your followers (as usual your results never disappoint) so, thats why...~ I also want to make a request to give to you. Saja boys x sexy aesthetic influencer fem s/o ( separately ) Like Fem s/o has an aura that attracts the attention of Saja Boys please....

You are so sweet! Hope you enjoy these little drabbles!! <3

Jinu:

He has been following your aesthetic foody tour instagram and youtube channel for a year. You would go all over the world eating food or treats from different places in the world. Jinu would always check his phone when a notification went off and it was something that you had posted either a new photo or a new video. A few years passed and here Jinu was, waking up to you laying in the same bed as him, your fingers intertwined. He was happy. He remembered the day you both met and immediately hit it off. Jinu can’t help but move closer to you, pressing the back of your hand to his lips, a smile forming on his lips when you move closer to him. “My love, we need to get up. You have a new video you need to post and I have a new song to practice” Jinu whispered, watching you groan and move closer to him, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t wanna.” You mumbled making Jinu chuckle. “Come on love. If you get your video posted, I will let you come with me to practice and watch.” Jinu watched in amusement as you popped up out of the bed and rushed to the closet to get ready. Jinu laughed loudly from the bed as he too got up to get ready.

Abby Saja:

Now, Abby Saja would rather be in the gym exercising, gotta keep his muscles defined and strong. However, when it comes to you wanting to get your instagram updated with your aesthetic flower photo taking, he could never say no to you. He would follow you no matter where you went, making sure that you were protected or that no one would approach you thinking you were single. You giggled happily when the field of flowers appeared out your side of the car window. Abby Saja smiled as he watched your excitement through the corner of his eye. Pulling into the parking lot, you immediately rushed from the car and towards the flowers immediately taking photos, playing with the filters and getting annoyed when some of the photos that were actually really beautiful were too blurry. You immediately relaxed when Abby Saja’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked at your phone screen. “I think the blurry flower aesthetic seems really cool.” He said, watching your fingers dance over the photo, fixing a few things before moving over to instagram and posting it. “You are right Abby Saja. It does look really cool.” You said, watching your boyfriend smile and nuzzle into your neck, a smile on his face.

Mystery Saja: 

Mans is always watching your youtube videos. Doesn’t matter if he is in the middle of practice or in the process of trying to figure out how to defeat the huntrix, he has your latest youtube video pulled up and notes surrounding him. You are a photographer and Mystery Saja has been in love with every photo you have taken. Mainly the photos are of you holding something out in front of you with the background blurred. You would sit and talk about how you got that photo, and give instructions to those who ask for them. Mystery even started taking pictures just to come back home to you with the brightest smile on his face as he waves his photos like a child waves a new toy they had just got. You smiled, taking the photos and looking over them, your smile growing bigger and bigger the more you look through his photos. Mystery asking you to use his photos in your next youtube video made your heart swell with so much love and pride that you couldn’t deny him. Your next video included his photos and you proudly saying your boyfriend took these pictures making Mystery blush a deep red.

Romance Saja:

He is all about the aesthetic couple photos he finds on pinterest. He will run up to you when you are currently struggling with a video you need to present to your college photography class and show you the pictures he found, asking if you both can copy the picture. You immediately and excitedly nod your head. This could be your final project for your class. You and Romance Saja walk around the city to find the perfect spot. After searching for hours, you both come across a beautiful looking forest entrance. You had handed Romance Saja your camera, knowing how careful he was with those kinds of things. You took his hand and began leading him forward, oblivious to the soft smile on his face. He lifted the camera, messed with the settings to find one he liked and snapped the photo, catching you holding his hand and leading him forward. You turned towards him right as he put the camera down, fanning innocents before ushering you to continue forward. You smiled before rolling your eyes playfully and continued walking forward. When looking through all the photos, you found the one he took smiled softly to yourself as your heart filled with warmth.

Baby Saja:

He never really paid attention to what you posted on Instagram but, when he decided to take a look at what you have posted, his heart started pounding wildly in his chest. You had been posting aesthetic photos and videos of his rapping and dancing, showing off just how amazing he was in your eyes. He immediately followed your Instagram and had notifications on so that when you posted something new, he could see it. Baby Saja never felt that kind of love before and when he started dating you, he thought you would grow tired of him and leave him just like everyone seemed to do but when you immediately started taking photos and videos of him, Baby Saja knew that you were never leaving his side and that made him smile. A few hours into dance practice, Baby Saja’s phone went off with a notification. He practically dived for his bag and grabbed his phone out, pressing the notification button and found a photo you had taken of him when you both went out on a date last night. He smiled softly as he liked the photo, commented on it, and placed it back in his bag so he could finish up the last of his practice. A smile permanently etched into his face just thinking about you.

[kingmlem]

Hi everyone! I'm here with part two of the untitled/unfinished angsty fic I posted last week. You can find part 1 here if you want to go read that before this. I don't know when I'll get around to posting part 3, because it's still in the outline stage (looks at open document with the word 'reconciliation?' written in comic sans) but it's somewhere in the list after 3hrs and the others. Anyway, here's the rough draft of part two (she was written immediately after the first part, I just never posted her.) I hurt you last time, I'll put a band-aid on it this time, enjoy! 🧑🏻‍🚒🧑🏻‍🚒

One of the main differences between First Presbyterian and Good Samaritan was the Jello schedule, and how you could bribe the nurses to 'lose' an extra cup of Strawberry Jello on your tray at Good Sam.

First Pres's resident Red Jello© was cherry, which always reminded him of the time he did Jello shots off of some girl at some college party- the time he puked because of her excess use of body glitter. Jello shots, not great coming back up. The memory always made him shiver, and Tuesday's Red Jello© at First Pres was usually casually pushed aside with a harried glance. If Eddie snickered, because he had in fact been told about the Jello Shot-Body Glitter fiasco, then that was just his lot.

Luckily, (not really but hey, at least he was alive and not in a coma this time) Sheila had slipped an extra cup of green Jello onto his tray, an equal exchange for the chocolate bar he'd 'accidentally' left out.

"Everything's looking pretty good, the swelling's decreased significantly," The doctor offered, swiping through a few pages on that tablet in her hands before looking up with a smile. "You should be out of here early next week."

"Next week?" His skin itched, stuck here for three days already. At least Eddie was next door, and Sheila didn't mind wheeling him back and forth between the two rooms too much, so he wasn't completely stir-crazy yet.

"Unfortunately, you're not completely out of the woods yet, Buck. We're still monitoring the clotting situation, given your history. Ideally, I'd like to see the swelling reduce further before sending you home." Dr. Daria looked once again at her screen, nodding once in her assessment before jotting something down. "Precautionary measures, that's all."

"Right," Buck sighed, resigning himself to his bed-ridden fate. He could already hear the lecture from Maddie if he tried to check out AMA, and now she had Jee to really back up the tear-filled scolding. He still had Eddie to bother, now that he was mainly recovering from surgery, and Sheila was always more than happy to make sure the two (hot- the nurse's station tittered) firefighters were okay.

It wasn't exactly a hardship to stay, it just gave him too much time to think, which wasn't... great, at the moment. Too many questions, too many thoughts about being trapped, about his thoughts spiraling... about how he was probably (definitely,) not as over his last relationship as he 'should' be.

Every time he thought of the moment before he'd crashed- the fear in Tommy's eyes that pierced right through him- it sent him further down the rabbit hole. Nothing like reliving the moment, over and over and over again.

"You could try to talk to him?" Eddie offered, snatching his own Jello cup back when Buck tried to sneak it off his tray (rude, Eddie knew green was a top tier flavor in Buck's book.)

"And say what? 'Hey, man, I know it's been a few months, and I know we haven't actually spoken, but somehow I've kind of fallen harder for you than before?'"

"Sounds pretty good to me-stop playing with my food, man." Eddie snipped, swatting at Buck's hand as he poked at a suspicious chunk of something in the pasta salad. A stubborn part of him wanted nothing more than to stick it out, adamant that it wasn't actually his fault in the first place. He wasn't the one who ran this time. Tommy did.

"So, continue being idiots, then. I don't know what to tell you." Buck huffed, eyes rolling at the wholly unhelpful answer.

He picked at a green olive slice, poking the red pimento piece farther down into the noodles below, fully ignoring Eddie's stare. He could be eating green fucking Jello- this was just karma.

Really.

Totally had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was probably right, and talking probably wouldn't hurt... Unless of course Tommy had moved on in those three months. Found himself some other guy-

"Stop." Eddie's voice cuts his spiral short, eyes never once leaving Buck's face. "Jesus, I can see you overthinking this. Get out of your head and talk to him. Hell, yell at him if it'll make you feel better. It'd probably make him feel better." The last part was huffed under Eddie's breath, not really meant to be heard, but he was tired of watching Buck vandalize his (admittedly shitty quality) lunch. At least at First Pres he could get revenge, watch Buck turn practically green at the mere smell of the Cherry Jello. Quid pro quo.

"What- what's that even supposed to mean?"

Because what was that supposed to mean?

The thought of what it could mean sent a dangerous little spark though Buck's chest, a sparkle of what he's been trying to squash since Tommy walked out.

"Just- please, just talk to him, or I'm calling Donato, because apparently she's the only one who can talk sense into either of you." Eddie bat at his hand once again, saving the semi-edible vegetables from a fate similar to the mangled pasta salad. "I'm stealing your rice pudding, asshole."

"You wouldn't dare," Buck pulled his hand back and away, straightening too quick and wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his back. Which threat the comment was directed toward, Buck wasn't sure, both maybe. He really didn't need another Donato dressing down on top of all of this, and Eddie could pry Good Samaritan's rice pudding from his cold dead hands.

"I know where you sleep, Buckley. Now get out of here and let me enjoy Top Gun before Chris gets here." Buck flipped him off before scooting the wheelchair away from the bed, glaring at Eddie when he heard the familiar ping of his call button being rung.

"I can manag-"

"You boys all set," Sheila chimed, knocking once on the door jam as she poked her head in. Buck watched her expression change, her eyebrow raising as she clocked his hands on the wheels, his back hunched slightly (she'd ratted him out to Daria once, he knew she'd do it again.) He flinched when she clicked her tongue, shooting a glare at Eddie's poorly covered cough-chuckle. He didn't fight it when Sheila grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, flipping Eddie off one last time as she wheeled him back out of the room and into his own.

"You are just bound and determined to stay here, aren't you?" Buck smiled as charmingly as he could, one of his boyish grins that used to get him everywhere with the women he flirted with, huffing when the nurse only crossed her arms over her chest.

"I would miss your smiling face too much," Buck wheedled, moving himself into the bed with a wince. Sheila scoffed as she moved around the room, checking the tablet left on the table at the end of his bed.

"I'll be sure to tell Daria that's the reason you're still swelling." She was definitely going to rat him out again.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ Get out!

Pairings: Lads men x afab!reader

Summary: Your 4 year old child, is fighting with their dad over you. part 2

If you enjoyed this, check this post out too!

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ sylus

The sun had barely crept over the horizon when a small, warm weight landed on your stomach. You let out a soft groan, blinking sleep from your eyes as a tiny giggle filled the air.

“Mama! Wake up!”

A little girl with curly white hair and big red eyes beamed down at you, her chubby cheeks flushed with excitement. Your daughter, Elena, was already full of energy despite the early hour.

You reached out, gently tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Sweetheart, it’s too early… come cuddle with us instead.” You said as you hugged your daughter to your chest and laid on your side, using her like a small warm plushie to hold

Elena pouted, but before she could argue, a deep, gravelly voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, little one,” Sylus drawled from behind you, his arm tightening possessively around your waist. “I believe your mother is mine in the mornings.”

Elena huffed, climbing over you to plant herself between the two of you, effectively shoving Sylus away. “No! Mama is mine today.”

Sylus narrowed his dark red eyes, feigning insult. “Oh? And what am I supposed to do, hmm? Spend the morning alone?” He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his white, tousled hair. “How tragic.”

You smothered a laugh as Elena folded her arms, her tiny frame full of defiance. “You have all day with Mama. It’s my turn now! Get out of bed dada”

Sylus turned to you, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Sweetheart, tell our dear daughter that monopolizing her mother isn’t allowed.”

You stretched with a soft yawn, brushing your fingers through Elena’s soft curls before placing a hand on Sylus’ chest. “Sorry, love, but she does have a point.”

Sylus let out an exaggerated groan, flopping onto his back. “Betrayed. By my own wife and child.”

Elena giggled and latched onto your arm. “Come on, Mama! Let’s go make pancakes!”

Before you could even respond, she was already tugging you out of bed. You barely had time to throw on a robe before being dragged toward the kitchen.

Sylus followed at a much slower pace, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, watching the two of you. His lips twitched in amusement as Elena enthusiastically handed you ingredients, most of which you didn’t even need.

“Flour, eggs, milk,” you listed off, cracking an egg into the bowl.

“And chocolate chips!” Elena added excitedly.

“That wasn’t part of the original plan,” you teased, ruffling her hair.

“But Mama, chocolate makes everything better,” she argued.

You sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. Chocolate it is.”

Elena cheered as you mixed the batter, and soon enough, the scent of warm pancakes filled the kitchen. You plated them neatly, setting them on the table, but before you could sit down, Sylus was already pulling you into his lap.

“Alright, little one,” he said, smirking at Elena. “I was patient. Now it’s my turn.”

Elena gasped. “No fair! You get Mama all the time!”

Sylus held you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “Exactly. Which is why I should get the first bite.”

Elena narrowed her eyes before suddenly grabbing a piece of pancake and stuffing it into your mouth. “Mama gets first bite!”

You nearly choked, laughing as Sylus sighed in mock defeat.

The morning continued like this, the two of them constantly bickering over who got more of your attention. If Sylus wrapped an arm around you, Elena would climb onto your lap. If Elena got you to braid her hair, Sylus would find a way to pull you into a slow, lingering kiss—only for Elena to dramatically cover her eyes and shout, “Eww, Papa!”

It was an endless tug-of-war, but one thing was clear: you were deeply, endlessly loved.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Caleb

The day had been long. Between running errands, cleaning up after a particularly chaotic dinner, and making sure your 4-year-old son had actually bathed instead of just splashing water everywhere, all you wanted was to crawl into bed and melt into your pillows.

But, of course, fate—or rather, the two most stubborn males in your life—had other plans.

Just as you pulled back the covers, ready to slide under the sheets, a little whirlwind of energy burst into the room. Your son, Noah, padded in with a determined expression, his favorite stuffed apple plush clutched in one arm.

“I’m sleeping with Mama tonight!” he declared, climbing onto the bed as if he owned it.

You sighed, already sensing the inevitable battle brewing.

“Noah,” you started patiently, “you have your own bed, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want my own bed,” he pouted, scooting closer. “I wanna sleep here with you.”

Before you could formulate a response, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and in walked Caleb, still in his colonel uniform, just back from the fleet, arms crossed over his broad chest. His sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on the intruder in his domain.

“Noah,” Caleb said, voice edged with authority. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Noah puffed out his little chest, glaring up at his father. “I’m sleeping with Mama.”

Caleb raised a brow. “No, you’re not. I sleep with Mama.”

“Well, not tonight.”

“Yes, tonight.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Are you two seriously about to argue over this?”

Neither of them responded. Instead, they were locked in a silent battle of wills, Caleb towering over Noah, while Noah, unafraid, jutted his chin out defiantly.

“I got here first,” Noah announced.

“I’ve been here for years,” Caleb countered, placing a knee on the bed as if preparing for battle.

Noah tightened his grip on his stuffed apple plush. “Mama likes cuddling with me more!”

“Excuse me?” Caleb scoffed. “I am a very good cuddler. The best.”

“No, you’re too big! You take up all the space!”

“I do not—”

“You do! And you snore!”

Caleb looked personally offended. “I do not snore.”

“Yes, you do,” you cut in, unable to hold back your smirk.

Caleb’s mouth fell open, betrayal clear on his face. “Sweetheart—”

“It’s true, Daddy,” Noah added smugly. “You sound like a big grumpy bear.”

Caleb scowled. “I am a big grumpy bear.”

“I don’t wanna sleep with a grumpy bear.”

“I don’t wanna sleep with a tiny bed hog.”

Noah gasped dramatically. “I am not a bed hog!”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. watching the two go on and on “Alright, enough.”

Both of them snapped their heads toward you, watching as you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“You two fight over me every single night. And honestly?” You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed. “I’m sick of it.”

Caleb and Noah blinked.

“What?” Noah asked innocently.

You grabbed two pillows from the bed, shoving one into Caleb’s hands and the other into Noah’s tiny arms.

“You two can take this argument somewhere else.” You gestured toward the door. “Both of you—out.”

Noah’s jaw dropped. “But—”

Caleb furrowed his brows. “You’re kicking me out, too?”

“Yes. Out. Both of you.”

“But Mama—”

“No buts! I am going to sleep alone, in peace, without a four-year-old climbing all over me or a six-foot colonel trying to wrap himself around me like an octopus.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Go fight over who gets the couch.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

Noah smirked. “Guess I’ll get the couch, then.”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Caleb shot back.

You sighed and physically pushed both of them toward the door. “Out.”

Noah whimpered. “Mama, wait—”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” You kissed his forehead before turning to Caleb. “And you—” You gave him a pointed glare. “Good. Night.”

Caleb exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased with the outcome. “This is mutiny.”

“Call it whatever you want, Colonel, but it’s happening.”

With that, you shut the door in their faces.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“This is your fault,” Caleb muttered.

“I still get the couch,” Noah replied smugly.

You grinned, sinking into your blissfully empty bed, enjoying the first real night of uninterrupted sleep in weeks.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ Rafayel

Life with Rafayel was never dull. Being married to one of the most renowned artists in the world came with its own set of challenges—his erratic work schedule, his bursts of inspiration at ungodly hours, and, of course, the ever-looming threat of someone discovering his biggest secret.

Rafayel wasn’t just a celebrated painter, sculptor, and occasional recluse. he was also a Lemurian—a species of deep-sea mermen that most humans believed to be myths. Lemurians were creatures of the ocean, rarely venturing into the human world.

But Rafayel had. He had chosen to leave behind the waves, to live among humans, to build a life with you. And together, you had a daughter—little Seraphina—who had inherited his everything. His attitude, his stupidly handsome face shape, his genes left nothing for yours to take root in seraphina.

And now, the two of them were bickering. Again.

You rubbed your temples, exhaling deeply. “Can you two please stop fighting over me for five minutes?”

Rafayel, ever the dramatic artist, was sprawled on the couch with a faux-wounded expression, his purple hair draped over his face. “I cannot believe this betrayal,” he murmured. “I, your devoted husband, have been abandoned.”

Seraphina, all four years of attitude and tiny hands on her hips, stood her ground. “You had Mama all day! It’s my turn!”

Rafayel gasped, looking personally offended. “Excuse me, little guppy, but I believe it is always my turn.”

Seraphina pouted, her violet eyes—exactly like her father’s—narrowing. “Mama played with me first.”

“Mama kissed me first this morning.”

“Well—Mama let me sit on their lap while we ate breakfast.”

“Mama lets me sleep in the bed next to them.”

You groaned. “Rafayel, she’s four.”

“And?” He arched a perfect brow. “She must learn that a wife’s love belongs to her husband first.”

Seraphina huffed, turning to you with pleading eyes. “Mama, tell Daddy he’s being mean.”

You sighed, knowing full well that no answer would satisfy either of them.

Rafayel rolled onto his side, reaching a hand toward you as if on his deathbed. “My love, tell our traitorous offspring that no one can replace me in your heart.”

“I am not a traitor!” Seraphina stomped a tiny foot. “Mama loves me so much! Even more than you!”

Rafayel sat up instantly. “Oh, now that’s where you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m right!”

“You wish, little one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering how your life had come to this—caught between two extremely possessive, competitive merfolk.

Seraphina suddenly latched onto your leg, wrapping herself around it like a tiny octopus. “Mine,” she declared.

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Seraphina stuck her tongue out at him.

Rafayel smirked. “Well then.” He cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

In one swift motion, he scooped Seraphina up, ignoring her protests as he carried her toward the glass doors leading to the backyard’s infinity pool—built deep enough to accommodate his real form.

Seraphina’s eyes widened. “Wait—WAIT! What are you doing?!”

Rafayel grinned mischievously. “Throwing you back into the sea where you belong, little guppy.”

“NOOO!”

You laughed, watching as Seraphina clung to her father’s arm, suddenly realizing her fight for dominance might have backfired.

“Say it,” Rafayel teased, holding her above the water. “Say I win.”

Seraphina squirmed. “Never!”

Rafayel raised a brow. “Alright then—”

“MAMA HELP!”

You folded your arms, amused. “This seems like a father-daughter matter.”

Seraphina gasped at your betrayal. “Mama, no!”

Rafayel gave you a smug look. “Oh, so now you need me, hmm?”

Seraphina groaned dramatically before finally giving in. “Fiiiiiine. You win.”

Rafayel set her back on the ground, ruffling her purple hair. “That’s my girl.”

She huffed but then immediately clung to your side again. “But Mama still loves me more.”

Rafayel scoffed. “Dream on, little guppy.”

You sighed, shaking your head. This was your life now.

[humanjarvis]

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[botanicsoul]

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

Part 2 -> Here

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

[reasonsforhope]

"A small group of activists assembled before dawn on a recent day in a South L.A. parking lot preparing to patrol the neighborhood. The gathering was not unlike what you see when police congregate in a parking lot preparing for a raid.

Only this time, the target was federal immigration agents.

The activists were from the Community Self Defense Coalition, which fights for immigrant rights. They were armed with two-way radios, bullhorns, and were trained to spot undercover vehicles from U.S Immigration and Customs Enforcement or the Department of Homeland Security.

The coalition formed in the wake of the second election of President Donald Trump and includes groups from across Los Angeles. They say their aim is to find ICE agents, alert the community to their presence using bullhorns, and drive them out of neighborhoods.

“They’re on our land. This is our territory,” said Ron Gochez of Unión del Barrio, which is part of the coalition. “Whatever they do here, they have to know they are going to meet an organized resistance.

“There is nowhere, there is no alleyway, no little corner of our city anywhere where an ICE raid can happen where we won’t know about it almost immediately,” he said.

An ICE spokesperson confirmed in a statement that agents have aborted at least one enforcement action “due to safety concerns brought on by protesters/bystanders.” The spokesperson declined to give his name “due to a heightened security risk to ICE employees.” ...

Tracking ICE

Last week, a high school history teacher, an ethnic studies instructor and a youth program leader were among the activists in South L.A. Nine people in three cars rolled into the darkened streets looking for ICE agents.

“We drive the streets of our neighborhood looking for anything suspicious,” said Gochez, a 43-year-old father and high school history teacher. "We start early in the morning because we know this is when ICE starts their operations.”

Gochez is a member of Unión del Barrio, one of the members of the coalition.

Unión del Barrio started the patrols in 2020 during a Biden Administration crackdown on unauthorized immigrants. The organization restarted the patrols over the past few weeks in response to the second Trump Administration.

On Wednesday, Gochez’s two-way radio crackled with the sound of a colleague checking in from another car on patrol.

“Copy. We are on Jefferson and Trinity. All clear,” she announced.

They looked for ICE vehicles – typically with heavily tinted windows, usually on an American made sedan or SUV, almost always with a cage in the back seat for detainees. Sometimes, the cars are parked sideways on a street in front of their target or grouped together in a grocery store parking lot.

Gochez said he and the other activists try to catch ICE agents in those lots as they gather before a raid.

“We try to catch them at that stage — that way we’re able to affect their plan and at the same time, we start alerting the community.”

When they find federal agents, they go into publicity mode.

“We go live on social media,” Gochez said. “We use our megaphone to alert the immediate community that ICE is present.”

In a recent Facebook Live post, Gochez can be seen speaking into a bullhorn across the street from where ICE agents appear to be conducting a raid.

“Everybody in this community, if you can hear me please do not come outside if you are undocumented,” he says on the video. “We have terrorists in our community.”

He implores people who are documented to come outside and support the protest.

Enforcing law vs defending community

Later, L.A. police officers confronted Gochez.

“We’re not interfering,” he told them.

“Yes you are,” responded an LAPD officer, who forced Gochez and the other protestors down the street.

The participation of city police officers appeared to violate L.A.’s sanctuary cities law, which prohibits police from cooperating or assisting ICE agents...

ICE backs off

As part of the coalition, Unión del Barrio has trained people from more than 50 other organizations to engage in similar patrols, including The National Lawyers Guild, Jewish Voice for Peace and The Peoples Struggle San Fernando Valley, according to Gochez.

It's unclear how many conduct regular patrols like Unión del Barrio does.

Gochez estimates his and other groups have intercepted ICE on about a dozen occasions. He said in some cases, ICE has backed off of a raid because of Unión del Barrio’s presence.

Cardona said ICE agents called off the raid when they were called out at the Target. “That one day, we knew we prevented several people from being detained and deported, their lives being uprooted.” ...

Union del Barrio urges people to use a text thread or to have some sort of a phone tree to alert each other about the presence of ICE in their neighborhoods. The group also has a hotline people can call if they spot ICE.

“We get calls from Uber drivers. We get calls from street vendors. We get calls from business owners and just everyday normal people who support the work that we do,” said Gochez, who refers to ICE detentions and arrests as the “kidnappings.”

“It is a kidnapping – no different from when they kidnapped Native Americans during the Indian Removal Act,” Gochez declared.

He said many of the calls to the coalition are false alarms, involving local agencies, like LAPD or the county Sheriff’s Department, conducting their own undercover operations. But the coalition is focused on the actions of federal immigration agents.

A new tactic

Experts said the tactic of patrolling for ICE is relatively new.

Mirian Martinez-Aranda, an associate professor of sociology at U.C. Irvine, said it lets members of immigrant communities know they are not alone.

“It's a new form in which immigrant communities and their supporters are finding a way to protect each other and to stand up for what's unfair and cruel,” Martinez-Aranda told LAist.

-via LAist, March 17, 2025

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[mojifushiguro]

punishment ! c.springer

being bothersome always gets you what you want, but sometimes you can get a bit too much of what you want. connie x brat!reader (request)

warnings: smut! choking, mild aggression (during the yk), no protection (always use!), very mild degrading, cursing, cries of pleasure, slight overstimulation, lengthy!

mdni.

you were such a hassle.

connie knew that.

if you didn't get what you wanted, when you wanted, you'd totally shut down, and right now, your boyfriend was all you wanted.

you had your boyfriend all day every day. all the time, basically.

but gosh, you just wanted him extra. you missed him. you just wanted him to be home with you. he was out with his friends at the moment, and as soon as he came home, yeah, you can have him all to yourself.

but you hateeee when he goes out.

'connie'

'baby'

'I miss you'

'you dont even have to be with your hbs... you see em all the time.'

'I know you see my messages.'

constantly texting his phone. he was your boyfriend, and you missed him. you trust him not to be out doing shit he had no business, but you didn't care about that.

'ima be home soon mama'

'be patient'

'but I miss you tf'

'hello?'

you laid across your bed in nothing but pink panties and a spaghetti strap that hugged your body perfectly, and no bra. low music played in the background, which you played to distract you from your boyfriend being gone.

he only left about three hours ago, and you didn't blame him... no. you'd be out longer than him. but shit.

sometimes you just got extra clingy.

'you know I dont like your friends.'

'I know baby lol'

he wasn't giving you enough, so you pressed the call button.

no answer.

you squinted, pressing it again, and finally hearing connie with faint music in the background.

you pressed the FaceTime option, holding the camera to where you could see your face, and your perfectly visible cleavage, sitting nicely in the camera.

you stared at connie as you saw him walk around of the house he was in, looking down at the camera as he made his way outside.

"bae, I told you ima be at home soon. why you keep blowing my shit up?"

"cus I miss you, dont you miss me?"

connie stared at you in the camera, glancing up and away from It before biting his lip, looking back down. "you know I do."

a smile crept onto your face. "so come home."

connie rubbed his forehead, inhaling and exhaling. "cmon baby... you get to have me all night, every single day. I cant hang wit my homeboys for a night?"

one side of your upper lip raised and you rolled your eyes, sighing.

connie already knew you'd get an attitude, but when don't you have one? in this case, at least.

"fuck, y/n." he felt himself getting slight irritated. he was having fun.

then again... coming home to you earlier than planned didn't seem like such a bad idea.

he sighed again.

you already knew his answer. "you know what? stay out." you hung up and put your phone on do not disturb, swiping off of the messages. you swiped down to your Lock Screen, watching as Connies messages came in.

'you know how much u piss me off sometimes?'

'like u dtm, but you know that'

'ima be home soon ma, calm ts down'

you swiped to the side, going straight to your camera, and hopping up from the bed. if he didn't wanna come home to perfection, you'd just have to show him what he was missing.

you went to the bathroom, and looked at yourself in the mirror.

"do I want... to put shorts on?"

hmm... no.

you held your phone, posing cutely in your big mirror, getting your best angle.

right when you found your favorite picture, you went straight to instagram and on your story.

only adding a simple red heart, and pressing the post button.

with a small smile, you walked back into your shared bedroom and laid across the bed, lazily scrolling on social media.

you constantly swiped down to your lock screen, checking your notifications for your likes. through out all the likes and replies you received, all the heart eyes, none of them were your boyfriend.

"fuck nigga." you mumbled to yourself, rolling your eyes.

another hour of temptation to text him, to keep spamming him, passed. still no sound of the door opening, no reply or like.

you got the genius thought to check your story views, knowing he's normally at the top. but again, nothing.

now, you started to really get irritated. and another hour passed. you'd already given up on checking anything from connie.

but, without thinking, you swiped to your lock screen to check the time.

3 missed calls.

5 new messages, 30 mins ago.

yep, your heart was in your fat ass.

hesitantly pressing Connies contact name, you read through the messages, your heart speeding up.

'wtf yo problem is?'

'delete ts you literally in yo fuckin panties.'

'answer the phone'

'why you playin?'

'nvm dont worry bout it lmfao 😂'

before you could even start typing, and telling him how you'd take it down, you heard the knob to the front door, instantly making you sit up in bed and look towards the closed door of your bedroom.

you heard his keys hit the kitchen table and heard his footsteps on the stairs, slowly coming toward the door.

quickly throwing your phone to the end of the bed, you grabbed the remote and turned the tv up, pretending you were busy watching it. you didn't know if he'd believe you didn't see your phone, but you know connie knew you better than you knew yourself.

hearing him stop at the door, then after a few seconds come in silently, only made your heart start to race more.

but you thought about it. he went all night, lying like he'd be home soon. he had no reason to be mad.

when connie made his way in the room, he took his shoes off by the door, and pulled off his hoodie, going straight to the bathroom.

you only looked his way when the door was finally closed.

he was showering, totally forgot about what you posted... you think.

you grabbed your phone and quickly deleted the picture off of your story, tossing it back to the end of the bed.

minutes passed, and connie walked out of the steamy bathroom, cutting the light off behind him in only shorts, and no shirt. his body was shiny, sweaty you were guessing, and it made him look so good.

but that was the last of your worries right now.

completely ignoring the fact that you were "watching tv", he cut his game on, grabbing his controller, and picking through which game he wanted to play.

"you aint see me watching tv?" you frowned at him, tilting your head as his back faced you.

he didn't reply.

you smacked your lips. "you so..." you only shook your head and grabbed your phone. connie glanced back at you with a completely straight face.

basically telling you to shut the fuck up without actually saying anything.

and you cant lie... you did just that. but your patience grew thin. you didn't practically beg for your boyfriend to come home just to be neglected by him.

for what, so that he could play a stupid game with the same people he literally just saw?

hell no.

but, you stayed quiet, letting another hour pass by.

12:36AM.

you sat criss crossed in the middle of the bed, on your phone. every now and then glancing up whenever you heard connies small curses under his breath, or whenever you heard him groan, or look at the ceiling.

looking up at the tv, he was playing one of the games he hated the most, because he'd always lose. even you knew that.

why the fuck is he playing a game he never beats.

that's when connie paused the game on the main screen, and tossed the controller on the small table underneath your tv.

staring at the back of his head, you waited, just to see his next move.

he just stared at the wall before reaching back to grab his phone, turning his body to the side with the action. your eyes quickly drifted back down to your own phone, not even wanting to piss him off.

he huffed, checking the time on his phone and putting it back down.

his eyes made their way to you. you only sat there, not daring to look at him. but the longer he stared, made you finally look at him.

his face was completely emotionless.

'fuck.' you thought to yourself.

your mind instantly went in defensive mode. "you were out all night, and I missed you. so you can get over that shit." you mumbled the last part, but connie could hear it perfectly.

"you aint see yo phone?"

"connie, you-"

"did you. or did you not. see your phone?"

you just stared at him, before slowly rolling your eyes. connie could feel his nerves being poked at.

that's when he got on the bed, fully. snatching your phone from your hand, and grabbing your jaw.

"you piss me off more than anybody. you know that shit?" he scanned your face, and you just looked to the side. "look at me."

you looked into Connies eyes.

"you know that?"

biting your lip nervously, you slowly nodded.

Connies eyes lowered at you, as he pushed you back on the bed, licking the inside of his cheek. he grabbed your legs, pushing them apart.

his gaze trailed down between your legs, seeing that you were already turned on, and your panties were already damp.

"this all you wanted." connie looked at you like you were just pathetic, but in his mind, he was just sick of your shit. but damn, he missed you tonight more than anything.

with one of his hands under your leg, right behind your knee, and another on your waist, he moved it down to your clit, right over your panties.

putting a soft amount of pressure, it made you inhale and bite your lip, moving your hips against his thumb.

but when you saw him look up at you, his face said 'stop.'

you furrowed your eyebrows, giving him a face of pleases and sorries. "connieee... I just missed you..." you looked into his eyes, reaching down to tug at his waist band. "I deleted the picture..."

connie bit his cheek, his eyes moving down to your hand as you pulled him closer to you by his hips.

you could easy see his boner through his basketball shorts, but he wasn't going for it, so he looked from your hands to your face, still biting his cheek, breathing so heavy you could hear it.

he just watched you struggle, and you hated it.

you were so needy for him.

he moved your hand and moved back, sitting normally on the end of the bed.

you quickly shook your head. "baby, come onnn" you whined, crawling back over to him, starting to kiss on his neck.

connie would be lying if he said he wasn't getting more and more turned on by your actions. his face was so damn good as hiding it, but his dick told you different.

"please?" you tilted your head at him, grabbing his hand and moving it down back between your legs.

an amused, but still denying look came across his face as he looked you up and down. you moved his hand to your breast, hoping he'd give in.

he only sighed, legs spread. he slowly looked down at his boner, and back up at you. he stared right into your eyes, he knew the exact apology he'd take. and you did too.

you, still beside him, got on your hands and knees on the bed, arch perfectly in view for your boyfriend.

he watched at you reached in his pants, pulling them down a little, and taking him in your hand. you looked at him once again, before finally leaning down and softly licking him tip, making his dick jump a little.

you slowly lowered your mouth around the tip, sucking softly. connie let out a low groan, biting his lip and grabbing your hair, pushing you lower.

"go low." was the only thing he muttered.

feeling yourself start to gag, you did exactly what he said, letting connie lean back on his hands, staring down at you.

why did you have to be so damn pretty, but such a fuckin problem?

your eyes started to water as you bobbed your head, connie moving his hand to your hips and up your back.

he slowly started thrusting against your throat, letting out a shaky breath. "fuck..." he whispered, grabbing your hair and pulling your head up.

his hand moved to your neck, putting more pressure on it than usual, and pulling you in for a kiss. his kisses were so aggressive, and feeling his soft tongue on yours just made you even more desperate.

letting go of your throat and gripping your jaw, he looked into your eyes again. "I cant stand the fuckin stupid shit you do."

a tear dripping from your eye from the pressure on your throat, you smiled softly. "I know."

connie slowly shook his head, getting off the bed and standing in front of you, you were about to lay on your back, but connie flipped you on your stomach.

"hell naw" he muttered, grabbing your hips and lifting you to your knees, aggressively pulling your panties down and pushing your back down into an arch.

"wait, wait-" before you could even protest about having to get adjusted to his size, because honestly, connie had a big dick, you felt him quickly thrust into you, making you instantly grip the sheets.

"fuck! con!" you reached back, but that only made things worse, you should've known.

he stretched you out, and he loved the way you fluttered around him, whether it was due to pain or pleasure. he didn't really care either.

you tried to pull yourself away as his thrusts got quicker and harder, biting your lip, probably to the point of bleeding, "connieee!"

"fuck you goin?" he breathed out, pulling you back toward him by your hips, only to go deeper.

"fu..ck... im- im sorry pa.." you whined. feeling him deep in your stomach almost, the only thing you could do was apologize.

"huh?" connie frowned, reaching up to grab your neck. and fuck, it only made you arch even more.

"mmh... yo shit too tight..." connie leaned forward, slowing down and grabbing your chin with his hand. he pulled your head back, slowly thrusting deeper into you.

"you missed me? huh? or you missed getting fucked?" connie wrapped his other arm around your stomach.

"too.. deep.. connie please" you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"please, what? stop fuckin you like this?"

you nodded slowly, and with that, connie pulled out, taking your panties from around your ankles and tossing them to the side.

he rolled you over to your back, leaning down towards you again. all of a sudden, you felt yourself falling into another deep wave of pleasure. "fuck!" you moaned out, pushing against Connies hips.

he only pulled you closer to him again, just to fuck you deeper, and the arches out of shock weren't helping.

"come on, you been takin me like a champ all these other nights, what's different?" he looked down, watching you throb around him, completely hypnotized by you.

and he hadn't smiled during any of this yet. that's what was different.

this was pure frustration and punishment. you knew you would get it, but not like this.

"connie... I cant-" you couldn't even finish your sentence before he sharply thrusted into you again, after all those deep, slow strokes.

he was driving you crazy.

"cant what? you cant take it?" he finally looked at your face.

"look at me when I fuck you, y/n."

you practically had to peel your eyes open, them rolling back every deep stroke. connie slowly shook his head at you, as tear drops trailed down your cheeks, and sniffle sounds came from your nose and mouth.

"my baby..." he grabbed your cheek, watching as you held his wrist tightly, soft whimpers and moans leaving your mouth with every thrust.

he wiped your tears, leaning over and kissing you, softly biting your lip as he pulled away, just to look at you again.

your eyes were pink and glossy, but you loved every minute of this.

"hold me." he mumbled.

and you did just that, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. "I love you..." you whispered. connie hummed lowly, using his hand to open your legs wider and move it to your clit, rubbing in quick circles and quickening his thrusting pace.

you started to let out soft, quick and choppy moans. "slow... slowww..." you whined, letting connie go and gripping the sheets beside your head.

connie bit his lip, frowning and looking at you, shaking his head.

"p-please" you whispered, twitching as connie fucked you through your orgasm. you went completely silent, your legs shaking and your body twitching, before letting out a loud gasp and crying out your last moan.

still going, connie purposely made you feel every bit of your orgasm, licking his lips and staring at you deeply before pulling out and grabbing his dick, softly rubbing his tip on your clit, feeling it twitch against him.

"look atchu. begging me to come home and cant even take dick right." connie fixed his self, watching you as you laid there, legs still open.

what could you even say?

connie softly grabbed your face, squishing it slowly shaking it side to side, "stop allat whining. im done." he chuckled, leaning down to kiss you one more time and patting your breast twice.

he walked over to sit on the end of the bed again, grabbing the controller, not even bothering to clean you up or wash his hands.

"and I love you too."

clearly.