#incorrect chaos walking

[prentissforpresident]

Todd: I've defeated you and now I can lead the town.

Mayor Prentiss: Correct. Unless, of course, war were declared.

(The sound of the Land blowing their battle horn)

Todd: What's that?

Mayor Prentiss: War were declared.

(From this scene in Futurama)

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 669

Agatha: “On the count of three, who should we steal 20 bucks from for ice cream? One, two, three:”

Wanda: “NO ONE?!”

Y/N: “STEVE!”

Agatha: “NATASHA!”

Wanda and Y/N:…

Wanda: “Agatha - do you have a death wish?”

Agatha: “l want a challenge”

Wanda: “You’re begging for a black eye”

[abbotjack]

aaahh hi hello! :)

first thing, i just wanted to say how much i love the way you write for jack and robby. you capture their personalities so well! reading your works are an absolute treat. <3

second, would it be possible to request something for robby? he finds out that his wife was in a really bad accident on her way to work, so she's rushed to the hospital and admitted to their icu?

tysm, and keep up the amazing work!

And You Came Back to Me

content/warning : Serious car accident, medical trauma, cardiac arrest, emergency resuscitation, hospitalization/ICU setting, emotional distress, PTSD symptoms, brief combat/military reference, grief response, partner fear, sibling care, recovery from near-death experience. Heavy emotional themes including flashbacks, guilt, and the fragility of healing.

word count : 3,791

a/n ; Wrote this as an exploration of what happens in the quiet after chaos—the weight of routine, the people who stay, and the small ways grief and love show up at once.

He should've kissed you longer.

That's the first thing that slams through Robby's chest when the officer says your name. Not doctor. Not sir. Just: "Mr. Robinavitch, your wife's been in a serious accident."

It doesn't register, not fully. Not until the following words hit him like shrapnel: "She was unconscious at the scene. EMS is transporting her to Allegheny General now."

And suddenly, time snaps backward, throws him hard against the wall of the morning. Back to the kitchen. To the faint hum of NPR on the radio. To the faint smell of burnt toast from the toaster, because you always forget about it halfway through brushing your teeth. He's told you a hundred times to stop using the "max crisp" setting. You always say, "It's faster." Back to the sound of your heels on the tile as you rushed in, already dressed, hair still damp and twisted into that messy bun you always called "professional enough."

"Shit," you muttered, digging through your purse. "I'm running late. Can you zip me up?"

He should've stopped what he was doing. Should've set down the mug. Turned fully toward you. Looked at you the way he used to, like you were something he still couldn't quite believe was real. But he was distracted. Reading the news. Checking an overnight lab update. Half-listening to McKay's complaint in the group chat about last night's board decision. So, instead, he reached out automatically. Took hold of the zipper. Pulled it up the back of your dress like he's done a hundred times before. A quiet, familiar ritual.

"Thanks, babe," you said, glancing over your shoulder with a delicate smile.

He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck, right where your hair curled against your skin. "You look beautiful," he said. Distracted. Sincere, but distracted.

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

You laughed and turned away to grab your keys. He should've stopped you. Should've surrounded his arms around your waist, relaxed his chin on your shoulder, whispered something mindless and tender and marriage-soft like, Don't go to work. Stay home. Let's be irresponsible. Should've asked about the dream you mumbled in your sleep. Should've paid attention when you said, "I might take the highway if traffic's clear, I'm too late for the long route."

You hated the highway. Said it made you feel like one incorrect action could ruin everything. Said the backroads felt safer, tree-lined, steady. He teased you for it. Called you dramatic. But he always agreed. Take the long way. What's ten more minutes if it means peace of mind? And this morning, God, he hadn't even thought to remind you.

"You driving in or Ubering?" he questioned, eyes still on his phone.

"Driving. Highway if I have to. Don't yell."

"Just… text me when you get there."

"I always do."

You smiled. He didn't look up. You walked out the door. Now a stranger is telling him you were rear-ended at 70 miles per hour, spun into a guardrail, crushed on the driver's side. That EMS pulled you from the wreckage with the jaws of life. That you weren't responsive. That you lost a lot of blood. That they're bringing you in. To him. To his ER. His trauma bay. His staff. And you might not survive the trip.

He should've kissed you longer.

He should've kissed you like it was the last time. Because maybe, it was.

He drops the phone in the stairwell. He's moving before his mind catches up—down the steps, through the ER corridor, and straight into the trauma bay. The doors slam open so hard they shake on their hinges. "Where is she?" His voice breaks as it rips out of his throat.

Dana's the first to reach him. She's just stepped off the elevator—chart in one hand, coffee in the other. "She just came in," she says immediately. "Langdon's leading. Mateo is on the vent. Santos and Javadi are in the room—"

"Where is she?"

The way he says it this time, it's not procedural. It's not about who's on what. It's you. There's a tremor in his voice now, something raw enough to cut through Dana's usual calm. She steps in his path. "Robby," she says gently, too gently. She never uses that voice. Not with him.

"She coded in the rig."

He flinches like she slapped him. The hallway tilts. "They got her back," Dana rushes to add because the look in his eyes unravels something in her. "But it's bad. She's not... she's not conscious."

He doesn't stop to respond. Robby just shrugs off Dana's hand and barrels toward Trauma One, like his body's moving on instinct, like it never forgot how to find you. And then he sees you. You're nearly lost in the swarm of bodies around you, but he'd know you anywhere—even battered and broken, even with your hair soaked through and clinging to your face in tangled strands. One of your feet is bare. Your dress—that dress, the blue one you joked made you look like a lawyer even though you worked in a nonprofit, the one he remembers zipping up hours ago—has been sliced clean down the center. Blood saturates the fabric, blooming across it like ink in water until there's barely any blue left at all. Mateo is squeezing the Ambu bag. Javadi's covered in sweat, glove smeared in something dark. Langdon is barking orders like his throat is full of glass.

Robby freezes in the doorway.

Langdon doesn't even look at him. Just shouts, "Get him out of here!"

Dana's behind him again. This time, she doesn't touch him. Just steps into his line of vision and holds it. "You know better. Let them work."

"That's my wife. That's Jack's sister."

Santos' voice breaks, just barely. "She's got internal bleeding. If we can't stabilize her, we're opening the chest."

And there it is. Robby's hand slams against the doorframe. He backs away without realizing he's doing it.

He ends up in Observation 2. He doesn't remember walking there. Doesn't know how long he stands in the dark before someone, maybe Perlah, sets a bottle of water beside him. He doesn't touch it. He's never felt like this before. Like the air is too thick. Like he's breathing cement. Jack shows up ten minutes later. Not in scrubs, he's in a weather-beaten field jacket and dark jeans, the kind of outfit that's survived its fair share of long nights. There's rain slicking his shoulders, water dripping from the cuffs like he didn't bother with an umbrella. Or didn't care.

"They told me," Jack says, low.

Robby doesn't move.

"I came as soon as—"

"She took the fucking highway."

Jack is quiet.

"She never takes the highway. I—I always tell her to take 51. She hates the on-ramps. Says they make her feel like she's gonna die. She said it, Jack. She said it."

Jack nods slowly, but his posture is all wrong, too still, too rigid. Like he's holding something in. His jaw is locked, eyes fixed somewhere over Robby's shoulder like if he looks at him directly, he'll break. "Yeah," he finally says, voice hoarse and frayed. "She told me that too. Said the on-ramps made her feel like the road would disappear underneath her. When we were kids, she'd make me walk the long way to school just to avoid the underpass near 18th. Three extra blocks. Every morning."

He exhales, sharp and uneven. "She'd hold my sleeve like she thought the wind might carry her off if she let go."

The pause that follows isn't empty. It's full, tight with every year Jack spent being the big brother. Every time, he covered for you. Every scraped knee, every school project, every time he stood between you and the door while your parents screamed. Robby sinks down against the wall. His voice is hollow. "She asked me to zip up her dress this morning." He swallows hard. "I didn't even look at her. Not really. I was reading emails. I kissed her neck and said, 'Text me when you get there.'"

Jack doesn't answer. Doesn't offer reassurance, statistics, or hope. He just lowers himself to the floor beside Robby, head bowed like he's praying to no one in particular. "You love her," he says, and there's no bitterness in it. Just something steady. "You take care of her in a way I never could. You know how to make her feel safe when it's quiet. How to be soft when she won't ask for it. I've spent my whole life guarding her from the world, and now…" He trails off, staring at the floor. "You're the part of her world I trust the most."

Robby closes his eyes. His shoulders shake once. "I don't know how to be okay if she doesn't wake up."

Jack reaches out and sets a hand firm and grounding on Robby's shoulder, steady like he's done for you a hundred times before. "Then it's a good thing you won't have to be," Jack says. "Because she's too damn stubborn to leave either of us."

And for the first time since the call, Robby lets himself breathe.

The updates come like clockwork.

"She's holding."

"We've got the bleeding under control."

"She's going up to the ICU now. Sedated. Ventilated."

Robby follows the bed upstairs like a shadow. No one stops him. Not even Langdon, who looks like he's aged ten years in a single shift. They set you up in 312A. You're pale. Still, your wedding ring sits in a plastic cup on the tray beside your bed. He takes your hand. "Hey," he whispers. "I'm here. You're okay. You're safe."

You don't move. He tilts forward, pressing his forehead to your arm. His voice catches.

"Baby, please. Please come back."

And then, he talks. About the cat, how she followed you to the door that morning, meowing like she knew something was wrong. How you paused, scooped her up, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, "Hold down the fort, okay? Back before dinner." Then, you blew her a kiss like you always did, keys already in hand. About the coffee mug still sitting in the sink. The one with the chipped handle and the faded red lettering from that anniversary trip to Vermont—the kind of mug that never matched anything else but somehow became your favorite. You used it every morning, even when there were clean ones on the shelf. He used to mock you for it. Then he stopped. About the basket of laundry half-folded on the couch. A pair of your socks tucked inside one of his. Your blouse is still soft from the dryer, draped across the armrest like you might come back and finish putting things away. Like you'd walk in and complain that he always left the fitted sheets for you to deal with. About the dress you pulled from the closet the night before—how you held it up in the mirror and said, "If this still fits, maybe I'll wear it next weekend. The red one. You like this one." And how he didn't say anything. Just looked at you like you'd already won the room.

It's those things. The little ones. The ones that never get written down or photographed. The pieces of a life you don't realize you're building until everything goes quiet.

"You can't leave me yet," he mumbles, voice rough. "I haven't seen you hold our kid yet. I haven't told you enough times that you saved my life just by saying yes."

Day Two

He doesn't sleep. Javadi comes by. Says nothing. Just looks through the glass and nods. Collins leaves coffee on the table without a word. He doesn't leave your side. Jack shows up again late that night. Sits with him in the dark. Neither of them speaks. Not until Robby, voice shredded and barely audible, says, "I can't lose her, Jack."

Jack just nods. "You won't."

"I always figured I'd go first," Jack says quietly like the words slipped past his guard. "She's always been the brave one. Ran toward things I would've flinched from. I was the one who hung back, scanned the exits, counted the risks."

His jaw clenches. He stares at the floor like he's trying to make sense of it all from the grain of the tile. "But when I saw her in that trauma bay…" His voice falters, and he has to force the following words out. "Even in combat, I never felt fear like that. Never felt that kind of helpless."

Robby doesn't speak at first. Just sit with it, like the silence might soften the blow.

Then, quietly: "She told me once she felt safest when she was with the two of us. Like the world couldn't touch her." Jack exhales, slow and uneven. His eyes drift toward the bed—toward where you lie, still and silent beneath the tangle of wires and monitors. Still unmoving. Still too quiet. Like if he looks long enough, maybe something in you will stir. Perhaps you'll meet his gaze and say his name like it means something.

"She better wake up," he murmurs. "Because she still owes me twenty bucks. And I'm not letting her off the hook just because she got hit by a truck."

Day Three.

The room is still. Quiet in a way that feels deliberate, It feels as though the air itself is holding its breath. Pale morning light creeps in through the ICU blinds, catching on the sharp corners of machines and the softer curve of your shoulder beneath the hospital blanket. Everything hums: the ventilator, the heart monitor, the sound of plastic tubing shifting slightly when you exhale.

Jack arrives before sunrise. He doesn't announce himself. Doesn't knock. Just moves through the doorway like someone crossing into sacred ground. He sets a cup of black coffee on the counter for Robby—no cream, two sugars, just the way you always made it for him, and then takes the same spot by the wall he's stood in every day since you were brought in.

Robby hasn't slept. He's still in yesterday's clothes, eyes ringed with exhaustion. His hand hasn't left yours all night.

They don't talk for a while. Don't need to. Jack watches you breathe. Robby counts each peak and drop of your chest as if he's tethered to it.

The moment happens quietly. Just after nine. Your fingers twitch. Small. Involuntary, maybe, but real.

Robby jolts forward. "Jack."

Jack is at his side in an instant, already reaching, already watching. "Do it again," he whispers, knuckles white where they grip the bed rail. "C'mon, kid. Come back to us."

And then you do. Your hand tightens around Robby's. Weak. Barely there. But deliberate. Robby exhales like he's been underwater for days. A strangled sound escapes him, half sob, half stunned relief, and he bows his head to your hand like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world. Jack grips the back of Robby's chair with one hand, the other dragging down his face. His mouth is tight. His eyes were wet. But his voice, when it comes, is steady in the way only older brothers can manage.

"She's fighting."

The nurses rush in. Langdon appears within minutes. Orders are called out. Sedation is reduced. The ventilator settings are dialed down. But Robby doesn't move—not from your side, not from your hand. The change is slow. But it's there. Color returning to your cheeks. Lashes twitching. A soft wrinkle between your brows like you're dreaming, or hurting, or both.

When your eyes finally open, it's dusk. They're glassy. Unfocused. But they find him.

"Hey, baby." His voice cracks. "You with me?"

You can't speak. Not yet. But your eyes do the work. Then, your fingers constrict in his again.

Jack moves to your side, each step careful. Measured. He doesn't speak. Doesn't trust his voice not to crack the quiet wide open. And for a second, something flickers across your face. Recognition. A tear. It rolls down your cheek, and Robby catches it with a shaking hand. He kisses your fingers. Your knuckles. Your wrist. "You came back to me."

Jack looks at you, jaw tight, throat working. Then he mutters, almost to himself, "Damn right she did." He doesn't say more. He doesn't have to.

You're awake. And they're both there.

That's everything.

Three Weeks Later.

The apartment smells like lavender and laundry detergent. Your favorite blanket is folded over the back of the couch, and someone—probably Jack—restocked the kitchen with your exact tea and oatmeal brand, like muscle memory. There are flowers on the table, half-wilted, and a stack of unopened get-well cards beside them that you haven't yet had the energy to read. You're home. And you're alive. But nothing feels normal yet.

You're thinner than you were. Your ribs ache when you turn too fast, and your hands shake when you try to open pill bottles. But you walk. You breathe on your own. You wake up in your own bed next to Robby instead of tangled in ICU tubing. And Robby, Robby hasn't let you out of his sight. He tries to be subtle. Tries to hover without hovering. You catch the way his hand spasms when you bend down to pick something up. The way he stays awake two hours after you've fallen asleep, just to make sure your breathing stays steady.

"I'm not going to break," you tell him one morning, finding him standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom door.

He doesn't smile. Just step forward and cup your cheek like it's second nature like his hand was always meant to rest there.

"You did," he says, voice low and frayed at the edges. "You almost died. And I stood there and watched it happen." His thumb moves against your skin gently. Reverent. "So yeah," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna be careful with you for a while. You don't get to scare me like that and expect me to walk away unchanged."

You don't argue. Just press your forehead to his and breathe with him.

Jack visits like clockwork. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. He always calls ahead, even though you stopped asking him to. He comes with practical things, groceries, multivitamins, takeout from that one Thai place you craved when nothing else would stay down. He never makes a scene of it. Just moves through your kitchen like it's routine. Like you didn't code in the back of an ambulance while he was somewhere else, driving home, bone-tired and still smelling like antiseptic, unaware that your heart had stopped without him there to catch it. He acts like nothing's changed. Like you didn't almost leave him without warning. But the way he watches you when you walk across the room says everything.

"You gonna let me in, or am I just supposed to enjoy the doorframe?" he jokes the first time you're strong enough to answer it yourself.

"You gonna keep looking at me like I've got a ticking clock strapped to my chest?" you fire back.

Jack shrugs. Steps inside. Kisses on the top of your head. "You're still annoying. Good. I was worried."

That night, you all end up in the living room, curled into Robby's side on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, while Jack settles into the armchair nearby. His prosthetic leans against the side of the chair, balanced carefully where he left it as if it belonged there. He sits back, one socked foot up, the other leg stretched out and relaxed. Comfortable in a way he rarely lets himself be. The TV plays some half-watched game on mute, casting flashing lights across the room, but no one's really paying attention. The silence between you feels lived-in, not awkward. Familiar. But still edged with something tender. Like you're all waiting to exhale at the same time. The kind of evening that feels hushed on purpose.

The kind that says: We're still here.

"I think I scared you both more than I scared myself," you murmur, eyes still on the screen.

"You scared the shit out of me," Jack says, voice low. Honest. Not sharp, not teasing, just stripped down. Like it costs him something to say it out loud.

Robby's grip around your waist tightens almost instinctively like he can still feel the echo of that moment, the call, the drive, the trauma bay. His fingers curl against your side, anchoring himself to something warm and alive. "You don't get to do that again," he says, hardly above a whisper. "Ever."

You turn your head then, eyes flicking between them, one sitting too still, the other holding on too tightly. And for the first time all day, you let yourself feel the whole shape of what almost happened. What nearly broke you. "I didn't say this earlier," Jack says, softer now, voice rough around the edges. "But I meant it. Back at the hospital. You have him. You're not doing this alone."

You don't look at him right away. Just nod, slow, like the words are settling into a place they hadn't quite reached before. Your eyes sting, but you don't blink them away. "I know I'm not," you murmur.

And you do. Even on those days, it's hard to feel it. Healing isn't linear. Some days, you get through without tears, almost like nothing ever happened. Other days, it hits you sideways—over coffee, in the shower, folding laundry—and you're crying without knowing why. You haven't driven yet. Not because you can't, because you don't want to.

And everyone understands that.

Robby never asks. He just grabs the keys and opens your door first. Jack doesn't comment, doesn't tease—he just takes the driver's seat without question when it's his turn. Even Dana understood. On Saturday, she showed up with oversized sunglasses and a tote bag full of snacks, knocked twice, and said, "Girls' day. Non-negotiable. Collins is already in the car."

And sure enough, Collins was in the passenger seat, sipping an iced tea and pretending not to be amused. Dana took the wheel, flipped the radio to something from the nineties, and announced you were starting with pedicures and ending with overpriced appetizers—"and maybe a shoe sale if we're feeling emotional."

But tonight, the air is still. Your body is tired but not heavy. There's a blanket over your legs, the low hum of the dishwasher in the next room, and two people who never let go—even when you tried to disappear. You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, you don't brace for the fall.

[dooberific]

❝𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘔𝘳. 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘢.❞

harumasa x afab!reader

genre/warnings: suggestive, nsfw mentions, he’s just a boy loser guys idk what you want me to say

summary: you are order, and he is chaos. He thinks you’re his type, and you think he deserves a good tease for the trouble he’s caused you.

wc: 1.8k

Asaba Harumasa was convinced that Deputy Chief Tsukishiro had made up her mind to finally put an end to his existence.

Now sure he liked to skimp on his paperwork every now and then, or call out sick for multiple days in a row, or do whatever he could to clock out early, or fall asleep at his desk (all things he firmly understands don’t help his case), but this? Convincing the Chief to let her handpick an “executive assistant” to run the Section 6 office like a real prison? He was sure it violated some law against war crimes and torture.

You were everything his existence in the unit contradicted and he knew it from the moment you stepped through the doors of their suite in a perfectly pressed skirt suit and a terrifyingly cool expression on your face.

It was like Yanagi spawned a twin of herself, one that’s sole purpose was to work every kink in the system out by force and relieve the paperwork load so effectively that even the dedicated Deputy Chief was able to clock out of work on time. Your critique was swift and harsh, and the execution of your corrections to the administrative side of their work just as damning. Within a week the sound of your heels clicking on the tiles was enough to draw a fear response out of him and Soukaku (though she was spared more of your wrath and gained your affections, further solidifying his theory that you are yanagi’s more evil twin).

You were order. You were dependable. You were the warden of a paper prison that ruled with an iron fist.

And you were totally his type.

He didn’t even realize it in the beginning, after all, you were like a monster from one of his nightmares. Very little slipped past your keen eye, forcing him into the submission of not cutting corners and actually doing his job. You were particularly hard on him, but he had to contribute most of that to the fact that he resisted the change as long as he could before he lived in fear of the snap of a folder of incorrect paperwork back onto his desk and a disapproving glare on your face.

Maybe it was the fact that you were never inherently mean about things too. You were very fair and worked diligently to boost morale, he couldn’t count the times you footed the bill for drinks after a big mission, and you always offered praise for improvements. You had everyone’s coffee order memorized too, everyone coming into the office bright and early to a hot coffee or tea of their preference already on their desks next to a neatly printed agenda customized to their schedules. Oh, and those tight little skirts you wore over your sheer stockings certainly didn’t help him to not like you, but that was neither here nor there.

The first to arrive and the last to leave, your dedication pretty much knew no bounds, and that’s exactly how he ended up in the position he was in now.

He had made it through his night shift by the grace of whatever powers existed in the universe, and promptly crashed on the sectional tucked into the corner of the office, choosing not to expend the energy to walk back to his apartment when he would have to be at the office first thing in the morning for a big meeting anyways. The plan was to wake up early enough to hit one of the locker room showers to freshen up and get himself looking half decent.

The plan died immediately upon him snoozing his first alarm. Then it shriveled a little more with the second snooze. The third snooze was him digging the plan up to kill it again. By the fourth time he was basically dancing on the grave of his plan and digging his own grave while he was at it, because there was no plan conceived that involved you showing up early.

It was muscle memory triggered by the click of your heels as you entered the suite that shocked him out of sleep as he practically rocketed upright with bleary eyes and a sleep muddled brain struggling to catch up with his body’s dramatic response. It was enough that you fully paused in your tracks, coffee cup hovering millimeters from your lips as you eyed him with thinly veiled confusion.

“Good morning, Mr. Harumasa.”

“Good morning, Miss (y/n).” He yawned out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he squinted into the bright office lights.

While you found it humorous to watch the wheels in his brain slowly begin to turn in real time, the brutal hand of time waited for no one and you were nothing if not punctual. Your lips quirked momentarily as you checked the time, eyes darting from your dainty wristwatch back to your dear newly awakened coworker.

Asaba Harumasa’s lack of care for the precision of his work uniform was a hill you had chosen not to die on from the very beginning. You weren’t the dress code police after all, and he wasn’t so dramatically out of regulation that it irked you or anything like that. Most days. But today wasn’t most days, because most days you had a solid hour of silence to prepare for your day, and he would saunter in fashionably late, pass you some lame pickup line, then slink back to his desk where he promptly assumed the look of a kicked puppy until his paperwork was done and he could leave. He had been so methodical about this routine that this disturbance almost took you by surprise.

Almost.

It did bring you a new challenge however. He looked like a total wreck. His hair was matted on one side while the other dramatically cowlicked out in three directions, there were sleep marks on the side of his face from the couch upholstery, his tie was loosely hanging on to one side just pinned enough by his rumpled collar that it hadn’t fully fallen off, his shirt was wrinkled to high heavens and unbuttoned down to his navel revealing a very well sculpted chest, and were those the outline of abs you were seeing—?

You cleared your throat as you averted your eyes, thanking your lucky stars that he was still half clinging to this side of reality. How embarrassing it would have been to be caught practically ogling his body like some degenerate teenager! You are not one to stare, let alone ogle. It was completely uncharacteristic, you were a dedicated administrative assistant after all, you were immune to anything that threatened the routine flow of your workplace.

Right?

Right. Your carefully crafted defenses had not failed you, and it was simply an undiagnosed heart condition that had rendered you breathless every morning for the past three months as you locked yourself in a stall in the women’s bathroom to calm the hot flush that burned your cheeks and the thundering of your heart behind your ribs at the coy tone of his voice as he hammered you with another pick up line before walking away like nothing ever happened.

This was simply a new hurdle to your morning. Nothing more, nothing less, and you had a duty to perform on the behalf of your entire section to ensure the morning went off without a hitch. Definitely no ulterior motives.

You sighed heavily as you set your coffee and bag down on the edge of his desk before propping yourself upon the flat surface, a hand coming down to tap it impatiently.

“You look like a wreck. Come here, Asaba.”

If hearing his surname fall from your pretty painted lips wasn’t a wake up call for his brain enough, the sight of you in all your glory seated upon his desk certainly was. He practically scurried from his spot on the couch to you as if efficiency was going to save him from the wrath of the office warden, electrifying eyes dancing nervously as he attempted to readjust his tie.

“Take it easy on me boss, I had a long night and—,” he never finished his thought as your manicured nails wrapped around his tie, yanking him forward till his hands braced against the desk on either side of you, caging you between him and his own designated workspace.

This close and he could smell the pretty floral undertones of your perfume as he sucked in a shaky breath, eyes blown wide compared to your own ever-cool expression. You met his gaze, stifling the smirk that threatened your lips.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Harumasa? Not feeling chatty this morning?” You pressed, your thighs parting just enough to slot his body between them.

He really hoped there was a merciful god out there somewhere that was orchestrating all of this, cause he was feeling so damn tired but he was ready to die a happy man between your thighs if you’d let him. He swore your skirt had to be a little shorter today ‘cause how else was that lace edge of your stockings peeking out from under the hem of your skirt? If you slid your leg up a little higher he’s sure he’d get a peek of your pretty thigh fat bulging over the edge of the elastic band snuggly bound around your upper thigh.

His fingers twitched as he felt his blood run south at the very thought, catalyzed by the way you leaned in so close, hands running from his chest to his waistband in a sinfully slow manner.

“Oh, don’t tell me no one’s ever…,” your tone was sultry as your breath tickled his ear, your fingers latching around his buckle as you slid your body closer to the edge of the desk, feeling him shudder as he failed to stifle a nervous squeak.

“Helped you get ready?”

He would love to say that he pinned you to his desk and gave you exactly what you were asking for, that he kissed you stupid as he wrestled that damn skirt up just high enough to press aside those lace panties he just knows you love and sink into your pretty cunt and make you beg for him. That your nails left a burning impression down his back that seared his skin as perfectly as the hot kisses that stained the column of his neck every shade of your favorite lipstick. That the office of Section 6 sounded more like a filthy wet dream straight from a porno than a sterile work environment, and that he would never be able to look at his desk without remembering how pretty you looked bent over it crying for him.

There’s a lottttt of things he would love to say. At this point mostly profanities as he blinked stupidly back at you, your hands busy as you neatly fastened his tie all the way up to the base of his throat, his shirt now perfectly tucked and buttoned as well.

You hummed in satisfaction at your work, hands bracing his shoulders as you guided him away from his desk so you could slide gracefully off it yourself, pausing just to smooth your skirt.

“See, isn’t that better?” You said with pride, swiping up your coffee cup as you took a sip, marching to your little desk in the corner as if nothing had ever transpired.

“Now go fix your hair and get ready for the meeting, the others should be arriving soon.” You called over your shoulder, never looking back in fear of your expression cracking at how bewildered he looked.

Oh, he would certainly be fixing something in the bathroom, but his hair was the least of his concerns right now.

Rey 2024, crossposted to ao3

[ningvory]

NERD — kim minjeong

🦋 // WARNINGS : college au, gp minjeong, nerdy minjeong, popular reader, swear words, praising, mating press, cummin’ inside, (girl don’t be silly and wrap that willy), NOT PROOFREAD I MADE THIS IN 40 MINS.

🦋 // WORD COUNT : 913 words

it’s my birthday and i’ve officially hit the 20’s WTF. i’m auntie status💀

you were settled inside the school library, a place where you found peace from all the chaos in the rest of the campus. you were finishing up some assignments your professor assigned to you quietly until you heard a voice.

“knew i’d find you in here!” you heard the voice over your music blasting in your ears, you looked up to see none other than your friend ning yizhou, mostly known as ningning to those who aren’t in her tight friend group circle.

“hey ningyi.” you said, lowering the volume of your headphones and putting your pencil down. you couldn’t help but take a brow at the look she’s giving you, “what’s up?” you asked her as she smirked at you.

she immediately took the chair in front of you and plopped down, “you passed the math test with a A+, nothing incorrect, and that never happens..how’d you study? what’s your secret?” ning asked in a urgent tone.

“did you fail or something?” you raised a brow which made her sulk and nod, “fucking bombed that test! now spill the secret!” she nudged you with her foot under the table.

“okay okay, my mom told me i need my grade higher than a B so i asked minjeong to help me out. she really explained it better than our own professor.” you finally explained which made the chinese girl give you a deadpan look.

“forgot you dated that…nerd. i mean seriously, doesn’t she read harry potter books?” ning scoffed, referring back to the time you and your friend group spotted her in the library in the fantasy aisle, picking out the third harry potter book.

“hey, don’t call her that. there’s nothing wrong with harry potter.” you defended your girlfriend, watching as ning added more mascara to her eyes, looking at her reflection in her pocket mirror.

“she’s fuckin twenty for crying out loud!” ning snickered to herself before closing her pocket mirror and mascara. you rolled your eyes and went back to your assignment.

“oh my gosh wait..so this means you’re fucking kim minjeong..” ning added on, “is her dick that good?” ning jokes, giving you a smug look.

your face immediately heats up, “ning—get your head out the damn gutter!” you quietly shouted, wanting to throw something at her for even thinking that.

she got a little closer to your face, “well we all know your the top, she’s wayyy too quiet and a nerd to even top.” ning playfully teases.

“uhm..duh?” you look around and chuckle as you already know that it’s a complete 180 when you both are in bed.

���

“w-wait!! slow down minjeong—ah!” you moaned loudly as your hair was pulled out the pillows, your girlfriend drilling her cock inside you with no remorse.

“cmon princess, i know you can take more.” minjeong grunts behind you, your ass smacking against her pelvis.

she suddenly flips you on your back, allowing you to see her messy blonde hair and her glasses still on. her half lidded eyes filled with lust and desire as her hips snapped into yours.

“you’re such a mess—and you tell all your friends that you’re in charge when we fuck.” she pants as she pushes one of your legs up to your chest, her tip kissing a new angle which had you seeing little stars in your vision.

you were speechless, babbling out incoherent words and moans, your cunt squeezing around her thick cock. she smirked and leaned down to kiss you passionately. it was sloppy and messy as she easily dominated the kiss.

“gonna make sure your friends see who’s in charged. you’ll barely be able to walk tomorrow.” minjeong grunts as she brings your other leg to your chest, putting you in a mating press.

now you were really speechless, moans and whimpers getting stuck in your throat, choked out mewls and whimpers only escaping as tears dribbled down your cheeks.

the squelchy noise of your pussy being fucked into was loud, anyone walking by your dorm could probably tell what was going on inside.

“m-minjeong—faster please!” you cried out, looking up at her with wide blown eyes.

“good girl~” minjeong coo’d, “asking to be fucked by your loser girlfriend.” she drilled into you at a faster pace, her balls hitting your ass repeatedly.

“tell me i’m in control.” her voice husky as she whispered into your ear, her pace slowed enough for you to speak.

“y-you’re in control! you’re in control, minjeong—keep going i’m almost close!” you babbled out quickly, wanting her to speed back up.

she smirks and kissed your forehead before speeding up, your legs bouncing on her shoulders as moans and chants of her name immediately rip from your chest, making you a moaning mess.

your toes began to curl and your head fell back on the pillow as you squeezed around her cock, your eyes rolling back and your body shaking under her as you came hard.

soon after minjeong cums inside you, thick spurts of sticky warm fluids filling you up. she slowly slowed down the pace, as you calmed down.

she didn’t pull out yet, laying on the bed and rolling you on top of her. she rubbed your back and kissed your head, “ready for round two?” she smiled softly at you, her glasses slowly falling down her nose bridge.

you lopsidedly smiled and pushed her glasses back up her nose bridge, you knew you were in for a long ass night.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sweet on you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: so I'm on the fluffy side again, no angst this time, I swear, only pink buttercream swirls and a very sweet grumpy super soldier 🥰🥰🥰

Warnings: fluff, SMUT 18+, lots of sugar and a bit of suppressed feelings

Word Count: 4,9K

Summary: Decorating cupcakes for Mel's bridal shower should’ve been a simple task until Bucky Barnes offers to help. One frosting fight, a kitchen full of chaos, and a few stolen kisses later, it’s clear the tension between you isn’t just in your imagination.

“Come on, it’s just one afternoon!” you plead, practically begging as you trail after Ava across the rec room, while she’s trying to make a swift escape into the hallway.

“I’m not asking you to sew a wedding dress from scratch, just bake a few cupcakes and help with the frosting – pink creamy swirls, that’s it.”

Ava doesn't even break stride. “I have an extraction in Prague in six hours.”

You groan. “You’re literally intangible, you could phase in, phase out, and pipe a few rosettes on your way out the door.”

“No.”

You spin around and aim your best puppy eyes at Red Guardian, sitting at the big table and chewing something. Is it just you, or is he always chewing something?

He raises his hands. “I do not bake. That is women’s chaos.”

You stare at him. “What does that even mean?”

“I said what I said.”

You throw your hands up and pivot toward Yelena, your last hope, who’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, polishing a knife and blowing pink bubbles with her chewing gum.

“Yelena,” you say, trying not to sound desperate. “Please, it’s Mel’s wedding shower. Mel. She let you borrow her dress for that infiltration in Vegas. You owe her.”

Yelena chews slowly, then shrugs. “I don’t do sugar.”

“Then pretend! Wear gloves! Anything! I just need an extra set of hands.”

She pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, then they glint with sudden revelation. “Use him.”

You blink. “Use who?”

She jerks her chin toward the door.

You turn, and there he is.

Bucky Barnes stands in the doorway, brow furrowed like he just walked into an ambush. He pauses, clearly catching the tail end of your meltdown, eyes flicking between you and Yelena with a look that says he regrets coming in at all.

“Use me for what?” he asks slowly.

You freeze.

Nope, absolutely not! Abort mission!

Bucky is the last person you’d ask for help, not because you don’t want it, but because you do – you want his help, you want his attention, God, you’d never say it out loud, but the truth is… you want him.

And that’s exactly why you keep your distance, because Bucky is … Bucky.

He’s been cool and polite since the day you joined the Thunderbolts, never rude, never unkind, just distant, reserved, like he’s keeping you at arm’s length on purpose and you’re not about to throw yourself at him like a lovesick idiot when he’s clearly not interested.

You swallow and wave awkwardly. “Nothing. It's fine. I’ll just, uh, do it myself.”

“Incorrect,” Yelena says, already pushing off the couch with a wicked glint in her eye. “You said you need hands. He has two. Technically one and a half.”

Bucky glances down at his metal arm like it surprised him. “What exactly am I helping with?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, waving a hand. “I’m just being dramatic. Ignore me.”

Yelena, of course, does not ignore you. “She needs help decorating cupcakes for Mel’s bridal shower. Piping bags. Ribbons. Pink and pastel chaos. I know you’re soft on the inside.”

You feel your soul leave your body. “Yelena, no. He doesn’t have to…”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly baffled. “You want me to… decorate cupcakes?”

You can’t even meet his eyes. “No, no, you really don’t have to…”

“OK, I’ll help.”

You blink and he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Mel’s cool. And you seem stressed.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your brain stalls, and for a moment you struggle for words.

“Great,” Yelena uses the opportunity. “I’ll go tell Mel that Bucky Barnes is decorating cupcakes for her bridal shower. She’ll die.”

Bucky frowns. “Wait, why is that funny?”

You meet his eyes for the first time, and your throat dries. “It’s not. It’s just… unexpected.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “I’m full of surprises.”

The kitchen smells like vanilla and warm sugar, a soft hum of music plays from your phone on the counter and you glance up from the bowl of batter just as Bucky steps back from the oven, proudly closing the door with a dramatic flourish.

God help you.

His hair’s a little messy from where he kept brushing it back with flour-dusted fingers, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms.

“One tray down,” he declares, metal hand resting on his hip like he just saved the damn world.

You grin, licking a bit of batter off your spoon. “You’re really taking this whole cupcake mission seriously.”

He shrugs, almost bashful. “It’s Mel’s shower. Besides, you said it was important.”

You blink. “Yeah. I just didn’t expect…”

One thing is surely true – from all the possibilities you didn’t expect him to be the one standing here in your kitchen, helping.

He looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m just here to help.”

He tries, he really tries to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, almost like he doesn’t think he belongs here, like he’s just doing you a favour, and not quietly, desperately hoping this afternoon will stretch a little longer. 

Inwardly, he’s cursing himself for the umpteenth time already.

Cupcakes, Barnes? Really?

He’s never baked a damn thing in his life, let alone frosted something pink and dainty enough for a bridal shower. He should’ve picked something else to impress you, something cool, tactical, not... buttercream-related.

But when Yelena volunteered him and you didn’t immediately shut it down, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. How could he? This was the first real chance he’s had to be around you, really around you, in your home, not in training or on missions or with the whole team watching.

And maybe, just maybe, if he can manage not to completely humiliate himself with a piping bag, you’ll see he’s not that miserable after all, and maybe you’ll stop feeling so out of reach.

You raise a brow, forcing some levity back into your voice. “I bet you just want to lick the spoon.”

He doesn’t deny it, instead, he reaches over, dips a finger into the batter, and brings it to his mouth – not the flesh hand – the metal one.  

Your brain short-circuits – the sight of his tongue curling around vibranium should not be this distracting, but there it is, lighting a fuse somewhere low in your belly.

“Pretty sure that’s a health violation,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected as you reach for the piping bags.

“I’m not baking for a Michelin star, doll. Just trying to impress your cupcake crowd.”

You pause at that. Doll? Impress? Them or… you?

You hand him a piping bag filled with pastel-pink frosting. “Please, try not turning the frosting into abstract art.”

He accepts the bag carefully, like it’s a weapon he’s not trained for. “I’ll have you know,” he says, giving you a sideways glance, “I watched four cupcake decorating tutorials on YouTube last night.”

You blink. “You did what?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over the counter like it’s classified intel. “I’m committed.”

You try not to smile, but it slips through. He’s awkward, earnest, and so fucking sexy, and it kills you.

Especially when you glance at the ridiculous apron you made him wear: white, with “Bite Me (I’m Sweet)” printed in loopy pink cursive across the chest.

You half expected him to roll his eyes and retreat the moment you handed it to him, but he didn’t, he just tied it on without complaint, and somehow… somehow he just manages to look both impossibly hot and impossibly cute in it. With rolled-up sleeves, jaw dusted with flour and that quiet focus etched across his brow… he looks so completely out of place and yet so right in your kitchen.

And that’s what’s dangerous.

“So,” he adds, positioning himself at the counter beside you. “How do I make mine look like yours?”

Your hand moves before your thoughts do, as you reach out to guide him, fingers brushing his wrist, and your stomach flips like you’re teetering on the edge of something huge.

“Like this,” you say softly, helping him guide the bag. “Steady pressure… and swirl from the outside in.”

His head tilts, and when you glance up, his face is so close, closer than expected and for a moment you just stop breathing.

There’s something in his expression that makes your knees go a little weak – a hesitancy, like he’s afraid to look at you too long, and a tenderness like maybe… oh, no, girl, get those stupid thoughts out of your head, you’re imagining too much, you mentally slap yourself and try to refocus on the task at hand.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.

You glance up at him. “Teaching you how to pipe frosting?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking to your mouth. “That too.”

There’s a beat of silence, the music hums gently in the background, the scent of sugar thick in the air, and your breath catches just a little too obviously.

Suddenly his metal finger dips back into the frosting bowl, and before you can react, he smears a swipe of pink right across your cheek.

You gasp, mouth falling open. “James Buchanan Barnes!”

He grins, really grins, and the rare sparkle in his eyes knocks the breath right out of you. “What? You had something on your face.”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you growl, lunging for the frosting bowl with a wicked glint in your eye.

You scoop up a generous portion of frosting, brandishing the spatula like a weapon.

Bucky’s grin falters, just slightly, as he checks the mischief in your eyes. “Wait…wait, hold on…”

Too late, you swipe a thick smear of pink frosting across his cheekbone with gleeful precision. “There. Now you have something on your face.”

He stares at you, mouth open in mock betrayal, fingers slowly wiping the frosting away.

“You realise, this means war.”

“Catch me, if you can,” you shoot back, grinning, and take off before he can retaliate.

He lunges, and you shriek with a laugh as you duck behind the kitchen island, nearly sending a mixing bowl flying. He chases after you, laughter booming in his chest, rich and free in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever heard from him before, and it makes something inside you flutter wildly.

You grab another spoonful of frosting and launch it over your shoulder, it hits him square in the shoulder with a soft smack.

“You little menace,” he growls, swiping a handful of powdered sugar from the counter and flinging it at you.

“Saboteur!” you shout, blinking sugar from your lashes.

You’re ducking and dodging, laughing so hard it hurts, frosting on your cheek, powdered sugar and flour streaked across your apron and hands. Bucky lobs a spoonful of soft-pink frosting that misses your head by inches and lands on the fridge.

“Friendly fire, Barnes!” you yell.

“You started it!”

“Because you smeared frosting on me!”

“You looked like you needed a smile!”

Another volley and this time it’s you, launching a handful of sprinkles that explode across his hair and shoulders like edible confetti, and he just stands there, blinking through rainbow chaos, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Then he pounces, catches you by the waist as you try to slip past the island again, spinning you around with embarrassing ease. You squirm and squeal in his arms, twisting like you still have a chance, but he’s strong, steady and unfairly fast.

And then he smears frosting onto the tip of your nose with his finger.

“Got you,” he murmurs, breathless and flushed.

You stare up at him, cheeks burning, chest brushing his with every ragged inhale, the spatula in your hand hangs useless now, your fingers sticky and shaking.

The kitchen is a mess, there are flour footprints across the floor, rogue sprinkles clinging to the cabinets, frosting in places frosting absolutely shouldn't be, and you’re breathless with laughter, cheeks aching and heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with too much sugar.

You lean against the counter to catch your breath, Bucky’s hand – the cool metal one – comes up slowly, brushing a smear of pink from your cheek with his thumb. The touch is featherlight. You freeze.

His eyes are already on your mouth.

“You’ve got something right… here,” he murmurs, your breath catches and before you can process what’s happening – he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

You kiss him back, slow and uncertain. His hand – the warm flesh one this time – rises to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss, his body still not quite touching yours, like he’s afraid to press too far, too fast.

He swallows hard, parting from your lips. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, like he means it. “I just…”

You stop him with a soft smile, lips still tingling. “Don’t be.”

His eyes flicker over your face.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You’ve always been… distant, cold. I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “No, doll. I stayed away because I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

You blink. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You’re too cool for me.”

“Too cool for you?” You let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You wrestle bad guys with your bare hands, brood in corners like it’s your second job, and somehow still manage to look hot in an apron that says ‘Bite Me, I’m Sweet.’ You’re the cool one, Barnes.”

His lips twitch. “Still I managed to kiss you.”

“Miracle,” you murmur, leaning into him again, your voice softer now. “Do it again.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, his lips crush against yours, the kiss deepens, it’s slow and searching, like he’s trying to map your mouth with his. Your hands tangle in his hair, flour-dusted and soft between your fingers. There’s frosting on your chin, sugar in your hair, but none of it matters, not when his lips feel like that, not when he kisses you like he’s afraid he won’t get another chance.

He breaks away just long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, already pulling him in again.

He exhales, relieved and wrecked, and the next kiss is even deeper and hungrier.

He lifts you effortlessly, his hands curling under your thighs, setting you on the counter like you weigh nothing. The sudden shift knocks a cupcake tray to the floor, but neither of you cares. He steps in close, slotting his body between your knees, hands roaming without direction – one warm and steady, the other cool and strange but just as careful.

His vibranium fingers brush your bare skin beneath the hem of your apron, you suck in a sharp breath as the contrast sends a shiver straight through you.

“Too cold?” he murmurs, pausing.

You shake your head, a little breathless. “No, just different. But good.”

Encouraged, his hands keep exploring, bolder now, his metal fingers slip beneath the edge of your soft velour shorts and press gently between your thighs, through the thin cotton of your underwear and you gasp, hips shifting into his touch before you can stop yourself.

He stills.

“Too much?” he asks again, voice low, but laced with concern.

You look at him and your chest aches at what you see: the hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s holding himself back, terrified he’s crossed a line even though you’re practically melting for him.

You slide your hand over his jaw, thumb brushing his unshaven cheek. “Not too much. Not even close.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, something fierce and unguarded, and then his mouth is on yours again. His flesh hand wraps around your waist, steadying you, while his metal fingers push your panties aside and slide through your slick folds.

The cool touch makes you shiver, but it’s the contrast – hard metal and soft pressure – that has your breath catching, as your forehead falls against his shoulder with a soft thud and a moan slips out before you can muffle it. 

“What did you tell me?” he whispers in your ear. “Steady pressure… and swirl from the outside in.”

You gasp when one of those fingers start teasing your entrance, circling before slowly easing in. You clutch at his shoulders, clinging to him as he pumps it gently, then adds another, stretching you with firm, patient care.

His mouth follows the trail of frosting and flour on your skin like a man starving – your collarbone, your throat, the hollow of your neck.

“You see?” he groans, his tongue flicking along the line of your jaw. “These fingers do a hell of a lot more than spread frosting.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair as his metal hand moves with more confidence now, learning you, what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble, what draws out that desperate sound he seems to crave.

Your hips roll into his touch, breath stuttering when his fingers find that perfect rhythm, slow and deep, and so damn good.

His thumb brushes your clit in slow, teasing circles as his fingers continue working you, and your body starts to tremble, heat building fast. He’s relentless in the best way, drawing soft, broken sounds from your lips as your head tips back against the cabinet behind you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, lips brushing your throat. “Wanna come on my fingers first?”

You whimper in response, nodding, hips grinding down into his hand, chasing the friction shamelessly now.

His fingers curve, and your body jolts with pleasure, another moan escaping your lips, louder this time, helpless, you’re barely coherent now, panting and whining.

It builds faster than you expect, tight and hot and overwhelming.

“Bucky…I…” you gasp, and he kisses your temple.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

And when you finally do, tumbling over the edge with a loud, broken moan, thighs shaking, body arching into him, it’s like everything else melts away, it’s just heat, frosting, and the sound of his voice in your ear, telling you what a good girl you are for him.

He holds you through it, steady and strong, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your mouth, his hand never leaves you, not until you’re done shaking and collapse against him, breathless, half-laughing, half-stunned.

When the tremors finally fade, he eases his fingers out and kisses your forehead, chest heaving against yours.

“Jesus, Buck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. “It was.”

Bucky’s arms wrap around you from both sides, pulling you into his solid chest and you stay there, nestled against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath and the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, as if he’s afraid that showing how much he wants you might ruin the fragile, perfect thing unfolding between you, but his body gives him away.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his. “Your turn?”

His voice is quiet, almost unsure. “Only if... you really want to. I… I don’t need anything. Just having you like this is already more than I thought I’d ever get.”

You lean in, brushing your lips over his jaw. “I want to make you feel that good, too.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to keep himself from shattering on the spot. “You already do.”

You smile against his skin. “I can do better. Let me show you.”

You slip off the counter and gently turn him around, pressing his lower back against the edge, as you reach behind him to untie the sexy apron before your fingers trail to the hem of his shirt. “Off.”

He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you, possibly onto a cupcake, but priorities have shifted.

Your hands slide up his chest, warm flesh over steel muscle, the dips and ridges of him, so solid and steady, and beautiful. His body isn’t perfect, he wouldn’t even call it good, but you look at him like he’s a piece of art carved from marble, and it makes him dizzy.

“God, you’re…” you trail off, fingers grazing the joint where metal meets skin at his shoulder. “You’re gorgeous, Bucky.”

He laughs softly, disbelieving, nervous. “You’re biased.”

“I am. Wildly.” You press your lips to the center of his chest. “Still true.”

He swallows hard, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he still can’t believe this is real. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice low. “Where you want me.”

“I want you right here,” you whisper, sliding your hand down and cupping him through his jeans, your palm firm and slow, he hisses in a breath, eyes going dark.

You drop to your knees before he can say a word, fingers working his fly as you glance up at him through your lashes. 

When you free him, thick and flushed and already leaking, his breath stutters, and then stops entirely as you wrap your lips around him. 

“Shit,” he breathes, bracing one hand on the counter, the other twitching at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You start slow, your tongue teasing the underside, your hand stroking what you can’t take, his vibranium arm grips the edge of the counter so hard it creaks.

“Fuck… baby,” he groans, jaw clenched, eyes shut like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. 

You hum around him, pleased, pulling a low moan from his throat, his hips twitch, but you hold him there, mouth wet and eager, taking him deeper until he brushes the back of your throat and his knees nearly buckle.

“Please,” he rasps, as he looks down at you, like he’s never seen anything so filthy and beautiful all at once. “I’m not gonna last if you keep…”

You pull off just enough to murmur, “Good,” before sinking back down, lips sealing around him once more and this time, you don’t hold back.

You bob your head in a slow, steady rhythm, hand wrapped around the base of him, working in tandem with your mouth. You swirl your tongue along the underside, savoring every gasp he gives you, every shaky breath and whispered curse that tumbles out of him.

“Ohhh….fuck,” he groans, his voice cracking, metal fingers threading through your hair, not pushing, just holding.

You glance up at him through your lashes and moan around him, just to feel the way his body jolts in response, his thighs tremble, hips twitching again, trying not to thrust but so close to the edge he can barely help it.

“God,” he chokes out, chest heaving. “You’re gonna…shit, I’m gonna…”

You take him deeper, until your nose brushes his lower belly and he lets out a ragged, broken sound, his body tenses, and with a guttural groan, he comes hard, spilling into your mouth, his hand clenching in your hair as his hips stutter against your lips.

You swallow around him, slowly, gently, not letting go until he’s gasping for air and tugging you back with shaky hands.

He’s still breathing hard when you rise to your feet, licking your lips with deliberate slowness, eyes locked on his.

Bucky’s hand finds your waist in a daze, pulling you in, you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “Still think I’m too cool for you?”

He laughs, softly. “Yeah. But I’m not letting that stop me anymore.”

“Good,” you cup his jaw, brushing your lips against his before you kiss him again, greedily slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he groans, low and helpless, grabbing at your hips as he turns, lifting you in one fluid motion and setting you back onto the counter.

His mouth is everywhere, your throat, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder. His hands tremble just slightly as he pulls off your T-shirt, your shorts and your soaked panties follow, as he tosses them somewhere into the flour-dusted chaos. 

He leans back for a moment to look at you – bare, flushed, wanting – then wraps one hand around himself, stroking slowly from base to tip. He’s already thick and hard, but he takes his time, watching you with dark, hooded eyes as his other hand slips between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick heat of you.

You moan, breathless, hips twitching toward his hand as his thumb circles your clit just right, sending sparks through your limbs, but your eyes keep flicking lower, watching the steady movement of his hand over his cock, hard and glistening at the tip, and you swear your whole body clenches in anticipation.

When he finally steps between your legs and pulls you to the edge of the counter, your heart races. He lines himself up, the swollen head pressing against your entrance.

He doesn’t push in yet, just holds there, letting you feel it.

The stretch when he finally starts to press into you is intense – a slow, thick push that has you gasping, back arching as your body yields around him inch by inch.

“Jesus, Bucky…” you breathe, gripping the edge of the counter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs with a groan, as he bottoms out. “You take me so damn well.”

You feel impossibly full, every inch of you stretched to accommodate him, the pressure riding the edge of too much, but it’s exactly what you want, exactly who you want.

He starts to move slow and deep, like he’s afraid you’ll break, but the way you gasp and cling to him makes it very clear you’re not fragile, you want him rough, you want him deep and raw. You just want him in every possible way.

And God, once he sees it, feels it, something in him snaps, he growls low in his throat, hands tightening on your hips as he picks up the pace, thrusts growing harder, sharper, more desperate. The counter jolts under you with every movement, a frosting bowl toppling to the floor with a clatter you barely register.

All you can focus on is him, the stretch, the heat, the delicious drag of him inside you over and over, stealing every breath and thought from your head. Your moans rise with every snap of his hips, unfiltered, raw, your fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, mouth at your ear. “You feel so good, so fucking good, can’t believe you’re mine.”

You gasp at that – mine – because you want to be. You are.

“Harder,” you whisper, the word half-moan, half-beg.

His thrusts turn feral, his grip bruising in the best possible way as he fucks you like he’s trying to make you feel every inch of him, like he’s making up for every minute he spent holding back. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the sugar-sweet air, drowned only by your moans and the sound of his ragged, desperate breathing.

Your orgasm builds fast, dizzying, the pressure coiling sharp and tight in your core.

“I’m… Bucky…I’m gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” he growls, his hand slipping down between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in quick, perfect circles. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You fall apart on a sob, walls clenching around him as your orgasm rips through you, white-hot, devastating. He curses, feeling you squeeze around him, and thrusts a few more times before he follows with a broken moan, burying himself deep as he comes hard, hips stuttering, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You're both shaking, breathless, ruined.

He doesn't pull away, just holds you there, hands gentle again, mouth brushing your temple, your cheek, anywhere he can reach like he needs to prove to himself that it’s real.

“Are you okay?” he whispers eventually, still buried inside you.

You smile against his jaw. “Better than okay.”

The sound of bare feet shuffling against the floor is the first thing that returns to the ruined kitchen, followed by a gentle puff of steam as you and Bucky re-enter, freshly showered.

He exhales, relief pouring out of him as he kisses you again.

There’s a suspicious red mark on Bucky’s collarbone and a matching one on your thigh, but neither of you mention them.

You move slowly, limbs still shaky, your whole body deliciously sore in the best possible way. You had really meant to just take a shower, when you’d shoved a pink-and-white frosting-smeared Bucky into the bathroom, but you hadn’t quite accounted for the fact that your newly minted boyfriend (oh God, was he really that now?) also happened to be a super soldier with super soldier stamina.

The shower had quickly devolved into another round, maybe two, possibly three. You lost count somewhere between his mouth on your neck and being pinned against the fogged-up glass, Bucky buried in you to the hilt while steaming water poured over both of you, muffling every gasp and moan.

Now, standing side by side in the wreckage of your kitchen, reality hits you like a sugar-dusted freight train.

“…Oh my God,” you whisper, hand flying to your mouth, and Bucky follows your gaze.

The kitchen looks like a war zone – a frosted, sprinkled, powdered-sugar-bombed war zone.

Flour coats every surface like freshly fallen snow, a piping bag lies crushed and limp across the counter, one cupcake tray is face down on the floor, and a single rogue cupcake sits in the sink, soaked and tragic. 

Bucky surveys the carnage in silence for a beat, then runs a hand through his damp hair and mutters, “I don’t think I can ever look at cupcakes the same way again.”

“Mel’s going to kill me,” you gasp, tears in your eyes.

“She’ll understand,” Bucky says, pulling you closer. “Tell her it was a matter of national security.”

“You think so? And what exactly were we protecting?”

He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “Your smile.”

You glance up at him, warm all over again.

“OK,” he adds, sighing as he surveys the mess, “I guess we’re starting from scratch.”

You nod, slipping your arms around his waist. “Good thing I’ve got backup now.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing you tight. “Yeah. Your frosting soldier is reporting for duty.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, hiding your smile against his chest and somewhere in the midst of flour and pink buttercream, you both know this was never about the cupcakes.

[devdozes]

what if continuation of the Silly(𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂) Reader x Phainon and its just the reader finds out Flame Reaver's real Identity, Phainon. And reader just goes "of course my taste in men is NEVER wrong" while twirlling their hair😭 and "so i fell for the same(?) Guy TWICE🤭" or something(bonus point if Phainon is also there and gone through five stages of grief)

SILLY READER CONTINUATION :3

The battle waged on, but at this point, it was less of a high-stakes, life-or-death duel and more of an absolute disaster of a flirting session with occasional weapon swings.

Flame Reaver was still fighting, still a deadly force to be reckoned with, but you could tell—you had him. Not physically, not in battle, but mentally? Oh, you were absolutely living rent-free in his head, and you had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“You know,” you mused, effortlessly dodging another slash, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were holding back.”

Flame Reaver’s grip on his sword tightened. “You truly do not know when to be silent, do you?”

“Oh, I do,” you shot back with a wink. “I just choose not to. Especially when I see a hot, brooding warrior who—”

“For the love of all the Titans, STOP.” Phainon groaned from the sidelines, looking as if he had aged several decades in the past five minutes. “This is a battlefield, not a tavern! Quit trying to seduce the deadly assassin!”

“But Phaiii,” you whined, twirling out of the way of another attack with infuriating ease. “What if he’s my destiny?”

Flame Reaver’s sword halted mid-strike, his entire form stiffening. If you could see beneath that mask, you just knew he was internally combusting.

You beamed. “See? He’s thinking about it.”

“I want to walk into the Black Tide.” Phainon clutched his head. “I need a reset. A full system reboot.”

However, the moment of chaotic banter was short-lived. Something shifted in the air—an unseen force pulsed around you, the battlefield trembling under an unseen pressure. It was faint at first, a sensation curling at the edges of your consciousness, but then—

You felt it.

Something familiar. Something eerily familiar.

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied Flame Reaver. The way he moved, the way he carried himself, the way he hesitated—not out of uncertainty, but out of something else. Recognition? Familiarity?

It clicked all at once.

“No way.” Your weapon lowered ever so slightly, a grin spreading across your face. “Oh, this is rich.”

Flame Reaver, who had clearly not been expecting this reaction, straightened slightly. “What?”

“No, no, I’m just—” You actually had to take a second to process the sheer absurdity of this revelation before you burst into laughter. “Of course. Of COURSE my taste in men is never wrong.”

Phainon, who had been one inconvenience away from a mental breakdown this entire time, blinked. “What. What does that mean. What did you just figure out.”

You took a dramatic step forward, eyes glinting with absolute amusement. “So, let me get this straight.” You gestured vaguely at Flame Reaver. “You—mysterious, brooding, dangerously attractive Flame Reaver—are Phainon.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Phainon’s brain audibly short-circuited. “I’m—WHAT.”

Flame Reaver visibly flinched. “That is—” He hesitated, voice tight. “Not entirely incorrect.”

You gasped, clasping your hands together in pure, unfiltered delight. “So I fell for the same guy TWICE?” You twirled a strand of your hair between your fingers, biting your lip playfully. “Damn. Maybe I have a type.”

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he was going through all five stages of grief at once. “You—he—ME? HIM? FLAME REAVER IS ME?” He pointed aggressively between himself and Flame Reaver. “FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE?”

Flame Reaver, who was absolutely not equipped to deal with this level of sheer chaos, cleared his throat. “A different version of you, yes.”

Phainon made a strangled noise. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

“Oh, come on, Phai,” you teased, nudging him. “This just means I have EXCELLENT taste. I mean, think about it. Twice. Twice, my heart went ‘yep, that’s the one.’”

Flame Reaver, the terrifying executioner feared across realms, looked incredibly unsure of how to handle the fact that he was being actively flirted with by the same person in two different lifetimes.

“I—” he started, but then immediately stopped, seemingly at war with himself.

You leaned in slightly. “Oh? Speechless? Flustered, even?”

“I am NOT flustered.”

“You hesitated. You totally hesitated.” You smirked, leaning on your weapon. “C’mon, just admit it. I’ve got you all hot and bothered, don’t I?”

Phainon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I AM GOING TO COMBUST.”

Flame Reaver exhaled sharply, visibly collecting himself. “Enough. This changes nothing.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Oh, I think it changes everything.” You shot him a wink. “After all, now I know my type is literally across timelines.”

Flame Reaver, for all his legendary composure, looked moments away from combusting himself.

Phainon simply stared up at the sky like he was begging the Titans to strike him down.

You ignored him, still beaming. “Anyway, that settles it. I have two boyfriends now.”

Silence.

The battlefield, the remnants of shattered structures, the very air seemed to collectively pause at your words.

Both Phainons blinked at you, as if waiting for some sort of clarification that you were joking.

You were not.

“I beg your pardon?” Flame Reaver finally asked, his usual composed demeanor absolutely crumbling under the sheer audacity of your statement.

Phainon actually looked offended. “Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me.” You shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re technically the same person, but like, from different timelines. So if I like one of you, I obviously like the other, too.”

Flame Reaver looked way too flustered for someone who was supposed to be an emotionless killer. “That is not how this works.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms, pouting slightly. “It’s efficient.”

Phainon gestured wildly at you. “Efficient?”

“Yeah! One boyfriend for soft, wholesome moments and another for broody, dramatic tension. It’s a perfect balance.”

Flame Reaver’s eye twitched. “I am not your boyfriend.”

“You literally let me flirt with you for an entire battle and barely fought back,” you pointed out. “That’s boyfriend behavior.”

Phainon turned to Flame Reaver with a look of absolute betrayal. “You what?”

Flame Reaver stiffened, his posture straightening as if trying to regain some level of dignity. “It was strategic hesitation.”

“It was flustered hesitation,” you corrected.

Phainon groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I can’t believe this. I literally lost to myself. I hate this timeline.”

Flame Reaver was still recovering, his mind clearly short-circuiting. “…Two boyfriends?”

“You’re getting stuck on that?” Phainon snapped at him.

You just clasped your hands together, looking at them expectantly. “So. Where are we going for our first date?”

Phainon screamed internally. Flame Reaver still looked like he hadn’t fully processed reality yet.

what the fuck is happening

I LOVE THEM AUGHRJNFM,REKJ IM GONNA MAKE A LONGER VERSION OF THIS BUT ITS 4 AM, IM ON 7 CANS ON LEMONADE AND 4 CUPS OF INSTANT NOODLES

[luxthestrange]

TWST Incorrect quotes#733 Beach day!

The third year, and you with grim went to have a beach day by the docks...which ended in horror so some...

Vil: Hey guys, what do you think about making that beach trip an annual thing?

Yuu, Malleus, and Idia: No!

Trey: Alright, that’s it, you guys. What happened out there?

Yuu: What? We took a walk. Nothing happened. I came back with nothing all over me!?!

Cater: What does that mean?

Rook: Come on, what happened? Trickster?

Mal: Alright-

Idia: No. Malleus, we swore we’d never tell!

Yuu: They’ll never understand!

Mal: But we have to say something. We have to get it out. It’s eating me alive...

Idia: Yuu got stung by a jellyfish!

Yuu: Alright! I got stung. Stung bad... I couldn’t stand... I-I couldn’t walk-

Idia: We were two miles from the house. We were scared and alone. We didn’t think we could make it-

Yuu: I was in too much pain.

Mal: And I was tired from digging a huge hole with grim-

Mal: And then Idia remembered something...

Idia: I’d seen this thing on the Discovery Channel-

Leona: Wait a minute, I saw that- On the Discovery Channel. Yeah, about jellyfish and how if you— EW! You peed on yourself?

Third years: EW!!

Yuu: You can’t say that! You don’t know! I thought I was gonna pass out from the pain. Anyway, I tried, but I couldn’t... bend that way. So... *looks at Malleus*

Third years*Look at Malleus* Ew!

Mal: That’s right. I stepped up. They’re my best friends and they needed help. If I had to, I’d pee on any one of you

Lilia*Under his breath, his facepalms*...Malleus-dammit kid...dont

Mal: Only, uh, I couldn’t. I got stage fright. I wanted to help, but there was too much pressure. So, I, um, I turned to Idia...

As the group looks at Idia now in shock, Idia is in the corner of the room, holding your couch pillow to his face as he screams in horror...

Idia*Lifting his head up with puffy red eyes, and runny nose* Malleus kept screaming at me, “Do it now. Do it. Do it now.” Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear the screaming!?!-

Mal: That’s because sometimes I just do it through your wall to freak you out~

Grim*Tuckered out in the recliner in, napping from a whole day of fun...while the chaos around him happens*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok but the image of idia screaming to my dorm pillow in horror makes me laugh-

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 673

Wanda: “When Hela asked us to dog sit this is NOT what I had in mind!”

Agatha: “Quiet…we need to move calmly and slooowly, I think it can smell our fear

Fenris: *growling from under the kitchen table*

Y/N: “I got this!” *bounces a tennis ball down the hall* “go on, fetch!”

Wanda: “THAT was your ingenious plan?!”

Agatha: “Oh we’re fucking dying now.”

[fallingcoups]

hey!

you ask and you shall receive asks!!! hehe

what do you think about woozi as a single girl dad and the reader as soonyoung's sister. like she never knew he was a dad, let alone single dad because it's been years since she saw him and they are all back together to meet because soonyoung is getting married and all. something like that?

Woozi as a single girl dad and the reader being Soonyoung’s younger sister who hasn’t seen him in years?👀

It's my first time writing this kind of story/fic so any feedback would really help me improve and learn more.🫶🏽 Thank you so much everyone and I hope you reading!💓

•~•~•~••~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Home🏡

♡ Woozi x reader

♡ words : 452 words

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Soonyoung’s wedding was the first time all thirteen of them were back in one place in years. And for you, it was your first time seeing most of them again since college, when you were known as “Soonyoung’s little sister” who always tagged along with him.

You weren’t expecting much. Just laughter, chaos, and a little nostalgia.

What you didn’t expect was Lee Jihoon walking in with a little girl tucked into his arms.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Is that Jihoon?”

Soonyoung leaned over and whispered, “Yeah, that’s Jihoon’s daughter. Her name is Jieun.”

You stared. Jihoon? A father?

It wasn’t until later that night, during the dinner, that you found yourself standing next to him again. He looked older not in a bad way. Just softer. He still had his usual quiet aura, but now there was a gentleness about him, especially whenever he looked at his daughter playing and having fun.

“You’re good with her,” you said, breaking the silence.

Jihoon turned to you. “I have to be. She’s all I’ve got.”

Something tugged in your chest.

“I didn’t know,” you said softly.

“Many people don’t. I don’t talk about it much. Her mother left a few years ago. I didn’t think I’d raise her alone, but she’s my whole world now.”

You watched him as he looked at his daughter, his eyes full of love. He wasn’t just Jihoon the genius producer anymore. He was Jihoon, the father. And somehow, that made him even more admirable.

The weekend passed. You found yourself helping him tie tiny shoes, holding his daughter's hand while he fixed her hair, even sitting with them during meals. She clung to you like she’d known you forever.

“She likes you,” Jihoon said one night as you helped put her to bed.

You smiled, brushing Jieun's hair gently as she dozed off. “She’s easy to love.”

---

1 year later

The wedding had long passed, but something stayed. Messages turned into late-night calls. Weekend visits turned into sleepovers where Jieun demanded bedtime stories from “Auntie Y/N.”

And one spring evening, Jihoon stood in your kitchen with Jieun perched on his hip.

“She asked me today if you’re going to live with us soon,” he said with a soft laugh.

You paused. “And what did you say?”

“I told her I hope so. Because I want that, too.”

Your heart swelled. You took a step closer, placing your hand on Jieun's back and smiling at him.

“I guess we better start making room for my books then.”

Jieun cheered.

Jihoon leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Thank you for choosing us.”

You kissed his cheek. “There was never anyone else I’d want to be with.

Feedbacks

English is not my first language, sorry if my grammar is incorrect. 🍚

[dannygonz08]

Incorrect Quote #8: Breaking Away

Note: Inspired by @chaoticdumbassrogue 's Of The Fountain and @anotheroceanid 's Athenide AU. Incorrect Quote loosely based on the Full House episode Breaking Away.

PERSE: (Sniffles) Oh, honey, look at this. Two little orange shirts with two little cabin necklaces… that they’ll wear as they walk out of our lives. Apollo, they’re not ready for this. They’re just little boys!

APOLLO: Oh, honey, they’re not boys, they’re men. They’re our men. They’re strong, they’re tough. Boys, show Mom your muscles.

DIONYSUS: (Flexes dramatically) Behold! The mighty son of wine and chaos!

ASCLEPIUS: (Holds up a first-aid kit) Does this count?

PERSE: I know Camp Half-Blood is important for them, but I’m not ready to let go!

APOLLO: The point is, I’ll take the boys to camp… you go check on your Dad, and everything will be fine, okay? I’ll be strong for the both of us.

PERSE: (Wiping away tears) Okay, honey. You’re a rock.

APOLLO: (Hands them their backpacks) Alright, Ren and Stimpy, here are your camp supplies. Go on, say goodbye to Mom.

DIONYSUS: Bye-bye, Mom!

PERSE: Bye-bye, Dion.

ASCLEPIUS: See you later, alligator!

PERSE: (Crying) In a while, crocodile…

[eiralunaire]

Incorrect Quotes from Damian Wayne/Reader.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**Reader, practicing his fire powers, accidentally melts part of the training room.**

*All the Titans watching in awe:*

Garfield: "Reader, you scared me so much I almost turned into jelly!"

Raven: "Great… now the room smells like molten metal and chaos."

Damian, running up to Reader: "Did you get burned? Does anything hurt?"

Starfire: "Damian, half the tower is literally melting and you're just asking if Reader is okay?"

Damian, ignoring Starfire: "Let me see your hands, you could have gotten burned."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**Reader training with his earth powers and creates a mini earthquake that shakes Titan Tower.**

*The Titans falling to the ground as everything vibrates:*

Garfield, getting up: "This is worse than when I tried to do yoga and got stuck in a pose!"

Cyborg: "Hey, my circuits almost blew!"

Damian, helping Reader up: "Are you okay? The ground moved, did you hit it?"

Raven: "Damian, I think the rest of the tower moved a little too…"

Damian, ignoring Raven: "Let me get you somewhere safer."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**Reader testing his wind control and accidentally creates a tornado that destroys the furniture in Titan Tower.**

*The Titans running after flying furniture:*

Garfield, transformed into a penguin: "This isn't the kind of wind I need to fly!"

Cyborg: "My robotic parts aren't made for hurricanes, dude!"

Damian, completely calm as the tornado continues: "Reader, everything okay? Did you get dizzy from all that wind?"

Starfire, holding onto a wall: "Damian, we're all going to fly away and all you care about is if Reader is dizzy?"

Damian, calmly: "She's my priority."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**Reader trying to use his darkness powers and accidentally covers the entire Titan Tower in impenetrable shadows.**

*The Titans tripping and falling in the darkness:*

Garfield, turned into a bat: "This is darker than when Raven gets angry!"

Cyborg: "My sensors don't see anything! This is worse than losing Wi-Fi!"

Damian, walking perfectly towards Reader: "Don't worry, I found you. Are you okay? Are you feeling exhausted?"

Raven: "How the hell do you always find her in this darkness?"

Damian: "I have a special radar for chaos."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**Reader firing a beam of light that accidentally knocks down a wall of Titan Tower.**

*All the Titans watching the disaster:*

Garfield: "There goes our movie theater! And just when we were going to watch superhero movies!"

Starfire: "That's light from a real star! Although, a little destructive…"

Damian, approaching Reader: "Are you feeling tired? Do you need to rest?"

Cyborg, looking at the destroyed wall: "Damian, she just took down half the tower and you're asking if she's tired!"

Damian, ignoring Cyborg: "Let's rest before you continue training."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I probably made Damian a little ooc, anyway, I still laughed at the result.

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

DIHWYF Incorrect Quotes but it's mild Carmine sisters chaos

Because ✨sisters ✨

Clara, staring at newly adopted Vaggie: Um...want a beer?

Odette: She's like...five!

Clara: I DUNNO, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HER?!

Clara: I'M BREAKING THE WINDOW!

Odette, whispering into her phone: Uh, hi- we locked our baby sister in the car and people are judging us.

Clara, now running around looking for a rock: I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GONNA BREAK IT!

Odette, whirling around: DO NOT BREAK THE WINDOW, YOU'LL GET GLASS ON HER!

Odette: But if you keep making up words, no one will understand you.

Young Vaggie: Clara will. Watch. *tugs on Clara's arm*

Clara: Yeah, squirt?

Vaggie: *complete gibberish*

Clara, immediately playing along: Whoa, are you serious?

Vaggie: *more gibberish*

Clara: I'd never considered that before!

Vaggie: *very serious gibberish*

Clara, patting her head: This changes everything.

Odette, facepalming: You're both crazy.

*Odette, spotting Vaggie trying to sneak out of her bedroom: Oh, not again. Come on, go back to bed before Mamá sees you.

Vaggie: But I don't want to go to bed!

Odette: Too bad, manita.

Vaggie, pouting: Why do I have to go to sleep? Why can't I just stay awake all night?

Odette, sighing and getting up to walk her back bed: Because that's the way the world is.

Vaggie: Well I'm going to make it so that's not how the world is!

Odette, tucking her in: That sounds like a big job. You're gonna need a full night's sleep for that.

Vaggie: Yeah, I will! *triumphantly snuggles in*

Vaggie, ten minutes later: Hey, wait a second-

Vaggie, curled up in front of the fridge: :(

Clara, spotting her: You alright, hermana?

Vaggie, sadly: I just miss Odette**.

Clara, sitting down next to her: Aw, I know.

Vaggie: And the fridge doesn't like me :(

Clara: I...know?

*Odette: Bed. Sleep. Now.

Vaggie, trying to hide behind Clara: But I'm not tired!

Clara: Yeah, 'Dette, she's not tired!

*they're both asleep in Clara's bed in ten minutes later*

Clara, snuggling lil' Vaggie: Big sister's going to drop-kick anyone that touches you 🥰

Odette, without missing a beat: And bigger sister's going to bail big sister out of jail.

Carmilla, cuddling Vaggie after she tripped and fell: I know it's tough, mija. But hey, how many times have you bumped your head or gotten a bruise while you're playing with your sisters?

Vaggie, holding an ice pack on her knee: Um...lots.

Carmilla: Right. And what do they always tell you?

Vaggie: ...don't tell Mamá?

Carmilla, who was fully expecting a different answer: What?!

Clara, who'd walked into the room to check on her little sister: Uh...I'll maybe come back later?

Clara, holding an ice pack to her sister's head: How much do you remember?

Teenage Vaggie, who'd just gotten into her first fight: Just the ambulance ride to the hospital, I think.

Odette: That wasn't an ambulance ride, I drove you.

Vaggie: But I heard sirens?

Clara: That was your girlfriend.

Charlie, clutching the largest teddy bear the hospital sold***: I got nervous!

Charlie, fresh into their relationship: If something happened to Vaggie, I...I couldn't live with myself.

Odette, completely straight faced: You wouldn't have to. Clara and I would kill you.

Vaggie, trying to sneak off with Charlie at a party: Guys, I need your help.

Clara: Oooh, ok. I have an idea.

Odette: Is it a bad idea?

Clara: *darts off in Velvette's direction*

Odette, jumping up to chase after her: CLARA, IS IT A BAD IDEA-****

Vaggie, walking by with a teapot:

Clara: Whatcha doing?

Vaggie: It's for Zestial. I'm planning on making some bad choices tonight and I want him on my side when Mom finds out.

Clara: Oooh, smart. I'll have to remember that.

Odette, not looking up from her laptop: I never realized the forethought that went into raising our mother's blood pressure.

BONUS:

Carmilla, trying to calm Lucifer down after he came to her for advice about Charlie: Look, I've raised three fully functional, well adjusted children and-

Luci, sniffling: You have three kids I don't know about?

Carmilla: ...

BECAUSE I LOVE THEM ALL

Here's a link to the AU!

*these exchanges definitely took place less than an hour apart.

**Odette is fine, she's just on a business trip and her sisters are sad.

***That bear is not for Vaggie. She has a different one for Vaggie. The older Carmines got her that so she would calm the fuck down

****is this a hint as to how Charlie and Vaggie meet? 🤫

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 12)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

(LISTEN… this story has gotten out of control and I need help.)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“It’s alright, child.” Sera’s moods swung round like a revolving door. She could change and bend from someone motherly to a raging Force to an uninvolved observer in a millisecond. “You don’t know any better.”

She reach out and placed a hand on your cheek, perfectly warm and loving in her caress while her eyes remained like flint against the loveliest of features. “Everything has come to pass as it should. You’ll understand in time.” 

It made you sick. Your skin grew clammy as an acidic substance shot up your esophagus and your whole body pitched backward to escape.

You would’ve taken hours locked away with that asshole Adam before you stood another minute being condescended to by the Seraphim.

You were sulking, and you knew it, but you couldn’t stop. 

The building that you had been taken into to meet Sera in the first place served as some sort of Capital. It was grandiose and reached so high up that you couldn’t see where the damn ceiling ended. Perhaps it didn’t. 

You had to take great pains to escape it, navigating among high-ranking angels of all kinds filtering from both the ground and air above you in orderly chaos. It quickened your step to notice that a number of them did a double-take at seeing you. 

           They resembled different things, just as the angels outside did, although most of them appeared human-like. You wondered briefly if there was a rhyme or reason to it, or if God chose to make the woman you barely avoided running into resemble a moose because it made Him laugh. 

Once you’d escaped the war room, you had immediately breathed a little easier. Still, you continued on until you physically felt the tiny shocks and electric currents of warning ebb from your skin. It was as if Sera’s essence had stuck to you, her presence clinging to your frame to make a longer impression.

It had your skin tightening, muscles clenching as a chaotic flood of anxiety and fear prevented you from walking solidly. Too many ‘what if’s’ took you in and out of awareness, making you stumble over nothing. 

It had crossed your mind that Emily did not appear before you’d made yourself scarce. A part of you had wondered at that, feeling as though she’d have waited for you out of some concern for your wellbeing. 

Perhaps that was all for show, however. Sera was clearly excellent at appearing benevolent, and Emily had looked toward the Seraphim for guidance in front of you. It stood to reason that Emily could also be two-faced. 

The logic was sound and yet it made you wince, whether from shame at your incorrect judge or character —

‘Or how much she reminds me of Lucifer.’

You imagined Emily looking at you while stripped of any warmth and compassion. She quickly changed, morphing into Lucifer with hollow, unfeeling red eyes. 

It hurt.

—

Panic had you frozen in place a time or two before you’d gained a wide enough berth to stop. 

Beforehand you’d walked clouds so polished and flat you’d swear they were glass, amidst the more general population of Heaven with your arms wrapped around yourself. It felt needed when even those outside the Capital looked at you with interest, as if they knew. 

Maybe they did. Was it against the rules to keep secrets in Heaven? 

“We are literally judges, juries and executioners in Hell.”

“Executioners?” 

“What’re you talking about?” 

The recollection of a seemingly insignificant moment drew you to a halt. You stared at the pristine ground, fists knocking at your sides. The confusion on your face doubled when you looked up. 

Your ‘wide berth’ had led you far away from the crowds of perfectly content angels and their sleek, futuristic buildings. Farther than you’d anticipated, as ahead of you lay a line of trees that thickened into a dense forest. 

Like Earth, Heaven had a variety of terrains — or so it would seem. Child-like curiosity had you crossing the line between airy openness and into the thicket of pines. All varieties of fir, pine, and larch coexisted with one another, bowing and swaying in the wind. There was nothing to be afraid of, but a sense of oddity hung in the air as you walked a perfectly sculpted path. 

The smell of damp earth and lilies rose from the ground at your feet. A warm breeze rustled the hair that hung limply around your face. Birds sung merrily above you, flitting from branch to branch. 

It occurred to you that no matter how deep you traveled into the woods, the sunlight never waned. 

And yet faintly you heard roaring. It was distant but growing louder with every step you took. 

It was not an animal nor man calling out to you from far away. You felt the change as the smell of sap intermingled with that of salt on the wind, and the floor turned from nettles and moss to pale sand. 

You rubbed your eyes as the trees parted and seemed to disappear as they revealed a beautiful, sparkling sea. 

Sun cast off the surface of the ocean, bouncing against a kaleidoscope of multicolored clouds surrounding it. And you had Dejá vu before blinking away the flash of purple and honey in your eyes. 

You watched tiny waves as they fell against the shoreline, seafoam disappearing within moments. It continued, mesmerizing you, as you ambled toward it. When the water finally rushed over your feet, it carried tiny seashells that scuttled around you. And unlike the ocean you were familiar with, this one was a perfect temperature, no acclimation required. 

For the first time since arriving in Heaven, you felt yourself smiling genuinely. 

You gave into the urge to squish the wet sand between your toes and waded into the water up to your ankles. Your worries began to wash away with each pull of the tide, slow and steady. 

Eventually, you meandered away from that singular spot and began to trek parallel to the shore. The sun never got in your eyes nor did the sand get whipped up and blow into your mouth. Everything from the waves to the breeze was gentle. 

As were the eyes that were upon you. 

As soon as you felt that stare, you stopped in your tracks. Just the thought of turning to them was daunting. 

You don’t have to look, but you do. 

There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.

—

Eve had lingered upon your every step once you’d arrived in her neck of the woods. 

She was glad to see that the effects of the beach it hid were enough to soothe you, even if it was more of a distraction than a cure. You deserved something good, even if it was relatively meager compared to everything you’d endured up to this point. 

Your figure grew smaller as you crossed the sand, away from the first woman’s hiding spot. You were none the wiser, engrossed in the soothing give and take of the water. It made it easier for Eve to creep up the beach only a few paces away, free to follow your path without ruining your tranquility. 

It reminded Eve of a simpler time when she was the one being eyed curiously from afar. 

*** Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti, @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx, @darling-angel222, @elementwind91, @bloody-delusion-expert, @martinys-world, @devilslittlebabyxx

Forgive me if I forgot to tag you or the tags don’t work, I don’t know what that keeps happening.

[aviator-at-heart]

I love crossovers with movies/tv shows that have the same actors

example is Tyler Owens and Jake Seresin being twins (I made a storyline for a fic on a different post)

what if Ethan (from mission impossible) and Mav (from top gun) are doppelgängers or smth

like after mi8 Ethan and Benji go vacationing

and Mav goes with Ice vacationing (the daggers tagging along bc I love chaos) from the navy not wanting to deal with all of their shit and giving them some leave (no one knows where to station them bc they’re just too good)

the two groups coincidentally go to the same resort somewhere tropical

and during breakfast Ethan and Mav have a little run-in while getting food, they forget about it but a few moments later they’re like wtf did the universe just do/ I’m turning delusional

and then they go outside to the beach later that day, daggers play their signature dogfight football, Benji and Ethan are chilling

Fanboy notices Ethan and it goes smth like this:

Fanboy (going over and talking to Bob): am I losing my eyesight or is *points to Ethan* that Maverick

Bob: wait what *rubs eyes and cleans lenses on glasses* omg it’s another one

Phoenix (overhearing Bob): huh!? OH MY GOSH

Hangman (lowers his sunglasses, sees and chokes on his water): -the frick?

Rooster (gets off of Hangman’s lap and sees): o- h-oly w-ha-hat

Iceman (notices all the daggers freaking out and looks): Pete, darling, do you have a freaking brother?

Maverick (was trying to sleep on Ice but then looks up): what do you mean? I don’t have a- *sees and does that thing he did when he saw the check after he made Penny ring him up at the Hard Deck*

and then Benji notices a bunch of people pointing at them and he taps Ethan on the shoulder. “hey, Ethan, help me find out what’s going on? those people playing incorrect American football are pointing at us and it’s concerning”. Ethan gets up from the towel he was laying on as all the daggers start walking over to them

Benji: uhm, hi… sorry to ask but why do you keep pointing at us?

Phoenix, giggling: It’s just, sorry- I should introduce myself. I’m Natasha, a naval aviator. Our captain kind of looks like you.

Benji, confused and trying to look through the bunch: me?

Ethan, seeing Maverick: no, Benji. me…

Hangman, shouting over everything: ITS ALWAYS A MITCHELL AND HIS BLONDIE

*Iceman and Rooster audibly gasp at what Hangman says*

Benji, blushing: we aren’t dating, just colleagues

Ethan: and my last name isn’t Mitchell. I’m Ethan. Ethan Hunt. *shaking Mavs hand* It’s nice to meet you.

Mav, shaking his hand back: I’m Pete Mitchell-Kazansky.

*all the daggers whispering and about to explode with questions*

Iceman: I’m his husband, Tom Mitchell-Kazansky *shakes Ethan’s and Benjis hands*

Ethan: *chuckles* well, I wasn’t expecting this on our trip, right, Benji?

Benji: yeah, right after we literally saved the world…

*daggers now two seconds to exploding*

Iceman: maybe we should discuss this over dinner?

Benji: sure, what do you think, Ethan?

Ethan: good idea

goes on from there

oml I love this, starting a detailed fic

if anyone has seen a fic like this please do tell me!

[mya-valentine]

Debating Hearts

Synopsis: As fierce academic rivals, you and Alhaitham constantly clash in heated debates. But behind closed doors, you're secretly in a relationship—until Kaveh walks in on a passionate moment. Chaos ensues as you desperately try to maintain your academic reputation.

A/N: This is probably my favorite thing ever

The bustling streets of Sumeru City were awash in the midday sun, casting a warm, golden glow on the myriad of scholars rushing through the Akademiya. Among them, two students stood out—Alhaitham and you. Both of you were notorious for your sharp minds, and even sharper tongues. Every debate, every discussion, every single word exchanged between you two seemed to spark an inevitable fire.

Today was no different.

“You’re oversimplifying the mechanics of elemental resonance,” Alhaitham said, crossing his arms, his gray-green eyes locked onto yours with that familiar condescending edge. “If you’d actually read the primary texts instead of cherry-picking from the summaries, you’d see how flawed your logic is.”

You bristled. “Summaries exist for a reason, Alhaitham. It’s called efficiency. Not everyone has the luxury of pouring over every single word like you do.”

“Only a fool would call it efficiency when it leads to inaccuracies,” he shot back, his voice calm but with that hint of smug superiority that drove you absolutely insane.

Oh, how you hated him. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. Because underneath all that animosity, there was something else. Something no one else knew. Something that would flip Sumeru on its head if anyone found out.

You were dating Alhaitham.

Not that anyone would suspect it. The public bickering, the endless arguments, the way you seemed to enjoy tearing into each other intellectually—it all painted the picture of two people who couldn’t stand one another. But behind closed doors? That was a different story.

---

You made your way toward his house after the latest Akademiya debate, a fire still simmering in your chest. The thrill of clashing with him always left you a little exhilarated, your heartbeat still thundering as you knocked on the door. Alhaitham opened it with a smirk already tugging at his lips, as if he knew you were still riding the high of your argument.

“You’re still wrong about the elemental resonance theory,” he said before you could even step inside.

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you in by the wrist, shutting the door behind you. “You just can’t handle being wrong for once.”

“Incorrect,” he replied smoothly, guiding you over to the couch in the middle of the room. “I just can’t handle you spreading misinformation.”

You were about to retort, but then his hands were on your waist, tugging you closer, and all those brilliant counterarguments you’d been preparing slipped away as he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was always like this. The fire that sparked in your arguments burned just as brightly when you kissed. There was a fierce intensity in everything you two did—whether it was trading intellectual blows or tangled together on that couch, fingers gripping at each other like you couldn’t get close enough.

Your hands found their way into his hair as the kiss deepened, the heat between you escalating quickly. He pushed you back against the cushions, his lips never leaving yours, even as he spoke between kisses.

“You—still—didn’t—prove—me wrong,” he muttered, voice husky as he kissed down your neck.

You smirked, tilting your head back to give him better access. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy kissing me, you’d have a chance to think.”

He laughed against your skin, his hands roaming your sides before pulling you back up to meet his mouth again. The clash of teeth and lips was electric, the debate still sparking even amidst the haze of passion.

But then, the door swung open.

Kaveh, returning home earlier than either of you expected, burst in, humming some tune to himself. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as saucers as he took in the sight before him—Alhaitham, shirt slightly rumpled, lips locked with you as you straddled him on the couch, both of you far too engrossed in your little "debate" to notice his entrance right away.

“What the—by the Archons!” Kaveh’s voice was a mixture of horror and disbelief. “What in Sumeru is going on here?!”

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your heated moment, and you instantly shoved Alhaitham away. Your heart leaped into your throat as panic surged through you. If anyone found out about this… your academic reputation, the teasing, the scandal!

Without thinking, you slapped Alhaitham hard across the face.

The sound echoed in the room, followed by a tense silence.

“What the hell are you doing, Alhaitham?!” you shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him as if this entire situation was somehow his fault. “I thought we were having an academic discussion, not… whatever that was!”

Alhaitham blinked at you, his hand slowly rising to touch the reddening mark on his cheek, bewilderment written all over his usually composed face. “What? You—”

Kaveh, for his part, was standing frozen near the doorway, eyes darting between you and Alhaitham like he was trying to make sense of the bizarre situation unraveling in front of him.

“Oh no, don’t you dare make this about me!” You continued, crossing your arms and glaring at Alhaitham as if he had been the one caught in the act. “I’m just here to have a reasonable debate, and you—”

Alhaitham opened his mouth to respond, looking genuinely confused for once in his life. “You slapped me!”

“Damn right, I did!” you shot back, cheeks burning with both embarrassment and anger. “What was all of that? Trying to kiss me in the middle of an academic debate?!”

Kaveh, still watching this bizarre scene, finally found his voice again. “What in the name of Sumeru is happening?! You two—what—how—WHY?”

You turned to Kaveh, feigning as much indignation as you could muster. “He ambushed me, Kaveh! I was here to debate, and suddenly—ugh!” You huffed dramatically, throwing your hands in the air.

Alhaitham stared at you, utterly bewildered. “We’ve been dating for months—”

You quickly cut him off, stepping on his foot. “What? You’re delusional! Don’t try to make up excuses now!”

Kaveh’s eyes grew impossibly wider as the pieces slowly clicked into place. “Wait… you two have been dating?”

“NO!” You and Alhaitham said in unison, though for very different reasons.

Kaveh blinked, clearly caught between shock, disbelief, and a building sense of dread. “Oh Archons, I need to lie down,” he muttered, backing away from the chaotic scene in front of him. “I… I’m going to pretend I didn’t see any of this.”

As Kaveh disappeared down the hallway, muttering under his breath, you turned back to Alhaitham, who was still rubbing his cheek where you had slapped him.

“You’re going to explain that later,” he said flatly, his tone exasperated but not entirely angry. There was still that glint in his eye—the one that always appeared when he was both annoyed and slightly amused by you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I had to save face, okay?”

“By slapping me?”

“Yes.”

Alhaitham shook his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he pulled you back down onto the couch. “You owe me for that one.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips tugged upward. “I’ll make it up to you,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, the earlier embarrassment fading as you resumed your little “debate.”

For now, Kaveh’s horror was just another amusing chapter in your strange, secret relationship.

.

.

.

Masterlist