#it's also a little like please... listen to yourself...

[jbbuckybarnes]

Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

[tobesolnelyx]

— not my fault! || cheerleader!jackie taylor headcanons

a/n: doing it mostly for my future fanfic on ao3 😛

summary: jackie is living her best life after she came out. best life with you. obviously. modern college au. girlfriend!jackie. fluff. song: not my fault by reneé rapp

warnings: slight NSFW content - MDNI

★ — when you see jackie for the first time she’s already panting, cheeks flushed and game hasn’t even started. she spots you while you’re rushing towards bleachers (mostly because your friend made you came here), and she looks like she sees jesus himself

“oh, hey,” she says, quickly making her way to you. you furrow your brows, a little caught of guard by that. she grins at you despite her disheveled presence, and the obvious fact that she technically should be on field by now.

she stands in front of you, then turns around. you blink few times, gazing at her bare back. hands hovering over her, unsure what to do. like you’re still trying to process that jackie taylor is acknowledging your presence.

“can you zip me up?” she asks. you spot yellow ribbon in her honey blonde hair. “please?” she adds when there’s no response from you.

“oh…” you say, nodding and reaching to zip her cheerleading uniform. “sure,” you murmur, trying so hard to not touch smooth skin on her back. no matter how tempting is that.

“thanks,” she smiles, turning again to face you. she quickly presses soft kiss to your cheek, and just…walks away. her footsteps are fast, echoing in the hallway as she rush on the field. leaving you stunned.

★ — jackie, who tells you, no, begs you to come to every single game after you get together. are you interested in soccer? debatable, but you should be interested in her. cmon, she spent so much time learning this damn choreography! besides, she’s a ten times more interesting sight than anything else that is happening on the field.

★ — on that note— she shortens her own cheerleading uniforms just to make you look. she’s balancing on a thin line, showing a little too much, but still not that much to alarm school authorities. cheerleading clothes might look a little too tight on her, hugging her curves just right. her skirt might be showing her ass and legs in a way that should be proactive. somehow, it looks just right on her.

★ — oh right, she also stretches on practices, making sure you catch glimpse of her ass, breasts, thighs…whatever, anything to make you look. cause obviously, you go to those boring practices too. okay, maybe not so boring when she stands right in front of you, shaking her pompons in that cute uniform. ribbon swinging as she jumps and swirls.

★ — and ohh, she loves to be fucked in that uniform. sucking on your strap, and smearing her lipstick on it few minutes before she has to go out and perform. backshots when you just can’t help yourself — pushing her little skirt with shorts down, bending her over, and fucking her nice and deep while she clutches her hands on the bench, whining your name.

“harder,” she begs even though she’s already being fucked rough. her perfect hair are already messed up, ribbon barely holding in them. “fuck me harder,” she moans.

skin slaps on skin when you smash silicone dick in her tight walls. and you know that she’ll struggle to keep herself upright during performance.

★ — side note: jackie, who loves riding the bulge of your strap. she’ll push herself on your lap the second you sit in the car. still in her skirt, now slightly ridden up, when she starts grinding her hips against you. she throws her head back, groaning.

“ugh, i’ve been waiting for that the whole day.”

★ — she’s not only preparing herself for the game — makeup, uniform etc, but you as well. she’s approaching you with blue and yellow paint in hands, usually painting her initials on your cheek. god forbid girl wants to mark what’s hers.

★ — you’re her personal help (not like she’s listening to you. she knows better anyway. duh.), but you’re always there to watch choreography she came up with. she looks at you at the end, frown on her face.

“what do you think?” she asks as she’s not thinking how to improve the whole thing.

“it’s great, babe…” you start, trying to raise up from the bed, but she pushes you down again. you blink few times, staring at her.

“no,” she says, shaking her head. “im not done.”

★ — she always, absolutely always, pleases you to carry her training bag. of course, she already has a lot to do! she’s tired after all those practices, gym days and stuff! she holds your hand every single time though <3

★ — jackie, who finally catches injury after overdoing herself, and refuses to take your help. even tho she needs that :(

★ — also, hear me out, she wears glasses!! she’s ashamed of that — always pulling with this bullshit about looking awful in them, but in reality, she looks super cute. you love to take them off only to kiss her nose. she wrinkles it, trying so hard not to smile. (also, she wears contact lenses to performances cause girl can se shit)

★ — going back to her cute customised uniform and possessiveness; girl is not only making you walk around with her initials on your face, but she wears has your initials as well on her ribbon :(

★ — finally, jackie, who has been terrified of the possibility of being queer, but once she got into college, she feels like she can breathe again. she’s no longer scared of openly being with you <3

[cygnusoracle]

Messages from higher dimensional beings🩶

(I believe higher beings have the access to the dimension of time physically. They can guide you with what’s happening because they can see the past, the present and the future.)

(Pile 1-2-3 from left to right)

1- dears, there are 2 great news here, some of you are getting accepted into your dream school/university. Acceptance letter is on the way! A new career path that you have been having on your heart is being paved, and you are asked to keep singing your song, meaning, continue being in your element and start that hobby which you are having in your mind constantly. Music is a huge theme for this pile. if you love listening to songs, try a new song from that Shazam playlist you forgot you had. And 22-28 are the ages I see. Secondly, some of you are meeting your soulmate soon, if you already have, you are going to meet them deeper in a spiritual way. I see even weddings too! This is huge, meeting of two different world yet there is so many common things between the two. This is a soul union, and there is so much room for soul growth after this union happens🤍(There might be a warning too,if you are very fertile/ovulating, make sure to take extra care) cancer/saturn/venusian/22 are significant.

2 - hi loves, firstly the beings are conveying that you are being taken care of, everything you are worrying about is being taken care of! So please RELAX, it might sound silly but it’s what they want you to know. You might be overthinking about various things. I don’t see a specific theme, it might be your fiancé, career, money, family, anything. You are currently losing hope in this universe/god/self itself but it’s just temporary, don’t fear you will be left alone or that you won’t have any grip, you are asked to loosen the grip of fear and let yourself fall, you will be in safe arms soon! It’s an extra confirmation that you still have supportive people around you, don’t doubt that. You might feel like you are compromising many of your principles in this current situation, it’s all meant to happen and you will be met with the golden dawn (this golden dawn is somewhat significant here, something golden or someone you meet around dawn will have an impact ok you)💗okay dear, the beings ask you to affirm positively during this time and just be. 6/7/alchemy/dense/cracks are significant.

3 - hello warriors, the message is loud and clear. You have to follow your intuition at the moment. You are asked to stop wearing the mask, it’s time to be your true self. You might be confused what between intuition and your thinking, the simple thing to know is not all the times, your WILL have to happen, you don’t have to rely on your will all the time , sometimes it’s okay to let the universe speak through you as intuition. There is a bigger picture also which only you know what and it’s okay to feel confused at the moment. But clarity is coming very soon, once you drop that mask, that mask you are wearing in defence. This little discernment is going to catapult you to a higher vibe place in which you are meant to be. Baby steps take you to achievement💛Trust slowly and steadily and take action. This message is also not specific so dears, only you know what this is about. Red/mercury/24/economy/flower all are significant for you. Within the next full moon, you are going to have clarity.

[520-elic]

I love your headcannons! what dates do you think the creepypasta would take the reader on?

The creeps (Ticci Toby, Jeff the Killer, Eyeless Jack, & BEN) date headcanons

Author notes ; the reader is gender neutral. And if I missed any of the creeps that you were hoping for me to write for, you could tell me who to write for next time! :) also I've been very busy sorry about that

Contains; fluff

Ticci Toby

He's such a lover boy. He would probably save up enough money to get you flowers or take you to the movie theaters

Prefers calmer places, so he would take you to eat take-out food with him at the park at night and call it a date, or will take you on top of the hills to stargaze with you

Showers you with affection during dates!!! He will hold your hand, kiss you almost every 5 minutes, run his hands over your body, etc.

He tries to bring you flowers that he hand-picks himself. Toby will also bring small trinkets that remind him of you!

He'll also most likely bring some type of taxidermy to you. Teeth, bones, one time Toby even got you a taxidermy rat in a little suit

The most hungry mf on a date. Remember how I said he'd take you out to fast food places as a date? That's 90% of the time

Yknow that one scene in Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti? He tried that once with you, and it ended up with the noodle coming out of the gash of his cheek with tomato sauce coming out as well. He made a mental reminder to always wear a bandage over it even if he's home

When you suggested making cookies with him during a date, he took them out with his bare hands. Yeah..

"O-oh baby, I can't feel pain. Remember?" While you're putting cream onto his palms that now have 2nd degree burns.

The petnames that Toby will call you is; baby, sweetheart, my girl/boy

Jeff the Killer

Movie hop, driving around, and gas station dates.

He doesn't buy you much since he claims that "Since we're on a date, it should be enough" but he will get you a single rose or weed LMAO

Smoke sesh!!! Jeff loves making out with you in his room while you two are high out of your minds

Also, he's very clingy when you two are alone, it's very different to how he treats you in public. In public, the most he'd do it put a hand on your waist or an arm over the shoulders. But in private? His hands are all over you as if he's trying to memorize every patch of skin on your body

Once he gave you a glass vial of his own blood. Do not ask questions about it

Jeff prefers parallel play as a date, but he wouldn't want to be far too away from you. If you comment about him being clingy, he won't be around you for atleast a week

ALL OVER YOU. I have to say this again just to get my point across. And if you dress nice for the date? oh my god, you are not gonna get away from him

"Cmon babes, I'm tryin' to show you off over here! It's not like every day someone sees a handsome guy like me and a beautiful thing such as yourself."

The petnames that Jeff will call you is; sweetcheeks (jokingly), sexy, babes

Eyeless Jack

Jack also prefers quieter spaces for dates, such as late-night walks, aquariums, etc.

He talks a lot to you during dates since he can't get much visual input from them. If you insist on "watching" a movie with him, he'll take it as listening to a podcast

Please read or cook for him, he'll melt inside

Cook him kidneys, and he'll gobble it up in 0.2 seconds flat.

He wouldn't really show affection during dates, but more so subtly; his head on your shoulder/lap, his claws running uo and down your arm, etc. Just things to keep you on your toes

He'll do chores around the mansion with you as a date as well since it means you get to spend time with him while doing something productive

"Relax hon, just trying to get comfortable.."

The petnames that Jack will call you is; honey, dear, babe

BEN

ARCADES!!! He will rig every game for you to win a bunch of tokens/tickets to get as many prizes as you want

BEN has a big appetite since he can't really feel hunger, so once he gets a taste of some type of food, he's going at it. Yes, he'll go for a 4th plate of whatever it is. Which also means dinner dates! (It's just fast food lmao)

Cooking dates. Pls.

He'll let you upcycle some of his clothes and such with you, just so he can remember the moment and have a piece of you with him

Big on affection during his time with you. His hands? Somewhere uo your shirt to keep hold of you. His legs? Around yours, not wanting to get up and face responsibilities

Gaming dates, of course. You two in his room, shouting insults at each other like it's nothing while playing a round of COD. Playful pushes back and forth while yelling how one of you guys will be the winner

"You piece of crap, I'm about to win!" As he's cuddling right next to you on the floor.

The petnames that BEN will call you is; a shortened version of your name, babe, sweetums

[mrs-dot-kennedy]

What if Henry met his very own muse? His very own Helen or Penelope? His soulmate. his constant. who is there for him always. Someone who truly understood who he is?

also? Romantic and fluff please. because…

*gestures at what’s happening with everything*

I loved this request! Slightly ooc Henry? Idk

Of quiet devotion-Henry Winter

There’s something about Henry Winter that unsettles people.

Not in the conventional sense — not in the way of stifled menace or antisocial awkwardness — but in that quiet, glacial intensity of a mind burning so cold it might as well be fire. You’d heard about him long before you met him. He is the sort of myth that travels faster than truth in a place like Hampden.

The Classics building is far from yours, but the walls talk, and the walls always talk about Henry Winter.

The prodigy. The recluse. The snob.

The genius with an umbrella for a cane and a mouthful of Homer.

The student who would tutors professors.

The boy who translated Catullus into German for fun.

But that’s not who you meet.

No. The Henry you meet is no myth. He’s worse — he’s real.

You run into him, quite literally, outside the east library at dusk. It’s raining lightly, just enough to cast everything in wet gold, and your satchel is too heavy, full of marginalia and Norton anthologies and pages of painstaking notes on Milton that may as well have been written in blood. You’re late. He’s early.

You round the stone arch of the library entrance, turning too sharply, and there he is. Tall. Stark. Damp around the collar of his dark wool coat, a book under one arm. His umbrella tilts just slightly, and in your scramble to not knock into him, you drop everything.

He doesn’t move.

For a moment you both just stare. You — crouched, hair clinging to your cheek, fingertips brushing the wet corner of your annotated Paradise Lost. Him — marble-still, eyes unreadable behind wire-rimmed glasses.

Then — a voice, dry and precise:

“You’re holding Book Nine upside down.”

You blink. And laugh, despite yourself.

“You’ve read Paradise Lost?” you ask, brushing rain from the cover.

He tilts his head. “In Latin, yes. Once.”

Only once. Of course.

You should be annoyed. You should think he’s insufferable. And maybe, in the tiniest way, you do. But something in you — something well-worn and brittle and too clever for its own good — curls toward him like a vine straining for light.

He doesn't offer to help pick up your books. Of course not. Instead, he watches as you gather them, as your fingers nearly tremble under the weight of wet paper and shame. But when you stand, he says your name.

He knows it.

Of course he does.

“Come,” he says then, with that quiet authority of his. “You shouldn’t be in the rain.”

You become a habit before you become anything else.

Henry is not the sort to fall — he allows. Permits. Resigns himself to what already seems inevitable.

And you — you are inevitable.

You appear in the corners of his days like a recurring verse. He begins to expect you: the way your fingers brush over the spines in the library’s poetry section, the whisper of your laughter in the quad, the way you fall asleep at the library table without meaning to, cheek pressed to your sleeve, pen still caught between your fingers.

He says very little at first. Henry is not a conversationalist. He does not dabble in small talk or exchange passing pleasantries — not even with you. But he listens.

He listens when you talk about Donne’s holy sonnets and the loneliness of blank verse. He listens when you dissect Brontë with surgical precision, when you confess how badly you want to translate Ovid’s Heroides as a thesis even though you’re “not in the department.” He listens to you read aloud. To your questions. To your silence.

He listens with the same reverence he has for Julian, and that is the highest honor he can give.

You learn Henry’s rhythms like you learn meter.

He does not smile much, but when he does — and it’s only for you, only ever for you — it is soft and so rare that it stuns you. He walks slower when his leg aches, though he will never admit it. His migraines arrive like storms, and when they do, he retreats. Withdraws. Says nothing for hours. You don’t ask questions when it happens. You simply stay.

You dim the light.

You bring tea.

You sit at the foot of his armchair and read aloud — Eliot or Pindar or even Austen, because he pretends to hate her and doesn’t — and when he finally speaks again, voice dry and pained, it’s only to say: “I can always hear your heartbeat.”

You don’t know what he means. You’re not sure he does either.

He never asks you to stay.

But you do.

When the cramps in his leg keep him from sleeping, you kneel on the threadbare rug in his apartment and press your fingers to the muscle just beneath his knee. You don’t ask. You simply watch for the twitch in his jaw, the barely-there tension that means pain.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No.” His voice is a whisper. “Continue.”

Your touch is gentle but firm, and when you ease the pain — slowly, quietly — he looks at you as if you’ve done something miraculous.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says once.

“I know.”

He never says thank you. That word feels foreign on his tongue. But he watches you like you’re a cipher he intends to study for the rest of his life. And if you leave — even just to brush your teeth or fetch a book from your dorm — he asks where you’re going in a voice too casual to be casual.

“You are,” he says one night, unexpectedly, “my Helen.”

You look up from your copy of The Iliad. “Because I might start a war?”

“No,” he replies simply. “Because I would burn a city to find you again.”

You begin to leave little things behind in his apartment.

Not on purpose, not really. It starts with a pair of reading glasses you didn’t even realize you had brought over until he places them on the table beside your annotated copy of Middlemarch, the bridge of them newly polished, as if he’s been keeping them safe. Then it’s a scarf. A mug. A faint trace of your perfume on his favorite blanket.

He never mentions any of it.

He just lets your things collect, lets your presence saturate the quiet rooms like dust in sunlight — inevitable, undisturbed.

Some nights, you sit on the windowsill while he writes, your knees drawn up, spine curved, your head against the cool pane of glass. The light catches in your hair. You never notice, but Henry does.

“You fall asleep like a child,” he tells you once, his voice low and unreadable.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shifting groggily, blinking.

“Don’t be.”

When you drift off, your fingers curled in the edge of his coat (you’d pulled it over your legs without thinking), Henry watches you for a long time. He doesn’t wake you. He only marks his page, closes the book with reverent care, and sits beside you.

He does not touch you. Not then.

He simply watches the rise and fall of your breath.

As if he’s afraid you might disappear.

Henry says he doesn’t like sweets.

But you’ve been paying attention.

You see the way his eyes linger on lemon tarts in bakery windows, the way he lets a square of dark chocolate dissolve slowly on his tongue as if he’s performing a sacrament. He never buys it himself. Never indulges in front of anyone else.

But you — you begin slipping them into your shared library bag. Macarons. Candied orange peel. Almond sugar cookies wrapped in wax paper. You never hand them to him. You just leave them there.

Sometimes he pretends he doesn’t notice. Sometimes they vanish without a word. And sometimes — rarely — he hands you half a sugar-dusted pastry without looking you in the eye and says, with painful formality, “This one was particularly good.”

Once, you bring him a slice of baklava from a Greek deli — from a trip out of state you went to with your friends. You find it days later — carefully wrapped, carefully hidden — still uneaten in a shelf of his fridge.

You confront him. “You didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he says, with a frown you can’t quite interpret. “It was… too thoughtful.”

Your laughter surprises you both. “That’s a ridiculous reason not to eat dessert.”

“You’d understand,” he murmurs, “if you were me.”

Henry doesn’t sleep much.

When he does, it’s uneasy. Fitful. Occasionally laced with murmurs in Greek. His dreams aren’t nightmares — not quite — but you can tell by the creases in his brow that they’re not kind, either.

So when he wakes with a sharp breath, spine taut and hand gripping the edge of the blanket like a man half-drowned, you’re already there.

You press a hand to his arm. Gently. Warm.

“You’re alright.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes.

You don’t ask what he dreamed.

Instead, you shift beside him in the narrow bed — both of you fully clothed, half-covered in notes and folded books — and rest your hand over his, anchoring him.

“I can’t remember what it was,” he says softly.

“That’s alright. I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you mean it. You always mean it.

He doesn’t believe in soulmates. Or destiny. Or fate. Not in the romantic sense.

To Henry, fate is Greek — an unyielding moral logic that has nothing to do with love. Fate is Cassandra, fated to be disbelieved. Fate is Orestes, murdering for honor. Fate is suffering carried out with mathematical elegance. Fate is death, inevitable and absolute.

But then there is you.

And you are not tragic.

You are not symmetrical or prophetic or bloody.

You are soft flannel and ink-stained fingertips. You are the curve of a question asked at the right moment. You are stillness in a library carrel, the rustle of paper, the scent of old books and Earl Grey tea.

You are his — in the way the moon belongs to the tide — and he never expected you. Not here. Not in this century. Not in this life.

“I don’t understand you,” he says one evening. Not accusatory. Just quietly perplexed.

You look up from your Latin translation.

“Why do you stay?”

You blink. “With you?”

He nods, eyes trained on the polished wood of his desk.

You consider it.

“Because I see you,” you say finally. “I mean really see you.”

That makes him look at you.

“I see the way you hold yourself like you're two steps from collapse but won't let anyone know. I see how you quote Virgil under your breath when you're anxious. How your hands tremble when your head aches. I see how you wait for people to leave you before you ever let them close.”

He says nothing. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if you’ve gone too far.

Then, softly:

“Don’t ever leave.”

You reach for his hand.

“I’m not going to.”

And he doesn’t cry. Of course not. Henry Winter does not cry. But something in his face unknots, and in that moment you understand: this is what trust looks like, when offered by someone who has only ever relied on himself.

You are his constant.

Winter arrives like a cathedral bell — sudden, echoing, holy.

Hampden grows colder. Whiter. The trees stretch their bare limbs toward a colorless sky, and the snow falls soft and unhurried, like ash from a divine fire.

You find him, one evening, standing motionless in the middle of the quad, eyes skyward, snow clinging to his lashes.

He looks like something out of time. Out of myth.

“Hades in a wool coat,” you say quietly, stepping up beside him.

He doesn’t look at you.

“You’re late,” he says.

“For what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever it is we’re always doing.”

You smile. “You mean studying.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He never does.

Instead, he turns, holds out his arm, and you link yours with his. The snow keeps falling. You walk in silence.

The library is near-empty, as it always is this time of night. You settle at your usual spot: west-facing window, second floor, two cracked leather chairs and a small table between. You lay your books down. He lays nothing down — he never carries what he doesn't need.

You think he won’t speak again. That he’ll sit in his usual contemplative stillness, fingers steepled, eyes distant. But tonight he surprises you.

“I used to think people were unknowable,” he says, voice low, precise. “At best, shadows flickering on the wall. At worst, distractions. Temporary. Misunderstood.”

The snow drifts against the library window, soft and spectral. You sit beside him, knees almost touching. His fingers brush the spine of the closed book between you, idle, as if coaxing it to speak.

“I made peace with solitude a long time ago,” he continues. “I even mistook it for strength. Silence was structure. Coldness—control.”

A breath. Barely audible.

You glance up, but he’s not looking at you. He’s watching the snow outside, as if the answer might be written in the air.

“But then there was you.”

A pause. Not for drama — Henry doesn’t do that — but because it costs him something to say it.

“You didn’t ask to know me. You just… stayed long enough to see what no one else bothered to look for.”

Your throat tightens.

“It's disarming,” he admits, with a faint exhale. “Like hearing your own voice spoken back to you by someone who’s never heard it before and getting it exactly right.”

You don’t speak — you can’t, not yet — but your hand finds his, and he threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow, it is.

Later that night, he reads to you in bed.

Your head is on his chest, the worn collar of his linen shirt brushing your temple. His voice is soft and unwavering, reciting Virgil in Latin, translating aloud only when you ask.

“…et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses,” he murmurs. “and if you hadn’t hurt him somehow, you’d have died.”

You tilt your head. “That’s morbid.”

“It’s the Eclogues,” he replies. “You’d be disappointed if it weren’t.”

You smile against his chest.

“You know,” he adds, brushing his thumb along the side of your arm, “I used to think all beauty was tragic. That all things worth loving had to end in destruction.”

“And now?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Now I think… maybe some things are beautiful because they last.”

You don’t know if he means you.

But you feel the answer in the way his arms wrap around you — not possessive, not desperate — just sure.

Sure, in the way gravity is sure. In the way night always follows dusk.

Weeks pass. Months.

He remains as he is — strange, brilliant, sharp-edged — but with you, the edges soften. The cold thaws.

He still wears black, still quotes Pindar without warning, still speaks in riddles and gives answers that sound too rude. But now he holds your hand under the table in Julian’s office. Now he buys your favorite tea without being asked. Now he touches the inside of your wrist when you’re nervous, just lightly — as if to remind you: I’m here.

And when his migraines come — as they always do — he no longer faces them alone.

You draw the curtains.

You make the room silent.

You lie beside him, your forehead pressed gently to his shoulder, and wait. Just wait. Like you always have.

“I see you,” you whisper, when the pain lifts and his eyes finally open.

And he smiles — slow and rare and real — and whispers back:

“I know.”

[lvc-a]

LOOKISM ✦ Kim Joon Goo x m! reader ✦ 1.3k words

It's raining. You pulled out a cigar and lit it with your gloved hand. You looked down at the body close to your feet and checked around the penthouse once more. Clean, no evidence, no witnesses, a knife close to the body, a sliced throat. An accident. You made your way to the back door and walked away with an umbrella, then quickly sent a text to your employer. Done.

Busan is pretty, and as you look up, the moon is also present today, gracing you with its presence. You look through your notifications to find 22 missed calls and 31 texts from your little money grubber. Always impatient. As you walked in the cool night, you called him back, hearing it ring a few times before being picked up. "Hmph! So now you remember me!"

You chuckled at his little tantrum, continuing to listen to him ramble about how you always abandon him and leave him to tend for himself, how you didn't care to ask what is he doing right now, checking up on him, how you didn't even care about his well-being!. How dare you. "Hi darling, I apologize for the long wait, it seems that my target suddenly has a different schedule today.." You apologized to him, finishing your cigar and throwing it on the ground to step on it.

"Hmph! I'd better see you tomorrow, if not. I don't want to see you ever again!" You were quick to wind him down, promising you'd be at the house by morning and would smother him with kisses, to which he switched his tone and happily accepted your proposal. You continued to talk to him on your way back to your little apartment, well, it's more like he continued rambling about his day, and how Gun is annoying for leaving him alone to collect debts, he whined on how he hasn't recieved his daily kisses from you, for a month now, since you've been away for that long. To which you apologized again, and he said that he only accept your apology if you drown him in kisses.

"Of course I will, darling I've just arrived at my apartment, I will be packing my things and see you this morning?" You could hear him complain again on the phone, making you chuckle as you put your umbrella away and went up the stairs, you pulled out your keys from your pocket, quickly opening the door and letting yourself in. "Okey fine, I'll let you pack your stuff, but please… I miss you a lot.."

You smiled at his cuteness, at times like this, you just wish you could french him right then and there, not allowing him to breathe even for a second. "I know darling, I miss you a lot too, sleep tight okay? I will be there before you know it." You could hear him mumble out and okay, and proceed to say good night to you, to which to replied with good night as well and hang up. You scanned around the room for a bit and grabbed a towel on your bed, and went to take a shower, after all, you did wait all day inside his house, waiting for him to get home.

You finished showering not long after and went to your wardrobe with a towel around your waist. You picked a simple shirt with pajama pants and dried your hair, but your eye caught your phone lit up for a second. Walking over to grab it, you were met with a transaction, money has been sent to your bank account, a huge sum, though you didn't receive a text back. Typical of him.

This particular person you've eliminated was a big one, he's been on your employer's tail for quite some time, and he didn't like it one bit. That's why he sent you. To finish the job. This is basically your life. An assassin. Of course, Gun and your lover are doing dirty work, but you're doing dirty work… sure, they were more than capable for it, but they appear too often in public, if someone looked into it closely, they can be seen cleaning up some stuff the authorities are not happy with.

Your employer needed someone private, someone who does not appear by his side everywhere he goes, someone happy to be lurking in his shadow. Someone clean-cut, doesn't talk much, and is ready at all times. And you were perfect. Simple, direct, and quite fancy. He didn't care for any of that, but you liked style. Few times you were urgently needed as his bodyguard, when Gun or Goo were not available, but you were never at his side. Always around, but never seen, blending quite well with the other guests, thinking you're just another businessman. But you would eye him from time to time, taking note of his posture and expression. People think he's here without a bodyguard, they are gravely mistaken.

You put your phone on charge and turn the lights off to sleep, you've got a promise to keep and a flight to catch in the morning.

It had stopped raining when you woke up, you checked your phone and it's 4 am, your flight is at 6. You've got some time to spare. Getting up from your bed, you walked to the bathroom to ready yourself, then packed what little stuff you brought into your bags and double checking the small apartment in case you missed anything. You then ordered a taxi to the airport and arrived swiftly. A private one, provided by your oh so kind employer. They served you breakfast there, which is a plus.

You've finally arrived in Seoul, getting off the plane to meet a person there handing you your car keys, he didn't say anything as he escorted you to the parking lot. Nodding his head to you as he walked away. You got in your car and texted your lover before you leave. I'm in Seoul, I'll be home in a bit.

Driving your way home, you stopped by a flower shop. You fancied yourself with the classic, a bouquet of red roses, and bought some cakes from across the shop for your beloved. "Him and his sweet tooth…" you shook your head as you load the stuff in the back seat and made your way home to your needy wife. He's been waiting for a while now, after all.

The penthouse is in sight, and you parked your car and grabbed your stuff, you didn't even have the chance to open the door before a whole body was thrown your way. "YOU'RE HEREE!". You could smell his shampoo, well, yours, as you hugged him with one arm and kissed his head. He had just finished drying his hair, you could tell. "I'm home darling, and I brought you gifts as a token of my apology." He didn't let go of the hug but turned his head to the side, seeing you holding flowers and cakes. He was visibly happy.

Goo smiled at you brightly, as you press kisses all over his face, then a deep kiss to his lips. He quickly grabbed the side of your head to deepen the kiss. He has been missing you, greatly. You were the first to break the kiss, making him chase your lips, wanting more. "Let's get inside first.." He pouted at you, but lightened up again as you gave him his flowers and cakes. But his mood changed back, your darling has quite frequent mood swings…

"You've left me to rot for a month, you're not allowed to leave! Anywhere! Without me for a whole year!" A whole year? you know that's not possible, but you gave in to his actics. He is, after all, your beloved wife, making demands.

"Yes dear…"

I apologize for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language, and thank you for reading. ✦ luca

[basically-neroland]

nero's depression headcanons‼️

i've got two requests sitting in my inbox but i'm too lazy to work on em rn (sorry 🥀), i wanna get something out for today (it's like 10:30pm) and this one's been sitting in my notes app so here you go lolz

g/n!reader, tw for dark thoughts (obviously). feel free to skip this one, take care of yourself 💙 this is a long one bc i think about it a LOT so buckle up!

most of it comes from bullied, neglected and rumoured about as a kid and as a teenager, but it also stems from survivor's guilt.

in deadly fortune, he talks about how kyrie and credo's parents died in a demon attack and says that it would've made more sense if it had been him and not saints like them. he was only 17 or 18 in deadly fortune.

nero really, REALLY hates talking about his feelings. he'll say he's fine when you ask him if he's okay. PLEASE call his bluff.

he struggles to be vulnerable, even with his partner because he's used to being the supportive one. it's honestly what he prefers.

he prefers to deal with his emotions on his own, mostly inwardly (despite his violent outbursts with demons and tiny crashouts that would suggest otherwise)

he might handle his anger outwardly, but not his sadness. never his sadness.

to be honest, all you can really do is give him extra physical affection and listen if he starts talking because sometimes he will. it's just rare and takes a while for him to start opening up

most of his tells are extremely quiet. not getting out of bed as early as he usually does, being extra quiet, spacing out more, stuff like that.

he still does stuff to make you happy, he's still cuddly (sometimes he even gets clingier), that doesn't change, but when he smiles back it won't quite reach his eyes. his laughs are more subdued and quiet

he doesn't like talking about his feelings, but the best way to support him is to just hold him and make sure he knows he can talk to you. he just needs you to make him feel safe, comforted and cared for

he also likes when you tell him that you appreciate him, love him, want him around and would be upset if he disappeared, even if he doesn't plan on actually disappearing. he just needs to hear that he's wanted.

when he does open up, he pauses a lot, just trying to gather his words

he gets teary, but tries not to cry. sometimes he fails, and he just leans into your hands when you wipe his tears

he'll talk about how he feels like it should've been him, or about something he experienced or had to do that haunted him, but he'll never ever tell you about how he sometimes just wants to disappear

he's happy you love him, but sometimes he wishes you didn't. he feels like he'll inevitably disappoint you or hurt you somehow, and it scares him.

to be honest, he is probably passively suicidal at times. he'd never want to leave you, but if he died fighting a demon, oh well y'know? that's his mindset some days. this translates into recklessness during fights

it's usually nico that berates him for it, she does worry a lot, but if you're also a devil hunter and you're along to see it, she'll stay quiet and let you do the fearful berating no matter how stressed she is about it

if nero gets reckless, nico always tells you just in case you didn't notice other quiet signs (if they were even there to notice)

if you notice signs, sometimes you tell nico so she'll go a little easier on him. as much as bantering and arguing is their love language, it isn't always good for him. if she makes any jokes about him "letting demons knock him around so much", he sometimes genuinely wonders if he's weak or just not good enough.

sometimes he gets genuinely angry during what's supposed to be playful banter and shuts down and it's just best to avoid that.

his coping mechanisms tend to consist of video games, sleeping more whenever he can, cuddling you and distracting himself with red queen and blue rose, even if he'd already done the routine maintenance. whatever got his mind off his sadness was good enough for him, he didn't really care what exactly it was.

you're honestly the only thing keeping him sane

he'd rather die than live without you. if you die, he'll be dead inside until he actually dies because of recklessness

[big-ooof]

First date scenarios— one with Heeseung (he's been stuck in my head lately..) and another one with Jake (honestly, my favorite pairing).

Heeseung

You didn’t expect to laugh this much. Not with a practical stranger. Not on a date you almost bailed on because work ran late and your eyeliner smudged just the wrong way.

But Heeseung had been waiting outside the café with a crooked grin and two coffees already in hand. “Thought you might need this. Also, I didn’t want to wait in line twice.”

And now, an hour after you’d drained your drinks and the barista started giving last-call energy, you were walking side by side through the city like it was yours alone.

“Okay, serious question,” he says, swinging your joined hands between you like a pendulum. “If you had to eat one type of bread for the rest of your life—only one—what would it be?”

You give him a look. “That’s the serious question?”

“Dead serious.” He squints. “Your whole personality rides on this.”

You stifle a laugh. “Focaccia.”

He gasps. “Focaccia? That’s such a confident answer. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I’m decisive when it counts.”

“Oh yeah? What if I said sourdough?”

“I’d say you’re pretentious, but in a cute way.”

He barks out a laugh and looks over at you, and it lingers. His eyes, his smile. Like he’s studying something and doesn’t mind being caught.

“You’re kind of dangerous,” he murmurs.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I forgot I just met you today. It feels like we’ve done this before.”

That does something to your chest. The good kind of ache.

The walk continues. Through small parks still flickering with fairy lights, past old bookstores, down alleys painted with murals and street art. Heeseung never stops talking, but he listens just as easily. Every time your shoulder brushes his, he leans a little closer. It’s natural, not forced. Comfortable.

When he stops outside his apartment building, it’s not a grand gesture. Just a pause, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand.

“You wanna come up?” he asks, voice soft but playful. “No pressure. I’ve got bad wine and an even worse movie we can judge together.”

You hesitate for a beat. Not because you’re unsure, but because you’re surprised by how easy it feels to say yes. So you do.

“I’m picking the movie, though.”

He grins. “I’m fine with that.”

When you walk inside with him, your fingers are still laced. Coming here is impulsive, yes, but not reckless. Just right. Like the kind of first date you tell your best friend about with a stupid smile in your voice.

His apartment is warm in the quiet kind of way: dimmed lighting, a record player in the corner, books stacked unevenly, and a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing his keys into a dish near the door. “Just... shoes off, please, house rules.”

You kick yours off and follow him into the living room, already shedding your jacket. Heeseung watches the movement, slow and thoughtful, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day.

He disappears briefly into the kitchen. “You still good with bad wine?”

“I’ve committed,” you call back, settling onto the couch.

He returns with two glasses and a mischievous smile. “It’s boxed. I warned you.”

You take a sip and grimace. “This is juice’s sad cousin.”

“Exactly. It builds character.”

You’re still laughing when he drops beside you on the couch, thigh brushing yours, the blanket already pulled over both your legs. The movie plays, but neither of you is really watching. Your legs end up tangled. His hand finds your knee under the blanket. His thumb rubs soft circles there, and your whole body pays attention.

He leans in, voice lower now. “You’re even prettier up close.”

You meet his eyes, cheeks flushed— half from the wine, half from the tension slowly crackling between you. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“I was trying to be smooth.”

“You are.”

Heeseung watches your mouth as you speak. Then his hand slides from your knee to your thigh, slow, deliberate.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

You nod, lips parting right as he leans in. It’s soft at first. Just a brush. A test. But then you tilt into it, and he groans quietly, deepening it, one hand cupping your jaw as the other slips beneath the blanket to grip your waist.

The blanket shifts as you climb into his lap, arms winding around his neck, heat blooming under your skin as his hands start to roam— waist, hips, sliding under your shirt to press against bare skin.

“You sure?” he whispers against your mouth, voice husky, chest rising with restraint.

“Very sure.” The movie becomes background noise. So does everything else. His touch is warm and steady as he lays you down on the couch, bodies fitting together like you’ve done this before in another lifetime.

Clothes peel away slowly, with smiles and teasing glances between kisses. Heeseung isn’t in a rush. He watches every reaction, murmurs praises into your skin, trails his mouth down your neck and across your collarbone like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pleasure.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he breathes. Your hands in his hair, his lips on your chest, the way he groans when your fingers tug at his waistband and your hips arch into his touch.

And later, when the wine sits forgotten and you’re curled up in his arms, skin against skin under the terrible blanket he insisted on sharing, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and whispers, “Hope that wasn’t too impulsive.”

You smile, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Best impulsive decision I’ve made in a long time.”

He laughs quietly, pulling you closer. “Then maybe we make another bad decision and get breakfast together tomorrow?”

You nod, eyes heavy, heart light. “Only if I can pick what we eat.”

“Deal.”

Jake

The first time Jake walked into your bar, he ordered something simple. A gin and tonic, no lime. You remembered because he made it a point to compliment your playlist and then raised his brows when you said it was your own mix.

“You made this?” he asked, eyes lighting up. “That explains why it's actually good.”

It wasn't the best pickup line, but the way he said it—genuinely impressed, not overly slick—made you laugh.

He started coming in every other week. Never pushy, never staying too long. Just enough to be familiar. And when he finally asked you out, it was with a crooked grin and a, “You know, I think it'd be a crime not to hear the full version of your music taste over dinner.”

The first date was casual, simple. You two went to a ramen place tucked into a corner of the city. Walked around afterward, ice cream melting faster than either of you could keep up.

Jake was easy to talk to. Funny in that slightly chaotic way that made you laugh from the belly. He asked about your job, your dog, your favorite conspiracy theory (“Birds aren’t real,” he said with mock seriousness), and didn’t flinch when you called him out for double-dipping the fries.

When the night cooled, he offered you his jacket. When your hands brushed, he didn’t make it weird. When you stopped walking and turned to him outside your apartment, the way he looked at you made your chest thrum.

“Can I walk you home?” he'd asked earlier.

You nodded, not quite ready for the night to end.

But then he added, hopeful and a little breathless, “Or… wanna come back to mine instead?”

You looked at him. His flushed cheeks, the nervous little grin, the way his eyes kept flicking from yours to your mouth and back again.

“Okay,” you said. “Yeah. I want to.”

His apartment was a reflection of him: a little chaotic, warm, inviting. One wall stacked with vinyls, another with Polaroids and postcards. A dog plushie wearing sunglasses sat in the corner.

“I cleaned like hell before this,” Jake admitted, handing you a beer. “Just in case. Not assuming. But, you know. Manifesting.”

You laughed, curling onto his couch. “Manifesting, huh?”

“You have no idea how hard I was rooting for that yes.”

You clinked your can of beer with his.

When his hand brushed yours under the blanket, and suddenly the night slowed. He turned to you, gaze heavy now. “Can I kiss you?”

The moment your lips met, the tension shifted from flirtation to something warmer and hungrier. You climbed into his lap, his hands exploring your waist, thumbs dipping under your shirt. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, your breaths syncing in tempo, your body suddenly very aware of every place he touched you.

“You sure?” he whispered against your mouth.

You nodded. “Very.”

That night clothes came off in stages. Between kisses and laughter and quiet groans. Jake took his time. His touch was reverent, his compliments whispered into your skin, his eyes never leaving yours when it mattered most.

He made you feel beautiful, wanted, safe. You held him close as the night unfolded, the warmth between you too big to measure, the chemistry impossible to ignore.

And afterward, tangled together under the world's ugliest blanket, your legs woven with his, he traced circles on your bare back and said, “So… that wasn’t just the alcohol, right?”

You smiled, sleepy and soft. “Not even close.”

He kissed your forehead. “Good. Because I make killer pancakes in the morning. And I was kinda hoping you'd stay.”

You leaned into his chest. “Only if I get to steal your hoodie.”

He laughed, pulling you tighter. “Easiest deal ever.”

[gustavnilsson]

But im older?.....

skz fic. this is so bad,but whatever. also ist very short,not my kind of thing,but yeah,this was just a old draft from when i was bored,sooooo

felix x older reader

reader feels mix feelings against felix,their 3 year diffrence is scaring her..While felix is head over heels

Its raining,like its poring down from the sky,like the clouds are crying. Reader just finnished at work,feet hurting,makeup smudging and hair now wet. With sharps steps she walks threw the dark streats of seoul,on her way to her....boyfriends? boy friend? or yeah,felix appartment. He texted her a half an hour ago,saying he needed help with something. She told herself they could take it another time,but just as allways. Here she was,walking in the rain. To felix appartment,again. The water dripped as she stepped inside the appartment building,legs hurting from walking all day as she walked up the seven pairs of stairs. She could taken the elivator,but no,life was just so amazing she was going to take the stairs.

With a little to agressive knock she knocks on felixs appartment. And a half second later he is there like a puppy to his owner,opening the door with a big smile. "ah! y/n,i missed you!" He said pulling her into a tight hug. "i saw you two days ago,felix." He smiles as he kisses her cheek,his blonde long hair brushing her cheek. He was cute,to cute. "But two days is longggg,48 hours,thats not nothing!" He finnaly lets go of her as he steps aside,letting her inside his warm,cosy,smells like a little bit to much home appartment. A sigh leaves her mouth as she stepps inside,felix closing the door walking past her mubbeling something "your soaking!" She is not even listening,he was so carring,it hurted to pull away.

"Here! Take these!" Felix pulls out a pair of pink sweatpants and a black hoodie,all three sizes to big. A laugh escapes her mouth as she gently takes them,walking towards the bathroom to change. The outfit was cosy,warm,but worse of all it smelled like him.

"wow..." Felix said scanning her up and down as he stood in the kitchen,a plate of brownies in his hands. "your..your beautiful,really y/n" ..."thanks,felix...i appriciate it.." ... His eyes meat hers,his full of love,hers full of fear. "lets watch a movie" "okay"

Yeah thats was a hour ago and now their both half cuddled under the soft blankets on felixs couch,his arm over her shoulders,her head on his chest. nobody can hear the movie,the unspoken silence is to loud. it allways have. sence they where little,when y/n used to tease him in middle school how tiny and small he was,or when she gradueted and he just started first year as a freshman. yeah three years wasn´t much,but it was. she was fucking 28 allmost dating a 25 year old. she saw him as little,not as a brother,just to far away from boyfriend. He was everything,would burn the world for her. But what is love if it´s only from one person? y/n could never hate him,never. But could she ever love him? Love him enough that he deserved?

"you okay?" ops,to much thoughts... "yeah,i was just..thinking.." A beat of silence,hope fylling his eyes,or meaby it was fear.. it didnt matter. "thinking about what?".. "us." "us?" "felix we cant ignore-" "ignore what?! That im a little younger tha you?!" suddenly his voice sounded more firm,like he was trying to prove something.. or meaby it was the anger from constant rejection

"your being so drmatic,y/n! do you hear yourself?" "You want to throw away everything we have because of a little age gap?! thats ridiculous!" He was angry,whitch wasnt often,only when somethings wrong,and that meant it hurts more. "im just not good for you!" "How do you know whats good for me?" something flicred threw her eyes,she didnt know,she wanted to,but didin´t. silence.

His hand reached for her cheek,she didn´tn flinch. couldn´t. "y/n..." "y/n look at me,please" Their eyes slowly meet,his eyes fylled with something...her lip trembled. "Why cant you just let me in?" A minute passed,meaby two. Feelt like five. "your to good for me"..."y/n i love you" "i allways have,why cant you see that?" Suddenly a laugh escapes her mouth,her ears turning bright red. All the tension dropping in a moment. "okay,okay lover boy" Felix expression turns into a grin,his hand lifting to her cheek again. "alright,just kiss me already" no hesitation,just his plump lips on hers,a long wedding like kiss,a small giggle in between.

After he ruffels her hair,pulling her into his arms. "is this my moment to finally get to call you mommy?" "FELIX-" "im just kidding!" y/n lands a hard smack right to his arm as he breaks out into laughter,pulling her into him as he kisses the top of her head. "alright,alright,love you" "yeah,love you two.." A beat of silence.

"Mommy."

[sgartiste]

I need to put this out there now or else I’ll never put it to words. A month or so back, I gave my recommendation for A Tale Of Ice And Smoke by SooperSara while I was in the middle of reading it. Back then I was on Chapter Twenty-Something and at this point I’ve finished it and

OH MY GOSH THIS FIC IS AMAAAAZIIIIIING!!!

First of all, Book 1 of the series is complete and has been adapted into an audiobook narrated by the author herself. Barring a few overlaps in the voice clips (;P), it’s incredibly well put together and the author represents and distinguishes the cast incredibly. If you’re interested and willing, please, please, PLEASE give it a listen.

Imma start talking about the plot itself now, so spoilers if you wanna check the fic out yourself.

So, a friend of mine introduced the concept of podfics to me a little over a year ago, and decided to check a decently sized one out to explore the genre. I chose ATOIAS because, one, it was a fandom I was familiar with, and two, it was my favorite subgenre of fics, that being girlboss roleswap AUs. (my beloved) To put it very simply, it’s basically ‘what if Katara was the Avatar?’. The story revolves around her perspective and her experience as the Avatar throughout all of Book 1, and makes damn well sure to differentiate what this role means to her from Aang. Who is also in the fic, to be clear. And also the Avatar. 

EH!? TWO AVATARS!? EHHHHHH!? So basically Aang died in the iceberg after 84 years and Katara became the Avatar, and then she encountered him in the North, and accidentally used some Avatar mumbo jumbo to bring him back to life. It was an interesting, and admittedly off-putting idea. I originally felt it detracted from the main premise, but SooperSara makes sure to both take full advantage of this plot point and ensure that this story is still very much Katara’s. It’s important to remember that a very important part of a good fic that readapts the original’s plot is to make the bits distinguishable enough to truly make their story their own, and as — especially as — the plot progresses, the author does that very well.

Let’s talk about Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. The author ships Zutara HARD. Don’t blame her, it’s peak. Katara/Zuko was a relationship mentioned in the tags, and I was totally fine with it, but little did I know at the time, the fun girlboss roleswap AU fic was just a poorly disguised Zutara fic! To be clear, there is NOTHING wrong with that. At all. I don’t usually go for slow burn fics  barring a handful of ships I fixate on. Zutara is not one of them. That didn’t stop me from growing addicted to the relationship. 🫠 

For starters, Katara’s role as the Avatar is unknown to most of the population, as most people think it’s just Aang. The only ones who know it outside the Gaang and a couple of characters who catch her in the act, are Zuko and Iroh. So Zuko now has to both capture Aang AND Katara to complete his mission and return his honor and yadda yadda yadda and he has to do all of this without stirring suspicion lest a certain Zhao spread the news and try to take over his mission. So Zuko immediately has a strong and unique connection to Katara compared to canon which is the real basis behind the butterfly that leads to the growing relationship. He focuses his pursuits on her and her responses are muuuuuch different than Aang’s, usually by giving him an earful or the occasional fistful whilst the latter would usually attempt to disengage. That’s another thing. SooperSara really knows how to make the cast feel like the kids they are. The squabbles, sputters and scowls (:P) by all of the Gaang make them all feel so natural and in character and it really strengthens their character, especially in Katara and Zuko’s sense. The former is petty and the latter is grumpy and the dynamic between the two of them is just so, SO endearing. Anyway, Zuko ends up being as much of a protagonist as Katara as the perspective constantly changes to his and much of the most important emotional beats involve his time with the reader. Aang and Sokka also get some focus, and their characters are certainly not ignored, but Zuko and Katara are the backbone of what makes this fic so good.

The first quarter of the fic is a retelling of the first half of Book 1, while taking some creative liberties to alter certain plot points, and that was all fine and dandy and exactly what I expected, but the plot takes a BIG change during the adaptation of Episode 15 where Aang and the group have their falling out over the map to Hakoda except Zuko and June actually succeed in their mission to catch the Avatar mainly because the fight with Aang has increased meaning for Katara and Katara is actually Zuko’s primary target. The augmented drama ends up with Katara stuck on a Fire Nation ship for… quite a while. Like… for weeks. Like… the second quarter of the 80-chapter fic is in this boat, mainly in this cell. It’s a very small, tight setting. And I was initially very impatient as to when this chunk would be over, wanting to go back to ‘episodes of avatar but katara is the mc’. What I didn’t realize was how this new setting would be the perfect place for the relationship between Zuko and Katara, as well as Iroh and Katara for that matter. The way she’s so self-defeatingly and dangerously defensive in the beginning and the efforts Zuko went to make sure she didn’t end up killing herself in the cell — by keeping her in Iroh’s company — were admirable. And Katara slowly comes to realize that Zuko, despite himself and his own feelings, is, at the very least, a very decent and complicated person. And Zuko is constantly conflicted by how much he finds he cares about not only his prisoner, but the other people around him as Katara constantly calls him out and gets on his nerves in their verbal skirmishes while still showing each other respect. In the end, they’re both kids, and they were thankfully raised on good morals despite their actions. Katara’s animosity between him for his actions, calling him just as bad as Zhao, remains until he ends up saving her life when Zhao blows up Zuko’s ship. I was initially a little detached from this change, constantly wondering which chapter would be the end of this tangent, but the growing bond between these two seemingly incompatible kids had somehow snared me sometime within. The chapter where Zuko returns Katara’s necklace was the first time I have EVER cried during a fanfic, and that was only enhanced by listening to the audiobook. (Another reason to go listen to it >:[)

So, yeah. About that. Preceding The Siege of The North, Zhao dismisses Zuko’s crew and basically destroys his mission to capture the Avatar all in his father’s name, and after attempting to blow the prince up as well as his newfound doubts of his mission via Katara being herself (in the most annoying way possible) Zuko is practically broken. He survives the explosion and stows away on Zhao’s ship with Iroh and when the plans to attack the North become apparent, Zuko, good-natured, guilty, and disillusioned by Katara’s constant questions feels a responsibility to protect and prepare the Avatar for the oncoming invasion. Not necessarily because he likes her or anything… o_o …but because his own conscience, now clearer than ever, recognizes that this attack is wrong and he has to do something about it.

The entire second half of the 80-chapter fic is in the Northern Water Tribe, which I was actually happy with, especially after how my feelings changed after the Fire Nation ship. It meant we’d get to spend more time with Yue and see Katara grow as a waterbender, and it would help strengthen the character and relationships between the rest of the Gaang. It takes a bit for Katara to actually get to train, Pakku being Pakku, but it really feels as if it pays off by the end. And Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. He shows up much earlier than in canon to warn Katara, albeit with no real plan past that… because he’s Zuko. So when he’s found, which is thankfully very quickly, Katara drags him by the ear and sticks him in an ice pit for the next twenty chapters. In that time he becomes acquainted with the Gaang and soon gets dismissed as a threat. They talk, they bond, they spar once Zuko is allowed out and the relationships get plenty of time to develop and solidify in ways that never could’ve been possible in 20 minute episodes while still maintaining an enjoyable pace, which is impressive considering this is 40 chapters that represent 2 episodes. Zuko and Katara’s relationship carries the whole thing. Zuko’s awkward, angsty and bad with feelings, and Katara’s ill-tempered, spiteful and wears her emotions on her sleeve. They’re kind of perfect for each other. The perfect people to talk to — read ‘argue with’. Seeing them feel so much responsibility and connection for each other (though, not quite love [yet]) more and more is an addicting feeling.  While I won’t spoil the ending with the Siege, I will say that everything that’s happened wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Zhao being an asshole. So thank him for the Zutarany goodness.

But seriously, this is one of the best fics I’ve indulged in, and certainly the best one I’ve ever listened to. Author’s in the middle of Book 2 right now, which I have admittedly not begun, but I’m really looking forward to reading it.

tl;dr, came for the girlboss, stayed for the zutara. 

also sokka says fuck. 10/10 would recommend.

[dioslesbianwife]

Hello, can I get part 4 jojo gang with a reader who's like Noelle from Genshin. Someone who is extremely strong, stubborn, reliable, and willing to endanger her life in order to help someone in need. With the reader's goal of becoming a Police officer

hi, sure! hope u enjoy and thank you for requesting :3

Josuke Higashikata

Totally in awe of you.

He first sees you one-arm lifting a scooter off a crushed puppy like “Oh thank goodness, it only got bruised!” while YOU’RE bleeding out and smiling like it’s no big deal.

“UHHH GIRL- ???”

He constantly has to heal you because you have zero self-preservation. “Y/N, you can’t protect the town if you’re dead!”

Thinks your goal to become a cop is noble but quietly worries about how reckless you are.

“You’d be the best officer ever… just please don’t run into burning buildings anymore.”

Lowkey gets flustered when you carry him bridal-style after a fight. 

Okuyasu

HE’S OBSESSED WITH YOU.

You’re strong, loyal, AND nice?? His dream girl?? His soulmate???

“You wanna be a cop?! That’s SICK!! I’d visit your station every day!!”

Tries to keep up with your workouts and fails miserably. You carried a vending machine once. He passed out after five pushups.

You once took a hit for him and he cried right there on the sidewalk.

Gets very emotional when you talk about wanting to protect Morioh. “Damn. You’re like a superhero. Like All Might, but, like… cuter.”

Koichi

Extremely impressed and extremely concerned.

The first time he sees you carry an injured jogger 3 miles back to town without breaking a sweat, he’s like 🧍‍♂️😳

“Y/N… you’re amazing. But maybe… slow down? Just a bit?”

Tries to talk you out of putting yourself in danger every time but you just smile and thank him for worrying.

“You’re way too good for this world,” he says, genuinely.

Thinks your dream is incredible and will support you 100%- makes you little flashcards for the written exam 

Rohan

Annoyed. Until he’s not.

“Ugh, you again. Charging into danger like some self-sacrificing anime cliché- ”

But the second you block a falling beam from crushing him and say “Are you alright, Mr. Kishibe?” he just stares at you.

He writes a character based on you. It becomes insanely popular.

Pretends he’s indifferent, but always keeps an eye on you during fights.

"If you die doing something stupid and noble, I will be very upset. That’s not permission. That’s a threat.”

Jotaro Kujo

Knows your type immediately.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” he mutters. “...She’s also going to save this whole town.”

Watches from the shadows like a worried dad. Pretends not to care.

You: getting thrown into a wall

Jotaro: “Yare yare daze- ORAORAORAORA- ”

He actually admires your dream to be a cop, even if he thinks you’re too soft-hearted.

Trains with you sometimes. Quietly impressed when you flip him over once.

“Good. Just don’t die. You’re more useful alive.”

Yukako

Girl you are her IDOL.

“...She’s like some sort of noble girl knight…”

After she’s sure you’re not into Koichi, she latches onto you like glue. Will support your dream.

“If anyone stands in your way, I’ll hold them hostage while you do your paperwork.”

She gets scary protective though. If you’re bleeding and still trying to run into battle, she hair-tackles you to the ground.

“You WILL rest. You are NOT disposable. Understand?!”

Reimi

She’s so moved by your kindness she tears up.

“You’re exactly the kind of person I wish had been there for me...”

You visit her at her alley often, sometimes cleaning up trash or watering the flowers nearby.

Reimi thinks you’re the kind of soul that changes fate.

She 100% believes you’ll become a police officer and help protect Morioh from things no one else sees.

You’re her favorite visitor. You always listen to her stories, and she tells you, “Don’t ever stop being you.”

Tonio

IMMEDIATELY TRIES TO FIX YOUR DIET.

“Signorina! You cannot survive on instant noodles and bruised knuckles alone!!”

Every time you come into his restaurant he’s like “You have dark circles. I am making you soup. SIT.”

He loves your kind spirit and even customizes your dishes to help you recover faster.

You once collapsed from dehydration after lifting a car off a kitten and he NEVER lets you forget it.

“You must treat yourself with the same love you give others!”

Shigechi

Thinks you’re SO cool.

“Whoa!! You’re like a muscley version of Koichi!!”

Tries to show off by helping you help people- like “I can use Harvest to get this lady’s purse back!!”

He’s your biggest fan tbh. Follows you around and asks questions constantly.

“Why do you wanna be a cop? Are the hats comfy?? Do you get snacks?”

You gently explain your sense of justice and he just goes 🥺

Starts calling you “Detective Y/N” and tries to draw you little fake badges.

[suevi-if]

RO reaction to MC kissing them to shut them up during an argument? 👀

Hi anon! Thank you for the cute ask <3

I had so much fun I actually wrote quite long scenarios, which is why they're all under the cut :)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No, listen, it's more complicated than that-"

You interrupt Ing with a kiss. You know it's more complicated, but you don't want to argue anymore. Not with them. They don't move at all, it's like they're stunned. Oh, Gods. Were you wrong about their feelings? Do they not like you this way? Maybe you should-

Finally, they kiss you back. Their hands move to cup your face. After a few more seconds, they move back, still holding your face. With an unreadable face, they murmur, "We're not done with this topic," before kissing you once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aquila sighs. They hate arguments with a passion. "If you just listen to yourself for a moment-"

What an absolute hypocrite. Listen to yourself? Something they should try for once. In a fit of emotions running high, you cup their face and kiss them.

They instantly react and kiss you back, deepening the kiss further. Things get heated with them fairly quickly, not only during arguments, but also during other activities.

They pull you close, intent of not letting you go anytime soon.

When you both struggle to breathe, they break off the kiss. "Uhm... so... let's just forget whatever we argued about. I can think of nicer things to do right now."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Gods! She'll just have to wait! It takes as long as it takes, I don't care about her feelings."

D is pissed. They care about the feelings of others, especially the feelings of little princesses girls they actually like. But you also know they're too stubborn to change their point of view, or admit they're in the wrong. And if you didn't have this whole argument, they'd probably be done with their work already, and you could leave together with Flavia.

Right now, she's keeping herself busy by playing outside, but by the Gods, you know three year olds can get bored very quickly. On top of that, she hasn't had her afternoon nap yet, so she will get grumpy soon. You have to get her back to the mansion, as soon as possible.

To finally shut D up, you decide to do the one thing you know exactly will make them melt: You move towards them and press your lips on theirs.

D jerks their head back after a few seconds of processing what you did, their face turning into a bright pink hue. "Wha- I- You- Huh?!"

Oops. Seems like you broke them instead. It looks like you'll still be here for quite a while, and Flavia will have to wait for her nap...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"It's not my fault your master didn't give you enough money for everything he wanted you to get, you'll just have to go back and ask for more!"

Nefer could really cut you some slack and give you a discount. They can be such a greedy asshole sometimes. As if they really needed the money...

"Please, Nefer? Master will send me once more, and I just don't have the time-"

"No way, [Name], if my other customers hear you get special treatment or a discount-"

Out of frustration, you interrupt them with a kiss.

Not only do they kiss you back instantly, they also wrap their arms around you. After breaking apart, they mumble, "Well, maybe I could take that as payment for the missing coin. But you won't get away that easily next time this happens."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No, recludere is to open, claudere is to close. Come on, you know this. I know you can remember it if you try."

You sigh. Learning Latin was one of the most boring things you were tasked to do. Sure, your masters didn't speak a barbarian language, but their language just sounded all the same to you. Why couldn't there be some kind of middle ground?!

Frustrated with yourself and this stupid language, you ask Xen, "Can we stop for today? Please? I'm getting a headache."

Xen, a glint in their eyes, responds to your request, "Only if you can tell me what 'headache' is in Latin."

Oh, Gods. That's mean. You haven't learned that word yet, and they know! They probably know that you're only acting because you're sick of learning.

The thread that kept a hold on the last smidgen of your patience finally snaps. You lean over the desk, grab their cheeks and press a kiss on their lips. Maybe, just maybe, they'll let you go now.

As you pull back, you see their stunned face, blinking rapidly in confusion. After a moment, they recover, and an adoring smile graces their lips as they study your features. "Maybe I was a little too harsh. But don't think you're getting out of this so easily. You have to learn. Five more words, then we'll stop for today, okay?"

[gyaruhana]

please write more thanos 230 smut i need to fight for dominance with this man and the previous fic was great

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong - Hatefucking (pt.2)

Synopsis: You and Thanos hate each other and, no matter how many death threats he sends your way, you never listen. So he decides that, if threats don’t work, maybe you need to be fucked instead. Of course, he's a fool to think he'll get away with that.

A/N: hey.... hey.. how y'all doing..? I'm back from the dead in honor of squid game s3 so here's this finally.

Warnings: smut, thanos gets denied release bc he deserves it, every1 is mean, we basically attempt to murder nam-gyu but he lives dw, hair pulling (from both us and thanos), it's literally called hatefucking so don't expect lovey dovey stuff.

Waking up the next morning after last night's events was.. Something. You felt very conflicted with yourself. You couldn’t believe you had let that absolute dickhead have his way with you and treat you like a whore. You wanted to punch him for having the audacity to do that with you but you also wanted to punch yourself for letting him get away with that. You had half a mind to walk up to him now and yell at him but you knew that would get you nowhere. If anything, it would just make you more angry because he’d probably look at you with that dumb cocky smirk again and make fun of you. 

You snapped out of your thoughts when the very loud voice of Thanos rang out again. You looked over at him immediately with a glare, not appreciating his current volume when it was this early in the morning. He was louder than the blaring classical musical that would play through the speakers to wake everyone up. You were really hoping today would be the day he dies so you’d never see his dumb face again. The chances that happened were ridiculously slim though considering he was a little too willing to sacrifice everyone within a 5 mile radius of him. 

“Good morning everyone! Let’s play some games!” Thanos spoke with a large grin, much to the dismay of everyone else who didn’t want to deal with such an energetic person after just waking up. In all honesty, Thanos was feeling much more excitable today. He had been thinking about the events of last night non-stop as seeing you in that state was a real treat for him. He really didn’t expect he’d enjoy using you so much but, now that he’s done it once, he can’t help but want to do it again. It was a real ego booster to see you on his knees sucking his cock after all the shit you had said to him. He preferred you much better when you kept quiet. 

You peeled your eyes off of him after a few solid seconds of telling him to shut up through the power of telekinesis, instead opting to look at the ground beneath your feet to avoid poisoning your eyes with his ridiculous face. You let out a sigh before getting up and shoving your hands into your pockets in a rather poor attempt to blend into the small amount of people left. It was sort of surreal to think that there were 456 people when you first arrived here and now there’s not even close to 200 people left. Although, the deaths you witnessed had left you rather desensitized to murder now.

You subtly walked over to the line of players that was slowly beginning to form as it was time for the next god forsaken game. You were hoping you could avoid Thanos and his dumb little friends - if they could even be called his friends - because you weren’t keen on hearing what comments he had to make today. You could only guess some of the things he would say after the events of last night, none of which you wanted to hear come from his mouth.

You followed behind the line of survivors as you were led through hallways, up way too many stairs for your liking, and finally to the game room for today. It was certainly an interesting looking place. It was a circular room - sort of like a circus tent - and there were many doors that seemed to each lead to a small room. In the center of the room, there was a circular platform which seemed to house three carousel horses in the very center. You didn’t have a single clue what this game could possibly be but you didn’t let that deter you.

The usual robotic voice rang out over the speakers explaining the game for today. You listened as it explained the rather simple rules of the game. You almost wanted to laugh at how easy this game sounded although you knew better than to do that as there was probably some trick to this game. If anything, this game might encourage violence because it’s more of an every-man-for-himself type game under the guise of a team game. 

You stepped onto the large circular platform, not exactly looking forward to the inevitable chaos of this game. You watched each player carefully as they stepped onto the platform with utmost caution. Clearly, everyone was on edge as they all seemed to predict that what was about to occur would be anything but humane. 

A sudden hand on your shoulder made you flinch slightly as you looked behind you to see Thanos’s stupid grin. He seemed to have gotten even cockier, maybe because he thought he had some sort of power over you now. You let out an audible sigh as you turn around to face him with annoyance written all over your face.

“What? What do you want?” you question but your tone made it clear you really didn’t give a fuck what he wanted. He laughed at your slight aggression towards him and squeezed your shoulder slightly. “Relax, just wishing you good luck,” he says with a small smirk but it was clear his intentions were in fact not to wish you good luck. You pulled your hand out of your pocket and quickly pushed his hand off your shoulder with a scoff. “I don’t need your good luck,” you speak and he looks away with slight annoyance.

“Was yesterday not enough for you? Maybe I should fuck your bitchy face again, huh?” he says as he looks down at you, the smirk on his face long gone and replaced with the same annoyance as yours. “How about I fuck your bitchy face up instead?” you speak. You couldn’t believe the audacity he had to bring up what happened yesterday now. It was like he was trying to throw you off your game so you’d die. Well, unfortunately for him, you’d sooner claw his eyes out then die in a stupid place like this.

He seemed to find something so amusing about your words, you could just see it on his face that he found you ridiculous. “Better hope we don’t cross paths this round,” he spoke before patting your shoulder twice and leaving you alone to go to his own team. The threat was very clear this time around and you could tell he meant it. If you got too close to him, he’d make sure to kill you. The idea brought a small smirk to your face. Him? Killing you? You wouldn’t even let him succeed in that in his dreams.

You let out a scoff before turning around. On cue, the platform began to spin and some childish music played. When the platform stopped, a number was called out and you quickly found a group to run into a room with. It was a bunch of strangers who you hadn’t had the chance to speak to and you definitely weren’t going to try any time soon. You watched through the slot in the door as people who weren’t so fortunate got eliminated but it seemed Thanos hadn’t gotten to share the same fate.

It took around 10 minutes before the room doors were unlocked and the players trailed back to the center platform. This went on for four rounds and you, thankfully, did not have any encounters with Thanos yet. However, you had been watching him and he seemed rather preoccupied in sacrificing his own teammates. You honestly weren’t surprised. Of course, he was sacrificing his own team with a smile on his face. God, you wanted to wipe that grin off his face permanently. 

The last round came by and you managed to overhear a conversation between some close-knitted players. A conversation that had you quite intrigued considering it related to the game. You watched them subtly and took in their words.

“Two,” one of them spoke as the other one looked over at him curiously. “Wait, why?” the other guy responded, curious for an explanation to the guys very confident guess. “We're at 126 people. There are 50 rooms. Even if there’s two in every room, there’s still only enough for 100 of us. If you don’t find one fast, you’re done for,” he answered and that definitely peaked your attention. His guess was quite educated and it formed an idea in your head.

You looked over to Thanos with a small smirk and he seemed to sense your stare causing him to look over at you curiously. You didn’t break eye contact and just stared at him. In all honesty, it did make him slightly uncomfortable considering you were just standing there staring. He didn’t have time to think about it though as the platform stopped and the number two was called out. Rather predictably, he left his quiet friend alone and instead took player 124 with him.

Without another thought, you ran after them and quickly caught up with them. You couldn’t explain what got into you but, before you knew it, you had grabbed the back of player 124’s jacket and pulled him back. Of course, Thanos was taken aback and immediately looked over but you didn’t give him time to think before you pushed him back into an empty room, leaving Player 124 in the dust. You closed the door behind you and held it shut, waiting for it to lock on its own.

Of course, Thanos was pissed. He immediately made a move, stomping towards you with the intent to get you out of the way. Not like you were about to let that happen. You quickly raised your foot and kicked his knee making him stumble back with a grunt. “Fuck!” he cursed out before straightening up and looking at you with a lot of anger. He couldn’t believe the shit you were pulling.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe it either.

The door locked as the timer ran out and you let go with a slight smirk before walking toward him. You gripped his chin roughly and forced him to keep his eyes on you. Oh, you were going to get revenge for all the times he’s treated you like shit. You had more than enough of him by now and this was the perfect time to give him a sweet taste of his own medicine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he said and you were quick to raise a hand and slap him clean across his face. It sent him into a stunned silence as he was quickly forced to look back at you again. Had you actually just slapped him? He was starting to think this might be some sort of hallucination from his drugs but he knew better than that. 

“I’m fucking sick of hearing you speak. Can’t you shut the hell up for once?” you speak as you look at him. Your voice snapped him out of his daze and he quickly regained his composure. A smirk once again graced his lips as he looked at you. “Is this your way of asking me to fuck you again?” he asked. You couldn’t believe he was still talking like that given the situation. Your free hand grabbed a fistful of his hair as you pulled him closer. You were angered by his undeserved confidence.

“I’d rather have a bullet blasted through my skull than have you fuck me again,” you responded. “Then why didn’t you die out there?” he questioned - obviously trying to make fun of you by subtly suggesting that deep down, you want him despite all the hate your harbour for him. “Because I wanted to wait for you to die first. I can’t wait to see the life leave your ugly fucking face,�� you answered and his smirk dropped at your words. 

You let out a scoff before letting him go and standing by the door to see the situation outside. You didn’t see player 124’s body anywhere so you could assume he survived and might have it out for you later after the stunt that you pulled. Thanos didn’t seem to say anything and instead opted to just stare at you. You could feel his eyes burning through your skull but you ignored it. You had already decided to fuck around with him some more later. After all, this was just a warning sent to him to not fuck with you unless he wants to face the consequences.

Then, all of a sudden, a hand grabbed your hair and pulled you back. You let out a hiss at the jolt of pain and looked at Thanos to be met with an angry glare. He kept a tight grip on your hair as he brought you close to his face. It was pretty clear that he was anything but happy now. There wasn’t a single trace of amusement on his face. Part of you was glad since you were sick of seeing him look so smug.

“Are you trying to make me angry? Because it’s working,” he speaks. His attitude had changed quite a bit now and he no longer would play nice - or, at least his version of nice. Your hand raised to grab his wrist tightly, a silent warning to let go of you before things got properly violent. “Let me go,” you stated firmly. You had long run out of patience with him. If he didn’t start listening, you’d make him listen. 

He let out a humorless laugh as he briefly looked to the side before returning his gaze to you. “Or what? You gonna slap me again?” he says with a mocking tone. Thanos had already painted an image in his mind of you being all bark and no bite. He didn’t believe you had the guts to actually try anything and that this was nothing but your poor attempt at regaining some sort of power after the events of last night. He was starting to think he might need to give you another taste.

“Worse,” you respond, waiting for his reaction to your response. Your intentions were not to kill him, not yet at least. You just wanted to put him in his place like he tried to do to you. If sex was his language, then you’d use it to send a very clear message for him to stay in his place and out of the way of you. He raises an eyebrow at your words, analyzing your face as if to try to understand what the response you gave meant. 

“Worse-?” he questions before he’s silenced by your lips pressing against his. It caught him slightly off guard as he really hadn’t expected you to kiss him. He wasn’t an idiot though, and he could tell this kiss was nothing related to love or anything along those lines. It was a way to get a message across. You backed him up against the wall as you kissed him and he made no effort to stop you. If anything, he actually partially reciprocated the kiss. 

In your mind, you knew you had maybe a little over six minutes left to prove a point to him and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of that time. Your hand slipped down beneath the waistband of his pants and Thanos tensed slightly. Feeling him tense up at your touch entertained you slightly. It only served as motivation for you to continue as you slowly started palming his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

He let out a quiet grunt as he tried not to thrust up into your hand. He preferably didn’t want to appear desperate even though his cock got increasingly hard as your hand teased him. He knew you’d keep teasing him like this just to hear him whine and beg. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of that though. That would bruise his ego and he couldn’t have that happen.

“Is this your way of saying you want my dick again?” Thanos speaks with a smirk, keeping up his cocky facade as if he isn’t starting to feel rather eager to get his dick sucked. You gave him no response, opting to instead pull his pants down to his knees along with his boxers and free his hardening cock. 

His breath hitched for a moment as your hand wrapped itself around his cock achingly slowly. Usually, Thanos had the power in situations like this. He couldn’t think of a single time where he was the one pushed up against the wall with his head leaned back and his eyes squeezed tight at a little pleasure. Feeling the way you slowly stroked his dick, purposely teasing him - it was driving him mad. He wanted to say something - to do something.

He wanted to grab a fistful of your hair and throw you to the ground before fucking the life out of you but he couldn’t. He was feeling weirdly sensitive and it had him distracted beyond belief. Of course, you had noticed how he was actually submitting to you. It brought a smirk to your face knowing you made him give up so quickly.

“What’s wrong?” You question as your thumb goes to his tip and traces light circles. He grunted - an attempt to cover up what you both knew would’ve been a whine. “Too much for you?” You tease as you quicken your motions a little to try to elicit more sounds from him.

“Shut- up,” Thanos spoke as his hips instinctively thrusted upward. He was chasing a release even though he knew you wouldn’t let him have it. He knew that you just wanted to leave him hard and horny with no one to help but his own hand. 

His words make you laugh a little. His annoyance and desperation were funny to you - hilarious even. The fact someone like him was being reduced to this might be the best thing you’ve ever seen. It was even better when he actually started whining. 

By now, Thanos had given up on his attitude. He hoped that maybe if he just started begging you to let him cum, you would. As shameful as it was for him. He really didn’t want to be left with nothing. 

“Fuck- c’mon, faster. I’m so close,” He spoke through heavy breaths and slight whines. He ran a hand through his hair as he felt his release closing in on him. Fuck, he wouldn’t say it out loud, but you were good. The way your hand fit perfectly around his cock and effortlessly switched places was driving him mad. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he adds in a desperate attempt to get the release he needs.

“Oh yeah?” you question as you grip his chin and make him look at you. He nods his head quickly like some puppy desperate for a treat. “Anything,” he repeats and, for a moment, he thinks you’re agreeing because your hand moves up and down his cock faster and your thumb presses on his tip just perfectly but then-

The door unlocks. And the feeling is gone. 

A whine leaves his mouth as he almost feels himself collapse to the floor. You were already walking out and, if his dick wasn’t aching right now, he would have chased you down. 

“Fucking bitch,” he cursed under his breath before letting out a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, he pulled his pants back up, the friction making him wince a little before he relaxed slightly and ran up to you.

“What the fuck was that?” he said quietly to you with annoyance. He was pissed off that you basically stripped him of his dignity and didn’t even give him the gift of release in return. Upon getting no response from you, Thanos lets out a noise of frustration but he continues to quickly trail after you. “Oh, so now you’re gonna ignore me,” he says as he blocks your way to force you to acknowledge him.

“What? That desperate for more?” you tease as you fold your arms over your chest. You didn’t even let him answer before you spoke again. “God, you’re pathetic. I’d recommend you fuck off from now on, yeah?” you speak. He’s quiet for a few moments as he just stares which elicits a scoff from you before you push past him and walk back to the center of the room.

Thanos doesn’t move after you this time, too busy trying to come to terms with what just happened. He couldn’t believe he let you get away with that. He should’ve done something- anything, but he didn’t. He was left feeling unsatisfied and frustrated. His ego was a little hurt too. You played his game and still beat him at it. Fuck, you were annoying. 

“Fucking bitch,” Thanos curses under his breath. “Fucking.. Hope she gets shot,”

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: The battle in the airport begins. Bucky gets protective.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Violence, Vague descriptions of injuries, Fighting, Swearing, Reader is injured, Protective!Bucky, Like super protective, Tony Stark is reader's biological father (reader is still a fully grown adult, we make the timeline work because we are in charge), No use of y/n, Please let me know if I forgot anything

Author’s Note: Hope you guys like this chapter! We've got a little bit of everything here. Action, angst, banter, sappy lovey-dovey moments - you name it! Next chapter is gonna be all kinds of angsty, so get ready my friends. As always, feedback is super appreciated!

-

You’re stationed inside the airport, Sam and Bucky sitting on either side of you. Your backs are pressed against the wall, facing away from the large windows so as not to be seen.

“I just want to let you guys know,” you say, tone casual as you keep your eyes on the screen lit up before you. Sharon managed to bring a few items of yours along with Steve’s shield and Sam’s suit, so one of your surveillance robots is projecting the argument outside onto a hologram at your watch, “that my serum makes me sense a lot of things, and the tension between you two is giving me a fucking migraine.”

You don’t have to look up to know that they’ve quickly stopped glaring at each other, or even that they both shoot you a guilty look. Your eyes are glued to the screen.

Tony sounds desperate. Angry. He tells Steve to turn Bucky in. He demands to talk to you.

And that’s the reason you’re in here, removed from it all while Redwing - one of your favourite creations - searches for the quinjet.

He’s not your dad. Dads drive you to soccer practice and teach you to ride a bike. You never had one of those, and that’s fine. You don’t need a dad. You never did.

But, despite it all, Tony Stark is still family. The rift between the two of you, after everything that’s happened since you admitted who you were to him, hurts. In so many ways, and in so many moments, he wants to be your dad, or at least something akin to it. In some ways, you’ve let him. You’ve worked through problems with him, built machines together, listened to Pepper put him in his place countless times. You communicate through quips and sarcasm, mostly, but you’ve also learned how to translate snarky comments into what they really mean.

And now he’s desperate to keep you from being taken out like the national threat you seem to have become, and you won’t even face him.

Sam and Bucky are looking at you.

“What’s the status on Redwing?” You ask, chest feeling tight.

“”Hey, are you-“

You interrupt Sam, and ask again through gritted teeth. “Status on Redwing. Please.”

Sam wisely drops the subject and clicks a button on his glasses, watching the surveillance. “Still looking.”

Bucky’s hand, cool and comforting, settles gently on your thigh. No pressure. Just there. You relax a little.

Redwing finds the quinjet, and it’s time to move.

You shut down the screen, and drag yourself to your feet.

-

“What the hell is that?”

“Everyone has a gimmick these days.”

The guy in the red suit bursts through the window, and you don’t have time to speak before shots of…something are being fired your way.

A piece of debris flies at you from behind, and you don’t have to look up to push Sam out of the way and duck low enough that it barely grazes the top of your head.

Red Suit Guy comes out of nowhere, and you manage to dodge a couple of shots of stuff before one of them hits your arm and attaches it to the wall behind you, locking you in place.

“No way, do you have the tingle?” He asks, and holy shit does his voice sound young.

“The what?”

“You know, the…nevermind.” You use the web on your arm to anchor you in place as you kick out, faster than a bullet, but he somehow manages to dodge it. You slam on your captured wrist, triggering your watch to burn through the…web, you guess, until your hand is free. You throw a punch, and he dodges it again. He throws one back, and it’s your turn to dodge.

“Oh wait! You’re Mr. Stark’s kid!” He shouts, making you furrow your brow as you come at him again. You don’t land a single blow. He’s quicker than you. “I’m sorry! I’m not supposed to hit you. I’m supposed to do this.”

More shots of the sticky stuff fire at you, and you’re knocked back against a wall and stuck to it once more.

“Are you making this stuff?” You ask, horror and disgust lacing your voice at the idea that the substance holding you to the wall is some kind of bodily fluid. “Why is it sticky?!”

“Huh? No! I mean, I make it, but it’s not like, coming out of me!”

Before you can respond or even process what the fuck that means, Bucky is there, jumping in front of you and throwing out his fist.

The guy catches the punch. He catches Bucky’s punch like it’s nothing, and exclaims something about his metal arm.

“I am supposed to hit you.” Red Suit Guy says, actually sounding apologetic. “Like, a lot. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Typical.

The rest of the fight goes by in a blur of punches and dodging what you can only call webs. At one point, you’re pretty sure a car is thrown.

When the guy is finally flown outside by Redwing, the three of you are stuck to the floor, exhausted.

“What do we do now? Cuddle?” You ask, still catching your breath.

“Gross.” Sam grumbles. You think you hear Bucky laugh.

-

You’re running at them. They’re running at you. And they’re not stopping.

You collide with Natasha first, dodging her punch and managing to knock her to the ground in one swift movement. You meet her look of surprise with a smile. “I know. Pretty cool, right?”

“Very.” She says, before catching your legs with hers and knocking you to the ground. Your back hits the pavement, and you make a noise between a grunt of pain and a gasp of surprise. “But fast doesn’t mean good technique.”

“Maybe you can show me some moves when this is all over.” You suggest lightly, jumping back to your feet just in time to dodge her next attack.

“I don’t see why not.” She manages to knock you down again, and you manage to catch sight of Bucky and T’Challa nearby. You reach for your belt, rolling out of Nat’s way just as Clint jumps in to help. The distraction frees you enough to pull out a small gun at your hip, and you fire it with perfect aim at the man in the catsuit.

The taser hits its mark, lighting him up blue as the wires wrap around him like a vice. He goes down, hard, and you can’t help but cringe at the sight.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, and your body creaks in protest as he helps you to your feet.

“You okay, doll?” He asks, eyes inspecting you for injuries even as he starts to pull you in the direction of the jet.

“I just tased a king.” You say miserably, boots thudding against the pavement as you break into a run.

“Good thing we’re already fugitives.” You shoot him a weak glare, no real fire behind it, and run faster.

-

Your back hits the wall of the jet, and your stomach drops as Steve takes off. Bucky is beside you in a heartbeat, smoothing the hair from your bruised face as you clutch at your side. This time, when he checks you for injuries, he finds them.

“Steve.” He calls behind him, and there’s panic in his voice. A lot of it. He’s pulling at your suit, hands frantic but gentle as he catches sight of the dark bruises already forming. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to bat his hands away, but he persists. “Don’t move, sweetheart. Don’t move.” He says, soft but shaky.

You have absolutely no idea how you made it into the hangar. You remember your legs burning with the effort to keep you moving, seeing the tower crumble and fall painfully slowly. You remember the ground shaking with impact, and Bucky knocking you out of the way. He must not have been fast enough, though, because the next thing you remember is wheezing on the ground, dragging yourself painfully to your feet as Natasha took down T’Challa.

Poor guy is going to be pretty sore with how many times he’s been electrocuted today.

“I’m fine.” You insist, pulling yourself up a little with a hiss of pain. “I heal fast now. Just never had a building fall on me before.” It’s probably a broken rib. Maybe two. Nothing permanent, and in a few hours you’ll probably be nothing more than a little bit sore.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen closed until you feel Bucky’s fingers graze the scar on your stomach, having pulled your suit down and your tank top up to inspect the angry black and blue marks on your side. 

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.“ He’s murmuring, over and over, and you can hear his voice break.

“Buck. Hey, Bucky.” You reach up, cover his hand with your own. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay. Breathe, Sarge.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You pull him to you, press a kiss to his lips, and smooth his hair back. “I’m okay.” You repeat, your eyes meeting his with all of the earnestness in the world. “Seriously. It was just a little building.”

He frowns, and you regret the joke. “Not funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You say, pulling him down to sit beside you rather than kneel before you and continue to fuss.

He doesn’t leave your side, holding you like you might break once he finally stops checking you over for injuries. Eventually, you begin to drift off against his shoulder. The jet breaks through the clouds, and Bucky still doesn’t relax.

Right before you fall asleep, you think you hear him say that he isn’t worth all of this, his fingers ghosting gently over the scar at your side. Sleep’s hold on you is too strong, however, and you’re pulled under before you can wake up enough to hear the rest.

-

“You’re not coming.”

Your eyebrows fly up to your hairline. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not coming. You’re still injured.” His tone is final, that of the commanding soldier. Sergeant Barnes. 

You prickle, already on edge from the feeling of impending danger waiting for you inside the bunker. “I’m sorry, last time I checked, you’re not exactly my superior officer.” You half growl, but his expression doesn’t waver. “Besides, I’m fine. I’m basically healed now.” That’s not entirely true. You’re still agonizingly sore, body aching as it heals at a frustratingly slow pace. But you can walk. You can shoot. Hell, you’re sure you can fight if need be.

He steps closer, eyes hard as they bore into yours. You don’t back down. “You’re staying on the jet, doll. End of discussion.”

“Don’t doll me right now.” You say, furious. “I’m going, Bucky. End of discussion.”

“Guys, we don’t exactly have time for this right now.” Steve says.

“My thoughts exactly. Let’s go.” You start to move off of the jet, but Bucky catches you before you can take a step. Even as he pulls you to him, he manages to expertly avoid every one of your still-healing bruises. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so irritated.

“I will tie you to that chair if I have to.” His voice is a near-growl in your ear, arms locked around you like a vice. You resist the urge to petulantly try to break free, knowing that doing so would be useless.

You push down your frustration. You know where he’s coming from. He’s scared and guilty, and he’s just as stubborn as you are. You don’t have time to argue, but there’s no way in hell they’re going to enter that bunker without you.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” You say firmly, and you feel his arms tighten around you in protest. “We’re all safer if we stick together, anyway.” You pull back, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn him to meet your eyes. “You and me, right?”

He sighs, leaning forward to touch his forehead to yours. You can sense his mind racing, still trying to find any way to convince you to stay and coming up empty.

“You stay behind me.” He finally says, shoulders relaxing a bit in defeat.

You nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He kisses you, firmly, and finally releases you.

“Ready?” Steve asks, looking between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“You should have seen him when I twisted my ankle a few months ago.” You joke, stepping off of the jet and into the snow. You hear Bucky grunt in warning behind you, reminding you that he’s still on the fence about forcing you back onto the quinjet.

“Behind me.” He says lowly you as you reach the door, and you roll your eyes as you take a step back.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumble, checking your belt for your weapons as Steve move’s forward to pull the heavy door open.

And with that, you step inside the darkened bunker, preparing yourself to face whatever threat might be waiting.

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hii!! could you please do an aib chars x bulimic reader? I know you did an anorexic one, but it's just a little different. I understand if not, I love your work! °•♡•°

AIB Characters react to Reader with Bulimia

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, canon typical blood and violence, eating disorder and unhealthy behaviour, 3.091 words

Ann

Ann wasn't someone who missed details. Even in this awful world, where survival demanded physical sharpness, it was her emotional clarity — the way she noticed — that set her apart. She didn't need to ask why your eyes looked tired, or why you left the dining hall right after meals. She just... knew something was off. But she didn't confront you. Not right away.

It was after a game — the kind where you narrowly escaped with your life and found yourself back at the Beach, heart pounding, skin scratched — that things shifted.

You were standing under the shower, trembling under lukewarm water, trying to wash away the adrenaline and something else. Shame, maybe. You hadn't eaten all day. But when you finally did, it was too much, and the panic followed, and the purge that always came after.

You thought you were careful.

You didn't know Ann had seen you slip into the shadows.

She didn't say anything until later, when everything had quieted and the most others had gone to sleep. She found you on the rooftop, arms wrapped around your knees, staring out into the black sea.

"You're hurting yourself," she said simply.

You didn't answer. The silence between you filled with wind.

"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure," she continued, voice low and even. "But this… this isn't something you can survive alone."

"I am surviving," you said. Not angry. Just tired.

Ann knelt beside you. Her presence was calm, grounding. "I know you think this helps. That it gives you control in a place where everything else is chaos. But it's hurting you. And I care too much to pretend I don't see it."

Your throat tightened.

"I didn't want anyone to know," you whispered.

"I haven't told anyone. And I won't." She paused. "But I do know. And now that I do, I want to help."

"How?" you asked, voice cracking. "You can't stop it. Not here. Not with everything else going on. There's no therapy. No safety nets. No one understands."

"I'm not trying to fix it with a speech," Ann said. "But I can stay. I can remind you to eat when you're ready. I can listen when it's hard. I can walk with you after meals if you want the feeling to pass. And I can see you, without judgment."

You looked at her then — not the detective, not the fighter or strategist, but Ann. Quiet, observant, steady.

It wasn't a cure. But in a world designed to tear people apart, her care was a thread — soft, but unbreakable.

You nodded, barely.

And she stayed.

Kuina

You and Kuina met during a game that demanded more stamina than skill. She noticed how you pushed yourself — harder than most — and how you barely touched your food afterward.

At first, she didn't say anything. She understood the importance of silence. Sometimes survival meant keeping your battles to yourself. She knew that feeling better than most.

But she also knew what it was like to live in a body that felt like both armor and enemy.

The night she followed you — after a shared meal in the dining hall, after you thought you're excuse that you were tired was good enough — she didn't speak right away. Just stood in the entrance of your room, her arms crossed, gaze heavy but not cruel.

When you stepped out of your bathroom, startled, her voice was gentle. "You okay?"

You tried to smile. "Yeah. Just needed a minute."

Kuina raised an eyebrow. "You always need a minute after meals."

Silence.

You looked away. "Please don't."

She didn't press, not right then. Instead, she sat on the bed and patted the spot beside her. You hesitated, then sat.

"I know what it's like to feel like your body isn't yours," she said. "To fight it. To try and control it because everything else is spinning."

You didn't say anything.

"I used to hate mine," she continued. "Hated how people looked at it. What it meant. What it didn't."

You glanced at her, surprised. "But you're so—confident. Strong."

"I had to be," she said, a flicker of pain behind her smile. "But that doesn't mean I didn't have nights where I cried in front of a mirror. Or punished myself in ways I don't talk about."

You swallowed hard. Something in your chest cracked.

Kuina leaned back, her voice quieter now. "You don't have to tell me everything. Or anything. But I need you to know I see you. Not just the parts you show everyone. The real stuff. The ugly stuff. And I still care."

Tears came fast. Unexpected. Kuina didn't flinch. She just opened her arms, and when you collapsed into them, she held you like someone who knew exactly what it meant to lose a war with yourself.

"You're not weak," she whispered into your hair. "You're surviving. But you don't have to survive alone."

And in that moment — maybe for the first time in weeks — you believed her.

Mira

Mira was always three steps ahead of everyone else — mind like a scalpel, smile like a secret. You weren't sure why she had taken a liking to you. Maybe it was your honesty. Or your silence. Maybe it was the way you never tried to outmaneuver her — you just were.

With Mira, everything was a game. Even comfort could feel like manipulation.

So when she found out about your bulimia, it wasn't because you told her. It was because she watched.

Noticed how you always picked at your food during meals with others but ate ravenously when alone. How you'd disappear shortly after. She didn't confront you. Not immediately. That wasn't her style.

One evening, you returned to your room and found her there — curled up on your bed, reading a book she'd plucked from your desk like it belonged to her.

"I'm curious," she said without looking up, "about why someone with such strength insists on punishing themselves in private."

Your stomach twisted. You stopped in the doorway. "What are you talking about?"

She glanced up, and for a second — just a second — there was no mockery in her eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about."

You looked away, the shame sudden and suffocating.

"I didn't mean for you to find out," you muttered.

Mira closed the book softly. "No one ever does."

There was a pause — long, quiet, heavy.

You expected her to dissect you, the way she did everything else. To play her games. But instead, she stood and crossed the room, barefoot and graceful, and placed her hand lightly on your wrist.

"You know," she said, voice low, "the world already tries to devour you in so many ways. It's cruel to let it convince you to devour yourself."

You didn't know how to answer. Her words were like glass — sharp, transparent, strangely beautiful.

"I'm not judging you," she added. "I've danced with my own monsters. We just wore different dresses."

You blinked, startled. "You?"

She smiled — not the playful one she gave the world, but something softer, cracked at the edges.

"I know what it's like to need control so badly that you start sacrificing pieces of yourself just to feel a moment of stillness."

You swallowed, hard.

Mira stepped closer, her voice like silk. "But you don't need to earn my affection through silence or suffering. You already have it."

Your eyes welled. It didn't make sense — this tenderness, this kindness — coming from her.  And yet it felt real.

"I'm not going to try and fix you," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I will remind you, every day if I have to, that you are worth keeping — all of you. Even the parts you're trying to erase."  

You exhaled like it was the first breath you'd taken in days.

And Mira? She stayed the night, without asking, without conditions. Just stayed.

As someone who knew how to love someone who was still learning to love themselves.

Aguni 

Aguni didn't ask questions he already have answers to.

You thought you were hiding it well — the skipped meals, the sudden vanishing after eating, the exhaustion that came not only from games, but from the war going on inside you. But Aguni had seen enough people fall apart quietly to recognize the signs.

He just waited.

Until the night you collapsed.

It wasn't dramatic. No shouting, no chaos. Just your legs giving out, your head hitting the dirt. You'd played a game earlier, hadn't eaten since. You'd told yourself you'd be fine.

You woke to the sound of cicadas chirping and the heavy presence of someone beside you.

Aguni.

He didn't speak for a while. Just watched the night sky, hands resting on his knees.

"I carried my best friend out of a burning building once," he said eventually, voice low. "But I couldn't save him from himself."

You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything.

Aguni turned to look at you, eyes sharp but not unkind. "I'm not going to let that happen again."

"I'm not your responsibility," you murmured.

He shook his head slowly. "No. You're not. But that doesn't mean I walk away."

You sat up, wincing.

"I didn't ask for help," you added, almost defensively.

"You don't have to."

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, you broke. "I can't stop. I've tried. It's like there's something in me that needs to punish myself. Or feel control. Or… something."

Aguni didn't flinch. He didn't look away. "I get that," he said. "The urge to destroy what hurts. Even if that means destroying yourself."

You looked at him, startled. "You do?"

He nodded. "Pain doesn't always show up the same way. But it all speaks the same language."

Your throat tightened.

Aguni leaned forward. "I'm not here to lecture you. I'm not gonna make you talk every night or pretend I know what you need. But I will be here. I will carry you, if I have to. I will sit with you when it gets bad. And I will not let you disappear."

You didn't cry. Not right away. But the tears came later, quietly, when you were alone, because no one had ever said it like that before — I will not let you disappear.

And the next day, when he handed you a protein bar and didn't say a word as you held it with shaking hands, you didn't throw it away.

You ate it.

And he sat with you, just like he said he would.

Niragi

You didn't expect him to notice.

Niragi noticed blood. Violence. Weakness. He mocked what he didn't understand. So you thought — he can't know. Not about this. Not about the ugly, quiet way you kept punishing yourself. You thought if anyone ever found out, it would be someone soft. Someone gentle.

Not him.

But he did know.

You figured it out when he slammed a tray of food down in front of you one day and said, "Eat."

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You haven't eaten in two days. You're not slick. Just starving."

Your stomach turned.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Niragi leaned closer, the usual cruelty absent from his voice. "Don't I?"

And in that moment, it wasn't a game. It wasn't a threat. It was something else. You saw it — a flicker. Guilt? Memory?

You pushed the food away. "Why do you care?"

He didn't answer for a while. Just sat across from you and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

"You think you're the only one who's hated their body?" he said finally. "You think you're the only one who's tried to carve out the rot from the inside just to feel something that isn't fucking wrong?"

You stared at him. Niragi never said things like that. Never admitted cracks in his armor.

He let the silence hang before speaking again, voice low.

"I used to burn myself," he said, gesturing vaguely to his arms. "Before all this. Back home. People like me? We don't get sad. We get ugly. Violent. We destroy things. Ourselves, mostly." He looked at you, eyes fierce. "So yeah. I see it. You're not as invisible as you think."

You swallowed hard, throat dry.

"I don't know how to fix it," you admitted.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not here to fix you."

You flinched, but he wasn't finished.

"I'm just saying — if you're gonna starve yourself, I'm gonna be pissed. Not because it's pathetic or weak. But because you're someone I actually give a shit about. And if you want to waste away like nothing, you better at least look me in the eye while you do it."

You stared at him, stunned.

That was his way of caring.

And it worked. Not because it was gentle, but because it was honest. Because it came from a place as broken as yours.

You didn't say thank you. You just pulled the tray closer. You didn't eat everything, but you ate something.

And Niragi didn't say a word. Just lit another cigarette and stayed close, like a dog guarding something it didn't know how to love — but refused to leave behind.

Last Boss

Last Boss never asked questions. He didn't offer comfort, or make small talk, or tell people they mattered. Most were afraid of him — and maybe that was the point.

But you weren't afraid.

Maybe because you recognized something in him. The silence. The detachment. The way he watched the world like it was always just a little too far away to touch.

And maybe that's why he noticed you.

He never said anything about the late-night disappearances. Or the way you picked at your meals with quiet dread, then smiled like everything was fine. But his eyes were always on you — not in a threatening way. In a knowing way.

You didn't realize he'd pieced it all together until the night you couldn't do it anymore. You stood in the mirror, gripping the sink so hard your fingers ached. Tears streamed down your face, and you tried to silence your sobs because god forbid someone hear you.

But someone did.

You felt him before you saw him — the soft rustle of his clothes, the quiet click of a blade sheathed at his side.

You turned around fast, wiping your face. "What do you want?"

He just stared for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke — his voice like gravel and stillness. "You're hurting yourself."

You looked away. "You don't understand."

He stepped forward. Slowly. "You think pain makes you clean."

You froze.

"You think empty means worthy," he said.

Tears welled again, uninvited.

He looked down at his own hands. "I used to cut away pieces of myself to feel like something inside was being fixed. Like blood meant control. Like if I hurt first, the world couldn't beat me to it."

You stared at him, shocked.

"I don't do that anymore," he said simply.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

"Because someone looked at me once,"  he said, "and didn't flinch."

Your breath caught in your chest.

He stepped closer, then paused. "I'm not going to tell you to stop. I'm not going to watch you eat or drag you to some recovery speech. But I will be here. If you fall, I'll be there. If you disappear, I'll find you."

You looked up into his eyes, not cold, not empty. Just tired. Real.

"Do you promise?" you whispered.

"I promise," he looked at you seriously, eyes gleaming behind the black of the tattoos.

Then he left a protein bar there and walked out.   

He never pushed. Never pried. But from that night on, you never felt alone in your fight.

And some days, that was enough.

Chishiya

You weren't surprised when Chishiya figured it out.

He was a doctor, after all. He noticed the way your weight dropped too quickly. The way you avoided meals but kept up your strength — until you didn't. The way your eyes darted around after you ate, calculating your exit. He didn't say anything at first.

That was Chishiya's way.

But one day, after a particularly brutal game, you stumbled into your room, barely able to close the door behind you. You were pale, shaking, and trying to hide the fact that your legs could barely carry you anymore.

Chishiya was there. Sitting at your desk and reading a book as if he belonged there. 

"Sit," he said simply, without looking up.

You hesitated.

"Sit, or faint. Your choice."

You sat.

He read in silence for a while. Then, casually: "You're destroying your body."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I don't know what you mean," you lied.

Chishiya turned, eyes piercing but calm. "You think I haven't seen this before? The malnutrition. The purging. The exhaustion you pretend is just from games."

You looked away, humiliated.

He closed his book and leaned forward slightly.

"I'm not judging you," he said. "I'm telling you. You're at risk of heart failure. Your electrolytes are likely a mess. And if you keep going like this, your body will shut down — slowly or suddenly. It doesn't care which."

Tears welled in your eyes. "I just… I don't know how to stop."

He didn't soften, not in the way others might. But his voice lowered.  

"You're trying to gain control. In a world where you have none."

You nodded weakly.

Chishiya sat back, folding his arms. "Control isn't the problem. Punishment is."

You blinked at him.

"I've seen a lot of people try to disappear," he added, tone unreadable. "You're not the first. You won't be the last. But you don't have to be alone in it."

You stared at him. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," he said flatly. "But I'm still here."

That made you laugh — a wet, cracked sound — because it was so perfectly him. Brutal honesty dressed as apathy. But beneath it, something softer. Something real.

He handed you a protein drink and a packet of salt tablets.

"It's not much," he said. "But it'll keep your heart beating for now."

You took it with shaking hands. "Thanks."

Chishiya stood, already heading for the door. "Come by once a day. I'll keep track of your vitals. You won't like it. But you'll live."

And then he paused — just for a second — and turned back.

"You're not broken," he said. "Just tired. Let someone help carry it."

Then he left.

And somehow, that night, you didn't hate yourself quite as much.

Masterlist

Alice in Borderlad Masterlist

[bakkusimpp]

Hitoshi Shinso x f! Teacher! Reader (Evil laugh)

A/n: I've been thinking about Shinso x teacher reader for quite some time and here I present it to you!!! ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ) and also a bit aizawa x reader (platonic!!!)

Chapter One: New Teacher

"Miss Y/n! I'm so pleased to welcome you to U.A. High!" Principal Nezu beamed, his small paws clapping as thunderous applause echoed around his office.

The faculty had all gathered to welcome you. The moment was surreal—faces you’d grown up seeing as mentors were now your equals. Colleagues.

"Welcome back, kid," Aizawa’s low, familiar voice came from beside you, and his hand ruffled your hair like he hadn’t done since you were a student yourself.

"Sensei!" you lit up, beaming. "I missed you guys so much!"

"Yup. Still too bright. I’m out," he muttered, already turning for the door.

You laughed, hugging the other teachers. Emotions spilled over—tears slipping past your lashes. It felt like coming home.

Once the greetings were over and the others filtered back to their classrooms, you approached Nezu’s desk.

"Y/n, I hope you're ready. You won’t be a homeroom teacher—"

"She can take my class," Aizawa interrupted casually from the doorway without even looking back.

Nezu chuckled. "They’re a handful, you know.

"It can’t be helped. I applied for the Mathematics position," you shrugged, settling into your chair.

Nezu nodded, pulling out a file. "Yes, yes, but we also need to discuss something more… delicate."

You straightened instinctively.

"I trust you received the message from the higher-ups?" he asked, voice quieter now.

"Of course, sir," you replied, tension coiled beneath your smile.

He handed you the file and gestured toward the clock. “That said… it’s almost time for your first class. 1-A. I’d suggest moving quickly before they start climbing the walls.”

---

Meanwhile – Classroom 1-A

"I have an announcement," Aizawa said as he entered the room, his tone bored as ever.

The class snapped to attention.

"You’re getting a new math teacher. The last one couldn’t quite handle you lot."

Snickers and groans rippled through the students.

"Her name’s Miss Y/n. Don’t get too excited—she’s no better than you. Just graduated a couple years ago. Still got that teen spirit."

A few students whispered.

"She’s strict," Aizawa added, pausing at the doorway. "Worse than me."

"WORSE THAN YOU!?"

"THERE’S SOMETHING WORSE THAN AIZAWA-SENSEI?!" Kirishima and Kaminari shouted in unison.

Aizawa smirked and walked off. "She’ll be here soon."

"Do you think she’s hot?" Mineta said, but no one paid him attention.

"I really wanted a female teacher!" Momo squealed, turning to Mina. "We could be friends!"

"Girl math!" Mina giggled.

Midoriya scribbled in his notebook, eyes darting between equations and the door. He nudged Shinsou, who sat at the back.

Shinsou didn’t respond. He’d opened his eyes for one second, glanced toward the door, and then leaned back with his arms crossed behind his head like he didn’t give a damn.

But he was listening.

---

When You Walk In

The door creaked open.

Every head turned.

Your heels clicked softly as you stepped in, confidence oozing from every movement even if your heart was racing inside your chest.

You placed your folder down, smiled just slightly. "Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Miss Y/n, your new mathematics teacher."

The classroom was dead silent for a second—then filled with whispers, side-eyes, and soft mutters of “she’s cute,” “oh she looks like she’ll kill us,” and “finally someone with fashion sense.”

But Shinsou? He didn’t say a thing. He watched. Quiet. Still. Those sharp indigo eyes trailing your every move, every expression. Not in awe, not in lust—just… focused.

You continued, voice firm and clear, "Let’s get one thing straight—I’m not here to babysit you. I expect focus, effort, and zero bullshit. Got it?"

More groans. A few grins. A challenge hung in the air.

Shinsou’s lips twitched at the edge. Just a little.

He liked that.

The way you didn’t sugarcoat. The way you didn’t beg to be liked.

You launched into the lesson with ease, chalk sliding across the board as the room slowly adjusted to your rhythm. Some students genuinely focused, some tried to sneak texts. But Shinsou

Shinsou watched. Every. Second.

The way your voice dipped when you explained something complicated.

The curve of your lips when a student got an answer right.

The way your fingers brushed chalk dust from your skirt like you didn’t even notice

You weren’t trying.

You weren’t pretending.

And that killed him.

---

After Class

You closed your folder with a snap.

“That’s all for today. Homework’s on the board. I expect it done and submitted on time. And yes,” your eyes narrowed just enough to scare them, “I will be grading harshly.”

"She's actually cool…" Kirishima whispered to Kaminari, who nodded, starry-eyed.

“Scary-hot,” Kaminari mumbled.

“I like her teaching style,” Tsuyu added quietly.

“She’s got great shoes,” Momo noted again, and Mina squealed in agreement.

Izuku was frantically writing notes about your approach to teaching, the formulas, your clarity of speech—he looked like he’d just watched a TED Talk.

Shinsou didn’t say a damn word.

But when you glanced his way—just for a second—your eyes locked.

And in that second, something shifted.

His chest felt tight.

He told himself it was nothing

He told himself he was just curious.

But deep down, the flicker had already started.

The first spark of something he didn’t have a name for yet

---

Later That Day

You leaned against the wall near the vending machine, sipping the canned tea Aizawa had wordlessly offered.

“She didn’t run. Impressive,” he said, tone flat.

“I like them. They’ve got a little chaos in them. It’s… refreshing.”

He gave you a rare nod of approval.

From the far end of the hallway, Shinsou paused. Just for a second. You were laughing—something soft and unguarded.

And he wasn’t used to feeling like this

So he turned and walked away before he had to admit it.

---

That Night – Shinsou’s POV

He lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

He couldn’t stop hearing your voice in his head.

He didn’t know why it stuck. Why you did.

You were too new. Too bold. Too… alive.

And for someone who always felt one step removed from everything—

You made him feel seen.

And that was the most dangerous part.

---

[End of Chapter One]

---

THIS IS SO BADD😭😭 I'll see if you guys like it, if you don't I'll delete and DO BETTER! Hehe love yall~

Do you guys fw shinsou?