#something is starting to make sense i think..

[colouredbyd]

my girl

sirius black x fem!reader

summary: in which you overhear sirius calling you his girl, like it’s the simplest truth he’s ever known. thus, a lovesick and kiss-drunk sirius makes it his mission to say it again, and again, until you finally believe it.

warnings: fluff, excessive affection, pet names, public displays of affection, mild teasing, soft!sirius who’s so in love, overwhelming sweetness, lovesick behavior, lots of kissing, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

The thing about dating Sirius Black is that it never quite feels real.

Not in the way people describe disbelief, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in that strange, dreamy sense of stumbling into a story someone else might’ve written—some fairytale stitched with mischief and the kind of heat that lingers in the spaces between words.

It has been a few months now.

Enough time for your friends to stop blinking in surprise every time they catch you smiling at him, enough time for the rumors to die down and the whispers in the halls to quiet to a low murmur—though they never go away entirely when it comes to Sirius. 

He is, after all, Sirius Black: loud-mouthed and sharp-eyed, honey-voiced and maddeningly beautiful.

And yet, somehow, he chose you. Or maybe you chose each other, slowly, stupidly,and  sweetly.

You know what people must think. That you temper him. That he ignites you. That your silences fill in the blanks he never bothers to pause for. That he, for all his recklessness, somehow found something steady in you.

Which is why you’re heading to meet him now outside of class. Sirius had promised to spend the entire day with you today, as he was lately busy with studying.

You’re almost there when you hear his voice.

It’s not unusual—he talks loudly, as though the air is something that belongs to him, like even his words are allergic to restraint. But it’s the way he says something now that makes your steps falter. 

You’re still around the corner, concealed by the stone archway. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. 

“Sirius!” James Potter’s voice cuts through the corridor, warm and familiar, and it’s easy to picture his wide grin as he strides up to him. 

“Come on, padfoot. We’ve got a pitch slot and I need someone to test my latest throw. You still owe me from last week when you ditched.”

Sirius laughs, the sound low and raspy in the way you’ve come to know too well. “Didn’t ditch,” he says. 

“Oh, piss off,” James retorts. “You coming or not?”

There’s a pause. You imagine Sirius running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s pretending to think, when in reality he’s already made up his mind and just wants to seem dramatic.

“Can’t,” Sirius says finally, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic. “I’ve got a packed schedule today.”

James scoffs, exaggerated. “What, you’ve started revising now? What exactly are you busy with?”

“No,” Sirius replies, too casual, too breezy. And then, with no warning at all, he adds, “I’m spending the day with my girl.”

It hits you like a whispered spell.

Not “my girlfriend,” not your name, not even some half-serious nickname. Just that. My girl.

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the way your heart is thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest, of the heat crawling up the back of your neck, of the way your fingers have curled slightly into your sleeves like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. 

You’ve never been someone who takes up space easily, and right now, the sound of those two words fills every corner of your body, makes you feel almost... lit up.

It’s not the fact that he said it. You know you're his girl. He’s told you in the way he tucks his fingers into the loops of your jeans just to pull you closer in the quiet corners of the library. 

In the way he lights up when he sees you walk into the common room, mid-sentence with Remus, stopping only to grin like you’ve rewired the gravity in the room. 

In the way he sits behind you during study sessions just to braid strands of your hair and mutter things like “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.”

But still—my girl.

You’re fairly certain you and James both made the same face at the same time. That vaguely unhinged, utterly stunned, slack-jawed expression that usually precedes a dramatic spill or a burst of inappropriate laughter in the Great Hall.

Somewhere in your brain, a single electrical wire sparked, and then everything short-circuited.

You could practically see James’s eyebrows lifting halfway to the ceiling, and it’s almost hilarious, almost.

Because you would have laughed—if you weren’t frozen, rooted to your spot like some enchanted statue.

Then came Sirius’s voice again, casual and clear, carrying from inside the classroom, smug in the way only Sirius Black can be when he knows exactly where he’s headed.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “She’s probably already out there waiting for me.”

James groans dramatically. “Tell your girl I’m filing for abandonment.”

“See you later, prongs,” Sirius calls back, followed by the scraping sound of a chair and the creak of hinges swinging open.

Panic sparks in your chest.

You leap back from the wall like you’ve just been caught with your ear pressed to the keyhole—because, well, you have, essentially—and immediately fumble with your bag, turning slightly so it looks like you’ve just arrived. 

And then there he is.

Leaning against the doorframe like it’s something he was born to do. Hair half-tucked behind his ears, tie loose, expression bright and unreasonably happy for someone who got an earful from Slughorn not two days ago. 

His eyes find you instantly, like he was already reaching for the sight of you before he even walked out.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice soft and amused and utterly at home in the syllables.

“Hi!,” you reply, a little too fast.

His brow lifts slightly. “Hi.”

Your heart trips. “Hi.”

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out the kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from his chest. The kind of laugh that should probably be bottled and sold as some form of antidote in your humble opinion.

“You look a little too happy for a Monday, baby,” he says, stepping closer, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted as he studies you. “What’s happening?”

You shrug with deliberate nonchalance, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Can’t I be happy?”

He grins like you’ve just said something precious. “Of course you can,” he says, reaching out to squish your cheeks between his hands so your words are suddenly a little garbled.

“Just wanna know what’s got you extra happy today.”

You mumble something unintelligible, eyes darting away, and he narrows his own suspiciously.

“Hmm?”

You free your face from his fingers and try not to giggle. “It’s nothing.”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, tilting his head with mock offense. “You don’t get to smile like that and then say ‘nothing.’ Come on, tell me.”

You hesitate, toeing the stone floor with your shoe. “I, um. I heard you.”

Sirius blinks. “You heard me?”

“In class,” you clarify, shifting your weight to the other foot and feeling heat crawl up your neck. “When you were talking to James.”

He tilts his head again. “You get happy when I talk to James? That’s new,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles softly across your cheek—his touch featherlight.

His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, are softened now, warm and brimming with a quiet kind of awe.

You swat at his chest lightly. “No, Sirius.”

He laughs again, utterly delighted. “Okay, okay, sorry. What did I say?”

You bite your lip and look away. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now I need to know.”

You shake your head stubbornly, lips pursed, trying not to smile, but Sirius isn’t fooled.

He takes a slow step closer, tall enough that his shadow stretches over you, the scent of him curling into your breath. The air between you tightens.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, voice pitched low with amusement, grin sharpening like he’s just solved a riddle he’s been working on since breakfast, “Was it when I called you my girl?”

Your face gives you away in an instant.

Your eyes widen, the way they always do when you’re caught off guard, as if your thoughts have leapt too fast for your expression to catch up. Heat blooms high in your cheeks, blooming pink and soft across your skin like sunrise, betraying every effort to stay composed.

“Oh my god,” he says, actually laughing now, hands braced on his hips as if the revelation physically knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what got you all smiley?”

You narrow your eyes, cheeks blazing. “Stop laughing!”

He tries, he really does, but the laughter keeps bubbling out of him, shameless and golden. 

You huff and turn on your heel, nose in the air like you’ve just declared a personal war against him.

But you don’t get far.

Before you can take a single step away, he moves—quick and fluid, one long stride and he’s behind you.

His fingers find your waist with ease, curling firmly around your sides, and in one seamless motion, he pulls you back—hard enough to make you stumble slightly—until you're flush against his chest.

He holds you close. So close it feels like you’re standing inside the space between seconds.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, brushing against your skin like silk. His arms slip around you fully, drawing you in again, and this time, you don’t resist.

“Why so shy, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness all tangled together.

You pout instinctively, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. “Nothing.”

His brows lift. “No, no. No hiding. What is it?” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “You are my girl though, right?”

You glare up at him, but your heart is not cooperating.

“You just... never called me that before,” you say, quiet, soft enough that it barely survives the space between you.

Sirius exhales, and pulls you even closer, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.

“Well,” he says into your hair, “You should start getting used to it.”

You don’t even get a moment to tease him back before he’s wrapping his arms around you again, tugging you flush against his chest like holding you is as instinctive as breathing.

He rocks you gently side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and you can feel the quiet grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for your ears.

He says it again, and again. Each repetition comes between a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin with unbearable fondness, his long hair tickling across your jaw like satin.

“My girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your cheekbone.

Another kiss, this time closer to the corner of your mouth. “My pretty girl.”

You giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as warmth floods your cheeks. “Sirius, your hair’s tickling me—”

He just smiles into your skin, clearly unbothered. Another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, pressed just beneath your ear. “My favorite person.”

You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curled into his shirt as you try to wriggle away, but he only holds you tighter.

“My most favourite girl.”

Each word hums against your skin like a spell.

And you, useless and smitten thing that you are, melt for him completely.

A quiet giggle escapes you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face in his chest to hide the way your cheeks are burning. 

You try to squirm away, overwhelmed and giddy, but his grip tightens gently and he tilts your chin up with two fingers, catching your gaze with a look so full of open affection it robs the breath from your lungs.

He holds your face like it’s something precious, like he’s afraid to let it go. His thumb brushes just beneath your cheekbone, featherlight and impossibly gentle, and then he says—quietly, sincerely—

“Can I get a kiss?”

The way he looks at you in that moment, like you’re his whole damn universe, is almost too much. 

His long black hair falls into his eyes, the ends brushing his cheekbones, his mouth barely parted.

His eyes are shining, glassy with something deeper than a smile, and he’s smiling anyway, soft and crooked like the words he wants to say are too big to fit in his throat.

There’s a trembling silence where you don’t know how to speak.

Because this is the part no one sees.

This is Sirius Black in love. Not loud, not cocky, not showy or flirtatious. But bare, unshielded, and tender to the point of devastation.

And somehow, it still surprises you—how much he feels.

Because he plays it smooth, always, with his smirks and his swagger and his stupidly charming quips.

But deep down, Sirius is just as flustered to be around you as you are around him. Maybe even more.

He still hasn’t gotten used to saying your name out loud without his heart stammering. Still can’t look at you some days without wondering if you’re a dream made flesh. Still marvels at the fact that when you walk into a room, you’re walking toward him.

He calls you his girl like it’s nothing. But to him, it means everything.

Because you’re not just his girl. You’re his world.

You lean up slowly, your hands resting against his chest like he might vanish if you touch him too fast. Then you press your lips to his, soft and sweet.

He smiles against your mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes still closed, like he’s trying to savor the moment just a little longer. A beat passes. Then—

“Can I get another one?” he whispers, one eyebrow lifting, that same mischievous edge bleeding back into his voice.

You blink at him. “You’re so—”

But you don’t get to finish.

Because he kisses you again—harder this time. His hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm firm around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid the world might steal you away if he lets go.

And when he kisses you like that—like you’re his first and last prayer—there’s no doubt left.

Sirius Black is utterly, hopelessly, and beautifully in love with you.

And even if you don’t quite realize it yet — he’s been yours all along.

His lips are still brushing against yours when he pulls back the slightest inch, gaze hazy and wonderstruck, as though he’s only just now realizing that you’re real. 

His thumb is tracing absent shapes at your waist, his breath slow and uneven like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your mouth by air alone.

His eyes, dark and warm and barely blinking, drink you in like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of whatever this is.

And then, of course, he leans in again for a third kiss. 

You stop him with a hand on his chest and a breathless little laugh. “Sirius,” you whisper, dragging out the syllables. “You can’t keep kissing me, we have a whole day ahead of us, and we’re still in the bloody hallway.”

He leans his forehead against yours with a groan, dramatic and wounded, as if you’ve just denied him water in a desert.

“But I thought you were my girl,” he says, pout in full effect, lips parted and brow creased with the exaggerated tragedy of it all.

“My girl doesn’t let me kiss her as much as I want? This is unfair.”

You burst out laughing, fully this time, and the sound of it sends a visible shiver through him.

He never gets tired of hearing it, probably never will.

“Come on, Black,” you tease, grabbing his hand and turning on your heel to pull him down the corridor behind you, your fingers threading easily through his.

“I need someone to help me carry the books I ordered.”

At that, Sirius lights up like someone’s handed him a trophy. “Books?” he says, perking up.

“You ordered books and didn’t tell me? That’s a violation of trust. But don’t worry, love—I’ll carry them, all of them. You won’t lift a single bloody finger.”

You glance back at him with a smirk. “Wow, look at you,” you tease, eyebrows raised.

“All manly now, huh? Sirius Black, the knight in shining armor, savior of poor girls with heavy textbooks.”

“I am manly,” he insists, puffing his chest out like an idiot and giving your joined hands a little swing. “And chivalrous and noble and handsome and criminally underappreciated and—.”

You snort. “Okay, I get it!”

But just as you’re rounding the next corridor, Sirius glances down and suddenly stops short, yanking you to a halt beside him.

“Wait—you’re carrying your bag?”

You blink, confused. “Um... yes?”

He gasps so dramatically you’re worried for a moment he might start clutching his chest. “What a horrible boyfriend I am,” he cries.

“Carrying nothing. Letting my girl do the heavy lifting like some kind of untrained baboon.”

You laugh again, shaking your head as he makes a scene of freeing your bag from your shoulder.

“Give me that. No, seriously, give it. I was raised better than this. Even my horrible, bloody mother would’ve scolded me for letting you carry your own things.” – He takes the bag from you with exaggerated care, slinging it over his shoulder – “Granted, she’d probably scold me just for being in public with you, but the point stands.”

You giggle again, unable to stop smiling, as he then reaches for your hand once more, the two of you falling into step like you were made to.

Your hands swing gently between you, fingers warm and safe in his.

And from that moment on, he never stopped.

Sirius Black referred to you as his girl in every corner of the castle, whether you were there to hear it or not.

He’d say it proudly, like the words alone lit something inside him.

And when you weren’t around, you’d better believe he was still talking, still rambling, and surely still flustered.

Cheeks tinted a soft, unmistakable pink, he'd go on and on to anyone who’d listen—usually James��about how smart you were, how good you smelled, how pretty you looked with your nose buried in a book or your hair tied back or when you laughed with your whole body like you did when he tickled your sides.

James, for his part, teased him relentlessly. But Sirius didn’t mind. Not even a little.

You were his girl after all, and he wanted the whole world to know it.

[navybrat817]

Good as New

Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your neighbor helps with a small repair, and you'd like to repay him.

Word Count: Almost 4k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, bits of insecurity, smut mention, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)

A/N: More of our trailer park!Bucky! I hope you like it!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The light had barely broken through your window when you decided you should work on the outside of your trailer. As much as you wanted to sleep in, your new chapter wouldn't continue if you didn't put forth the effort. Getting out of bed and distracting yourself would hopefully help forget about your dream of your bold and handsome neighbor. You didn’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t think about it.

But the wetness between your thighs served as a stark reminder that you dreamed of Bucky and his cocky smirk. How he said in a low voice that he was going to have you and that you’d enjoy every second of it. How he stripped you down and wrecked you with his mouth and cock, muttering filthy praise that still had heat flowing in your veins. You felt the burn between your thighs, which you didn’t think was possible in a dream. What was worse was that he held you after, whispering how well you took him and how lucky he was to have you. The tenderness was enough to break you from your slumber and make your eyes burn with unshed tears.

It was silly to get worked up in any capacity. The dream was just that… a dream. It was a fantasy, an illusion. There was no reason to cling to it, especially when it was too much and too soon.

“Don’t think about him. Just get up,” you mumbled.

You didn't jump out of bed, but you didn't drag yourself out either and that was already an improvement to your recent past. Waking up and facing the day should never feel like a burden. You shouldn't feel like a burden. 

“I’m strong and capable.”

You went through a checklist in your mind as you showered and dressed for the day. You needed to fix the door, fill out applications, bake for the potluck, and unpack more. After the furniture was delivered, you had spent the rest of the previous day emptying some of the boxes. You stilled at times as you went through your past and memories, like something you had witnessed instead of being a part of. It was the life you lived, but it wasn't meant to be yours. You didn't cry, even when your chest tightened to the point that you felt something crack. 

And for a second, you thought you spotted a pair of blue eyes watching you from across your trailer before you went to sleep.

“What am I doing?” you whispered when you walked out the screen door that was still hanging on its hinges. 

After going through your toolbox, you managed to get the door off completely without hurting yourself in the process. But once you set the door down and listened to the instruction video you found online, your cheeks burned with shame when you couldn’t get the screen quite right. You stopped and started the video again. The tips didn't make any sense to you and your heart sank as you stared at the door. You prided yourself on being a smart and capable woman just like you told yourself earlier, but you couldn't begin to fix a simple screen. You could almost hear your ex laughing in your mind. 

“You're pathetic.”

You silenced his voice. It wasn't fair to beat yourself up over it. While it was never too late to learn something new, you had to give yourself grace and remind yourself that you wouldn't be an expert overnight. Not to mention, the skills you learned growing up were different, but it didn't mean you were hopeless or less of a person because of it. You wouldn't let previous influences in your life make you feel bad about yourself. 

You heard the footsteps before you turned your head, your heart picking up at the sight of Bucky. He was in an outfit similar to the one he wore the day before, except this time he had a denim vest on. You wanted to be angry at him for being so enticing, but that wasn’t his fault… or was it? And how were you supposed to stop thinking about him when he was right there?

The signature smirk was on his face when he said, “Morning, Sweet Cheeks.”

You snorted and pushed yourself up, wiping your knees off in the process. That nickname wasn't going away. “Good morning,” you said. 

“It is a good morning since I’m seeing your beautiful face,” he said with the utmost sincerity. 

You mentally scolded your heart for the funny flip it did. “Do you ever stop?”

“I would if you asked me to,” he answered just as sincerely. 

You remembered how he backed off when you mentioned harassment and that brought you comfort. “Good to know.”

He looked relieved in a soft sort of way and you wondered if he had thought about you after you parted ways. “Did you have a good night?”

“Uneventful, which is good,” you replied. You slept much easier than you anticipated considering it was brand new and unfamiliar. You were not going to tell him you had a wet dream about him. Nope. But had he dreamed about you? “How was your night?”

“Same. Uneventful.” That mischievous look said something was up. It wasn't like he had visitors that you knew of. Not that you were looking or paying any attention to that. “Except for the dream I had about you.”

You bit your lip without meaning to. “You dreamed about me?”

You dared to look him in the eye when he moved closer. He looked like he was ready to eat you alive. “Happy to give you the vivid details if you’d like.”

Your breath hitched, but you maintained some sense of control. “Not until after I’ve had my caffeine,” you teased. You mentally kicked your own ass. Why not let him tell you?

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. It wasn’t fair how easily his laugh made you smile. “Oh. And I told my sister and my best friend about you.”

That made you pause. “You did what?” you asked. He told a family member and a friend about you? 

“Said I met my future wife and that you have Alpine’s approval.” He winked and you glanced away to hide your smile. 

“You're ridiculous,” you said with no heat behind it. He probably told them that a new neighbor moved in and nothing more. Maybe he mentioned that he flirted, but the future wife comment? Wait, weren't his parting words to you that you might be his future wife?

Bucky was trouble with a capital T. 

“And you just glared at that door like it stole something from you.”

You were thankful for the subject change. “It did kind of steal something.”

He tilted his head. “What did it steal?”

“My pride,” you half teased. “And by stealing my pride, I mean… I don’t know how to fix the screen. I don’t… even know where to start.” Your fingers wrung together before you put your hands before your back. “I tried watching a video, but it didn’t help me.”

Admitting that this was a shortcoming was somehow a relief as painful as it was. That didn’t make sense since you felt so embarrassed by the thought before he walked over. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve folded in on yourself. Why didn’t you with Bucky?

Maybe it was because there was no judgement in his blue eyes. There was almost an understanding, the kind that had you choking up for no good reason. “I can help,” he offered, like it was no big deal. “I don’t mind.”

You had to turn your head away and will away the burn from your eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that,” you softly said. It wasn’t easy to ask for or accept help when you wanted to stand on your own two feet. Accepting a helping hand wasn’t a weakness though, and having help didn’t mean you couldn’t maintain the sense of independence. 

“You didn’t ask, and you don’t have to since I offered.” He shrugged and offered you a smile. “Told you I’m good with my tools.”

He had said that in a very sexual sort of way. “I’d really appreciate it if you could, but if you're busy…” He was already jogging away, leaving you there to stare after him. He didn’t leave you hanging for long, his toolbox in hand as he came back.  You didn’t question why he was using his own instead of yours. “Wow, you’re really going to fix it?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, setting the toolbox down close to you and allowing you to pick up the scent of his soap. It was a scent you wouldn’t mind having on your skin. “It’s what good neighbors do.”

You crossed your arms as he crouched down to go through his tools. “You do this for all the neighbors?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. 

A smile tugged at your lips. While part of you wanted to feel special that he was helping you, you respected that he did this for everyone. “I feel bad. I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself,” you said. No one with the exception of Bucky had stopped by to say hi either. You wouldn’t take that to heart.

“They’re letting you get settled before the potluck,” he said. Did he somehow spread the word to give you some peace until then? “But they’re anxious to meet you.”

That had your stomach turning with excitement and nerves. “I am, too.” You hoped you made a good impression. “Do you mind showing me and explaining what you’re doing?” you asked, your smile widened when he looked up at you. He looked good from this angle, and you wouldn’t think of him kissing up your legs. “Just in case I ever have to fix another screen.”

He pointed at you with a screwdriver. “You mean so you don’t have to rely on anyone,” he guessed. Once again there was no snark or humor, just that quiet understanding that made you want to know more about him.

“You got me there.” It was difficult to depend on people when you were made to feel invisible. “But before you get started, do you want some coffee?” It was the least you could do since he offered to help.

It was his turn to look surprised. “I wouldn't mind, please and thanks.”

“Cream and sugar?”

He smirked and you awaited whatever dirty comment was about to leave his wonderful lips. “I’ve got plenty of cream, but you can provide the sugar.”

You burst out laughing and stepped back. “Yep. You're ridiculous.”

“Maybe just a little. If you're offering though, I would like some cream with that sugar,” he said. 

“You got it.” You paused and winded. “I’d invite you in, but it isn't ready yet,” you said apologetically. It was going to be a warm and cozy place. You had already begun to leave little touches around, like vases and knickknacks, but it was far from visitor friendly. 

It didn’t phase him since he had a smile on his face, likely sensing he’d be in your home sooner rather than later. “Your home, your rules.”

“So you won't come inside without permission?” Your face felt like it was set ablaze the second the words left your mouth and Bucky looked all too pleased. “Not. A. Word.”

He threw his hands up with laughter in his eyes. “Aww, c’mon, Sweet Cheeks. That was the perfect setup!”

“Not a word!”

“I won't come inside without your permission…” He smirked again and your knees went weak. “And you’ll beg for it.”

“Bucky!” You could hear his laughter when you rushed inside and you started giggling, too. When was the last time you laughed like this so early in the morning?

You sobered up quickly when you began to make the coffee. Bucky was being a kind neighbor and helping you fix the screen door, nothing more. Even if he was flirting and looking at you like you were the reason that the sun rose today. You needed to focus on your to-do list and he wasn’t on that list.

Not yet at least.

Bucky grinned the second you walked back outside. “Just made my morning all over again by seeing your beautiful face.”

You snorted so you wouldn’t swoon. “My face isn’t worth getting that excited about, but caffeine is worth it.”

He took the mug with a frown. “You think your face isn’t worth it? Tell that to my racing heart,” he said, gently blowing on the drink. The man was smooth like butter. The pleased groan he let out when he took a sip sounded smooth, too, and had you heating up. “Fuck, this might be the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Liar,” you smiled, not-so-secretly pleased that he liked it.

“I’d never lie to you. Anything I ever tell you will be the truth,” he said so seriously that your breath caught in your throat. You lived your whole life around fake smiles and people prepared to stab anyone and everyone in the back. Was Bucky the type to stab while looking someone in the eye and making them face the ugly truth? “What’s the pen and paper for?” he asked, nodding to where the pad was tucked under your arm.

“Oh. For the instructions for the screen. I like to write things down,” you replied, gripping the pen a little tighter. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to poke fun at you. 

“Gimme.” He gently pried them from you and jotted something down on the sheet, your fingers tingling from where they touched. There was a soft smile on his face when he handed the pad back. 

“‘How to fix a screen. Step one… Ask Bucky. Step two…’ Wait. Is this your phone number?” You giggled when he wiggled his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And I’m going to watch as you put my number into your phone before I leave,” he said, smugly taking another sip of the coffee. 

You stared at the sheet to avoid his watchful eyes. “So, the neighbors all have your phone number, too, to help with repairs?”

“Everyone knows they can reach out to me for help, but I’m giving you my number because I want you to have my number.”

You lifted your gaze to see him scratch the back of his head. Was he worried you wouldn’t want it? It was sweet. “Tell me how to fix the screen and I’ll put your number in my phone.”

You held your breath when he leaned close to your ear. “Say ‘please, Bucky’,” he whispered.

Your brain nearly short circuited and you shivered when you felt his warm breath against your skin. He was driving you crazy. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered. 

“‘Atta girl,” he whispered, quickly pulling away and giving you a chance to exhale. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Watching Bucky work was admittedly a joy. The ways his brows pinched when he concentrated was adorable and he couldn’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth. He didn’t roll his eyes or seem at all agitated when you asked questions and he paused every so often to drink his coffee, which gave you a chance to look at him between taking your notes. What you really appreciated was that he took the time to explain what he was doing and why in a way that was easy to understand without making you feel dumb. It was nice.

“Wow. It looks amazing,” you said once he was done. You could cross it off your list. “It looks as good as new.”

You thought his cheeks turned pink for a second when he picked up the door to put it back where it belonged. “Just about.”

“Thank you so much,” you said above a whisper. “Not just for fixing this, but for not making me feel bad about it.”

It would’ve been easy to shove it in your face that you didn’t know what you were doing, but Bucky didn't seem like that kind of man. Flirty, bold, but not cruel or discouraging. He wasn’t the type of person who would demand perfection from you. It comforted you like a warm blanket. 

“Nothing to feel bad about,” he said, tenderly smiling. “I’m glad you accepted my help.”

Something soft passed between you before he put the door back on. He carefully tested it and while you didn’t feel any sense of pride since you didn’t fix it yourself, you were happy. That was a start.

“How much do I owe you?” you asked. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you realized how quickly you made a mistake by asking. “Not paying me, Sweet Cheeks. I said it’s what good neighbors do.”

“I need to do something,” you said, holding up a hand when he tried to argue. “And don’t say giving you a coffee counts. It took you a lot more work to fix my door than it did to make your coffee.”

He brushed his hands off with a huff once he put his tools away. “You don’t ‘need’ to do anything. I’m not an obligation.”

“That’s…” Guilt filled you and you didn’t want him to think you were trying to do something because you had to. “Bucky, I’m not offering anything out of obligation. I want to, okay?”

A heartbeat passed and a smile slowly crossed his face. “Oh, yeah? Have a drink with me.” He waited for another beat. “Tonight.”

You took a breath, only somewhat surprised by what he wanted. That sounded dangerously like a date. It wasn’t. It was just a drink with your neighbor. Your very hot, sexy, flirty neighbor.

“A drink?” 

“A drink. Maybe two.” He shrugged, but his stance was anything but nonchalant. “Whatever you want.”

You considered it and slowly nodded. “Okay.” It wouldn’t hurt to hang out, especially with how happy he looked that you accepted. “Where do you want to go? Is there a bar around here?”

“Yeah, but it’s a total dive and everyone will hit on you. We can stay here.”

That had you laughing, but he wasn’t. “No one will hit on me,” you said. Whenever you went out with your ex and friends no one paid attention to you. Minus Bucky, you were invisible to people.

“Yeah, they will. Remember how I reacted when I saw you? It’ll be like that, but worse.” He looked you up and down. “Trust me. I’m a gentleman compared to them.”

You laughed harder. You couldn’t imagine anyone hitting on you the way Bucky did. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay here,” you agreed. 

You were already thinking about what you were going to wear. Would perfume and makeup be too much? Yes, it would. It wasn’t a date, so there was no need to dress up. A casual drink meant casual wear.

“And we won’t have to yell over music to talk to each other.”

“Good point,” you said, tilting your head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because you still need to put my number in your phone.”

You playfully shook your head and grabbed your phone, but didn’t program it in just yet. “Say ‘please, Sweet Cheeks’,” you said, giving him the same order he gave you earlier. It didn’t sound anywhere near as sexy coming from you, but he seemed to like it since his eyes went dark. And you didn’t back up when he invaded your space, holding your gaze. 

“Please, Sweet Cheeks,” he whispered, wrapping a calloused hand around yours. “Please, put my number in your phone and message me before we have that drink tonight.”

You thought back to your dream, how he had his hands and mouth on you, how husky his voice was… You needed to get a grip and fast. “Message you?” you asked breathily. “I have a lot to do today. I have to fill out job applications and-”

“Message me,” he interjected, cupping your other hand. 

“Bake for the potluck,” you continued, your heart racing.

“And message me,” he said again, taking another step forward.

You exhaled. Was he going to kiss you? He wouldn’t. “And unpack some more.”

His forehead touched yours for a brief moment, but he backed away before you could blink. “And message me.”

It was dizzying that this man not only paid attention to you, but seemed to want your attention. Why? What was so special about you?

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” you said, pulling further away so you could breathe without taking in the scent of him. “I’ll send you a message, okay?” 

He put his hands over his chest. 

With a smile, you glanced at the pad and put his number in. “Did you really tell your sister and best friend about me?” you asked. 

“I did.” His smile was gentle and easy. “They’re great. You’ll like them.” Your heart turned over at the fondness in his voice. They were clearly special to him. And if he thought you’d like them he clearly intended for you to meet them. “Do you really not want to rely on people?”

You looked at the door he fixed with a sigh. It was personal, but it didn’t feel like he was being nosy. “The people I should’ve been able to depend on let me down one too many times. I’m trying to be more careful going forward,” you explained, trying to keep your tone emotionless. It was difficult to pretend that you didn’t care because the truth was you cared too much. 

“I get that.” His hand brushed yours again. “I’ve been let down before, too, and it sucks when the person should’ve had your back,” he said. Who did that? Who hurt him? “But we’re both still standing.”

“Yeah, we are,” you said. Bent but not broken.

“And I’m not saying you should depend on me since you don’t know me that well, but I will be an open book for you. No secrets, no bullshit,” he promised. 

You blinked. Your ex fed you poison coated in sugar. Bucky was promising that he wouldn’t and you wanted it to be true, that he would be honest even when it was easier to lie. Because the truth hurt at times, but pain was real and you needed something real. 

“I’ll be an open book, too,” you replied. You were rewriting your story and there was no reason to hide. 

“Good,” he smiled, taking out his phone. “Now, I need to pick a ringtone for you once you message me. Let’s see… Pour Some Sugar on Me… Honkytonk Badonkadonk… Cherry Pie…” 

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, but you smiled. He was ridiculous and wonderful. 

“Milkshake… Fat Bottomed Girls…” He looked up when you gathered up the empty mug, pen and paper, and went back to your door. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I told you, I have things to do,” you answered. 

His pout could make anyone lose their resolve. “You can do me between your other tasks,” he called out. 

You could, but you had to maintain some of your dignity and not fall into his bed right away. He could work for it. “Another time, if you're lucky.”

He groaned a little. “You’re breaking my heart, Sweet Cheeks.”

“You’ll live. Say hi to Alpine for me! I’ll see you tonight for that drink!” You giggled to yourself and stared at his number before you shot off a text. “Hey, Bucky. It’s Sweet Cheeks. Thanks again for your help with the door. Looking forward to that drink. And by the way, I dreamed about you, too.”

You tucked your phone away, refusing to sit and watch for his response. You had work to do, but you were looking forward to tonight. What kind of questions would you two ask each other tonight? What were the stories behind his tattoos? 

And who let him down?

Okay, lovelies. What are they going to discuss over drinks? And who let 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tbaluver]

DODGING HIS KISSES

featuring: phainon and mydei

genre: fluff + silly

a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this is just inspo i saw from tiktok hehe this might be a little ooc so sorry if it is! im still learning how to write more for them (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

── .✦ PHAINON:

There’s no way you could possibly do this more than once when you know how much Phainon loves to kiss you. The moment he leans in, eyes half-lidded, and lips just slightly parted, you turn your head at the last second.

For a second, he looks confused, then a little embarrassed. Still, he tries to play it cool. Second time the charm, right? Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

His face falls into the saddest little pout, like a puppy who just got told “no” to a sweet treat and doesn’t understand why. If he had floppy ears, they’d be drooping by now and his tail would have stopped wagging entirely.

“Is something wrong?” he asks quietly. “Does my breath smell bad?” His lips twitch downward even more and it’s hard to resist him for too long.

You lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek, then a soft one to his lips, a playful smile on your lips as you pull away. Instantly, he brightens. His invisible puppy ears perk back up and his tail starts wagging like crazy. He chases after your lips, once, twice, and a few more times for good measure, like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

── .✦MYDEI:

Poor baby is so confused.

He just got back home after hours of relentless training, his muscles aching. All he wanted was to collapse into your arms and melt into your warmth. But instead, it feels like he did something wrong to make you avoid him and he had no idea why.

Maybe he’s more tired than he thought. Maybe he hit his head during sparring and didn’t realize it. Or maybe he just reeked of the smell of battle. That would make more sense than you dodging him on purpose.

But then you avoid his kiss again.

He blinks in disbelief, eyebrows furrowing as he watches you continue with whatever you’re doing, like nothing is wrong. Slowly, he makes his way to your side and sits down, observing you. “Is there something wrong? Are you upset?” 

A soft thud hits the floor as he slips off one of his gauntlets. With his calloused fingers, he reaches out for you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger, brushing your skin before cradling your cheek. You look back at him, trying to keep an innocent expression.

“Everything’s fine,” you assure him. “Are you-”

But before you can finish the question, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It’s gentle, warm, and it completely catches you off guard that your plan falls apart the moment you kiss him back. You can feel the way his body relaxes just a little.

“Everything is okay,” he murmurs, letting himself flop on top of you, resting his weight against you as you let his strong arms wrap around you loosely.

[talaok]

Mine

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: After Joel sees you at the Tipsy Bison with Mark, an innocent friend, he feels the need to turn up at your house late at night to clear things up. This is part of this series but it can be (kinda) read alone.

Warnings: jealousy, insecure Joel, big ass age gap, angst (happy ending). Smut| oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, out of practice joel, multiple orgasms, soft/ kinda sub!Joel.

a/n: This is (I think) the last part of this series. I know most of you will have forgotten them, but thank you to everyone who enjoyed these fics, and I'm sorry for taking so damn long to write this part.

Pt 1 - Pt. 2

The Tipsy Bison was full of people tonight, which wasn't really all that unusual, but still, it was weird seeing such a portrait of normality in a town like Jackson.

"You want a beer?" Mark asked as you made your way to the counter.

"Yeah, thanks."

He smiled, before turning to order.

Your body noticed it before you did, the hairs at the back of your neck were strangely standing up.

Mark had turned to you again, he was saying something, but your focus was somewhere else, on that weird feeling deep down in your gut, even when his fingers gently moved some hair out of your face, even when he leaned a little closer, his distant voice murmuring something like 'you still with me?'

And that's when you noticed it, right behind him... Joel.

He was looking, no, staring at you. His eyes were trained on you with deadly attention, a beer bottle forgotten in his hand as his gaze inspected every inch of you- until it settled on the hand Mark had placed on your lower back- it was then that something in his eyes shifted and they found yours for only a second before dropping to his beer.

"Y/n?"

Mark called for you, breaking whatever spell had stopped time.

"Sorry," your lips pulled into a soft smile, "sorry, I just- there's someone I wanna say hi to"

It was only as you started for Joel that you noticed he wasn't alone, Tommy was sitting right beside him.

"I'll be right back" you told Mark before making your way to the pair. Only the younger brother's eyes were on you, Joel was still staring at his bottle.

"Hi there" a sweet smile pulled at your lips once you arrived at their table, placing your hands on the hardwood as you leaned down.

"Hi beautiful" Tommy grinned amusedly.

Joel took what felt like an eternity to look up at you.

You smiled wider at him, and he swallowed the lump in his throat before nodding.

"Hi darlin'"

"I never see you around here. I thought this wasn't your kind of scene."

"It ain't," he forced out.

It was so weird seeing you out of the little bubble you two had created.

"Tommy convinced me"

"Mhh" you smirked, glancing at his brother, "makes sense."

"So is this-"

But before you could finish your sentence, Joel was up.

"Sorry, I... I need to take a leak" he nodded, not even looking at you before making a beeline for the opposite side of the bar "I'll see ya"

That was weird... maybe he just really needed to go to the bathroom.

You were still trying to decode Joel's behavior when you finally noticed his brother's gaze on you... and the shit-eating grin splitting his lips.

"What are you smiling at Tommy?"

"Nothin'," he chuckled, "just enjoyin' seeing you make my brother all nervous"

"Oh yeah? Like you wouldn't be in his position" You smirked.

"Ain't nothin' nervous about me sweetheart- " he answered smugly, his eyes making a show of admiring your body up and down "if you ever get tired of him I'd be more than willin' to prove it to ya"

"Don't know how happy Maria would be about that," you laughed, raising a brow.

"I'll worry 'bout that," he promised, still smirking, still cocky "You just come knock at my door if ya ever feel like it"

Just as you were about to follow the man's words with some kind of joke, Mark appeared beside you.

"I found a spot."

You looked between the two men, your eyes stumbling over the empty chair for a second too long before you nodded.

"Right" you said, clearing your throat as you gave Tommy a simple farewell nod "Better go before someone steals it"

__ __ __

It was far too late for someone to be knocking at your door... and yet there you were, rushing to the door in your pajamas.

You didn't even bother looking through the peephole, which is why confusion etched itself on your face as you opened the door.

"Hi there" you smiled at Joel, still dressed exactly as he'd been at the bar.

Weird, you would have guessed he would be the type to be fast asleep by now.

"Hi, I... am I bothering you?"

His words were unsure, his eyes barely meeting yours.

A soft gust of night summer air flew by as you laughed.

"You could never bother me, Joel" you promised, before inviting him in.

"So what brings you here?" you finally asked as you closed the door behind you.

"I just..." he cut himself off, his hands clasping together so forcefully his knuckles turned white.

"Yeah?" you said softly, trying to soothe him.

Something was obviously bothering him.

Sure, he was always nervous when talking to you- but never quite this much.

"Mark-" he spat all of a sudden, making you frown.

"Mark?" you chuckled, "What about Mark?"

You watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulped.

"He- he looked real happy with you"

Again, you laughed, and Joel, poor Joel felt a pang to his old heart at the thought that this could be one of the last times he ever heard you do it.

"Yeah, well many have told me that I'm great company"

His eyes flickered to yours before finding a spot behind you again.

"No, I mean... y'know"

"No, I don't know Joel"

It was then, that Joel finally found the strength to say it.

"If ya... if this is done already I get it, darlin'"

Your forehead creased in confusion.

"What is done?"

"Y'know- uhm- this" he mumbled, vaguely gesturing between you and himself.

What the fuck was he blabbering on about?

"Joel-"

"I-I'm jus' sayin' I get it, he's young, and 'm sure he's funny or somethin'"

Funny or something...

You huffed out a laugh as you tried to stop him by calling his name again.

"Yeah?" he sighed, resigned.

"Mark is a friend," you said softly, like it was the most simple thing in the world, like you had no clue what he was going on about- which you didn't.

"I-"

"Mark is just a friend, you've got nothing to be jealous of." You smiled, your hand finding his strong chest.

"I ain't- jealous," he stuttered, slowly shaking his head.

"Sure you aren't, baby" you couldn't help but tease, the smile on your face morphing into a smirk.

"I just... I haven't seen you in a while"

"Joel" you couldn't help but laugh "we see each other every day"

His shoulders tensed as he stole a glance at you "Yeah but... we haven't seen each other in a while"

Oh

There it was.

"We haven't had sex in two days and you miss me already? I've created a monster"

Pink flushed his cheeks as his right hand went to the back of his neck to scratch an inexistent itch.

"I just thought that Mark-"

"Stop talking about Mark" you cooed, biting down a grin as your arms intertwined behind his neck and you stood on your tiptoes to get him to look at you properly.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I only want you, before you actually start believing it yourself, Joel?"

You saw something that looked an awful lot like relief, joy, something even stronger flash in his eyes.

"I-"

He didn't even know what to say. He was ready to give you up, to accept Mark was a better choice for you, to take a step back, although all he could do lately was think about you... dream about the next time he could be close to you, even just for a minute.

And now... now you were saying those things to him and Joel didn't know what to do with himself.

"You're the only man I want" you cooed, your lips ghosting his "Got it?"

"Y-yeah"

Joel didn't even remember his name at the moment.

"Good" you smiled before pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

It took a second before Joel reciprocated, he was just so damn shocked and lost in so many different thoughts that it was only when you opened your eyes to look at him with that sweet look that he realized what was happening.

His lips opened up to your tongue as his hands found your waist, keeping you as close as he could, conveying with his touch all the things he was too much of a coward to voice.

Heat pooled low in your belly as his stubble grazed your skin, as his scent and taste engulfed your whole body and mind.

His kiss grew deeper, more desperate as the seconds went by. His hand was in your hair, while his right stayed put possessively on your side.

Chills and shivers tingled your skin, and before you had even noticed, your back was pressed to the wall, and Joel finally found the strength to pull his lips off of you.

You were just starting to open your eyes when his lips lowered to your neck, shudders now exploding like fireworks as he worked a slow, wet trail of pecks down the column of your neck onto your collarbones. He didn't have the patience to take off your tank top so he settled for kissing your tits through the fabric, your nipples hardening with need as his mouth sucked the tender skin with urgency.

"Joel" you murmured, not really knowing what you wanted from him, only how good he was making you feel.

He looked up at you, his big brown eyes looking the cutest and most desperate they've ever looked, but he didn't stop, he finished his work on your nipples and suddenly dropped to his knees.

Only one word etched itself in his mind as he pulled your shorts and panties aside and attached himself to your pussy like a man starved.

Mine.

Your back arched, and the back of your head hit the wall as his tongue devoured your whole heat.

You spread your legs wider and fisted his hair with both hands as he groaned, sending delicious vibrations low in your belly.

"Oh my god" you whined, rocking your hips against him as fireworks exploded in the darkness of your shut eyes "fuck that feels so good Joel"

He was sucking your clit like it was goddamn candy, and the way his beard grazed your skin and his hands held you like he was scared of losing you were making your peak arrive embarrassingly quickly.

Joel was damn near losing his mind, he had missed the taste of you enough to dream about it at night, and now he was there and you were letting him do this and- fuck- he didn't have any idea how this was possible, but he'd take it as long as it lasted.

"Oh" he heard you cry, making his cock twitch in his pants as you drenched him with all your juices.

"Oh f-fuck baby" your whines were getting louder and higher pitched and all Joel needed to do was groan into your cunt for your orgasm to explode.

You cried loud enough to worry the neighbours as you came all over his mouth, your hands grabbing his hair hard enough to hurt as your hips feverishly moved against him.

He kept lapping between your folds the whole time, and even as you finally opened back your eyes, he took a second too long to begrudgingly pull himself away.

A slow, delirious smile pulled at your lips as he made his way back up to you.

You couldn't help but grab him by the back of his neck and smash your lips with his, tasting yourself all over him.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but that was incredible," you laughed softly, as he stole another kiss from you, wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

He didn't even know himself what had gotten into him, all he knew was that he thought he'd lost you already, but that wasn't the case, you were... you were still there, with him.

mineminemine.

Even as you stumbled to your room between kisses and desperate touches, that one word repeated itself like a mantra in his mind.

You were still dressed since he'd been far too needy to waste time undressing you, but you both managed to get rid of your clothes in record time before you found yourself caged beneath him.

Feeling his naked body flush against yours, his weight and his heat engulfing you in the best possible way was making you lose yourself in him- in the way his mouth filled every inch of your skin he could reach with hot kisses, and the way his hard manhood kept grazing your core.

You felt his pecks draw lower and lower until he was almost kneeling between your legs to devour you again, but with a desperate cry, you stopped him, grabbing his arm as you begged him.

"No please- I need you"

His puppy eyes conveyed all his devastation at your statement.

"I'll be quick" he tried to convince you, but you were already shaking your head.

Jesus, in what world were you begging Joel Miller not to eat you out?

"Baby, if you don't get inside of me in two seconds, I swear I'll lose my mind"

Joel was grateful you'd practiced these past weeks, cause he was sure he would have come untouched at those words just a few days ago.

He looked between your face and your glistening pussy undecidedly, and you whined at how long this was taking.

"You can make me come with your mouth as many times as you want later, I promise, just... just please fuck me now"

That seemed to do the trick because in a heartbeat, he was back on top of you.

Oh, you were gonna regret promising that later.

You were shameless as you reached for his cock and positioned it at your entrance, but he seemed even more desperate than you as he thrusted into you with a low groan, watching your pretty face twist in ecstasy as he filled you inch by inch.

"F-fuck... babygirl-"

He still wasn't used to it, to how good you fucking felt.

And neither were you.

"Shit," you cried, your eyes shutting closed as he started thrusting in and out of you with a deliciously slow and deep pace.

Your arms were intertwined behind his neck, and one of your legs was wrapped around his waist, letting him hit an even deeper angle.

"Joel," you moaned, making him groan in pleasure as he picked up his pace, one of his hands going to your tits before he couldn't help himself anymore and wrapped his mouth around your left nipple.

Your back arched in bliss as breathy moans spilled from your lips.

His dick was hitting all the right spots, making stars soil your vision.

Mine.

You were his, and he was yours. This was him demonstrating it to you- showing you how impossible it was to live without you now that he'd gotten a taste.

By fucking you as best as his old back and out-of-practice self could grant.

The feeling of your walls squeezing him was something Joel would compare to going to heaven.

His thrusts were getting more and more erratic, pushing your body further up the bed as your moans grew louder while his groans were muffled by your tits.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he growled as you opened your hooded eyes while impersonating a glimpse of paradise.

"Darlin', you- fuck-" he couldn't finish his sentence when you were strangling his cock like that.

"I know," you hummed, biting your lip as your climax grew closer and closer. "You feel so fucking good too, baby."

And Jesus Christ, fuck all the weeks of training because Joel was gone.

"Y-You're perfect" he groaned, looking straight into your eyes as his cock thrust home over and over again "Fuck babydoll, I-"

But his words were interrupted by the glorious moan you let out when a tidal wave of pleasure washed over you as you reached your climax.

You threw your head back, shutting your eyes as breathless gasps and moans resembling Joel's name found their way up your throat.

And Joel was right behind you, having been on the verge of filling you up with his come from the very first moment his dick had entered you.

You found him burying his face between your neck and shoulder as you opened your eyes again, the pounding of your heart the only sound filling your ears.

But then he looked up and you smiled, a satisfied, blissful smile, that quickly mutated into something more like fear when you watched him lower down your body until he was kneeling between your thighs yet again.

__ __ __

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the delicious soreness between your thighs.

Joel had kept had kept you to your word, and you had ended up regretting ever promising to let him make you come as many times as he wanted with his mouth somewhere around orgasm number four.

As much as you can regret something like that.

He had taken all your body could give all night long, yet as you opened your eyes and saw him looking at you, golden sunshine lighting his face, your body forgot all about how spent it was.

"Hi" you smiled, shuffling closer until you could hike a leg up his side.

His face was unreadable as he stared at you, his head resting on his hand as he lay on the side, supporting himself with an elbow.

"Mornin' darlin'"

His voice was even deeper and huskier in the morning, which naturally resulted in heat pooling low in your belly, and consequently ended up with your mouth crashing desperately with his.

But his kiss was weird; it was as if he was... restraining himself. Even as he moved some hair from your face and caressed your cheek, something wasn't quite right in his iris.

But everything seemed to work perfectly fine in his lower body.

You felt him harden against you and couldn't help but grind your mound on his lap, whimpering softly into his mouth.

"Joel" you hummed, struggling to keep your eyes open.

But just when you were about to guide him to lie down on his back, he stopped you.

"Sugar," he spoke as if it hurt him to do so, "Darlin', I don't know if I can do that."

You couldn't help but laugh. "I think you very much can," you smirked, enunciating your words with a roll of your hips.

You watched him swallow thickly as he barely shook his head.

"I'm the sore one, not you baby" you joked, but then you looked at him, really looked at him, and something inside you stopped.

Something was wrong.

And what was wrong was that Joel had woken up this morning and realized that all the "mine" bullshit his delusional brain had made up last night was nothing but that- delusion.

You weren't his, not at all, and he didn't even want you to be.

I mean, of course, he wanted to, but he cared about you enough to know you deserved better. You deserved someone your own age, with a life expectancy longer than twenty years, with much less blood on his hands, you deserved someone... someone that wasn't him.

The realization had hit him like a damn truck as he'd watched you sleep.

It hurt him, of course it did, brutally so. But he was ready to hurt if it meant setting you free and letting you meet someone who was enough for you.

"I- I can't do this anymore, sugar"

You felt your heart drop to your stomach.

Did he just...

"I... I just can't"

"You mean you don't wanna have sex with me anymore?"

His gaze warmed now, his brown eyes conveying nothing if not care.

"That's the thing, babygirl... I like you" he murmured, "It- it ain't just sex for me, darlin'" and then he sighed as he confessed, "I-I don't think it ever really was"

You struggled to comprehend his words, your hearing suddenly muffled.

"And I know that's what you want. A-and it ain't right for me to ask you something like that... "

You were looking at him as if he were ripping your heart out. You didn't get it. What the fuck was happening?

"Ask me what?"

"To do something you don't wanna do... to have more than-this with someone like me." he spoke softly, vaguely gesturing between you two.

"I wasn't even supposed to be doin' this in the first place. You're so damn young and I... it ain't even right for me to be talkin' to ya about this, I just... 'm sorry sugar."

And all of a sudden, you were back. You were disoriented and felt fucking crazy, but your mind was back. And if he thought for a second this was it, he was painfully wrong.

"Joel," you called, but he was already up from the bed, pulling his pants on.

"No, please. It's hard enough as it is. I should just go. 'M real sorry, babydoll."

He carelessly put his flannel back on as you quickly threw a shirt on.

He'd reached the bedroom door by the time you'd gotten up from the bed.

"Joel- Stop"

He looked back in time for you to rush to him, grabbing his wrist.

"Stay" you begged.

But he was already shaking his head "Sugar-"

You interrupted him as soon as the word had left his mouth. You were done with whatever bullshit he was going on about.

"No. No. I'm gonna stop you before you go onto your whole thing about how wrong this is and how old you are for me Joel, 'cause I'm gonna tell you right now I don't give a single fuck"

Your resolution was back tenfold as you looked him right in the eyes.

"You don't get to decide what's right and wrong for me, and you don't get to make decisions for me. I was the one who started this whole thing, and I don't regret a single second of it."

"I'll admit it did start as sex for me, and I'm not really... used to doing more than what we've been doing, but- but I wanna do it, Joel. I wanna do it with you"

He was lost as he stared at you.

You didn't know what you were saying, he was... him.

"Darlin I-" he stuttered, "You don't have to say that for me I-"

"I'm not." You couldn't help but laugh "Jesus, Joel, I like you. I like you more than just for sex. I want more"

"I-"

Your hands intertwined behind his neck as you stood on your tiptoes.

"I'll gladly be your girlfriend if you'll be my boyfriend."

Joel's brain short-circuited.

"You deserve more than someone like m-"

"Joel, I swear to god you finish that sentence and I'll start screaming"

"But I'm-" You shot him a look that made him eat his own words "What will people think?"

"I couldn't care less what people think" you promised, meaning every word, "I want you. All of you"

His heart was about to explode.

You were serious.

You were seriously saying all this to him.

"I- You're sure?"

"Yes" you rolled your eyes before your mouth pulled into a wicked smirk "Are you?"

"Christ-" he laughed, his hands finding your waist as he leaned closer, your mouth an inch from his, "I can't think of anything I've ever been more certain in my life, doll."

And just like that, you were both smiling like idiots.

You really were his.

[teambyler]

A likely reason for that El/Mike scene

We don't know the context of these El/Mike shots from the teaser, but it's clearly a heart-to-heart scene, likely one where Mike and El enter a new phase in their relationship. (And we Bylers of course think that's a loving platonic future, with the heart shape symbolizing that.)

But I've heard it said that "it doesn't make sense" for Mike to suddenly confess he's gay/bi or loves Will, right before she goes into the sensory deprivation tank. It would be strange, out-of-place, and awkward.

It WOULD be. But that's not the only possibility.

Isn't THIS one, also?

Will has been captured by the military or Vecna, and El needs to use her powers to find him. (EDIT: Vecna/the Mind Flayer has always needed to separate Will from the party. And if Mike IS glued to Will's side this season -- very likely! -- Vecna needs to do this. The show needs to raise the stakes! And Mike's torment hee hee!)

We know how dangerous it can be for El to project her mind into enemy territory (Season 3). Mike has been protective of El before and not wanted her to put herself in danger. He probably expresses concern for her again, too.

But El senses Mike is terribly fearful for Will.

El has been picking up hints that Mike and Will might be in love with each other. (Which probably starts with the Painting Lie. Mike asks her about the painting, she probably figures out that the person Will made "for someone he likes" was Mike. Which starts the wheels turning in her head.)

El takes Mike aside. SHE is the one who starts the conversation.

"I'm going to ask you something. And you need to tell me the truth. Friends don't lie."

(Mike nods nervously.)

"Do... you love Will?"

"Of course I do! He's my best friend."

"No. Do you LOVE WILL?"

"Because It's okay. And I'm okay."

-teambyler

EDIT: El encouraging Byler is one of the simplest and most likely ways to get the GA to primed for the big Byler moment (think of how Jancy was prepped), and it's in her character!

EDIT 2: I see what people are saying about El being less obvious about it and I accept that. It could be a Jonathan situation where he made absolutely clear he was accepting to Will without overtly saying it:

"I know how important he is to you. And I'll be okay."

(Meanwhile the intimacy of the scene tells us 100% what she means.)

[daisybvck]

The Kiss Heard ‘Round Metropolis

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader

Summary: You and Clark have always had a special relationship, you two adore each other but haven’t had the guts to admit your feelings, what happens when one day when Superman saves you and you share a kiss.

Warning: Jealousy, angst (a little) kissing, inner turmoil, Cutie Clark Kent

Word count: 10k+

A/N: This was so fun to write

You weren’t sure when Clark Kent became your gravity, only that it happened without warning, quietly, like the shifting of seasons.

Maybe it was the way he greeted you every morning at the Daily Planet, soft-voiced and smiling, offering a donut or cup of coffee with such casual warmth that it lit up your chest. Maybe it was how he always asked how your day was—even when he was neck-deep in copy edits—or how he remembered little things: the way you hated cold weather, your preferred notepad brand, that you hummed when deep in thought.

Or maybe it was how, despite being soft-spoken and a little clumsy, Clark always made you feel seen.

It crept up on you. One minute, you were just colleagues sharing a workspace. The next, you were trading dumb jokes late at night, texting about breaking stories, sitting too close, brushing hands too often, your heartbeat leaping at things that shouldn’t have meant anything—but did.

You liked him. You really, really liked him.

And Clark, well you weren’t sure. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, like he was biting back words that danced at the edge of possibility. But he never said them.

Maybe he was scared.

So were you.

You both let it sit there, a quiet thing curled between you. Familiar. Tense. Beautiful.

Something just waiting to break.

The morning had barely started when Perry White barreled out of his office, a thick manila folder clutched in one hand like a weapon. You were halfway through your first cup of coffee, bleary-eyed and trying to make sense of the headlines on your screen, when the folder slammed onto your desk with enough force to rattle your mug.

“Superman. Hob’s Bay. You’re on it,” he barked, voice gravelly from too many late nights and stronger-than-necessary cigars. His shirt was rumpled, tie askew, and his suspenders were doing little to rein in the barely-contained fury of a man who hadn’t seen a quiet news day in twenty years.

You blinked, then looked down at the folder. It was thick, stuffed with incident reports, clippings, witness statements. You could already tell there was more here than Perry had time to say.

“What’s going on?” you asked, flipping it open.

“Superman’s been working overtime down there,” Perry said, pacing like a caged animal. “Drug raids, rescue ops, late-night disappearances, maybe even gang retaliation. Something’s brewing. And I want a real story—not just another puff piece about a cat in a tree. Human angle. Give me people, faces. Give me something true.”

You nodded, adrenaline already buzzing in your veins. You’d done harder stories before, but there was something about this one that felt different. The kind of story that dug under your skin and stayed there. You stood, grabbing your camera from under the desk.

“I’ll head out this afternoon.”

Across the bullpen, Clark Kent shifted in his seat. You hadn’t even realized he was listening until he cleared his throat.

“You’re going alone?” he asked, voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. You turned to him, surprised. He wasn’t the type to weigh in on assignments, especially not yours.

“Unless you’re offering to be my assistant,” you said, teasing. “What do you think, Kent? Want to lug my gear around for a day?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just meant… it’s not the safest neighborhood. Maybe someone should go with you.”

You paused, studying him. His hands were clasped tightly on his notepad. His shoulders were tense, eyes flicking to the folder on your desk like it had personally offended him. Something about the way he said it—something restrained, almost protective—made your heartbeat slow just a little.

“You volunteering?” you asked again, more serious this time.

Clark opened his mouth. A second passed. Then another. His brow furrowed like he was struggling with something, some silent argument happening behind his eyes. But then he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You softened. For a moment, you weren’t in the middle of the newsroom. For a moment, it was just the two of you, and that unspoken thread that had been tugging between you. Always there, just out of reach.

“I always am,” you said gently.

He looked like he wanted to say more. There was a flicker of something in his expression—worry, guilt, something deeper—but before he could speak, Perry called his name from across the bullpen.

“Clark! Now!”

Clark winced, gave you a quick nod, and rose from his chair. His movements were stiff, reluctant, like each step toward Perry’s office was a step away from something important. You watched him go, and a strange ache settled in your chest. Not quite fear. Not quite longing. Something sharper. Something that curled behind your ribs and stayed there.

You glanced back at the folder. The top sheet was a police report—timestamped just after midnight. A warehouse fire near the docks. Superman had arrived minutes before the fire department, pulled four people from the blaze, then disappeared before anyone could thank him. No injuries. No arrests. Just smoke, soot, and silence.

Beneath it, another report: a gang bust in the same area. Superhuman strength reported. No official confirmation. Witnesses described the suspect as “a blur” and “a shadow with a cape.”

You exhaled slowly. Hob’s Bay had always been a rough patch of Metropolis, but this was different. Something was happening there, and Superman was right in the middle of it.

You packed your things methodically—camera lenses, notepad, a recorder, extra batteries. You threw on your coat, then hesitated.

Across the bullpen, you could still see Clark through the glass of Perry’s office. He stood stiffly, hands behind his back, listening to Perry with the same intense focus he gave every assignment. But every so often, his eyes flicked to the door. Flicked toward you.

Like he was still thinking about what he didn’t say.

You shook your head and headed out.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet sigh behind you, and as the city opened up outside—sunlight slanting across steel and glass, the hum of taxis and pedestrians like the pulse of something too big to hold—you couldn’t help but wonder what Clark knew.

Because he did know something. You felt it in your bones.

The way his voice had dipped when he asked if you were going alone. The hesitation. The way his eyes had darkened when Perry mentioned Hob’s Bay. The way he flinched at the name Superman. You’ve known Clark long enough to know when something was eating at him, you’d figure it out sooner or later.

The night air at Hob’s Bay had the sharp bite of early autumn. It carried the scent of exhaust, rusted metal, and something else—burnt plastic maybe, or chemical fumes. You couldn’t tell.

The entire construction site had dissolved into chaos.

An overturned fuel truck had jackknifed near the edge of the pit, spewing smoke into the dark sky. Fire crews were shouting orders over the roar of engines. Workers and passersby had formed a confused, panicked circle just beyond the emergency tape.

You clutched your notepad with frozen fingers, nerves crackling under your skin like static. You were trying to stay focused—interviewing one of the site supervisors about what caused the collapse—but his words barely registered. Sirens screamed from every direction. Somewhere nearby, glass shattered. Your pen shook in your hand. And then came a sharp, metallic shriek of something massive giving way.

You turned.

A support beam—thick, rusted, groaning—had torn loose from the upper scaffolding. You watched in stunned silence as the framework began to crumble, metal lurching downward in a cloud of sparks and grit. Everything slowed.

You couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

The sky vanished in a storm of falling steel.

And then the wind changed.

A sudden gust slammed into you from the side, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso.

Warmth. Strength. Security.

One moment you were standing on solid ground, and the next, you were airborne—swept into the sky with impossible speed. Your surroundings blurred into motion: fire, sirens, orange haze and gray-blue sky bleeding together.

Your breath caught.

It was him.

The arms holding you were solid, steady, one curled gently beneath your knees, the other pressed protectively between your shoulder blades. You clung to the fabric of his suit out of instinct—cool beneath your fingers, but reassuring in its firmness.

And his heartbeat—it was calm. Steady.

Superman.

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight with shock, lungs still trying to process what had happened.

He carried you silently through the air, his expression furrowed with concentration. You noticed his eyes flick downward every few seconds, scanning for danger, making sure he wasn’t just moving you—but moving you somewhere safe.

A few moments later, he touched down gently on the rooftop of a nearby parking garage—flat, isolated, high enough above the chaos to give you air. The moment your feet touched the concrete, your knees buckled.

“Hey hey, you’re okay” he murmured quickly, catching you before you could collapse. His voice was warm but soft, like he was afraid to speak too loudly. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

You gripped his forearm, fingers trembling. Your heart was slamming against your ribs. He steadied you, hands holding onto you so gently, with such care that he was afraid he’d hurt you. He stroked your hair softly muttering that ‘you’re safe now’, more to himself than you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, “I—I didn’t even see it—” you pull back softly and wipe your eyes. You stared at him. His features were striking, lit faintly by the emergency lights from below. The suit clung to his frame, the red cape fluttering faintly in the breeze—but his face,

There was something gentle there. Not just heroic. Familiar.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice quieter now. Genuine.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Just shaken.”

He nodded slowly, and you saw his shoulders loosen—only a little. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner,” he said, barely audible.

“You saved me.” You replied back softly

Your chest twisted. He wasn’t standing tall and triumphant the way the news captured him. He looked like someone who carried weight he couldn’t share. Like he blamed himself for almosts.

“I wasn’t watching closely enough,” he added, more to himself than to you. “The beam snapped before I noticed the tension. I thought the pressure was stable. I should’ve—”

You reached out instinctively and touched his chest, your hand delicately placed on top of the iconic ‘s’ on his suit. His breathing hitched for a moment—but he didn’t move away.

“You’re not supposed to be everywhere,” you said, gently. “But you were there when it counted.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours. Closer now, he seemed vulnerable, less untouchable. “I saw you from the air,” he murmured. “You were asking questions. Standing right in the danger zone. I-I panicked-.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You panicked?”

A faint smile touched his lips—melancholy more than amused. “I couldn’t let my favorite journalist get hurt.” He says without thinking, his eyes shut in embarrassment.

You swallowed. “You read my work?”

His eyes flickered away, cheeks darkening.

“I do,” he said softly. “You write about the right things. The things others don’t care to acknowledge even though it’s important. It’s admirable.”

You didn’t know what to say. Compliments from civilians were flattering. From Superman? They felt unreal. He turned slightly, scanning the edge of the building, checking the skyline for further threats. But his body was still angled toward you, like his attention was split—and you were keeping most of it.

“I should take you back,” he said. “Or to medical, just to make sure—”

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean—I’m okay. Really.”

He hesitated. And then you saw it again: that flicker of tension in his jaw. Something else simmering beneath his composure. Guilt, maybe. Or something closer to sadness.

“What is it?” you asked.

He shook his head, clearly debating something. “I shouldn’t have taken you here alone,” he said. “It’s not standard protocol.”

The wind pulled at his cape again, tugging it to the side. The silence stretched between you, full of words neither of you could name.

Then—slowly, tentatively—he stepped closer.

He wasn’t trying to be suave. If anything, he looked nervous. His fingers brushed the air near your hand before retreating again.

“I don’t usually stop and talk,” he said nervously. “I fly in. Handle it. Leave. But you were scared and I didn’t want to leave you like that.”

Your heart beat louder. He looked at you again—really looked—and something in his face wavered. You felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. His hand lifted slightly, hovering just beside your cheek but never touching.

“I saw you down there and I—” He stopped, swallowed. “I got scared something would happen. I thought I wouldn’t get to you. And then I did, but it still wasn’t enough. You could’ve been—” the words tumbled out of his mouth.

You didn’t realize you were crying until he blinked and touched a single tear from your cheek, his hand feather-light.

“Please don’t-” he whispered. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. You’re safe now.” He pulled you closer to him, embracing you. You leaned into his touch just slightly, your breath catching.

“Thanks to you” you said again, softer this time.

The look he gave you after that almost undid you. Raw. Unsure. Terrified of what he was about to do. Your faces were now just inches away, lips so close he could smell the strawberry lip gloss that coated them.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. But he didn’t move away. You saw the exact moment he gave in—not to impulse, but to emotion. He kissed you and it wasn’t bold or fiery.

It was cautious. Almost apologetic. His lips were soft and slow against yours, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

You pressed in just slightly. Just enough to tell him it was okay. When he pulled back, he did so slowly. Like it hurt. And when he looked into your eyes again, guilt was written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry I- god I’m such an idiot” he said, and his voice cracked.

“Why?”

His jaw clenched. “Because I should have done that as someone else.”

Your breath hitched.

You were still trying to process what he meant when he turned—fast, like he had to stop himself from staying—and lifted into the sky with one final look.

And then he was gone.

The wind swept around you in his absence. And you stood on that rooftop, your lips still tingling, your chest aching in ways you didn’t understand. Superman had kissed you. But it felt like someone else had been behind that kiss. Someone warm. Familiar. Someone who knew your favorite articles.

And cared too much.

You barely slept that night.

After Superman vanished into the sky, you’d stood on that rooftop for what felt like hours, the city humming beneath you, wind wrapping around your shoulders like a second skin. Your mind ran in endless loops — replaying the fall, the flight, the sound of his voice.

And the kiss.

Soft. Guilt-ridden. Gentle in a way you didn’t expect from a man the world called invincible.

He kissed you like it hurt him to do it. Like he wanted to, but hated that he did.

You had no answers, no context. Only that flicker of emotion in his voice — “I wanted to do that as someone else” — haunting you long after the sky swallowed him.

The morning light felt too bright.

You dragged yourself through your routine, hair twisted into something decent, your press badge clipped to your blazer. You were halfway to the Planet before the first notification buzzed on your phone.

Then the second.

Then twenty more.

By the time the elevator dinged open to the bullpen, your heart was already racing. Because the newsroom was buzzing. No — exploding.

You stepped inside and the noise hit you like a wall. Laughter. Shouting. The rhythmic thrum of keyboards going to war. And all of it — every eye, every whisper — was aimed at you.

“Hey! Speak of the devil!” Jimmy Olsen practically sprinted toward you, brandishing his tablet like it was the Holy Grail. “You saw this, right?”

You blinked. “Saw what?”

He tapped the screen and turned it around.

There it was. You.

Up on that rooftop. Superman’s cape billowing behind him, your hand resting gently on the “S” of his chest, lips pressed to his. The photo was unmistakable. Not blurry. Not doctored.

It was you. Your stomach dropped.

“Where—” you started, your voice dry.

“Some guy in a condo across from the lot took it!” Jimmy said breathlessly. “He was recording the fire response and just happened to pan over at the perfect second. It’s been circulating all morning. Every outlet’s got it now. Even the foreign ones.”

You stared at the photo, numb. The wind in your hair. The way Superman’s eyes were half-lidded, almost reverent. The kiss frozen in time.

“Y/N, I mean this in the best way possible,” Jimmy grinned, “but you are blowing up right now.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, someone else called your name. Then another. And another. You were suddenly surrounded — people flooding from their desks with questions. The swarm of coworkers came at you with delighted disbelief:

“What’s he like up close?”

“Is it true he smells like clouds or something?”

“Are you dating now?!”

You held up your hands, flustered. “Guys, I—It wasn’t planned—”

“You look so calm in the photo though! How were you not losing your mind?”

“I was!” you said nervously. “Internally, I was screaming my lungs out”

Your cheeks were burning. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You thought it had been a private moment. A quiet, strange, world-tilting slip of vulnerability between you and him. But now it was public. Immortalized. Viral.

The door to Perry’s office slammed open. You turned, startled. Clark stood in the doorway. His eyes found you instantly. And your heart nearly stopped. He looked exhausted. His glasses were slightly askew, his tie loosened like he hadn’t bothered tightening it properly. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes — which was odd, because Clark never looked tired. Ever.

But now?

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept. And the moment he saw you and something in his face shifted. He blinked once. Slowly. Then his jaw tightened, locked in place

You stepped toward him without thinking, muscle memory from spending almost every day with him “Good morning Clark—”

“Morning,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was low. Bitter.

You stopped in your tracks. He walked past you toward his desk, not meeting your eyes. Your stomach turned.

Everyone else seemed oblivious to the change in air, still caught up in the photo frenzy. But you could feel it. The way his shoulders curved inward. The way he was trying to look casual but was clearly anything but.

You watched him sit, power on his monitor like it might distract him.

You waited.

And when the crowd finally dispersed and chatter softened into the background buzz of another news cycle, you crossed the floor and stopped by his desk. He didn’t look up. He clicked his mouse once. Then again. Like that was more important than the words trying to form between you.

After a few moments he stood. Slowly. The chair squeaked quietly behind him as he pushed it back. He looked at you then and something in him cracked. His expression — usually calm, polite, gentle — was stormy now. His brows were drawn tight, his jaw clenched like he was fighting to keep something from spilling out. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then exhaled slowly through his nose, as if steadying himself.

“Superman kissed you?” he said.

The words weren’t angry, but they weren’t easy, either.

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It all happened so fast. He saved me and after he took me to this rooftop and-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself” he said too quickly.

He hesitated. His hands curled into fists against the desk, like he was anchoring himself there to avoid reaching for something — or someone.

“I just…” He trailed off, voice quieter now. “It’s hard.”

You stepped closer. “What is?”

He glanced away, then back at you.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said, his voice low and rough, “to see the person you care about look at someone else like that.”

You froze.

And Clark — sweet, shy Clark — blinked and looked down, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “It wasn’t like that” you whispered. “It wasn’t planned, It just—he caught me off guard. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t expect—”

“I know,” he said, finally meeting your eyes again. There was something in his gaze — a quiet guilt. “That’s the part that kills me.”

He stared at you, lips parted, he wanted so badly to tell you. But he didn’t. Instead, he laughed under his breath — sharp, humorless — and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further.

“Because it was me” he whispered, so softly you didn’t hear.

You frowned softly, “What?”

But he shook his head. “Nothing.”

You stepped closer again. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “Clark, what aren’t you telling me?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, chest rising and falling like he was at war with himself. And he was.

Because he’d kissed you. As Superman. Held you like the world was ending, tasted the truth of what he’d felt for so long — and you had no idea. He has wanted nothing more than to do that but he’d gone and done it as Superman, not Clark.

You didn’t even know it was him. And now here you were, trying to explain it like it had nothing to do with him, and he had to pretend he wasn’t burning with jealousy of himself. God he felt like such an idiot.

He clenched his fists again. Clark stepped in then — closer than before. The closest he’d ever dared. “You talk about him like he’s someone else” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like you don’t know him. Like he’s a stranger.”

Your chest tightened. “He is a stranger.”

Clark gazed at you for a long while. Then gave the saddest smile you’d ever seen, those soft dimples appearing ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess he is.” Before you could say anything else, he stepped back. “I have to go.”

“Clark just wait a second-“

But he was already turning, striding across the bullpen, avoiding every screen still glowing with the photo of your kiss. And you just stood there. Staring after him. Reeling. Because for a second — just a second — you weren’t sure who you had kissed.

[rawme-price]

Hihi, I was wondering if we could get a collection of immortal!reader being scared/weary of random things like the oven you mentioned because theyre not sure if they've been cremated before pls :>

Three things immortal!reader is scared/anxious of. [BIG suicide warning. Like major. Also gore and gross stuff]

1. Bleach.

For the longest time soap had no idea why you hated the storage closet closest to the barracks. Sure, some recruits spilled bleach in it months ago and the smell never really left, even he grimaces at it, but its just a smell. Doesnt make sense why you would rather walk an extra 10 minutes to get the supplies you need.

Your glad he doesnt ask you about it, even when you can tell soap wants to. His gaze lingers on the way your jaw clenched and a hand instinctively floats in front of your abdomen, posing for pain that wont come.

You tell him about it one dark night, weeks after the fractured rib. "Back when I first learned i was immortal. Drank a whole bottle of bleach and laid down in the tub. Took days to work out of my system."

What you dont mention is the agony. How it burned and burned and burned. Bleach didnt kill you, but it made you wish you were dead. You think you passed out after the first eight hours, because when you opened your eyes again the floor of the tub was covered in a slushy of your stomach. Blood, vomit, bile and bits of intestines that had been burned and peeled off due to the chemicals. It was all over you, a baptism of your own creation, a testament to the vile thing you were.

2. Storm drains.

You never tell anyone about this. Because honestly, above all else, its a bit embarrassing for you. Sometime in July, right around hurricane season, you were walking in the middle of a thunderstorm. No need to worry about lightning when ur immortal, right?

Or thats what you thought. Foolish you didnt consider all the other dangers, like tripping on a stick and falling head-first into the rapidly filing drain gutters. Those big rivers that run next to the road. Youve seen homeless corpses laying in them, baking under the sun. You never thought you'd join them.

At some point in your struggle to get free from the rapids your either hit your head, or inhaled too much water, or *something*. Because when you became aware next your body was contorted painfully into a tiny space. The sheer pressure of water pushing against you making it impossible to breathe. It pressed and pressed at you, pushing you against a fucking *outlet grate*.

Forced to drown again and again until the storm finally passed and the water calmed down enough that you could gasp humid and disgusting lungfuls of air.

You can still taste the dirt even years later, being told to hide in a drain for the hours long stake out. Ghost doesnt comment when you spend more time controlling your breathing than looking through your scope, just silently adjusts his view to watch your portions too.

3. Rice.

This one is a bit odd, even you have to admit. There's no dramatic story behind it, just the sad reality you lived for years.

This one, too, you confessed to soap. Mostly because he refused to drop it after your fractured rib confession. "How long have you been...yknow?" He had asked, handing you the orange a from his hospital lunch.

You didnt know where to start, so you told him about the melting summers spent in your house with the A/C turned off. How the heat was so severe you swore you could see the it bending the light of a room cartoonishly.

Eating rice and ham steak, because thats what you had, a boring day watching love-bugs circle outside. "Dont call me a survivor" you had told soap from the start "surviror implies dignity, or at least some form of struggle. Maybe the wilderness or someplace far away from your bed. Thats where you become a survivor."

"It was a normal afternoon, nothing to do and no one to see. Bored." You didnt even think before grabbing the serrated knife used on the ham, slit your wrists just to see how it felt.

An uneventful death, in the grand scheme of things. But it has stuck in your mind even miles from home. Thats the thing with trauma, it has no good sense of story. It doesnt care what the most profound thing to be scared of is.

At the end of the day you can bear the smell of rice, and at the end of the day its just trauma. Nothing fantastical about it besides the fact you cant find peace in death.

[hms-no-fun]

so i went to track down the source of this image to see if there might be a before/after, and instead what i found was... a similar but different image???

this is the original, as reported in the june 29th 2022 edition of the moorefield examiner, linked here and also here. supposedly this still was taken from an iphone video, which makes sense. notice the motion blur on the lightning strike, and how the red/orange tones in the tree are blown out. the version shared by OP is comparatively much more evenly exposed. at first i thought it might be a separate still from the same video, but the closer you look the more conspicuous differences you notice.

for instance, this is NOT the same bush:

note as well that OP's version has the tree utterly unaffected by wind, where the original is clearly experiencing a strong gust:

there's also the fact that OP's version has more space on the bottom of the frame, which creates a more visually pleasing and balanced composition. but then, what about all that other stuff in the foreground at the bottom right? it's nowhere to be seen:

so, clearly OP's version has been shopped, probably with AI ("set extension" tools were some of the earliest functional implementations of generative image tech to hit the adobe suite iirc). stare at the doctored version long enough and you start noticing all sorts of weirdnesses. like what's going on here exactly?

why are these some of the only tree branches that occlude the path of the lightning bolt? it kind of looks like the tree only has branches on one side, the side facing away from the camera, in order to maximize the photographer's visibility.

but here's what gets me. OP's post still credits the original photographer, which is how i was able to track down the source image in the first place. if not for that credit, i'd have just assumed this was a real photo and moved on like everyone else. to be clear, i don't think OP is responsible for the modification. virtually all popular nature photography is already heavily doctored within acceptable limits, and anyway it's such an innocuous picture, so it's easy to imagine how something like this might slip under the radar. but it is a shocking example to stumble upon of how easy it can be for a real thing to have its sharpest edges sanded off without anyone noticing. i don't know what if any conclusions to draw from it (this is hardly a new phenomenon, the picture itself isn't particularly important, and again they still credited the original photographer) besides, i guess, to do a little digging on sources when the image in question DOES matter.

Photographer Debbie Parker captured this lightning strike in West Virginia. - Author: sco-go

[dizziedupthewriter]

look after you

kyle rayner x batsis!reader, batfam x bat!sis

summary: lantern duty comes to a halt when kyle gets called to gotham to help save you, his girlfriend.

warnings: violence, blood, wound describing, language. its mad angst. scarecrow. bruce and kyle lowk butt heads.

a/n: this fic is just about 5k words! enjoy the ride cuz i LOOVED it. also yay first kyle fic. i love my lantern bae <3

Patrol was only supposed to take 4 hours. Prance around Gotham like any other night, fight a couple goons, save a cat from a tree. Simple. Your type of crime fighting. Now it's 8 hours later and you’re now tied to a beam, beaten and disoriented. Your weapons and all Wayne-tech smashed to bits with little to no chance of recovering or even locating.

You started to stir at the scent of some ungodly toxin. Your eyes scan the area revealing the dark and humid warehouse holding you captive. 

“Crane.” You mutter, realizing that Scarecrow is your captor. The last thing you remember was monitoring the alley near the bagel shop, then smelling what you thought was copious amounts of molded pastries before passing out. You whip your head around to see any proof of him and scream out his name. 

You get no response. Your body slumps against the pole. You feel a presence sneak up behind you. 

“Miss Wayne, it is a pleasure to have you visiting tonight” 

You spit in his face and attempt to kick him, he counters by angrily placing a contaminated oxygen mask up to your face. His newest form of fear toxin enters your system once more and your heart races.

“Miss Wayne, you truly should have known better than to do that. Where has your civility gone?” You could feel the venom in his voice.

He walks away, leaving you in the shadows once more. Anxiety creeps through your brain. 

~

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, Bruce and Dick scatter across all of the computers. 

“Where was her last location on the comm?” Bruce asks with uncertainty.

“Says at O’Neills Bagel’s. But that makes no sense, she couldn't have just disappeared from there. What did Tim say?” Dick huffs out equally worried. 

“He said the scans found nothing, nor did he himself. The tech never fails. What are we missing here?” 

“I don’t know, if we can’t find her, who the hell can? It’s not like she just up and left, she wouldn’t have done that without telling anyone for a good reason”

They both sit in silence for a moment. Bruce clicks some more on the computer in hopes of a new development, something, anything. He calls Oracle to check in with her scans.

~ 

You anxiously look around you, feeling like there is a hoard of people watching you. You look down at your hands and are stunned, the previous cuts you had earlier now worse, much worse. The bone of your hand peers out and drips blood onto the floor. A gasp escapes your lips. You look away. In reality, your hand is completely fine, aside from a little bruise. But you don’t know that. Crane’s toxins are messing with every bit of you.

“Y/N?” 

The sound of Kyle’s voice forces you to look back over. He reaches for your hand and pulls it up to his face, giving it a kiss. You see that the wound you once had has now vanished. You look up at the green mask in front of you.

“Ky?” You smile with relief. You believe that he has come to save you, help you get out of Scarecrow’s grasp. Yet again, your brain fools you. Kyle chuckles in disbelief. 

“Did you think I came here for you?”

You look at him with a questionable gaze. Unsure of what he is getting at. Your eyes peer over at his power ring which is now under his influence, in the middle of constructing something. In front of you is a bright green mirror. The second you glance into it, it cracks. Your head snaps back to Kyle. 

“Ky, what are you doing? Untie me, please!” You beg. He laughs once more. 

“Look at you, you truly think I’m your saviour? Just because “I love you?” You're such a dreamer, you believe that love can save you from fear?” He mocks. He gestures over to the mirror still in front of you, He looks at it as well, seeing your terrified expression. With a snap of his fingers, the mirror completely shatters into pieces, staying afloat in the air. He takes a step back. 

“Kyle, please,” You say in a near whisper, your skin crawling at his sinister expression. He mocks you once more before speaking up. 

“Haven’t you learned? Love can’t save you, it won't save you. Certainly not from this.” He takes a step back from you and the green construct vanishes.

“Please, Kyle. I love you! Help me!” You scream out. In a flash he is now knelt before you, a “J” carved into the side of his face. For a split second, you thought you were reliving the horror that was your brother Jason's death, but this was worse. It was Kyle. In Jason’s former place was Kyle, behind him the Joker, holding a bloodied crowbar. You screamed out and Kyle smirked up at you. You squeeze your eyes shut as the crowbar swung out of the Joker’s hands, you braced but nothing ever came for you. You open your eyes again and Kyle is gone. Your heart feels as if it is going to jump out of our chest. You have no idea what is happening, you’re petrified. 

~

Tim had come back from the bagel shop to meet up with Bruce and Dick. Barbra is currently displayed on the computer screen, a video chat. 

“I’ve searched through every possible GCPD camera, Bruce. I can’t see anything. This is crazy, who would even do this? Have there been any recent Arkham breakouts?”

“Not that I am aware of” He grunts out. He holds a hand up to his temple. Tim speaks up.

“Could we hold a JL meeting? I’m sure someone could do something, anyone really. Clark might-”

Bruce cuts him off. “No.”

“C’mon, it's worth a shot.” 

“I’m not holding a meeting. This is an us matter. They do not need to be involved.”

All of his sons sigh in near unison, they aren't surprised that Bruce would act this way. He likes things done his way. Not one for a team up per usual, even if it comes to the disappearance of his own daughter. 

“I’m calling the GL at least. Kyle deserves to know” Dick declares. He disagrees with Bruce, he believes that any help is good. Especially if it’s from your boyfriend. He walks away from everyone else and picks up his phone. He calls Kyle.

~

Driving through space in his constructed glowing green Chevy Impala, he chats with Guy. 

“Dude you constructed a hammer when you needed a screw driver. Who the hell let you speak the oath?” Kyle chuckles.

“Laugh it up, Rayner. It did the job anyways, I-” Guy is cut off by a ringing. He speaks up again. 

“You carry your phone in your suit? You don’t even have pockets?” 

Kyle rolls his eyes and picks up. “Hello?”

“Kyle, hey” There is hesitancy in Dick’s voice.

“Dick? Hey man. You alright?”

“It’s Y/N.”

The green vehicle comes to a halt. The coffee Guy was sipping spills all over him.

"What? What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know. She was on patrol then completely vanished, I take it she's not with you?”

“No, not at all. Didn't even call me. Are you sure she’s not just home?” Kyle’s knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. 

“It’s been 8 hours, we have no idea where she is. No cameras caught her, all of her tech we guess got demolished. She was last seen in a dead zone of ours, go figure. We’re sure she's gone.” They both are silent for a moment, nothing is heard other than static between the lines. Kyle swallows.

“That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Dick says. “We checked. We’re still checking. But if she’s not with you…”

“She's not.” His jaw tightens. 

“What the hell is goin’ on?” Guy eavesdrops and places a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Rayner,” he says quietly. Kyle ignores him and continues to talk to Dick. 

“I’m coming back,” Kyle says. “I’ll be in Gotham in five. Maybe less.”

“Okay, I told Bruce you deserve to be here for this, but just so you know. He’s not too happy about it.”

Kyle shakes his head. “Figures, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up the phone and glances over at Guy. 

“Tell Hal I’ll brief the Corps later. Right now I’ve got something more important.”

Guy raises an eyebrow but nods, “Kick some ass, Rayner. Good luck dealin’ with all your crazy bat in-laws”

Kyle doesn’t answer. He's already gone, streaking through space like a green comet.

~

Now at the Batcave, the air shifts. There’s a faint hum, and then a blinding green light pulses into the center of the cave. Dick barely turns before Kyle storms in like a bullet, the light fading into the angular armor of his uniform.

He doesn’t even glance at Bruce, who stands silently behind the monitors.

“Kyle,” Dick greets, stepping forward quickly. “That was fast.”

Kyle nods. “Where’s the last location?”

Tim gestures to the holographic map, flipping through panels. “Right here, every camera glitched out for a three-minute window, just after she went silent. It’s looks purposeful”

Kyle’s fists clench. “What about her comms?”

“Crushed,” Tim says. “We picked up what was left of it, looks like someone stomped on it”

“So then what’s the theory?” Kyle asks. “Who’s behind it?”

“Unknown,” Tim says. “But we have this.”

He throws up a paused frame from a corrupted GCPD feed. A distorted figure in the distance—tattered coat, gas mask, silhouette barely visible through the smoke.

Kyle’s eyes narrow. “That’s Crane.”

Barbra’s voice filters through the comm. “I cross-referenced it with his old fear gas dispersal models. That location has every classic signature of Scarecrow”

The lantern ring on his finger pulses, responding to his sudden spike of fear and rage. The tension in the room rises as he turns toward Bruce. “You should’ve called me the second she was missing.”

Bruce finally stands, slowly facing Kyle. “We had to confirm it wasn’t a miscommunication first.”

“She’s been gone eight hours! Are you kidding me? Miscommunication? She could be dead for all we know! Or worse, hooked up on a fear toxin that’s making her feel like she's dying!”

“She’s not just your responsibility,” Bruce says flatly. “She’s mine, too.”

The words hit like stone.

Kyle steps forward, chest rising and falling with barely restrained emotion. “Then fucking act like it.”

For a moment, no one speaks. The cave feels colder, tension still at an all time high. Barbra’s voice comes through the monitor, still on the call.

 “I hate to break up the standoff, but I don’t think she’s dead. If she was, Crane would’ve made sure we knew. He’s theatrical. This feels... personal.”

Kyle looks up at the screen again, at the blurry image of the gas-masked silhouette.

“If he’s using fear gas... then he’s already in her head.”

“And that’s what he wants,” Dick adds. “She’s isolated. No backup. Nothing grounding her to reality.”

Tim clicks to another onto another screen that displays a city layout, showing underground networks. 

“There are old sewer systems down here. Abandoned tunnels from Arkham’s first expansion. Crane could be using them. It’s a perfect place to set up one of his twisted fear drug labs. She's gotta be down there somewhere.”

Kyle stares blankly at the map as Barbra speaks up again, a slight crackle in her words over the video call.

“But whatever happened, it was fast. No sign of struggle, which means she either froze... or he got into her head before she could react.”

Kyle’s jaw tenses once more, Bruce sighs out in reaction. Both of them look up at the map trying to figure out the route in. 

“She didn’t freeze,” he mutters, almost to himself. “She doesn’t freeze.”

Dick hears it. “No. She doesn’t. Which means Crane had her before she even realized it.”

Kyle takes a shaky breath and flexes his hand, the glow of his ring intensifying. “How deep do the tunnels go?” he asks.

“Very,” Tim answers. “Some haven’t been mapped in years. Old Arkham foundation blueprints are incomplete. We’re trying to get other scans now, but they’re distorted.”

Barbra leans forward on her monitor feed. “Kyle, listen. If she’s been exposed this long, she’s not just hallucinating. She’s trapped in a recursive fear state. It’s not just illusions anymore—it’s memory, it’s guilt, it’s grief. It becomes real to her.”

“Then I go in.”

Tim blinks. “Wait, you mean psychically?”

“I’ve done it before. The ring can build a neural-link construct. If Crane’s using fear gas to keep her locked in a hallucination, I can find her inside it.”

“That’s risky,” Barbara says. “You could get trapped too.”

Kyle doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m not leaving her alone in that nightmare. Not for one more second.”

“No.” Bruce’s voice is dark, it cuts into Kyle. 

“I’m not asking for permission. I’m going to do something since you won’t.”

“Stand down Rayner.”

“I’m not letting her drown in that darkness. I’m going down there. I’ll find her and if I find Crane, I’ll drag him out by the neck.”

Bruce stands up and towers over Kyle. His expression is protective, yet fearful. A pang of guilt underneath his cowl.

“She’s not your only responsibility,” Bruce says, “You think this is personal? It’s personal for all of us.”

Kyle steps forward, chest rising and falling with barely-restrained fury. “Don’t you dare act like I’m overreacting. You didn’t even tell me she was missing until now. You sat here for hours. Running data, playing detective while she was alone in that hell.”

Bruce’s voice stays even. “We handle things by process, not emotion. If you let this spiral-”

“You think I give a damn about the process right now?!”

The words slam into the cave like thunder. Dick flinches slightly. Tim stops mid-scan. Barbra goes silent on the line.

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “We don’t react emotionally. That gets people killed.”

Kyle barks out a bitter laugh, the glow from his ring pulsing hotter. “She’s gone, Bruce. She was out there alone. And instead of calling me, the one person who could’ve tracked her across the damn galaxy, you decided to keep it in-house?! You thought your pride was more important than her life?!”

“We needed confirmation. We weren’t sure,”

“Screw confirmation!” Kyle roars, stepping closer. “You didn’t want help. That’s the truth. You never do. Because if someone else steps in, it means someone else gets to fix it. You’d rather risk her life than admit you couldn’t stop it.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “Watch it.”

Barbara breaks their tension by pointing out the obvious; “We’re running out of time, you both need to stop and look at the matter at hand. This isn't helping anyone, certainly not her.”

But Kyle doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away, he believes that this is fighting for your will. He takes another step forward, squaring off against Bruce, the green glow of his ring clashing with the cold blue of the Batcave lights.

“No,” Kyle growls. “Let’s talk about it. You always act like you’re the only one allowed to care. Like you’ve got the monopoly on grief. But you don’t. You just bury it. You bury it and move on. Until someone else pays the price.”

Bruce stares him down. “That’s enough.”

“No,” Kyle snarls, “it’s not.”

“She trusted you. And you waited. Sat in this goddamn cave with your files and your protocols while she was dragged into hell.”

Bruce's jaw tightens, but he doesn't flinch. “My family matters are not yours to worry about.”

“Don’t pull the family card. Whether you like or not Bruce, I’m considered your family too, so don’t even try.”

Bruce’s eyes harden. “You’re not family. This is not your team. You weren’t trained for this.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, the room shifts. Everyone freezes once more. The glow of Kyle’s ring dims in hurt. Then in a second flares alive with fury.

“Oh,” Kyle says, voice like acid. “There it is.”

His fists clench at his sides. “That’s what you really think, huh? I’m just some outsider. A guest in the family you built with trauma and silence.”

Bruce doesn’t reply. His stance is still. Cold. Measured.

“You act like you’re the only one who ever bled for this mission,” Kyle spits. “Like your grief is the only grief that counts. But I’ve watched teammates die, Bruce. I’ve buried friends in space. I’ve held the hands of people as their minds were torn apart by fear, and I’ve survived it.”

He steps forward again, eyes burning. “Don’t you dare tell me I wasn’t trained for this.”

“Kyle,”  Dick starts, but he’s cut off.

“No. No one else says a word,” Kyle snaps, without even looking at him. “Because I’m done pretending that this was okay. That what Bruce does is noble. It’s not noble. It's bullshit. You hide behind tactics and timelines and control because you can’t stomach the idea that you missed something.”

The words land like a hit to the gut. The silence after them is heavier than anything else in the room. Dick opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. Tim looks down, jaw tight.

Even the screens seem to quiet.

Bruce speaks low — quiet but lethal. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kyle leans in, fire in his eyes. “No, Bruce. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re terrified of letting anyone see how much you care, because you think it makes you weak. But it doesn’t. What makes you weak is letting the people you love suffer alone, while you sit here and calculate.”

Barbra’s voice cuts back in, urgent and steady. “Kyle, you need to move. Her vitals just pinged from the trace residue left on her comm. She's still alive but her heart rate’s climbing fast. She's panicking.”

Kyle pulls back slightly, shoulders tense, his whole body coiled like a wire about to snap.

“I’m going,” he says again, voice thick with rage.

Bruce blocks his path. “We need to approach this with caution.”

Kyle looks him dead in the eye.

“If she dies because you hesitated again, I swear to God, Bruce, I won’t just blame you. I’ll never forgive you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.

Kyle’s ring flares and a burst of green light swirls around him.

“I’m going in,” he says one last time, locking eyes with Dick, with Tim, with Barbara on the screen.

“To bring her home. Or burn through hell trying.”

A green light flashes, Kyle is gone.

The cave falls still again and Bruce is left staring at the place Kyle just vanished from, jaw clenched, his own fear too deeply buried to show.

~ 

Kyle navigates the old sewerways wearing a constructed green gas mask to repel any toxins. He searches for any trace of you or Scarecrow. On his travels he catches a shine out of the corner of his eye. He hurries over and crouches on the ground. He picks up the object, a necklace. One that he had bought you. He feels the cool metal on his fingers and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels your presence, he knows you are close. 

The damp air presses in, thick with the stench of decay and old fear. Shadows crawl along the walls as his ring’s light casts eerie green patterns across the tunnel’s cracked bricks. He moves forward, each step careful but determined. Memories flood the neural construct. Fragments of your thoughts are altered by Crane’s toxins, flickers of doubt and pain. He catches a glimpse of your silhouette, trapped in a nightmare that twists your reality. Kyle breathes steady again, the hum of his ring synchronizing with his heartbeat. A sharp clatter is heard up ahead, snapping his focus. Behind a rusted pipe is a tall figure. Kyle takes a step closer. 

The gas mask is unmistakable. Scarecrow.

Kyle’s jaw tightens. Got you. He thinks. But the figure vanishes into the shadows as the hallucination consumes him. He steadies himself and breaks free with his willpower. He continues on, the thought of you not once leaving his mind. 

Deeper in the sewers, he comes upon a run off. He follows it down and sees a dim light ahead. He passes the archway and finds you. You’re still tied to the pole and trembling. Your eyes are squeezed shut, the rest of your body limp. His heart stops for half a second then he rushes to your side. 

His hands graze over the shackles and rope keeping you held up. He constructs a shield around the both of you to keep more toxins from entering your system. 

“Hey,” he says softly, cupping your face. “I’m here.”

But you don’t respond. Your eyes flicker behind closed lids trapped deep within the chaos Crane built inside your mind. He knows what he has to do next. He kneels beside you, placing one hand to your forehead. His other hand forms another construct, a green wire arching out like synapses connecting. It slips into your mind like a key through a lock.

His body goes still.

~

The world Kyle steps into is a twisted version of reality. Gotham streets warped like melting wax, shadows cling to every corner, moving when he isn’t looking. He  stands in the middle of it, fully armored, his light barely cutting through the fog. He hears sobbing. Screams. Your voice, pleading with someone who isn’t there.

He moves and the cityscape shifts with every step. Your memories fold over each other. He sees pieces of your past: a shattered childhood bedroom. The cracked pavement where you lost your first fight. A rooftop soaked in rain where a mission went wrong. And at every location are shadows shaped like Crane, lurking in the background.

Then he finds you.

You’re curled on the ground in the center of a crumbling plaza, trembling, clothes torn, blood staining your hands.

Kyle approaches slowly. “Hey,” he says, his voice warm, calm. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t hear him at first. You flinch as another Crane shadow looms over you, mocking you. You let out another scream, thinking that Kyle is here to harm you again. Thinking that the Joker is back for you. 

With a wave of his hand and flick of the lantern ring, the shadow of Crane is gone. The sky seems to clear up just a little more around you, the blood clean from your hands. 

You look up confused, your breath falters. 

“Kyle?” you look up at him with a weary glance. 

“Yeah. It’s me. I’m really here.”

You shake your head, backing away. “No. You’re not. You’re just another lie. Another illusion.You’re not real.”

He reaches forward slowly. “This isn’t a trick. This is me, alright? You dropped your necklace. I found it. I followed it. You left me a trail.” He holds up the silver pendant. You’re crying now, silently. Your body trembles as the hallucinations fight to take hold again. He places your necklace in your hand. The one you thought was lost. The memory attached to it flares back to something warm, something real. A night on the Watchtower. Laughter. Hope. Kyle. Your Green Lantern. 

That breaks the loop. Just enough.

Kyle pulls you into his arms as the storm around you begins to collapse. He holds on tight. For a few minutes. The toxins are worn off and you come back to him.

“Ky?”

“I’m here. I’ve got you,”

“Y-your alive? I thought-”

“Not real, Crane’s toxins are messing with you. I got you free for the moment but you gotta help too. Break through, I know you can do it.”  He helps pull you out of the mental mindgame. You nod against his chest, body still trembling, but the warmth of his hold starts to push back the cold.

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “It’s so loud… it won’t stop.” Kyle tightens his grip around you at the sound of your voice.

“Then listen to me. Focus on my voice. Everything else; the blood, the shadows, the guilt it’s all fake. Crane’s poison.”

Your fingers tighten around the pendant in your palm then a memory emerges. Not a toxin induced one, but a true actual memory. A rooftop on Oa, the twin moons shining overhead. Kyle holding your hand, sketchbook in his lap, laughing as you mocked his attempt at drawing you mid-fight. You hadn’t smiled like that in weeks. And in that memory, you remember the promise he gave you.

“If you ever get lost,” Kyle had said, “I’ll find you. Always.”

That truth hits hard and deep and you take a shaky breath, the surrounding fog starting to lift. The crumbling curated Gotham around you wavers, groans like it's losing power. Kyle brushes a lock of hair from your face.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with something deeper than just relief. “I’ve got you.” He smiles. The nightmare shakes again, harder this time. Crane’s illusion cracks under the weight of your combined will.

But one final shadow remains. Behind you, the real Scarecrow twists into something monstrous. Towering. Rooted in your deepest trauma. His voice echoes through the space.

“You think this ends because of him?” Crane hisses. “You think love saves you from fear? It feeds it. He’ll leave. They always do. And you’ll be alone again. Love is going to get you killed.”

The altered fear and anxiety begins to creep into your system again. It knows exactly what to say. What to show you. The faces of people you’ve lost. The voices of ones who left. Of ones who betrayed. You squeeze your eyes shut, sheltering yourself. 

Not even a millisecond passes and Kyle raises his hand, the green light of the ring surges, crashing into Crane with the force of a hurricane and destroying him with pure willpower. It breaks you free from the fear, the hatred. 

~

Back in the sewer, a blast of emerald light erupts as you wake. Kyle quickly begins to cut and break you out of the ropes and chains. You take a deep breath like it's your first time breathing, like you had been drowning in the ocean. Your eyes crack open and find his immediately. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, cupping your cheek again. “You’re here. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Tears spill before you even realize they’re falling. You collapse into his chest. Freed from restraints. And for a long time, he just holds you. No more speeches. No more battles. Just you and Kyle. Just love. 

“I thought I was lost,” you whisper against his armor. “I thought I was never getting out.” He slightly hushes you and runs a hand through your hair for comfort.

“I’ll always come for you. Don’t ever doubt that.” He places a kiss on your temple. He shifts you over so that he is standing, holding you in his strong arms. 

“Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”

~

The chill of the Batcave lingered while Kyle was gone. Everyone sat still around the monitors waiting for a sign of anything. Dick huffs. 

“Are we just gonna keep sitting here? We should go help.” Bruce shuts him down. 

“Rayner has got it all planned. He was not interested in help, he will be fine.”

“B, really? He didn’t want help? That was you!”

Their near argument is cut short by the appearing green portal. It lands both of you in the middle of the Batcave. The moment the construct goes out, Dick is at your side, helping Kyle ease you down onto the nearby med table  but your grip tightens on him for a moment. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, reading you before you even have to say it. “I’ve got you.”

Dick’s hand hovers over your shoulder, his face pale with relief. Tim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. And Bruce stays by the monitor. Just standing and staring at you, his daughter. The one he almost failed for what felt like the millionth time. 

You laid there, blinking against the harsh med lights with the Batcave coming into focus. Familiar. Real. You flinch slightly as the medical equipment buzzes behind you

“Easy,” Kyle says gently, sitting beside you, his thumb brushing your wrist. “It’s real. You’re back.” Your eyes lock with his. You nod, but there’s something broken just beneath your surface. You focus and center on the warmth of his touch. 

Bruce steps forward slowly. He stops a few feet from the table. You look at him, your expression unreadable. There’s so much hurt and exhaustion behind your eyes. He opens his mouth to say something. You cut him off with a hoarse voice.

“Don’t.”

It’s not a shout. It’s barely a whisper. But it silences the entire room. Kyle speaks up again. 

“I’m taking her to the healing center on Oa. Where she’ll be protected.”

Bruce takes another step forward on the opposing side of the medbay bed. He glares into Kyle’s soul. 

“No, she is staying here. She will do just fine. I will not let Scarecrow get to her again.”

“Like hell you will. No. She’s coming with me.”

You feel the tension peering out of both of them. You stay still and quiet, too weak to interfere. A few moments of silent staring pass and Bruce keeps on with his stoic act. Kyle makes his final decision. 

“We’re leaving.” He states. Bruce’s jaw tenses slightly. But he doesn’t speak.

“She needs rest,” Kyle continues, his voice calm but full of conviction. “Real rest. Not Gotham. Not the Manor. Not with everything she’s just survived.”

Dick steps forward slightly. “Where will you go?”

“To Oa. The healing center. They’ve handled trauma deeper than this. It’s quiet there. No fear gas. No nightmares echoing down alleyways.” His hand brushes over your shoulder, steady. “No Batman.”

Bruce’s gaze finally shifts over first to Kyle, then to you. He still says nothing. You meet his eyes, and though your throat is sore, your words are loud. 

“I can’t stay here, Dad. I need… to find myself again. Somewhere else.” Something changes in Bruce’s eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or loss. Maybe both. Kyle gives him a moment. Bruce lowers his gaze slightly. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than anyone expects.

“Take care of her.”

Kyle doesn’t nod. Doesn’t salute. “Always.”

Dick steps to your side as the green light begins to build again. He places a hand on your shoulder, offering a soft smile. “You’ll come back when you’re ready. We’ll be here.”

You smile back at him and thank your brothers. As the constructed green platform forms beneath you, Bruce takes one small step forward. Not close enough to touch, but enough to mean something.

“I love you,” he says, barely louder than a breath. “You know that.”

You nod, eyes tearing up. “I know.”

Then Kyle takes your hand, and the two of you rise in a quiet blaze of green light—bright, but soft. No more shouts. No more shadows.

Just a quiet goodbye.

a/n: ITS OVER!!!!! (im writing pt2) LOL. tbh i absolutely adored putting this together. im an angst kinda girl and a half. pt 2 should be more fluffy stay tuned ❇️🥰 also just now seeing that i spelt babs name wrong majority of the time. whoops.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

♡You saw tik tok about if he doesen't cum faster then you he is losing interes. Obviously you had to rile him up about it

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: NSFW dialogue, mentions of sex and erections, relationship conflict, swearing, slightly toxic humor, dumb TikTok-induced spiral, mutual miscommunication, angst with humor, Rafe being unhinged but hot, petty!you being unrelenting, no actual smut, just chaotic vibes.

You knew you were being a little unhinged.

You knew it.

But TikTok had a point.

It all started with one video. Just one. A girl, mid-eye-roll, lipgloss too shiny to trust, saying:

“If he doesn’t cum faster than you, he’s losing interest.”

“And if he doesn’t get hard just by thinking about you?? Girl… he’s over it. Leave.”

You watched it once. Then twice.

Then 14 times while laying in bed in fetal position.

And you and Rafe hadn’t had sex in three days.

That was like… a dry spell.

A Sahara Desert level emergency.

So obviously—you spiraled.

And obviously—you picked a fight.

___

You’re sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island in an oversized t-shirt that lowkey used to be his. Rafe’s leaning back against the counter in grey sweats, spooning ice cream from the tub like it’s his last meal on death row. The AC is humming. The tension is LOUDER.

“So,” you start, tone way too casual to be innocent, “we haven’t had sex in three days.”

Scoop. Munch. Pause.

Rafe lifts a brow, licking his spoon. “Okay? You got a point, or you just stating facts now?”

You squint. He’s too chill. Dangerously chill. He’s eating moose tracks and shrugging at you like he didn’t just make you feel like chopped liver with that tone.

“I saw this TikTok—”

“Oh my fucking god.”

“—no, listen to me—this girl said if your boyfriend doesn’t cum faster than you, he’s not into you anymore.”

Rafe just stares at you. Spoon mid-air. Eyes going full "are you serious right now?" mode.

“TikTok? This is about fucking TikTok?”

“It makes sense!” you throw your hands up. “And you haven’t even—like—we haven’t done anything in three days, Rafe! THREE.”

Rafe runs a hand down his face. Looks like he’s trying to summon patience from another dimension.

“What the fuck are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying maybe you don’t even like me anymore.”

“Jesus Christ—”

He drops the spoon into the tub, tosses the whole thing on the counter without even putting the lid on, like your delusional spiral just made him lose his literal appetite.

“I can’t believe I’m arguing about my dick because of something you saw on TikTok.”

“So you admit it?!”

“ADMIT WHAT? That I didn’t fuck you for 72 hours?! I had a migraine yesterday!”

“So I’m not worth pushing through a migraine for??”

“Are you even hearing yourself right now?!”

He’s fully red in the face. You’re fully doubling down. Because, really, you’re doing this for your mental health. For your dignity. For justice.

“You’re the one who used to be, like, unable to keep your hands off me! You used to get hard from just looking at me.”

“I still do, you psychopath.”

“Then prove it.”

“OH MY GOD.”

He drags both hands through his hair and looks like he’s seconds away from walking directly into the ocean and drown.

“I get hard from thinking about you. From hearing your fucking laugh in the other room. You don’t even have to be near me. I wake up hard just because your foot touched me in your sleep.”

“Then why haven’t you tried anything in THREE—”

“BECAUSE YOU SPENT THE LAST TWO NIGHTS WATCHING GREY’S ANATOMY IN BED EATING FUCKING DORITOS AND CRYING OVER FICTIONAL MEN!”

You flinch. That’s fair. That’s… kind of true. Still. You cross your arms.

“I was emotionally vulnerable. You could’ve taken advantage.”

“I’m not gonna take advantage of you while you’re sobbing over Dr. Shepherd dying!”

“He was a hero, Rafe.”

He turns his back like he’s about to walk off, then turns around again like he just can’t believe how deep he’s been dragged into this.

“No. You don’t get to gaslight me over a horny TikTok. That shit’s not real. You’re in my bed every fucking night, stealing my hoodies and sleeping with your icy cold feet on my calves like it’s your birthright—how is that not enough proof I love you?”

You blink.

“So you admit your dick isn’t as hard anymore?”

“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME—”

He shoves the ice cream aside so hard it thunks against the backsplash. Grabs the towel, tosses it angrily on the counter.

“You know what? Whatever. I’m not doing this. This… this is bullshit.”

He storms toward the hallway. You call after him.

“Is it because I wore your mom’s robe on laundry day?! That one time??”

“I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER THAT.”

“YOU SAID I LOOKED LIKE A SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER!!”

“I WAS JOKING!”

You hop off the island to follow him. You’re like an emotionally unstable golden retriever now. You cannot let this go.

“So you don’t hate me?”

He whirls around. “No, I don’t fucking hate you. I hate TikTok. I hate moose tracks. I hate Derek Shepherd. And I hate when you say batshit things about how I don’t want you just because we didn’t bang for three days. I love you. And my dick’s in love with you too. There. Happy now?”

There’s a long pause.

“…So you are hard right now?”

“I’M GOING TO SET MYSELF ON FIRE.”

[seraphoditexox]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 🪽

✮ 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 ✮ ✮ 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝚆𝙾 ✮ ✮ 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 ✮

𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝟶𝟷 ✨🪽

Pile One

Okay bestie, if you picked pile one, let me just start by saying… your love story? It’s not just cute. It’s not just sweet. It’s cosmic. Like, written in the stars type of thing. This is the kind of relationship that’s going to feel like both a soft landing and a spark that keeps glowing no matter what. Let’s dive into what the cards are saying, because girl this is GOOD. 👀

The Vibe When You First Meet:

So, let’s talk meet cute- because with The Star and Page of Wands, this is something that starts out feeling different. Like a little spark that makes your soul perk up and go, “Wait, you feel… familiar?” There’s this instant connection, like you’ve known each other before in another lifetime, or like you’ve finally found someone who just gets you.

The Page of Wands says they’re going to bring a playful, slightly chaotic but exciting energy into your life. Think random adventures, spontaneous deep convos at 2 a.m., laughing until your stomach hurts—but also being able to sit in total silence and feel perfectly at peace. They’re definitely the type to flirt with a smirk and send memes to tell you how much they like you. 😏🔥

The Foundation You’ll Build:

Enter the Knight of Pentacles and Strength. This is where the real love starts to root itself.

This connection might not be fireworks every second, but trust me—it’s better. It’s solid. This person shows up. They’re reliable, intentional, and they don’t flinch at emotional depth. If you’ve had flaky partners before? This one will be like a warm cup of tea after a long day- safe, grounding, and kind of addicting.

And Strength? Babes, that’s you. You’re going to learn how powerful your love is. You’ll grow so much in this relationship. Not in a “you have to change” way—no. It’s more like, they water your garden and help you see how beautiful and worthy you always were. You love each other through the ugly moments, the hard days, the real stuff. They don’t run from your shadow- they hold it, kiss your forehead, and say “I’m still here.”

The Emotional Connection

The Ace of Cups and Ten of Cups together??? Okay, universe. I see you! 😭

This isn’t just a honeymoon phase kind of love- it deepens. It’s emotional. You two pour into each other. You hold space for one another’s pain, dreams, weird little fears, and messy pasts. This person sees all of you and loves you more because of it, not in spite of it. You’ll cry happy tears with this person. You’ll heal old wounds just by being loved the way you deserve.

The Ten of Cups is like…the fairytale ending that doesn’t end. This is family vibes. Whether that means kids, fur babies, or just a dreamy little home with plants everywhere and movie nights with snacks for days- it’s bliss. And it’s real. This card tells me that emotional safety and mutual joy are going to be a cornerstone of your relationship.

The Long-Term Future

The Lovers card isn’t just about romance- it’s about alignment. Choices made from the heart. Choosing each other, again and again, through every season.

This is a partnership where you don’t feel trapped—you feel free. Free to be fully yourself. Free to mess up, try again, dream big, and lean into love without holding back. The Lovers says your relationship has this unshakable sense of purpose. It’s not random. It’s not temporary. It’s something you co-create with intention.

Even during the hard times (and let’s be real, every couple has them), you two come back to love. You’ll have tools, patience, and a deep knowing that the love is worth protecting. Communication will be a huge strength here. Y’all don’t sweep things under the rug. You face them, hand in hand.

Their energy towards you:

This person… whew. They ADORE you. The cards say they see you as someone magical, someone they can’t ignore. They admire your strength, your softness, your weird quirks, your ambition- all of it. They’re proud of you. They brag about you. And they’ll make sure you feel loved every day, not just hear it.

This is the type of partner who makes you coffee how you like it, remembers your favorite snacks, listens when you’re spiraling, and reminds you you’re not alone. They’ll fight with you, not against you.

Final Message

Your future with your life partner is slow-burn beautiful. It’s a safe haven and a passionate adventure. It’s mutual respect, inside jokes, forehead kisses, shared goals, and a spiritual connection that keeps evolving.

You two are going to build something real- something soft, steady, and full of joy. You deserve that kind of love. And babe? It’s coming. Keep holding space for it. Keep growing. You’re aligning with it more than you even know. 💫

Sending you ALL the love and good vibes! If this resonated even a little, know the universe is already shifting things to bring this love closer. Keep being your beautiful self.

🌹✨

With love,

Your tarot bestie , seraphoditexox 💋

Pile Two

Okay, pile two girlies (or they/thems 👑), let me just say- this pile is giving depth. It’s giving soul-contract, mirror energy, emotional glow-up, and something realer than you’ve probably ever experienced before.

Let’s break this down. Because whew… this is layered and so special.

The vibe when you first meet

Okay listen, when you meet this person? It’s gonna feel quietly powerful. Like not fireworks in your face, but a deep sense of “Wait… have I known you forever?” That’s the Two of Cups energy coming in hot. Soulmate vibes. Real ones.

It’s giving: magnetic, intuitive, soft but intense. The Moon here adds mystery- you might not even realize how important this person is at first. There’s this low-key, slow-burn glow to your connection. You’ll feel drawn to them emotionally, almost psychically, but it’ll take a second before you fully see the depth of what this is.

The Page of Wands in pile one was all fire and spark. But for you, it’s more emotional tension and spiritual familiarity. Think eye contact that feels like they’re reading your soul. Late-night convos that leave you thinking about them for days. Dreams. Synchronicities. They feel like a hidden chapter of your story finally showing up.

The Foundation You Build

Let me tell you straight up: you don’t build this love overnight. The Eight of Pentacles says this relationship grows out of mutual effort, patience, and choosing each other again and again. It’s healthy. It’s grounded. It’s “let’s learn how to love each other better every year” type of energy.

What really hits in your reading is the Queen of Swords + King of Cups combo. You bring the clarity, the emotional intelligence, the “don’t BS me” energy. And they bring the emotional depth, the steady heart, the romantic maturity. You’re not the same, but you balance beautifully.

This isn’t a fairy tale where everything’s easy from day one- it’s better. It’s real love that’s built on emotional safety, healing, and respect. You create a relationship where hard conversations are had, emotional needs are met, and you both become better humans because of the work you put in.

The Emotional Connection

Oh baby. This is where pile two goes deep-deep. The King of Cups and Temperance together? That’s next-level soul intimacy.

This person knows how to hold space for you. They want to understand your emotional world. You’re not too intense for them. You’re not “too much.” You’re just… you. And they love that.

You’ll feel so emotionally safe here, and that’s because both of you choose healing. You’re not afraid to talk through the scary stuff. You both grow into more emotionally available, compassionate, and connected versions of yourselves- together.

It’s tender. It’s nurturing. It’s deep eye contact and “thank you for understanding me” kind of love. You won’t have to fight to be seen anymore. With them? You just are.

The Long-Term Future

Let’s talk legacy, baby. 💍 The Death card might seem scary, but in this context? It’s powerful AF. This relationship is the one that marks a before and after in your life. It changes the game. It awakens a version of you that’s more self-aware, more loving, more liberated.

Temperance and Eight of Pentacles tell me your long-term is beautifully balanced. You co-create a life where you both feel supported- and you move together, not ahead of or behind each other.

Your love matures like wine, honey. It gets sweeter and more sacred with time. You might start small (a shared apartment, cooking dinners together, cuddling through healing nights), but it becomes a lifelong bond that’s unbreakable.

You’re the couple people come to for advice. The couple that grows old hand in hand. That type of love.

Their Energy Toward You

This person sees you as brilliant, powerful, and irreplaceable. They don’t just fall for your heart- they admire your mind, your voice, your strength. The Queen of Swords shows how much they respect you. They see you as someone who’s overcome so much, and they honor your story.

They want to love you through it all. They’re tender where the world has been harsh. They’re steady where others have wavered. And they genuinely care- they want to know how your day was, what scares you, what lights you up. They don’t flinch at your flaws; they fall deeper because of them.

This isn’t puppy love. It’s devotion. 🥺

Final Message

Pile two, your love story is spirit-led. It’s not going to be loud and chaotic- it’s going to feel like home. And you’ll look back and realize, everything you’ve been through was preparing you for this.

This is the kind of love that heals you while still giving you room to evolve. A love where you get to be your full self… vulnerable, bold, messy, divine.. and be loved more because of it.

You don’t need to chase. You don’t need to perform. You just need to receive. Because what’s coming to you, bestie? Is the kind of connection that only comes once in a lifetime.

Keep healing. Keep trusting. They’re coming. And when they do, you’ll know.

Love you endlessly 🦋

Your tarot bestie, seraphoditexox 💋

Pile Three

Alright baddie… if you picked pile three, whew. Buckle up, because your love story? It’s giving main character energy. This pile is not for the faint of heart. your future partner is coming in like a plot twist that shakes your whole world and rewrites the script. But don’t worry, it’s not messy- it’s transformative. It’s the kind of love that cracks you open and helps you step into your power. Get comfy, light a candle, and let’s see how this spicy, soul-deep connection unfolds. 😏🖤

The vibe when you first meet

Oooh bestie… this meeting is intense. Like… you won’t be able to ignore it. There’s fire. Chemistry. Soul recognition with a side of chaos. 😂 The cards I pulled? The Devil, The Tower, and The Lovers.

Now don’t panic!! This doesn’t mean it’s toxic- it just means this person shakes your world when they enter. You might meet them during a transitional phase in your life, or even their life. Think big changes, endings, revelations. You lock eyes and it’s like, “Oh no… this is gonna be a THING.”

The connection starts off magnetic. Undeniable. A little dangerous-feeling in the best way. Like “I want to know every corner of your soul, even the messy parts” kind of love. The Lovers card shows that despite the chaos or timing, your souls are already choosing each other from day one.

The Foundation You Build

Okay, so here’s the twist: even though this starts off fast, the long-term foundation you two build is solid, sacred, and transformational. We’ve got the Hierophant, Six of Swords, and Queen of Pentacles here.

This means you don’t just crash into each other and fall apart- you rise together. You choose to do the work. You take the messiness of the beginning and build something stable out of it. There may even be some separation or pause early on, but it strengthens the bond in the long run.

This person brings tradition, values, and long-term vision (Hierophant), and you bring grounding, care, and emotional wisdom (Queen of Pentacles). Together? You create a relationship that transforms pain into purpose. It’s not cute Instagram love- it’s real life, healing, legacy-building love. 🧿✨

The Emotional Connection

Deep. Sacred. Raw. And let me tell you: this connection will strip your soul bare in the most powerful way. Cards? Judgement, Ace of Swords, and King of Wands.

You two don’t do surface-level. This is full transparency, vulnerability, ugly-cry-on-the-bathroom-floor love and the best part? You’re held through all of it.

This person sees the whole truth of you and loves you harder because of it. There’s forgiveness. There’s depth. There’s emotional intensity but it’s handled with grace. You two learn to communicate in a way that heals your inner child. You’ll have moments where you say things you were never able to say to past partners and they’ll respond with warmth, not judgment.

Your person is passionate, fiercely protective, and completely devoted to you emotionally. This is someone who fights for the relationship, not in it.

The Long-Term Future

Let’s talk future goals, long-term life, and shared dreams… because PILE THREE IS BUILT FOR GREATNESS. 💼💫 Cards pulled: Ten of Pentacles, The Sun, and The World. I mean??? These are power couple cards.

Long term, you two build a legacy. This might mean money, home, family, travel, public work, or all of the above. You’ll likely create something together- a business, a creative project, a movement. The world literally becomes your playground. 🌍

This is “we survived hell and built heaven” kind of love. You go through the storm, you hold each other accountable, and you win together. You’ll be fulfilled emotionally and materially. People will look at your relationship and feel inspired—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real and resilient.

Their Energy Toward You

This person is obsessed with your power. But not in a creepy way- more like, “I’ve never met someone like you and I never will again.”

They see you as the High Priestess- mysterious, intuitive, magnetic. You challenge them, awaken them, and bring them back to themselves. They admire your complexity, your softness and your boundaries. You are their mirror and their muse. 🎨

Their energy toward you is ride or die. They would burn bridges, move mountains, and do the inner work if it meant being the person you deserve. They may start off a little emotionally blocked or unsure of themselves—but your connection cracks them open. You’re the person they grow up for.

They look at you and think, “This is my person. This is who I change for.”

Final Message

Pile three, babe… this is a love that transforms you. It challenges every limiting belief you have about relationships and rebuilds your understanding of intimacy from the ground up.

Yes, it starts off wild. Yes, you’ll be triggered. But you’ll also be reborn. And you’ll never settle for less again. You’ll both evolve, step into your power, and create the kind of relationship that breaks generational cycles.

This is alchemy love. A phoenix love. You two go from fire to gold.

And if you’ve ever been afraid you’re too much, too intense, too complicated? This love is proof that you’re exactly right—and someone out there is ready for all of it.

You deserve this kind of deep, radiant, soul-altering love. And trust me—it’s not far. Keep choosing yourself, and they’ll meet you where you rise. 🔥🖤

With all the cosmic love,

Your tarot bestie, seraphoditexox 💋

[luckyladylily]

The Watch books are an interesting case because they seem to be Terry's response to a question about the nature of policing. He starts at the assumption that all police are corrupt or failures, no exceptions. His starting position is literally all cops are bastards. This is why it is important that Vimes starts the first book as a miserable drunk that never makes any difference. He is a cop, and like all cops he is an instrument of the state and/or the rich and powerful to enforce their will on the people.

With this as a starting position, Pratchett asks "What would it take to make a police force that was actually good?"

It's working through a specific problem, one that nearly all the discworld books examine from one direction or another: The world is unfair because the powerful make it so. The only defense against the powerful is placing rules (laws) on society. And rules mean nothing if they are not enforced, so we have to have enforcers of those rules.

For most of his books, that enforcer role falls to heroes. Moist, Death, the witches, Tiffany, etc. The critical point of all these people is they are independently capable (or lucky) with a strong sense of personal justice.

And while these books are great and I absolutely love them and they consider some very profound questions, none of them really attempt to take a serious look at the above stated problem. Because there is no Granny Weatherwax or Tiffany Aching to save us when the world goes wrong.

The Watch is the attempt Pratchett made at considering this question with a systematic response, instead of a big damn hero walking in and saving the day. What would it take to make a police force that was actually good? What would it take for those who enforce the rules to be on the side of the weak and powerless?

It's worth noting that his answer starts with the near complete dismantling of the current police force, noting specifically that the watch as it existed was worse than useless. That's something people often forget in these discussions. Rip out all the corruption at the root, rebuild all the structure from the start.

And this is certainly not enough for Pratchett. The story is a fantasy examination of policing, no a celebration of policing. We are constantly told how even now the watch is full of incompetent, selfish people, petty crooks, and even at their best they are often little more than well meaning fools. Even the most heroic individuals in the watch, Vimes and Carrot, are constantly failing, showing their prejudice, making mistakes.

It is only through the determined and incorruptible leadership of Vetanari, Vimes, and Carrot combined that the watch makes any real progress at all, and even then it tends to be by averages. It's very much a two steps forward, one step back situation.

I don't really think the Watch novels qualify for copraganda for this reason. The pains Pratchett takes to demonstrate how the natural state of the police is corrupt and cruel, consuming even the good men who want to do something positive, even men like Vimes, makes it hard for me to see it that way. It reads more like a fantasy of what could be if the people who enforced the laws actually were on the side of the people, not that different from asking what if there was a hero who could save us?

Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

[cherbii]

a.n -> loosely inspired by Triiiin 🌿 on TikTok

warnings -> language, smut, crack, fluff

Husband!RyomenSukuna would never take shit from anyone else, unless it was his wife.

And honestly? He liked it that way.

He could chew people out for breakfast, glare down CEOs at meetings, make waiters cry just by raising a brow. But if you told him to sit his ass down? He’d grumble, but he’d do it. Eventually.

It wasn’t because he was soft. It was because he was yours.

One time at a hardware store he started arguing with a cashier over a coupon he didn’t even need.

“You’re telling me it expired yesterday? That’s bullshit.” Sukuna’s voice was sharp, chest puffed, standing way too tall over the poor guy.

The cashier stammered, clutching the receipt. “Uh, sir, I-I’m just following policy—”

“Policy’s for people who don’t have common sense.”

You walked up mid-scene, holding your basket full of cleaning supplies, eyes narrowing.

“Baby.”

Sukuna glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Put the coupon down. You make more in a week than this kid will in a year. We don’t need ten percent off a wrench.”

He clenched his jaw, looked back at the cashier, then back at you.

“Babe, it’s the principle—”

You stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the register.

“Nope. I’m not spending our Saturday watching you terrorise a nineteen-year-old making a minimum wage. Go wait in the car.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I’ll finish here. You go cool off.”

His eyes narrowed, lips twitching. “You love bossing me around, huh?”

“Damn right I do.”

He sighed through his nose, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked out without another word. Because yeah, he could ruin someone else’s day, but not yours.

Sometimes sex with him was like a battle. But in a good way.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic candles and moody playlists. It was sweat and grip marks on thighs. It was hair tugging and biting.

One night, you were riding him on the couch, both of you still half-dressed because you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. Your shorts were somewhere on the floor. His sweatpants were halfway down.

His hands gripped your hips, rough, fingers pressing bruises into your skin.

“Fuck, you’re hot like this,” he rasped, eyes hooded, lips parted. “All bossy. All loud.”

You rolled your eyes, breath hitching when he thrust up into you.

“Maybe if you’d clean the kitchen once in a while, I’d be nicer.”

“Oh yeah?” His hand came down on your ass, sharp. “Say that again.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up and let me focus.”

He laughed, deep, gravelly, smug as hell, but he leaned back and let you take what you wanted. Hands behind his head, tattoos flexing, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing worth watching.

You bit your lip, grinding harder, chasing the friction. His cock hit all the right spots because you knew how to angle it. His eyes stayed locked on yours, gaze half-lidded, lips twitching.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low. “Using me like a toy.”

And when you came, shaking, breathless, he let you ride it out before flipping you under him to finish what you started.

After, he cleaned you up with a towel, not because he was sweet, but because he liked being the one to do it.

“Don’t think this means you’re off dish duty tomorrow,” you muttered into his chest.

“Babe,” he smirked, kissing the top of your head, “I’d do your dishes for life if you keep riding me like that.”

Sometimes he’d come home from work all pissed off, shoulders tense, tie loose around his neck, jaw tight.

“What happened now?” you’d ask, already knowing the answer.

“Idiots. That’s what happened.”

“Oh no. People were dumb again? How tragic.”

“Mock me one more time, babe.”

You grinned, holding out his favourite drink. “Come sit down before you throw something.”

He grumbled but took the cup and let you pull him onto the couch. His head dropped into your lap five minutes later.

“Love you,” he muttered against your thigh.

“I know.”

You always teased him for being dramatic, but you were just as bad.

Once, during a stupid argument about groceries, you threw a whole head of lettuce at him.

He dodged it. Barely.

“Really?” he said, staring at the lettuce on the floor. “That’s your move?”

“Stop leaving the milk open.”

“You’re insane.”

“You married me.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You kissed him right after. He kissed you back.

Other nights, things were softer.

He’d pull you into bed after a long day, grip your waist, bury his face in your neck.

“Stay home tomorrow,” he’d whisper.

“I can’t. I have meetings.”

“Quit your job.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll pay for everything.”

“You already do,” you said, smirking, “but I still like working.”

He sighed into your skin, voice muffled. “You’re too stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one.”

You had your own rituals.

He made you coffee every morning, even though he bitched about how you liked it too sweet.

“Want me to pour a whole bag of sugar in there, babe?” he’d mutter, dumping in two extra scoops anyway.

You packed his lunch every day, even though he acted like he didn’t care.

“People at the office are gonna think I’m soft,” he’d say, opening his bag to find handwritten notes and snacks.

“Good.”

When you fought, it was loud. But when you loved each other, it was louder.

He texted you random shit all day. Memes. Sarcastic comments. “Look at this idiot at the gym” photos.

You sent him screenshots of dumb tweets and called him during meetings just to hear his annoyed “What, babe?” before melting when he realised it was you.

One weekend, you tried building Ikea furniture together.

Worst idea of your life.

“Babe, hand me the wrench.”

“I am the wrench.”

“Sukuna.”

“I’m serious.”

“Shut up and screw the damn leg on.”

“Why don’t you screw it on?”

“Because I’m reading the instructions.”

“I don’t need instructions.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Three hours later, the coffee table was upside down, and you were both lying on the floor, laughing like idiots.

You also didn’t do anniversaries the normal way.

You booked tattoos. Matching again, this time something dumb, you’re a sad, wilted rose and his a blooming, thriving flower, both symbolising the two of you (guess which’s who)

When the artist finished, Sukuna kissed your hand.

“You’re stuck with me,” he muttered, tracing the ink.

“Good.”

Sometimes you caught him staring at you like he still couldn’t believe you were his.

Like when you were brushing your teeth in the mirror, hair messy, wearing his hoodie.

“What?” you’d ask, mouth full of toothpaste.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I’m just thinking about how lucky you are to have me.”

You smacked him with a towel.

But later, in bed, he kissed you soft, lips brushing your cheek, voice low.

“I’m serious though.”

“About what?”

“You’re stuck with me.”

“I know.”

And yeah, Sukuna never took shit from anyone else.
But for you?

He’d take it every day.


[itwillbethescarletwitch]

F1 HeadCanons!

You’re obsessed with their dick and they’re obsessed that you’re obsessed (if that makes sense?)

Lando Norris:

He could post a race win photo and you’d be like,

“That’s cute, but post the dick next.”

You’re truly not well. Lando could wear a regular pair of sweatpants and you’re on your knees sniffing around like a bloodhound.

You’ve said with your full chest:

“If I don’t get to suck your dick at least once a day, I will physically perish.”

And you meant it.

Lando used to blush when you said things like that. Now?

He leans into it.

Walks around half-hard just to see how feral you get.

Pulls his joggers lower when you’re filming content with him.

Purposely puts his phone in his lap like:

“Oops. It slipped.”

He loves that you’re addicted.

The way your breath hitches when he rolls his hips even slightly.

The way you moan from memory—like you’re not even being touched, just thinking about it.

You’ve cried over it.

Literally sobbed during sex.

And Lando fucking thrives on it.

He cups your face while you bounce on him and goes,

“You love this cock, don’t you, baby? Say it. Say it again.”

And you do. You say it a thousand times.

While he fucks you. While you’re cuddling. While you’re brushing your teeth.

“I love your dick more than life itself.”

“If your dick was a hotel, I’d never check out.”

“I want it in my will.”

Lando used to think you were exaggerating.

Now he’s just as bad. He’s obsessed with being your obsession.

He jerks off to the memory of your praise.

He’s fucked you in front of a mirror just to see your expression as he ruins you.

Sometimes you whimper,

“It’s so perfect. It’s my dick.”

And Lando just smiles and says,

“Damn right it is.”

——

Oscar Piastri:

You are… terminally ill with cock addiction.

Oscar didn’t even notice it at first—he just thought you liked sex.

But then you started doing things like:

• Scheduling your work meetings around when you think he’ll be hard

• Staring at his lap in every car ride like it’s a countdown

• Telling the waiter at brunch, “I’ll have the sausage. Oh wait, I already did this morning.”

Oscar was stunned. Flushed. Quiet.

But so goddamn turned on.

You moan at the sight of his bulge.

You whimper when he buttons his jeans.

You once begged him to fuck you in the McLaren hospitality bathroom mid FP1

“Please. I just need it. I’ll be fast—I swear I’ll be fast.”

He caved. Of course he did.

Now he’s sick too.

He watches the way your eyes glaze over when he starts undoing his belt.

He knows you love it.

He teases you when you’re trying to behave.

He’ll press his hips into your ass while you’re cooking, whispering,

“Bet you’re soaking right now. Just from knowing it’s hard.”

You are. Obviously.

He starts keeping score in his head:

• How many times you’ve begged for it

• How many times you’ve thanked it like it saved your life

• How many times you’ve called it “your happy place” 😭

One time you mumbled half-asleep:

“Your dick is the only thing I trust in this world.”

Oscar’s heart almost stopped.

He woke you up by fucking you slow and deep until you were crying again.

Now? He’s ruined.

He’ll watch you crawl onto his lap and say,

“Tell me what my cock means to you.”

And you do. Every damn time.

———

Charles Leclerc:

You don’t just like it.

You worship it.

You’ve called it your “emotional support dick” more times than you can count.

Charles could be in a fight with you and you’d still be like,

“Okay but real talk, I still want your dick in me.”

At first Charles was… overwhelmed.

Shy. Embarrassed. Confused.

He didn’t understand how someone could love something that much.

But you’re relentless. You tell all your friends.

You reference it like it’s a luxury brand.

You moaned once at a photo of his hand and said,

“These fingers connect to the dick that owns me.”

And he blushed so hard he had to hide his face in his elbow.

Now? He’s obsessed with how obsessed you are.

He listens to your moans like it’s a song.

He makes you say how much you love it while you’re crying on it.

He’ll stare at you from across the room and whisper,

“Thinking about it again?”

And you are. Always.

You’ve written sonnets.

You’ve thanked god out loud for his genetics.

You once held a fake funeral when he left for a race weekend and you didn’t get to ride him before he left.

He watched the video and said, “You are not serious,” while secretly HARD AS A ROCK.

Now Charles gets off on how possessed you are.

He calls it “your favorite toy.”

He’ll moan while you go down on him like,

“You love this cock so much, bébé. I can feel it in your mouth.”

You’ve said, “I’m never letting anyone else in me again,”

And he said, “You won’t need to.”

And then made love to you so deep you couldn’t speak for ten minutes.

———

Max Verstappen:

You speak on his dick like it’s a national treasure.

You’ve tweeted things like,

“Max Verstappen’s dick should be in the Louvre.”

“I’d tattoo it on my face if I could.”

“If it ever leaves me, I’ll die.”

Max used to laugh.

He’d shake his head and say,

“You’re out of your mind.”

But now?

He’s your biggest enabler.

He puts your legs on his shoulders and fucks you so hard the headboard cracks.

Just to hear you say it again.

“So big—too big—but I love it—I love it—don’t stop—”

He gets addicted to the sound of your voice praising him.

You’ve named it. Drawn it.

Described it like a sacred object.

Max is OBSESSED with your obsession.

He doesn’t let anyone else make you cum now.

Not your fingers. Not toys. Just him.

You’re not allowed to wear underwear at home.

He wants access 24/7.

“You want it so bad, baby? Then act like it.”

And you do. You get on your knees when he walks in the door.

You’ve whined in your sleep.

You’ve cried over it.

You’ve texted him “I miss him 😔” and he immediately knew what you meant.

He calls you his “favorite little addict.”

And fucks you like he’s giving you your fix.

———

George Russell:

You treat George’s dick like a precious, irreplaceable museum artifact.

You walk around whispering stuff like:

“He’s tall, he’s polite, he’s British—and he’s packing righteous furybetween his legs.”

George swears he’s gonna pass out every time.

At first, he was shy—nervous, even.

But then you gave a 45-minute TED Talk to your best friend about the curve, the stretch, the stretch again, and how you’re never going to emotionally recover.

He overheard it.

He was hard for four hours.

You once climbed on top of him and whispered,

“This is the most important thing in my life. I hope you know that.”

And George—red in the face, voice shaking—said,

“…That’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said to me. And you’ve said a lot.”

Now he has a praise kink.

You made it happen.

He wants you to worship it. Beg for it. Say thank you after every orgasm.

He’ll pause just before slipping in and growl,

“You miss me, darling?”

“You missed my cock?”

“How badly?”

And you’ll cry. Literally. Like, “So bad. Please—George, I need it.”

He can’t take it.

He fucks you slow, deep, with his forehead pressed to yours.

Watches your eyes roll back.

Says shit like,

“You’re my best girl. You take me so perfectly. God, it’s like you were madefor this.”

And you whimper back,

“I was. I swear, I was. Just for you.”

George is obsessed. Unwell. Completely gone for it.

———

Lewis Hamilton:

Lewis didn’t believe you at first.

You were just so casual about it.

Until one night you full-on sobbed after a round, whispering,

“It’s just so good. You don’t understand. You’ve ruined me.”

And he was like…

“Oh. OH.”

Now he’s unhinged.

He’s got dominant boyfriend with a worship kink energy.

He’ll say,

“You miss Daddy’s cock, baby?”

“Come ride it. Make it all better.”

And you do. Like your life depends on it.

You stare at it like it’s a priceless gem.

You’ve said shit like,

“I should pay rent just to sit on it.”

“I’d take out a loan to own that dick.”

You once whispered to it while Lewis was asleep:

“You are my king. My savior. My reason.”

He woke up to you giving it little forehead kisses.

You were like “shh, I’m thanking him.”

Lewis groaned, rolled over, and said

“You’re fucking insane. I love it. Keep going.”

You’ve cried while blowing him. You’ve drooled on his abs.

You’ve collapsed post-orgasm whispering,

“That’s the real GOAT right there.”

And Lewis, cocky as hell, flexes under you like

“You sure it’s not too much for you?”

“You sure you can handle it again?”

You always say yes. You always mean it.

You’re his number one fan. He’s your favorite addiction.

———

Carlos Sainz:

Carlos is cocky, but you made him worse.

You’re always saying stuff like:

“I dream about it. I count the days between races with how many times I’ve sat on it.”

You don’t even refer to it as a body part anymore. It’s a concept. A place.

You’ve called it:

• “My emotional reset button”

• “The holy grail”

• “My favorite seat in the house”

Carlos?

Carlos eats it the fuck up.

He grabs your chin mid-argument like

“Mira, I know you’ll calm down after I fuck that attitude out of you.”

And he’s right. He always is.

He keeps a mental tally of how many times you’ve praised it that day.

If it’s been too long, he’ll straight-up ask:

“Not gonna say how much you missed me today?”

“Not even a little thank you for the dick?”

And you drop to your knees. Instantly.

You’ve teared up during sex.

Gasping, voice cracking:

“No one will ever make me feel like this. No one will ever stretch me like this.”

And Carlos—dripping sweat, smiling through gritted teeth—says,

“You’re mine. Say it. Say no one else can have you.”

You scream it.

Now he treats it like a gift. He makes you work for it.

“You want it? Then beg. Show me how much you love it.”

And you do. You always do.

———

Franco Colapinto:

Franco had no idea what he was doing to you at first.

He knew sex was good.

He knew you were loud.

He knew you liked his hands on your hips and your fingers in his hair and your mouth on his neck.

But he did not know that you were sick in the fucking head for his dick.

Not until one night—

He was behind you, fucking deep, slow, one hand tight on your throat, the other gripping your waist, muttering in your ear in that low, desperate voice,

“So good… fuck, baby, you feel so good—”

And you just—

Started crying.

At first it was silent. Then it got louder. Choked sobs. Shaky moans.

Your whole body trembling beneath him like you were falling apart.

Franco froze.

“Did I—? Shit—baby, did I hurt you??”

He pulled out so fast you almost collapsed.

Hands cupping your shoulders, eyes wide with full-blown panic.

But when you looked back at him—glassy-eyed, flushed, wrecked—your voice was nothing but a breath:

“No. No, no—don’t stop. I just—

It’s so good.

It’s so fucking good, Franco.

I love it so much. It’s perfect.

It’s so pretty. I’m sorry—I just… I love your dick. I love it so much.”

He stared at you like you’d just said the sky was purple.

Like his soul left his body for a second.

And then—

He smiled.

That slow, stunned, crooked little smile.

And his voice dropped an octave:

“You’re crying over it?”

“You love it that much?”

“Mierda… you’re so fucking cute, cariño.”

That was the beginning of the downward spiral.

The fall. The addiction.

Your obsession turned him ravenous.

Now?

Franco fucks you like he’s feeding you.

Like you’ll starve without it.

Like your body is his, and only his, and he knows exactly how to make it scream.

You don’t even ask anymore.

You beg.

You whimper for it during casual conversations.

“Can I just suck it a little? Please? I miss it.”

“I need it. I’m going crazy, baby. Just for a second.”

He lets you. Always.

He makes you earn it sometimes, though.

“Get on your knees, hermosa.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Say it. Say you need Daddy’s cock.”

And you do. Every fucking time.

Tears down your cheeks, spit on your chin, hands shaking from how much you crave it.

You’ve said the most unhinged shit:

• “I want to die with it in me.”

• “I wish I could vacuum seal this feeling and live in it forever.”

• “Do you think there’s a heaven better than this? ‘Cause I don’t.”

Franco RECORDS YOU.

Moaning. Whining.

He plays it back while he’s alone at race weekends—hand wrapped around himself in the shower, listening to you cry out,

“You’re so deep, oh my god, it’s too much—but I don’t want it to stop—”

He’ll grip the wall and bite his lip until he comes all over the tile, panting your name.

He’s addicted too now.

But in his own evil way.

Franco teases you.

He’ll press against you in public and growl,

“You want it right now, don’t you?”

“Bet you’re wet just thinking about how full I can make you.”

You’ll gasp, push him away, and he’ll smirk like the little villain he’s become.

You’ve made him dangerous.

Made him confident.

He fucks you in his driver suit now, just unzips and makes you ride him in a chair.

“You’re shaking already? Come on, bebé, you said you loved it.”

“You said you could take it.”

“So fucking take it.”

He brags about it.

Not to others. Just to you.

While you’re crying, begging, coming on him over and over again—

He leans into your ear, kisses your temple, whispers in that beautiful Argentine accent:

“You’re my favorite little addict.”

“Ruined you for anyone else.”

“This cock is yours, and you love being mine.”

And you do.

You love every fucking inch of him.

You thank him after.

You lay there in his lap, sweaty and sore, kissing his neck and whispering,

“I really love it. So much. I’ll never get over you.”

And Franco—fingers tracing your back, still hard inside you—whispers right back,

“Good.”

“Because I’ll never stop giving it to you.”

“Every night. Every morning. Every fucking time you cry for it.”

“You want it? It’s yours. Forever.”

You created a monster.

And you’d never take it back.

Because he’s your favorite drug.

And you are his favorite high.

[lustlovehart]

Weapons I think the Monster Reversed!Cast would have. This is just for me to keep track + World building. I looove world building, guys! This all started because I was writing something else 😭. Edit: This was just supposed to be a list, Idk why I wrote so much.

Featuring: Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Cater, Trey, Leona, Jack, Ruggie, Azul, Floyd, Jade, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Epel, Rook, Idia, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Lilia, Reader, Rollo, Fellow, Skully, Neige, Chenya

CW: Monster!Reader has an interest in [character], hints of possession, slight fluff, violence, weapons, some parts have Reader eating a person/monster, Reader breaks into bedrooms, stitching (Neige), Reader isn't heavily hunted by MH!Cast/Neutral truce?, threats, biting, Reader doesn't speak in full sentences

MH!Riddle - Sword, one adorned with beautiful detailing, made of scarlet iron. It gives off some sort of righteous vibe, and he'd prefer it simply because swords were used by knights to uphold the law before monsters grew in population. You saw him taking out a couple of beasts while eating some poor sap. It was kind of mesmerizing watching him swing the thing with such practiced ease. You had to leave, but the sense of disappointment that you couldn't watch more lingered. You broke into his room and saw the sword by his side. A little obsessive, however, his work is so pretty, you don't mind. "Red hair... Fight... Really pretty..." He opens his eyes and stares at where you once were, his mouth agape, and he processes what you said. The trainings afterwards consist of him asking Jamil and Vil how to use his weapon in both elegance and functionality. Next time you see him fight, he makes sure to put his practice to good use. He also tries purposefully outshining everyone else. By the time anyone else tries talking to you, he's shooing you off before they get the chance, insisting he'll show you more if you ignore everyone else.

MH!Ace - Twin-Blade. I'd like to think that because he's so good with his hand, he can spin that thing like crazy. He most definitely tries flaunting his skills to everyone, even more so when you're around. The moment he senses you somewhere in the dark on a mission, the number of times he spins, swings, and hits the beast increases by three. He's using both sides of the blade with such practiced ease, the others on the hunt are wondering why he didn't join sooner (Deuce knows what he's doing, because he can smell you too.) By the time he's done, he's already looking into the shadows, hoping you'll be smiling with praise...! You're not there. He's deflating with disappointment and is ready to go back to the headquarters before someone screams. Honestly? He's kind of over it, but he readies his blade anyway. He's about to chuck his weapon and go home, before Deuce gasps. That's different. Even more so when he drops his gauntlets and takes a few steps forward, finally earning Ace's curiosity. He turns—You're inches from his face. "... Showoff... But... Fun."... Ace goes back with a pep in his step while everyone else broods. As long as your attention is on him, he doesn't mind at all.

MH!Deuce - Gauntlets. You’ve seen him wreck a couple of monsters real good with them. He swings so fast that a regular person could never predict where his next punch is coming from. People have tried, but they've never succeeded. He's so absorbed in his training that whenever you appear, he always seems to almost hit you. He'll redirect it last minute. The first time you suddenly showed up right in front of him, he couldn't move his fist in time. His mind is racing with panic at the prospect of hitting you. It's what he wished for in the beginning, but... Now? If he sees you in pain, he might as well be punching himself, too. No one or no thing has ever managed to dodge—Oh hey, you caught it!... You caught it?! Other than a slight wince in pain, you don't seem too bothered... Though to be fair, he didn't put his all into that, and you know that. You only feel a slight pain on your palm, yet Deuce is sitting you down and tending to it like you've been wounded. Any time any other hunter comes close, he warns them to stay away. A part of you thinks that's due to more than just your hand...

MH!Cater - A Mace. It's a good contrast. Mostly because monsters don't expect to see Cater with one due to his bubbly exterior. You surely didn't. He combats it with paint, making the handle a little prettier. You're not sure if it really works, considering it's still a spiky pall of metal he swings at beasts. You snuck in while he was sleeping, with a makeshift keychain, and stuck it on the handle. You're not sure if it suits his taste, but it doesn't matter. He's trying to kill you anyway (That's what you think), might as well have a pretty weapon do you in. When he wakes up, his room smells like you, and he knows exactly where that gift came from. The next time you witness him fighting, he's talking about just how adorable his mace is now! Everyone else isn't too surprised about his before... It's just a little unnerving to watch him do it while fighting some giant beast.

MH!Trey - a Shotgun. He wields it in such a way that it makes it seem like he doesn't wish to shoot it. He'll use the back of the gun to hit monsters before using the barrel on them like a guillotine. He only ever uses it when necessary. You're amazed it hasn't broken. But to be fair, that's due to your efforts. He doesn't know (He does. He just plays innocent) that you're the one fixing it up while he sleeps. Though... You're methods aren't exactly the correct way to fix a gun; he still uses it with pride. The only time he's broken the act of feigning slumber is when you tried eating a match to use your mouth as a blowtorch. There was a small crack you believed you could meld together. He was initially worried for your safety... His worry seems to have been misplaced when he sees you actually do it. "Huh... I didn't think that would work..." You blow a small puff of smoke his way, earning a heartfelt smile. He still pretends to sleep, but that's because every time he does, he can feel you blow fire at him. If he imagines hard enough, it's like a kiss to his forehead.

MH!Leona - A Battle Axe. It's not too heavy, but it packs enough damage for him to slice something down real quick. Not too heavy is an understatement, however, as it's not too heavy for him. Most of the other people who try can only lift it for a few seconds before dropping it. Luckily, you're not a part of the most. You were probably taking a bite of some low-ranking troll when he appeared out of nowhere. You throw the piece of meat away while you furrow your eyebrows at him. He's obviously annoyed with something; you can see it in the way he snarls. You can't ask what's wrong, though, because his head is on your lap before you can sound it out. The axe propped on the tree trunk next to you falls down, and he's about to lunge back up before it hits you (He's not ready for you to die), you've already caught it. Your hand bleeds from holding it by the blade. The rest of the day is him secretly admiring you while your hand plays with his hair. He'll never admit that, however.

Monster & MH!Jack - A War Hammer. He'd probably like the challenge of having to build up his muscles to hold and swing it around. When you first saw him wield it (MH), which was after a year of knowing him (He never told you what he wielded before), he felt pride swell at the way your mouth dropped in amazement at him holding such a giant thing. When you see him wield it as a monster, he definitely swung it at you, and only missed because you dodged it like nothing. Ever since you kept in mind not to let that thing hit you, because he cracked the boulder next to you, 6 times your size, with ease. After finally getting to know you, he sees the way your eyes linger on his hammer. He makes sure not to bring it whenever you two are together. In the cases where you appear during a mission, he'll drop the weapon and start fighting with his fists. He doesn't want to send his hammer your way.

MH!Ruggie - Throwing stars. He has a multitude of different kinds, with different shapes and sizes. Sometimes you can see him dip it in different substances. You can see him use a blow dart too sometimes. The sight of a different person's name on it, though, tells you it's not originally his. You confront him about it when he opens his bedroom door to see you hanging upside down from his window. The shock of your appearance has him dropping all the boxes he was previously holding, earning a curse under his breath. He watches you play with both the blow dart and his throwing stars before finally asking why you're here. Ruggie rushes towards the window, watching you drop from above. But you effortlessly land on the ledge, earning a relieved exhale from his lips. He was entirely ready to catch you. "Stolen...?" So that's what this is about. He tells you it's not stolen; he simply gave it a better home. The person who had it before seemed to not care for it much if they just left it there. He can tell you don't believe him by the way your brows furrow. His eyes widen when his own throwing stars rush by him, you being the perpetrator. He's about to ask what that was for, but you're leaning in, catching his words in his throat. "I'll get... Ruggie better one..."

MH!Azul - Trident. But he's fully capable of wielding heavy weapons like Jack and Leona's. He just... Can't hold them for very long. He gets tired too easily. His strength is amazing, you're just shocked at how lacking his stamina is. He's second only to Idia. On solo missions, you tag along, and he does everything in his power to avoid eye contact. Not because he wishes to not look at you, no, that's one of the few things he wishes to do. It's because... He's currently using his weapon as a cane to go up the mountain. He had no idea...! This ruins the atmosphere he wished to have with you on this job...! How is he supposed to play the part of a gentleman when he can barely make it up this mountain while you're walking along as if this isn't torture? He stiffens when he feels a presence next to him, ready to warn you to step away. By the time he looks though, it turns out to be you... His sense is so scrambled he can't make out what's a threat... "Carry... Azul?" He couldn't possibly. He has pride; he refuses. His posture straightens, and he acts as if he's regained all his energy. You don't believe him, but you watch him remove that trident from the floor and carry it like the true hunter he is. You can't help but tease him for the sudden shift. "... Azul is... Strong... Maybe... Can carry me too?"... He carries you bridal style all the way up the mountain, all of his fatigue seemingly gone. You have no idea how he did it...

MH!Floyd - A kusarigama. He might be one of the few hunters who actually scare you with the way he handles his weapon. Of course, they all have that smug look on their face when they take down a monster. Watching him swing the chain around and use the blade is entertaining, yes, but... he's just way too good at it. Sometimes he looks bored when he swings the chain around a beast's neck to pull them in and end the job; in fact, you prefer it that way. He gets scarier when he's in a giggling fit and takes down multiple at once. He'll come up to you afterward and ask if he can catch you like that. Before you know it, the chain is wrapped around you, and he's pulling you in as he whispers. You're about to bite him out of panic, only stopping when he shouts 'just kidding!' and hugs you closer. He laughs when you don't break out of the chains despite their weak grasp on you. His laughter dies down when your hands "reluctantly" wrap around him.

MH!Jade - Two Kukri Machetes. He almost looks more like a monster than you do when he wields them. There's a certain glint in his eyes when he successfully dispatches monsters. It's somehow even scarier than Floyd's. Whenever you attempt to hang out with him, he's always sharpening his blades with the most courteous of smiles. It's frightening, but that might be due to your nature as a monster. You're sitting in a forest, letting Jade feed you all the mystery forages from the wilderness. You think he might be testing which ones are poisonous on you. You won't die and you get free food, so it's a win o you. Though if you show any signs of distress or change, he'll gently open your mouth and have you spit it out. Not without a double-edged remark, however. "What a strong stomach. Perhaps I should let you eat it. I might find your weakness." He never does go through with his claim. You were too preoccupied with him to even notice you were being stalked, not seeing that he's thrown one of his Machetes at a monster, it's only when he says "Oh my, well that's no good..." and chucks his second one without even looking, do you notice. An extremely rare occurrence for you. Just how focused on eating did Jade have you? "Hm? Why, they were looking at you like a feast. It seems they had no idea who you were... Pity. Though it's no matter." You watch his hand reach for yours, placing a flower in your palm. "I wish to be the only one who truly knows you."

MH!Kalim - Bo Staff. It doesn't do harsh damage, but the speed he spins it at is dangerous, paired with fluidity similar to Jamil’s. Not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate. Truth be told, Kalim’s never actually killed a monster. You’ve seen him knock them out, he's just... never gone for a finishing blow. It makes you wonder if he doesn’t know they’re not dead… There have been a couple of instances where he walks away, unassuming of the monstrosity that lunges at him. They only stop because you step between them, your eyes looking down on it. The amount of times you’ve had to step in and finish the job for him is too much, especially for someone meant to be killing monsters. Even Jamil steps in for him when you can’t. It should be a hint for him, yet he’ll simply hug you tight, joyous that you’re there. You wonder if it’s on purpose or not.

MH!Jamil - Chakrams. While several hunters have mesmerized you with the way they fight, you think Jamil has you watching him the most. He incorporates such a fluid movement when he throws his weapon, and even when he simply uses it in hand-to-hand combat, that you’ve sat for hours in the shadows watching him train. Weirdly enough, you want him to use them on you. You’re curious about being on the receiving end of such deadly blows. If you bring it up, he'll consider it simply because you want it. But his aim is so scarily accurate, he fears he might truly hit you if he tries. So instead, he teaches you how to use them. Which, he definitely shouldn't do, considering his occupation. He just can't help the way you seem to perk up with the monstrous charm when you actually do it. At this point, he might as well use his weapon for hypnotization so you'll never disappear for days on end again. He thinks he likes the way your eyes light up with genuine enjoyment when he's around, however, so he'd rather not.

MH!Vil - A Spear. It defeats some practicality, but he always makes sure to polish its barrel while adorning it in beauty. Yes, once it breaks, he'll get a new one; despite it, he'll always pay careful attention to it. You must say, he definitely has the prettiest weapon(s) among everyone in the foundation. He probably caught you staring at it one time when he returned to his room, the curtains shut, while you sat on his bed. Typically, he prefers for nobody to dirty his sheets, and he thinks you know that. He assumes so, considering his shower seems to be freshly used. Your nail taps the blade once, before moving to the engraving on its handle. Transparent fabrics wrap everything together neatly. You don't seem to notice him at all. A sure sign that you don't truly see him as a threat. "Haven't you been taught not to touch others property?" You perk up at the sound of his voice. A little too late, however, as once you turn, he's gone. You feel the spear being taken from your hand, and by the time you look, Vil is inches from your face. He turns the blade to point at you, and if you didn't know any better, he would plunge it into your chest at this moment. He uses the other end to open the curtains, allowing the moon to hit your features. "I shouldn't be very surprised, though." You remain silent when he places his hand next to where you sit. "You are a monster after all."

MH!Epel - He wanted to use gauntlets originally. After joining Vil... He was made to use a weaponized Shield. He's actually so disappointed in it. He could have at least gotten a cool blade, like literally everybody else. Why is he the only one without some offensive weapon!? You listen to him complain to himself about it as you sit in the dark. You don't think he realizes that he quite basically is using the shield as offense... He's charging full force into full brutes, knocking them back. By the time they're back up and ready to lunge at him, he's already turned it over and dropped the thing full force on their head. A brutal sight, yet he's still complaining how lame it is... He jumps when you appear by his side, your eyes looking him up and down. "You can't see..." Your clawed finger taps his bicep, "Strong now... Good at shield."... He learns to be more appreciative of it.

MH!Rook - Bow and Arrow (Are we surprised?). You've actually purposefully broken at least five of his bows to see if he has to buy a new one. He pulled one from under his pillow, and you have no idea why it was there. Easily the best marksman in the business. He's shot arrows near you multiple times, and each instance, you believe he's finally decided to really hunt you down, only to look at the multiple poems stuck on the shaft and see that wasn't his intent. You've taken your revenge by outlining his sleeping body with these same arrows. He woke up in the middle of the night, pleasantly surprised by your gift, serenading you about your generosity... The next day was spent trying to eat in peace while a poetic hunter lavishes you with admiration. You don't put up much resistance when he rests his head on your shoulder and leaves his hat on top of you.

MH!Idia - Scythe. Though not as proficient with it as Reaper!Idia, still decently skilled. You were there when he first chose the weapon, actually. Way before you had personally met any of the monster hunters. You were hanging from a tree while he was in his room, flipping through his choices. He chose the scythe because it looked the coolest and reminded him of a character from a story he liked. He had his doubts with how flashy a weapon it is. After you finally met, you asked him about it, and he turned pink at how embarrassing that was. You... You saw him fanboy over how cool a weapon is... You let him ramble about all the confidence points he lost with you as you pat his back. If you insist, the scythe is interesting, he'll go back to crazing over it. If you go even further and compliment him? He either goes into full-fledged self-assurance or a ball of fluster. You have to pat him on the back either way, though. When you're out of sight, he begins cursing out everyone else, because the idea of you doing that to anybody other than him...? Everyone awakens to an ominous letter detailing all of their suspicious purchases the next day.

MH!Malleus - The only one fully capable of fighting with his bare fists. Though if need be, he'll fight with weapons, which is most of the time, as he seems to cause more damage without them. He never has a set one, always changing. He's still proficient with all of them, however. His pure strength alone is a testament to his formidability to others. Some workers don't even wish to be in his proximity, fearing he might touch them; Except for you. Despite the bounty on your head and him supposedly being on the hunt for you, you let him touch you as much as he wishes. You should fear that one day he'll turn on you and claim his reward, yet here you are, allowing him to curiously touch every monstrous feature of yours without struggle. You've seen his deadly ability; it's just the tender feeling of his hands moving through your features that overpowers it. Fortunately for you, you're the only monster he'll ever touch like that, and he hopes he's the only hunter to touch you like this too.

MH!Silver - A Lance. A weapon that should typically be wielded on a horse, which he does do, yet he also handles it on the ground perfectly fine. It's even much larger on his person, only furthering the impressiveness. Despite the giant weapon, he still takes down monsters with a certain kindness, gently putting them down when they fall. When you ask him why, he glanced once at his weapon before softly telling you, "They didn't ask to be monsters." You're silent at his answer, glancing down when his hand takes yours, and once more in that sweet tone, "You didn't, right?" The silence in your reply fails to answer his question, leaving ambiguity in the truth of your existence. He doesn't voice any form of disappointment, however, instead, he hands you his large weapon, allowing your clawed fingers to grip its hilt. Anyone else would fear a monster to attack them when unarmed, yet he isn't, not at all. With the softest of smiles, he comforts you. "I think... You're the nicest of all."

MH!Sebek - A Rapier. He insists it shows off his skills better. It's not big and boorish like others; he could quite easily carry that, but neither is it small and evasive, though he could easily dispatch those as well. His specific sword makes each strike of his look like a sting. You think he enjoys how fast it makes him look. You probably grew curious about whether it was him or just the sword that made him look fast, though, and took hold of its hilt. He's quick to bust in and tell you not to dirty his weapon with your heinous touch. "You definitely ate something with those hands!"... And he's not necessarily wrong... But you don't give it back, you insist on examining it further, earning more of his temper. He's about to start yelling when he sees your claw scratch his blade. "How Dare—! Oh...?" When you give it back to him, his name is engraved on the steel, a (human) heart drawn next to it. "This is quite nice...! Why... is there a heart next to it....?!" His determination to not let anyone else touch his sword increases after that

MH!Lilia - Two Kama's. He uses them to tend a garden in Diasmonia's quarters. Yet, they also double as his signature weapon. You're sure that he's probably cut wheat right after a mission, earning the ire of other hunters at their crops being sullied with monster... It doesn't matter, though, as no one eats the food he makes with such ingredients. His cooking is bad, yes, but you think it only worsens in the eye of a human because he skillfully used those same tools to successfully dispatch twenty different beasts... But... You're the only one who can stomach his cooking. It's not the best thing you've ever eaten, yet it's also not the worst. Except, you actually do like his cooking. That alone has earned you the entire foundation, as well as regular civilians you're close with, to repeatedly ask you if you're okay and perform regular medical checkups on you to see if you're fine. When you say you are, they don't really believe you... Yet the way you return to the kitchen to dutifully help him cook his horrendous dishes has them second-guess... They all go on a mission to cook better (worse) than him.

MH!Reader - Dagger(s. They've got like 16 strapped on them, all with different designs and uses). It's what I usually picture them with, BUT I do think they would have experience with things such as swords and bows. But you can imagine them with anything, really.

Modern!Reader - Pepper spray and a Taser. Both are mostly ineffective against monsters 💀. In times of desperation, they flash their camera and start screaming really loudly.

Monster!Rollo - A Dagger. He's actually more efficient with any type of weapon, mostly the bow. If anything, it actually hinders him more, but he insists on it because he wants to use the same weapon as you, so he knows what to do if you need help with your daggers. He practices extra so you'll always come to him when you need help with training. As long as no one else teaches you, it'll be okay.

MH!Rollo - A Bow, as he no longer has a reason to practice with daggers. He's still proficient with all types, though. He has a penchant for dipping the tips of his arrows in holy water. He double dips when he knows he's going to see you. He triple dips when he sees you in person. And he sighs when he misses all his shots (Whether that's because you're too fast or if he unconsciously misses, however, is a mystery.)

Human Fellow - His Debt. The first time he met you, out of fear, he started throwing his bills and taxes at you. It worked. Not because you were hurt, but because you were asking why he was giving you his bills. "I... Can't... Pay..." ... He was genuinely amazed you focused on that and not him throwing papers at you.

Human Skully - His photos of you, or more specifically, his photo book. He's actually spiritually hurt whenever he does that to the pictures, apologizing as if they were actually you. Yet, he keeps doing it because in his mind, it means you'll always be there for him and vice versa. Imagine his shock when he's about to hit a monster he came across by chance with his photo book, only for you to take a bite out of it. You really are lovely, aren't you?

Human Neige - A Medkit. Not very proficient, and quite ironic that he uses something meant to heal as a weapon. Sometimes, monsters come through, and the real hunters miss them. You probably had a limb get cut off, and while it would probably come back, he was diligently stitching it back on you. You're about to have a snack of the measly goblin that walks over, but you don't even have the chance before he's closing his kit and smacking it over the head. You pronounce him dead on the scene, and he smiles at you as if he didn't do anything at all...

Human Chenya - His Jacket. He never wears it, save for wrapping it around his hips. So imagine your surprise when you're trying to sleep and you wake up to five other monsters lying on the ground five feet away, with Chenya resting his head on your lap.

Jamil's weapon had me going down a rabbit hole; it's so cool (..＞◡＜..) also, I love the thought of Monster!Reader breaking into bedrooms/watching the MH!Cast and not doing a single thing. Is it stalkerish? Yes. But it also reminds the cast you’re completely capable of taking them when they’re unprepared. You’ve had multiple chances to kill them, yet you haven’t. Really shows both Readers' threat, and their urge to know why you are the way you are.

Surprise, surprise, Jade's was the longest. I hate him so much, oh my goshhhhh (￢_￢)

[wolfmoonwildflowers]

As someone diagnosed with adhd in their mid-twenties, here are some things I’ve done to make my life less of a shitshow (in addition to the very good tips form op)

don't fold your underwear! in fact, don't fold anything you don't have to. underwear, socks, pajamas, leggings, t-shirts? toss 'em in the drawer. unless you need it to be wrinkle-free for your job or an event, don't waste your energy or time on folding. (extra pro tip: apply this to towels, too)

one hamper for dirty clothes, one hamper for anything still wearable. based on the item of clothing and what you do during the day, there are a lot of things you can wear multiple times before needing to wash them. have a hamper for your dirty clothes but keep a separate one for things like jeans, bras, that crewneck you only wore for half an hour in the living room because you got cold, etc. maybe you have a designated chair in your room where clothes like that usually get piled- time to upgrade to a hamper, baby!

slowly upgrade to smart lightbulbs. this is something I didn't connect to my adhd for a long time, but now it seems obvious. if I sit down and start a task only to realize the nightstand or desk or ceiling light needs to be on/off, I get stuck in this weird, paralyzed loop of not being able to start working because the lighting isn't right, but also unable to get up and fix it. (it doesn't make sense. I know.) smart bulbs to the rescue.

if it works, it doesn't matter if it's cute! just like how op said it isn't stupid if it works, please hear me when I say that "unaesthetic" solutions are STILL GOOD. don't let your mind trick you into thinking that your home needs to look like an influencer's. make it functional first, then you can work on the way it looks.

this is your gentle reminder to stop fighting against your adhd and instead structure your life around it

buy a pack of chapsticks and put one in the pocket of all of your coats and jackets because you always forget to bring one and chapped lips is sensory hell

leave important things where you can see them. if they go in a box or a drawer you will forget they exist

put any appointments or deadlines in your phone calendar As Soon As you get them. set a reminder for a week before, a day before, an hour before, as many as you need as often as you need them.

when that little voice in your head says "i dont need to write that down, ill remember it" that is the devil talking!!! write it down anyway!!

plan for down time. have a few hours at the end of every day to just do fun stuff like engage in your hyperfixations. even if you didnt get all of your work done that day, have the rest anyway. you probably spent the whole day beating yourself up for not doing what you Should be doing, so you still need the break.

if you never eat vegetables because its too much effort to chop and cook them, get the frozen or canned shit. it doesnt go off for ages and you just have to microwave it. theres no point buying fresh vegetables if they just keep going off and being left to rot in the bottom of your fridge

if you struggle to decide what to have for dinner every day, take the decision out of it. choose a set of meals and eat those on rotation until you get sick of them, then choose some new ones and do it again.

its not stupid if it works! our brains literally have a chemical deficiency. you are allowed to accommodate yourself. go forth and stop making your life more difficult than it has to be because "this shouldn't be this hard". it is hard, so make it easier.