#//time skip to bedtime??

[bedtime-broadcast]

Alastor, you doing okay?

Alastor: *holding Calliope while he’s reading to her, not on air but just in the privacy of his suite* We’re doing alright I suppose. Just trying to continue moving forward. *sighs* If I’m honest for just a second, this entire situation has made me think quite a bit about many things. How we shouldn’t take time with our loved ones for granted.

Calliope: *looks up at her Baba, making cooing noises*

Alastor: *looks down and places his hand on her head softly, his gloved nails running through wispy blond hair* And it is with that in mind I’ve decided that Calliope and I will go out on a vacation!

[brown-little-robin]

I'm too tired to be playing dnd !!!!

[fireyartccoon]

Prismatic Parallel shenanigans

this is probably going to become its own little thing

this was for no particular reason, just felt like posting

[kayatoastkkat]

this honestly looks like a mom trying to get her kid to eat the meds

the attic is actually so beautifully rendered though, I can kind of understand why Frankie wanted to be moved here now. and hey look as a bonus a convenient window to look out of (sorry for missing out the last page, I fell asleep before I could make a post)

so she does take the medicine! despite saying she'd never let herself get treated by Jekyll...ah well since Creature is around she doesn't exactly have a choice and wow, the way Creature reacts to being called a "foul torturer"...I think Frankie realised her mistake

…genuinely surprised this happened. Then again, I suppose since Jekyll isn't here, Frankie would be willing to show something called "emotion". I understand it is rather a foreign concept here, but I'm surprised nonetheless that she chose to show gratitude.

she called creature "my friend" oh my god guys get the camera

[eyesoftxmorrow]

just woke up from a 4 hour long dream nightmare that i was Still inking the page i left off on

[broke-on-books]

Was gonna post this on the ig spam I never use but decided that joke was too bad for ppl irl so uh. Here you go.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ Daddy kink, spanking, anal fingering, cum play, whiff of breeding kink.

Days turn into a week, and then two, but you were fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Until you got your period. 

You woke up to blood in the sheets a day early, underwear and pajama bottoms ruined, the only saving grace being that the mattress didn’t stain. The cramps kept you in the shower longer than normal, and you were late to work because of it. Everything went downhill from there. 

You drank more coffee because you were behind, you skipped breakfast, you didn’t touch a glass of water until well after dark. You stayed up well past bedtime, your meals became inconsistent, you essentially forgot your glasses existed.

Going off the rails was only supposed to be one day, but then you couldn’t get back on the tracks.

It all fell apart. 

You unraveled at your already frayed seams. 

You were bad. 

Your phone is buried in the mess of your bed. 

When it starts vibrating, you have to dig through your blankets to find the sweater it’s in, shoved in the pocket haphazardly after you collapsed, kicked off your shoes and crawled into the middle, eyes already half closed. 

It’s strange how your apartment doesn’t feel quite like home anymore- 

but you don’t deserve to go back. 

A blocked number flashes across the screen of your phone, and you answer it with fumbling fingers. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi baby.”  You clap your hand over your mouth. The rush of emotion is too much, happiness building in the back of your throat as a sob, followed by anxiety that sticks like sludge in your mind. 

“H-hi daddy.” You don’t deserve to say it, guilt curdling in your stomach when it comes out. It feels hopeless, like you’ve ruined it all, and you have no control, sure he can hear everything in your voice.

You don’t know what to say to fix it, you don’t know how to make it better. You don’t deserve him, or this. 

Awful, noxious thoughts bubble to the surface, trying to spill out of your mouth and drown you. Drown him. Drag you both down.

“Hey sweet girl,” he coos, deep rumble contrasted by a lot of background noise, and it’s almost able to quiet the chaos in your head. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m… um, I’m good.” Shut up. Change the subject. “How are you?” 

“I’m okay. We’re about done here, and then I’ll be home.” Your excitement burns to ash in the face of dread. You don’t want him to know, to see you, to realize how far you fell. You didn’t follow your rules. You let him down. 

“T-that’s… great.” An engine is the only noise on the other end of the line for a minute until it starts to fade, and a door slams. 

Then there’s only his voice. Pitched smooth and soothing. “Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah! I’m fine.” The fake cheer makes you wince. 

“Are you lying to me?” You swallow the swell of sadness, the threat of a breakdown hovering on the edge. 

“N-no.” There’s muffled conversation somewhere on his end of the line, and he sighs. 

“I have to go, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Be good for me.” Your heart is pounding so hard the blood in your veins is throbbing, ribs caving in on themselves, your lungs struggling to expand. 

“Okay.” 

When the line goes dead, you burst into tears. 

His house is hollow.

He’s talked to you twice since landing, and you didn’t mention being at your apartment a single time, though your absence is no surprise. There was a pitch to your voice, one he recognized from before, when you were unsure and lost, stumbling towards him on shaky legs.

He’s not angry, but he is unsettled. He hates uncertainty, it chafes at his control, thoughts of you alone in your apartment rubbing him raw, and a mountain of blame slowly settles on his shoulders as he grapples with the consequences of both his choices, and yours. 

He knows what the rest of the night holds.

He’ll need to take you apart and put you back together.

He only has to knock once for you to come to the door. 

You fling yourself into his arms, refusing to let go as he shuffles you inside, bringing you down onto the couch, halfway on his lap. You’re rigid, intentionally looking away, gaze focused on your lap where your fingers are threaded together, head bowed like you’re praying, seeking absolution. It’s a heavy weight you’re carrying, one he will wring from your bones blow by blow. 

“Let me see your eyes.” He lifts your chin, finds what he anticipated in them, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “Oh, baby.” Rattling against him, you hold on so tight like you want to crawl inside his body. 

“I missed y-you, I just… I missed you.” 

“I missed you too sweetheart.” You find your way back into his arms, pressing your face to his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into the top of your head as he rocks you, soothes the shaking, the raspy draw of each breath. “It’s okay, I’m here.” It only takes a little bit for you to come back to yourself, and as you do, your fingers brush against the gauze on his arm. You freeze. 

“You… you’re hurt. You’re hurt? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, just some stitches, nothin’ to worry over.” 

“Just some stitches?” You squeak, eyes wide with alarm, concern tightening their corners. “Wh-what happened?” What didn’t happen. He’d never tell you, he can’t, but your worry burns a flame inside a deeply shuttered piece of his heart, and he kisses your forehead. 

“I’m okay sweet girl. I promise.” He waits a beat, giving you silence, hoping you’ll come forward with it once you find your words, but when there’s nothing, he knows he’ll be pulling it out. Rip the bandaid off then. “Are you goin’ to tell me what’s going on?” You shake your head and stare at the floor. 

“I can’t… I- I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” He knows, of course, but he needs to hear you say it. 

“I… didn’t follow my rules.” He folds his hand over yours, maintaining the connection while carving out your space. You’re a tangled, jumbled snare right now, and if he’s going to fix it, he needs you to take the first step. 

“Tell me what happened.” Your shoulders slump-

 and then you start. 

He makes sure you’re physically okay first. 

You’ve managed to eat dinner tonight and drink some water, which is all he really needs right now. Food, and water. The rest, the mental and emotional strife, the pain, he’ll mend, but punishments don’t sit well on an empty stomach. 

He takes his time. Leaves you on the bed while he showers, face down with your arms bound behind your back, stripped bare. If you were in his bed, he’d have each ankle tied to a corner, fully opening you up, teasing and toying with you, but this is adequate, and it can’t wait. 

The mess in your mind is dark, and dangerous. It’s consuming you, hurting you, and he has to draw it out, suck the poison from the wound. 

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” 

“I w-was bad.” He pauses. He went over this earlier, but it’s a tough one to stick. 

“No, baby.” 

“But… I didn’t follow my rules. You t-trusted me and I-I let you down…” He squeezes the fat of your ass cheek, just hard enough to make you gasp, interrupting your train of thought. 

“You didn’t let me down. You’ll always be my good girl, even when you make mistakes, and I know you didn’t break your rules on purpose, did you?” 

“No daddy, I didn’t. I swear.” He settles on the bed, pins you down with his weight, holding steady as you squirm. 

“I know.” You hiss when he lightly scratches his thumb nail across your skin. “But my girl has to take care of herself, and even after a bad day, she has to keep trying. Do you understand?” You nod. “Words please.” 

“Yes daddy, I understand.” This is only part of it. The festering guilt inside you needs to be released, you need your exoneration.

“Daddy has to make sure you understand how important your rules are, because you’re his priority, and you need to be safe and happy and healthy, right?” 

“Right.” Your brow furrows with concentration, preparing for what comes next. 

We’ll do thirty, and you’ll count each one.” You choke on your breath. The most he’s given you is fifteen and this will be double the sting. He can practically taste your fear. “Do you trust me to take care of you?” Your answer is immediate. 

“I do.” 

“Good,” he swings, your ass ripples on impact, and you grunt. 

“One.” 

“Louder sweetheart.” The second one hits the same spot as the first, and you lift your chin, trying to project your voice. 

“Two!” 

“Good girl.” He brings the third one down on the other side and then starts alternating, two on top of two.

By the time he gets to twenty one, you’re right where he needs you. 

Sobbing. Desperate. Wrists writhing against the bind of his belt. 

“Tell me why you weren’t home when I got back tonight.” He allows a small reprieve as he waits for your answer, arcing over your spine to kiss between your shoulder blades, the fabric of his sweatpants brushing across your aching skin. You whine in protest, feet kicking, trying to absorb the shock of a new sensation, a different kind of pain, and then you jerk when he presses the length of his erection in the cleft of your ass, cock heavy from watching you cry and shriek under his touch. 

“I d-don’t know.” He peppers you with four blows, back to back, forcing you to catch up with your count, the first two coming out as an agonized moan. 

“Tell me.” He pulls back for the next, but you stop him with a panicked bleat. 

“I didn’t deserve it!” There it is. “You trusted me… and I didn’t do it, I didn’t follow my rules. I’m sorry, I’m so- so- sorry.” You sob, spitting between your teeth, barely getting enough air. 

“Breathe. Take your time baby, slow, deep breaths,” he folds his hands over your diaphragm with loose pressure, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he calms you. “That’s it, you’ve got it.” You’re so close now. “You’re doin’ so well. Can you tell me the rest?” 

 “I felt guilty, like I shouldn’t be there, like I… I couldn’t call you daddy.” Good fucking girl. 

“Thank you for telling me.” He kneads the now raw skin of your ass cheeks, and you jerk, trying to thrash away from the burn. “I know it’s hard to talk about how you’re feeling sometimes, and I’m very proud of you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry,” your tears are different now, they come just as fast, but they’re born from a release, a dam overflowing with all of your pain and guilt. A river running free.

“I know. Five more, you can do it. You’re almost there.” And all will be forgiven. 

You scream them out, and it’s over, but you can’t stop. You cry into the mattress, inconsolable as pets you, rubs your back, telling you again and again how good you are, how proud he is, how happy you make him, how important you are. You’re not bad baby, you’re perfect, you’re precious, you’re mine. 

He repeats it as many times as needed so you feel it, let it sink in and fill those gaps, the ones your suffering left behind. 

Almost done. 

He hasn’t moved, still on top of you, marveling as your hips twitch and press downward, movement revealing a small wet spot on the sheets. His cock throbs.

“Look forward,” he tugs his sweatpants down to his thighs and strokes himself, squeezing from base to tip. The element of not knowing, not being able to see puts you on edge, but you trust him. You listen. “Stay nice and still,” it’s going to sting, pull more tears from your heart, and each one belongs to him. “Fuck, baby. Your daddy’s good girl aren’t you? Took your spanking so well,” You moan, grinding against the mattress desperately. “Nice and still sweet girl, you can do it,” he holds you down by your wrists, pressing them into the small of your back. There’s no endurance in this, no long game as he comes, painting your cheeks with it, milky white cum covering your skin as he empties his balls all over you, your shocked gasp music to his ears. It turns into a hiss and then a whimper as he smears it around, somewhat in mourning as he thinks about where it should be. 

Though- 

He unties you. “Keeping looking forward sweetheart. Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Trembling, they uncurl, flicking back and forth until he’s satisfied. “Anything hurt? Feel numb?” You shake your head, sniffling. “Words.” 

“No daddy.” He tugs on your wrists gently, guiding them to your cheeks. 

“Hold yourself open baby,” Your fingers slide through his cum. 

“L-like this?” 

“Just like that.” You’re shaking, from the spanking, from your emotional release, from the uncertainty of this situation. You’ll need a lot of care tonight and tomorrow, hours and hours of reassurance, focused attention, physical touch. He yearns for it.

“What… did you- did you, uh-” You’re so fucking precious. 

“Come all over your ass?” He scoops up a dripping pearl and drags it to the tight ring between your cheeks. “Yeah sweetheart, an’ now I’m going to put it inside you.” 

“Inside me?” You squeak, instinctively turning your head to watch him from the corner of your eye, alarmed. Shocked. He chuckles.

“Do you want to watch daddy push his cum into your ass?” 

“Oh god,” you groan, immediately tensing, still holding on but unable to thwart your involuntary response. The animal in his head tells him it’s a waste. It should be in your pussy, fucked deep past your cervix and into your womb. 

You’re not ready. You can barely take his fingers, let alone his cock. 

And you’re certainly not ready for a baby, though maybe he’ll give you one before he’s an old man. 

“D-daddy, I… I’ve never… no one’s ever, um...” The pad of his finger gently presses, swirling cum across your hole as you shiver. 

“I know, you're okay. Push out,” he coaches, “good girl, here you go,” he barely breaches the ring, but you jolt just as he expected, trying to wriggle away. 

“Ow!” Jesus. He’s hard again, head of his cock already leaking where it sits on your thigh. “Oh- Oh my god.” It’s not pained, or uncomfortable, but moaned. You like it. He gives you more, sinking into you, stretching you around to his second knuckle. 

“That’s it.” His control is a tether, a hook. It keeps him grounded, prevents him from tearing into you even as he keeps putting more and more of himself inside you, so tempted to stretch you with another finger so he can fit the tip of his cock there instead. Slow. Steady. That’s what will win this race. 

He pulls and tells you not to move as he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands, tucking himself up into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

His cum is dribbling out of you, falling in drips down to your pussy and the sheets. He tries to memorize it, burn it into his brain, indulge in it for one more second before he eases you out of the position, rolls you onto your side.

It’s time for the things that really matter. 

Taking care of you. Holding you. Getting you in the shower and then rubbing cream into your skin, feeding you, hydrating you, putting you to bed in his arms. You’re far past ready, eyes glazed over, lips parted, bliss smoothing out the furrow of your brow. The only thing missing is making you come, but you won’t get an orgasm tonight, not with the headspace you’re in. He’ll have to save it for tomorrow. 

“Mmph,” It’s not quite English, or anything, but he understands the sentiment and takes your hand in his, kneeling at the side of the bed, cupping your cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Sleepy.” You find his thumb and suck, lashes fluttering. He lets it linger for a few minutes, massaging your wrists, your elbows.

“Precious girl,” You’re not with it, not aware of anything except his thumb, your comfort, and he takes advantage while he can, brushing his lips across the shell of your ear with a whisper. “Daddy loves you.���

[jellyfishsthings]

I have a grandchild?

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd liked to think he wore many masks.

The city knew him as Red Hood. To his brothers, he was the snarky, trigger-happy one. To Bruce, a question mark with a temper. But every Tuesday and Thursday, in a tidy, sun-filled classroom, he was something else entirely:

Mr. Jay.

He taught third grade English Lit. Paperbacks. Book fairs. Glitter-covered essays. Small chairs. Lots of stickers.

And somehow? He loved it.

Jason never expected to find peace in a room full of tiny, chaotic humans, but here he was—"Mister Jay" to twenty-four third-graders at Gotham Academy’s lower school, reading Charlotte’s Web with more expression than he thought humanly possible.

He wore cardigans now. He drank peppermint tea. He even had a bulletin board labeled "Our Word Wall."

And he hadn’t told a soul in his family

Not because he was ashamed—he actually liked it. He liked the simplicity, the structure, the way little Brian Jennings waved at him with both hands every morning and offered him a friendship bracelet made of rainbow rubber bands. He liked the chaos he could understand for once.

“Okay, who can tell me what the monster in Where the Wild Things Are really represents?”

Rory’s hand shot up first—Rory with wild curls, a constant sprinkle of glitter on her cheeks, and a reading level two grades above her age.

Jason grinned. “Hit me, Rory.”

“His FEELINGS. Because Max was MAD and monsters are mad feelings!”

“You nailed it.” Jason gave her a fist bump. “A plus level insight. Someone write that down.”

Rory beamed like she’d just won an Oscar.

It started during the fall parent-teacher conference, when you arrived ten minutes late, breathless and apologetic, your daughter’s glitter-covered backpack slung over your shoulder.

Jason took one look at you—coffee-stained shirt, wild bun, tired eyes and soft voice—and immediately short-circuited.

“Sorry—my car wouldn’t start, and then I had to stop Rory from feeding goldfish crackers to a raccoon.”

Jason blinked. Smiled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

“Sorry again,” you huffed, taking a seat. “I’ve had a long day.”

He blinked. “No problem. Uh, Rory’s doing great.”

You sighed in relief. “She talks about you all the time. Mr. Jay says this, Mr. Jay says that. I was starting to think she liked you more than me.”

Jason laughed—and it was a real one, the kind that crept into his ribs and stayed. “Don’t worry, she just likes that I let them write haikus about dragons.”

“Haikus?”

“Very serious educational practice.”

You smiled. Something clicked into place.

It started slow. A cup of coffee after conferences. A chat outside after school pickup. Then, one Saturday, he ran into you and Rory at the Gotham public library. Rory sprinted into his legs, squealing “MISTER JAY!!!” loud enough to startle nearby birds.

That day ended with the three of you at a bakery. Rory passed out with a cookie in her hand. You gave him a look—surprised, amused, softened—and said, “She’s never warmed up to someone like this.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Just wrapped Rory’s scarf tighter and said, “She’s a good kid.”

What he meant was: I’d do anything to keep her happy.

Jason fell hard. Harder than he’d fallen in years. He kept it quiet at first, didn’t want to spook you with his baggage, didn’t want Bruce to send a drone overhead and ���investigate” why his second-oldest son was skipping crime fighting for PTA meetings.

He just wanted this one thing for himself.

And somehow, it worked.

You dated quietly. Rory loved him instantly. He helped her with spelling words and listened to her detailed theories about dragons living in Gotham’s sewer systems. He fixed your heater when it broke and always remembered your favorite snacks.

By the time spring rolled around, he was yours, completely.

Jason was...gone. Just absolutely a goner. He’d found a rhythm in the chaos—dinner with you, homework with Rory, bedtime stories, and night patrol. It was weird and messy and full of glitter.

And it was home.

He was there when Rory lost her first tooth. When she scraped her knee on the playground and insisted only Mister Jay could clean it. When she had a nightmare and called him, not you, because "Daddy Jay fights monsters."

He didn’t correct her. Not once.

You saw it—how she clung to him, how he always bent to her level, how she crawled into his lap like it was the safest place on earth.

You asked him once, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason kissed your forehead. “She’s my kid, too. Blood or not.”

So when you had an emergency work trip and your usual babysitter canceled, you didn’t even hesitate.

“You sure you don’t mind watching her overnight?” you asked, handing him a list of instructions and emergency contacts longer than a novel.

“Go save the world, I have this covered.” 

You kissed his cheek, hugged Rory tight, and left.

“Alright,” Jason turned to her. “Movie or fort?”

Rory’s eyes sparkled. “BOTH.”

Jason kissed your cheek. “She’s my favorite kid. We’re going to build a pillow fort and eat suspicious amounts of mac and cheese. Go save the day.”

What neither of you accounted for... was Bruce Wayne.

Two hours later, the living room was a pillow apocalypse. Jason wore a glitter crown and had his nails painted purple. Rory was asleep, snuggled in his hoodie, soft snores muffled under a blanket castle.

It started at 6:37 p.m., when Bruce—who was supposed to be on a League mission—showed up at Jason’s apartment.

The door creaked open.

Jason glanced up.

And froze.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway.

“I need to talk to you about the armory in Blüdhaven,” Bruce said, standing in the doorway like the world’s most dramatic bat.

“Uh.” Jason didn’t move. “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the bright pink tiara sitting crookedly on his hair. The glitter smearing his cheeks. The empty sippy cup peeking out of his pocket.

Jason, his Jason, was wearing a pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and holding a bowl of glitter slime, staring at him dumbfounded. “Now?”

Then Rory ran into the room with a towel-cape tied around her shoulders. “JAY. THE UNICORN IS UNDER ATTACK.”

She froze when she saw Bruce.

Bruce froze when he saw her.

There was a long, loaded silence.

Jason opened his mouth.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “...Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory looked up at Jason and whispered, “Is that Batman?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, that’s Batman.”

“COOL,” she whispered loudly.

“She looks like you,” Bruce said.

“WHAT?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you WHAT?!”

“That you have a child.”

“She’s not—! I mean—! I’m babysitting!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! She’s not mine!”

A pause. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Daddy Jay?”

Jason died.

Bruce looked like he had transcended.

“She calls you—”

“She’s SIX and I READ TO HER. It’s a TITLE OF AFFECTION, not a PATERNITY CLAIM!”

“She has your nose.”

Jason screamed, his arms wildly flailing. “She has a BUTTON NOSE!”

Bruce just stated “I expect pictures at Christmas.”

Rory interrupted cheerfully, “He’s dating my mom!”

Bruce looked like he aged ten years in one second.

“...You’re dating a civilian... with a child… and didn’t tell me?”

“She’s not mine!” Jason repeated, clutching the slime bowl like a lifeline. “I’m just babysitting!”

Rory handed Bruce a plastic tiara. “Do you want to be the princess or the dragon?”

Bruce stared at it. Then at Jason.

Jason shrugged helplessly.

Bruce sighed. “Dragon.”

When you came back the next morning, you were greeted by a sight you would never forget:

Jason, asleep on the couch, Rory curled up beside him like a cat. The apartment was a war zone of glitter, tiaras, and cookie crumbs.

And Bruce Wayne, sitting in a tiny plastic chair at Rory’s tea table, wearing a paper crown and reading a bedtime story.

He looked up at you. “She made me tea.”

You blinked. “Is it real tea?”

“No. It’s glue and glitter water.”

“Ah.”

“She named me Sparkle Dragon.”

You smiled. “Fitting. What happened?”

“Your kid called me Daddy Jay. In front of Bruce.”

You blinked. “Okay. And?”

“He thinks she’s my biological daughter.”

“... Did you correct him?”

Jason stared at you. “She said I have her nose. Bruce believed her.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “Well... she has told people you’re her ‘real’ dad since February.”

Jason groaned into his hands.

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay. Honestly... I don’t mind. You are kind of her dad.”

Jason looked up.

You met his eyes. “You show up. You care. You paint her nails and make dragon haikus and fight the blender when she wants smoothies. That’s more than biology.”

Jason’s chest tightened. Then softened.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you more”

Jason opened one eye. “Tell me you brought coffee.”

You laughed. “Only if you tell me why Batman is babysitting my child.”

Jason sighed into the pillow. “Long story.”

Bruce stood. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a menace,” Jason mumbled fondly.

Rory woke up and shouted, “GLITTER PANCAKES?”

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[sinner-as-saint]

dark desire and tainted bliss

Bucky x Reader 

Summary: Hiring you as his assistant was the best and the worst thing Bucky had done. He knew he shouldn’t be doing the things he was doing. He knew he shouldn’t have offered you to just live in the tower because it’s easier. He knows that this obsession of his will only breed problems. But the heart wants what it wants. And what Bucky wants, he gets. 

Themes: stalker!bucky, dom!bucky, explicit language, smut, mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

“Show me her room.” 

He ordered the AI upon entering his own room. Nothing happened in this tower without Bucky knowing about it. Which meant that he had access to everything, every floor, every room. He didn’t have eyes in any of the bedrooms, except for one. Yours. 

He never did anything wrong, Bucky reasoned with himself, he just liked to know that you were on your floor, in your room safe and sound. Sometimes he liked to just sit back and watch you work as you replied to emails and calls from your bed. Sometimes he liked to just watch you read. Or watched as you video called your friends, or as you scrolled on your phone and shopped for useless things. 

It calmed him down, and he only watched for a few minutes at a time. Just a few minutes wasn’t a crime, right? 

Bucky walked over to his desk, placing a palm down on the table, he leaned over and stared at the screen of his computer which displayed the live feed from the hidden camera in your bedroom. Yeah, he knew he should’ve never placed that camera there. He knew it was wrong. But he just wanted to see you all the time. And yes you were almost always around him and the team during the day, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. 

So he watched. His eyes fixed on the screen as he watched you walk around your spacious room. How you disappeared into the bathroom and he knew you would only step out about half an hour later. So he walked away from his desk, hoping into the shower as well. 

It was Friday, so lazy night in for you. You never went out on Fridays, you preferred to stay in and read or watch movies. Bucky knew that. 

When he stepped out of the shower, he walked over to his desk again. And saw you disappearing into your walk-in closet. 

He let out a sigh. If only he could just be there with you. It would make things so much easier, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t even have to pay him any extra attention, he just wanted to be in the same room as you. He just wanted– 

Bucky’s brain stopped functioning all together when you stepped out of the closet. His heart skipped a beat when he realised that you were wearing something really familiar. 

His hoodie. Which he hasn’t seen in about a week or so. Bucky frowned, wondering how that could have happened… Maybe laundry got mixed up? But then, why would you still keep it? You must know it was his, you’d seen him working out or going out for runs in it multiple times, right? So why would you still wear it…? 

You looked perfect in it too. Hood on and everything. So perfect all he wanted to do was gather you in his arms and savour your warmth. And it was all nice and sweet, Bucky felt all warm inside as he watched you walk around your room, in his hoodie, watering your little plants and tidying up as you went. He should step away now. He thought. He should stop watching. He should. 

But he didn’t. He sat down eventually at his desk and watched. Like it was the most entertaining thing to watch you live your life. 

And oh was he in for a surprise… 

Around your regular bedtime, you slid into bed as usual. And fussed around with the pillows for a few minutes until it felt just right. Bucky smiled as he watched you create your little cosy nest before sliding in there. You left the soft night light on which he liked because… well, it would be hard to see you in pitch darkness. 

Anyway, he watched you toss and turn until you lay completely still for a moment. Bucky frowned when he watched you reach for your phone again. You clicked a couple of times and out of nowhere, Bucky could hear soft feminine moans coming from your phone. 

His jaw dropped. He’d been watching you for quite a while now and he’d never seen you watch porn. He always just assumed you got your fix from those smutty books you liked. So this was… new. And it tormented him. Because if he was there with you, you wouldn’t need porn, would you? 

And he could hear the video loud and clear too. He could make out some words amidst all the moaning and skin slapping. Daddy… bunny… good girl… 

Still, he watched. He watched as your hands slid in between your legs. You were under the covers so he couldn’t see much except for the look on your face and the soft movement of your hand under the covers. Fuck… his own hand drifted downward until he had his fingers wrapped around his cock. Stroking it gently. Soft strokes, matching the pace of your wrist. 

Bucky watched as your face contorted in pleasure, as your lips parted when you began breathing deeper, how your hips moved along with your wrist, and fuck… he was dying. This was pure torture. His brain stopped working because all he could register was you touching yourself in your cosy, comfortable bed, while wearing his hoodie– 

Bucky stopped and stood up. His hoodie, huh? The devious plan formed in his head before his rational part could stop it. It was his hoodie, he should probably go get it back, right? 

He was at your door, knocking on it before he could talk himself out of it. What? He was here for his favourite hoodie. He had every right to get it back. 

And he had to hide his smirk when you opened the door, looking all disheveled. Panting and eyes wild as you stood there at your bedroom door, wearing nothing but his hoodie. Bucky discretely checked out your legs, but maintained his composure. He didn’t let it show how much he wanted those wrapped around his neck– 

“Sergeant Barnes,” Your breathless voice was driving him insane. “What, uh, what can I do for you?” 

You never stumbled upon your words. So this was new to him too. He made you nervous and he liked it. 

“Hey,” He said, sounding just like he always did. For now, he was able to keep the hungry animal in him caged. Not for long though, not when you looked at him like that. “I think our laundry got mixed up. I was,” He made a show of letting his eyes look down at the hoodie you were wearing, “looking for that actually.” He pointed at the hoodie. 

He held back another smirk as he watched you search for an excuse. 

“Oh? Oh I didn’t realise… um, you want it back right now? Or…?” You couldn’t even act dumb. You were a smart girl. Of course you realised what you were wearing wasn’t yours. “I could–,” 

Poor baby. Bucky couldn’t pretend any longer, so he cut you off by stepping into your room and shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the closed door and gave you a look that had you stammering again. 

“Oh come on,” He spoke softly, loving the surprised look on your face. It turned him on actually, seeing you so flustered. “We both know you’re smarter than this. And we both know what you were doing just now before I knocked on your door.” 

You gasped, frozen for a moment. “What?” 

Bucky quickly added, “Super soldier hearing, remember?” 

You tried to hide your face by lowering it, but Bucky grabbed you by the chin and tilted your face up before you could hide. 

“So? Touching yourself while wearing my hoodie?” He chuckled, the power he had in the moment getting to his head. “I think it’s kinda mean how you didn’t even offer to let me watch…” He paused before adding, lowering his voice even more, “Huh, little bunny?” 

The look on your face was priceless. It only made his smirk grow wider. 

“Bucky–,” 

He cut you off quickly, “No, no. It’s daddy.” 

–

Well, shit. 

How did you find yourself in this situation? Yes of course you’d known it was his hoodie. And yes it had accidentally made its way to your room. But it was so soft when you grabbed it earlier. It smelled clean, like laundry detergent and something so manly that you couldn’t resist. So you put it on. 

And having the fabric rub all over your naked body underneath, plus thoughts of the hoodie’s very handsome owner, didn’t help at all. It felt like you were in a dream, because Bucky was here. And shirtless. He was actually here and he’d heard you masturbating? 

“I’m sorry, I–,” 

“Shh,” He cut you off again. “I didn’t say you had to apologise.” He pulled you closer, your body pressing against his bare chest. “Did I, bunny?” 

You shook your head immediately. “No.” You whispered quietly. Something in the tone of his voice made you want to rub your face all over his chest and neck and purr like a kitten. What? 

“No, what?” He demanded. 

You hesitated, but still mumbled a quiet, “No, daddy.” 

“Good girl.” He said, smirking. “Now, let’s take care of you, yeah?” 

Next thing you knew, you were being pushed down on your bed. Right on top of the pile of pillows you liked to sleep with. He pinned you down by your throat while he stared down into your eyes. His metal fingers cold against your skin. 

His eyes wild and ocean blue. “Pull it up, don’t take it all the way off.” He ordered, referring to his hoodie. “Just pull it up. Let me see those pretty tits.” 

You did. Tucking the bunched up material under your chin as you let him see your bare chest. 

“So pretty.” He murmured, his warm fingers reaching out to tease a nipple. “Why’d you always keep them hidden from me, hmm?” He pinched a nipple, tugging on it. “I wanna see them often, you hear me, bunny? You’ll show daddy your pretty tits every day from now on, won’t you?” 

You could hear your heartbeats echoing in your ears. “Yes, daddy.” 

“That’s my good girl.” 

Bucky held your stare as he pulled away to lower his sweatpants. His hand was back around your throat as he parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out. “Got yourself nice and wet right before I got here, huh bunny?” He taunted. “That’s why I’m able to just fucking slide in like you were made for it.” 

Your soft whimpers only fueled his desire to fuck you hard and fast, but he waited. 

“Does daddy’s cock feel better than your fingers, bunny?” He questioned, knowing damn well you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you that he wondered if you could even think straight. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you, little bunny. Stealing my hoodie, and touching yourself while wearing it. And you wouldn’t even tell me about it, would you? You would’ve just showed up to work tomorrow and pretend nothing happened, huh?” He taunted through gritted teeth. Leaning over your squirming body he said, “From now on, I want you to tell me, okay? I want you to tell me each time you touch yourself. You hear me, bunny?” 

You nodded quickly. 

“Good.” He kissed your nose, “I’m gonna fuck you now, is that okay?” 

You whined in need, then nodded again. 

Bucky smirked as he dug his knees into the mattress before fucking into you hard and fast. 

There was nothing gentle about him. He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear, “You feel so fucking good, bunny.” He chuckled, “Look at you, all nice and open for me. You didn’t even put up a fight. You don’t even care your boss is fucking you, do you? Hmm? All you care about is getting fucked by daddy’s cock, huh?” 

You were a moaning mess under him. “Yes… please.” It was all too overwhelmingly good, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you like that was its only purpose… 

You whimpered desperately as Bucky moaned right in your ear, the sound of his moan making your heart flutter. 

He sped up into you, mumbling, “You’re daddy’s little bunny, aren’t you? Say it. Tell me you’re mine.” He whispered in your ear, in a daze as he pounded into you. “Say it.” 

You cried out, “I’m all yours…” 

“Good bunny.” He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “You’re all mine. And this is where I’ll be every fucking night from now on, you hear me? I want you in bed, with your legs fucking spread just like this for me each time I walk in here.” 

You nodded, holding his stare. 

He shook his head, “No, no, no. Say it. Say ‘yes daddy, I understand’, come on bunny, say it.” 

“Yes daddy, I understand.” 

“Good fucking girl.” He moaned as he fucked deeper into you.

Your body squirmed under him, your back arching off the bed, you were burning with need and your body craved him even more. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, swallowing all your moans as he came inside of you. You felt his warm load shooting at your walls as he shoved his tongue past your lips. You cried out as that triggered your orgasm, and your walls clenched violently around him until you came undone as well. 

Your brain was a foggy mess at this point. 

“Not done with you,” He mumbled. 

He flipped you around and pulled you onto your hands and knees and pushed into you again from behind. The pile of pillows keeping you in place for him. You moaned out loud, unable to hold back as you surrendered to him completely. 

“Fuck, bunny,” He growled. “You’re so warm… such a pretty girl. I need some more, okay?” 

Bucky gripped your hips and slid inside you again. 

“Fuck…” He hissed, pounding in and out of you incessantly. You whimpered as both his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him harshly each time, speeding up until you were a moaning mess again, barely having recovered from the previous round. “All of you is fucking perfect, huh?” 

Your voice was strained and hoarse as you moaned and whimpered under him, coming undone again in no time. 

Bucky chuckled in a cocky way as he came inside you again. “You come so fast, bunny.” He commented, “What is it? Daddy’s cock too much for you? Hmm? Are you so sensitive?” He pulled his cock out of you and just stared. His cum leaking out of you while you closed your eyes and panted under him, catching your breath. 

And you, still in his hoodie. Oh, he loved what he was seeing. 

He slipped his fingers back into you and loved the sound you made as he fingered his cum into you again, making you arch your back and whine in pleasure, “Please…” you whined, “Please, daddy… it’s so–,” 

“What?” He barked, shoving his fingers deeper. “You don’t tell me how to play with you, bunny. You hear me? I’ll make you come again if I want to.” 

You whimpered, “I can’t… please.” 

Bucky scoffed. “Fine.” He pulled his fingers away and pulled you up, leaning in to kiss the side of your face, he said, “This stays between us, okay?” 

You nodded. “Okay.” Obviously, you weren’t gonna tell anyone. 

“Now, time for bed. And keep the hoodie.” He kissed your cheek again. “You earned it, bunny.” 

[radiomogai]

[IMAGE IDS:

Image 1: a 9 striped flag. From top to bottom: a white, frilled stripe. A orangish-red stripe. A sky blue stripe. A minty teal stripe. A thin purple stripe. A green-teal stripe. A pastel blue stripe. A goldish-yellow stripe. A white, frilled stripe.

Image 2: the flag from image 2, with a cloud/thought bubble symbol in the middle.

Image 3: the flag from image 2, with a teal anemo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 4: the flag from image 2, with a yellow geo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 5: the flag from image 2, with a purple electro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 6: the flag from image 2, with a green Dendro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 7: the flag from image 2, with a blue hydro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 8: the flag from image 2, with a red pyro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 9: the flag from image 2, with a pale blue cryo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

END ID]

IDs pasted from under the cut for archival and accessibility purposes.

Wake up creetures new flag (img desc under cut)

Genshin Impact / Teyvat Paracosm Flag

[pt: Genshin Impact/Teyvat Paracosm Flag]

“A Paracosm Flag for those who’s Paracosm(s) is/resembles the world of Genshin Impact/Teyvat”

This flag is intended for those with Maladaptive Daydreaming or Immersive Daydreaming, but can be used by anyone with a Paracosm.

Tags/credit: Symbol Credit (link), Flag Template Credit @vocaloidgender (dm if want removed)

Self indulgent, may make more!

Color meanings

[pt: color meanings]

First White Stripe: any perception of the Genshin Impact/Teyvat universe. Including Au, Kin, Selfship, Irl/DA interpretations.

Red: Pyro / Natlan / Mavuika + The Pyro Archons and Sovereigns / Pyro characters

Blue: Hydro / Fontaine / Furina + Egeria + Neuvilette / Hydro Characters

Teal: Anemo / Mondstadt / Venti + The Anemo Sovereigns / Anemo Characters

Purple: Electro / Inazuma / Raiden Shogun + The Electro Archons and Sovereigns / Electro Characters

Green: Dendro / Sumeru / Nahida + Rukkhadevata + Apep / Dendro Characters

Light Blue: Cryo / Snezhnaya / The Tsaritsa + The Cryo Sovereigns / Cryo Characters

Yellow: Geo / Liyue / Zhongli + Azdaha / Geo Characters

Second White Stripe: Kinda a three for one- this stripe represents 1. Khan’ria and Celestia, and any other nation (canon/fanon). 2. The many different factions of Teyvat (The Fatui, The Treasure Hoarders, The Adepti, The Knights of Favonius, etc). 3. The Visionless, those who have powers without Vision/different from vision magic, and physical strength.

The colors were reference from the vision icons seen in the flag below.

Element/Vision Vers:

[IMAGE IDS:

Image 1: a 9 striped flag. From top to bottom: a white, frilled stripe. A orangish-red stripe. A sky blue stripe. A minty teal stripe. A thin purple stripe. A green-teal stripe. A pastel blue stripe. A goldish-yellow stripe. A white, frilled stripe.

Image 2: the flag from image 2, with a cloud/thought bubble symbol in the middle.

Image 3: the flag from image 2, with a teal anemo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 4: the flag from image 2, with a yellow geo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 5: the flag from image 2, with a purple electro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 6: the flag from image 2, with a green Dendro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 7: the flag from image 2, with a blue hydro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 8: the flag from image 2, with a red pyro symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

Image 9: the flag from image 2, with a pale blue cryo symbol from genshin impact in the middle.

END ID]

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw implication, enemies to lovers, kinda bitchy reader,

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the poor college boy who’s struggling to get used to dorm life and his loud neighbor who isn’t making matters any better.

He has never been shy about telling someone off. People should have the common decency not to blast their infernal music so loud that the entire dorm shakes. And you, whoever you may be, are no exception—he thinks while pounding on your door with his fist. Fuck knows if you can even hear him over your speakers.

But lo and behold and despite all odds, you open up.

“Excuse me, can you turn it down?” His words might be polite, but his voice is anything but—glaring down at you… who quickly turned out to be a girl… 

Yeah, definitely not the idiot ass-hat with the shitty body odor he was expecting. But a pretty girl in a short tank top without a bra and booty shorts so tight and short he would think you’d bought them ten years ago.

“It’s eight?” You raise your brow at him, face otherwise dull.

Okay, so you weren't what he was expecting. And sure, it might make his throat a little tight, among other things. But still, he not going to let it change anything. 

“Yeah, I’m tryna study.” 

That was a lie. He was actually about to go to bed. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. Judging by the way you were looking at him, he’d say you’d just laugh and slam the door in his face. Maybe even turn the volume up to spite him.

Not that telling you he was studying was any better.

“There’s something called a library for that sorta thing,” you drawl.

He’s right—you’re the sardonic type. There’s usually no use fighting with people like you, but still, he must stand his ground and insist, “Yeah, well, I prefer my room.”

You reply in kind, smiling now with a short excuse for a laugh, “Oh, what do you know, me too.”

You’re a little hard to read. That felt like sarcasm, but it wasn’t all that easy to tell. He’s mostly certain you couldn't care less, but at the same time, you’d humored him this long. So, maybe…

“You’ll turn it down then?”

As expected. You just laugh and shut the door in his face.

He stands there for a moment. You must be blowing your eardrums sitting in there. He thinks about knocking again, maybe dropping some of the politeness this time and demanding you turn it down.

But he ends up going back to his room. He decides then to wait another hour, thinking you might come to your senses despite your poor attitude. But at zero point, do you turn your music down by even a single lousy notch. 

Lying in his room, he’s hoping someone else might come by and tell you off. That maybe then you’d listen.

But a couple more minutes later, he realizes he can’t wait for that to happen and decides to test his luck again. Abruptly springing from his bed, he marches over to your room. Doing as he did last time, nearly kicking your door in with his banging.

“Oh my god, dude, what is your problem!?” you bark once seeing him.

And his eye nearly twitches in turn. “My problem? Really? You’re one to talk!”

You gape at him, both glaring at the other. 

“It’s eight-thirty. What? Is it your bedtime or something?”

“No. But I would appreciate it if I could hear myself think in my own room!”

“Oh? Well, maybe you should call your mommy and cry about it!”

Again, all you do is slam the door in his face. However, this time, you skip the laugh and settle for a simple yet efficient grimace that lets him know you’ll not be answering the door again.

Several days pass. He caved and invested in a pair of noise-canceling headphones. But still, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep when he wanted. But suppose that wasn’t all your fault. To be honest, he’d probably be struggling either way, with or without your music. It’s not easy living in a new place. 

It’s lonely, too.

But that can’t be helped. At least not for him. He’s not too good at trying to make friends. And yet, there’s someone at the door. 

Three firm knuckle knocks let him know. But who it might be is anyone’s guess. Still, he begrudgingly answers.

“Oh… so this is you, huh…” 

It’s you—the hot but nasty girl next door, wearing that same pair of shorts he’s been thinking about every day without wanting to. 

You don’t seem too pleased to see him either, even when you’d been the one to knock. 

“Ugh…” You look around, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly before gritting your teeth and finally mustering up enough gall to actually spit out what you’d come there for. “You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver or something?”

This time, it’s him who raises his eyebrow. “Or something?” he repeats. “What would that be exactly?”

You scoff then, about to leave, grumbling out, “Never mind–” but he interjects before you’re fully turned around.

“Wait there.” 

It’s to both of your surprise when he disappears into his room.

He isn’t gone long before he’s back with a screwdriver. 

“Here.”

You don’t say anything, just rudely rush to grab it without even looking at him, but when you pull it to yourself, you’re pulled back, stuck to the same spot. He holds onto the other end, looking you right in your shocked eyes.

“You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone does something for you.”

You look flushed—a little chagrined, maybe—but ultimately, you can’t really argue with it, mumbling out a bitter “Thanks.”

He smiles then, chuckles even. Not nicely. Smugly. 

Admittedly, it’s not his best moment, but who can blame him? You haven’t exactly been so nice yourself. Right now, he can tell you almost feel like rejecting his offer altogether, but that refusing at this point would be too petty so you just have to grin and bear it. 

It’s actually kind of cute.

“Bring it back once you’re done,” he says, then lets go of you, and off you go, nearly stomping away.

He goes back to studying, shaking his head at you. You can’t have many friends either with that attitude. Suppose you have that in common.

Sometime later there’s a frustrated scream coming from the other room. Then, the sound of a door handle roughly getting yanked, someone storming down the short distance of the corridor before throwing his door open unannounced.

“Your useless screwdriver isn’t doing its stupid job!” you yell in a whine, almost throwing the tool at him where he sits by his desk. It lands in his bed next to him instead.

You look utterly disheveled at this point. Dewy-faced and frustrated, hair a total mess and even hotter still. It’s really unfair. How come a bitchy brat like you looks like that, even when you’re a wreck? It shouldn't be allowed.

“I highly doubt it’s the screwdriver's fault. You positive it’s the useless one?”

This time, you just growl without words before turning on your heel, about to stomp out the same way you’d arrived—but again, he finds himself stopping you for whatever reason he still can’t understand.

“Wait.” He gets up from his chair and picks up the screwdriver you’d chucked. “Le’mme have a look.”

You shake your head with a scoff, “No way. I’m not letting you in my room.”

“You didn’t seem so reserved when you came barging into mine.” Ignoring you, he walks straight past you.

“Wait–” you protest, but he doesn't bother. 

He just opens your door and reveals the breakdown you’d had just earlier. Having but one word to ascribe to the scene.

“Wow.”

Suppose you were both in your own right struggling with acclimating to dorm life…

“It’s not my fault I’m not a carpenter or whatever. The instructions said it was simple,” you excuse the mess of planks and screws and bits all belonging to your unassembled wardrobe among all the clothes that are meant to be in it. “They lied.”

He scratches his neck, feeling a little bad for you despite everything. This would take anyone over an hour—probably even more, to be honest. Even if you managed on your own, you’d have a hard time pushing it into place. Not that it’s any of his business. But hey… if he played his cards right, maybe he could get something out of this in the end.

“Alright. I’ll make you a deal,” he says then, folding his arms upon his chest while looking down at you. “I’ll set this up for you.” He leans down, that same smug smile from before plastered on his face as he comes with his condition, “If you promise to lower your music after eight.”

Honestly, with your looks, you could probably knock on just about anyone else's door and ask for their help instead. They probably wouldn’t ask anything in return. But hey, can’t blame a guy for trying.

And to his surprise, you actually seem to think about it. Maybe you’re one of those girls without a clue. You even do this cute thing where you chew your lip in thought, a furrow between your brows. 

You look up at him when you’re finished. “Ten.”

You’re bargaining with him now? He was expecting you to say something like fat chance. But no, you’re really that desperate.

He thinks about agreeing but then doesn’t. No, it might be a little scummy of him, but since he’s gotten this far, he might as well keep the act up and stand his ground. 

“Eight,” he insists.

And you’re face scrunches as you fold, going down to “Nine.”

But no, following the same logic that had worked for him up until now, he still doesn’t budge. “Eight.”

You purse your lips, and he thinks he’s blown it, that you’re just about ready to bark at him to get the fuck out. But you don’t. Instead, you become even cuter. Giving in with a sigh, “Okay, fine.”

He honestly can’t believe it. Though his face shows no shock, he’s dumbfounded on the inside. He can’t believe that worked. Here’s this chick who all but told him to go fuck himself just a few days ago, now all but begging him for his help. Or no, begging is a strong word, but still.

He has to go back into his room and fetch the rest of his toolbox. Turned out you did need an or-something—a drill. No wonder you weren’t managing. But after a little over an hour of tinkering while you lay on your bed reading a magazine—and at some point asking you if it was okay if he removed his shirt before he died of heatstroke, then bothering you for a drink—it was finally finished.

“Alright, all done.” He announced, and after sliding it into place for you, he clapped his hands together and said, “Ta-dah.”

He then takes a look at his wristwatch, wanting to see how long he’d spent, but comes away with another fun discovery.

“My my, would you look at the time?” he grins again, showing it to you. “Just passed eight.”

It makes him snicker. And not expecting a thank you after that comment, he just gathers his tools and slings his shirt over his shoulder, ready to excuse himself. 

“Let me know if you need a cup of sugar, neighbor.” 

He’s just about to open the door when you speak up.

“Thanks, but I'm good on sugar, actually.” 

Your voice is a little different this time—not annoyed, though not chagrined like earlier either—no, something new. Something that makes him turn around again. 

You’ve rolled off the bed, now standing just a short distance away, hips tilted, standing slanted with your arms crossed loosely, wearing those same tight little short shorts he’s never seen you without but could definitely picture on the floor.

Yeah, in his wildest dreams, or so he thought…

“I might need some help breaking in my bed, though, if you’re interested.” 

You step closer, sizing him up where he stands, and then you smile, offering him a small coy laugh. “That is, of course, if it’s not already passed your bedtime.”

He swallows thickly—nearly drops the toolbox to the floor but manages to keep his cool, though just barely.

“No, I think I can help you with that.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Touya, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Megumi, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Karasu ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi, Genya ♡ WB – Sakura, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless: Baby Bang

Bang Chan x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader is pregnant (just that, nothing deep)

Genre: established relationship, flufffff

Summary: You've been distant lately, and Chan can't understand why. Because this is very unusual for the two of you as you two are on each other all the time. And Chan panics as you guys are getting married in a few months, and this sudden change is unraveling him.

Clueless Masterlist

Chan paced the living room, a deep frown etched into his forehead. You hadn’t touched him in days. Weeks, actually. That alone was already a catastrophe, considering the fact that you two were basically like bunnies.

But now? Nothing. You were dodging his touches like he was contagious. He reached for your hand? Oh, look, you suddenly needed both hands to text someone. He tried for a kiss? Whoops, you conveniently yawned. Bedtime? You were already asleep. 

And that diamond ring glittering on your ring finger? It made him wonder if you were regretting saying yes to him already.

He’d spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe was punishing him for something he didn't even know he did.

Chan sighed and opened the group chat. This was bad. He needed to vent.

Chan: She’s avoiding me.

A rapid barrage of notifications followed, and Chan barely had time to process one before another arrived. 

Minho: Y/N? The one who’s practically glued to your lap 24/7?

Hyunjin: LMAO. Not possible. I won't believe it.

Seungmin: You obviously did something.

Chan: NO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!

Chan: She’s been acting weird for WEEKS. 2 weeks to be exact. No kisses. No hugs. No… anything.

Jisung: No sex? BRO. Are you okay?

Felix: What if she’s planning something? Like a surprise? Maybe a wedding thing?

---

Chan paused. That was… not unreasonable. But no. You’d never kept secrets from him before. Like you've given him enough surprises before so he knew this was different.

---

Minho: OR. She’s finally come to her senses about you seducing her into saying yes? 

Chan: Minho. I will come to your house and end you.

Jeongin: But seriously, hyung. Did you say something? Do something? Forget an important date? You’re kind of a workaholic.

---

That hit a little too close to home. Chan frowned, scrolling back through his mental timeline of your relationship.

---

Chan: I didn’t forget anything. I swear. We were fine until a couple weeks ago, and now she’s avoiding me like the plague.

Changbin: Well. There’s only one logical explanation.

Changbin: She’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone.

Jisung: YES. I second this. The real Y/N would NEVER do this. 

Felix: Omg guys! 

Chan: GUYS.

Hyunjin: Okay. What if she’s mad because you’re not initiating? She’s waiting for you to grovel.

Seungmin: That makes no sense. If she’s mad, why not just say so?

Hyunjin: IDK, some people like drama.

Jeongin: That’s your toxic trait, Hyung.

Hyunjin: IS NOT!

---

Chan groaned, dropping his phone onto the couch. He missed you. Like, really missed you. Sure, he wanted to rip your clothes off 90% of the time, but he also missed the simple things - your cuddles, your soft laugh, the way you’d always need him by your side when you're stressed. 

The cold shoulders and polite smiles were killing him.

---

Minho: Just confront her, idiot. Corner her in the kitchen and ask her what’s wrong.

Chan: You think I haven’t tried that?! Every time I ask, she changes the subject.

Jisung: Okay, hear me out. Seduction.

Chan: What?

Jisung: Set the mood. Candles. Sexy music. Flex those ridiculous arms. She won’t stand a chance.

Felix: Worth a try. 

---

That night, Chan put the "seduction plan" into action. He dimmed the lights, skipped the candles, and put on a romantic playlist. He even went full drama, lounging on the couch with his shirt conveniently unbuttoned.

When you walked in, your eyebrows shot up as you asked, “What's up?”

Chan said nothing, just held held his hand out.  You froze, guilt flashing across your face, and Chan knew he had you. You placed your hand on his and let him pull you close.

“Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked, and that set you off.

Your eyes filled with tears, and in an instant you were in his lap, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Channie! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Then why -”

“Shhh,” Chan fell silent as you pressed a finger to his lips. “Just know that I love you, Channie.”

Chan was suspicious. Because, well, you’d shut him up in the best way possible, last night - all he remembered was his shirt coming off and yeah.

You’d seduced him. Thoroughly. And while his brain had short-circuited at that time, he was now absolutely certain that you’d dodged his questions on purpose.

At least he can't complain about you not touching him anymore, right?

---

Chan: It didn't work.

Minho: WHAT didn't?

Chan: She kinda caught me off guard. And avoided my questions.

Jisung: I thought we agreed on YOU seducing her and you got seduced??

Felix: Soooo… you still don’t know what’s going on?

Chan: NO. She’s hiding something, I know it.

Hyunjin: Maybe you’re overthinking. Or, maybe she’s secretly a spy.

Changbin: She’s NOT a spy, Hyunjin. That’s ridiculous.

Hyunjin: And alien clones aren’t?

Minho: Why are we even helping you? You let her seduce you and then just… forgot your goal.

---

Chan groaned, flopping onto his back. It wasn’t his fault! He was weak when it came to you. All it took was a look, or a whisper of his name and his brain turned to mush.

Still, Minho had a point.

---

Chan: Okay, fine. What do I do now?

Felix: She’s probably just stressed? Weddings are a big deal. She might just need time to sort her thoughts.

That gave Chan pause. Weddings were stressful. Maybe that was it?

Hyunjin: My bet’s still on spy.

---

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick in your hand for the hundredth time now. You’d known for two weeks, but the reality hadn’t gotten any less terrifying.

You were pregnant. Pregnant. With Chan’s baby.

The thought sent your heart racing. You loved him more than anything, but… you’d never talked about kids. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he panics when you bring it up? 

There were only a few months until the wedding. You didn’t want to dump this on him now and risk throwing him into a spiral.

---

That night, Chan decided to take Minho’s advice (for once). No more distractions. He was getting answers tonight.

When you walked into the living room and his eyes locked onto yours - you froze. He looked so handsome, and a little…worn out? You felt so guilty for doing this. 

“Come sit,” he said, patting the couch beside him.

You hesitated, but complied, heart pounding.

“Baby, we need to talk,” Chan said, his voice soft but firm.

You swallowed hard as you murmured, “About what?”

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. And you obviously don't trust me enough to talk it out. I’m worried. What's going on? Is it the wedding?” He was giving you that puppy eyed look, and your heart shattered.

“No, Channie, it's not like that...”

“Then what is it? Please, just tell me.”

You opened your mouth, ready to spill everything - but then you panicked. The words caught in your throat, and instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Here he was - caught off guard (again) but quickly melting into the kiss. You climbed into his lap, your hands tangling in his hair, and within seconds, all thoughts of questioning were gone.

---

Chan: SHE DID IT AGAIN.

Minho: You’re hopeless.

Seungmin: At this rate, she could rob a bank and get away with it.

Felix: Honestly, I’m impressed.

---

Chan sighed, glaring at the group chat before throwing his phone across the bed. Whatever you were hiding, it was big. And he was determined to find out, one way or another.

Little did he know, in the bathroom, you were rehearsing how to tell him the truth: that in just a few months, he wasn’t just going to be your husband.

He was going to be a dad.

Chan was officially losing it. His imagination had gone to some very dark places (thanks to Changbin’s clone theory and Hyunjin’s spy nonsense), but now he just felt defeated. What was so big and terrifying, that you felt like you couldn’t share it with him?

Chan: I give up. She’s unbreakable.

Jisung: Hey don't lose hope.

Minho: Pathetic.

Jeongin: Just sit her down and don’t let her leave until she talks.

Chan: I’VE TRIED THAT.

Chan was ready to lock himself and you in a room till you cracked, but unfortunately he was already cracking under the stress. And then a lightbulb went off in his head. There was just one person in the world who might be able to get through to you.

Felix.

---

Felix was, to put it lightly, concerned when Chan cornered him in his kitchen.

“Lix, you have to help me,” Chan said, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Help you how?” Felix asked cautiously.

“Can you please try to talk to her?” Chan literally begs. “She loves you, Lix. Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask?”

Felix hesitated, torn between loyalty to Chan, who was literally his brother and his friendship with you. But ultimately, his desire to help won anyway.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

---

Later that afternoon, you opened the door to find Felix standing on your porch, holding a box of cookies and his sunniest smile. 

“Lixie?” you asked, surprised. “So good to see you!”

“Just wanted to check on you, love,” he said, coming forward to hug you.

You stepped aside to let him in, and the two of you settled on the couch.

“I baked these for you,” he said, watching your reaction closely as you opened the box and munched on a cookie immediately. “You’ve been looking a little stressed lately.”

You stopped mid-chew, guilt gnawing at you.

“I’m fine, Lix. Just… wedding stuff, you know?” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Is it really just the wedding?” Felix tilted his head, unconvinced.

You froze, your hands tightening around the box.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t judge.” Felix said, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over yours.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and as you put the box aside gently. Felix scooted closer as he saw the tears fall, and before you knew it, the truth came spilling out.

“I’m pregnant, Felix,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to tell Chan. We’ve never talked about kids, and I don’t even know if he wants them. And now the wedding’s so close, and I’m scared I’ll ruin everything. I already got my wedding dress and I don't think I'll fit into it anymore because by that time-”

Felix’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked like he might burst into tears himself. But then he let out a strangled laugh.

“You’re… you’re pregnant?”

You nodded, sniffled and managed a soft, “Yeah.”

Felix threw his arms around you, nearly knocking you over. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! I’m so happy for you! And for Chan! You’re gonna have the cutest baby in the world!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling with happy tears. 

You couldn’t help but laugh through your own tears. 

“You don't think this is a disaster?” you asked softly, wiping your tears away. 

“Disaster?” Felix pulled back, shaking his head. “Of course not. This is amazing! But you have to tell Chan. He’s going insane trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I just… I’m scared.”

Felix gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Chan loves you more than anything. Trust me, he’s gonna be over the moon. And I'll always be here for you. Seriously, sweetheart, this is the best news ever.”

---

Hyunjin: Well? Did she tell you?

Jisung: SPILL, FELIX.

Chan: Felix? Please. I’m dying here.

Felix hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He couldn’t betray your trust, but he also couldn’t leave Chan hanging.

Felix: She’s okay. She’s just… working through something.

Minho: And you’re being suspiciously vague.

Seungmin: Should've known that sending her best friend to investigate wasn't your strongest idea… obviously he's gonna take her side! 

Felix: I promised I wouldn’t say anything. But it’s nothing bad, I swear.

Chan: Seriously?? Nothing bad? Then why is she avoiding me?

Felix: Just… be patient with her, okay? She’ll tell you when she’s ready. I promise it's all ok. Trust me. 

Chan frowned at the message, his heart twisting.

You had spent the whole night rehearsing what to say to Chan, your stomach churning with nerves. Morning came far too quickly, and as you watched him shuffle into the kitchen with his hair messy and his sleepy face, you nearly chickened out.

But Felix’s words echoed in your head. He’s gonna be over the moon.

“Channie,” you said softly, placing your mug of tea aside and taking a step towards him. 

He looked up from the coffee maker, his sleepy eyes brightening instantly. You were trying to talk to him, and somehow that was enough. Anything was better than you avoiding him. 

“Morning, baby.”

You smiled nervously, gesturing to the table. “Can we talk?”

His brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face as he nodded and sat down opposite you.

“Is everything okay?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you said, “You know how I’ve been… weird lately?”

Chan nodded, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Well,” you continued, “there’s a reason for that. And I’ve been scared to tell you because it’s big. Like, really big.”

“Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I’ll handle it.” Chan said, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his.

Your eyes filled with tears as you finally said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Chan froze. Completely. His mouth hung open, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as his brain processed your words.

“You’re… pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, tears spilling over.

“Yeah. I found out a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with it, or if it was too much with the wedding coming up -”

Chan cut you off by pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His body shook as he let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and you realized he was crying.

“Channie, are you okay?” you asked nervously, your own voice shaking as you stroked his hair.

“Okay?” he choked out, pulling back to look at you with tear-streaked cheeks and the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Baby, I’m better than okay. I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the pure joy on his face.

Chan laughed, his tears flowing freely now.

“Holy crap. I don’t know what to say?! We’re having a baby. A baby!”

Before you could say anything else, Chan was  peppering your face with kisses, squeezing you in the tightest hug ever.

“I love you so much. Baby, you’re…I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own.” he said, cupping your cheeks with his hands. 

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” you admitted, clinging to him as he pulled you onto his lap. “And…I've never been more scared about anything my entire life? I mean, I adore you, and I know I want this with you, our baby already means the world to me…but not knowing if you would want that too? It's been killing me, we've never even joked about this before, Channie… “

“You could’ve told me sooner, baby,” he said softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “I thought we were clear about this, with you, I'm ready for anything! But I get it. And I love you even more for worrying about me. But baby, we’re in this together. Always.”

---

Chan: GUYS. I HAVE NEWS. HUGE NEWS 🤩

Jisung: Finally!! 

Hyunjin: I told you she's a spy!! No one ever listens to me!! 

Minho: He’s too happy for that, you idiot.

Chan: WE’RE HAVING A BABY.

Jeongin: Excuse me, WHAT?

Changbin: STOP. Really?! 

Seungmin: Wow, plot twist

Felix: Oh thank godddddd😭😭😭😭

Felix: I was dying here

Chan: SHE TOLD ME THIS MORNING. I’M GONNA BE A DAD. WE’RE GONNA BE PARENTS. OMG.

---

It felt like everytime he said it, it felt a little more real.

---

Jisung: Congratulations, bro. Wow. 

Hyunjin: I AM CRYING. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE REPRODUCING.

Chan: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Chan: MY BABYGIRL AND I ARE HAVING A BABY😭💖

Minho: Jokes aside, this is such great news!! Congrats. Now go take care of your pregnant fiancée instead of spamming us.

Chan: I think I'm gonna faint

Changbin: Congrats, bro. But also… HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE SHE WAS GOING THROUGH SOMETHING?

Chan: I NOTICED! I just didn't think she was, you know

Jisung: Avoiding you because she was growing your spawn, apparently.

Hyunjin: “Spawn” makes it sound like a little gremlin. Oh my Gawd 🤣

Felix: STOP. My baby’s gonna be so adorable I’ll CRY 😭

Minho: Okay, Felix, you’re suspiciously calm about this. Did you already know?

Felix: 👀

Hyunjin: YOU KNEW.

Chris: WHAT?? FELIX, YOU KNEW BEFORE ME?!

Felix: SHE TOLD ME FIRST, OKAY? SHE WAS NERVOUS, AND I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING.

Jisung: Wow. Betrayal.

Chan: SO YOU JUST LET ME SUFFER FOR WEEKS??

Felix: Yes. And? I'd do it again for her.

Changbin: LMAO savage.

Jeongin: Shame on you for trusting him when everyone knows he works for her

Chan: Thanks for being on her side, Lix

Felix: Anytime 💖

Hyunjin: Omg, imagine Baby Bang. Tiny curls, tiny dimples 😍

Chan: STOP I’M ALREADY CRYING AGAIN 😭

Jeongin: I've never been this excited for a baby really. You'd let us babysit won't you? 

Changbin: Oh yeah. Group uncle duty.

Hyunjin: We're gonna be dancing before we can even walk Baby Bang 🤝

Felix: For sure!

Chan: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING EXCITED FOR US!

Jisung: Save your tears for the wedding, Daddy Bang.

Jeongin: When do we throw a baby shower? Felix?

Felix: Already planning it.

Hyunjin: This baby’s gonna be so loved.

Chan: THANK YOU, GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL 😭

---

Chan added Y/N to the group chat.

Chan: SURPRISE, BABY! WELCOME TO THE CHAOS.

Jisung: AHHH THE QUEEN IS HERE!

Hyunjin: ALL HAIL THE BABY-MAKER 👑

Minho: Congrats on creating life and also tolerating Chan for this long.

Felix: YAYYYYYY YOU’RE HERE! 😭 We’ve been dying to have you here!!!

Jeongin: Thank you for gifting us Baby Bang. We promise to only slightly corrupt them.

Changbin: We’re all crying. I’m crying. Hyung is crying. Everyone’s crying.

Y/N:😂

Y/N: Oh my God, you guys.

Minho: This is us being tame.

Hyunjin: Soooo, what does it feel like, hm? Asking for research purposes, of course

Chan: Oh yeah, totally not gonna run off and impregnate someone 🙄

Hyunjin: What's it to you Christopher? You can do it, but I can't?! 

Chan: Oh please

Minho: I told her to get a collar for this damn puppy and look who's here yapping

Y/N: Leave him alone guys!

Hyunjin: I respect you, Y/N. I respect you. So I'm gonna shut up (Mr Know, let's do this face to face huh)

Minho: Gladly.

Felix: Honestly, Y/N, we’re just honored to be part of this. 

Y/N: Thanks guys, this means a lot to us. 

Changbin: And we’re going to spoil them rotten.

Jeongin: Rotten is an understatement.

Y/N: 🤭🤭🤭

Minho: You won't even know what hit you for the next 18 years. Or 30.

Chan: GUYS. Stop scaring her. Baby, they’re joking.

Felix: We’re not.

Hyunjin: Nope.

Jisung: Absolutely not.

Y/N: I'm all in for that hehe

Chan: I love you guys

Jisung: Chan’s in his feels again.

Felix: We have a wedding and baby shower to plan! 

Hyunjin: OMG. A pregnant bride. You’re gonna be so GLOWY.

Y/N: Thank you for being this excited for us. I love you guys 😭💖

Felix: We love you too!! 🥺💖

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8

[urmommysfavkisserrr]

End Of Her Rope.

°•☆•° - Paige Bueckers x Ex-Wife Reader (Brazilian)

°•☆•° - In which your life as Paige’s Ex-Wife and baby mama leaves you dangerously overworked and at the end of your rope, so you call the blonde for backup.

°•☆•° - I couldn’t figure out what I wanted ‘you’ to look like, so I just ended up basing it off of an OC I already made…

°•☆•° - 3,075 words

Part 2 | Part 3

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

The divorce was messy, but needed. Paige had her career to focus on, her whole life, you didn’t. Her agent made sure you knew that when they called you in. They claimed they only wanted to do what was best for her, and they knew you would too. 

Of course you would.

You had your time to shine. You were one of the top soccer players at UCONN, then you got hurt. You had the looks, the family name, the ancestry, the backstory, but that's all you were. 

A story. 

Paige was making history. She was going to be history. She didn’t need some burnt-out Ex, and two kids attached to that.

And still through it all, she stuck around. She paid child support, weekly, even after you told her she didn’t have to. You even once sent the money back, which ended in Paige setting up a one-way transfer account. You didn’t argue again.

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

It was a Wednesday, meaning the kids were at your place, late at night, well past their bedtime. You got the girls during the week, and Paige got them on the weekends. Easy as that.

You were tired, having worked overtime the last two weeks at your job to get shit done just for some new company to come in and take over. The house was a mess, the kids were crazy, the dogs were wound up, and you were well over it.

So you called her.

Incoming call from ‘Pretty Mama🤍’

Paige sat on her couch watching mindless TV when her phone started to ring. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was you. “What’s up?”

"Is it too late for that abortion?"

Oh, good lord.

Paige let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair as she flicked off the TV, putting her full attention on the call. “What did the kids do this time? Are they still awake?”

“Yes.”

Paige could hear the frustration and tiredness in her ex's voice. “Want me to come over? I can put the kids to bed for you. They aren’t listening to you, are they?”

You huffed, tossing a rag over your shoulder as you moved to sit on the stairs. "It's like they know when I'm at my fucking breaking point"

Paige could hear the distress in your voice, a familiar feeling. She knew this all too well. “How much caffeine have you had today?”

"Not the point."

“No, that is the point. I can hear the irritation in your voice; you’re frustrated. You probably had a long shift, worked hard, came home, and got yelled at by our crazy kids, and let me guess the house is a mess, and you’re sitting in the middle of it because you’re too stressed to pick anything up?

“Fuck you.”

Paige let out a sigh. The fact that you couldn’t deny any of it is a win in her book. “Ma, why don’t I come over? I can get the kids to sleep and clean the house for you? You just need to put your feet up and relax for a bit."

You sighed, long and heavy, running a hand through your messed up messy bun. “It's..it's fine. Just..I'm gonna give Zahria the phone, will you just talk to her?”

Paige’s heart squeezed. Knowing what this meant, you were reaching the end of your rope. And fast. “Yeah…I’ll talk to her.”

After a moment of shuffling around, you got their 9-year-old daughter on the phone. “Hey, Mommy,” Zahria greeted her happily.

“Hi, my little angel,” Paige greeted back. “Are you being a good girl for Mama?” She asked.

“Yeah!” Zahria responded. “I helped with dinner tonight and ate all the yucky vegetables on my plate!” She told her proud of herself.

“Good girl.” Paige praised her. “Are you ready for bed and everything?” She knew Zahria didn’t go to bed without a good 10-minute argument.

“Ugh, no!” Zahria whined, her happiness quickly vanishing. “It’s only 8:30! I’m not tired at allllll! I want to stay up!”

“No.” Paige shut her down fast. “You need to go to bed, you have school, and a big girl like you needs to rest to have the energy to learn tomorrow. No arguments.”

“But mooooom,” Zahria whined again. “Can I just stay up five more minutes? Puh-lease?”

“Five minutes is all.” Paige relented. “And that means you go straight to sleep. No fighting me on it. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zahria agreed. It was quite possibly the easiest she’s come to agreeing to go to bed.

The a faint and muffled 'god damn it' came through the phone. Your voice.

Paige’s heart squeezed again. She could hear you losing it again. She knew this was the breaking point for her ex.

"Zahria, can you run downstairs and grab the Lysol, please? Leave it in the bathroom, don't come in here."

“Yeah, okay, mama.” There was some shuffling as the phone changed hands again.

Some more shuffling. A door closed. And then a sigh. You were on the line again.

"Glad she listens to someone."

“Only because it wasn’t you who asked,” Paige replied. “How are you holding up?”

"I have fresh vomit in my bra, I think I'm doing just fine."

“Lovely…” Paige sighed. She knew that you were close to your breaking point. “You’re overloading yourself again.”

"I don't have a fucking choice." You spoke back in the same tone.

“You do,” Paige said in the same tone. “You’re pushing yourself past your limits, Ma.”

A soft 'thank you, baby' came muttered from you as Zahria came back with the cleaner, followed by a deep and heavy sigh.

“Is the place still a mess?” Paige asked softly. She heard you sigh, and her heart squeezed again. It pained her to hear you like this.

"I'll take care of it."

“No, you won’t.” Paige immediately shut down that idea. “You always say that, and you never do. You’re too tired.”

“Paige-”

“No.” Paige interrupted. “I’m coming over. Take a shower. Relax. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, baby.”

"The kids are awake, it's late, the house is a mess, you don't need to be here-"

“That’s all the more reason for me to be there tonight,” Paige said firmly. “You need help. I’m coming over and you’re not going to stop me.”

"Paige, please-"

“Please, what? Let you run yourself into the ground? This isn’t new. I know how you are. You don’t stop. You don’t take a break. You overwork yourself. You’re miserable and you can’t see that you’re too hard on yourself.” She scolded you.

“Just…” she sighed. “Let me come over. I’ll put the kids to bed. Clean up and you can relax. You need to stop for one night.”

“...Fine.”

“I’ll be over in 10. Don’t argue with me.”  Then she ended the call and let out a sigh.

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

You had just gotten out of the shower when Paige arrived and let herself in. You stood at the top of the stairs, just watching, but not really. You weren’t looking at anything at all. Your mind stuck in a daze. Then you started to sway, just slightly, but enough.

“Ma?” Paige looked up the stairs and noticed you were swaying. She could see the exhaustion and stress radiating off of you from all the way downstairs.

Immediately, she took off up the stairs. “Come on.” She said in a soft voice. “Let's get you in bed.”

“What…”

“You need to sleep.” Paige gently took hold of your arm and started to lead you to the bedroom. Your legs were wobbly and seemed like they were close to giving out. 

Paige led you into the bedroom and sat you on the edge of the bed. Your eyes were slightly glazed over from the exhaustion. “Lie down,” Paige instructed, her voice soft.

"But what about.."

“But what about what?” Paige could already guess what you were going to say. She knew you, you wouldn’t do anything until the kids were in bed. Hell, even after them, you would go around cleaning up the whole house.

"The girls...Zahria needs her homework checked, and Zolani just threw up, so I have to check her temperature to see if she can go to school. Then gotta make lunches, and clean up dinner...then laundry...is it laundry day? Then then...um...I gotta..."

“Woah woah woah.” Paige quickly stopped you. This was exactly what she was expecting. “No. You’re done for the night. You’re not doing anything else but sleeping.”

“You’re exhausted.” Paige took hold of your shoulders and gently guided you back to a lying position. You felt like dead weight, like you didn’t even have the energy to hold yourself up anymore.

"just...needa minute..."

“No,” Paige said, being firm but gentle. “You need to sleep. You won’t even be able to form coherent sentences in a minute. Let alone get up and continue doing things.”

Your eyes went glossy with sleep, but also longing. Then they fluttered, feeling heavier and heavier by the second. You missed what the two of you used to have. That kind of love, that connection.

Paige continued to watch you and saw your eyes begin to shut again, this time heavier and slower.

Her heart squeezed as she took in her ex’s appearance. You looked so tired, completely drained from the day. Paige knew that you would push and push until you collapsed. Then you’d push yourself harder. It was a problem.

In a moment of weakness, Paige found herself reaching out to brush some of your hair away from your face. The action was purely on instinct. She used to do this when you were still together and you couldn’t sleep.

Her hand lingered on your face for a few seconds before snapping back to her body.

What was she doing?

Your final words were mumbled and incoherent before she completely fell asleep.

Even though your words were incomprehensible, Paige still knew what they were. 

Thank you.

She knew once you fell asleep, you were out like a light. There was no waking you up until the next day.

Paige let out a sigh as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. She could tell you to take a break and slow down a thousand times, but you would never listen.

With you finally asleep, Paige got up from the side of the bed, deciding to go check on the kids.

She quietly closed the door behind her and went to check on the children.

Walking down the hall, Paige first stopped at Zolani’s room. She knocked on the door softly and slowly pushed the door open.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She said, peeking her head through the door.

Zolani was fast asleep with her favorite bunny in her hand. It was the bunny you had bought her during their relationship. She was a sound sleeper, just like you. 

But she looked so much like Paige. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her smile, and still your curls fought hard to make themselves known on her little head.

Paige smiled softly, then backed out of the room. Next, she walked across the hall to where Zahria’s room was.

Opening the door, she peeked into Zahria’s room. To her surprise, Zahria was still up. “Hey angel.” Paige greeted her softly, walking over and sitting next to her on the bed. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Paige inquired, giving her a soft smile. Zahria was very obviously watching something on her phone.

“I’m not sleepy,” Zahria answered, quickly shutting her phone off. “I don’t want to go to bed.” The 9-year-old said with a pout. 

She was like a carbon copy of you. Your dark hair, your curls, your tanned skin, your almost magical gaze.

“Oh yeah?” Paige questioned with a soft smirk. “And why’s that?” She asked, gently poking Zahria’s side.

“Cause it’s too early!” Zahria said, swatting at her and giggling. “I wanna stay awake!”

“Alright, alright.” Paige relented. She knew it was best to just give in to Zahria. Even if they had made that 'five more minutes' agreement earlier.

“Get your homework and let me see.” She said, keeping her tone gentle but firm.

Zahria sat up properly and began to dig through her backpack for her homework. After a few seconds, she pulled out her folder and handed it to Paige, still pouting.

Paige took the folder and opened it to look through the schoolwork. She knew Zahria was a smart girl. It was one of the many things she took after you. 

“Mama made you a list?” She asked, noticing the list of math problems.

“Yeah, “ Zahria spoke up, a slight hint of annoyance in her tone. “Apparently, I was doing my math ‘too fast’ so mom thinks I’m not paying attention to the problems.” She explained.

Paige let out a soft sigh, closing the folder and placing it on the nightstand. “She just wanted you to do it right. She’s looking out for you.” She said softly, gently guiding Zahria to lie down.

Once Zahria was laid down, Paige pulled the blanket over her. “No reading or looking through your phone. You need to sleep.” She sternly warned her, seeing the slight look of defiance on her face.

“And I’m going to check to make sure,” She said, pointing a finger at Zahria, as if to say, ‘Don’t you dare try to get away with reading or looking at your phone.’

Zahria huffed and dramatically flopped back onto the pillow. “Fine.” She said with a defeated sigh.

“Good,” Paige said. She stood up and checked to make sure Zahria was all covered and had her bunny within reach, and quietly left the room.

Once out of Zahria’s room, Paige shut the door gently behind her. She didn’t need to worry about waking the kids up. They were both very sound sleepers, just like you.

She walked down the hall to check on Zolani one more time before going back to check on you.

You had shifted to your side, still out like a light. Although there was a deep blue something wrapped up in your arms, held tightly against your chest.

One of Paige's old hoodies. From college. From when they were still together.

Paige stopped dead in her tracks once she took in the sight. You were holding one of her old college hoodies in a tight grip, like it was a lifeline.

Her heart ached, seeing the old article of clothing being smothered by her ex. A part of her felt a twisted sense of hope.

Paige wanted to take the hoodie and throw it away. Her mind was telling her to. But her heart, her heart was another story. That one wanted her to let you hold it. It wanted her to leave it right in your grasp.

She slowly and quietly walked over to the bed, being sure that her steps didn’t bring you out of your deep slumber.

She carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, right next to you. She studied your face, noticing how much more relaxed it looked when you were asleep. There was a soft, somewhat peaceful expression on your face.

Her eyes lingered on the hoodie, wrapped up in your arms, pressed against your chest. It was almost like you were holding Paige again.

Paige stayed on the edge of the bed, the image of you holding the old hoodie stuck in her mind. It was hard for her to take her eyes off it.

In a moment of weakness, she slowly lay down next to you, trying not to disturb you.

You shifted anyway, a soft, jumbled sound coming from the back of your throat. "Hm..?"

“Shhh…” Paige hushed you gently, trying not to break the moment. Her voice came out in a quieter tone, barely above a whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

"whatdoin.."

“Nothing,” Paige said softly. She was lying on her side, facing you. Their faces were only inches apart. With you facing her and Paige lying right next to you, it was like a little cocoon surrounded just by the two of them.

You moved closer to Paige in your sleepy haze, like two magnets coming together. It seemed as if your body was moving on instinct. Your head now rested against Paige’s chest, and her arm lay across your waist.

Paige didn’t reject you. In fact, she pulled you closer.

“Hm..”

“Shhh…” Paige slowly began to run her fingers through your hair, her touch gentle. Her other arm wrapped around you and held you close. “I got you…” She whispered.

"...obrigado.." (Thank you.)

“Eu sei. Você está segura.“ (I know. You are safe.) Paige responded softly. Her fingers continued to run through your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

"..you 'member.."

Paige smiled softly, her hand slowing for a moment, before resuming the rhythm of her fingers running through your hair. “Of course I remember.” She said softly, a hint of affection in her voice.

“...Stay.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Paige responded with a soft laugh. She knew you were still half asleep, probably incoherent. There was no way she would leave regardless of what you said, though.

"..ever..stay ever.."

Paige’s heart skipped at your words. Did she mean it?

She held onto you tighter, her arms wrapped around your body. She would hold you all night if she had to. “I’ll stay.” She whispered, her voice a soft reassurance.

“Mhm..”

Paige kept her limbs around you, trapping you in a gentle embrace. Your head was still nestled against her chest, and Paige’s nose was buried in your hair.

She inhaled, the familiar scent bringing back a flood of memories. She felt a sense of comfort, having you so close.

Your last words before you fell back asleep were two plain and simple words.

"...love you"

Paige’s heart almost leapt out of her chest when she heard those words. She froze for a second, unsure of whether she heard you correctly.

But she did. She heard every word.

“I love you too…” She whispered back, her tone soft and full of emotion.

And with that, you were out like a light.

Paige continued to hold you in her arms, her grip on you not loosening. Her heart was pounding as she took in your words. ‘I love you..’

She knew you were asleep and probably didn’t realize what you were saying. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful.

[artrmeblog]

“Bedtime Stories” Jinx and Isha

Safe to say I think everybody’s hearts got crushed by Act 2, so here is some Isha and Jinx fanart inspired by the latest act. Really wish we could have gotten an even bigger glimpse of what Isha and Jinx were up to during the time skip. Super excited (and scared for act 3) Hope you like it.

[carlislefiles]

morning routine | fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuuji itadori ╰►he is obsessed with watching you get ready; whether you’re an all-over-the-place mess, or painstakingly meticulous, he loves the little things 6.1k words

a/n: reader is kind of all over the place in this one, so it might not be applicable to all self-inserts mb. warnings: cussing, eating habits (but not in a negative way)...I think that's it. I love a man that's painfully obsessed with every single, minute thing his girlfriend does, and so.......here we are. enjoy <3

it takes nearly a year of dating before you sleep over at megumi’s. not because he doesn’t want you there—he does. in the quiet, desperate way he wants everything good. but his dorm is…sterile. spartan. the bed is always made, the floor always clean, his desk meticulously organized down to the direction his pens face. it’s not for show. he lives like this. he needs it like this.

your dorm, in comparison, feels like another planet. the walls are bursting with you—posters slightly peeling at the corners, handwritten notes pinned beside polaroids, a stack of annotated books threatening to topple. there’s a mug of tea gone cold on the windowsill, a cd player mid-skip, a sweater that might be his draped over the back of your desk chair. the chaos of it all unsettles him. the comfort of it? that’s what undoes him completely.

he never says so, but after the first time he sees your space—really sees it—he stops inviting you to his. keeps you on the couch in the lounge, sitting on yuji’s desk while they argue about which movie is worse (spoiler alert: they’re both terrible), curled under a throw blanket on a bench on the campus grounds…you don’t question it. you’re used to the way megumi loves: quiet and reluctant, like a secret too sacred to say out loud. he comes to your room regularly, choosing to sleep there more often than his own bed. the mess of it doesn't overwhelm him like he thought it might; if anything, it's comforting, just like your presence.

after a mission that shakes the ground beneath his feet, he slips into your bed. no words, no warning—just his body curling into yours like he’s homesick for something he can’t name. and you, still half-asleep, burrow into him like instinct. you never ask questions. you just hold him. it’s in those mornings after that megumi sees the version of you no one else does.

you're dignified by default. stoic, composed, always two steps ahead of your emotions. you keep your feelings buttoned down and folded neatly behind your eyes. but when the alarm shrieks at 6:00 am, all of that unravels.

you groan like you're being punished. a truly inhuman sound leaves your throat as you roll over and claw at the covers like a toddler protesting bedtime—but in reverse. “five more minutes,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a particularly needy sea creature. megumi’s already been awake for ten minutes. he’s well-rested. too well-rested. you smell like his shampoo. there’s a red line on your cheek from where you were pressed against his shoulder. he’s going insane, and you’re snoring.

when he finally peels you off him, you stumble around like you’ve never lived in your own body before. you trip over your desk chair. pull a t-shirt over your head and then realize you forgot deodorant. there’s a toothbrush hanging out of your mouth while you hop into your pants. your socks don’t match. you glare at your reflection like your own hair is personally attacking you. megumi just stands by your door, bag slung over his shoulder, watching like you’re performing high art. you are, in your own way.

you don't even notice how he stares. how his eyes track your every move, memorizing your rituals like prayers. how his lips twitch into the faintest smile when you attempt multitasking and nearly knock over your entire bookshelf. if you have time, your makeup is minimal—nothing more than a subtle enhancement. if you don’t, you mumble something about “au naturel” and try to tame your thick eyebrows with your fingers. he’s never once thought you looked anything but beautiful.

breakfast is always a surprise. sometimes a banana and a granola bar, sometimes a bagel that you throw in the toaster and forget about. sometimes just coffee—until he narrows his eyes at you, all judgment and concern, and you begrudgingly accept the yogurt he hands you. he pretends it’s not a big deal, and you pretend you’re not soft for it, and that’s the thing: he knows you. knows how you make lists in your head as you brush your teeth. knows how you always triple-check your bag before you leave, even though you’ve packed it the same way for years. knows that you’re meticulous in the field, a force in combat, and somehow still a barely-functional goblin in the mornings.

because in those chaotic, half-conscious mornings, he sees the parts of you that don’t belong to the world. the parts that are only his. and though you’ll never say it outright, when you sleep in his shirts and mouth “love you” into the hollow of his throat at midnight, megumi lets himself imagine what a life with you could look like. what it will look like, if he’s lucky enough. he’s always been quiet. always tried to need nothing, but he can no longer deny that he needs this, needs you.

toji never meant to fall in love with you. he thought you'd just be a good partner. reliable. sharp. someone who wouldn’t die and wouldn’t let him die either. that was it. simple. clean. professional.

but then, you were laughing at something during a stakeout—low and breathy, half-annoyed, half-amused—and he looked at you too long. just a second too long. and everything shifted. 

now you’re drooling on his pillow, hogging his blankets, tangling your legs with his in the middle of the night like you’ve always belonged there. like you own the place. (you do.) he wakes up before you sometimes. not always. sometimes he’ll sleep like the dead until you’re jabbing him in the ribs, sure he’s stopped breathing, well into the afternoon. but most mornings, especially when you have to leave and he doesn’t, toji’s eyes crack open just as the sky’s starting to blue.

he doesn’t say anything. just turns his head and looks at you. you’re all soft angles and slow breaths in the morning. face slack, hair a mess, limbs heavy with sleep. a far cry from the weapon you become once the day gets going. he used to think you were always on. always alert. calculated. it made him crazy, how good you were. unflinching. cold. but mornings peeled that mask right off you.

now he knows the truth: you are an absolute mess before sunrise. you roll out of bed like your bones don’t work. trudge to the bathroom half-blind, dragging your blanket with you like a child. you brush your teeth while he’s peeing and don’t even blink. he used to flinch at that kind of intimacy. used to brace for awkwardness. now? he just spits into the sink next to you and hands you a cup to rinse.

you're freezing, always, even in the summer. you steal his hoodie like you paid for it. tug it over your head with a sleepy grunt and shuffle around the apartment like a raccoon in sweats. and if he’s anywhere in the vicinity, you’re sliding your ice cube hands under his shirt without warning. he used to curse you out for that. the first few times, it pissed him off, but now? he waits for it. he wants it. it’s like a ritual. your sleepy little ambush, his warm back, your sigh of relief when his skin starts to thaw your fingers.

you don’t talk much. he likes that. if you say anything at all, it’s in a voice octaves lower than usual, cracked and rough and all kinds of sexy. a lazy, “you wan’ coffee? or jus’ water?” as you fumble with the kettle. toji doesn’t even really care, but he says yes to both just to hear you say something again.

you're utilitarian to your bones. cotton underwear, black cargos, tight long-sleeves. hair up and out of your face, braided or slicked back, always ready for a fight. you don’t like perfume, but you’re militant about deodorant. you’ve got a whole rant ready about it, and toji’s heard it at least fifteen times.

when you finally start getting serious—knife tucked into your boot, water bottle clipped to your bag, watch set five minutes fast—he’s already packed you breakfast. sometimes it’s leftovers. sometimes it’s a protein bar and an apple. sometimes it’s a whole sandwich because he knows you’ll skip lunch if things get dicey. that’s the thing about being toji’s girl: you’re never leaving the house unfed.

you grumble when he walks you to the door, squinting at the rising sun like it personally offended you. shiu’s already out front, tapping his watch like a smug little bastard.

you roll your eyes. toji does too. “dickhead,” he mutters. you smirk. and then, always, always, he says it: “call me if you need anything.”  you nod. “I mean it. help, food, ride, someone’s face punched in—call me.”

“I know,” you say. and you do.

you’re awake now—eyes sharp, movements clean, shoulders squared. the mask is back on. the girl who never misses a shot. who never runs late. who never lets anyone see her bleed. he loves her, too. but he especially loves the version of you who drools on his pillow and talks to him with your morning breath. who shuffles into the bathroom for a handful of seconds, forgetting what you even needed in there, who steals his clothes and stabs him in the kidneys with her toes under the covers. he never meant to fall in love with you. but he did. hard. and for once in his life, he’s not sorry about it.

suguru looks at you like you hung the moon with your bare hands. like the mere fact of your existence is a miracle that he’s unworthy of witnessing—but still gets to wake up to every single day. his love isn’t loud. it’s not brash or performative. no, it’s reverent. like worship. like prayer. like the kind of thing you kneel for. but don’t mistake quiet for passive—because his love is consuming. from the moment he met you, it bloomed in his chest like wildfire, and it took everything in him not to let it swallow you whole. he knew you were skittish. you flinched at dependency, floundered when anything felt too soft, too needed. so he was gentle. patient. devoted.

he chased you, but never cornered you. he adored you, but never overwhelmed. until one day… you let yourself want him back. let yourself need him. not just tolerate the idea, but cherish it. now? now you don’t just let him take care of you—you thrive in it.

mornings with suguru are quiet symphonies. always the same, whether the sun's up or not, whether there's a blizzard outside or birdsong at the window. his kisses—those feather-light things on your neck and shoulders—are always the first thing you feel. sometimes, they tickle. sometimes, they melt you. every time, they anchor you. the way he wakes you is an act of love. an offering. he murmurs sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, presses his nose to your jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again. it’s not performative—it’s ritual. because waking you up is sacred to him. he always gives you enough time. enough space. enough stillness. before suguru, you’d yank yourself out of bed like it owed you money. now, you rise slowly, curled in his arms, his warmth a tether. he makes sure there’s time for the both of you to exist together, unhurried and whole.

you hate the cold—but he kind of loves it. loves the way you cling to him in oversized sweaters and mismatched socks, trailing him like a ghost with cold feet and sleepy eyes. you wrap yourself around his middle while he brushes his teeth, lean back into his chest while you brush yours, half-asleep and adorable. he ties the back of your hoodie when the string gets stuck. he presses vitamins into your palm without a word. watching you take care of yourself has become his favorite show. doesn’t matter if your hair’s wild or your makeup’s half-finished—he watches you like you're magic. because you are.

and when you blush under the attention, flustered or a little grumbly—he only smiles. because that stage-light feeling, that spotlight you hate? he’ll soften it for you. dim it, until it just feels like a warm sunbeam you can bask in. suguru doesn’t just admire you—he tends to you. dresses you if you’re too sleepy to do it yourself. asks you quiet questions in that low morning voice of his—just to hear your sleepy replies. “how’d you sleep?” “want tea or coffee?” “you still love me, even with bedhead like this?” (he already knows the answer. he just likes the sound of you saying it.)

you used to dread mornings. used to drag yourself through them with caffeine and survival instincts. now, you’ve adopted his routine. slow. intentional. loving. breakfast is never skipped. you sit at the kitchen table in one of his hoodies while he scrambles eggs with one hand and keeps the other on your knee under the table. you talk—sometimes. sometimes you don’t. but it’s never awkward. just peaceful. familiar. and when it’s time to go? he insists on driving you. every time. even if he has nowhere to be. even if it’s an hour out of his way. even if you protest.

he shuts you up gently with a scarf wrapped around your neck, tugging it snug so it covers your mouth before you can argue. “you don’t inconvenience me,” he says, looking at you like you personally hung the stars. “you’re the whole reason i want to leave the house.” suguru geto teaches you that love doesn’t have to be chaos or ache. that needing someone doesn’t have to hurt. that mornings can be soft. that you can be soft. and every day you wake up like this, in his arms, in this bubble of quiet love—you start to believe him.

mornings with gojo are kind of a shitshow. they are not peaceful. they are not organized. they are not quiet. they’re a mess. but the kind you almost look forward to. a domestic battlefield, all tangled limbs and laughter. not elegant, but real. and weirdly sweet.

the first alarm doesn’t stand a chance. it’s silenced before it finishes the first note. gojo smacks his phone off the nightstand without opening his eyes, groaning something unintelligible as he drags you closer, burying his face in your neck like he's trying to go back in time. you're no better—clinging like your life depends on it, legs twisted around his like ivy. if one of you has to get up first, it feels like mourning.so no, you don’t get up the first time. or the second. and by the third alarm, you're already running late.

it’s chaos. blankets kicked off the bed. hair wild. clothes half-on, half-lost somewhere in the room. you’re tossing his uniform at him from across the bed while he’s in the bathroom, already wetting your toothbrush with one hand and brushing his own teeth with the other—finger-brushing, because his actual toothbrush is nowhere to be found. you don’t even question it anymore.

you swap places, brushing your teeth while he fumbles for deodorant, and he pinches your cheek like it’s some kind of reward for being cute. you swat him away. he just laughs, mouth full of foam, and then kisses your forehead anyway. two seconds later, he drops your moisturizer into the toilet. you shriek. he kisses you again before getting smacked on the hard plane of his chest.

shower time is not optional—not when you’re always getting home so late from missions or parties, one thing or another, you keep each other busy. you’re already so far behind that arguing over whose turn it is feels pointless. so you both squeeze in, barely dodging elbows and shampoo bottles, and immediately start bickering about who used the last of the conditioner (it was him). he gets soap in his eye. you nearly slip trying to rinse your face. it’s not graceful. it’s not romantic. but it’s yours. and honestly? it’s kind of perfect. you’re drying off with a towel that’s definitely damp from yesterday, grumbling softly about how he never does any laundry. 

getting ready is a two-person operation. he zips your jeans while you wrangle your mascara. you straighten his blindfold, then redo it because his “I did it cute” actually means “I did it crooked and wrong.” he brushes your hair while you slap on moisturizer (the toilet water was scrubbed off religiously), catches the jacket you toss over your shoulder without even glancing. it’s not impressive anymore. it’s just normal.

downstairs, he starts the coffee while yelling up, “don’t forget your phone again, I’m not turning around!” you shout back, “you forgot you whole ass wallet twice last week, satoru!” he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like surrender.

you throw toast in the toaster. he pulls leftover pizza from the fridge, eats it cold off the plate. you steal a bite without asking. he lets you. the toast pops and hits the floor. he shrugs and you share it anyways. there’s no such thing as a smooth exit. you’re hopping into your shoes, still tugging on your jacket, while gojo fumbles for his keys that are somehow already in his hand. and before you can open the door, he’s there, pressing you back against it, arms around your waist, nose tucked under your jaw.

“you smell too good,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your skin. “I can’t walk into school like this. I’m gonna die.”

“then maybe stop sniffing me like a bloodhound,” you mutter, but your voice is soft. you don’t actually want him to move. he kisses you once, then again, just below your ear, because he knows exactly what that does.

“we are so fucking late,” you sigh, pulling away with effort.

“we are,” he agrees, not the least bit concerned, a corner of toast still sticking out of his mouth.

you steal it. eat it. smile. because yeah, you're always late. and yeah, it’s a mess. but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. you’re together. and somehow, that’s always enough.

mornings with ino are always a little...cluttered. not in a bad way. just in a way that feels like him—shoes untied, hoodie wrinkled, a bag half-packed with yesterday’s receipts and a granola bar he forgot to eat. a little chaotic, a little late, but somehow still endearing. somehow still yours.

you, on the other hand, are his opposite in almost every way. precise. polished. the kind of woman whose alarm only has to go off once. who showers every morning without fail, who lines up her skincare bottles in order of use, who styles her hair neatly and brushes her teeth with an electric toothbrush that charges on a little glass stand. you're not uptight about it—you’re actually quite gentle—but your routine is sharp, crisp, efficient. it works for you. and, in turn, it works for him.

because even though ino is a lifelong lover of the snooze button, he's gotten better about mornings. mostly because of you. you don’t demand he change, but he wants to see you before the day pulls you both in opposite directions. he’s slower to get up—body warm and heavy with sleep—but he always rises. sometimes with a groan. sometimes with a yawn so big it makes his jaw crack. but he sits there, criss-cross on the bed, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you glide across the room, already moving through your mental to-do list.

you float. that’s how he sees it. all grace and direction, even as you’re talking out loud to yourself, running over the day’s checklist. you’ve packed your bag already, and now you’re packing his—mumbling about mission protocol and check-in times, slipping clean socks into the side pocket of his bag because he always forgets. he barely hears the words. he’s too busy watching you, soaking you in.

and then, like clockwork, he reaches out and catches you by the arm, halting your momentum with a tug that turns into a hug. a tight one. a grounding one. his arms loop around your waist, chin on your shoulder, and he pulls you into the kind of embrace that slows time. you pretend to protest—hands flailing against his chest, muttering about how tight your schedule is—but you don’t mean it. you never do. you fold into him like you were made to, nose pressed to his neck, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. he loves that he’s the only one who can get you to pause like this. that he can bring you down to earth with a single pull.

eventually, though, the moment passes. you straighten up, clear your throat, and suddenly you’re back in motion. back to telling him he cannot be late again today, nanami’s going to have his head if he strolls in like last time, and he better not forget his water bottle again either. you’re pulling his usual shirt out of the drawer—wrinkled, because it’s his, and he doesn’t fold things—and his boots are already waiting at the door. you’ve done half his prep without thinking, and he’s already halfway in love with you for the thousandth time that morning.

he gets dressed with practiced ease, catching up to your pace as best he can. you’re at the mirror now, checking your planner while sipping from your water bottle. he leans in the doorway for a moment, just watching. you’re organized in a way he’s never been, maybe never will be. and still, you’ve never tried to fix him. never tried to change the way he exists in the world. instead, you’ve just carved out space for him inside your calm, careful life. you’ve made room for his clutter, and he’s tried—quietly, earnestly—to keep from taking up too much of it.

breakfast is a shared effort. some days, you’re up earlier and you’ve already got eggs on the stove. other days, he insists on doing it, even if that just means microwaving rice and scrambling some eggs while you’re tightening your laces. there’s something primal in him—some quiet need to provide for you in any small way he can. he knows you don’t need him to, not with the way you handle yourself and the world like it’s second nature. but he wants to. just like he wants to be the one to bring you your coffee, even if you’re always the one who remembers to buy the coffee grounds. and you let him. that’s the part that gets him. you let him be messy. be flawed. be himself. you don’t organize his chaos—you just wrap your order around it. and he does the same. a little give, a little take. a quiet rhythm. a partnership.

by the time you’re both slipping into your shoes, double-checking your gear and grabbing your phones, he’s alert enough to match your stride. a little disheveled. a little behind. but not by much. just enough to still be ino. just enough to remind you that no matter how different your approaches may be, you fit together. somehow. and every time you open the door to leave, his hand finds yours. because while you’re ready for the day, he’s only ready if he’s walking into it beside you.

choso has never been a morning person. not even close. alarms were things to be ignored—suggestions at best, insults at worst. he’d been infamous for burrowing deeper into bed, refusing to get up until the last possible second. if yuuji wasn’t banging on his door, he wasn’t moving. but that was before you.

now, you sleep in his bed—your side always tucked, your phone charging at the exact same spot on the nightstand every night, your alarm set to go off at a reasonable time (not three snoozes past). and for reasons choso doesn’t fully understand but absolutely cherishes, your presence has shifted something in him. that piercing morning ringtone no longer signals agony—it signals that you’re awake. that you’re there. and that’s enough for him to stretch, groan a little, and roll out of bed.

he still isn’t graceful about it. you are. always have been. the type to wake up and start—quick to stand, quick to brush your teeth, quick to open the blinds and let the light in without mercy. at first, it threw him. you were so... together. your skincare routine looked like a ritual. your outfits were folded. you ate real breakfast and made to-do lists that had subcategories and little stars. and you loved him, this walking heap of tangled hair and forgotten socks, who lived out of a laundry basket and called cold pizza a food group.

in the beginning, it was rough. his mess got under your skin. the sheer entropy of his life felt like a direct attack on your peace. but somewhere between his sleepy mumblings and the way he always remembered your coffee just the way you liked it—even if he couldn’t remember where he put his own shoes—you adapted. you didn’t give in, didn’t lose your order, but you started distinguishing the kinds of messes. the ones that could stay. the ones that made you smile a little, because they were his. and choso, to his credit, learned too. learned which of his disasters stressed you out and which made you mutter under your breath before softening at the sight of him trying to fix it. now, mornings look different.

when the alarm rings, he’s still not thrilled—but he gets up. because you do. because he likes following you. there’s something sacred about being just one step behind you in the morning, watching you go through your routine like clockwork. he showers first, picking up the shirt you laid out for him the night before. notices how you’ve stacked his vitamins by the sink, folded a small towel just for him. he brushes his teeth lazily behind you as you do your hair, your reflection focused, brows slightly furrowed.

you’re talking. you always are in the mornings. half to him, half to yourself. running through everything you both have to do: meet with some jujutsu higher-ups, check in with yaga, lead the first years through drills, and then later, he has a solo mission. you make him swear, hand on heart and soul, that he’ll keep in touch during it—text you updates or you’ll kill him—and he nods solemnly, the toothbrush still in his mouth. you’re already scribbling the grocery list on the fridge notepad while flipping the eggs you’re somehow managing not to burn. he doesn’t understand how you do it all. how you can look so put-together with your morning voice and bedhead, still blinking the sleep out of your eyes. but he sees the details—the little imperfections that most would miss. the way you leaned into him before the sun came up, drooling a bit on his shirt (which he’d never bring up—maybe). the way you secretly liked his warmth, even if you always said you had things to do. you act like you’re immune to his mess, but he’s caught you smiling at it more than once.

he loves that. loves that his sharp-as-a-tack, painfully organized girlfriend makes time to cook him a full breakfast even when she has ten places to be. loves that you care. that your chaos isn’t external like his—it’s controlled, carefully hidden, but he knows where to look for it. and he cherishes every moment you let it show. by the time he’s dressed and ready, you’re already packing your bags. he kisses your temple, mumbles something low and grateful, something that sounds a lot like I don’t know how I got this lucky. and you roll your eyes, smack his shoulder, and tell him to hurry up, or we’ll be late again. choso is still chaos. still half a storm. but now, his favorite part of the day is waking up and realizing he gets to weather it with you.

kento isn’t really a morning person. not in the usual sense—not because he dislikes them, but because his nights are always far too long. between missions, paperwork, and the ever-looming weight of responsibility, sleep is often a luxury. still, the second his alarm so much as whispers, he’s up. responsible to a fault. you, however, are already stirring beside him.

you don’t need to be up yet. you could easily steal another hour or two. but there you are, yawning like a sleepy kitten, soft-eyed and blinking at the too-bright room. a drowsy smile pulls at your lips, and nanami covers it with his own in a kiss that lingers longer than it should, considering his schedule. “go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your cheek. but you never do.

he knows why. time with him is precious—rare, rationed like sunlight in a long winter. if it were up to you, you’d follow him around all day, clinging to his side like a koala. and if it were up to him? he’d let you. he’d carry you through the dullest meetings, the longest train rides, the most irritating bureaucracy, if it meant keeping you close.

mornings are slow, quiet things in your shared home. you pad into the bathroom after him, still half-asleep, rubbing your eyes and bumping gently into his side as you lean on him. he steadies you with a hand at your waist, fondness blooming in his chest at the sight of you so undone by sleep. it’s a side of you few people ever see. but he sees it every day, and it never fails to make him ache with how much he loves you.

you don’t talk much this early. mostly just let him murmur about the day ahead—checking in with gojo, supervising the first years, writing up reports that he knows no one will read. the mention of missions makes your body tense ever so slightly. he notices. he always notices. so he pauses. turns to you. brushes a hand along your jaw and swears, like he always does: “I’m always safe. I’ll always come home to you.” your brow relaxes. you nod, brushing your teeth with half-hearted effort, still swaying slightly with the weight of sleep. you lean against him, and he lets you, anchoring you with an arm around your shoulders as you both move to the closet. he lets you pick his suit, because he knows it perks you up. you take it seriously, even in your pajama shorts and socks with the little frills. he watches you squint at ties like you’re choosing between life and death. he says nothing, lets you have this moment, this ritual, this say in his day.

“you know,” he says, just like always, buttoning the shirt you chose, “you can sleep in. you don’t have to wake up just for me.” but you wave him off, as always. and secretly? he’s glad you don’t listen. he likes seeing you like this—sweet and docile, blinking up at him with half-lidded eyes, still caught between dreams and reality. it does something to him, knowing that he is the one you choose to wake up early for.

he watches you zone out in front of the coffee pot, you nearly nod off while washing your face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, steadying you with a low chuckle. some mornings, when time permits, he tucks you back into bed. presses kisses into your hair. tells you he’ll be back before dinner.

and then, hours later, when the chaos of the day tries to wear him thin, he opens his lunch and finds your note. scrawled in sleepy handwriting, letters just a little crooked, maybe even a smear of peanut butter at the corner.

I love you. be safe. come home to me. he reads it twice. tucks it into his jacket pocket like a sacred artifact. it stays there all day. tired or not, mornings have become nanami’s favorite, despite how he used to hate them. because you're there.

yuuji has always been a morning disaster.. in a “toothbrush hanging out of his mouth while he drools into the sink, one eye open, pants backwards, tripping over his own feet” kind of way. megumi was always the gold standard of functioning morning people. yuuji remembers those old sleepovers vividly—megumi, freshly showered and dressed, out the door by 6:45; and yuuji, still horizontal, trying to figure out how to open both eyes at the same time. they weren’t even in the same time zone. he used to think that’s just how mornings were. a battlefield. a struggle. something to survive, not enjoy.

the first time he stayed over, it was innocent—too many movies, too many snacks, both of you too tired to do anything but collapse into your bed, limbs tangled. he woke up expecting to panic, expecting the usual mad rush, the existential dread of being late.

but instead, he woke up to you. still half-asleep, your face smushed against your pillow, hair everywhere, wearing his oversized hoodie with the sleeves bunched around your hands, looking soft and warm and so painfully pretty it made his chest hurt. the sun spilled across the sheets in lazy ribbons and for the first time in his life, yuuji didn’t mind being awake too early. 

now, your room feels like a second home. maybe even his first. every inch of it is you—from the polaroids strung across your wall (many of them of the two of you, caught in grinning, blurry moments), to the sketches you doodled in class and couldn't bear to throw away if they were of him. there's the stuffed bear he won you at that fair when he definitely cheated at ring toss but still swears he didn’t. there’s the faint scent of your perfume on his old hoodie that you “borrowed” months ago and never gave back. it’s messy, but intentional. soft, but lived-in. like a physical manifestation of how he feels when you hold his hand in public—completely, irrevocably wanted. and the mornings? absolute chaos.

yuuji snoozes the alarm three times because being the big spoon is a full-time job. he likes to pretend he’s shielding you from the cruel, cold world outside the covers. it’s not heroism—it’s self-indulgent comfort.

eventually, you groan, stretch, and whine about being late. but it’s not angry. it’s not urgent. it’s familiar and funny and lazy in a way that makes yuuji smile into your shoulder. you're no better in the mornings than he is, most of the time. your hair is a battlefield, you accidentally wear yesterday’s socks more than you’ll admit, and you forget what day it is at least twice a week before your first sip of tea. but it’s all endearing. you’re endearing. especially when you make an attempt to pull it all together.

you’re both stuffing things into your backpacks, grabbing half-packed snacks, checking to make sure you didn’t your notes again. you both try to tame your appearances just enough to not look like complete disasters in front of yaga—though that never stops him from lecturing you both about punctuality like it’s a religion and you’ve committed high blasphemy.

but the chaos is beautiful. you are beautiful. and this morning mess you’ve made together? it’s everything to yuuji. he watches you comb your hair with exactly one functioning brain cell, still half in dreamland. sometimes you accidentally drinking out of his water bottle instead of your own, and when you sheepishly apologize, he just shrugs and says, “you literally used my toothbrush on accident last week, babe. we’re past the point of no return.” and you know he means it—yuuji doesn’t care about any of that. he cares about you.

every morning, without fail, he kisses you. sometimes it’s quick, sometimes it’s deep and syrupy and a little over-the-top. either way, it gets nobara groaning, waving her hands in front of her face like she’s trying to physically block out the pda. “save it for after missions,” she grumbles, bonking yuuji on the head with a textbook. but he doesn’t care. he never cares.

because there was a time, not too long ago, when he didn’t have this. when mornings were lonely and frantic and nothing special. but now he gets to wake up late and warm and in love, with someone who understands him, matches his chaos, and still somehow makes him feel like the luckiest idiot alive. you’ve integrated him into your life so effortlessly it makes his heart ache. you’re wrapped around every corner of his day. he sees you in his notes, hears you in his music, tastes you in every sweet bite you sneak into his lunchbox. and in the mornings—when he’s drowsy and soft and honest—he thinks, I never want to wake up without her again. and that thought alone? that’s enough to get him out of bed.